Nothing Town

by Cherie Mitchell

  “Uh.” He’s shaking his head and pushing himself away from the table without standing up. The legs of his chair screech against the floor, setting my teeth on edge. “No cameras. No cameras or mirrors.”

  “Any particular reason?” Why am I finding everything this man says or does so damned irritating?

  “Just don’t like them.” He drops his head to slurp from his coffee cup without lifting it from the table and I’m struggling to pretend that I haven’t noticed he’s being an absolute pig.

  I decide to skip over some of the questions on my list and throw in a few different ones for Ronnie. The fact that he’s the first ‘country boy’ I’ve spoken to out of the handful of men I’ve met so far might give me a new perspective on the assignment. “I’ve talked with a few men from Euthanasia who’ve mentioned that I should only date the guys from town. What’s your take on this, Ronnie?” I decide not to add that his own father is one of the guys who have warned me off the country men.

  He stares into space for a long moment, as if he’s thinking hard about my question. “I’m not sure. There’s always been a rift between the town and country citizens. Goes back years.”

  Oooh, interesting. “What started the rift?”

  “Dunno.” He kicks his foot against the table leg as a small trail of drool begins to make its way down the side of his chin. “Something to do with the decree.”

  “What decree?” He’s giving me just enough information to keep me on the hook but not enough to satisfy my curiosity. If it was anyone else but Ronnie, I might think he’d planned it that way. “Care to elaborate?” I’m itching to pull out the video camera and film this but I have to make do with taking notes on my phone. I wonder if I can surreptitiously lift the phone and turn it on to record without Ronnie seeing what I’m up to, but the idea doesn’t stay with me for long. I’ve always prided myself on my honesty and I’m not about to chuck those morals overboard now.

  “The Sacral Decree.”

  I notice that he’s crossed his fingers as he says the words and I point this out to him. “It clearly has some reverence to you.”

  “It does.” He ducks his head and slurps at his coffee again, looking like a big, dopey Golden Labrador.

  This feels as if I’m attempting to wring a single drop of water out of a brick with my bare hands. “Are you going to tell me what the Sacral Decree is?”

  “It’s a memorandum. I’m not sure if I know how to explain it.”

  I make a mental note to look it up when I visit the library. Something tells me that Ronnie Kenworth isn’t the right person to talk to about this.

  He pushes his coffee cup away and grins at me. His eyes are the same color as his father’s when they’re cataract free. He looks sweet and sexy when he smiles and I decide to give me the benefit of the doubt. “So, Ronnie. Have you dated many girls?”

  “Not many. There was one. Annie.” He stares wistfully at a point above my head. “She was real pretty.”

  “What happened to Annie?” Ronnie is the first of the men whom I’ve so far met to mention a woman he’s dated by name. Maybe I’m getting somewhere.

  “She’s gone.”

  “Uh, gone where? Has she left town? Or did she leave you?”

  “Both, I guess.” He looks right at me, inserts his finger deep into his nostril and busily gets to work, leaving me gawping at him with my mouth agape and my yuck-o-meter switched to high.

  Ronnie keeps talking but I can’t hear a word he’s saying as my entire focus is taken up with the mining operation currently underway in front of me. He’s openly ferreting around in his nose while we’re sitting here chatting. Is this guy for real?

  Just when I think the date can’t get any worse, a large, fat, brown-assed blowfly lands on the rim of my coffee cup and begins to rub its scrabbly legs against its bloated body. There was a young lady who swallowed a fly… I’m done. As from this very second, I’m done. I grab my bag and slide out of my chair, putting as much distance between the blowfly and Ronnie as I can. “I should get going. My family has just arrived in town and I want to spend some time with them. Do you recommend Waffle Palooza? My little brother has specifically requested that we have waffles for dinner.”

  “Dunno. I don’t eat waffles.” He removes his finger and stands up, clumsily knocking against the table with his knee, and holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Shit-a-roonie, there’s no way I’m shaking that hand. Not after the disgusting way he just went booger hunting with those fingers. “It was great to meet you, too. Have an awesome day, Ronnie!” Then I turn and flee out that door as if Grandma-the-zombie is hot on my tail.

  I’m left with a bad taste in my mouth after the date, along with the feeling that I need to take a shower with a wire scrubbing brush and several liberal squirts of disinfectant. Ronnie presented himself on the dating app wearing a persona and character that didn’t match who he was. It was if he’d read somewhere about how to talk and act like a cool guy but something vitally important was lost in translation. Almost as if he’d tried on a coat that didn’t fit him properly but he wore it anyway.

  Anyway, Ronnie and his icky habits are minor stuff. It’s not as if I ever have to see him again. He did tell me about the Sacral Decree and he admitted there was a definite rift between the town of Euthanasia and the country folk, so I guess I owe him for that. I hook the strap of my bag over my shoulder and start back toward Windfell. I’ll have dinner with Mom and Reece tonight then I’ll brace myself for the arrival tomorrow of Cyclone Organza.

  Chapter Twelve

  Waffle Palooza is surprisingly busy when we arrive. It’s one of those cutesy themed restaurants with red and white checkered tablecloths, tiny vases of wildflowers on the tables, and framed Norman Rockwell prints on the wall. Small town dining at its finest. The clientele is mostly middle-aged men and a sprinkling of middle-aged women, although there is a table of young men close to the door. I feel those men’s interested eyes on as I walk in and I can see that Mom’s getting her share of attention too. How is this female-starved town going to cope with my sister in all of her contoured, sleek, and magnificent Organza-ness?

  Reece politely holds out Mom’s chair for her to take a seat as a server walks up with some menus. All of the wait staff in here are male and they’re watching on enviously as the guy who has our table starts up a conversation with Mom. I glance over and smile at a plump matron wearing an unflattering salt and pepper hairstyle and an appalling floral dress who is dining with her old man husband. She gives me a frosty glare and a tight smile before she looks away.

  I do a quick headcount of how many women there are here, as it’s certainly the largest number of females I’ve seen in the one place since I bounced into town in Sid’s pickup. By my reckoning, there are four ladies of a ‘certain age’ and none of them seem too happy to have us here this evening. Unlike the men.

  “This is nice,” Mom says as she flutters her eyelashes, clearly basking in the young server’s attention. She hands the menu back to him, along with a beatific smile. “Waffles and bacon, and a pink lemonade. Tell the chef I like my bacon crisp enough to crunch. Thank you, dear.”

  Mom pretty much gave up drinking a few years back after breaking up with Roger. Before that, she was what they used to refer to as a lush in the old days, which I always thought was a sweetly feminine name to call a drunk. I think her overindulgence with alcohol started after Dad turned into a zombie on Cemetery Hill and it just kept spiraling after that. I’d like to be able to say that she’s a nicer person now that’s she’s not permanently tipsy, but she isn’t.

  “Chicken and waffles,” Reece announces, but the server is looking at me rather than him.

  “Take my brother’s order first,” I mumble. “I’m still deciding.” I use the menu as a cover to allow me to dart another look around the room. It’s disconcerting to see the occupants of almost every other table are focused on what my family and I are doing. I lift my menu mask a little higher. As a TV
reporter, I’m used to people watching me but this is just weird. We’re just an ordinary family out for dinner and that shouldn’t warrant the amount of attention it’s getting.

  “Miss? Have you decided?” Mr. Anxious-To-Please raises his eyebrows at me and poises his pencil.

  “Same as my brother. Plus a cola.” I shove the menu back at the server and smile across the table at Mom. “This isn’t what I expected. I had hoped for a quiet family dinner.”

  She’s busily preening and fluffing as if she’s a visiting movie star. It’s obvious she’s noticed that we’re tonight’s show at Waffle Palooza and I have no doubt she’s loving it.

  “How was your date, Ellie?” Reece isn’t the type of person to ask a question for the sake of courtesy. If he asks you something, it means he genuinely wants to hear the reply.

  “Date?” Mom perks up, finally more interested in what’s going on at the table rather than what’s going on around it. “You didn’t tell me it was a date. You said it was an errand.”

  I exchange a world-weary look with Reece. We both know Mom has never been too good at listening. Sure, I said I was off on an errand this afternoon but I’d already explained to her about the job I’m doing in Euthanasia. It felt rude to abandon them so soon after their arrival to go on a date so I’d framed my activity as an errand, expecting them both to put two and two together without me needing to make it obvious. It seems Reece easily came up with four as the answer to that little sum but Mom’s forgotten how to add.

  “It wasn’t a real date, Mom. It was part of my assignment. And Reece, in answer to your question, it was okay. The subject was a kinda… odd.” Odd is a word that sums up Ronnie Kenworth to a tee. I briefly wonder if his brothers are cut of the same warped cloth or if it’s just Ronnie who is specifically made that way. What do they call those one-off pieces that dressmakers put together to highlight a unique new project? Oh, that’s it – a sample. Perhaps Ronnie is a sample and his brothers are more general fashion line.

  Reece kicks me under the table and I realize that Mom’s talking to me and has probably been talking to me for a few minutes now. “Sorry, what did you say? I was thinking of something else.”

  “I asked if you’re seeing anyone seriously. You haven’t had a boyfriend since Liam, or at least none that you’ve told me about. You do know that I want grandchildren one day.”

  Shit-a-roonie. Not the grandchildren conversation. I’m about to give her a smart remark but I bite my tongue instead. I guess she doesn’t have much hope of ever having grandkids, not with the bunch of children she raised. I don’t think I’m the mothering type, Reece has scarcely ever looked at a girl, and Organza is in love with no one but herself. It must look like slim pickings in the grandchildren stakes from where Mom is sitting. “No, I’m not seeing anyone seriously. I’m concentrating on my career right now, which is why I accepted this assignment all the way out here in the boondocks.”

  Luckily, our meals arrive then and the grandchildren conversation shuts down as we attack our waffles. They’re actually really good, with just the right amount of softness and crust, and I feel myself starting to relax. The next few weeks with my family might not be so bad after all.

  By the time we leave, most of the other diners have already left and the few that remain have stopped staring at us so intently. We stroll through the darkening streets, heading back to Windfell, and Reece loops his arm through mine as we walk. Stars twinkle overhead, the moon is on the rise, and a warm, gentle breeze ruffles my hair. It’s remarkably pleasant and even Mom seems content. We reach the house and I can’t help but look over at the silver birch trees. There they all are, four of them in a row, acting as tree-ish as any tree can. All is right with the world.

  Mom bustles around making hot chocolate with marshmallows while Reece and I flick through the TV channels for something to watch that we’ll all enjoy. It’s a good family evening, the best we’ve shared in a very long time, and I just hope that Organza’s arrival doesn’t ruin everything.

  As I soon discover, Organza will be the least of my worries.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mom starts yawning around 10pm and she tells us she’s going to bed. I’m glad to have the chance to talk to Reece on my own without her listening in. I grab a throw blanket and go to squeeze up next to him on the sofa. “Shove over, baby brother.”

  “What do you think of this town, Ellie?”

  “What do I think of it? It’s just another small town. I don’t think I have an opinion either way. Why do you ask?”

  He shrugs as he drops another marshmallow into the dregs of his hot chocolate. “I don’t know. Did you know that marshmallow originally came from the root of the marshmallow plant? Ancient Egyptians used it to make sweetmeats and candy for their Gods and Pharaohs.”

  “No, I didn’t know that but I’m not surprised that you’re the one to tell me. Do you still get to read a lot? Or do you feel oversaturated with words now that you work with books all day?”

  “I still read a lot.” He shoves the marshmallow down under the surface of the hot chocolate with the tip of his finger and I’m hit with a nasty image of Ronnie with his finger up his snout. “What about the whispers, Ellie? Don’t they bother you?”

  A clutch of ice cubes rolls helter-skelter down my spine. “What whispers?”

  “The voices on the wind.” He turns his clear, honest gaze on me. “Didn’t you hear them when we walked home?”

  This conversation is making me feel like a canary in a coalmine. I have the sudden, sure knowledge that something bad is about to happen. “I didn’t hear any voices,” I say lightly. “Did you hear what they were saying?”

  “Beware, watch out, step carefully – all that sort of stuff.”

  My mouth is so dry that I can hardly speak. “Did they scare you?”

  “Nope.” He lifts his mug to his lips and drains the gooey, chocolate-y, marshmallow-y dregs down his throat.

  “Why weren’t you scared?”

  “They didn’t sound scary. They just sounded sad. I think the voices are coming from those four ladies at the side of the house.”

  Wut? I’m rapidly sinking out of my depth here and that lifebuoy of logic is getting further out of my reach by the second. “Four ladies? Which four ladies are you talking about?”

  “The thin, bony ladies standing at the side of the house,” he repeats patiently. “They said they rap on the window sometimes but you haven’t invited them in.”

  I’m about to jump up off the sofa and shriek that this can’t be happening again. Reece, picking up on my mood, lays his hand on my knee to stop me. “It’s okay. Keep calm, Ellie. It’s not that bad.”

  “I am calm. See?” I hold my hands out in front of me, palms down, and we both watch as they tremble and shake.

  “They said they’ll only come in if they’re invited. You don’t have to worry about them coming in on their own.”

  “Who are they? Did they tell you that much?”

  “One of them did. Mrs. Oakleigh. She’s the tallest one.” He places his mug back on the coffee table, being careful to line it up exactly with the table edge. “It’ll be good to see Organza again.”

  I need to keep him focused on what I need to know. “Reece, I can’t see the ladies. They look like trees to me. Do you see many things that other people don’t see? I know about Obidiah but is there anything else?”

  He looks at me pitifully, as if I’ve just uttered something so ridiculous that I should be sent to the silly corner. “How am I supposed to answer that? I don’t know what other people see.”

  Fair enough. The tapping starts up at the window again but I refuse to allow my gaze to drift over there. Instead, I lower my voice and snuggle in closer to my brother. “Have you ever seen Obidiah again? Since we left Gypsy Town?”

  “I saw him once.” He turns to me and I see a glimmer of accusation in his glance. “You guys hated on him. I never could understand why.”

  “Reece, he was the reaso
n… oh, never mind.” I was about to launch into a spiel about Obidiah being the one behind the whole zombie nightmare, behind our grandparents’ death, behind Dad’s death, but what’s the point? Reece was a little boy named Timmy back then and he was only four years’ old at the time it happened. Besides, he’s never been able to see Obidiah’s bad side. I don’t know how Obidiah appears to him but I’m damned sure it’s not as a red-eyed demon. “When was the one time you saw him?”

  Reece’s voice has taken on a sing-song-y quality and I watch as his eyes begin to glaze over. This can’t be a good sign. “He came to see me one night about a year ago.”

  “What did he say? Can you remember?”

  “He said this isn’t over yet.” Reece shakes himself, like a dog emerging from a dip in the ocean, and I’m glad to see he looks like my brother again now. “I might go to bed to read my book.”

  “Hey, you do that.” I flip the blanket off both our knees as he stands up. “Maybe we can talk about this some more another time.”

  “Talk about what?” He throws a puzzled glance over his shoulder as he leaves the room and a few minutes later I hear the toilet flush. I pull the blanket up around my shoulders, feeling chilled to the core. The tree branches increase their attack on the window. Knock, knock, knock. Now I know what the three little pigs felt like when the big bad wolf rapped at their door. I jump to my feet, run across the room, and yank the curtains across to close them. I make sure I don’t peer out into the darkness. If you can’t see it, it’s not there. Right? Nothing can harm us.

  It takes me ages to settle down again once Reece goes to bed. I have to admit that I never stopped to think about what might happen once all the family was together again in yet another small town. We seem to have made a habit of repeating patterns. And what did Obidiah mean by his ‘this isn’t over yet’ remark to Reece? Hasn’t he put us through enough? Although Reece did say he last appeared a year ago – maybe he’s died a final death over the past 12 months. Even undead devil worshippers can’t live forever, can they? Perhaps he finally crumbled into dust and blew away on the wind.