Prophet Shorn
by Thomas Kier |  |
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Straddling the line between horror and paranormal thriller, Prophet Shorn details the last few days for a town started by a powerful and charismatic mayor and leader of his people. But the town has dark secrets and Edgar Shorn has even darker ones.
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 Eternal hope led the way, and desperation got out and pushed from behind--just don’t ask her to admit that last part out loud. Right or wrong she couldn’t be sure, but the only direction to go was forward, both in life and down this dusty road leading to somewhere else, somewhere better, she could feel it. She was done with caution and hesitation; they had gotten her where she was until a few months ago, and that was exactly nowhere.
Now she gritted her teeth against the rough ride, shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare, and moved as fast as she dared toward an unsure future. What the hell, at least she wouldn’t be bored. She just couldn’t stomach the thought that her daughter would think of her the same way she thought of her own mother. She was different, and anyone who doubted that would have to deal with her righteous wrath. Anyone except her daughter, of whom she was fiercely protective; and at the thought of her, this warrior’s glare softened into a mother’s face that brought out her beauty. She drove on toward town in her overheating little car.
Jo was on the run, but not from a husband or lover, or from the police, or even from the tax man. She was escaping her life of dull monotony, the life she saw in the play-dough faces of people all around her, the life she just couldn’t let her daughter live when she was living on her own. So she took the girl and fled their one-bedroom apartment; she finally had the means and the opportunity, and daily she renewed her promise to both of them silently in the mirror: Life will be better, I swear.
The Monte Carlo had gotten them as far as Enid, Oklahoma. It was there Jo lost one more tie to her past; her father had been the one to swear by the carmaker, and she still wasn’t sure why. Hers had been trouble since she had bought it third-hand, and should have been given a mercy killing long ago. Maybe she was hoping to get something new after they found a place to settle and she was assured of a steady income.
They were following secondary highways: not as straight and boring as interstates, but still not too likely to get them lost. That was one of her biggest fears. The people out here might have different habits and more than likely distrusted outsiders. Poor girl, she thought, glancing in the rearview mirror at her sleeping four-year-old, if she grows up anywhere in the neighborhood of normal, it will be a miracle, none of my doing. But these days, she couldn’t remember what normal was anymore. Her attention returned to the task of piloting her small family down this sorry excuse of a road without wandering into the swamp bordering the barely-graded dirt. The bouncing of the vehicle and the Engine Temp warning chime made her check the center mirror again. Candy turned her head and asked a fuzzy, “Wherearewe?” before drifting back to sleep. Good.
The road had looked decent enough when she turned off Highway 34 a while back. That was before the dirt, before it was too narrow to safely turn around. For some reason that highway number had stuck in her mind, probably because it was her age, though she didn’t like to admit to it to anyone other than herself, and then only in a whisper.
The sign pointing the way to Terra’s Hope had caught her attention. It claimed this was the “Most Eco-Friendly Town in Iowa.” The usual green metal and white wording of most highway signs had been replaced with wood, painted beige and hand-lettered in blue. It still looked new. Maybe this was the place she was looking for, the one place that lived up to the dreams and expectations she had allowed to grow in her mind. It felt right to her. Being good to the earth was something even a born-and-bred Californian would appreciate. The only other sign, atop its usual metal pole, told her this was Road 29 1/2, and there had been no turnoffs since.
When she left her life behind, she had no particular destination picked out. She only knew she had to be gone before her sanity left without her and her conscience told her to get someplace and get settled before school-age for Candy; Jo had been through too many moves in her own childhood. It was something she didn’t wish upon her daughter.
The girl’s given name was Carmen Rondel--no middle name. The nickname had grown out of a period of four or five months when she had told her mother that she wanted candy to eat every time she had a choice at dinner. At first amused, Jo had become irritated after a while, and threatened to change her name. Carmen thought that was a good idea; now her name was Candy.
Jo babbled to Candy as they were driving, maybe just to keep herself awake during the long stretches, maybe to teach the girl about left and right where the highways crossed. Candy already knew the difference. Sometimes it seemed Mom didn’t though; while talking about left, she would suddenly turn right. Sometimes when Candy could see Mom’s face in the mirror, her expression would be blank, as if she was listening to some voice Candy couldn’t hear. It scared her a little, but didn’t last long.
Jo had wandered into Enid about a week ago, just curious as to what was there. The wretched Chevy spluttered and jerked its way to a stop half a block past Honest John’s Gently-Used Cars. No idiot lights were on, and both gauges insisted there was nothing wrong. After six or seven attempts to start it, the battery mostly gave up. She swore softly under her breath. Jo’s curses were less offensive these days than they had been when she was younger; she didn’t want her daughter to grow up with a potty-mouth--her mother’s term, and Jo never used it out loud.
John and Hank ambled over and asked if they could help; yes, they could. They could help her into that light blue Civic, priced at $3,295 and discounted to $1,995 with her trade-in and her cute smile. Hondas were very reliable (just ask John and Hank), and maybe Enid was a big enough place that she wouldn’t be taken too badly by a used car lot.
She knew enough to check the oil, kick the tires, and look for any suspicious puddles underneath. But she was sort of a victim of circumstance, and John and Hank both sported wedding rings (she didn’t know her mind had registered that fact, but it helped her relax to a point). Besides, the ‘Oklahoma is OK’ plates would help her look less like an outsider. She never thought about her accent giving her away. Now she wasn’t so sure about the untarnished honesty of Honest John.
She nearly missed the slight left turning of the road. It was getting a little wider, and possibly smoother; both the crops--if that’s what they were--on the left and the water on the right had given way to green grass, maturing trees, and a quaint small town materializing out of the lonely and big city-less landscape of bread-basket America. Just one more bump to hurdle before the pavement, and it was a big one. Candy woke up and started to cry; she was thirsty. Her sippy cup had rolled away from her, and Jo heard it land on the floor.
“Just a minute, honey,” she crooned, “we have to get out of traffic.” She still hadn’t gotten used to the emptiness around her so much of the time. She checked her mirrors and pulled to the side, well clear of no traffic at all, then reached into the back floor to get the cup. It was a long reach, and she was starting to get a head rush when she heard a rapping on the driver’s window.
“Aaugh!” she shrilled, bumping her head and turning back around fast enough to make herself dizzy. Candy was suddenly quiet, with very large eyes. Back in the driver’s seat, Jo looked through the window to see a thin man with thinner hair standing in the road.
“Got a Citgo just ‘round on the left; half a block along,” he was telling her. She hadn’t noticed the steam escaping the grill with all the dust earlier. The engine wasn’t sounding good.
“Thanks,” she called back, rolling slowly away. He gave a half-wave and moved back to the side of the road, where there might be a sidewalk one day as the town grew. She turned the corner and saw the station, hopefully not too far for her sputtering little car. A gangly teenager crossing in front of the overhead door of a double service bay waved her around to the side of the building.
“Leave it runnin’,” he called as he went for the water hose. He pulled a rag from the back pocket of his coveralls that was a little less greasy than his hands, and motioned for her to pop the hood release. Reaching in with his long arms and keeping his head as far back as possible, he was suddenly buried in a cloud of hissing steam. The dribbling hose went in next, accompanied by a loud gurgling, and the engine smoothed out slightly.
“Let ‘er run a little,” he told her through the half-open window, “we can give it a once-over for free. Frank’s in the market.” He pointed behind him with his thumb and hurried back to the garage. She climbed out of the two-door and folded the front seat forward to release Candy from the car-seat. The headrest bumped the horn button and startled the girl into crying again. It was hot, and very humid.
“Thirsty, Mom,” she whined as the door closed.
“Right.” Back into the rear floor, rooting under the seats. She squeezed a little of the apple juice onto her hand to wash the lint from the mouth of the cup, and handed it to her daughter, who slurped noisily.
The convenience store was a little cooler out of the bright sunlight, but still as humid. She looked around as her eyes adjusted to the half-lit fluorescents, and saw a man with shadow-stubble around his chin nearly invisible behind displays of chewing gum, breath mints, candy of all kinds, key chains, sunglasses, window cleaner, and STP that crowded the counter.
“Are you Frank?” she asked. “That’s my car out there.” She pointed through the side window.
“Yep. Got some overheat problems?”
“I think so. I haven’t had the car very long and I don’t know the history of it. I just noticed a problem on the road into town. This is Sticksvil--er, uh, Terra’s Hope, isn’t it? Is that what I saw on the sign?” She gave a wan smile.
“Yep,” he said. “We’re the most eco-friendly town in Iowa. I could give ‘er a check for free. You in a hurry?”
“No, not really,” she said. “We’re touring the countryside.” She picked up her daughter, who was fidgeting in a way she had seen before. “Where could I find a bathroom?”
He pointed to the back of the store. “Here,” he said, handing her a token. “Free for customers. Pretty girl you got there.”
“Thanks.”
When they exited the restroom, there was an older lady, very pale, waiting impatiently; apparently she didn’t have time to go and get a token, but brushed past them. Candy watched with large eyes as, in the lady’s hurry, her wig fell from her head, revealing a few straggly wisps of hair and a sore-raddled scalp beneath.
“Mommy, that lady lost her hair,” she whispered a little too loudly.
“Ssshh, honey,” Jo admonished. “She might be embarrassed about it.”
But the lady was sick in the bathroom, and was a little too busy to listen to or care what others thought at the moment. Jo took Candy back out to look at the cold drinks. She thought Frank wouldn’t say anything if she didn’t buy, but she could use a fresh shot of caffeine. She picked up a Pepsi and found a grape juice for Candy. An older man was at the counter, having a discussion--maybe an argument--with Frank.
“I just want to know what the mayor is doing about all the people getting sick in town. My wife hasn’t felt well for a couple of weeks now, and I think I’m starting to get what she’s got. Someone needs to say something.”
Frank looked around nervously, and saw Jo starting to take an interest in their conversation.
“Keep it down; we got newbies here. You know the mayor always knows what’s goin’ on. If he hasn’t done anything yet, it’s because he’s got somethin’ else planned.” He was talking quietly, and Jo couldn’t quite catch his words.
“Well, I for one am just about done with waiting. I’m gonna start talking, and I don’t care who’s listening.” That part Jo could hear very well.
“Ed, I wouldn’t advise doin’ nothin’ rash. Maybe he’ll say somethin’ about it at the meetin’ tonight. I’m sure he has our best interests at heart. Just take it easy until later in the day; it’ll be cooler. You don’t want to take chances with yourself or your wife. I’m sure you’ll both be feelin’ better by then.” His voice had dropped even more on this last part, almost whispering.
Jo and daughter were approaching the counter with their selections, and the old man moved aside for them.
“Ma’am,” he said, and actually tipped his hat to her. She found it an endearing gesture, and gave him her smile, but she noticed he was as bald as the lady had been. When he moved away to wait for his wife, she gave Frank her worried face.
“The boy in the garage said you might be in the market for my car,” she said, holding Frank’s gaze. She had found out quickly that the Honda lacked the luggage space she had taken for granted with her Chevy, and so far, it didn’t seem to be too much more reliable.
“Come again?” He looked at her quizzically.
“He said you were in the market. Do you sell used cars here?”
“No. I’m working the counter in the market.” He gestured around him. “Bradley called in sick today.”
“Oh,” she said. She glanced at the candy display and chose gummy bears and toffee peanuts. “Can I go ahead and get that free check?”
“Sure, just drive it up to the front of the garage. Jake will take it from there. My service is more reliable than Otter’s over on 4th.” He winked at her, and she smiled. “He’s only still in business ‘cause of the name; nephew of the mayor and all.” He looked around to make sure Ed wasn’t going to add to the conversation, then made change from her $10. “Want a bag?”
“No. Could you tell me how long it will take?”
“’Least an hour. Maybe more.”
As mother and daughter left the store, Jo saw the lady emerge from the bathroom, still very pale, but wig securely back on her head.
“Come on, Janet, we aren’t going to find any help here,” said her husband. “We have to talk to the mayor directly.”
“Whatever you think is best,” was all she had to say.
Jake was careful to put plastic on the seat and a paper floor mat in. He noticed Jo watching him and grinned at her. “Can’t have a purty lady dressin’ like a grease-monkey.” He turned around and promptly hit his head on the door, whose opening stops had long since worn through. “Son of a . . .” She saw his lips continue to move, though his voice had dropped to an inaudible grumble. His face was suddenly cherry-red.
She wandered back inside the store and asked Frank if there was a comfortable place where they could wait.
“Got a park at the end of the block,” he told her. “Lotsa trees and benches. Got a walkin’ path if you like to stretch your legs.” He looked her over a little more carefully. It was only a little creepy. “Not from around these parts, are ya?”
“Don’t hold it against me if I whisper the word ‘California’,” she admitted after a pause.
“’Course not,” he said, “but we don’t get many visitors here, ‘specially not from all the way over there. Hope you enjoy your stay.” He tipped her another wink. She tried to believe he had a facial tick.
Continues. . . |
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