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generalidiocy · 2 months ago

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WARNING - LONG POST: Case #0191704

Statement of William Smith, regarding his family business

My family runs the Caravan Hutch, over in Barnet, Northwest London. I doubt you’ll have heard of us, we’re not a chain, and even then we’re specialist. We deal, unsurprisingly, with caravans. We buy them off people, clean them up and refurbish them, then sell them, good as new! Almost… People love it in the shop. I think it’s Father’s warm personality. He’s always been charismatic. Whenever I ask him his secrets, he praises the ancestors who began the shop. “We have them to thank”, he would reply.

The shop has been the same since it was started. We have a desk, and three chairs, and diagrams of the various models and prices. The front of the shop has no windows, Father says that’s to allow the customers to be surprised as they step through the door. However there is a sign declaring:

"CARAVAN HUTCH – WHERE WE BUY YOUR CARAVANS

COME ON IN, SELL ALL THE CARAVANS YOU HAVE"

The caravans themselves are stored in a warehouse a mile to the west. We visit them every other day, after work, to make sure everything’s ticking over, and to repair any caravans that need it. John was always good at that. The mechanics work, that is.

Anyway, like I said, it’s a family business, my Father inherited it from his Father, who inherited it from his Father, and so on. It goes back for “as long as there have been caravans to sell”, which isn’t actually that far. Caravans only came to England at the end of the 19th century, but according to my Father we’ve been here hundreds of years. Then again Father does love to tell tall tales. He once remarked that his Father had “the most remarkable teeth I’ve ever worn!” I still don’t know what that means. I never knew my Grandad. He died not long after we were born, which I presume was why Father was sad when me and John were small. We couldn’t fill the hole grandad left when we were that small.

We are twins, both born at the same time. Father was so cross with Mother. He said she had “shamed the family name”. But he never stays cross for long. He told her she could repay him soon enough. I doubt she ever got round to it, though.

A week later, I woke up from a nightmare. I don’t remember most of it, but the image of Father’s face from that dream is forever burned into mine. I was him, but he was… angry. And in pain. His features were contorted almost beyond recognition, but I knew it was my Father. His eyes were completely scrunched, and he looked like he was screaming. I couldn’t hear him though. He was silent. I wasn’t though. I was screaming.

I woke up to see my brother, lying still on his bed at the other end of the room. Looking back, I’m surprised I didn’t wake him up with my crying. Perhaps he was ignoring me. He’d been weird for a while. Quiet, withdrawn. Perhaps that was why he made no move to comfort me as I left my bed to look for our parents.

With the elegance of a small child I crept along the hallway, cursing the old floorboards as I went. I had made it to the top of the stairs when I heard my Father’s voice. He was downstairs, speaking to someone. He sounded angry. Like he was in my dream. But at least his voice was still his own. Once I got to the bottom of the stairs, I waited outside the closed door. Father’s voice was clearer now: “There’s not enough of me left. I haven’t got enough to give them”, he told our… Mother? It must’ve been…

Yes, sorry, it was our Mother. Remarkable, she was. That’s what family friends told us. She disappeared not long after that night. Father told us not to worry, that we’d see her again one day. Though they never did find the body…

I decided not to bother them. Slowly but surely, I snuck back upstairs. If the floorboards weren’t so old and creaky, I could’ve sworn I heard my brother crying. But there was no sound by the time I returned to our room and slid back into bed, trying to push the image of my Father’s pained face from my brain.

Father was a good man, and brought us up well. We had enough to eat, even if it meant he had to go without. He looked so worn sometimes, he had worked for so long to keep John and I healthy. That’s why we were so keen to help him in the shop once we turned 16. We had always known that we would leave school after our GCSEs, and that was fine by me. I never much cared for school, preferring to stay at home and learn the family trade, or just play with my brother. We didn’t really have friends, but we had always had each other, and we always will.

My brother was not the sociable one. He never had been, but it became far more apparent when Father let us begin working in the shop. John never wanted to speak to the customers. He would lurk at the back of the shop, pretending to dust the caravans that I had seen him clean not 2 hours ago. Sometimes this worked, and I would greet the clients, negotiate with them and discuss a fee, as Father had modelled to us both. Other times, he would be made to endure the customers, answering their questions while simultaneously planning an escape route. Poor John. I told Father I was happy to speak to the clients, and John could stay at the back, but Father insisted that John “learn the family ways”.

Eventually John had enough of these demands, and told our Father “no”, that he would not work at the Hutch. While I was aware of his qualms with the job, this took me by surprise, I will have to admit. It was one thing to prefer mechanics work to speaking to people, but to not help the family business at all? I had never known John like this.

We were eating dinner in the kitchen when he announced this. Father ordered John to go to the living room, then told me to go to my room. I wanted to protest that I hadn’t finished my dinner, but the look he gave me as I opened my mouth to say so scared me more than my nightmare had. I left my plate where it was and ran upstairs.

After an hour spent on my phone, curiosity got the better of me. Like I had all those years ago, I snuck downstairs and listened outside the door. Father was speaking. He told my brother that he hadn’t wanted it to happen so soon. But that he had been forced to take measures for the good of the business. Before I could wonder what he meant, I heard someone walk towards the door, someone whose footsteps I did not recognise. I ran back to the stairs as fast as I could, but luckily the footsteps had stopped before the door was open. I raced back to my bed, and my brother came into our bedroom a few minutes later.

I asked him what Father had been saying, what had kept him in there for so long. I left out the part I had overheard, feigning ignorance of the whole conversation. It wasn’t a complete lie. My brother just laughed, and told me not to worry. “The time is not so far away”. He grinned at me, and for the first time I noticed how similar his eyes were to our Mother’s.

The thought scared me. I didn’t ask him about that night again.

After that, John had no trouble dealing with customers at the Hutch. He still worked on the caravans themselves, but no longer complained when it was his turn to man the desk. I almost didn’t recognise him.

Father was thrilled when we told him he could retire. He’d nearly worked himself to death over the years, and I thought it time we let him rest. He could leave, find somewhere to settle down, and let someone else take control. John wasn’t as keen on the idea, but I talked him round. For the good of the business. Father had been worn down. It is time for fresh blood.

We’re making it official on Thursday. There’s a ceremony, I’m told. We will hand over the business, as has been done for generations. I just hope my boys will be up to the task. It is such a tiring job, but little William is oh so eager.

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SFTH/TMA crossover anyone? I miss writing, it took two special interests to get me back into it. Definitely not my best work but I did it in a day and I wanted to share it quickly

Might make this a series, where different SFTH play characters give statements to the Magnus Institute

In my mind it's a Stranger statement

#sfth #tma #SFTH Statements

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