by J. B. Hawker
Max Banks entered his office at the Clark’s Hallow Clarion Review and looked around with irritation.
He rifled through the papers on his desk, muttering to himself.
“Oh, crap! Where’s the friggin’ copy? What did that stupid girl do with it this time?”
“Tyffinee!” he shouted.
“Yeah? What’s up?”
The young woman lounging in the doorway chewed a strand of her many-colored hair.
At least today, most of her tattoos were under the cover of a long, black dress and overcoat.
“Tyffinee, must you begin dressing for Halloween quite so early in the season?” Banks asked in exasperation.
“Very funny. These are my regular clothes, and you know it. What did you want? I’m busy working on the full-page ad for the football team.”
“Oh, that’s right. How is it coming? Are the players’ photos clear and sharp? Folks want to be able to recognize their favorites, you know….I’m looking for the write-up on the Halloween decorating contest. I asked you to leave it on my desk, remember?”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot. Well, I can’t do two things at once, now, can I? So, I haven’t got around to it. If you’re in such a gawdawful hurry, you’ll have to do it yourself.”
Saying this, she turned and, like a dark, billowy storm cloud, settled at her desk in the outer office.
“Well, I guess that’s just what I will have to do. Damn and blast that girl!” Max growled to himself.
Banks would not have put up with an employee of her caliber back in his old company.
At United PetroChem he had worked his way up through the business, from the loading dock to Executive Vice President.
He had commanded respect, even a little fear, which would not be a bad thing to instill in the Goth goddess, Miss Tyffinee (Gawd! That spelling!) Rogers.
Banks grabbed his digital voice recorder and his notebook, left the office and climbed into his Cadillac SUV parked just outside.
He quickly pulled onto the Clark’s Hallow main street.
He would have to see the same people Tyffinee had already interviewed.
He hated doing that. People tended to sound stilted or rehearsed after telling their story more than once.
Of course, this was not exactly “eye witness” stuff.
He was just talking to folks about their hopes and plans for the contest. He supposed the original quotes would not have been very different from what he would get now, if the people were not too annoyed at a second visit to cooperate.
The first house was in the center of town, one of the older Victorian two-stories adding so much charm to the community.
The couple living there were newcomers to the area. They met and married while working in the Silicon Valley during the technology boom and recently retired to the north state, while still young enough to enjoy all the great outdoor activities the area had to offer.
Sally and Yance Trainor were a pleasant couple who were making an effort to fit in and become part of the community.
Their outdoor holiday decorations were part of that effort, Banks supposed. They could afford to put on a good show, too.
From what he heard, last year, even without a contest, their house was a haunted mansion worthy of Disneyland.
He wondered if they would be able to improve on it this year.
Max forgot to call before coming, so he hoped they would be home and have a few moments to spare.
Banks seemed to be in luck, for as he drove up he saw Yance in the yard raking leaves, while Sally was sweeping the veranda.
The blue-gray house with white gingerbread trim was very lovely and not one bit spooky.
“Hello, there! You’re Max Banks from the paper, aren’t you? What brings you here today?”
Yance put aside his rake as he greeted Max and walked him to the house.
“Sally, the newspaper boy’s here! You weren’t late paying our subscription, were you?” he called out to his wife.
“Oh, Yance, don’t be so silly!” she replied from the porch step.
“Hello, Mr. Banks. Come on up on the veranda and sit down. Can I get you all a drink or a bite to eat?”
A very attractive woman in her early 60’s, Sally Trainor grew up in the Deep South, at a time when good manners were still expected.
It was strangely disconcerting for Max, coming as it did on the heels of his encounter with Tyffinee.
He settled himself on a green and white striped upholstered glider while Sally bustled off to fetch refreshments.
“Mr. and Mrs. Trainor,” he said when she returned, “I hope you’ll forgive me for not phoning before coming over, and, also, for bothering you a second time for an interview.”
“Why a second interview?” Yance wanted to know.
“Did my wife leave something out last time? I thought Sally would talk that young girl reporter’s ears clean off. Of course, your girl did have ‘em bolted on with about a dozen earrings. Probably as protection from women with the gift of gab like my Sally.”
Yance had been the one to do most of the talking, as usual, but it was a favorite tease of his to accuse Sally of being too talkative. She ignored it, for the most part. It was one of the reasons theirs was such a comfortable marriage.
“I’m afraid Miss Rogers has been kept too busy with the high school sports coverage to give the contest the attention it needs, so I’ve decided to do the story myself and get some fresh insights, if possible,” Max explained.
Max didn’t like to get too far from the truth, even to be polite.
It was something he had learned the hard way over the years. Lies may be tempting, they may even seem like the ideal solution to a sticky situation, but in the end, they only lead to trouble.
He wished he had known such wisdom when he was young.
Banks asked the couple about their house, the decorations they used the previous year and their plans for the contest.
Yance answered all his questions in a lively, open manner. Sally even managed to squeeze in a few quips to add some humor to the piece.
Max thanked both the Trainors, gathered up his gear and drove off to the next house, hoping the rest of his interviews would go equally well.
He was not looking forward to the last house on the list. The old mansion on Cemetery Lane had been a rental for many years now. It was neglected and sad. All year around it resembled the home of a particularly unsavory ghost.
The current tenant had filled out a contest entry, though, and was planning to add to the look. It was a great story angle, a “real” haunted house on Cemetery Lane. Max couldn’t pass it up, even though he was less than enthusiastic about talking to this particular entrant.
Banks had taken early retirement from his company's home office in Texas. At fifty he had planned to spend the rest of his life sailing around the world on his boat, “Zephyr Girl.” When things went sour last year off the coast of Venezuela, he ran to safe harbor back home in Northern California.
Here, in a remote valley nestled between volcanic Mt. Lassen and the majesty of Mt. Shasta, the small community where he grew up remained largely unchanged. Having been bypassed by the interstate highway system, it sometimes appeared to be bypassed by time, as well.
He had been afraid there would be nothing much left to interest him in his hometown. However, when he saw the Clarion Review was for sale, it seemed to be the perfect answer.
Max majored in journalism in college before his part-time job with UPC had grown into a career.
He had lived one dream and seen it end. This was his chance to live another, earlier one, and see how it would turn out. It was like one of those books where you get to pick an optional ending to the story. It gave him a kick to think of his choice in that light.
The only thing causing him to hesitate to settle here was the proximity to a few of the people he had grown up with whom he had hoped never to see again.
This clown by the cemetery, Dinks Dodd, was one of
them. He was just the sort of loser to end up renting a haunted house next to a graveyard.
Of course, the old cemetery had not seen a fresh corpse in decades.
There was a new, modern, flat and boring cemetery across town, which saw all the current activity in the burying line. Still, a cemetery is a cemetery, past its prime, or not.
You couldn’t beat the really old ones for atmosphere, especially at night.
Banks would not want such a view outside his bedroom window.
Dinks probably picked the place just because of its eerie location.
What a creep.
Chapter Two
I may walk through valleys as dark as death, but I won’t be afraid–– Psalm 23:4
Ever since a health scare a couple of years earlier, Bunny was making a special effort to eat more sensibly and exercise more. She walked at least two miles every day, rain or shine.
She completed her required mileage earlier that day, but was having trouble settling down to her household tasks and was feeling anxious about her need to look for work.
It had been too many years since she had taken a job outside the church. She was uncertain of her marketable skills and fearful of the whole process of looking for a job. Would anyone want to hire her?
What would she do if she could not find office work? Would she be able to get a job at a fast food place, or even as a Wal-Mart greeter? Could she earn enough to support herself on minimum wage? Even if she were hired, could she stand up to the drudgery?
Doubts were beginning to overwhelm her.
I was later than she usually liked to set off, but she shrugged into a warm jacket and left the house to walk off her gremlins of uncertainty.
Walking quickly and trying not to let her worries keep pace, she soon found herself clear across town, approaching the back gate of the historic cemetery.
Bunny was soothed and comforted by old graveyards. These places spoke to her of her place in God’s plan, of eternity and continuity. They helped to put her troubles into perspective.
She nosed about among the ancient headstones, letting the location work its calming power.
Reading the inscriptions on the stones and imagining the lives of the ones beneath them, Bunny lost track of time, until the time-worn names and dates began to blur and fade.
Pulled back to the present by the pine trees’ lengthening shadows, she knew she needed to hurry to reach home before nightfall.
Thoughts of death did not hold any fears for her; nevertheless, she was not looking forward to spending any time here after dark.
Bunny quickened her pace as she headed to the main entrance, the shortest way back to her bungalow.
Shivering in the freshening wind, she tightened her wool scarf around her upturned coat collar and pulled her stocking cap low to cover her ears against the increasing cold.
Max Banks stomped back down the cracked and uneven pavement, barely suppressing an urge to kick a heaved-up slab and throw his notebook into the weeds. He would probably just break a toe and lose his notes, which would not help his mood, at all.
The interview with Dinks was even worse than he feared.
The man was a total jackass.
What a dump that house was! It was even more squalid with Dodd living there than it could have been with just the bats and spiders.
Preoccupied by his thoughts, Banks did not notice the bundled figure approaching in the road.
He pulled his car into the street in the deepening twilight and was horrified to see a woman appear in his headlights, her head down against the wind.
He braked hard and swerved to a stop, missing her by mere inches.
What was the silly woman doing in the middle of the road and not looking where she was going? Was the whole world going mad?
“Are you all right, Ma’am? I am sorry I nearly hit you. I didn’t see you out in the middle of the road like that.”
Banks tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. He was afraid he was not entirely successful.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Bunny gasped.
She had been very frightened, looking up to see the headlights bearing down upon her.
In neighborhoods like this one, with no streetlights and the yards all overgrown, she often walked down the middle of the road for safety. It was advice she had read years ago on self-defense for women.
Badly shaken, she still managed to murmur to the man silhouetted in the car lights, “I’m quite alright, thank you. You just took my breath away, your big car appearing out of nowhere like it did.”
She began to hurry on her way.
“Say, it’s getting pretty dark out. Would you like me to drive you wherever you are going? It might be safer. And you seem a little shaken up,” Max called after her.
Max could see her face in the glow from his headlights, now, and she did look a little pale...not unattractive, but definitely upset.
There was something familiar about that heart-shaped face. He must have seen her around town. He could not put a name to her, though. She probably worked in a grocery store or the post office.
“Oh, no. Thank you,” Bunny spoke quickly, “I’ll be fine. I don’t live far from here. I’ll be more careful. I can walk on the sidewalks after I leave this neighborhood. I’m fine. Thanks, thanks, again, thanks!” she rattled off.
Bunny was not about to get into any fancy black SUV with a strange man just to avoid a lonely walk in the dark. She knew better than that.
The glare of the car’s headlights made it impossible for Bunny to see the man clearly, but she could tell he was a lot bigger than she was.
She continued sidling down the street as she spoke and tossed the final “thanks” over her shoulder from half a block away.
“What in the world? She acts as if she’s afraid of me. What does the stupid creature think…that I’m going to get her into the car and force myself on her? May the gods save us all from the overwrought imaginations of middle-aged women!”
Banks returned to his car.
Turning it around, he followed Bunny’s rapidly retreating form.
He decided to make certain the skittish female made it safely indoors, and then he was going back to the office to write up his notes, pick up some dinner and go home. What a day!
Bunny heard the car start up in the distance and breathed a sigh of relief.
For a moment there, she thought the man would not let her go. There were times when her new single status was not such a good feeling. If he had wanted to hurt her there would have been little Bunny could do to protect herself.
She began to notice her shadow stretching out before her on the sidewalk and, turning to find the source of the light, realized it was possible her ordeal was not over, after all.
The sinister-looking, oversized SUV was following her!
Oh, this was too much.
Bunny wanted to run into the nearest lighted house, or to begin screaming. However, she was of the generation raised to mind her manners and to give the other person the benefit of the doubt. After all, it was just possible the car’s presence, keeping its distance a half block back and matching her pace, was only a coincidence.
She must not make a scene. She must not make a fool of herself.
Much better to be simply raped and murdered or whatever that horrible man had in mind.
Bunny felt nauseated with fear.
She kept moving, somehow, and fought the urge to fall to the pavement and curl into a ball.
This was a familiar sensation.
It was the same as in her recurring childhood nightmares. She would frequently awaken and lie paralyzed with fear until the moment when she gathered sufficient courage to dash to her parents’ bed and safety.
Where was her parents’ bed tonight when she needed it?
“Oh, get a grip, Bunny…Jean was right. I can be such a baby, sometimes. Why, if I were to turn around right now, I’ll bet the car wouldn’t even be there. He probably turned off at the
last intersection. That’s what I’ll bet.”
She could not make herself turn around to find out, though. She just kept walking as fast as possible without breaking into a run.
“If I run, then he’ll get me.”
She could not keep from thinking back to the time in her childhood when the mean dog down the street threatened her.
Every kid on the block knew Bounce was mean. They all tried to stay away from him.
Once, Bunny had been walking home from school and forgotten to keep an eye out for the dog.
She heard a low growl from behind her and knew Bounce was out.
She had tried to pretend not to notice the dog and walked quickly away. Everyone knew running away just made dogs chase you.
She almost made it home, but she had been unable to keep from taking a quick peek behind.
One look at the dog’s bared teeth had set her feet running and the inevitable had happened.
She still had a nasty scar on the back of her thigh.
Tonight, she would not look back and she would be safe.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, Bunny began to recite, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…”
Whispering the familiar words helped.
When she got to the end of the Psalm, she switched to the Lord’s Prayer. She was too full of fear to pray in her own words.
While repeating a rough approximation of every Bible verse she could call to mind, Bunny reached her door.
Her fingers were trembling and she dropped her key. Stooping to retrieve it, she glimpsed the big, black car turn the corner and drive away.
She had made it! He had given up and let her go. Thank God.
“Thank you, Jesus!” she gasped.
Shivering, she let herself in and relocked the door.
Bunny collapsed onto her rocker and she spent a several minutes huddled there, just praying and pulling herself together, before she could make a simple dinner and crawl into bed. What a day!
Chapter Three
Because of your great mercy, I come to your house, Lord, and I am filled with wonder as I bow down to worship at your Holy Temple. – Psalm 7:1