The Village (Harbingers Book 12)

by Alton Gansky

  “We quit,” she said. “Me and Daniel. We’re done. I can’t be Batman and take a minor—” She looked at Daniel who had, for some reason, turned in his chair to stare at the curtains over the kitchen window; the one that looked out over the parking lot. “I shouldn’t say ‘minor.’ I should say ‘child.’”

  After another ragged breath she continued. “I am Daniel’s guardian. What kinda guardian am I when I drag him all over the place to face who-knows-what kind of dangers. Would you drag one of your loved ones into the situations we get into?”

  That was a hard question to hear and an even harder one to answer. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Andi, who always has something to say, remained silent.

  If the conversation was upsetting to Daniel, then he didn’t show it. He just kept staring at the drapes. Then he stood and moved toward the window.

  I wanted to say, “Nothing is going to happen to Daniel. I’ll see to that.” It would have been a stupid thing to say. It was true, Daniel was with us, often helping us, during some pretty hairy situations that could have left us all dead. No one could promise safety to anyone else—

  Daniel screamed.

  Chapter Four

  Tockity

  I don’t remember running to Daniel’s side. I heard his tiny voice cry out and the next thing I knew I was next to him at the window. Outside the glass, his face no more than an inch from the pane, stood a man. An ugly man. A real mess of a man with wild hair, a beard that looked like it housed a family of rodents, and missing teeth. He was smiling in a way that kick-started my adrenaline.

  I took Daniel by the back of his shirt and pulled him away from the window, turning him around. Brenda had him in her arms a second later. I kept my eyes glued to the face staring in at us. He had one blue eye; the other was covered with an eye-patch. The eye-patch was made from the top of a cereal box. The first three letters of Corn, as in Corn Flakes, were easy to read. His hair was a mass of brown and gray, and stuck out from his head in a hair-halo, or aura, or something. He wore a kind of overcoat. A Mackintosh I think they call it. I doubt it had been cleaned anytime in this decade. No wonder my little buddy let out a scream. At first I was tempted to do the same.

  I stepped closer, but my size didn’t seem to bother the guy any, he just stood there with a dog-eating-steak grin. My fists were clenched and every muscle in my body had come alive.

  “What do you want?” I used my intimidating voice. He didn’t seem to care much.

  “Tock-tick, tock-tick, tockity, tockity, tick-tick.” He laughed, then shuffled away from the window. He ran, if you could call it running, with a limp.

  “What was that?” Andi’s words were rife with fear.

  I closed the curtains, then turned. Brenda had Daniel behind her. Andi stood beside them, looking ghostly white.

  I wanted to make it appear that seeing the man was no big deal, so I shrugged. “Just some poor homeless guy.”

  “He comes near Daniel I’ll put him out of his misery,” Brenda said. I had no doubts about her willingness to do so.

  “He’s gone now. Probably harmless. I think I scared him.”

  Brenda stared at me. “He didn’t look scared.”

  She was right about that. I can be intimidating when I need to be. They teach that on the football field, but the Toc-Tick man looked like he couldn’t have cared less.

  “Tock-Tick?” Daniel said. “Who says tock-tick?”

  Sometimes Daniel acted a little older than his ten years—about a decade older. “He has some mental problems, buddy. It probably means something to him even though it doesn’t mean anything to us.” My heart was pounding, my muscles still ready for flight or fight, and my brain was running like a jet engine.

  Andi said, “If that guy’s the reason for keeping the window shades drawn at night, then the hotel clerk should have warned us. I hate being scared like that.”

  I still wanted to appear calm and put the others at ease, so I started clearing the dishes. I wasn’t in the mood for chicken after all.

  * * *

  Sunrise couldn’t come fast enough for me. We cleaned up the kitchen, being sure to put everything back where we got it, wiped down the counters and stovetop, and generally left the kitchen cleaner than we found it. Part of the activity was done out of simple courtesy—after all, Jewel didn’t have to provide us with food or access to the kitchen but she did, begrudgingly—and partly because we didn’t want to talk anymore. Talking about Brenda’s decision was like sticking a hand in a hornet’s nest: the hornets don’t like it; neither does the owner of the hand.

  Once done with the clean up, we went to bed. It was an act on my part. I doubted I’d sleep. Instead, I did what I knew I would: I lay in bed listening to every sound the old building made, and it made plenty. Every squeak made me wonder if Brenda and Daniel were sneaking away. Every bump brought images of the Tockity man sneaking into the place to murder us as we slept. I even spent a good half-hour trying to convince myself that I should sleep at the foot of the stairs so I would know if anyone came or went.

  I didn’t do that. Brenda was a woman who never hesitated to say or do what she thought she should, but she wouldn’t take the car and leave us stranded in Newland. Besides, I had the keys.

  I did get up a dozen or so times to peer out the window to see if Tockity man or something worse was messin’ about. I didn’t see anything. I don’t know where a man like that goes in the wee hours, but I was pretty sure he went there.

  I made my way to the men’s shared restroom, made use of the free toothpaste and tiny toothbrush Jewel had given me, took a quick shower, dragged the comb through my hair, and slipped into yesterday’s jeans and flannel shirt, then plodded back to my room to put on boat-length sneakers.

  It was still early. The sun was up, but it was still in a wrestling match with the trees and hills. The scene outside my window was an epic battle of light fighting the dark. The light was winning, but it was going to be a fifteen-round match.

  I like to read my Bible in the morning and the evening, but it was stowed in the car with my other gear. I checked the nightstand next to the bed, but no dice. Apparently the Gideons didn’t travel this deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

  I did, however, find a notepad and pen. I scratched out a simple note: Gone for a quick walk. Will bring luggage up when I get back. Then we eat. –Tank.

  I folded the notepaper and wedged it in the jamb of the lady’s bathroom. No matter how strained things were at the moment, they’d go in the room sooner or later. I had lived off and on with these two women for a while. I was sure they’d find the note soon.

  I walked down the stairs expecting to find Jewel at the desk. No sign of her. No matter. We promised not to go out until the sun was up and ol’ Mr. Sun was showing his face.

  I unlocked the front door and walked out.

  The fresh air was sweet with dew and the smell of old growth forest. For a moment, I allowed myself to believe that all was right with the world.

  It wasn’t.

  Chapter Five

  A Walk Through Nowhere Land

  I’m a pacer. By that I mean that I like to walk when I think. I pace rooms, halls, and just about anywhere, but I really enjoy a brisk stroll outside. I know an athlete should jog, but my knees and ankles complained when I did that and I like to keep them happy. Besides, I didn’t bring a jogging suit, and sweating up a flannel shirt is just plain nasty.

  It was quiet outside. The air was cool, bordering on cold. A breeze rolled down Main Street, picking up leaves and bits of trash and scooting them my direction. I wasn’t interested in cleaning up the town; I was interested in cleaning up my thinking.

  I strolled about fifty steps then picked up the pace. It felt good. Legs eager to get out of bed found a decent pace and soon I was taking in deep breaths. My lungs were having as much fun as my legs.

  Of course, having never been to lovely Newland I had no idea where I was going, so I headed back the way we drove in. That would
give me a chance to see more of the town. I passed a barbershop, a beauty shop, hardware store, café one and café two, a bank, and just about every other kind of business you’d expect to find in a small mountain community. The storefronts were quaint but they looked untouched, as if they had been ignored for sometime. Of course, what I know about storefronts would fit in a thimble, so I didn’t give it any more thought.

  When I reached the end of Main Street I noticed another smaller road. It formed a T-intersection with the main drag, ran west, and looked to be uphill all the way. I couldn’t see very far up the street, but I guessed that it led to a residential area. People around here had to live someplace. Walking uphill required more effort than walking flat and I needed a little more challenge. Before heading up the lane I looked at the street sign. Getting lost would be embarrassing.

  It was odd. The street sign topped an ornate, black pole, the kind used for streetlights in the old parts of cities but smaller around and not as tall. The part of the sign that read “Main Street” looked okay, but the part indicating the street I was about to walk had been painted over. I could see that once it had read Elm Street but the shoddy paint job of whitewash and handmade letters read “Nowhere.” I wondered what the local Chamber of Commerce thought of that—if there was a local Chamber of Commerce. I had serious doubts about that possibility.

  I headed up the street, my calves informing me that uphill walking hurt more than what I had been doing. No matter, I plodded on.

  The sun was still fighting for this territory. I was in shade most of the way and the shade made things cooler. Increasing my pace allowed me to create my own heat. I listened to my breathing as I hiked and then something occurred to me. This was prime bird singing time. Birds like the morning and usually spend some of their morning encouraging the sun on its daily climb in the sky. I hadn’t heard a single peep, chirp, caw, or anything else.

  About three-quarters of a mile up the grade I came to another street, this one perpendicular to Nowhere and parallel to Main Street. It was clearly residential. Houses, most of them small, cabin-like structures, sat on large lots of an acre or more. Some of the exteriors looked well maintained and the yards were clear of debris; others, however, looked abandoned. Fences in front of those houses looked worn and spider webs decorated the slats. Odd. One house looked ready for guests, others looked like something the Munsters would enjoy.

  I felt sad for the empty houses and those who had to leave them behind. Small towns this far away from better traveled roads tended to waste away. I’ve always thought living in a small town like Newland would be wonderful. A great place to raise kids.

  That’s when something else hit me. I walked past a dozen houses that clearly had residents, but hadn’t heard a single voice or, worse, a single dog bark. That made me think. I hadn’t seen any dogs any where. Then I had another thought: I hadn’t seen or heard any children. Of course, I told myself, I had only been in town one night so I shouldn’t get too shook up over the lack of kid and dog sightings. And when I coupled that with the weird woman at the hotel and the weirder man outside the window, I knew I was letting my imagination get the best of me. That was the story I was telling myself, but I’ve seen too much of the strange and the dangerous to believe my own rationalizations. Truth is, I was trying to convince myself that nothing was out of the norm, but myself wasn’t having anything to do with thinking.

  I kept up my pace but my mind raced ahead of me. I started to feel that people were staring at me from their homes. I wondered if whatever lived in the abandoned houses was watching. Jogging was beginning to look like a good idea, but I kept myself in check. I just kept walking like I was a normal person strolling a normal street in a normal mountain community. I doubted any of that was true.

  I reached the end of the street, which I guessed was the same length as Main Street. I found another crossroad, this one with the nonthreatening name of Bass Street. That was something to be thankful for.

  Rounding the corner, I continued my hike down the grade to the main drag and found myself at the other end of town, just as I expected. Before going back to the hotel I crossed Main Street and made my way to the pretty little church. It was a true chapel in the woods: white clapboard siding, doublehung windows with dark green trim, and a wide set of steps to the front door. A tall and pointed steeple cast a shadow on the street. The shadow of the steeple’s cross fell right in the middle of the roadway. The cross always leaves an impression.

  I doubted the preacher or the secretary would be in the building this early, but being in, or in this case near, a church always eased my mind and settled my heart—something I wish my friends could experience.

  At first I felt the usual comfort that always came when at a church, but then I noticed something—dust. Dust on the window sills; dust on the steps—I could see my shoe prints and the prints of someone else who had been exploring the chapel—and dust on the doorknob. And not just a faint powdering. No, sir. There was enough dust to make me think the door to the chapel hadn’t been opened in some time, maybe years and that was depressing to a man like me. Nothing sadder than an empty, unused church. Since I hadn’t seen any other churches so far, I grew even sadder. Perhaps, the people went to church in the next town, but if Andi’s research was right, and her research was always right, the next town was at least a half-hour away, maybe more on the mountain road.

  I wasn’t looking at a church. I was staring at a used-to-be church; a building in church clothes. I had fought fear and depression all night. This made the depression worse. So much for an uplifting walk.

  I slunk back to the hotel and unpacked the car so Andi, Brenda, and Daniel could have fresh clothes and other whatnots. The way Brenda had talked last night, I’d be returning the luggage to the car later that day.

  Chapter Six

  Breakfast at Tiffany’s

  It didn’t take long for me to carry the luggage into the hotel. The others were glad to see it, Jewel Tarkington wasn’t. She was standing on the first tread of the staircase. I think the little mouse was trying to keep me from taking the luggage up.

  “I did a little checking for you,” Jewel said. Something happened to her face as she spoke. It took me a second or two but I realized she was forcing a smile. She seemed well outta practice. “I can get you in one of two hotels up in Sugar Hill. It’s pretty close. Maybe an hour’s drive. I hear it’s a nice place.”

  I set the last bit of luggage down near the others I had already retrieved from the car. Andi, Brenda, and Daniel were going to help cart the stuff up the three flights of stairs even though I said I was happy to do it. My guess is they thought I was moving too slow.

  “You hear it’s a nice place?” Andi said. “You’ve never been there?”

  “Well, no, but that doesn’t matter.” She shifted her weight as if thinking on her feet was taxing her. “I just want you to be comfortable.”

  Andi wasn’t buying it. “Forgive me for such a forward question Ms. Tarkington, but have you ever been out of this town?”

  Jewel reminded me of a deflating balloon. “I-I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

  “It doesn’t,” Andi said, “and I hope I didn’t insult you. I’m just naturally nosey. For example, I used my smart phone to find the hotel’s wireless so I could check my e-mail. I couldn’t find a wireless connection.”

  “We don’t have that sort of thing.”

  She said it as if Andi had been talking about pornography.

  “I guessed that,” Andi said, “when I didn’t see a computer behind the hotel desk. Everything seems to be recorded by hand.”

  Andi’s pattern recognition superpower seemed to be in fine shape.

  “I’m a little ol’ fashioned.”

  Brenda gave me a look. She recognized the symptoms of Andi sleuthing. To my surprise, Brenda seemed interested, too. She jumped in. “I notice there are no televisions, no phones, and no radios. This place is a black hole.”

  “You see th
ere,” Jewel said. “That’s exactly what I mean. You two are sharp ones. I can see that.” I tried not to be offended at being left off the smart list. “That’s why you should go on up to Sugar Hill. They have all those things and I jus’ know you’ll be much more comfortable.”

  I gotta admit, I’ve never seen a business person try so hard to drive business away. I began to wonder if she was running a gambling den in here or worse.

  “Well, we’ll talk about it,“ Andi said. “and we need to change clothes and freshen up. You how we women are.”

  I got the feeling that Jewel didn’t know.

  “And we need to feed my boy, here,” Brenda said. “He’s a monster if he misses a meal.”

  “No I’m not,” Daniel said. Then he growled.

  Funny kid.

  I picked up the heaviest bags and started for the stairs. I walked faster than needed hoping she’d fear getting run over by—wait for it—a Tank. She moved and I trudged up the stairs. The others followed carrying overnight cases.

  It took only a half hour for the ladies to shower and do the stuff ladies do every morning. Daniel came to my room, sat on the bed, and fired up his video game. Personally, I think my little buddy spends too much time on that game. I guess that makes me old even though I’m not. I didn’t say anything. He had been through enough these last few weeks, and all that was made worse by last night’s scare. I used the time to read my Bible, but I couldn’t concentrate. My thoughts were bees in a bottle. African killer bees.

  * * *

  Thirty-five minutes later we were all seated in the nearest of the two cafés, a place called Tiffany’s.