Three Missing Stories of Mescaline Headdress are the earliest things that I can remember from the era and even as I summon their memory from that vanishing point I know that what I am receiving are really just the equivalents of ruined polaroids that have been left to suffer the weather for a very long time. There’s a house on a bit of land out north and east of the city. Basically abandoned for a couple of decades judging by the paperbacks that we’d found on the kitchen table and the advanced state of repose that the furniture projected as we performed our initial sweep of the premises. Not that we possessed any skill at investigating anything more mysterious than where we’d left our new sunglasses which were always either on our faces or in our shirt pockets at the time. The place had the smell of age and neglect, dust hung in the air and on the couch. Except for a few broken windows that let the spring chill into the place there was a disappointing lack of signs of a sudden tragic departure by whoever had lived here last. This place is definitely not haunted, Parker said, looking around. I don’t know about that, Jordyn said pulling the levered handle of the fridge door open and turning to me with a frown of disgust at what he saw. Yeah it’s super quiet I said, looking down a dark hallway. What are you gonna do with the place, I asked? Parker tugged a string that hung by an exposed bulb in the ceiling and it snapped in her hand. She laughed and let the string hang. We’re going to fix it up, she said, and then we’re going to break and destroy Mescaline Headdress. Parker paused. And by break and destroy, she said, I mean create. The bulb overhead flickered briefly to life. | image @ndrew_abstract_art