The Inheritor of an isolated and mysterious Estate.

The silence is unnerving as you peer through the window, watching the churning waters of Lake Superior fly by below you, any sounds of the world thickly insulated by the AV Taxis cabin.

Even the humming of the taxis powerful hover jets are barely more than a whisper in the passenger compartment, and in the overbearing silence the beating of your heart and the occasional growl of your stomach seem almost deafening.

A particularly uncomfortable pang of hunger stabs you, and you take the moment to both smooth out your sleek jet black suit, and to gingerly rub your abdomen. “I should have eaten before the ride” you mutter.

Seemingly in response to you, the computer terminal in the AV lights up from it’s sleep mode, and it’s electronic voice rings out as the loudest sound you’ve heard in hours “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that… … customer ID Three-Three-Seven-Four-Two-Nine-“

You roll your eyes and sigh as it prattles off a long string of numbers, and realizing it’s not going to stop anytime soon you loudly silence it with a question “How much longer?”

The computer doesn’t miss a beat as it changes it’s response mid sentence to answer you “Two-Fou- You are estimated to arrive at your destination in twenty five minutes”

You frown at that, again peering down at the darkening icy waters of the Lake, the sloshing white waves beginning to dim in the fading sunlight.

Adjusting in your seat slightly, you train your eyes on the horizon, awaiting the moment you see land again.

Traveling from New York, nearly half of your trip has been spent flying over the Great Lakes, a fact that has wreaked havoc on your aquaphobia.

A few minutes pass, and you finally breath a sigh of relief as you spot the rapidly approaching shoreline, it’s not long before your vision is completely engulfed with dense forest as the taxi roars past a coastal town at nearly supersonic speeds.

Comforted by the knowledge you won’t have to spend any more time staring down at the icy depths, you take in your reflection silhouetted against the forest below.

Your pale face is more feminine and young looking than you’d like. Heart shaped, still lacking any wrinkles and tapering down to an unimpressive jaw set below full pink lips.

Your dark hair as always is cut and combed into a professional side part, and slightly receding temples unfortunately seem to be your most “masculine” trait.

Your most prominent features are your large round eyes, both a bright piercing shade of green that has been described as “creepy” or “unnerving” by more than a few people.

Looking away from your reflection you once again smooth out your suit and take care to adjust the crotch and left leg of your pants. The expensive suit pants you chose today were a looser fit than usual, as you weren’t sure how more rural communities would react to personal modification.

You turned 18 not even a week ago, and immediately you greatly increased the size of your member. You wont pretend you aren’t compensating for something, your diminutive frame barely scrapes past five feet tall, and seems to be more bone than muscle despite your best efforts, a stark contrast from your new ten inch dick. The thick bulge of your member, tucked carefully into your pant leg nearly reaches down to your knee as usual, but is thankfully less noticeable than normal.

Outside, you watch as the landscape below you transforms as you continue to fly further Northwest, the farmland and small towns occasionally interspersed between stretches of forest become increasingly rare, and the paved two lane roads in turn dwindle in number.

The land itself begins to change, with lakes big and small growing more frequent, until eventually the world below is a marbled jumble of water and forest, an untamed wilderness where roads are nearly impossible to build.

“Nearly impossible” you think, because amongst the natural maze created by the thousands of lakes and rivers coating the landscape, a single winding line of dirt is visible to you, and a couple times you even spot an eighteen wheeler hauling its cargo across that loneliest of roads.

For a moment you begin to wonder if the taxi has somehow lost its way, before in the distance you spot the lights of a small town. The AV begins to slow, and then begins to carefully descend as the roads and buildings below become clearer.

Looking curiously around at the surrounding area, you see the town has been built on the southern edge of a large oval lake. Interestingly, the lake itself appears to have a twin, as you see in the distance a stretch of tree covered land separating it from an almost identical lake to the north.

The town is small, with the largest landmark being a tiny airport to the west. Main street looks cozy enough from the air, brick buildings and old gas street lamps becoming clear as the taxi further descends. Branching off of the main road are only a handful of visible grid like streets.

Eventually, the taxi gently lands in a parking space on an unassuming street corner, and more than a little confused, you crane your head around to look out the windows, searching the fog filled streets for anything that could be considered a mansion.

The computers electronic voice speaks after a moment “you have arrived at your destination, your fare is $312.25 USD, please select a method of payment” the computer terminal then displays a number of options including cash, credit, and debit. A frown slips onto your face and you reply “Hey, this doesn’t look like a “Gardner Estate” you turn you head to look out the window once more “In fact i think we’re parked between a pawn shop and a brothel”

The computer speaks once more, “I’m sorry, your selected destination was Yellowfen, Ontario, Canada -Population 4,000. If you are unsatisfied with your service, please feel free to fill out a complaint form on our website” you let out a frustrated sigh, and shake your head. “I said “Gardner Estate” Yellowfen. You can’t just drop me off on some random street” the computer lets out a beep that almost sounds irritated “searching” it says.

A few silent moments pass, before the computer continues “I cannot find an “Gardner Estate” on any maps in my database. Again, if you are unsatisfied with-“ you cut the terminal off “okay, whatever. I guess I’ll ask around with the locals”

You pay for the ride in silence, and though you attempt to look calm and collected your thoughts are racing, and your mind turns to the thick manilla envelope currently tucked into your suit.

Your father had been a secretive man until his passing only a few days ago, your childhood was hazy of course, but you never really recalled having a mother in your life.

The New York Brownstone you had grown up in certainly didn’t have any family photos, no old mementos to be found in the attic, no trace that you had any family at all aside from your father, and he wasn’t exactly a good one.

He was cold, distant, and completely unwilling to answer any questions you had about your family.

You had never really questioned anything until you began school, when some of the other kids had mentioned their parents jobs, their grandparents, cousins and uncles. It was only then you began to ask how we had money to buy things even though he never worked, and why we didn’t have any extended family. Such questions were always met with stoney silence or oversimplified answers like “we’re rich” and “small family”

You had lived 18 years completely insulated from any knowledge of your history until he was on his deathbed, and he finally presented you with the envelope you currently have tucked into your pocket.

When you had opened the large envelope not even 48 hours ago you were gobsmacked to find the deed to some remote estate. You had figured it would contain a Will, and perhaps some banking information, but it was so much more.

Along with the deed, at the bottom of the envelope you had found a picture of a feeble looking pregnant woman wearing a bright green antique dress. The dress looked so old in style you might have thought she was your great-great-grandmother if the back of the photo wasn’t labeled “Victoria -2002” you supposed she was your mother, though you were confused to find she had brown eyes, the same as your father.

The other items you had found were a luxury women’s wristwatch, silver with an emerald encrusted dial. And a large intricate skeleton key, with a handle emblazoned with your family crest.

When you had seen the contents of that envelope for the first time you were leaping for joy, it had felt like you finally had all the pieces of the puzzle within your grasp, and you only had to go find them. Now however, as you finish paying for the taxi and step out into the fog filled humid streets of this desolate northern town, doubts begin to creep into your mind.

Could this all be you fathers idea of a prank? One last postmortem middle finger to your curiosity? You touch the emerald ladies wristwatch you now wear, tracing the pattern of the brilliant shimmering stones. In any case you figure, no sense in turning back now.

Steadying your resolve you pull your rolling suitcase and a long ebony cane from the luggage compartment, and watch as the Taxi loudly ascends, disappearing into the night.

You set the suitcase upright for a moment, and orient yourself with the cane, or walking stick as you preferred to think of it.

The long dark shaft of wood topped with an intricate silver derby handle is assumed by most to be an eccentric fashion statement, an image you try to maintain as you take care to daintily hold it with only three fingers.

Being baby faced, thin, and only a few inches above five feet tall you figured you already looked pretty pathetic, nobody needs to know you’re a teenager who has to use a cane.

Rolling your suitcase along the the lonely fog filled streets it’s not long until you find the long stretch of the main road.

You’re pleased to encounter other people out here, the atmosphere of this place had begun to remind you a little too much of Silent Hill. A few vehicles, mostly pickup trucks, drive on the cracked paved road, some pulling into little hardware and general stores, others continue along their way, traveling once again into the wilderness.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not, you can see a few big chain businesses along the street, a small RealDreams outlet and a Tim Hortons standing prominently with seemingly the only backlit signs in town.

The rest of the buildings look older, and are made of red or brown brick, a few are in disrepair, but most seem to have some essential function such as banks and government buildings.

You notice the few people walking out and about at this hour are an almost even split between being of European descent and First Nations, and certainly none of them are wearing a suit. It’s not exactly a surprise as you begin to draw a few stares, though you try to be polite, waving and nodding at the people you pass by.

You continue walking with purpose, trying to ignore the attention you’re getting when you remember you don’t exactly know where you’re going.