by Matt Drabble
With a final look around outside the office to make sure he was alone, Creed headed downstairs to the basement. The doctor’s office was on two levels, with the lower floor given over to storage for all of the town’s hard copy files. He thought back to his early days in town when he had taken over from Dr Lempke. The old man had been a strange one, to be sure. Lempke was a small, skinny man who did not project an aura of health and vitality. He was around five feet four with a slightly hunched stance; he had a crooked hawk nose and deep set eyes that had made Creed uneasy just to be looked at. Lempke was close to seventy when they’d met and had insisted on staying on for an additional six months - that grew to eight - in order to ensure a smooth transitional handover. Creed’s initial interview had been before a town council that had consisted of Casper Christian as town manager, Malcolm Lempke as the town’s outgoing doctor and Sheriff Quinn, for reasons that he was never entirely sure. The interview had been intense and all encompassing. His life had been pulled apart. His records, education and his private life - every corner had been examined under the brightest of spotlights. It had actually been a relief to find that the town took his appointment so seriously. If it was indicative of their interview techniques and acceptance standards then he would fit in here just fine.
Despite the town’s reputation, he had never felt able to leave the records’ room unlocked. He opened the large padlock that he had personally installed and swung open the basement door. The fusty smell radiated from the room; cardboard boxes sat upon large metal filing cabinets that lined the walls, encasing the entire room. The metallic sentries stood guard, holding the entire town’s medical history. He knew that he was breaking all kinds of rules - both personal and professional - by planning to share any information that he found on Jessica Grady. He knew that Casper would fire him on the spot for such a breach, but his job no longer seemed as important to him as the truth. He knew deep down, in the places that we don’t like to visit very often, that something was rotten here. Eden was perfect, but that very perfection must come at price somewhere along the line, and what worried him the most was just who was footing the bill.
Unbeknownst to his new friends, and even Sarah-Jane, he held his own secrets, as several times he had patched up mysterious injuries to townsfolk that the sheriff brought in. A broken arm here, a bloody face to be stitched there, and, to his shame, he had never asked the origins of these wounds. It was an unspoken rule that he was merely to perform his duty in silence and without question. The strange thing was that the injured parties had always seemed more ashamed than injured. Heads were bowed and gazes averted and the sheriff had stood tall in the examination room, his massive frame dissuading all conversation. His powerful arms were folded across his broad chest and his eyes were dark and cruel. Creed knew that something was wrong and he should be more troubled than he’d acted. His intentions had been eroded by time; the sun always shone and his days were happy. His life was far removed from the days of crushing depression in LA and he had found that a man would do almost anything for a sound night’s sleep. So he splinted the occasional arm and stitched the occasional wound. He didn’t know just what these occasions had meant, but he knew that he should have asked and his shame was intensified by his new friends' concerns. Michael and Emily were new to town and Thom was just a boy, but they were all unwilling to turn a blind eye to whatever was going on here. Creed knew that it was about time he stood up and asked a few questions of his own, starting with Mrs. Jessica Grady.
He began scanning the cabinets, checking for surnames. He ran his finger along the cool metallic surfaces; the room was gloomy but, despite his being alone, he felt a strange aversion to turning on the lights. His ears were constantly attuned to the building around him, listening for any telltale creak of a floorboard announcing unwanted arrivals.
The filing system appeared to be alphabetical, but when he got to the G’s there was no Grady to be found. He checked and double checked. He scanned the files all around the room; only one cabinet was bereft of labeling and he pulled the top drawer open. It was resistant at first and the drawer moved with a soft, tight squeak and Creed had to jiggle it all the way open. The files were of various ages; some were yellowed with time and the dust irritated his nostrils, whilst others were newer and brighter. His fingers flicked over the paperwork until his eyes caught on the name Grady. He plucked the folder from the cabinet and pulled it out into the low light.
A sudden noise from above him made him pause. A creak on the floor. The door to the basement room swayed gently as a soft breeze brushed against it. Creed knew that the breeze must have come from the outside door being opened.
Inexplicably panicking, he wrestled with the thick folder, attempting to bend it and force it into his pants in order to hide it. He ran for the door and up the stairs, struggling to conceal the Grady file as he stumbled. His heart pounded violently against his ribs as his breath caught and his chest hitched painfully. His hands shook as he sprung into the main waiting area outside his office, his eyes scanning desperately around the room. He could feel another’s presence. Someone was here, or had just left. The hidden folder suddenly felt important. It was suddenly the most important thing in his life; whatever lay within its pages had to be seen and had to be told.
Despite his own size, he was not a man capable of violent thought or deed, regardless of the situation. He had the tools; he was strong and powerful but he lacked the will. His was a nature of flight rather than fight. He moved slowly, hoping that his bulk would not give him away. He moved gently towards the main exit; the outside world and its many witnesses were suddenly terrifically appealing. He stepped as lightly as he could. There were no obvious sounds behind him as he tiptoed. His hand brushed the cold brass door handle and he eased it down. His lips pulled as he willed it silent. He pushed the door softly open. The warm breeze caressed his face and invited his yearning to be gone; he had one foot in safety when the hand grabbed his shoulder and he screamed.
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Emily got off the tram with Sarah-Jane helping her down somewhat awkwardly. She was finding that as she got bigger with the pregnancy, she was lacking the natural coordination and the grace of the larger woman. Emily had always been slim as a matter of fortunate genes and a healthy lifestyle, but now she felt like an oil tanker needing about a week to change direction. For the first time since their arrival in Eden, she was beginning to despise the weather. No matter what she wore she could never feel cool enough. It was only at home sitting in the pool that she was able to feel comfortable.
Sarah-Jane took her arm in a subconscious act of protection and Emily was glad of the company and the comfort of her friend. She was still not convinced as to just exactly what they were doing, any of them. Michael had asked Dr Creed to break his oath and reveal confidential details about a prior patient, as well as involving a teenage boy who had narrowly avoided a potentially serious assault, but had surely suffered some psychological damage. Michael had always had a tendency towards an occasionally destructive imagination; it was a curse of his profession and talent. He could be right in his suspicions, or he could just be seeing tigers around every corner.
They were on their way to meet with Alice Garfield. Alice was the oldest resident in Eden, at officially 105 years old. Emily had done a double take when Eddie, the tram driver, had suggested her and revealed her age. They had told Eddie that the school was looking to do a project on town history with the children, and did he know of the best resident to approach?
Alice lived out on Livingston. It was the oldest part of town and the houses were all original, as the town council had decreed that the buildings had to be maintained in their original design. All alterations to any house in town had to be approved and there was nowhere that this was more stringently regulated than in Livingston.
As they walked slowly around the area, Emily was charmed by the colonial style properties. All were beautifully preserved; the whites gleamed under the bright sun, the wooden fences and
the decking were sanded and smooth. Most had quaint swing seats swaying in the breeze and it made Emily ponder whether they had chosen the right area to live in. Their house was a beautiful mansion and, as lovely as it was, it was new. The home was perfect but perhaps a little soulless. Both she and Michael were used to having history surround them; back in the UK, buildings held centuries of life and experience within the very bricks and mortar.
Eddie had given them an address for Alice and they found the house easily as the streets were clearly marked with pretty signs. Alice was sitting on the porch swing, seemingly waiting for them as they approached. She stood with greater ease than Emily was currently managing.
“Hello,” Alice cried with a spry voice, her arm waving healthily. “Come in, come in.”
Emily climbed the five steps up to the house with Sarah-Jane’s welcome support. The wooden decking was planed and painted white and there were no worrying creaks as she hefted her ever-growing expanse upwards.
“Sit my dear, sit,” Alice said. “My, you are positively glowing, child. May I?”
Emily didn’t know what “may I” meant, but she was glad to get off her feet and onto the padded cushioned porch swing. “Sure,” she said.
Alice leant over with one crooked claw stretched out towards her pregnancy swell, and for one terrible moment, Emily thought of the witch in Hansel and Gretel. Alice’s kindly face was twisted into a mask of monstrous hunger, a hideous snarling façade of ravenous drooling. Emily must have turned green and looked faint.
“My dear, are you quite all right?” Alice asked with kindness.
Emily almost laughed at her silliness; one vivid imagination in the family was already quite enough. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, “it must be the heat.”
“Let me get you a drink, dear; perhaps your friend can help me carry a tray. I’m not used to serving guests, I’m afraid.” Alice laughed with a tinkle.
Emily watched as SJ flicked her a concerned look; she squeezed her friend’s hand briefly, just to show that she was okay and then she was alone as Alice and SJ disappeared into the house. The closer that they’d gotten to the house, the older Alice had looked. She still moved with a spryness that belied her years but her face was crinkled and lined with a century of experience woven into every crease. As Emily sat on the swing, she could just about glance in through the lounge window. The house was orderly and clean and there were about a million ornaments sitting proudly on display. Emily’s own grandmother had been a hoarder and collector and her house was a cavern of glass and china oddities: strange and useless delicates sent from relatives without a clue as to just what annual presents an elderly woman could possibly want. She could hear the gentle clinking of crockery from inside the house towards what must be the kitchen. Sarah-Jane’s high pitched voice sang on the breeze but did not carry coherency far enough to reach her outside.
The street was quiet and the houses were typically well swept and kept. The lawns were lush, green and well mowed, but the neighbors were absent from the hot sun's full glare. Emily suspected that most residents would be somewhat elderly in this area, a fact confirmed by Sarah-Jane on the trip over. Eddie had told them that everything was history in Livingston - houses and people alike. Emily had figured that the best place to start looking into the Casper Christian family tree would be amongst the town's oldest residents, and apparently Alice Garfield was the oldest.
“Sarah-Jane has been filling me in on what you are after, Mrs. Torrance.” Alice’s voice surprised her from behind; the old lady had crept up without a whisper, a soft slipper shuffle.
“Please, it’s Emily, Mrs. Garfield.”
“Then I’m Alice, and we’re just three gals gabbing,” Alice said smiling as she sat down with barely a joint creak onto the porch swing next to her.
Sarah-Jane pulled up a lovingly kept rocking chair and sat facing them. She placed a tray of two ice cold homemade lemonade jugs on a small table that she pulled over and placed between them. “I was telling Alice about the school project. You know, bringing history alive for the children.”
“It sounds like a lovely idea,” Alice said. “Sometimes I feel that all this knowledge is just going to rattle here forever,” she said tapping her head.
“Well, we just thought that nobody could know the town better than you, Alice, and I know that the children would love to hear all about the interesting history of Eden and her founding fathers,” Emily said as she reached for one of the lemonade jugs to pour a glass.
“Not that one, dear,” Alice said quickly. “Take the other one, it’s unleaded,” she said, smiling. “In your condition, I wouldn’t advise drinking one of my personal concoctions. An old lady’s prerogative,” she said with a cheeky grin.
Emily drew gratefully on her non-alcoholic lemonade glass; the cold liquid was sweet and refreshing in the heat.
“Well, dears,” Alice said, looking as though she was settling in for a long story, “the founding of Eden goes back a long way indeed. Perhaps not quite as long a history as you might be used to,” she said, nudging Emily, “but for us over here, it’s terribly old indeed.” She winked. “The Woodland Festival is coming up and the whole town comes out to celebrate our founding, although you can be assured that none of what I am going to tell you will be included in the festival,” she cackled.
“Were the Christians the original founding family?” Emily asked, unwilling to get sidetracked so early on. She had the feeling that Alice could wander if she wasn’t directed.
“Oh yes, and they were quite the fearsome bunch as well,” Alice said quietly, looking around the street to make sure that they were alone. “Tolan Christian is Casper’s great, great, many times great, grandfather. It is said that Tolan built the town around a logging company. Mind you, this was back before companies were thought of in today’s parlance. Tolan merely brought together a congregation to Eden and his people were converts to his word. I think that he was around his early teens and a lay preacher, as he and his mother were moving around from village to village giving sermons. If you think that Casper has a certain aura about him, you can only imagine what Tolan must have been like. For a teenage boy to draw a crowd to a new land, I bet he’d give those television evangelists a run for their money,” Alice cackled.
“Why did they follow him here?” Sarah-Jane asked.
“Times were hard, crops were failing, and hungry people will seek sustenance wherever they can find it when they’re starving, dear,” Alice continued. “From what I remember of the stories that my grandmother told me, from what her grandmother told her etc, pretty much all of the villages within a few days’ walking distance of here were dying. Tolan had the ability to hold a crowd of desperate people in the palm of his hand, and he brought them with him towards a promised land. A town that they would build and prosper from.”
“They felt that their God had deserted them and so they left their homes and followed a teenage boy out into the forest?” Emily asked incredulously.
“You must remember, dear, this was a time of superstitions and omens. People were fraught with the idea of being abandoned. No matter how much they prayed, they were never answered. I’m afraid that they didn’t have the chance to check the interweb highway or whatever it’s called. If they found a black snake it was considered a sign of a good harvest and seeds planted by a pregnant woman should flourish.”
“How many did he bring with him?” SJ asked.
“Not too many to begin with, I don’t think. I know that there were enough hands to begin building the town. Apparently, it was taken as a sign from God that only the right people showed up. Builders began building and farmers began farming. As word spread throughout the area, more and more people began showing up. They were drawn by the tales of a chosen boy who had the ear of God himself. Tolan was treated as a prophet, a holy vessel through which God spoke, and Tolan directed his will. As the crops thrived and grew strong and healthy, Tolan’s legend swelled. Soon Eden flourished and prospered and her rep
utation became a draw for the best and brightest. The woodland was laden thick with quality trees fresh for the harvesting and the ground was rich and fertile. Soon the mill was constructed and they began the logging process. Timber was used first to build the town and then for exporting beyond her borders. The town grew rich, and Tolan, powerful; his word was the law and all followed it if they wished to stay within Eden. Word around the campfire was that Tolan kept an inner circle of five members and they were responsible for enforcing the law,” Alice said with a gin infused, lemonade loosened tongue and a chuckle.
“I heard that Tolan’s teachings took a rather dark turn,” Emily said delicately.
“Oh, you’ve heard that have you?” Alice said between slurps. “I bet that was old Darnell. He always had a loose way about him.” She winked conspiratorially. “I know that there were whispers of black magic, about deals with shadowy woodland forces that kept the town prosperous. Kevin Darnell will no doubt tell you about sacrifices and crucifixions committed by those disciples of Tolan who did not ask questions. I remember hearing as a child, stories of monsters and murder. Tolan became a bogeyman for the kids of Eden; eat your vegetables or Tolan Christian will come for you in the night and snatch you into the dark woods.”
“Surely this can’t all be fact?” Sarah-Jane said. “All due respect, Alice, but surely these are just stories. I mean, I’m sure that Casper wouldn’t appreciate us teaching a class that spoke so horrifically about his ancestor?”
“I think there was even a song. Now, how did it go?” Alice spoke as though Sarah-Jane hadn’t.
“While Eden sleeps in the cold, black night,
