by Kit Hallows
16
Main street was about a four block stretch. The shops were the usual fare; a grocer, an antiquated-looking department store, quaint little book shop, a bakery, cafe and a bar. The entire place looked unreal, staged. Like some movie producers ideal of a small town. No matter where I looked, I couldn't shake the feeling that it had all been dreamt up.
A warm light fell upon my shoulders. I was glad the sun had thrown off that veil of clouds. The sky returned to a deep vivid blue and a golden glow played along the street as dry russet leaves skittered across the sidewalk.
The place had a moderate but lively buzz as people went about their daily errands. It didn't take long to find a parking space and as I pulled in, I caught the eye of a young mom pushing a stroller. She smiled and seemed to look for recognition, then her expression grew almost quizzical as she glanced away.
Yes, I'm a stranger. And probably stranger than most.
I wandered into the bakery on the next block. It was mostly empty but the day was still young and I guessed the good people of Copperwood Falls were mostly hard at work. Not that I had any idea what people did for work around here.
A rich scent of pastries filled the place and a nutty contrast of freshly brewed coffee wafted toward me. An elderly couple sat in a corner nursing empty cups, their heads cocked as if they were enthralled by the generic jazz piping from the speakers. Then they turned and looked at me as if I'd arrived from the future, and held my gaze for far too long.
"Can I help you?" A slight woman with bright purple glasses appeared behind the counter, a plate of cupcakes in her hand. She took some tongs and placed the cakes one by one on a tray inside a glass case.
I glanced at the menu. "Can I get a cappuccino?"
"You may." There was a strange formality in her voice. She vanished behind a huge old-fashioned looking machine that filled the small shop with the sound of hisses and gurgles.
I felt the eyes of the old couple on me. They looked me up and down as I waited. I did my best to ignore them. I hadn't even been in this town for half an hour and the place was already starting to grate on me.
"There you go." The woman behind the counter handed me a takeout cup.
"I wanted it for here."
"You should have said so." Her tone was clipped, but a moment later she added, "Sorry, I should have asked. Out of towners usually just pass through, you know." She poured my coffee into a ceramic cup. "Where are you from?"
"The city."
She didn't ask which one, and it seemed our conversation was over as she handed me the cup and gave me a partial smile. I laid a five down on the counter, told her to keep the change and found a seat as far away from the staring old couple as possible.
People bustled past on the sidewalk. Occasionally they nodded to one another, but mostly they just kept their heads down. It seemed Copperwood Falls wasn't a place with much in the way of community spirit and there was none of the bonhomie usually found between locals in small towns like this. Quite the opposite. It was as if the people were barely tolerating each other or carefully guarding their secrets.
Something was off, or perhaps hiding, behind the curtain of this movie-set town. I slipped a hand into my pocket and grasped a crystal, absorbing its magic. The power was fresh, exhilarating. My eyes refocused as I gazed out through the window.
There. An old lady pushing a shopping cart across the street looked my way and for a moment her cloak slipped. A vampire. Usually I wouldn't need a crystal to see past her veneer, but something in Copperwood Falls seemed to be running interference with my latent abilities. I watched as she slipped down a narrow lane, glanced over both shoulders and nervously entered a dingy looking building.
Interesting.
I gulped down the rest of my coffee, called a thank you to the server, and hurried out. A van honked as I crossed the street and hastened down the narrow road. For the most part it was lined with small quaint little houses, but there was also a hardware store and another, larger book shop.
The building the vampire had disappeared into was derelict, its door and windows shuttered, the walls speckled with grime and cobwebs. I flinched as I tried the doorknob. An ice-cold enchantment shot through my muscle and bone, forcing my hand to clench and cramp up. It hurt, but thankfully it had only been cast as a simple deterrent, rather than a hex that could cause more serious damage.
I was about to absorb another crystal when I heard someone approaching.
A tall, furtive man rushed along the sidewalk, his eyes glued to his phone. I meandered past him and glanced back as he stood at the enchanted door and held his hand before it.
Click. The door swung open and as the man stepped inside, I slipped in behind him. He didn't seem to notice as held his phone up like a shining blue lantern in the gloom and walked along the dusty empty corridor. As he reached the back door he flicked his hand dismissively and it popped open on to a tight packed street full of narrow, crooked houses and a dense throng of people.
It seemed I'd followed him into what could only be Copperwood Falls' magical quarter. But unlike the quarter in my city, I had no allies here, which meant exercising caution until I got the lay of the land.
A light rain fell and the sky beyond the strange deserted house was overcast. It was as if I was in a different place altogether. And in many senses I probably was.
Most of the crowd was human, but I caught glimpses of other beings as well. Like the flame-haired Incubus in the tailored black suit who stood before me chatting to the elderly vampire I'd spotted from the bakery. I moved on, passing three witches sitting on a bench outside a restaurant called 'The Golden Vine'. One caught me looking her way and she gave me a slow, surreptitious wink. I smiled back as I hurried past, keen to make as little impression as possible.
The shops that occupied the rickety old buildings were as interesting as they were varied. I passed the windows of a particularly well stocked magical supply merchant which, providing I could find my way back here, might be helpful, especially if my investigation required anything beyond what Bastion had so generously supplied.
The haberdashery a few doors down was extraordinary. I imagined Underwood losing more than a few hours within its well-lit confines. I wandered along, past an antique shop full of enchanted furniture, as well as a place that looked like a sex shop with darkly tinted windows and a suggestive silhouette of a woman bending to pluck a rose.
A bottle-green tavern stood at the end of the lane, heavy curtains hung in its large windows and the weatherbeaten sign above the double doors read:
'The Thrice Drowned Rat'
I strode in like a regular, a casual hand in my coat pocket, just in case I needed to make quick use of a crystal. The tables and vintage booths were packed with customers, mostly men, their laughter and chatter filling the room along with the satisfied thud of tankards upon the thick wooden tables.
A few odd glances came my way but I ignored them. The place seemed amenable enough but there was a definite undercurrent of menace in a couple of the swarthier faces.
The short, stocky man behind the bar gave me a hurried look. "What can I get you?" he asked. I settled on a pint of stout. He poured it, handed it to me, and took my money without another word.
I grabbed a stool, sat at the bar and took a swallow from the overfilled glass. It tasted better than I'd expected.
Hrmph. I glanced at the thin-faced man on the stool beside me. His rheumy red eyes passed over me, as if he were trying to figure out if he knew me or not. Then they hardened. "I ain't seen you before," he said, in a tone that was more accusation, than question.
"I'm just passing through. Thought I'd stop for a pint."
"Really?" he asked. Then he ordered another whiskey, sat back and glared at me again, as if trying to work out what exactly I was. "Find anything interesting?"
"Not particularly. I'm looking for something...powerful. Know what I mean?"
He shook his head. "No, I don't know what you mean. Care to elaborate?
"
"You know," I said, "crystals. Of a darker hue than the normal ones."
"If you don't know how to find something like that, then you don't really belong here. Do you?" He took a swig of whiskey, his face reddening. "Who the fuck are you anyway?"
I forced a disarming smile as I noticed a few of the others had turned to watch. "No one." I finished my beer, nodded to the barman and left the tavern before the entire magical quarter turned their sights onto me. I'd always been an outcast, a dabbler and fish out of water. Never quite fitting into the magical realm, or the human one for that matter. A half man, as I'd often been called, and once again I felt that old familiar sense of alienation.
I walked back down the street, checking the reflections in the shop windows to make sure I wasn't being followed. It seemed I wasn't. I pulled my phone from my pocket and pretended to scroll through it as I waited for someone to approach the dilapidated building that led back to the earthly side of Copperwood Falls. Thankfully it didn't take long. I bustled in behind a bickering couple and emerged on the other side, glad to be in the sunlight once more. Glad to be back in the world of laws, taxes and social norms. I got into my car, rested my elbow on the window ledge and massaged my brow as I watched the people hurry by.
The town was a definitely a place of two halves, and something rotten was holding the pieces together. I needed to find the source of the decay, the black heart beating below the facade.
I started the engine and was about to drive away when I felt someone watching. I scanned the sidewalk and stores. Nothing. Then I glanced up at the townhouse across the street. I'd thought I seen someone standing at the window. But when I looked back, no one was there.
17
The online search results for Copperwood Falls were scant. Odd for a town that looked like an ideal weekend getaway or a day tripper's dream but all I could glean were its coordinates, a website for a camp ground that was about fifteen miles away and an outdated, heavily redacted census report regarding its population. Which I already knew thanks to the big wooden sign by the river full of dead fish.
As for motels or amenities, there was nothing.
I cruised along main street and down a few back roads, but I couldn't find a place to stay, so I took the road that headed out of town and after a mile or so, I spotted a sign:
The Copperwood Falls Lodge
A long narrow dirt road led into gloom. The forest was denser here, darker too, the trees laden with moss and a canopy of rich gold and auburn leaves. I caught occasional glimpses of the falls amid the trunks and branches, their gushing waters piercing the night like two great white fangs.
Finally, the lane opened up and at the far side of the clearing, beyond a cluster of small wooden cabins, I could see the lodge. It was a large rustic old building, and while at one time it may have looked quite impressive, it seemed to have degraded to something more in the realm of disheveled and unwelcoming. Suits Copperwood Falls perfectly.
I stopped near the first of the wooden cabins, climbed out of the car and walked through the cold misty air. It was heavy with the scent of pine, decaying leaves and the droning roar of the looming falls. The sound was not entirely unlike being near the seaside, and had I been listening to it anywhere else I might have found it soothing, but not here. I headed toward the black metal rail that spanned the rim of the gorge and gazed down.
Something about the view into the ravine below filled me with a sense of foreboding. The frothy white water poured into the valley and as I followed its course I spotted boulders and driftwood lining the river bank, and something else. The form of a dead animal. An elk. Copperwood Falls was a place of dead things, or so it was starting to seem.
I walked back toward the car amid the rows of cabins, deciding they were far too close to the tree line for my liking. The trunks and branches of the oaks and maples crowding behind the tiny structures like conspiring giants.
None of the cabins appeared to be occupied, their curtains opened onto dark empty rooms and their parking spaces were empty.
I headed toward the lodge, where I could see warm light and people. They were reading, talking and relaxing behind the large, log framed windows. The lobby was paneled in dark wood and thick rough hewn beams added to the rustic theme. A calm muffled hush filled the place, until I rang the shrill bell on the counter. As I stood there waiting, I studied the huge oil painting that hung on the wall behind the front desk. It was an amazingly detailed and accurate depiction of the falls, even down to the darkness and texture of the trees in contrast to milk-white plumes of water. And were those figures in the forest, or just shadows?
"Can I help you?"
It seemed as if the clerk had appeared from thin air. He looked like a grizzled old eagle, with his hooked nose and plumes of thinning white hair, which seemed almost luminous under the harsh halogen lighting. His ruddy reddish-purple face filled with creases as he pursed his lips and furrowed his brow.
"I'm looking for a room."
"Hence coming to a lodge," he smiled. It wasn't pleasant.
"Do you have any vacancies?"
"Any?" He cocked his head as if hard of hearing.
"Any rooms?"
He glanced toward the open book on the desk and ran his finger down the page. I stood patiently while he continued to stare at the book. Finally, after a minutes or so had passed, I said, "Hello?"
The old man pursed his lips again. "Patience is a virtue."
"The cabins looked like they were empty-"
"You want a cabin now? You requested a room only a moment ago. Can you please make up your mind?"
"I-"
"Sonny, you don't seem to know what you want and I don't have time for shenanigans." The old man slammed the book shut and walked toward a door marked Office, shaking his head as he went.
"Look," I tried and failed to keep the irritation from my voice, "is there somewhere else I can find-"
"There's a ditch by the side of the road. Or you could camp out in the woods if that's more your thing. But you look like a city boy to me, so I wouldn't fancy your chances. Or," he sighed, "you can make up your goddamn mind. Do you want a room or a cabin? We have cabins, we don't have rooms."
"I'll take a cabin then." My hand trembled with fury as I reached for my wallet.
"See, we got there in the end." The old man took my card and ran it through some antiquated device. He then held out a key. "Number 23. The last on the end of the row."
"Right."
"The dining room's through there." He pointed to a set of double doors on the far side of the lobby. "Dinner's from seven till eight. Breakfast's also from seven to eight. There's a bar," his eyes glinted as he looked me over one more time. "It's open daily from three until ten. Sharp."
"Thanks." I suppressed my sigh as he mumbled, stormed into his office, and slammed the door behind him.
The cabin was indeed last in the long row, the closest one to the gorge and furthest from the lodge. I had no doubt that this was perfectly intentional. Its furnishings were sparse, a queen-sized bed, a rickety dresser and a wardrobe, empty but for a few plastic hangers.
At least the place was clean, even if it did have all the charm of a two bit flop house.
I went out to my car and had a quick look around before grabbing my satchel, sword and rucksack from the trunk. Once everything was safely stashed, I made a cup of instant coffee and added a liberal splash of whiskey. Then I laid back on the bed and drifted off to sleep before I'd even taken a sip.
I woke up to pitch darkness. For a moment I had no idea where I was. Then I heard the roar of the churning falls. I sat up, took a sip of cold coffee and whiskey, and checked my phone. Ten past seven. Dinner time. Somehow I'd slept for four hours straight.
I rifled through my satchel and used a crystal to cast a simple spell over the cabin, a little something to deter intruders, human or otherwise.
I glanced back at the sad little shack as I made my way across the lawn toward the lodge. It was bitter cold
, the air was misty from the falls and the forest behind the row of tiny pitched roofs was like a wall of darkness, slowly, steadily pressing in.
I did my best to put that thought from my mind as I pulled the door open and stepped into the warm lobby.
About half of the tables in the dining room were occupied and most the guests dined on their own. They seemed to be travelers mainly, but not tourists, more like people just passing through. Hardly surprising. I couldn't imagine who in their right mind might actually choose to stay in Copperwood Falls because the entire place had an unmistakably sinister undertone that only the senseless would fail to pick up on. The waitress was friendly in that death barely warmed over kind of way. She took my order and returned with a rare steak, fries and a pint of ale that smelt like pine and camphor but tasted passable by the third sip.
I ate quietly, minding my own business until the tall, paunchy man at the table next to mine muttered. As I glanced over he nodded and smiled like he knew me, then his large round face flushed red above the tightly buttoned collar of his freshly pressed blue and white striped shirt. "Special, isn't it," he said, with a conspiratorial wink.
"What?"
"Copperwood Falls. A real slice of paradise." He set down his knife and fork, grabbed his beer and stepped over to my table. "Mind if I join you?" he asked as he sat down. "Donny Wells." He offered his giant hand, shook mine and grinned like an enthusiastic puppy. "I'm in vintage wine. High end."
"Right." I clinked my glass against his. "Morgan. I'm in insurance."
"You ever stayed here before, Morgan?"
"No."
"Ha ha, I'm guessing you won't be staying here again. Am I right? Every time I come here I swear it'll be the last. I don't know how people here survive, running a business on hostility and poorly fried food, but they do."
"It's not the friendliest place I've ever been to." I wasn't sure what to make of Donny Wells. He seemed nice enough but there was a bit of a maniacal gleam in his eyes, the kind I've always associated with someone that has spent far too much time alone. Something I could clearly identify with.