by A. I. Nasser
“What we do know for sure was that Maverick Toled was the first to go nuts. Killed his entire family, only missing his youngest son because the boy was with relatives out of town. Wife, two daughters and eldest son, who was to be wed to the Deans’ daughter actually; all dead. Then he hung himself in the basement.”
Karen stared at her in shock. She had been expecting an interesting story, but nothing like this. June saw the look on her face and frowned apologetically.
“I’m so sorry, Karen, if I had known it’d bother you –”
“No, no,” Karen interrupted her. “Go on. It’s a little shocking, that’s all.”
June nodded as she eyed her, considering whether to continue or not. When Karen nodded at her, the woman went on.
“The Toled’s house stood empty for years, and over the generations, Green and Dean would fight over it, each trying to buy it for themselves. By then the two families were competing furiously, openly, no longer much of a sport. They were at each other’s throats the whole time.
“I was a little girl, taking my first steps, when Benjamin Dean died. By then, both the Deans and Greens were playing dirty, and the rumor was Alexander Green had somehow tried to sabotage the Dean livestock. They say it had been a fire, over one hundred cows burnt alive. It was the source of the Dean fortune at the time, acres upon acres of land just outside Cafeville in their family’s name. Little Benji had been playing in the barns with his siblings when the fire had broken out.”
“That’s horrible!”
June nodded in agreement. “Took the fire brigade two days to put it out, some of it making its way into the woods behind the barns, a real mess. Everyone had a feeling Alexander Green was behind it, but no one could really prove it. That’s when Samuel Dean took matters into his own hands.”
“Samuel Dean?” Karen asked, her eyes wide.
June frowned. “You’ve heard of him?”
Karen quickly shook her head, wondering if it was a coincidence that the main character in her husband’s story had the exact same name.
“Well, on the night he buried his son, Samuel went into the arcade a few stores down from here and stabbed Alexander Green to death, and then went after his entire family. He would’ve killed them all if the sheriff hadn’t stopped him in time to save the children.”
Karen suddenly felt very faint, her mind recounting the events in John’s story and correlating them to what she was hearing.
“June, have you told John any of this?” she asked, hoping that her husband had just decided to base his book on a small town’s lore.
“Not that I can remember,” June said. “Why? Is something wrong?”
Karen didn’t even know where to start.
Chapter 13
“For a second there, I thought I had lost you completely.”
John smiled as he listened to Derrick Fern praise the new chapters.
The sun had already begun to set, and for the past five hours, John hadn’t stopped writing. In less time than usual, he was done with ten thousand words and had sent them to Derrick to review, his editor calling an hour later with applause and a laugh that ringed dollars.
“I did kind of drift away for a few days,” John admitted.
“You don’t say!” Derrick chuckled. “I was slapping myself for calling Karen.”
“That was a stupid call,” John said, unable to let the man feel any satisfaction. “I only got work done because she’s been out all day.”
There was silence on the other line. “Then get rid of her.”
“Excuse me?” John said, static mixing in with Derrick’s words, unsure whether he had heard him correctly or not.
“You can’t get rid of them,” Derrick said, his voice louder. “They’re family. Family’s important.”
John frowned, unsure if those were the exact words Derrick had used just a moment before. “I’m going to try to get some more work done before Karen comes back,” he said.
“You do that,” Derrick said. “I’m rooting for you!”
“I’m almost done,” John said, and hung up.
***
John sat in the dark, cigarette in one hand, his head laid back against the couch as he smiled at the ceiling.
The story was coming along beautifully. In the two hours since his telephone call with Derrick, he had written another four thousand words, and was riding a literal high. He had wanted to celebrate with something stronger, but decided that if he were to finish up with the work at hand, his mind needed to be clear.
He took a long drag from his cigarette and blew smoke into the darkness. Karen was going to go absolutely crazy when she got home. She hated it when he smoked indoors, and from experience he knew well what her reaction was going to be. Surprisingly, not a thread of him cared. Let her blow. It might give her a reason to leave.
Doubtful, Johnny-boy, but I like where your mind is going.
John smiled.
Before retreating to the living room, he had gone into the kitchen, kicked the towels aside and opened the basement door all the way, letting the stench race out into the house like a dog that had been freed from its leash. The smell filled every corner of the Victorian, and for some strange reason, he didn’t seem to care. He was even breathing through his nose, letting the stench sting his lungs along with the smoke he was inhaling.
Somewhere upstairs, he could hear the attic door opening and closing, the familiar sound of rats in the walls ringing in his ears. This was it. This was exactly what he needed. This was the fuel that would push the story forward. He smiled to himself when he thought of what Karen would do when she got home. He looked at his cell phone, pondering whether to call her or not, and decided to wait for her to return.
She’s a big girl. She’ll be fine.
Again, he didn’t seem to care.
John stretched his arms wide, feeling exceptionally good about himself. Maybe there was a point to staying here. Maybe a year or two in Cafeville, and he could have a whole series of bestsellers lined up and ready to make him millions. Derrick would love that, and Karen could finally stay at home.
She’s holding you back. She’s been after that job for years, and now that she’s got it, she doesn’t want it.
John frowned. That was a bit like her, only interested in something until the moment it was attainable. That was probably why she wanted to move out here. An isolated town, a house that would eat up their savings; that was usually the direction Karen set off in whenever she made a decision. Always looking for the most complicated of goals, just to throw them away once she realized that she could achieve them.
You have to send her home. We don’t need her here. Look at how much you’ve achieved because she left the house.
John nodded to himself, agreeing with the voice in his head, the voice that had now confidently come out of hiding and was setting up shop in the forefront of his mind. The voice that now had a microphone and a direct line to every single part of his brain. A part of John dreaded it, but only a small part. The rest of him was grateful for its presence.
Of course you are. I’m basically writing your story for you.
“Cheers, brother,” John said in the closest imitation to Derrick Fern he could muster. He chuckled to himself.
If you could get her to leave completely, it would free some extra room in that bed for someone else.
John smiled, thinking of his nights with Eva, images flashing before his eyes.
Sounds pretty good to me, Johnny-boy.
His mind wandered to thoughts of Eva, what he would do to her if given the chance. The blonde would be helpless in his hands, and this time he wouldn’t let her leave. Just one night, that was all he needed. He didn’t care who her father was or how much pull he had in town. The girl was old enough to make her own choices. What was the saying? The heart wants what the heart desires?
There’s more than heart in this one, buddy.
John chuckled and took another drag from his cigarette, his nose stinging from
the scent creeping up from the basement, the rattling of the attic door starting to become louder. He heard the window latches turning, slowly, screeching, metal scratching against metal as they loosened completely and the living room windows flew open with a crash. The house suddenly felt like a whirlwind was blowing through it, and the lights flickered on and off, on and off. A bulb in the hallway burst, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the empty house.
“Show off,” John whispered, a smile on his face as he sat still in the chaos around him.
Then, suddenly, all at once, everything stopped. The stench dispersed, the lights stopped flickering, and the attic door was suddenly still.
She’s coming.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, soft, calming, squeezing him gently. John laid his head back, looking up into the face staring down at him, eyes dead, beard similar to the one he was growing, grin wide and manic.
She has to go. We have work to do.
John smiled back, and the sound of his laughter echoed through the entire house.
Chapter 14
“Did you remove the towels?”
John sighed at the sound of Karen’s voice calling from downstairs. He had just started writing, opting out of breakfast after his wife had returned the other night and had gotten into a fit about him smoking indoors, and of course, the smell. She had replaced the towels, closed the windows and had decided not to talk about her day, especially after John gave her the cold shoulder when she tried to ask him about his writing.
The truth was he couldn’t bring himself to ask her to leave. He wanted to, God did he ever. Every inch of him was aching to tell her to go home, but his mouth would open and nothing would come out.
When they had finally fallen asleep, still arguing about the smoking, John had already promised himself that he would do it in the morning. But he had woken up with an urge to continue writing, and the thought of having a break that would get into another heated argument made him wince. The conversation could wait.
No it can’t, Johnny-boy. She’s already settled in and made friends. It’s only going to get harder.
John ignored the voice and went on typing. Not now. It could wait.
That wasn’t our deal.
“I said I’ll do it tonight,” John whispered, eyes concentrated on the work at hand.
“John!” Karen called out from downstairs. “Where the hell are the towels?”
John sighed and slammed his laptop shut, ready to drive his fist into the wall in frustration.
I guess she’ll push you to do it, buddy.
John quickly made his way downstairs, angrily storming into the kitchen as he pulled the towels out from behind the door. He held them out to his wife, Karen’s fury apparent in her eyes as she stared at him accusingly, as if he were the one causing problems. He wanted to slap her across the face.
“Why do I get the feeling that you actually enjoy the smell of whatever it is that’s coming up from there?” Karen spat, snatching the towels from his hand.
“I warned you about that,” John retorted. “I told you something’s dead in the walls.”
“Then fix it!”
“I tried!” John threw his hands into the air. “How about you do something about it? I’m actually busy!”
Karen stared at him angrily, then slammed the towels into the sink and turned the water on them. “Right, of course,” she muttered. “Why do anything when I can, right?”
“What was that?”
“You heard me!” Karen shouted, turning around to face her husband. “For the past few years it’s been me taking care of every little thing while you sat at your laptop and made up stories!”
John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Hey, that’s not fair!” he shouted. “I’ve been helping out just as much as you have. You can’t deny that.”
“Sure you were,” Karen scoffed. “Tell you what, the next time I need a babysitter for Dylan, I’ll give you a call.”
John slammed his hand against the countertop and pointed at her angrily. “I gave this family as much as you have, if not more! Don’t you go taking your frustration out on me!”
“I wouldn’t be frustrated if someone had talked to me last night like they were supposed to,” Karen hissed.
“You’re the one who came in shouting up a storm.”
“You were smoking in the house!”
“It’s not even our house!”
They stared at each other for a few seconds, both frowning, each trying to come up with the best thing to say to get under the other’s skin. When neither could think of anything, Karen turned back to the towels and John stormed out, making his way back upstairs.
That went well.
“Shut up,” John said as he sat down, opened his laptop, and picked up where he had left off.
***
June Summers felt a cold wind rush through the store when David Green walked in.
The man was a towering presence, quick with a smile that chilled and eyes too cold to really be mirrors into any kind of soul. His white hair cascaded over his shoulders in neatly combed waves, and June was quick to notice how they hid a nasty scar along the side of his neck.
Fishing accident, she remembered someone once saying. She wondered how much truth was behind that.
David gave June one of his infamous smiles and absently grabbed a pack of chips off the closest shelf to him, his eyes locked on her. She braced herself as he walked to the register and dropped his purchase in front of her.
“What do you want, David?” June asked, matching his stare but not his smile.
David looked down at the counter and then back at her. “Chips,” he said.
“I’m serious.” June pressed her lips together, already annoyed.
“The author, the one living in the old Dean house, what’s his name?” David said, snapping his fingers as he looked away thoughtfully.
“John,” June said, trying to hurry the conversation up.
“That’s it,” David said, pointing at her. “John. I see his wife’s moved in with him. You wouldn’t happen to know if they’re buying the old dump, would you?”
June shrugged and swiped the bag of chips against her screen, pushing buttons on the register. “No idea,” she said. “Why don’t you ask them?”
“I would, but I doubt they’re a very friendly bunch,” David said. “I’ve seen his wife in here a few times,” David went on. “Seems like the two of you have gotten pretty close.”
“That’s really none of your business, but what of it?”
David smiled and leaned against the counter. “I thought that June Summers would be able to help a friend out and share some of what she knows,” he said. “I know where the town gossip starts.”
June folded her arms and stared angrily at the man, her eyes squinting. “First of all, you ain’t my friend. Second, you can find your gossip in the bar down the road, if they’ll let you in.”
June thought back to the month before when David and Hank had been at each other’s throats in Denny’s Bar after a heated argument. Denny had kicked them both out, and had warned them to never set foot in the bar again. Since then, Hank had apologized and won the man’s trust back. David Green was not the apologizing type, and had been trying to shut the place down since. Needless to say, it didn’t make him any more popular.
“How is Hank anyway?” David asked, his smile widening. “Has he gotten over Irene yet?”
“Watch it, David,” June warned.
David Green chuckled, a deep, hoarse laugh that had always made June cringe.
“So there’s nothing you can tell me?” he asked.
“There’s plenty,” June shrugged. “I just don’t want to tell you.”
David nodded as he straightened himself. He looked about the small shop, his eyes taking it all in, before he took out a few bills and threw them on the counter.
“I’ll be seeing you around,” he said, turning and walking out.
“You forgot
your chips,” June called after him.
He didn’t answer her. June watched as the man pulled up his collar against the wind, looked back at her with that smile of his and walked away.
***
Karen blew smoke out in rings as she sat quietly on the bench outside. Wrapped up in her windbreaker, her hair loose and her knees pulled up to her chest, she quietly watched the skies change color as the sun set. It was calmer out here, more peaceful, and there was no way she was going to spend time inside the house with that foul smell floating around. How did John even handle it?
I think he’s right. Call an exterminator.
She wasn’t going to call anyone. If her husband couldn’t pick up the phone and do something as simple as that, then she was just going to suck it up and soldier through it. If he could stand it, so would she, until it at least got bad enough for one of them to fold.
He’s been living with the smell for a week before you got here. Do it yourself.
Karen shook her head in reply, the thought ludicrous. No more. She wasn’t going to go out of her way for him anymore. If John wanted something done, he would have to do it himself. She was done playing mommy.
She took a drag, hearing him moving around in the living room downstairs, not bothering to put out her cigarette. So what if he saw her smoke? He’d been smoking for years, hadn’t even quit when she was pregnant with Dylan, which was probably the reason why their son had to move around everywhere with an inhaler in his pocket.
He’s a selfish son of a bitch, that’s for sure.
She thought back to the years spent pampering and cooing, pushing him to write, always there when he needed her. She had been through it all, even before the bestseller that had finally given them some breathing space. She had watched him struggle to write another one, Derrick twisting his arm into sending in the other two manuscripts that were supposed to be their insurance policy. And she had smiled through it all.
