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welcometocoldwater · 6 years

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Part Three: Cervids(?)

Spencer was all too familiar with deer, unfortunately.

He sat down in his regular spot at Lucy’s cafe, pulling out his wallet as she set about the kitchen. She slammed his tea down in front of him and whipped around, not acknowledging his “hello” or the other customers at the counter. He raised his eyebrows in surprise but didn’t press the issue until the restaurant was more or less cleared out. He bit down on the last remaining bits of ice in his glass, looked up, and asked, “Are you having a bad day?” “Hmm?” She looked up from the cash register and shook her head. “Oh, no. Just the damn deer in the garden again.” “Oh.” From what he remembered of Lucy’s garden - he hadn’t been there since he was ten or so - it was the pride and joy of her house. Her entire backyard was a vegetable patch that easily churned out pumpkins the size of your head and squash as long as your forearm, and the front was as meticulously maintained as the botanical gardens in Boston. But she lived a twenty-minute drive from the center of town, way up in the woods, and her house was bordered on three sides by trees. He knew the struggle well; in the year he’d spent recovering at his parents’ house, he’d watched his mother wage a never-ending war against the deer that lived near them, too. “I just don’t have the energy to go out there with the spray,” she said, almost mournfully. “And it’s only Tuesday, but I won’t have time until Saturday. They’ll have messed up half the flowers by then.” He perked up a little. “I can spray the garden for you, if you need.” “You’re not too busy?” she asked. “Not at all.” And this was true. The college students still hadn’t arrived yet - their last day of classes was sometime next week - and he had more or less settled into his apartment. None of the motorists spending the night in the lodge had come inside screaming about a ten-foot-tall eldritch abomination under the stoplight, so he really hadn’t had too much to do other than re-read his collection of books and paint. Not necessarily a bad thing, but he was starting to go a little stir-crazy. He was very acquainted with the feeling. “And you know how to do it? I don’t want the chemicals to burn my plants.” He nodded. “I helped my mother with it a few weeks ago.” “Alright.” “Just… one thing.” He blinked a little sheepishly, suddenly realizing the flaw in his plan. “I don’t have a car.” “Want to take my truck?” “I don’t have a driver’s license.” “I thought you -“ “It got taken away.” “Oh, that’s right.” She pursed her lips and looked to the side, her forehead wrinkling in thought. “I suppose you could ask Donovan Holdzt for a ride up. The pharmacist?” “He’s Ira’s brother, isn’t he?” “Yes, that’s the one. He’s got some more of that deer spray in the back for me, anyway. I’m sure he’d be glad to give you a ride.” He wrinkled his nose a little. “Deer spray from the pharmacy?” She laughed and shook her head. “It’s a home-brew from Donovan. It’s the only thing that works on these damn mountain deer.” Wondering what the hell a pharmacist could make that would both keep the menace of white-tailed deer away and not violate animal cruelty laws, Spencer shouldered his bag, tugged on Zero’s leash, and set off across the street, one of the other buildings at the corner of North and Main. Admittedly, the smell inside was more than a little concerning, and Spencer probably would have been a little more worried if he hadn’t been practically raised in Ira Holdzt’s study back in Salem, but he just shook his head and waved away the heavy cloud of white smoke as he walked through the front door. The front room of the pharmacy - stocked with the typical wares of acetaminophen and band-aids, a few ancient candy bars at the register for the kids - reeked of sulfur and charred wood. A bell clanged over his head as he walked through the front, and there was a loud thump from behind the counter. “Be out in a minute!” someone shouted. “Mr. Holdzt?” he called. “It’s Spencer Flores. I need help with an errand for Lucy.” “Spencer!” A man popped up from under the register, rubbing his forehead with a grin. His hand left behind a large, dark gray smudge. “It’s been years! Ira told me you were coming, though.” He shrugged, not quite sure what to say. “Lucy told me you might be able to help?” “What do you need?” “She said the deer are eating her garden again, and I offered to spray her yard for her, but I don’t have a car or a license. She said you might be able to drive me. I don’t mean to be a hassle, but -“ “Eating her garden?” Donovan frowned and turned around, starting for the door that led to the back part of the pharmacy. “I have something that should work for that, and I’m not busy, so I can drive you up. I just need a minute to find it.” He nodded and folded his arms across his chest, sweeping his eyes over the medicines on the metal shelves. Muzak, uncomfortably quiet, echoed from the speakers overhead. He was sure that if he listened to it for more than a few minutes, he’d start to lose his mind, and he wasn’t sure how Donovan managed to tolerate it for hours on end, every day. Donovan emerged from the back room a few seconds later, a bottle tucked under his arm; it looked like an old whiskey bottle - the kind with the dark brown glass - with the sprayer looking like it had been pulled from a bottle of glass cleaner. He set it down on the counter with a thud and a grin. “This thing will get rid of any deer, no matter how hungry the bastards are,” he announced. “Oh, and by the way, the pharmacy up in Salem called, and I’ve got everything taken care of -“ “Thanks, but I’m still good for a while,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I’ll stop in when I need a refill.” “Service dog?” he asked, nodding towards Zero. Like the vest wasn’t a dead giveaway. Spencer nodded, tight-lipped, and followed Donovan back out to the sidewalk in front of the store. He flipped over a sign that said Out For Lunch - Back In A Few! and jangled his car keys. After it reached the edge of downtown Coldwater, North Street became a state route, twisting and winding its way up into the mountains. The woods thickened around it until it was impossible to see more than a few feet deep past the shoulder, where bunches of wildflowers sprouted up and swayed in the wind of their passing car. Donovan turned up the radio, tuned to the local public broadcast, but the reception faded in and out as they made their way up to Lucy’s. He nearly passed her driveway, where the mailbox was almost buried in weeds and flowers, and stopped at the top of her driveway. “Just spray it anywhere you think you need it,” he said, passing the bottle over to Spencer. It was uncomfortably warm. “I’ll wait for you up here.” He trudged down the driveway and towards the flower beds in front of her house. Even though the gardens were maintained to a near-professional level, the house itself was starting to fall into disrepair. The wooden outside looked almost waterlogged, and one of the steps leading to her front door was cracked and sagging. He made a mental note to try to find a carpenter in the area for her as he passed it. Zero hesitated just in front of the flowerbeds, his nose twitching nervously. It took Spencer another moment to realize what it was: the soft but ever-present droning of flies and the unmistakable smell of roadkill. He looked back to the road, but didn’t see the remains of some unfortunate raccoon or opossum there. He peered over the flowers. “Oh goddamn,” he blurted. The remains of what he assumed was once a goose were scattered between the lilies and the bluebells, feathers caught in brambles, bones poking up like new growth. Flies buzzed over the entire scene. He hesitated, then slowly, cautiously, extended an arm and spritzed the bottle of deer repellant. It smelled like cayenne peppers. “Donovan?” he shouted, looking back over his shoulder. “Can you come here for a second?” The car door slammed, and Donovan plodded across the lawn, squinting his eyes as the smell of roadkill hit him, too. He stopped next to Spencer and peered down at the former goose. “Huh,” he said, planting his hands on his hips. “Goddamned deer.” “Excuse me?” Spencer asked, his voice a little high and strained. “It’s usually a fox or something they’ll get. I guess they caught a goose, though.” “The deer caught and ate a goose?” He turned his squint on Spencer. “Didn’t you spend your summers here as a kid with Ira?” “I don’t remember this.” He grunted and took the bottle from Spencer’s hands. Slowly, methodically, he walked the perimeter of Lucy’s garden, spraying each plant with whatever was in the bottle. The smell of peppers mingled with dead animal in the summer sun made his stomach turn a little. When he was done, he tucked the bottle back under his arm and surveyed the scene again. “They don’t like the smell,” he said, giving it a shake. “I guessed that.” “Looks like our job here is done.” He nodded once and started back off towards the truck again. “We’re just going to leave the goose in the middle of Lucy’s yard?” “Yes?” He groaned and started for the house. The back door was unlocked, the way it always had been when he was growing up; it took a few minutes of rummaging around under her sink to find a trash bag. When he straightened up, he made eye contact with a framed picture of Isaac, Lucy’s grandson, hanging on the wall, and sighed. In the picture, Isaac was maybe twelve or thirteen, holding up a fish with his mouth agape, and next to him, a much younger version of Spencer was holding up his own (significantly smaller) catch. The colors were faded from its years of exposure to the sun through the window above the counter. For a moment, he was tempted to wander through the house and try to find a most recent picture of Isaac, just out of curiosity (he told himself) - but the idea of snooping through Lucy’s belongings without her there made his skin crawl. Instead, he headed back outside. He grabbed a stick from the woods behind the house and slowly began poking the remains into a pile, stopping every few seconds to turn away and take another breath. He could feel Donovan’s eyes on him as he worked, and heard the laughter when he nearly slipped and fell. He prodded as much as he could into the trash bag, then dragged it behind himself until he was in the woods, out of sight of the house, and dumped it out. He got back in the car, shuddered, and said, “I’m ready to go.” “That was awful nice of you,” he observed, throwing the car into gear and reversing back out onto the road. “It was,” he agreed. He looked up and let out a muffled little yelp. “Oh, look. You’ve pissed ‘em off,” Donovan observed with an unsettling note of cheerfulness. Ten or fifteen deer milled about in the road in front of them, blocking off their return to town; one, the largest, approached the truck until it was mere inches from the front bumper. Its nostrils flared, and Spencer could see canine teeth poking out from its upper lip. He tightened his grip on Zero’s leash. Donovan leaned on the horn, and they scattered, bounding off into the woods. He leaned out the window and shouted “Move, you assholes!” at the retreating figures. “Jay-sus Christ.” “I think I’m ready to go back to town now,” Spencer said.

Back at the cafe, Spencer reported on the events that had transpired, and Lucy gave him a free coffee for his troubles. He sat with his book, sitting and re-reading the same page over and over, and finally, she asked, “What’s on your mind, kiddo?” “When’s the last time you heard from Isaac?” “Oh, he called me a week or two ago, but I haven’t seen him in person in… a few years, at least. He rented an apartment out in Chicago after his freshman year and hasn’t come home since.” She looked up from the glass she was polishing. “Why?” “I was looking for a garbage bag in your house and saw a picture of the two of us when we were younger. I guess I was just wondering.” She gestured to one of the photos on the wall; in between pictures of the Vermont countryside was a young man, maybe twenty, with a violin perched on his shoulder in front of some great concert hall. His hair was shorter but still as curly as it had been in the picture with the fish, and his eyes were closed as he leaned into the music. The image made his stomach lurch. “If you want his phone number, you could give him a call.” “No,” he said, a little too quickly. She arched her eyebrows. “If he doesn’t remember Coldwater, I don’t want to call. He could panic.” She said nothing. “I didn’t remember the deer,” he continued, almost to himself. “And I don’t remember that picture being taken.” “You were just a little kid, Spencer, and you’ve had a lot happen to you since then. I don’t think anyone could blame you for forgetting.” “That’s not it, though,” he said, shaking his head. “I think I forgot for the same reason Isaac did. Am I right?” She set the glass back on the shelf and turned back to him. “There’s something about this town that makes people forget,” she confessed. “Me, I’ve spent my whole life here. It’s a part of me just like my voice or my bones. But outsiders don’t seem to remember this place for very long.” He nodded and spun around to look back out at the intersection. If he closed his eyes, he could still see it, almost entirely unchanged from the way it had been ten years before, and he could see two young boys with curly hair in front of the pharmacy, clutching dollar bills in their fists as they peered through the pharmacy window, looking at the collection of candy. He’d forgotten about it until that moment, but now that he did remember, it was as if he’d never forgotten. He wondered if Isaac had forgotten, too. He looked back at the photo on the wall, at the young man with the messy hair and the tailored suit, and he hoped that he would remember, and he hoped that he would come back.

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#part one: homecoming #writing #short story #short stories #horror #fantasy #artists on tumblr

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welcometocoldwater · 6 years

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Part Two: The Top Floor

Spencer Flores’ new apartment was on the third floor of the lodge - which was not a lodge anymore but an apartment building, with only the ground-floor rooms available for night-to-night rentals - but old names die hard.

It had all been arranged for him, according to the department that arranged these sort of things back at the church. Room 303 came complete with a bedroom, kitchen, and porch that looked out over the lake. “Hi,” he said to the half-asleep receptionist at the front counter. She jolted awake with a snort, slapping the keyboard of her ancient computer with both hands. Zero’s ears perked up at the sound. She rubbed her eyes, narrowing them at him, shaking her head like she disapproved of whatever he just did. Honestly, she probably did. “Christ,” she grumbled, looking over her shoulder and out the window. It was now pitch black outside, the only illumination coming from the blinking traffic light at the intersection. Lucy Mendel was long gone, now, vanishing up into the mountains, where her house sat a few hundred feet back from the county route that led through the valley and towards the college. “Where the hell did you come from?” “Outside,” he said slowly. “Got lost on the interstate, did ya? ‘Ang on, I’ll get you set up in an overnight room. If we have any left. There’s a storm blowin’ in from Canada, and it forced a bunch of drivers off the road. If we don’t have any openin’s, you can head on a few miles down the road and set yourself up by Ellison College.” She began typing away on the dinosaur of the computer. Thunder rumbled overhead. The keys on the wall behind her shuddered in unison. “I actually live here, now, I think,” he said. She snapped her gum and arched an eyebrow. “My name is Spencer Flores. I think someone called and arranged an apartment for me.” She turned back to her computer, then nodded and reached behind herself for one of the keys. “Yep, all set up. D’ya’ know the rules?” He shrugged, partially because he didn’t know the rules and partially because he wasn’t sure if that was the question she’d actually asked him. Oh, excuse him, the question she’d axed him. He hadn’t been aware that there were rules. “That key’ll getcha into the lodge after we lock up. Usually, it’s nine, but we stayed open later tonight on account’a the storm. An’ between October an’ March, most people get inside by ten-thirry. You would, too, if you’re smart.” She slid the key across the counter towards him, a smile quirking up the corner of her mouth. “Rent’s three hundred a month, but it looks like someone’s takin’ care of it for ya’.” He smiled a little back and wondered where the hell she had picked up that accent. Certainly not Vermont. “Thank you,” he said, quickly, and gathered up the keys. Now he was aware of the accent he carried around, too - faint, but still there. He focused on his next words, the way the r’s flipped on themselves. “You don’t have any bags?” “They’re being sent to me tomorrow,” he assured, tugging on Zero’s leash and leading him towards the staircase. “What room?” “Three-oh-three.” “Thank you.” There were only three rooms on the top floor, but he hoped that meant they would be the largest. When he opened the door, his hands trembling slightly with exhaustion, he stepped into the completely darkened room and debated dropping onto the floor and sleeping wherever he fell. He decided against this and instead dragged his hand along the wall until it found a switch, and he flipped it with no ceremony. A bulb overhead flickered lamely for a moment before powering on. It illuminated a dismal scene: an empty living room, a kitchen with cheap plastic “tiling” and an undoubtedly empty fridge, and a hallway with two more doors: the bathroom and the bedroom, presumably. There was not much to show for three hundred a month. No couch or television, so it was safe to assume he would be sleeping on the floor until he could get some furniture. He had traveled light, the only belongings he’d hauled along being the ones he’d fit into the backpack on his shoulder. He let this drop to the floor, knelt, and unzipped it. Inside held two folding dog bowls (one with a silicone lid), a phone charger, a reusable water bottle, and several bright orange prescription bottles. He filled one of the bowls with water from the sink and removed Zero’s leash. Then he sat down with his back against one of the counters and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. Finn answered on the first ring. “Heya, Spencer. You made it alright?” “I’m in my new apartment now.” “How is it?” “Good. A little empty. But better than my parents’ house.” “Alright. Good. I’m glad.” She paused. “You don’t need me there? I can get there -“ “I’m fine, Finn.” An edge crept into his voice. “I’ve only been here thirty seconds and you panic.” “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” “Besides, you’ll see me tomorrow when you drop off my boxes.” “This is true.” “I talked to Lucy Mendel earlier.” “Lucy!” Finn’s voice brightened, and Spencer winced, pulling the tinny speaker away from his ear. “I haven’t seen her in so long. How is she? Any news on Isaac?” “No. He’s still in college. She doesn’t want to upset him with anything unexpected.” “So he really knows nothing,” she murmured. He could picture her now, slumped over in her own apartment inside the renovated church a few miles outside Salem, Massachusetts, where she’d lived since she graduated high school. There was a muffed thumping sound, the groan of springs, and he knew she’d just dove onto her bed. “That sucks.” “I’m not going to worry about it. It’s nothing that concerns me, anyway.” He crossed one leg over the other and watched as Zero walked away from the water bowl and dropped heavily onto the shag carpet of the living room. Wonder if it violates my lease to rip all that up, he thought absently. “I was just calling to tell you I’m okay,” he continued. “I’m exhausted. I think I’m going to go to sleep if I can find a comfortable spot.” “Do you not have a bed?” “I don’t think so. I can sleep on the floor for one night, though. The bus passed a department store a few miles back. You and I can head back that way later. I’ve still got some cash left over from my medical payout. That’ll get me a bed and a couch.” And a grocery run, I hope. “No bed and no couch? Jee-zus, Ira sent you up to a prison.” “I’ll see you tomorrow, Finn,” he said. “Try to not lose too much sleep without me.” “I don’t know how I’ll handle it.” She snorted. “G’night, Spencer.” “Good night.” The line disconnected, and he stood back up, bracing himself against the counter like his leg might buckle - which it very well might have, six months ago. But he’d had to go through recertification at the Institute before he’d been sent out on assignment, which meant passing a physical exam, and he had - barely. He was on “limited duty”, which meant he’d been sent off to Coldwater because they considered it safe enough that he wouldn’t have to, say, go hiking through the woods alone. Like the name of the lodge, though, old habits died hard, and he stayed braced against the counter until he was convinced it wouldn’t give out under his weight. Zero found his feet and walked over, stretching one shoulder towards him like an invitation, but he stepped away from the countertop, a little heavily, like his foot was asleep, but stayed upright. “See?” he said to Zero, who twitched an ear. “I’ve got this.” He walked into the bathroom, which was cramped and dated, but blessedly clean. He tried the mirror, and it pulled away from the wall, revealing empty rows to store medications on. He popped the top off of the orange bottle in his hand, dry-swallowed one of the pills inside, and lined the bottles up on the center shelf. He clicked the mirror back into place and paused, brushing his hair back off of his face, fingers tracing the darkened patch of skin that marked where he’d scraped his forehead when he’d fallen. It had been a year and a half ago, and it had faded almost entirely, but that hadn’t stopped him from growing out his hair to hide it. Outside, thunder rumbled, and he quickly covered the scar up again as Zero whined. He shut off the bathroom lights and turned into the bedroom. It was smaller than the living room, with the same shag carpeting, but he could fit a bed in there with no problem, one for Zero, maybe a few bookshelves. He had packed up half his family’s library when he decided to take the assignment they’d offered, and his family didn’t protest as he slid book after book into cardboard boxes. He missed them now, wished he’d remembered to pack one or two into that backpack he’d brought on the bus, but all of them had been tucked away into his packing boxes, as well as his laptop. He’d thought that he could go one night without them, but he’d underestimated his ability to entertain himself for the night. It was too early to go to sleep - he’d ruined his sleep schedule during his time off - and he had no television, no books, no computer to waste time on. So he rummaged through the closet until he found a blanket and a pillow, kicked off his shoes, and sprawled out on the living room floor, gazing out the glass door that led to the porch overlooking Coldwater Lake. He gazed out across the glassy water until, finally, sleep overtook him. He drifted off.

Finn McKay was in the hallway the next morning, bright and early, better than any alarm clock as she beat her fist against the door. He groaned and shuffled towards the sound, blanket trailing across the ground. The moment the door opened, she thrust a box towards him with a broad grin. “Brought you your books,” she said, bouncing up and down on her toes. He narrowed his eyes against the sunlight in the hallway. “There’s some more stuff down in the lobby. But we’re going on a shopping trip, right?” He shrugged as she pushed her way inside. Finn was short, but made up for it with what must have been six inches of hair, gelled up into spikes that probably could have taken his eyes out. She spun around in a circle to take in the appearance of the apartment, then set the book down in the middle of the bare living room. “Right?“ she prompted, tapping her toes. “Once we get everything up here, then yes. Just give me a chance to change -“ “All of your clothes are downstairs,” she reminded. He groaned. It only took a few trips to haul all of his belongings up into the apartment, scattering the cardboard boxes through the rooms, hanging up shirts sealed up with trash bags in the closet (there were only a few that he kept in rotation, but now that the laundromat was down the street, he was considering buying more). He jotted down a list of things he needed to buy to make the apartment livable, at least - bed, mattress, kitchen table and chairs, a bookshelf to get rid of all the damn boxes. A couch and television could come later, after the first paycheck from his assignment rolled in. He didn’t want to blow all his money at once, and anyway, he was nearly certain he’d be spending most of his time at Lucy Mendel’s cafe. He looked about, puffing out his chest a little. There was still unpacking to be done, but hey, it was another step towards making the space a little more his. “That’s everything, isn’t it?” Finn asked, unceremoniously dropping a box onto the ground. Dust flew up from the ground. He added vacuum to his list. “We can go shopping now?” “We can go shopping now,” he agreed. She broke into a broad grin. “Great! There’s an Ikea just a few miles down the highway, and I bet you could find a lot of cheap furniture there - come on, let’s go -“ “Finn,” he insisted as she grabbed his arm, “this isn’t the smartest idea - someone could see you -“ She shrugged and closed her eyes, and the apartment vanished. Spencer staggered away, his stomach swimming, and braced himself against the door of the car now directly to his right. The sunlight was dazzling, and the faint hum of highway traffic was now just a few feet behind him. The massive gray building loomed down in front of them, the blue-and-gold logo looking big enough to crush them. “Hell, Finn,” he hissed through gritted teeth, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “a little warning would be appreciated next time.” “You’re fine,” she scoffed. She unwedged herself from the position in which she’d appeared, pinned between a car and the rear-view mirror of its neighbor. “Hurry up.” “What’s your rush?” “I love Ikea. There’s gotta be something I didn’t realize I need in there.” She stuck out her tongue at him, popped out into the street, and set off towards the entrance at a jog. He let out another groan, trying to assure himself that he wasn’t going to throw up the moment he walked away from the car. Then, he balanced on his toes, craning his neck to see if anybody had noticed the two twenty-something-year-olds emerging from the space between two cars. Finn liked to play fast and loose with the secrecy that had been so ingrained in them since day one, and he was certain that someday, she’d miss the mark and appear in the middle of a crowded shopping mall, or onstage at a concert she was trying to sneak into, and she’d blow the cover for the entire Institute. But for today, she would make it a hell of a lot easier to get this furniture up three flights of stairs. Satisfied that nobody had seen them, he stepped out into the street behind her.

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#part one: homecoming #short stories #short story #horror #fantasy #artists on tumblr

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welcometocoldwater · 6 years

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part one: north and main

When the outsider showed up on her front porch, Lucy Mendel nearly chased him off with a broom.

She didn’t even need to look up to know that he was an outsider, because anybody local to Coldwater knew that she followed the same routine every day, just like she had for the past fifty years; the cafe at the corner of North and Main would be closed and shuttered by nine o’clock each night even if she had to slam the door in your face. Being the only restaurant in town, she could do pretty much anything she wanted. Your options were pretty limited around here. The town saw its fair share of outsiders, with the occasional lost traveler blowing in from off I-91 and the few college students renting out rooms in the renovated lodge when the college two towns over took away their on-campus housing. The lodge was catty-corner to the cafe, on the shores of the Coldwater Lake that loaned the town its name, and Lucy had watched the lot fill up with young-looking travelers who stumbled out of their beat-up cars, blinking in the sunlight, looking absolutely bewildered that they were no longer on the interstate. Lucy knew the type. Coldwater made itself hard to find, but people still found their way, anyway. She was damn close to locking up the front door and heading back up the mountain when the outsider appeared on the side of the road just in front of her cafe, nothing more than a silhouette under the flickering streetlight, features lost in shadow. She froze as she caught a glimpse of him through the picture window that looked out over Main, her breath catching in her throat, and she silently willed him to remain where he was. But he took a step forward, and then another, moving slowly but surely towards the front door she had just locked. “God damn,” she hissed, gripping the broom a little tighter in her hands and turning back around. She’d already flipped the sign to “Closed”, so, with any luck, this clown would turn right back around when he caught sight of it. She shuffled towards the counter and jabbed the broom at a crumpled straw wrapper lodged between the leg of one of the chairs and the floor, grumbling all the while. Her back had started twinging when she knelt down to pick up after her customers (surely the trash had been left behind by one of the aforementioned outsiders; the locals never dared leave behind a mess). As she chased the little ball of paper out into the open, the outsider knocked on the front door. It rattled a little in its frame, the cracked paint looking about ready to flake off. “We’re closed!” she shouted, hoping she was loud enough to be heard through the door. The outsider hesitated, then knocked again. Is he deaf? Lucy wondered. She stomped towards the door - admittedly, it would have been more intimidating twenty years ago - and threw the door open, wielding the broom like a wizard’s staff in front of her, the words already reforming on her lips. Instead, though, she looked up into the outsider’s face, and the words died on her lips. What she said was actually “oh, Lord”. A twenty-something-year-old named Spencer Flores opened his mouth, changed his mind, and simply shrugged. The broom dropped and hung lamely at her side. After a moment, she cleared her throat and took a step back. “I’m assuming you want to come inside, then?” He nodded, tightening his grip on the loop of canvas in his hand. Lucy followed it down to the ground and noticed, for the first time, the white dog sitting at his side, nose twitching as it took in the smells still emanating from the cafe. She closed the door behind him, and he sat down at the counter, at the chair she’d pulled out as she tried to unwedge the balled-up paper. She locked the door and walked back behind the counter, rooting through the fridge, looking for something she could give him that didn’t involve boiling water, even though his arrival seemed to guarantee that she would not be following her routine, not tonight, and she would be much later getting home than she had anticipated. She soon gave up on this endeavor, though, and started up one of the electric kettles. “So, what are you doing in Coldwater, Spencer?” she asked as she worked. “More importantly, what are you doing in front of my restaurant in the dark, staring in like you’re going to rob me?” He cracked a smile at this, looking down at his hands, folded on the lacquered wood of the counter. “I’ve got a research assignment from the college.” “It’s about time they sent you out on assignment,” she snapped. She pulled a clean white mug and saucer from the bucket on top of the fridge. “How long has it been? A year?” “Nearly eighteen months.” His voice was soft, almost sheepish, like a teenager confessing just how much money he’d lifted from his mother’s purse. “The doctors didn’t want to clear me, and when they finally did, my parents didn’t want me living alone - but I’m not alone. I’ve got Zero.” “That’s the dog?” He nodded. “Service dog.” She set the mug down in front of him, a bit more aggressively than she intended, and he drew back a little, eyes wide. “I’m sorry,” she said, turning back to the rows and rows of ceramic jars, filled with loose tea leaves. “It’s not you I’m angry with. It’s Ira.” “Don’t be angry at Ira,” he protested, wrapping his hands around the mug. “It wasn’t his fault.” “He should not have sent three inexperienced kids up into those woods. He should have known damn better than -“ “Miss Lucy,” he whispered, “no offense, but I really don’t want to talk about New Hampshire.” “Of course,” she said, softening. “I’m sorry. What’s your assignment here? I thought I had everything pretty much under control.” “Someone at Ellison College heard a few students were planning on doing a summer project here,” he said. “Poking around in the woods. Investigating those missing hikers.” “Of course they are.” She glanced at the electric kettle, then filled up two mugs - one for Spencer, and one for herself, dropping brewers in - one chamomile and one lavender. She nudged the former towards him, and he smiled briefly before taking a long drink. “And you’re here to make sure they don’t get too close.” “Exactly. The college hasn’t let out for the summer yet, so I’m just going to tail them, make sure there’s nothing too dangerous in the mountains. But everything’s been doing a good job of keeping hidden so far, so it should be a straightforward assignment.” She smiled back as she took a sip. “But how have you been, Miss Lucy?” he continued, turning to her with bright eyes. They were a rich, dark brown, turned nearly black in the dim light of the restaurant. “You haven’t been down to the church lately, and I haven’t been in Coldwater for - more than ten years, I guess. Do you hear much from Isaac?” The smile on her face flickered, just briefly, and she pursed her lips. “Not much,” she admitted, tapping a fingernail against the saucer. “He’s got a year to go in college. Hasn’t been back to his father’s house since the summer after his freshman year. I think they had a falling-out. He calls sometimes, but… I think he’s planning on staying in Chicago after he graduates. He’s got himself a girlfriend.” “Oh. That’s… a shame. You haven’t talked to anyone out there about -?” She shook her head abruptly, cutting off his question. Her eyes shone a little. “He wouldn’t believe a word anyone has to say. Would you?” She laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “He’s already had a rough enough time out there. I don’t want to do anything to upset him.” “That’s understandable.” They finished their drinks in silence, and when they were both finished, Lucy collected the cups and set them on the other side of the counter. Spencer began to insist that he could help clean them before he left, but she waved off his concern, saying, “I can just wash ‘em in the morning.” So he and his dog found their feet and started towards the front door. Lucy gave the restaurant one final glance-over and, finding it cleaned to her satisfaction, followed him out, her ring of keys jangling in her hands. They stood on the front porch as she locked the front door behind them, and Spencer placed his hands in his pockets, taking in a deep breath. “Better than Boston air, isn’t it?” she asked. He nodded, and she started down the steps that led towards the road. At a certain point each night, the single stoplight in town switched over to an almost-hypnotic flashing, yellow on one side, red on the other. She usually wasn’t in town late enough to see it switch over, and she wondered how long they’d spent, just sitting in silence. But, she rationalized, it was worth just spending time with the kid. The last time she’d seen him, he was unconscious in a hospital bed in New Hampshire, and she had been comforting a heartbroken Marisol Flores as the doctors wondered if he would ever wake up again. It was a small miracle that he was awake at all, let alone up and walking and back out on assignment. That’s what the doctors had called it, at least. She thought she might have a different explanation, but she kept her mouth shut, both then and now. As she started for her pickup, behind her, Spencer’s breath caught in his throat, and he raised a hand to slowly point at the blinking light - no, whatever was under the blinking light. “You see it, right, Miss Lucy?” he asked. She glanced up and said, “Of course I do.” The figure under the light lifted its head at the sound of their voices, the antlers jutting from the sides of its head colliding with the stoplight and sending the colors dancing. Its face - round and flat, with two shining black eyes - swiveled towards Spencer, and it took a lurching step forward, its spine hunched so far forward it looked as if it would overbalance and sprawl across the pavement. It lifted one hand - its arms nearly long enough to drag on the ground - and pointed towards him with a crooked, twig-like finger. Lucy, halfway into her pickup truck, scoffed and scolded, “Oh, leave it, you big idiot. You know Spencer.” It took a few more steps forward, its eyes narrowing, and after a long moment, it seemed satisfied and turned back around. Both Lucy and Spencer watched as it shuffled off, back under the light, up Main Street until it had disappeared into the woods that flanked the entirety of downtown. Down at Spencer’s side, Zero let out a long, low growl, several minutes too late. “It likes you,” Lucy announced. The car coughed several times before turning over, the engine not purring so much as it was hacking and wheezing. Spencer just nodded, eyes just as wide as the figure’s had been, hands still in his pocket. She chuckled at his expression. “Good night, Spencer.” “Good night, Miss Lucy,” he said, not peeling his eyes away from the spot where the figure had vanished. The truck pulled away from its spot on the curb - the same spot it had occupied for the past twenty years, and the same spot it would occupy until Lucy retired or the engine quit, whichever came first. The brake lights drifted up into the darkness, the same path that the figure had taken, but when the headlights illuminated the woods, there was no trace of it. Spencer let out a soft, almost incredulous chuckle, tugged on Zero’s leash, and started across the street, back towards the lodge.

#coldwater #part one: homecoming #short stories #fantasy #artists on tumblr #short story #series #horror

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