I raised my eyebrows at the name of the scary little wooden structure, but the name was fitting. "I'm not Catholic. I guess I'm Baptist."

  He pointed his index finger to his nose. "That's the right answer. I do know a few Methodists, but I'm always slightly suspicious of them. They drink, you know?"

  With feigned concern. "I didn't know that."

  "Do you drink?" Franklin asked.

  "Sometimes I wish I could, but no. It doesn't agree with me," I said.

  "The Baptists hate drinking. Most of them still do it, but come Sunday they hate it. So mind your business."

  He pointed out the window down Windy Hill Lane to the right. "The Baptist church is the first building. You can easily see it from here." He turned back to me. "Well, it's getting late."

  "Are we going to the school now?" I asked.

  "No. It's getting late, and since neither of us have a car handy, we'll have to walk."

  "I don't mind. It's only five."

  He gave a single nod as he crossed to the window and closed the shutters. "I'm sure you don't, but when the sun goes down, the town closes up. Here in Middwood, we go by the light, not by the clock. Besides, you've had a long drive. Why don't we call it a night?" He moved to the front door. "We'll meet up first thing tomorrow morning."

  "Okay," I said following behind him scratching my neck. "Um, Is there a local motel you can point me to?"

  Mr. Mullis craned his face toward me, his eyes narrowed and confused. "What do you mean?"

  "I didn't arrange for a place to stay. Hopefully, there are some places on the less expensive side."

  "There aren't any motels in Middwood."

  I sighed. I'd be sleeping in my car again. I had enough gas to drive a few miles out of town. Then I thought about the gossips who told Franklin about my blowout. I'd have to drive further, but it was doable. I covered, "I'm sure I can find a motel further up the—"

  Franklin held up his hand again. “Matt, you’ll be staying here until we figure out other arrangements."

  My jaw dropped and my mind went silent.

  Mr. Mullis raised his brow and leaned in. "Is that okay with you?"

  "I-I get to sleep here? In a house?"

  The man's eyes searched to his left then right. "Yes."

  Again I was silent, but I wanted to shout! A bed, a real bed!

  "Are you okay, Mr. Christian?"

  "I'm just—"

  "Thankful, I know."

  My mind started to work again. "I am thankful. How many other tenants are there?"

  "None. It's just you. If you'd rather stay with a local family—”

  "No! This is— It's great." After sleeping in my car for the last few weeks, a free place to stay was a Godsend.

  "It's only temporary. I'll be honest, you were going to stay somewhere else, but there was an accident."

  "What type of accident?"

  "A fire," he said with no hint of emotion.

  "Oh, is that common? I saw some burned homes on the way in." I realized I put my foot in my mouth by asking the question.

  "Many local houses weren't built for the long-term. They were built for the miners, but lots of moisture here and when people don't upkeep them ..." He shook his head. "Well, seasoned wood burns quickly. You won't have that problem inside this area."

  "So I got the job and the house?"

  "Why the hell else would I have stood here and talked to you for so long?" He extended his hand. "One of the bedrooms is locked--old papers, storage, and such, but the rest of the house is yours."

  I gave his hand a firm shake. "Thank you, Mr. Mullis."

  He didn't seem to care much for emotion, and he waved it off. He reached into his pocket and handed me the house key. "If you want your car you should go and get it now."

  "Yes, sir. I might look around the house first. It's just—"

  Franklin held up his hand. "Go and get your car right now. I'll walk you down to the street to make sure you go."

  I shrugged. "Yes, sir," I said beaming and babbling after him, "You won't regret this, Mr. Mullis.

  We reached the street, and he stopped. "I'm going to stop in on one of your neighbors, Thad Tippet. He runs the smallest mine. You run on down and get your car."

  "I know I've already said this," I said as the sting of tears threatened to fall. "But this job means the world to me. Just tell me what I need to do and I'll do it."

  "Let's just start off with you making it through the night," he said with a concerned face.

  "Yes, sir," I laughed.

  "Go get your car then get back into the house." He raised his hand, and I immediately responded with my full attention. His tone was steady and serious. "Once you get back here, close the shutters, and lock the doors."

  Concern must have faded my smile.

  "Nothing to worry yourself with, animals, some break-ins. Just do as I say, close the shutters and don't open this door until after sunrise. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, sir, I might have lived in a big city, but it's still the South, so I understand," I lied with surprising ease. I needed to keep this man's trust, and more importantly, I needed to keep the house.

  "Just remember, it's an old house, but it's a new place to you, so you might hear a bunch of noises. Just ignore them. I'll meet you at the Baptist church when it gets light out, and then we'll go see the school."

  "I have to go to church?" I asked trying to hide my worry.

  "Yes. You'll be introduced to the town tomorrow morning, and the parents will be told to send their children to school come Monday. Besides, folks seeing you there will help ease their minds about what kind of a person you are. In Middwood, it's real simple, if you want to fit in, then you have to be seen. And, Mr. Christian?"

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Make sure to take a bath."

  His comment caused a wave of self-awareness to wash over me. "I stink?"

  "One step away from catfish bait.”

  * * *

  Franklin and I separated. He crossed the street, and I continued to the right toward Windy Hill Lane.

  I couldn't help but count the steps to the Baptist Church—166 steps. It was the closest I'd ever lived to a church. I wasn't sure why that amazed me so much, but it did.

  Walking to my car meant I'd have to cross Keeper's Bridge. Eddie was still at his post. His attention went from a stick he was whittling with a knife to the view across the highway, down the railroad tracks, and back. I glanced to the top of the cut, as Franklin called it, but didn't see anything except oppressive mountains and the sky of a setting sun. I doubted if he ever saw anything. When I turned back, Eddie was staring at me.

  I swallowed. "Hey," my voice cracked. "I'm getting my car. Is that okay?"

  He shrugged. "Sure. Why wouldn't it be?"

  "Because of earlier?"

  His attention went back to his knife. "Like I said, once you get over the bridge you're gold. How'd the meetin' go?"

  I was shocked at the difference in his manner since our previous encounter. "It went well. I got the job."

  He shot me an honest smile and toasted me with his stick. "Well, that's just great. Congratulations. I know the town will be hootin' and hollerin' about it."

  I paused. "Just so I'm clear... I can walk across the bridge and you won't shoot me?"

  He let out a grunt. "You'll be fine. And buddy, trust the bridge. She's stronger than she looks, made with the leftover ties from when they laid the railroad track."

  "Thanks." I found comfort in his words but still walked with care.

  I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Eddie wasn't going to shoot me in the back, but he wasn't watching me. Still, I held my breath and walked over the bridge. The river flowed beneath me with continuous gushes and gurgles. Earlier, my heart must have been pounding so loud in fear I didn't notice the sounds of my surroundings.

  I crunched over the dirt and slid into my car. "Hey, baby. Guess what? I got the job. I know you're excited." I celebrated, scooting over to the driver's side and put the key in the ignition. "Wait until you see the house." I turned the key. "It has—"

  The engine sputtered but didn't crank.

  6:56 am. 5:37 pm.

  8

  "Oh come on." I pumped the gas a few times and turned the key again. The engine groaned like an alcoholic demanding another drink, then passed out.

  I got out and inspected my car like I knew what I was looking for. I had almost completed my circle when I noticed the puddle in the back. I knelt, and the mind-numbing scent of gasoline fill my nostrils.

  I got back in, and sure enough, the gas gauge read empty. "Dammit, wasted money on the ground." I tried not to get upset. My car had done the best it could, and the final leg of the Middwood trip hadn't exactly been smooth. I grabbed my keys and got out.

  A whistle blew over the mountain.

  Circling to the trunk, I grabbed two gym bags and threw one over each shoulder. I stacked the smaller box with personal items on top of a larger box filled with books. Finally, I carefully placed my Heinz 57 green milk-glass soup bowl—my holy grail—snuggly into the top box. It was heavy, but it was the only way I could think of to get everything back to the house in one trip.

  "Something wrong with your car?" Eddied asked as I walked by.

  I paused holding my haul. "She won't crank."

  "What do you think it is?"

  The box started to slip, so I pushed on the bottom with my knee and readjusted my grip. "Other than gas leaking out, I have no idea. Hey, I need to get my stuff up to the house. I'll talk to you later."

  "Yeah, get on up to the house before it gets dark. I'll be packin' up soon, too." Eddie waved his knife and went back to cutting on his stick.

  I struggled, balancing the top box on my books, but since people were walking about, I didn't stop to take a break. The burn in my arms was manageable, but I knew it would intensify. I had to think like a shark, if I stopped moving, I would die.

  A man's voice called out, "You need some help there?" I shifted my eyes to the left, but my green bowl blocked his face.

  Oh, Eddie, shoot me, please. I kept walking.

  "Can I give you a hand?" the man asked.

  Two bullets in the back of the head.

  "Hello?" he asked again.

  I slowed but didn't stop. "Oh, sorry. I couldn't hear you over the top of my box." I turned to make eye contact with him, but he moved, so again his face was hidden.

  The man laughed. "Son, do you need some help?"

  My arms shook as I lifted the boxes two inches higher. "No, sir. Thank you, though."

  He continued, "I run the pharm—"

  I shifted the boxes again, and a book fell.

  "Oh, let me get that for you." I still couldn't see his face, but his body was long and slim. Gritty scratching dug at my ears as he dusted off the cover. "The Diary of Anne Frank. That's the Jew girl right?"

  I clenched my teeth and rolled my eyes as the box cut into my fingers. At least he didn't call her a kike. "Yes, a story from the Holocaust."

  "I haven't read that one yet since they never proved it happened."

  I hid my struggle. "I'll have to let you borrow it. I'm the new teacher, Matt."

  He gave a surprised gasp. "Is that so? Well, I'll be."

  I groaned. "Yes. If you will forgive me. I need to get home. Darkness falling and all."

  "Oh, you betcha" He put the book back in the box. "Nice to meet you."

  I tried being polite. "Sorry about rushing off," I said while hurrying away.

  With the additional weight of my belongings, the incline up to the house made my upper legs and calves burn.

  By the time I got to the yard, I had no feeling from my shoulders to the tips of my fingers. I couldn't wait any longer. I dropped to my knees until the boxes rested on the brown grass. I couldn't just let them fall since the green bowl had been given to me by my grandmother. It was the only thing I had left of hers.

  I held out my curled, white, stone-like fingers until I was able to extend them again. I peered around, sneaking glances to make sure no one was rushing over from across the street to help me. Luckily, the road and yards were empty. I picked my boxes up and sped to my front door.

  Looking over my shoulder, I turned the doorknob.

  "New guy, huh?"

  "Jesus shittin' socks!" I jumped away from the door, gripping the boxes tighter.

  A short, slim man stood next to the door. He was dressed like an undertaker.

  I regained my composure and gave a nervous laugh. "Sorry, you scared the sh-—I didn't see you there."

  He lifted his chin, stretching his neck. "Did you get everything you needed from your car?"

  The slime of this guy oozed off of him. It started at his hair and dripped off him to the floor.

  "Yeah, I got everything."

  He scratched his ear. "Are you okay, Matt?"

  It sounded like he was using my name against me. "I'm fine. How do you know my name?"

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

  "Don't worry. You didn't scare me." The guy was creepy, but hardly someone to be afraid of. Marbert was a big man, this guy was five-nine and maybe one hundred forty pounds. "What do you want?"

  "I'm a teacher, too. I'll be working with you at the school."

  My heart sank.

  He cackled. "I'm only kidding. I'm not a teacher. I can’t stand kids.”

  "What do you want?"

  "I beg your pardon. We don't often get new people around here. I don't think I've had to formally introduce myself since... Well, since, I got hired at my job three years ago." His thin lips all but disappeared into a line that curved into points on each end.

  The box pulled into my chest. I wasn't sure if it was the strain from holding it or my body reacting to him, but my chest ached. One thing was for sure. I didn't want to touch him.

  He held out his hand. "I'm Clint. I work at the dentist’s office."

  I stepped back.

  His eyes narrowed and he twisted his lower jaw.

  I swallowed. "Sorry. Mine are full. I'll catch that handshake next time."

  "Of course." He retracted his hand. "I guess I need to just come out with it." He rubbed the end of his nose nervously. "Matt, I just want to make sure Frank was completely honest with you."

  "About what?"

  "About the town. How strange it is."

  "He warned me."

  "That's the problem, Matt." He paused. "He needed to scare you, not warn you."

  "What's it to ya?" I asked, my tone short.

  He cocked his chin, not like a confused puppy, but more like a snake drawing back before a strike.

  "I'm trying to help you, pal."

  "Then help me a bit quicker. I want to get settled in."

  He grinned. "Frank didn't tell you the rules did he?"

  "What rules?"

  Clint shifted his eyes to the mountain. "There are always threats, Matt."

  "I see—"

  "Well, actually, you won't see. That's the whole point." He placed his hands behind his back and circled me. "Middwood has a few quirks, if you will. Did Frank mention the windows, Matt."

  Every time he said my name my skin crawled.

  “'Close them and lock the door,’ he told me.”

  "No, Matt. There’s more than that. There are rules and I can't with a clear conscience let the sun fall without telling you.”

  9

  Clint was turning out to be just another weirdo. I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

  “You don't believe me."

  I shook my head.

  "I saw Eddie hold his gun on you."

  "You were—"

  "Yes, I was watching, Matt. This is a small town. It's boring. I watch and listen, just like everyone else. The bridge is nothing compared to the rest of the shit in this town."

  I scowled at him and fought against my growing aggravation, I put the boxes down on the porch. "Okay. Tell me."

  He extended his hand.

  I ignored it. “Tell me."

  He focused his eyes on me and slowed his words like I would do with a student when I needed to make sure they were listening. “You said you would shake my hand the next—"

  “Skip it,” I snapped.

  If my car would fucking crank and if Eddie didn't have a shotgun, I'd get the hell out of this place.

  He grinned sourly and made his way down the steps.

  “What about your clear conscience?" I insisted.

  Clint turned and hurried back up the steps. "Matt, you were rude to me. You dismissed me. I do what I do for the good of this town. You might not be the one for the job, and the town might be too much for you to handle. If that's the case, then so be it. But while you settle in tonight, stay inside.”

  I couldn't help but wonder what his game was.

  I bit through my childishness. "Clint, forgive my disrespect."

  He nodded. "I appreciate that."

  We both cooled off.

  Clint walked back down the stairs. “It’s getting dark. Good luck." He waved over his shoulder and continued down the yard.

  I watched him, making sure he didn't stop and hide in the bushes.

  The further away he walked the more relaxed I felt. If I hadn’t loved the house so much, I might have ask Franklin to put me into witness protection.

  "No one will ruin this moment for me; not Marbert and not Clint. I'm going to sleep in a bed. My bed!"

  Grinning, I stepped into the house and shut the door.

  Once I was inside and alone, I stopped. I took in the quiet and the stillness. There were no motors growling, no horns honking, and no police tapping on my window telling me to move along.

  I opened my eyes, and it was all true. The house was real. "Thank God."

  I dropped my box on the thin table behind the sofa and let out a deep breath. Circling the living room, I ran my fingers along the arm of the big purple sofa, pushing my fingers into its deep, cushiony arms. I spun around on the hardwood floor and sat in the armchair next to the fireplace. I rested my feet on the ottoman, careful not to touch it with the bottoms of my shoes. Then I smiled and pushed off my shoes, letting them thud to the floor; I could do that now. I took a huge breath, and I snuggled into the chair. I closed my aching eyes again.

 

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