Riddle Me Crazy!

This is a collaboration. Or at least, it will be. This is another HMC play made into a novel. In this particular play, Cassie developed a three-and-a-half page bio character. This term was inspired by Morgan "I brake for cardboard boxes" Ritchie, and Cassie's bio was probably much longer than just three pages. But there was so much too her character's rather eventful life, and she said she'd have to actually write it down one day. So, when I decided to make Riddle Me Crazy! one of my projects (though I wasn't actually in it), Cassie asked (or rather, demanded . . . this is Cassie we're talking about) to include some chapters about the life of Susannah Williams. So, Cassie will write the bits about Susannah's life, and I'll write bits about Susannah's afterlife that made it to the stage version.

This particular entry is just the prologue, and is rather shorter than the other stories I've put on here. The first chapter will belong to Cassie, and the prologue is being submitted for her approval. So, here it is. Enjoy!

Riddle Me Crazy!
By Matt and Cassie Guion
based on the play of the same name,
created by the Fall 2004 Youth Theatre Lab
(aka HMC)
original script by Keith Guion

Prologue

Hello. My name is Susannah Williams. And before we go any further, let me clear up one or two things, lest you become confused. First of all, I am dead. I know it may seem a bit strange to be addressed by a dead person, but I do hope you'll take it stride, because otherwise you'll miss what I think, at least, is a very good story. But for those of you who are a bit squeamish about being addressed by the dead, I suggest you stop reading, because not only is a dead woman telling the story, but the same dead woman is a character in the story, and will be addressing several other people.

Very well, for those of you who are still with me, yes, I am dead. I was the last of the Williams line. I had one daughter, and she married and had another daughter, so the name dies with me. Which may be why I am now here as a ghost. I mean, we can't have the Williams name die completely, now can we?

This is my house . . . very well, use your imagination. It's a very nice house, actually rather larger than one would expect of an old woman living on her own. It's very cluttered too, filled with all sorts of old artifacts and memorabilia from my family. I was always very interested in family history. It looks well lived in . . . which in fact it was. I lived here for most of life. It was an eventful life, and I'll be telling you some of the more eventful moments of it throughout this story . . . but first we have to get this story going. It happened not long after I had died, just a few days after my funeral, when my granddaughter, Keira arrived to settle my estate. I had named her executor of my will, much to her surprise and dismay . . .

***

Keira Winston fumbled the old key into the older lock of her late grandmother's house. Shifting the cumbersome box of papers into the crook of her left arm, she pushed the door open. It creaked loudly. She made her way into the house.

"So, this is where my mysterious grandmother lived," she muttered to herself. "Doesn't look too unusual?"

What were you expecting? Cushions on the floor? Maybe a few lava lamps, some beads?

Keira looked around the old living room. All the furniture had a tag on it, supposedly telling what went where. "At least she was organized," Keira said, setting the box down. "This shouldn't take too long. Good . . . I want to get this done quickly and get back home."

Is she in for surprise!

Keira found a chair and sat at the coffee table where she had set the box. She sighed. "Why on earth did she choose me for this?" she asked herself. "I didn't even know the woman. I'd met her . . . I think twice? At least that I can remember. Why not mother?" Then she laughed at the silliness of that particular question.

Yes, we both know the answer to that question, dear. As if your mother could be bothered. If Gwynna had been executor, this house would have stood empty for years. Not only was she not named executor, she isn't even mentioned in the will.

This requires some explanation. I know how cruel it must sound to leave one's own daughter out of her will . . . but believe me, Gwynna wants it that way. She would probably burn anything I left to her, because she hasn't wanted anything to do with me for years. That was her choice, and I respect it. We never really did understand each other. The best thing she did was run away when she turned eighteen. It was, quite frankly, a relief for both of us. Oh, I kept tabs on her, of course. I was in the back of the church when she married Kenneth Winston, though she never knew it . . . and I was there to meet my new baby granddaughter when she was born, much to Gwynna's disgust. Obviously, I couldn't see Keira as much as I wanted to, but I watched her grow. I saw more of myself in my granddaughter than I ever had in my daughter.

That's why I chose you, dear. You are the only member of the family who is able to carry on the Williams' family legacy, and with my help, you will.

She couldn't hear me, of course. I was a ghost, and I had only been a ghost a few days at that point, so I hadn't quite figured out how to make myself perceivable by mortals. All I could do was observe, and that's what I was doing: observing Keira go through the quite frankly dry and boring documents in her box.

Keira shivered, and glanced around the house. "There's something creepy about this place. I keep having this feeling as though something is looking over my shoulder."

Well, that proves that you're more perceptive than your mother. She'd have been striding through here making snide remarks about my furniture, my housekeeping, my house . . . I could pound on her face with my fists, and she'd never notice. Never did have much sense, or sensitivity. I seriously thought she had been switched at birth. It wasn't until Keira was born that I saw any of myself in her at all.

Keira pulled out another piece of paper. "Mom's third grade report card?"

What's that doing there? I thought I got rid of all that stuff years ago.

Keira read the report. "‘I'm concerned about young Gwynna. Her grades are acceptable, but I know she could do better. She doesn't take any initiative, and always keeps to herself. I think she could be an excellent student if she ever showed any interest in anything.'" She put the paper back in the box. "Yeah, that sounds like mother."

Ah, now I remember. Her third grade teacher captured her essence very well in that report.

This seems a good place to tell you a bit about my life . . . the part that involved my only daughter Gwynna. It's not an easy story to tell, believe me, because it reveals as many faults in me as in my daughter, and it is, of course, very painful to relive one's own flesh and blood leaving her. But I suppose if I'm going to tell you about my life, I may as well go all the way. So . . . here goes.
***
"What's next?"