The Mark (Weeping Willow Book 2)

by Steven Evans

  They’d never given up and wanted to quit or die. They’d never tried a silly ass plan to end their lives or needed rehab to straighten out their completely messed up way of thinking. They’d faced their fears, battled through them, and had come out victorious on the other side to enjoy their new-found tranquility. If nothing else, these people had been survivors, and they had known how to endure life’s pitfalls.

  Chapter Three

  Storm’s a Coming

  I would’ve laughed if not for the pains shooting through my ass. The shameful look I was wearing took precedence over everything else. I couldn’t believe how clumsy I was, tripping over my own feet and falling on the coffee table and then smashing it to pieces with my bottom-heavy butt. Standing there pulling splinters out of my ass, I thought, Well, maybe it’s time to visit Mr. Harte again. Maybe he’ll have a replacement, and I can ask about the book and exactly what it was supposed to show me.

  ***

  The bell ringing masked the creaking of the door as I pushed it open. Before I even got one foot in the door, I heard his voice ring out from a hiding place somewhere amidst the jungle of aisles and furniture.

  “Well, come on in. What can I do for ya today?”

  “Well, Mr. Harte, I…”

  “It’s Will. None of this Mr. crap!”

  “Ok, well…Will, I sorta need another coffee table? I seem to have smashed the other one to smithereens. I said a few words as I buried it in the back yard.”

  Scratching his head as he emerged right in front of me, he said, “How in the world did ya manage that?”

  With a guilty half smile I said, “Ohh… lost my balance, tripped over these two left feet, and ended up crashing through the table before hitting the floor.”

  His right eyebrow furled a little as he said, “Well that beats it all! Had ya been hitting the sauce?”

  “No sir! I don’t drink at all.”

  “Is that so? So ya just can’t walk and committed a coffee table homicide huh?” He was smiling now, and I could tell that he wanted to pull my chain a little more, but he didn’t. “Well, hope ya came out with no permanent damage.”

  Gently rubbing my butt, I laughed and said, “Only to my pride, nothing that won’t heal.”

  He couldn’t restrain his chuckle any longer, and his belly cascaded as he roared out loud. After a few minutes, he regained his composure enough to speak.

  “I wasn’t meaning to pry into your personal affairs. What a man does in his home…well, that’s his own business. Unless, of course, he needs help pulling splinters from his nether regions.”

  Again, he exploded into laughter, his belly nearly bouncing off the floor.

  I couldn’t help but laugh along with him. As we stood there trying to see through the tears now flooding our eyes, and attempting to catch our breath, a sudden wind stirred up. It was fairly strong, too. It blew the door open so fast the bell didn’t have a chance to sound off. The wind was cold, and immediately forced goose bumps to appear.

  Will was visibly shaken by this, and I didn’t know what to make of his reaction.

  He said, “I need to sit for a minute.”

  “Ok, well, there’s a couple chairs right here. Let’s take a seat for a while.”

  He was nervous and fidgety and looked a little scared. Sitting there uneasy in his chair, arms intertwined, shifting from side to side, he crossed his legs-- first one and then the other. I was dumbfounded. I didn’t understand why that wind had sent him into such hysterics and had caused his sudden and severe mood change. Surely that little breeze hadn’t been enough to induce such a noticeable reaction, had it?

  “Will, are you alright?” I asked.

  “Mister, the storms are a comin’! They get bad around these parts. Everyone either gets prepared or… or they just leave!”

  There was no expression on his face as those words escaped his mouth. I didn’t know what to say, let alone what to do. He was obviously upset and not able to continue our conversation. I guess my questions about the book would have to wait for another time.

  I said, “Will, what storms? Why do people pack up and leave town over winds and rain? Besides, I’m pretty much on high ground. How bad can it be?”

  That hit a nerve, and his eyes lit up like roman candles as flashes of anger shot across his face. He vigorously began to rub the reddish-brown beard shielding his face, and his pupils, dilated and fixed on mine, was locked straight into my face. He stared me down for a minute before he spoke.

  He snapped, “Don’t be foolish! Take some advice from an old man who has been around quite a bit longer than you, and may have learned a few things in his many years of experience. Trust me, the storm’s a comin’, and you’d be wise to prepare for it, or follow the rats off the sinking ship right the Hell out of town!”

  I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. His advice made no sense.

  I asked, “Will, since you’re being so free with riddles, how do you suggest I get prepared for these infamous storms, because I’m not leaving!”

  I thought he would suggest something along the lines of supplies: food, water, blankets, and candles, that sort of stuff-- the normal and necessary items. But that’s not the response I got. He simply looked me over, still rubbing his long whiskers.

  “Leave! Before the storms get here. Leave!”

  This reaction wasn’t what I had expected, and it even pissed me off a bit. My face heated up like a furnace, turning red as the blood starting to boil beneath the skin. Instead of making a scene by sprinting out the door and slamming it behind me – which I really wanted to do just for the satisfaction I’d get from it – I turned and spit out,

  “Thanks for nothing! All those years of experience and that’s all you have to say! I may as well have asked the damn clock on the wall for advice. Thanks anyway for your so-called wisdom, for what good it’ll do me.”

  “It’s on the way. You’ll see and wish ya would’ve listened to this old fool! Mister, the storm’s a comin’ as sure as you’re there about to twist the knob plum off my door. It’s coming!”

  With that, he wobbled off through the store, muttering under his breath, and disappeared.

  I was more lost and confused than ever now, and I was upset that I hadn’t been able to ask him questions about the book. The storm wasn’t even here, and already it was running interference on my research. I didn’t have any answers and probably couldn’t make heads or tails of them if I did. The hoard of useless information now cluttering my mind was clogging any chance of making sense of this shit or finding a sensible explanation for it all. My mind was blank! Knowing there was no reason for it, I decided to just drop it and head home. Lord knows I wouldn’t want to get caught up in these world-famous storms that struck fear in the hearts of these ignorant people. Storms, my ass!

  Why in the world did these guys believe such nonsense? They acted like the storms were of apocalyptic proportions, destroying everything in their path, but somehow the town and the people were still there. I saw no signs of previous damage. Wow. How simple minded could people be?

  I guess everyone was right; it was storm season. Though I wouldn’t classify the events of the past couple nights as storms. I’d been soaked more by bug guts splattering on the windshield than what these weak storms had mustered up so far.

  The first few showers had barely covered the ground and had left no trace. Honestly, they were quite a letdown after all the suspense built up by the people in town. I was beginning to think they’d made me the butt of some lame joke. You know, scare the new guy. Tell him stories of powerful and mysterious weather just hoping he’ll pack up and run away. Real funny! But I refused to play along!

  Once again, as with every other night this week, right around dusk, the clouds rolled in to hide the sun’s retreat. Darkness was ushered in by the skies rumbling, anxious for its turn on watch. Nothing new, a few less than spectacular sparks, a mild stirring in the air, and thunder. I’d been moved more by a fat man’s belly a
ching for food. Not expecting any surprises or unknown excitement from tonight’s episode, I plopped down on the couch, threw my legs up, and grabbed the crossword that had outsmarted my solving abilities all week.

  I hadn’t made any progress on the puzzle when a chill blew across the hardwood floors, intent on turning my toes into popsicles. With the goose bumps racing to break the land speed record from one end of my body to the other, I hopped up to ease the thermostat over a little more. Maybe just a little! Through the window, I noticed that trees were starting to sway and dance in the wind’s orchestration. The poor bushes were trying to hold on for dear life to their positions by the road, but were already surrendering as they were brought to their knees. The dust seemed to be back building like a fire searching for oxygen before it unleashed its destructive force. I knew this might be what they were all so scared of.

  Suddenly I heard something! It was low and muffled, too faint to make out. It sounded almost like a kitten calling for its mother, but I hadn’t seen one since I’d been here. What could it be? I rushed to the door and looked outside. A gust of air nearly ripped it from my grasp, and I struggled to keep a hold of the handle. I looked around, but there was nothing. No cat or animal of any kind, just the wind whirling about in chaotic disarray, traipsing in and out of the branches. I convinced myself that that was all it was! It took every ounce of my strength to maneuver the door back into place and securely shut.

  I managed to file these events under the category of “weird, but not supernatural. My mind was aching from the grueling stress inflicted by the devious crossword puzzle, so I decided to grab a snack before attempting to thwart its diabolical plan of world domination by means of one migraine at a time. I loaded my plate with all the junk food all-stars, chips and dip, half a sub, a Pepsi, and for desert, at Little Debbie’s urging, a Swiss roll. Now that was a meal! I could hear “Skip to My Lou” playing in my head as I meandered back to my spot. Now, I was ready to relax and chow down and regain the energy to assault the brain teaser from Hell.

  Just as I set my plate and drink down to plump up my pillows so that I could sit back to eat, another icy breeze invaded my personal space and sent shivers up my spine. The curtains began to blow, and there… there it was again, that sound! I heard a low fragile whining lingering in through the cracks. Some creature was crying in the night. I jumped to my feet and rushed to find my flashlight, and then I hurried back to the door, hoping I wasn’t too late again to miss whatever was making the noises. Nearly jerking the hinges out of the wall as I slammed the door open; I shined the light feverishly into the darkness, trying to spot something…anything besides the wind. Yet again, I saw nothing! No signs of anything but an average storm already beginning to lose its strength and slumber off.

  Resigned to believing I just wasn’t used to the moans and groans an old house made, I returned to my cozy couch. Finishing my snack, I turned back to my headache. Now, what is an eight-letter word for “no longer in use?”

  ***

  This pattern occurred every night for the next several days. First, at dusk, the storms blew in. Then the winds picked up. Next, I would begin hearing the soft sounds of a seemingly frightened animal outside my door. I always leapt to my feet and rushed to the door, pleading with the wind to just ease up enough to allow me a chance to find the poor thing, but it never cooperated with me, and I never found a single trace of anything on the porch or even in the front yard the next morning.

  These were in no way “super storms”, but they were damn sure annoying enough to aggravate the piss out of me. I set my mind to go into town and ask if anyone else had ever experienced the events from the previous nights like I had. Though I really didn’t expect any more cooperation from those people, and I doubted they’d answer my first question. But I had to try. All they could do was ignore me, like every other time they saw me coming!

  Chapter Four

  Adder Lewis

  My first stop was at Mr. Harte’s. He had always been ready to talk-- well, most of the time anyway. At least, he was more so than anyone else.

  His voice filled the air, “What can I do ya for?”

  “Will, come out; come out, wherever you are!” I said, trying to make him smile before I hit him with twenty questions about the storms.

  “Oh, it’s you,” he smirked. “What, did ya break another table?”

  “No, no I didn’t. Just wanted to talk is all.”

  “Well, I have nothing to say! Never should have opened my darn fool mouth in the first place!”

  I could see that his jovial disposition was gone, and he was no longer willing to talk about anything other than furniture. And he wasn’t too happy to be doing that right now either.

  I said, “Since you’ve joined the ranks of those being hateful to me, do you know of anyone else who may not have their head crammed up their superstitious ass, and would be willing to talk to me?”

  He looked at me with his eyes clinched halfway shut and his lips puckered like a scared little kid waiting for his first kiss and said, “Mister, there’s not one single solitary soul in this town who is daft enough to ever talk to ya! Your foolishness will bring a vengeance down upon us unlike any recorded in the town’s history! You’re not one of us, and you never will be. So, with that in mind, you need to leave!”

  My patience with the ignorance of these backwoods, hillbilly, and inbred simpletons was wearing off extremely fast as I yelled, “What the Hell does that mean?”

  He pointed out the door and demanded, “I’ll thank ya to exit my store immediately!” This time he didn’t walk off and disappear. No, he just stood there staring at me and waiting for me to leave. “Go on, get, before I call the sheriff and have ya removed from the premises permanently!”

  Completely disgusted and at a loss to understand the behavior of these people, I said, “Yeah, sure, whatever you say! This whole fucking town is certifiable!”

  I left the door wide open as I quickly made my way to the street.

  My temper was raging as I marched down the center of town. I was so engrossed in the conversation I was carrying on with myself that I didn’t even notice the person lurking in the shadows behind me. Stealthily, he was trying to get my attention without drawing any to himself.

  Shaking clear of the fire still inhabiting my eyes, I yelled, “What the Hell do you want?”

  I couldn’t tell who it was. They wouldn’t break the barrier of shadows long enough for me to make out their face. I only saw a dark silhouette and a covered arm motioning to me. Really not feeling up to any games, I stormed over, grabbed him by the collar, and demanded an answer.

  “If you have something to say, just say it already!”

  He never spoke, but being this close, I knew that it was James from the drugstore, the kid who had all but ignored me when we had first met. He nervously reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled-up piece of paper. Then he twisted it into my hand. As my attention was taken from him to the note, he jerked loose and ran off into the labyrinth of alleys hidden in darkness. I tried to chase after him, but it was no use. His young legs outpaced mine, and my lungs failed me after only a short sprint. Besides, I was sure that he knew the town better than I ever would, and there was no way I could’ve ever caught him.

  My attention turned back to the paper. I wondered what could be on it, and why he went through all the shadow games. Nothing about this place was normal, and these people sure as Hell fit right in. Curiosity getting the best of me, I stopped at the first working street lamp and retrieved the note from my back pocket. I was anxious to know what was on it-- what secret it revealed, but I was still uneasy with what it might actually be. After all, this kid didn’t seem to be playing with a full deck.

  As the fading light uncovered the chicken scratch, I was both surprised and disappointed. There was no message, no secret, nothing to warrant James’ shadowy ninja-like motives. There was nothing of significance except a name and an address:

  Adder Lewis - 1432 Po
ssum Slick Rd.

  A mile northeast of town, then right ¼ mile, can’t miss it.

  Why in the world would he go through so much trouble to hand me this worthless note? I decided that there was nothing I could do about it tonight, so I continued on my way home.

  ***

  Rubbing my eyes in an effort to erase the remnants of a sleepless night, the events from last night started to filter in and play back in my mind. Instantly, I was gripped with rage. I just couldn’t believe how foolhardy they were acting. All of this over a few rain clouds, and now I was being shunned!

  Staggering on legs not fully awake, I stumbled into the bathroom. Chasing James around a dusty rain-drenched town and getting overheated the way I did had worked up a sweat, and the rank odor was permeating throughout the entire house, making my eyes burn and leaving me in desperate need of a shower. The stubble that graced my face and chin could use a little attention as well. Hopefully, the shower would be revitalizing enough that I’d have the energy to look for more answers. Some fresh clothes, maybe a splash or two of some smell-good stuff, and I would be all set.

  Sitting on the couch, lazily putting my socks and boots on, I suddenly remembered the note young James, the night-time assassin, had handed me. Hobbling with one boot still off, I fished my pants out of the hamper to look at the note again. I thought, a quick bite to eat, and I’ll have to pay this Adder Lewis a visit.

  I really shouldn’t have been surprised that James’ sense of direction was as extensive as his vocabulary, but I could’ve done without the three hours of being lost down deserted roads out in the boondocks. I swear I passed the same grove of trees five times already! His “mile” northeast became four and his “quarter mile” was more like one. His right and left had me trapped in an almost inescapable maze most of the morning. Despite all the wrong turns and bad directions, I finally found Possum Slick Rd., and just followed it to fourteen thirty-two, which was no easy task. Hardly any mailboxes were marked, and, if they were, it’d been years since the numbers had been replaced. Houses were separated by blocks, or, in some cases, miles. One would say six hundred and something, and the next would be four hundred. Yet somehow, and no thanks to James, I found the right place.