by Ron Shiflet
When Tara woke, it was already late afternoon. She piddled around the house for a bit, then told her father that she was going for a walk.
“I’ll be glad to go with you.”
“No, thanks, Dad,” she told him. “I really think I need to clear my head. I’ll be okay.”
“I know you will, honey. See you later.”
With that, she left the house and began to wander about the town. She mumbled “hello” in response to numerous greetings, but paid no attention to her surroundings, only emerging from her fog when she suddenly realized that she had paid no attention to where she was going. The sounds of the swamp were close, but she could not tell exactly where they were. She was lost.
Just go back the way you came, Tara told herself. She fought to control the panic in her voice. “Whatever way that was.” Looking around, she chose a direction and strode away.
Ten minutes of walking brought her nowhere familiar, only fewer and fewer houses. I’d better ask directions, she thought. Then Tara saw a man walking toward her.
Closer he came, and she could hear a little dog yipping. A Scottish terrier was running around his legs, barking at him. The man appeared to be about forty, with jet-black hair and a slight tan, built like a football player.
“Excuse me,” she called to him.
The man walked to her. He looked at her with a broad smile. “Yes, Ma’am?”
“Ma’ am?”
He smiled blankly.
“Hi. My name’s Tara Lloyd. You might know my father, Arthur Lloyd?”
The dog had been silent while she spoke, but yipped and yapped again. The man bent over slightly to look at and listen to the pooch, straightening up when the dog fell silent.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said. “My name is Charles, and I know who your father is.”
Thank heaven. “I’m lost,” she admitted. “Can you show me how to get back to his house?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
They turned to walk in the opposite direction from that in which Tara had been heading.
“Please, don’t call me Ma’am.’ My name is Tara, okay?”
“Yes, Ma’am … I mean, … Tara.” He sounded shy.
Tara glanced at Charles’s face and figure. Not bad, she mused.
“Do you live around here, Charles?”
“Yes.”
“I think I saw you walking downtown this morning. You must walk quite a bit.”
“Yes.”
This conversation was going nowhere, so Tara would have to try something different.
“Do you have family here?”
He gestured to the dog. “This is my family.”
She stooped to pet the dog, and the dog consented.
“What’s her name?”
Charles looked blank for a moment, then answered, “Myrtice. Her name is Myrtice.”
“She’s a sweet little dog.” With an ugly name, she silently added.
They walked quietly for a while, then Charles pointed ahead.
“Your father’s house is over there.”
Tara realized that she was in familiar surroundings. She had been thinking about her quiet new friend, and had paid no attention to where they were going.
“Oh! I guess I’d better head home. Thank you so much, Charles.”
“You’re welcome, Tara.”
“That’s right, no more Ma’am’.” She gave him a quick hug and turned toward her father’s house. “It was nice to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you again,” she called over her shoulder.
“It was nice to meet you, too,” was the muted response.
Tara entered her father’s house, and was met by him at the door.
“Tara, are you all right? I was worried about you. It’s starting to get dark.”
“Oh, Dad,” she replied. “What could possibly hurt anybody in this town? You know nothing ever happens here.”
“All the same ...”
“I did meet somebody, though. His name is Charles, and he’s got a little dog that runs around him all the time. Do you know him?”
Her father sat on the sofa. “Charles?” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then brightened. “Oh, of course. Charles Robeson. I guess he’s a nice enough fellow, but people say he’s not all there.” He pointed to his head.
“He seems to be a nice man, maybe too quiet, but a nice man. Can you tell me about him?” She sat next to her father.
“Let’s see.” He scratched his chin. “Well, he and his mother used to live out by the swamp. Everybody said his mother was a witch, but you know how small-town people can be. Anyway, I heard that his mother got sick and died a long time ago, and I guess he’s lived in their old house by himself ever since.”
“How sad. He must be lonely.”
Her father shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think anybody really knows him; he just walks around town all day with his dog.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not getting interested in him, are you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Dad. He’s a nice man that I met while I was walking. I got lost, and he showed me the way back here, okay? I am allowed to make friends, aren’t I? Even in Milderton?”
“Okay, okay,” he laughed. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt again.”
“Me neither.”
Her father stared into space for a moment before speaking. “You know, I had forgotten about his mother. When I was little, people used to say horrible things about her. She was a witch, she was five hundred years old, she was a cannibal, her house was haunted, all that kind of stuff. I never did know why people were so scared of her.”
“People are cruel, Dad. She probably had a birth defect that frightened them.”
A ding! from the kitchen announced that dinner was ready to come out of the oven, and brought an abrupt halt to their conversation.
The next day brought the grayness of drizzle, as though heaven had developed a slow leak. It was the kind of ugly day that keeps people inside, so that is precisely where Tara spent her day. It also reminded her of why she hated Milderton; she was bored stiff by mid-morning. She watched the one and only television station, then the rain, then more television, all the while praying for an end to the rainy weather.
Morning brought the sun’s face to a new day, so Tara’s demeanor brightened as well. Going for a walk may not have been Tara’s favorite activity, but it suited Milderton. After all, with no spa, no Internet cafe – not even a Starbucks - walking seemed the best alternative.
Tara soon spotted her new friend, orbited in eccentric figures by his Scottie. “Charles!” she called.
He waved, and came to meet her.
“Good morning,” he told her, smiling.
“Morning. How are you?”
They chatted for a moment, with Tara doing most of the chatting, and began to walk together. After only a short time, the dog started yipping at Charles. He stooped to listen, then straightened and turned to Tara.
“What time is it?”
Tara glanced at her watch. “It’s about ten-fifteen. Why?”
She noticed that the dog seemed to be listening intently to her. Charles turned back to the dog, who barked a bit more.
“It’s okay,” Charles told Myrtice. “Tara and I are going to walk together for awhile.”
The dog yipped some more.
“Twelve o’clock, at the Dairy Fairy. Yes, Ma’am.”
To Tara’s amazement, the dog turned and trotted away.
Charles asked Tara, “Will you tell me when it’s almost twelve o‘clock? I have to meet her at the Dairy Fairy at twelve o’clock.”
“You have to meet Myrtice at noon?”
“Yes.”
Tara would have laughed, but Charles was so serious. “Okay,” she told him. “Noon at the Dairy Fairy. No problem.”
Tara talked about her life, and Richmond, and what she missed while in Milderton. She prattled about many things, while saying very little, hardly noticing that Charles was quiet. She glanced
at her watch periodically, and suddenly announced, “It’s almost noon. Guess we have to go meet your dog.” She laughed in spite of herself, but Charles seemed to take no offense.
They walked to the Dairy Fairy and there, sure enough, was the Scottie, waiting for them.
“What an amazing dog,” Tara marveled. “How long have you had her?”
Charles looked to be deep in thought for a moment, then replied, “She’s been a dog since I was a child.”
“Been a dog? What was she before then?”
“She was my mother.”
Tara showed a puzzled expression and grinned from ear to ear. “Oooh, reincarnation. I never expected New Age thinking in this backwater town.” She grasped Charles’s hand. “I’m impressed.”
Myrtice yapped at them.
“I have to go home now,” Charles told Tara. “Will you be walking tomorrow?”
Tara smiled. “Yeah. I think so, yeah.”
“Good.” Charles smiled and walked away.
“Hey!” Tara called after him. “Will you be out walking?”
“We walk every day.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Tara whispered to herself.
The next day, the dog again left them, and was to meet them at noon at the Dairy Fairy. They walked and talked, that is, Tara mostly talked, and Charles mostly listened. During a lull in her conversation, Tara broached a subject that had been troubling her.
“Charles. I don’t want to offend you, but, with your New Age outlook and all.... I’ve heard your mother was a witch. That’s just small-town gossip, isn’t it?”
Charles chuckled. “Mamma messed with the swamp magic some, but she’s not what you’d call a witch. She knows how to use the power of the Earth.” He paused reflectively. “But she messed up, fooling with the wrong things, and you know where she is now.”
“Right,” Tara told him, smiling. “She’s a dog.”
“Yep.”
“Cool.”
They walked together every day for the next several days, with Charles gradually coming out of his shell, gradually adding more to the conversation. They mostly talked about Tara, a subject about which she rarely seemed to tire, and, strangely enough, about which Charles never seemed to tire, either.
Tara found herself looking forward to her walks with Charles, and also found her mind wandering to other subjects. He had never made any sort of sexual advances toward her, and Tara found that attractive in a man. Looking at herself in the mirror one afternoon, Tara saw no major flaws in her figure (real or imagined), and decided that she might need a quiet evening with this gentleman to generate a little electricity.
One evening the telephone rang at Arthur Lloyd’s house, which was not an unusual occurrence. It was unusual, however, for it to be a young man calling for his daughter.
“Tara!” He called upstairs.
She came downstairs, blonde curls bouncing with each step.
“Who is it, Dad?”
He shrugged, and handed her the phone.
“Hello?” Tara’s face flushed red as a beet. “You have a lot of nerve calling me! How did you find me! What the hell happened to you?” Fire blazed in her eyes, and her father almost believed he saw smoke wisping out of her ears. “Do you expect me to believe that? I helped you pack!” The hysteria was slowly edging out of her voice. “Really? How much?” Her voice had melted. “Oh, I love you, too, Brian. I can be on the bus home in the morning. Oh, yes, I do love you, honey. Bye.”
Tara held the receiver for a moment, eyes closed, before hanging up the phone. “Brian didn’t jilt me,” she told her father. “He owed three hundred dollars in parking tickets, so the police seized his car and arrested him. He stood me up because he was trying to get out of jail.” She moaned softly. “Now he’s paid his debt to society, and he wants to start over with me.”
“Well, I’m happy for you. I hope it all works out.”
“Oh, it will. I’ve got to catch the first bus back to Richmond in the morning,” she excitedly told her father.
“One thing,” he mentioned. “Don’t you have a walking buddy that you need to tell?”
“Oh, Charles.”
“Yes, ‘oh Charles’.”
She sighed. “I’ll miss Charles, but he’ll understand. The Spirit of the Earth, and all. I’ll tell him tomorrow.” She bounded happily up the stairs.
Her father muttered, “Spirit of the Earth? I never will understand that girl. But at least she’s happy.”
Morning saw Tara at Lem’s General Mercantile, which was also the town’s bus stop and ticket office. Waiting outside, she saw Charles.
“Hey! Charles!”
He waved in response, and walked to her, grinning foolishly. Myrtice was running alongside of him.
“Hi, Tara. How are you?”
Tara looked at her feet. “Charles, do you remember my telling you about the man that left me at the altar and we didn’t get married and I wanted to get married and I loved him so much and he hurt me so bad and...”
“What?” The words came too fast for Charles to understand.
She swallowed hard. “Charles, the time we’ve spent together has meant a lot to me, but I have to go back to Richmond.”
“Why?”
“Because I came here to get away from a problem, and it’s not a problem anymore.” Tara searched for the words. “Look, I left a man in Richmond that means a lot to me, and we’ve worked out what kept us apart.” This was harder than she had expected. “Charles, I don’t know what I would have done without you. You helped me though a bad time, and I’ll never forget you. Thank you.”
Myrtice barked excitedly.
“Wait,” Charles begged. “When does your bus leave?”
Tara glanced at her watch. “I still have an hour and a half,” she told him.
“Can we walk for awhile, then?”
Tara smiled at her friend. “Sure.”
Chatting about everything and nothing, Tara paid no attention to where they walked. When Charles stopped walking, and his dog stopped her constant yapping, Tara glanced around and realized that only one house was nearby.
“Where are we, Charles?”
“My house,” he quietly told her. “Mamma said to bring you home before you leave. She said she thinks you are probably very sweet.”
Grinning, Tara told him, “Mamma said that?” She took Charles by the arm. “I’m flattered, but it’s really okay that you want to show me your house before I go.” She gave his arm a gentle squeeze, and looked into a stoic face. “Why so sad? I’ll be back.”
“I’m going to miss walking with you.”
“I’ll miss you, too, Charles,” she replied, as they walked up the steps to an old two-story house. The chipping white clapboard concealed a house that had seen better days. It appeared to be clean, but could stand a coat of paint and a few repairs.
Charles opened the door into a cool, dark room. He lit an antique glass oil lamp, trimmed the wick, and explained, “They never ran the electricity out this far.”
“Neat. It’s like going back in time.” The house fascinated Tara. She ran her hands across antique furniture that ranged from a settee to armoires. “Pretty,” she gushed, as she passed a mahogany china closet.
Tara rubbed Charles’s arm and felt muscles rippling underneath his sleeve. She was going to get married soon, but she would not return to Milderton, and, after all, don’t men have their bachelor parties? What’s wrong with a very small bachelorette party?
Pulling Charles close, she kissed him on the cheek and asked, “Where’s the bedroom?”
“Upstairs.”
She chewed her lip. “I want to see,” she whispered. Charles nodded. As they passed a door underneath the stairs, Tara asked, “Before we go upstairs, what’s in here?”
“Oh, that was Mamma’s room, where she worked her magic.”
“Ooh, I want to see.”
“No, it’s locked up.”
“Please,” she whined.
&nbs
p; “Okay.” He relented, so easily that Tara thought he really wanted her to see. Unlocking the door, Charles showed her a room that was like nothing she had ever seen. The walls were draped in black, as were a six-foot table and chair in the center of the room. Showing bizarrely twisted expressions, masks hung on the walls alongside deer antlers and a pentagram that must have been three feet in diameter. Charles placed the lamp on a smaller table by the wall. Tara lifted a knife off the table, examined the arcane engravings on the blade and placed it next to a golden chalice.
“Cool,” she whispered. Grinning slyly, she added, “This room really gets me in the mood.” She leaned back on the table. “You know, this table is big enough to use as a bed.” She slowly began to unbutton her blouse. Charles smiled, so Tara kissed him and continued to undress.
Sounding bewildered, Charles asked, “Do you know what we’re doing?”
Tara grinned as she stripped. “Oh, I think so.”
Charles set the knife and chalice off the table and began to undress. “I have to be naked, too,” he told her.
Tara stopped. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”
“No.”
“Well, this should be fun.” She finished stripping and stretched out on the table. Looking at Charles, she saw that he was tying her to the table.
“Hey, I thought you’d never done this before.” He did not reply, but she watched quietly as he bound her hands and feet to the table. Myrtice’s yipping distracted Tara momentarily, and, when she looked at Charles again, he was standing beside her. He placed the chalice on the table next to her chest.
“Well, Charles, are you just going to stare at me, or are you going to do something?” She grinned broadly. “Come on. I’m ready for you.”
Charles began to chant in some unfamiliar language, as Myrtice yipped and yapped, as if he was repeating what the dog told him.
“This is getting strange, Charles.” Apprehension was beginning to creep into her voice.
He lifted the knife high above her heaving chest, the glint of steel in his hands drawing her gaze like a magnet.
