A blank page is folded and unfolded, again and again.
Her hands repeat this action unconsciously as Ms. Marcus murmurs anxiously to herself.
Marcus: My latest edition of History of the Flannan Isles should have been published in the Daydream Post yesterday ...
Marcus: I know that if the editors weren't satisfied with the entry, it would have been rejected two days prior. But, Mr. Thomas says we've received no letters at all as of yesterday.
Marcus: So it passed the editors' review ... It must have ...
Marcus: So I should let myself feel some relief ... Thanks to the help of my ghostly friends, this latest edition covered some truly extraordinary topics and gave the readers an opportunity to better understand the Flannan Isles.
Marcus: Maybe it will even spur a tourism boom for the Flannan Isles. The local council will be very happy for it, I'm sure ...!
Marcus: And Ms. Dennehy, well, she'll be Editor of the Year, and get a substantial bonus for her tour of Europe ...
Marcus: She provided me with so much help in writing History of the Isles and in life more generally. She most certainly deserves this ...
Marcus: I hope she will find time to send me a few new books during her trip ...
Marcus: I've never had the chance to read the completed anthology of Story for Sara ... Mr. Allais is truly ingenious. Even just the few excerpts I have from his work have inspired me so much ...
She muses to herself, losing herself in the tranquil depths of her world of literature.
Unfortunately, her moment of tranquility passes all too quickly.
Thomas: Ms. Marcus, a whole platoon of postmen just got off the ferry!
Somehow unperturbed by the panting ghost popping his head out through the wall, Marcus reaches the meaning behind his message in a sudden rising start.
Marcus: A "platoon" of postmen?
Thomas: Aye, a whole slew of them. The lads and I think it must mean your new edition was a cracking success!
Thomas: All those high-nosed hobnobs are probably planning to invite you to give lectures all around the world—now dinnae go forgetting us with your sudden fame. Remember it was your ghostly mates who got you here!
Marcus: ...!
Ms. Marcus rushes to her coat, and together they speed toward the island's mail drop-off.
Three ghastly gentlemen and one gasping girl stand in front of the small mailbox, exchanging anxious looks.
Donald: Ahoy gentlemen ... Ms- Ms. Marcus ... The postmen already came and went. Left as soon as they'd dropped off these letters ...
Thomas: That's it ...? They dinnae ask for any local postcards, perhaps an autograph from the stars of the latest edition ...?
Donald: Well, ah, no. No. I suppose I dinnae want to spook them. Since Ms. Marcus asked us not to ...
James: Oh, aye, they were the ones spooked, eh? Just as well, lad. We'll need some time to adjust to our new lives as undead celebrities. Now stiffen up, only a landsman gets nervous over a little rising tide.
Marcus: These letters ... are all for me?
The ghosts nod in unison.
James: It can only be, wee miss. You've most certainly written a fine piece. Only natural that it might bring about a bit of zealotry.
Marcus: Still, there are so many letters ...
After adjusting her scarf, in an attempt to cover the flush of her cheeks, she reaches over-quickly for one of the letters.
But as she opens it, the words within leave her painfully stunned.
Marcus: "I want to apologize for my candor, writing to you as a fan of the much-celebrated writer for History of the Flannan Isles."
Marcus: "But I feel I must express my disappointment. Not just for myself, but for the thousands of other readers now feeling equally deceived."
Marcus: "When I first read your column, I was captivated by its vivid psychological descriptions and the detailed introductions, prompting me to buy issue after issue of the magazine and even recommend it to my friends and family ..."
Marcus: "Yet, I see now you and your publisher have concocted a massive fraud, leading us in on a long con to rob us any satisfaction!"
Her hand freezes in place, unable or unwilling to turn the page.
Marcus: "The Daydream Post never stopped praising the upcoming edition of History of the Flannan Isles!"
Marcus: "They claimed it would finally lift the cloud of mystery looming over the Flannan Isles once and for all!"
Marcus: "I waited eagerly for almost a week for this vaunted new edition that was supposed to unveil all mysteries ..."
Marcus: "Only for you to introduce some sad old captain with a ghost story, an overly foggy day, followed by some island-swallowing wave, and then a bit of old history about these Seven Holy Isles ..."
Marcus: "And nothing else."
Marcus: "You claim these 'ghosts' have spent more than twelve years on this island. Yet you still do not provide a shred of explanation concerning their disappearance? Or why is it they became ghosts? You take the word of these ghosts at face value, but are their memories even reliable? Do they have any credible evidence?"
Marcus: "If these are truly ghosts, then why can't they tell us where their missing bodies are? How can you possibly prove this isn't just another arcanist rambling about her own fairy tales?"
Marcus: "You try to obfuscate the hard questions with these twisted yarns, but all you've done is create more mysteries, stretching them out like old taffy! But I see through it: you never had any intention to conclude this story! You've been stringing us along the whole time!"
Marcus: "You, madame, are nothing but a fraudster!"
Marcus: Marcus stands still, her mouth agape, unable to make a sound.
Donald: This letter is ... tr-truly terrible. M-maybe it's just a joke, like the awful pranks Captain James and Thomas sometimes play on me.
James: Now, now, steady on, wee Ms. Marcus ... It's but a wide shot across the bow. Don't mistake it for a barrage! The rest of these are sure to be glowing reviews.
Thomas: Aye, the old foghorn's right. Every twee lass or lad thinks he's a critic these days. Let's leave it to professionals, eh ... where's that letter from Ms. Dennehy?
Thomas: If anyone knows what way the wind's blowing, it'll be her.
Marcus: …
In a daze, Marcus rummages through the pile of letters as if seeking a life preserver in a stormy sea.
Soon enough, she finds what she is looking for.
Marcus: "Dear Ms. Marcus, our illustrious writer for the History of the Flannan Isles column."
Marcus: "Dear Ms Marcus, first as a matter of business, I must admit that yesterday's issue of the Daydream Post, featuring your History of the Isles, was a tremendous sales success."
Marcus: "Spurred on by the delay caused by your previous edition, it seems our journal was sold out within hours by your eager readers ..."
Marcus: "But we'd only just started on the second printing before a group of frenzied readers stormed up to our office."
Marcus: "They were waving their arms, shouting things like 'Refund!' 'This is fraud!' and one particularly exuberant fellow claimed he'd be 'Writing to the Prime Minister to report you' ..."
Marcus: "After communicating with them, we realized they were all loyal readers of History of the Flannan Isles."
Marcus: "They called your History of the Isles a premeditated scam disguised as a documentary. They accused us of conspiring with you to deceive everyone ..."
Marcus: "What absurd allegations! They even redirected their dissatisfaction with History of the Isles onto us, a small-time publishing house."
Marcus: "To be perfectly candid, we did launch a significant promotional campaign before the release of this issue. However, it was not a hasty decision; it was out of our trust in you!"
Marcus: "You promised us in your submission that all your descriptions were based on the first-hand experiences of those directly involved. You are responsible for their authenticity!"
Marcus: "Regrettably, things have now developed beyond anyone's imagination."
Marcus: "We believe that if you cannot sufficiently meet the readers' expectations in the next edition with a sensational conclusion or some sort of revealing of ultimate truth ..."
Marcus: "Otherwise, you may need to consider a new pseudonym, or perhaps a change of subject beyond the Flannan Isles, or more simply, give up on the job altogether."
Marcus: "We sincerely hope you consider our advice above."
*flop*
The bitter sting of the letter saps the strength from her legs, as she collapses slowly to the ground and into a heap.
James: …
Thomas: …
Donald: …
The ghosts attempt, as best they can, to make out what the rest of the letters hold.
Thomas: "It is despicable that you would abuse the sacred power of the pen to promote this bizarre so-called arcanum. And how much worse for its plodding, unconnected narrative, if anything at all of what you said was true, it would only mean our world had gone mad!"
Thomas: Heh—wrong letter, sorry lass.
He feigns a soft bombing whistle as he tosses the letter aside.
James: Allow me, Ms. Marcus—if my years have proved of any use at all, it has been in discerning truth from slander.
James: "I wish to extend my congratulations to the author. For what must have been a handsome fee you earned yourself with your talents."
James: "Chief of which must be in huckstering and forgery. I pray you'll fare well during the coming police interrogations for this fraud of an edition! Hopefully, they'll be trained to make sense of this arcanist tat!"
James: …
James: Apologies, it seems wisdom does not always spring from age ...
Donald: Oh! Oh, um ... I think, maybe, I found one that isn't quite so terrible ...
Marcus: ... Really?!
Donald: "D-dear author, I wanted you to know that I fully understood the deep meaning behind this publication."
Donald: "It is crystal clear that you drew inspiration from the stories of Penelope and the Danaides as you prepared us for an endless tapestry and a b-bottomless bucket ..."
Donald: "I'm s-so glad to be able to bear witness to what you've created—a torture to the senses which has left me wishing to swap places with Tantalus himself ..."
Donald: "So long, and good riddance to your interminable stories!"
Donald: Ah! S-Sorry, Ms. Marcus. I was never much for reading—was that not ... good?
Marcus: ... Thank you all the same, Donald.
She nods weakly toward Donald.
Then, in a slow fall, to match the crashing waves against the shore, she collapses completely to the ground.
