Lakebridge: Spring (Supernatural Horror Literary Fiction)

by Natasha Troop

  * * *

  “Oh, I wasn’t laughing at the mail, Mrs. Hirson.” Shelley seemed defensive. Nobody seemed to get her humor. Not even Roger after forty years of marriage could get her humor. Perhaps it was in her delivery. Stephanie had been saying humorous things all her life. At least they were to her, but people never got it. All they got was defensive.

  “I didn’t think you were, dear. I was just making a joke.” If you tell someone that what was supposed to be funny was supposed to be funny, would they find it funny after the fact?

  “Oh.” Shelley seemed to actually think about it for a moment. That’s why she liked Shelley. The girl lived in the moment and everything was important in the moment, even an old woman’s poor attempt at comedy. “Oh!” The girl actually giggled a little. “That was a good one, Mrs. Hirson.”

  Not really that good. A good one is got the moment it is told. But Shelley was a good girl for saying so. “You’re a good girl for saying so, Shelley.”

  “Thanks! So are you here to pick up Mr. Hirson’s pills or can I get you something else today?” Shelley started walking back towards that accursed store. Over the years the only reason she kept coming to Osno’s instead of finding a store a little further away was because the bastard had a good eye for help. The girls he found to smile at the public were always so sunny and warm that she couldn’t bring herself to go elsewhere, even if she couldn’t stand the man who hired them. Not to say she had ever met him. No one had. That was the problem. She liked to complain from time to time because it was her right and privilege. She survived a whole lot of years on this planet and, as a result, she had a lot of experience to back up her statements of fact. Sometimes those statements of fact came in the form of complaints and those complaints deserved to be aired. If she kept them all inside, it wouldn’t be fair to the world. The problem was, she hated to complain to the girls because it wasn’t their fault that Osno got her pills wrong or didn’t stock the right brands of soap. She tried to convince Shelley to let her slip a note or two in one of those damned copper tubes, but the girl bravely held her ground.

  “It’s not worth it, Mrs. Hirson. He’ll just get nastier.”

  Which was followed by one of those damned tubes falling into the hopper. The girl dutifully pulled it out and read the note inside. Stephanie could tell from the look on her face that the note was of the unfortunate variety that had fallen into the hopper for as long as she had been coming into the store and complaining.

  “What does the old bastard have to say now?” Stephanie knew it wasn’t pretty, but she found the notes amusing much the same. Even more amusing was watching the girls, each in their own sweet way, try to disguise the real message with polite rephrasing.

  “He says that he understands your concerns and appreciates your business, but he is unable to address your specific needs at this time.” Shelley was a dear and very good at her job.

  “And what does he really have to say?”

  Shelley looked around as if to be sure that no one could hear her, which was amusing and cute as there was no one else in the store. Then she cleared her throat and, in a low whisper, read, “‘Tell the old bag that she can fucking take her own ass down to Boston for her special order shit.’ I’m really sorry. Um, I added in the part about being really sorry.” Shelley tried to smile a little.

  Stephanie laughed. It was one of the few times in her life she had laughed as hard as that and for as long as that. Tears streamed down her face as the laughter echoed off the walls and hopefully back through that damned little slot so the bastard in the back would hear her and know that she thought his little petulant profanities were ridiculous. Shelley started to laugh with her, understanding that there was no reason to be afraid of her, that she understood that the man behind the wall was a fool.

  Another cylinder dropped into the hopper. Shelley pulled out the note and read it and got quiet for a moment, before her giggles got the best of her and she started laughing even harder.

  “What does it say, dear?” Stephanie managed to get the words out.

  Shelley wiped her tears away and attempted to compose herself. With her voice unsteady from the laughter behind it ready to explode forth, she read, “I don’t pay you to fucking laugh with the peasants, bitch!” And the laughter followed her words quickly.

  But Stephanie wasn’t laughing this time. She heard the word “peasants” and that got her. Who did this reclusive prick think he was calling his customers peasants? Who would he be without the people of Stansbury coming in to his crappy store because there was nowhere else close by to pick up the pills they needed or a bottle of aspirin? She paid money, dammit, and that had to be worth something more than an insult or a derisive comment. Her family had fought for this country in every damned war back to the Revolution and there was no way she was going to stand by and let this bastard insinuate that he was some kind of goddamned royalty that could command and be obeyed by his customers!

  Shelley saw that she had stopped laughing and quickly stopped herself.

  “Does he always refer to us as peasants?” The anger in her voice was palpable and sadly misdirected at the girl.

  “Not always.” Shelley tried to smile a little. “It’s actually one of the nicer terms he uses.”

  And suddenly Stephanie got it. It wasn’t about what he had to say. He was never going to say nice things about anyone. It was about these girls. He knew he was a prick and hid himself away as a service to his customers. He hired these beautiful, sweet wonders to stand in for him, take his invective and turn it into something as nice as they were. There was a kind of brilliance in it, really. He obviously had no ability to filter out his integral awfulness as a human being. He protected his customers from himself with a buffer zone of cute and charming girls who made people feel better. And, after all, wasn’t it his job to help people feel better? Shelley made her feel better every time she came in the store.

  “No, just the pills today. Roger’s gone and run out again and he always waits until just before he needs a new batch to send me running. It’s a good thing he checked his bottle early today. I remember the one time he waited until after the Leno show to let me know that he could possibly die during the night if he didn’t have a refill. Sadly for all of us, he woke up the next morning.”

  Shelley paused for a moment. Stephanie knew she was trying to figure out if that was a joke. After a moment, the girl laughed. Good for her. Stephanie was happy to take at least one truly honest laugh a month right now. Perhaps it was about time to pursue that career in stand-up. But first, Roger’s pills.

  As she followed the girl into the store, she noticed Ben Hamilton driving past. Even though she still hadn’t forgiven him for abandoning the town to that man-child, she still gave him a polite wave.