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Start of a short story. just the beginning stages; |
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The Book Of Sahdows By Richard Vance Driving the approximate seven blocks north, and away from the main drag, if you could call it that, Sage Street was deserted and there certainly didn't seem to be any shops or retail businesses around. In fact, there wasn't much of anything. Jack had never been to this part of Maine before. It was way out in the sticks. About 100 miles from nowhere. He certainly wouldn't have had any desire to be here at all, except for the book. That really intrigued him. Was it real, or just something he had remembered from the dream? The damn dream he had been experiencing every night for the past month or so. Some of it he remembered - some of it was a bit cloudy. But the book, that he remembered. It was always the same. About a mile back, he passed the black wrought iron gates of the Shady Oaks Cemetery, which assured him he was getting closer. The tree-lined entrance to the old graveyard looked just like the pictures in the old black and white photographs. It was creepy! The throught crossed his mind that there were probably more people burried there than currently lived in the town. Driving past the town limit sign a few miles back, he saw that the the town had a staggering population of 371 souls. It also boasted of having been founded in 1774, which was not all that unusual for a New England town. He'd just have to keep his eyes peeled for the second landmark, which was supposed to be a large bolder just off to the side of the road, about three-quarters of a mile passed the cemetery. The stone was described as having some kind of symbols chisled on the side. Although the series of photographs dipicting the marker he had seen were yellowed from age, and apparently taken in bad light and at a poor angle, they were clear enough to give him a good idea as to what to look for. He wasn't actually sure at all, exactly what the symbols were. Possibly a triangle with a circle inside, and what looked like a couple of stick figures off to one side. He definately wanted to stop and take a closer look if he found it. Only about twenty minutes before, he made a stop at a small gas station just off the interstate. The attendant there had given him directions to the center of Bridgeton, telling him that he would pretty much run right into it, about 18-20 miles up the road. He was told to just keep traveling east on "old" Route 12. "Course, you'll have to take a short detour just before Blakeville. The bridge washed out about a year ago, and they haven't seen fit to fix it. Kind of a pain in the neck, but it won't take you too far out of your way". The attendant was a fairly young kid, maybe 21 or 22 years old. He wore a gray work shirt that had Texaco written over the right pocket. There was also a logo of the "flying horse and Texaco star" (he didn't know how long it had been since he had actualy seen that old style logo). The shirt was dirty and greasy and the name "CLEM" was written above the left pocket. For some reason, this kid just looked like a Clem. Some people just "fit" their names. "Clem" was one of them. Traveling from his home in Groton, Connecticut, the estimated travel time was four hours. It had only taken him three hours and twenty minutes. Less than he thought. The traffic was light and he had made good time. Thinking back, It was only two days ago he found the book. Although he couldn't remember exactly why he had felt the need to stop at that particular book store, he was glad that he did. It was probably the sign in the window that first caught his attention;relatively small, handwritten, and taped haphazardly to the inside of the window. It simply said, GOING OUT OF BUSINESS - RARE BOOKS & CURIOS - CHEAP! The storefront itself looked old and delapitated, certainly not the type of establishment that drew a lot of customers, even in the best of times. After parking the car, and approaching the main door, he initially thought the place was closed. But trying the door, he found it open. Entering, he immediately heard the jingle of sleighbells, apparently hung on the inside of the door to signal when a customer entered the store. The store appeared to be empty. It was poorly lit and he could smell a musty odor of old books. It just gave him the feeling that the space may have been closed up for a long time. A short glass counter stood in the corner against the wall, and what appeared to be an antique type cash register sat on top. Glancing around, he obseved that there were books strewn all over the place. Some were placed in no particular order on old wooden bookshelves, there were piles stacked across the floor, and still others were just thrown randomly into open cardboard boxes. "Can I help you?" Startled, he looked toward the back of the store where he heard the voice. It looked empty when he walked in. She had been seated in an old high-back rocking chair, way off toward the rear of the store, partially hidden behind one of the bookshelves. She looked about 100 years old, hair unkempt, and looking like she hadn't combed it in months. She was dressed in an old floor-length black dress and he saw what looked like a man's old sport coat draped over her shouldrers. He also immediately noticed she had a corncob pipe clentched in her teeth, hanging from the corner of her mouth. It didn't appear to be lit, just hanging there. The scene remined him of something straight out of the movie, Deliverance. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. Just noticed the sign in the window and thought that I'd stop in and take a look around. I collect old books; particularly those written around the turn of the century." He didn't tell her about the strange message he'd gotten on his answering machine only two days before. She had simply waved her hand in the air. "Look all ya want" To be continued... (edited 12/27/06) |
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