Hopeful Inquirer

Nathaniel Jennings, supernatural detective The sign above the door said. Nate pushed open the door and ambled into the office. He sat down at the oak desk and stuck his hand into his pocket until he came up with a key. He put the key in the lock of the middle-right drawer of the desk and turned it. The drawer slid open, and in it lay a leather-bound book. Nate snatched it up and placed it flat on his desk, opening up to a bookmarked page. He stole a pen from his pocket and pressed it to the paper of the book.

Journal,

Today has been quite an oddity. I woke to find a letter beside

my bed. The letter was sent anonymously and was meant as an inquiry to my detective skills. The writer asked about my experience in cases involving what he described as “the somewhat dead”, the frequency of business, and my reasons for entering into my field of occupation. The letter was signed “Hopeful Inquirer”. I would reply, questioning the reasons for the sending of this letter, but not only do I feel I have deduced them on my own, but Hopeful Inquirer left no address for my response. Below the script of the letter, a note was left as to a means for a meeting with Hopeful Inquirer and myself. It was stated that on the night of the third Sunday from now, a meeting would be possible, if I should stand outside the baker’s shoppe at midnight precisely. Hopeful Inquirer’s desire for discretion and secrecy have caused me worry, that I possibly may be about to enter into a deep and likely dangerous situation. I find that my curiosity is stronger than my fear, however, and no matter how simple it may be, it would be near impossible for me to step away from a case that I hope should be so intriguing as I imagine it shall be.

Nate

P.S: I also have heard the great news that Lydia has returned from her excursion to New York. Perhaps I shall see her soon, and she shall tell me all of the news of her travels.