Chapter Text
Stanley Button was one hell of a procrastinator if the legal papers he found lying on his dresser underneath piles of unfolded clothes were anything to go by. Not his social security card or birth certificate- those were kept safe and sound in a place where he wouldn’t forget them. Where? Why would he tell you, those papers are private. Keep your nose out his beeswax, yeah mate?
No, these papers included:
- A few highlighted paragraphs, cut out of a photocopy of a will from 2015, that stated Stanley as the sole inheritor of his great-aunt’s estate (“and all the artefacts and items therein”, apparently. Stanley was never fluent in Legalese.)
- A floorplan of said estate, with more room than one man could ever need in his life. (Unless he was a hoarder or a collector or something, and the only type of collector Stanley was was a collector of any strange trinkets he found interesting; including but not limited to: cool rocks, old keys, and sea glass)
- A map drawn up that showed a route from his current flat to the estate.
- The deed, already made out in his name, to the estate that his great-aunt always lived on and had been in the family for years before her.
If these papers were all to be believed, Stanley thought to himself, he’d never have to pay rent again. In the moment, he pumped his fist in the air, jumped a solid two inches off the ground, and made the closest sound to a whoop as he possibly could.
Now, for this story to make sense, you, the reader, have to know some things about Stanley Button before we actually get to the good part. I know, I know, you all hate exposition, but it really is important to the story and the overarching narrative and fine, fine , alright, I’m rambling a bit, moving on.
First of all, yes, ‘Stanley Button’ was his real name. People asked him that all the time, and it was honestly getting annoying. He knew people with weirder last names; even people with weirder object last names. At least it kept the attention off of his first name, which wasn’t the name he was born with.
Secondly, Stanley hadn’t always been ‘Stanley’. (Duh, I just told you that.) ‘Stanley’ was a name he had picked up back when he was a teenager, and had kept, legally, since he was 19. He had been lucky. Full support of his parents, top surgery and T-gel a bit later down the line, the full 9 yards. He had always kept his hair long, though. It just felt right.
Third, Stanley’s family was a bit…wonky for a lack of a better word. Both of his parents didn’t talk to him anymore for reasons not related to the previous point- which was their loss, Stanley was a riot to talk to -and he never had any siblings. His great-aunt was an eccentric sort of woman, one who was beloved by children and scorned by adults. She also adored Stanley, doting on him as much as she could whenever he came over, and putting on puppet shows and telling stories for him. From what Stanley remembered of her, she was a magical woman. Stanley had once walked in on her mid-conversation with one of her puppets that really spoke back to her, and she would never tell him how she did it. His bet was still split between ventriloquism and ghosts, seeing as he had heard that same voice elsewhere in the house after that event. He sort of missed it, some days. It was nice to him, always making up little adventures for the two of them to go on. It had even been the first ‘person’ he had come out to.
Fourth, Stanley had never been able to speak very well. He had been born with only one vocal cord, and even that cord was weak as hell. So, instead of messing up his voice further, Stanley liked to stick to a mixture of writing in notebooks and British Sign Language. It was troublesome, yes- he always had to explain that no, he wasn’t deaf, he was partially mute -but if he really needed to, he could bust out a few hoarse words. Even if he did, that was only on a good day. Stanley was forever grateful for his sunflower lanyard.
And finally, Stanley Button was- and is -not the type of person to think much about his decisions before he makes them. Much to the contrary, he was the type of person to put in his two-weeks notice at his boring office job and move out to the countryside just because he found the deed to his dead great-aunt’s estate.
And that was exactly what he did. He didn’t even think about the downsides of packing up and moving halfway across the country until he was pulling his car into the gates of Parable-Button House, which was incredibly irresponsible of him. It was also the best decision he ever made in his entire life, mind you; he’s real happy there, writing up a little story- (with an incredible amount of help, you do not want to see his grammar before the editing process) -because all the weird-arse things that’ve happened since sound fake enough to pass as a fiction book and dammit, he needs the money.
But that’s not important right now. Let’s get back to Stanley Button, first pulling up to his not-really-newly-inherited property in an old worn down red AC Ace he had gotten from his parents.