by Tom Deady
“This picture was in the local papers when the road was being built.”
He spun the book around so Hannah could see better. She read the caption, and, as she’d hoped, it contained their names.
“What a gang. I wonder which one of these guys is the one who stumbled into the clearing and found the bones?” Hannah said.
She hoped it sounded like innocent curiosity. Dad reached across the page and tapped the face of the African American man in the middle. He was the biggest of the three, almost a full head taller than the others, and as wide as an NFL linebacker.
“Big Jake, Grampie called him. I’m not sure why.”
Hannah laughed and once again scanned the caption. Ezekiel Jacob Mather.
“The guy looks like he could have built Route 33 all by himself. They all look so young...”
“Your grandfather was actually the oldest of the bunch. Big Jake was the youngest, if you can believe it. He lied about his age to get on the crew. He was only sixteen. When he came to Grampie’s funeral, he still looked larger than life. Other than the gray hair, he really didn’t look much different.”
Hannah’s heart quickened. He might be local if he showed up for the funeral, and he might still be alive.
“He and Grampie must have been close friends if he came back here for the funeral.”
Dad pulled the book away and started flipping through the pages again. He stopped on one toward the back and spun the book toward her. There in front of me was the same man, fast-forwarded fifty-something years. He was pouring soup from a ladle into a bowl held by what was clearly a homeless person. He was a mountain of a man, broad and thick, not fat. His hair was gray and his brown skin lined with wrinkles, but his eyes shone with an ageless inner strength. The headline above the picture read:
Jacob Mather Celebrates Thanksgiving
by Giving Back
The article went on to talk about Jacob’s work with the homeless community. He spent every Thanksgiving and Christmas at the shelter, feeding those less fortunate. He organized clothes drives and had even started a program that had vans driving around the city each night to round up anyone they found sleeping outside and offer them a warm place to rest. As inspiring as the article was, Hannah’s eyes were drawn to one thing—Jacob’s location. Concord, NH.
“Wow, Dad,” Hannah said impressed, “Grampie’s old pal is quite a guy. Do you keep in touch?”
“No, not really. A card at Christmas, you know...”
“What about the other guy?” Hannah asked.
Dad frowned. He looked at her for a long minute before saying anything.
“That was Sam Nichols. They called him Sammy-Five. I guess everybody had a nickname back in those days.” Dad laughed, but it was a sad laugh. “He disappeared that summer, the summer they worked on the road crew. I remember Grampie telling me that story, too.”
Hannah folded her arms, chilled despite the heat of the day.
“What happened?”
“It wasn’t long after the whole thing with Big Jake getting lost and saying he found that weird clearing. Jacob and Sammy were hanging out. Jacob was obsessing over the incident in the clearing, swore he would find it this time. They left for the work site at sunrise. The road still wasn’t finished, but they knew how to skirt the barriers and get there by car. They went into those woods drunker than a couple of sailors on shore leave and spent the day stumbling around the forest until they were sober.”
Dad shook his head, a sad smile creeping across his face. Hannah wondered if he was thinking about his grandfather telling it. She remembered the promise she’d made about listening to Dad’s stories.
“At some point, they got separated. They met back at the car just before dusk. Grampie told me Sammy was never the same. Started showing up drunk for work and got kicked off the crew. He went on drinking binges that lasted days, always babbling about someone being after him, that they were going to get him. They found his car down a steep embankment off the Route 33 site. It had rolled over a bunch of times and finally landed at the bottom where it burned.”
Hannah stared open-mouthed at Dad. That was not where she’d thought the story would end up.
A mild breeze came through the kitchen window, carrying the smell of pine, and for just a second Hannah thought there was a whiff of smoke there. “He died?”
“The strange thing about it is they never found Sammy’s body. No bones, nothing.”
“Could they have burned in the fire?” Hannah asked, not really believing it.
“It’s possible, but nobody thought so. Even when they cremate bodies, there are chunks of bone that survive. Nobody believed the fire was hot enough to completely incinerate him.”
Hannah could not believe what she was hearing. Another potential disappearance?
“What did Grampie think happened?”
“He said he didn’t know. There were stories that old Sammy was faking his death to try to collect insurance, other theories that his body was thrown from the car and eaten or dragged away by animals. Nobody believed any of it according to Grampie.”
“What did they believe?”
“Grampie thought the most likely explanation was that he did fake his death, but not for the insurance. He did it so he could disappear and start over. Or get away from something.”
“Wow. Who knew Hopeland was such a hotbed for weird stuff? I mean, other than the whole ‘Burning Wagon’ on Halloween, not much happens here.” Hopeland had a tradition every year of sending a burning wagon down Black Hill Road. It had something to do with Hopeland’s history as a mill town, but she couldn’t remember the details.
Dad stared out the kitchen window, that strange look on his face. The sun had changed angles and was streaming in on him. For a second, she saw Dad as a young man, just like the guys in the picture. Then he looked normal, maybe older. She shook her head, trying to clear the image.
“I guess I never thought about it, but there have been a lot of bizarre things that have happened around here,” Dad agreed.
She waited, but he didn’t say anything more.
Hannah walked down the road toward town, wishing she had her bike. She also wished Ash were with her. She’d tried calling but figured Ash wouldn’t pick up if she was in the library. Then Hannah smiled.
Who am I kidding? It would be just like Ashley to talk on the phone at the library.
Scout trailed behind her, sniffing at whatever dogs sniff at. It was the kind of day where dogs should be out sniffing, and kids should be out being kids. The sun was a golden ball against a backdrop of dazzling cerulean. It was hot, but the humidity was low, and a gentle breeze rustled the vibrant green leaves and carried all the aromas of summer. Hannah smirked at her ‘adult’ thoughts and tried to commit the feeling to memory so she would be able to record it later in her journal.
There was no good day to track down an old man and dredge up his past, she thought, but that was exactly what she was going to do. The library was off-limits, but she was headed for the convenience store where an old-fashioned telephone booth stood in the parking lot. An equally old-fashioned telephone book hung on a steel cord in that booth, and it was there that she hoped to find Jacob Mather’s number.
She approached Sanderson’s Market, checking to make sure Scout was still nearby. A car rolled up the road behind her and she kept an eye on Scout, afraid he might wander into the street. The car was taking forever to pass, and she felt a tickle of unease. The sun reflected off the windshield, making it impossible for her to see the driver. It was probably just some ancient person who shouldn’t be driving, or someone battling the sun, but...
Finally, the car drew up next to her. It was a late model she didn’t recognize, too sporty for an elderly driver, and the windows were tinted dark enough that she couldn’t see in.
She had the feeling that the driver was staring at her, she looked up and down the road, searching for the closest place to run to safety if the car stopped. It slowed more, matching her pa
ce. Scout whined and got right next to her, hackles spiking up.
Maybe it’s someone that needs directions.
Her heart was almost audible, it was beating so hard. She swallowed, her throat gone dry, and prepared to take off running. Then the car roared away in a screech of burning rubber.
Hannah exhaled, unaware she’d been holding her breath. Scout barked at the car and Hannah watched it turn off the main road and out of sight. She waited, still ready to bolt if it appeared again, but everything was quiet. The sound of the engine was gone, replaced with the buzz of the heat bugs. She walked unsteadily toward the phone booth, unable to shake the fear that had taken hold of her.
The enclosure was a throwback to times gone by—a tall glass booth with bi-fold doors for privacy. It looks like an upright coffin, she thought, her musings of a perfect summer day replaced with dread. She stepped inside and was hit with a blast of stale, oppressive air that reeked of old cigarettes and body odor. She grabbed the phone book and began flipping through the pages, pulling the steel cord taut so she could get as close to the fresh air outside the booth as possible.
As expected, there were a ton of Mathers. Hannah’s eyes slid down the page to the letter ‘E’ and there it was—Ezekiel. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Part of her had hoped that this would be a dead end and that Ashley would also come up empty. Then they would turn this whole thing over to the police and be done with it. She would salvage the rest of the summer and stop stressing out.
She shivered when a car sped by, but it was not the same one that had rolled by so menacingly moments before. Thinking of the car made her wonder if Ashley was safe. Part of the bike ride to West Meadow was on a long, winding country road. It was secluded with nothing but woods on either side.
She shook the thought away and pulled out her cell. Before she chickened out, she dialed Jacob’s number.
“Hello.” The deep baritone voice boomed through the phone. Hannah immediately recalled the picture of Mather pouring soup into the homeless man’s bowl, and a smile crept across her face.
“Hello, is this Mr. Mather? Mr. Ezekiel Jacob Mather?”
“Yes, who is calling, please?” he rumbled.
“Um, my name is Hannah Green, I’m Brian’s daughter.”
There was a long pause, followed by booming laughter. Hannah pictured the actor from that movie where the guy built a baseball field on his farm, and her smile widened.
“It’s a pleasure to hear from you, Miss Green. I must say, this is quite a surprise.”
Hannah froze, unsure what to say next. Mather filled in the silence, his voice hushed with concern.
“Is your father all right?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Mather, Dad is fine. That’s not why I’m calling. I, uh...”
“Come now, Hannah. You’ve made it this far, tracking down my number, gathering the nerve to call me. Finish the deal.”
She couldn’t stop smiling. The way his words spilled out of the phone, Hannah felt him grinning at the other end.
“I was wondering if I could ask you something. My dad told me a story about his grampie and you and Sammy-Five working on the road crew—”
Thunderous laughter from the phone silenced her.
“Hannah Green, you certainly have a piece of your great-granddaddy in you. Let me ask you something first.”
“Um... sure, of course.”
“Why does Sam Nichols get the benefit of his nickname of youth, but I’m burdened with the old-man moniker of Mr. Mather?”
Again, Hannah heard the smile in his voice and before she was able to stop the words from spilling out, she said, “You’re right, Big Jake, now may I ask my question?”
She pictured him doubled over at the other end of the phone and laughed along with him.
“Ask away,” he finally managed.
“Well, Dad told me about you finding a clearing in the woods when you were working on the road crew. I was wondering if I could talk to you about that.”
An ominous silence was the only response. She waited, glancing at her phone to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. Finally, she heard a long, heavy sigh.
“Does your dad know you are calling? Never mind. Of course he doesn’t.”
Hannah waited again, sensing the man struggling with his decision.
“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, but not over the phone.” He breathed, the whimsy gone from his voice. He just sounded old.
“Okay, thank you Mister—I mean Big Jake, but I’m not old enough to drive.”
“I’ll come to you. Is there somewhere in Hopeland we could meet? Is May’s Diner still there?”
“Yes, the diner would be perfect, but only if it’s not too much trouble.”
“I’ll meet you there at 9am tomorrow morning.” The line went dead with a soft click.
Hannah looked at her phone again, only realizing at that moment her hand was shaking.
Ashley arrived at the West Meadow Library hot and sweaty. If anyone told me I’d be visiting not one but two libraries over the summer, I would have told them to see a shrink.
“Yet, here I am,” she muttered, locking Hannah’s bike to the rack out front.
The West Meadow Library was smaller than Hopeland’s, and not nearly as quaint. As much as Ashley complained about libraries, she did appreciate the architecture of old buildings. West Meadow’s library had a newer, more functional style. It looked like every other library, town hall, or elementary school built in the seventies.
She entered the building and spotted tables with computers off to one side. She silenced her cell phone and sat down heavily in one of the utilitarian wooden chairs. Hopeland at least has comfy seats, she thought, and began her research.
Most of the information they’d found was from the same source—the mysterious blogger who seemed to know an awful lot about Abigail Hart. She spent the first hour reading and re-reading all his posts that mentioned anything about Abigail or cults. Satisfied she had learned all she could, Ashley focused on getting in touch with the blogger. Unfortunately, his website contained no contact information, no “About” section, and nothing that helped Ashley find his identity.
Ashley looked around, the short hairs on the back of her neck tingling. It was the same feeling she’d had when that bitchy Kristi had been watching her. The library was fairly crowded, but everyone seemed engrossed in their books or browsing. She shook off the feeling as paranoia.
Smiling at the thought of Mrs. Cheevers besting her by simply using Google, she opened the search engine and began typing. The Internet was an endless “how to” manual, and Ashley used that to her advantage. She bounced from site to site, reading about domain names, website creation, and hosting. Not long after, she had an email address.
Ashley licked her lips as she typed a note introducing herself to the blogger.
Hi there!
I’ve been reading your posts about Abigail Hart. Crazy stuff! I live in Hopeland and had never heard about it.
Can I ask you some questions?
Thanks,
Ashley
Bouncing in her seat, she hit “send” and started to close out of the browser windows she had opened. She left her email open until she was done and was about to “x” out of that as well when a new message popped into her inbox.
Hi Ashley,
Thanks for reading my blog. I’ve pretty much said everything I have to say on the subject, though. Trying to put it all behind me, you know?
Xfiles666
He thinks I’m one of the cult trying to track him down, Ashley realized. She thought for a moment, then replied.
Hi Xfiles666,
I totally get that. It’s just... I don’t want to say too much, but some weird stuff is going on in Hopeland now. I’m scared.
Ashley
She waited. Five minutes passed. Ten. I scared him off, she thought.
“Five more minutes,” she whispered. The reply came in four.
What kind of weird stuff
?
Ashley pondered her answer. The wrong one would mean radio silence. She decided two-stepping around the issue wasn’t going to work. Full steam ahead.
My friend’s dog dug up a human foot in the woods behind her house. We think it’s Abigail’s. She’s neighbors with this creepy old lady. We’re both scared.
This time, she didn’t have to wait for a reply, it came almost immediately.
I saw them bury her body in the woods. There’s a kind of mutant tree, I call it the Siamese Pine. I hid behind it and watched them bury her. It was creepy, terrifying; the sun was rising behind them and I was only about thirty yards away. Where did your friend’s dog find it? Never mind. Can you meet tomorrow?
Ashley took a deep breath and replied. After a few more messages, they’d agreed to meet at the West Meadow Library. Ashley would arrive at noon and sit at one of the tables in the middle of the library. Xfiles666 would decide when he got there whether or not he’d approach her.
The feeling of being watched hit her again, and she jerked her head around. Again, nobody was paying her any attention. She closed out of her email and stood, sneaking glances around but seeing nothing unusual. She went to the ladies’ room before her long ride back to Hannah’s.
She was sitting in the stall when she heard the bathroom door open. Next, she heard footsteps on the tile floor, moving slowly. Ashley assumed it was an old woman, but her radar was up after the weird feelings of being watched. More footsteps, somehow sneaky, then the door opened and closed again.
Ashley quickly finished up and booked it out of the bathroom. She looked around the library again, searching for two things—either an old woman moving slowly, or someone that looked suspicious. Everyone was reading at a table or wandering in the stacks. She ran outside to double check that Hannah’s bike was still there, thinking maybe it was someone making sure she was in the bathroom so they could snatch the bike. Just as Ashley got to the bike rack—the bike was exactly where she had left it—she heard a car gunning it out of the parking lot.