Twisted Endings: 5 Disturbing Stories (2 page)

I gulped, big time.

“Don’t worry, Ma'am. We've got it under control. I’m sure we'll catch whoever did this.”

“Thank you, Officer. We’ll be going now.”

“Good day, Ma'am.” And off he went.

I never let go of Crystal’s hand and marched straight to the parking lot. I couldn’t stop looking over my shoulder.

“Daddy?”

“Not now, Sweetheart. Wait ‘till we’re on the road.” No time for words. No sense in getting caught for a stupid little misunderstanding. It wouldn't do anyone any good to know what really happened.

I was able to breathe again once we were on the road home. I was alive and so was my little girl. I would be there for her: Me, her great protector. The fat lady would be fine — I was sure of it. I left the bag under my seat on the teacup ride. The workers would find it and no one would get hurt.

“Daddy?”

I was brought back to reality. “I’m sorry, Darling. What did you want to tell me?”

“This candy doesn’t taste good.”

“What candy?”

She put out the hand she wouldn’t let me hold earlier. In it was the small, brown paper bag.

Bitter Water

“COME IN, come in. You’ll freeze to death out there!” The sweet, mixed fragrance of jasmine and cinnamon escaped into the cold winter air as a small bell chimed overhead. “We don't open for another fifteen minutes, but I couldn’t watch you turn into a popsicle,” the store owner said, locking the door back as he closed it.

“Much obliged,” Mark Walton replied, cupping his hands together and blowing into them. “Not used to the Nebraska winters yet.”

“I don’t think anyone is. Can I interest you in some coffee?”

“No, but thank you. I called last night about a special order.”

“Oh yes! You must be Mr. Walton, the new postmaster. Let me be the first to welcome you to Lake Heron.”

Mark extended his right hand to return the congenial old man’s greeting, but shivered at the coldness that transferred from the man’s fingers. “Thank you. It seems to be a nice little town, Mr...?” He felt awkward as the man stood there and stared at him the way a fat man stares at a cake.

“Oh, it is!” he finally answered. “And it’s Johnson. Just call me Johnson.” He looked down at Mark’s trembling hands. “Where are my manners? Follow me back here and we’ll get you something warm to drink.”

Mark didn’t want to insult Johnson and followed him to the back of the store. The chair he was instructed to sit in was across from Johnson’s mammoth oak desk. The chair felt like a giant ice cube as he sat down, Fed-Exed from Greenland.

“It’s pretty cold in here, don’t you think?” Mark asked.

“I turned the heat on a few minutes ago. Should warm up pretty fast.”

“Hope so.” Mark cleared his throat as Johnson continued to stare at him. “That’s an interesting piece.” Mark nodded at a wooden plaque on Johnson’s desk. The words ‘God Save The Children’ were meticulously carved into it.

Johnson smiled. “Yes. Simple, yet profound.” He stomped on the floor and shouted, “David!”

Mark heard heavy footsteps from below the floor as they trampled up the stairs from the basement.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Johnson assured him. “David’s my assistant.”

A large figure appeared in the doorway. “Yes, Sir?”

“I’m no spring chicken but I’m not your father, so don’t call me Sir. Listen, this here is Mr. Walton,” he said, nodding at Mark.

“You’re new in town, ain’t ya? Nice to meet you.” He offered his hand in the same manner Johnson had, with the same chilly result.

“David,” Johnson said, “can you get us some coffee?”

“Sure thing. How do you like it, Mr. Walton?”

“Black, thank you.” Mark didn’t care much for coffee, but anything warm would be better than nothing at this point.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Nice kid you got there,” Mark commented across the desk to Johnson.

“Yeah, I need young hands around here. Can’t keep my fingers moving long enough to make soap like I used to. Had to teach him everything I know. He’s a smart one.”

“And speaking of soap,” Mark said, crossing his legs for warmth, “what about that special order?” A welcome basket had appeared on his doorstep when he arrived in Lake Heron the night before. Mark nearly tossed it aside before he smelled the thin sample bar of soap, an overwhelming aroma of delight. He took a long, hot bath with it.

“David’s finishing it up this morning. I’m delighted you enjoyed the sample so much! It’s not every day we get that kind of response.”

David entered the office with two cups of coffee, placing them on the desk. “Here you go, Mr. Walton,” he said, handing Mark a mug with a red napkin folded neatly beneath it.

“Thank you, Son.”

“Yes, thank you, David,” Johnson agreed.

“You know, David,” Mark said as he looked at him closer, “you remind me of someone. Ever been down south?”

“Not since I was little. Sure do miss the warm winters.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Johnson said, holding his mug in the air and toasting an imaginary counterpart.

David looked at his watch. “It’ll be another ten minutes or so for the soap.”

Johnson nodded. “So, Mr. Walton, how do you like Lake Heron so far?”

Mark gave a faint smile and sipped on the bitter coffee. “Haven’t had much time to check it out yet. Still got a ton of unpacking to do." He lowered the mug. “Twenty years of the mailroom and the streets. Can’t believe I’m going to be a postmaster tomorrow morning.”

“Have you had a chance to check it out yet?” Johnson asked.

“The post office?” He shook his head. “Not with it being Sunday. They didn’t let me know I had the position until the last minute.”

“I’m sure you’ll like it just fine. Lake Heron never makes a mistake in choosing the right man.”

“Thank you. Enough about me. I’m curious, how does one get started in a business like this?”

Johnson winked at David and set his coffee back on the desk. "Sure. David, go check on the soap for me. We want to make sure it's perfect."

David left in silence.

"Wow," Johnson said, redirecting his attention to Mark, "that goes back quite a ways. I'm not sure where to start."

"Start at the beginning."

Johnson smiled at distant memories. "Then we’d have to start with Joseph Walker. He wasn’t liked by everyone, but he was a hero to most of us.”

“Most?”

“Be patient, Mr. Walton.”

Mark nodded.

“I suppose it was in ’42 or thereabouts that he came to this town. Hottest summer we ever had. Appeared on the very street in front of this store. Of course back then it could hardly be considered a street, I mean with all the dirt, rocks and horse manure strewn about. You can imagine that most of these businesses weren't here either, except for that ice cream shop over there.” He nodded to vaguely outside the front window. “Used to be a nickel for a vanilla ice cream cone.”

Mark glanced at his watch and shifted in his chair.

"Not to worry, Mr. Walton. This is quite a story and we have just enough time."

JOSEPH WALKER wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and continued the journey he had begun five days earlier. He had nothing more than a pair of worn out boots, thin leather gloves and a large suitcase in his possession.
Getting too old for this
, he thought.
Someone else must take over.

He reached the center of town and looked around at the feed store, barber shop and busy saloon. The air was filled with the strong scent of perfume and alcohol. No one bothered to acknowledge him. He coughed into his left-gloved hand. When he pulled the hand away he noticed the bright splotches of blood sprinkled over the glove.
I'm running out of time.
He shook his head and continued walking.

“Hey Mister.”

Joseph turned to face a chubby kid — eleven or twelve years old — with dirty overalls and uncombed hair. He smiled and set his suitcase down. “What can I do for you, Son?”

The boy eyed the suitcase and pointed to it. “I ain't never seen nothin' like that. Whatcha got in there?”

“Just a few things to sell.”

“Oh.”

“Say, can you tell me where to find 64 Stratton Street?”

The boy's face lit up. “That's where I live!” His eyes narrowed. “It ain't no boardin' house or nothin'. We ain't got no room for strangers. My pa don't like strangers.”

“Not to worry,” Joseph said. “I just need to speak with your father. It won’t take long.”

“What for?”

“I have something he'll be very interested in.” Joseph pulled the suitcase close and patted it on the side.

“All right.” The boy stood there for a moment. “My name's Petey,” he declared, holding his hand out.

Joseph offered his right hand in return. “Nice to meet you Petey. My name's Joseph. Joseph Walker.”

Joseph listened as Petey rambled on and on about throwing rocks and catching lizards as they walked for a mile toward the house. He just nodded and smiled.

Petey’s dad was waiting on the wooden porch when they arrived, holding an empty bottle between his hands. “Where ya been, Boy? Get me a beer!”

“This man wants to see ya, Pa,” he said, pointing to Joseph.

“I told ya not to bring home strangers, Boy! What're ya, stupid or somethin’?!”

Petey’s eyes welled up as he stammered, “No, Pa. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it.”

“You cryin’, Boy? Cryin’s for girls! Get inside.”

Petey lowered his head and walked through the front screen door as his father kicked him in the rear. The man unbuckled his belt and let it slide from the loops of his tattered jeans.

“Sir?” Joseph uttered.

Petey's father turned in disgust. “I ain't no Sir. Beat it, Mister.”

“I know what you are.” He noticed a terrible gash on the back of the man’s left hand. “I've got something that can change your life forever,” he offered.

The man looked down at Joseph's suitcase for the first time. “Yore a salesman, ain't ya? I don't like ya. And I ain't buyin' nothin'.”

Joseph set his suitcase on the ground and crouched, disappearing behind its large frame once it opened. His hand appeared just over the rim with a small square object.

“Soap?” He spit alcohol all over himself.

“You'll like this soap.” Joseph sniffed at it in mocking delight.

“Beat it, Mister. I got matters to attend to.” He gripped his belt firmly.

Joseph stepped up to the man and grabbed him by the arm. He used all of his strength to slam the man face down on the porch. He grunted from the exertion.
I’m getting too old for this
, he repeated to himself.

“Lemme go!” the man screamed in a drunken stupor.

Joseph tightened his grip. He took the soap and scrubbed it over the man’s gash, reopening the wound. The man screamed in pain and thrashed about until Joseph finally let go and stood back.

Petey's father realized he could move again. “Ya may be old, but I'm gonna kick yore butt,” he threatened. He jumped up and raised his fists, ready to fight to the death when he noticed something amazing. He noticed the gash on his hand was gone. “What the hell?”

THE FOLLOWING day Joseph walked down the next street over with a much lighter suitcase. Once again, he seemed lost. Petey ran up to him, just like before.

“Hey Joseph. Joseph Walker,” he said, waving his arms in excitement.

“Hey there, Petey.” He paused for a moment. “I don't think your pa would want you with me.”

“Aw, don't worry ‘bout him. He seems real happy ‘bout whatever ya brung him.”

“Well, good. Do you want to help me again?”

The boy nodded.

“I need to find these addresses,” he said, pointing to a short piece of paper in his hand.

“No problem!” Petey scratched his head. “Ya wanna throw rocks with me later?”

“Petey,” Joseph said, “I would love to throw rocks with you.”

They went to each of the addresses on the list and Joseph pitched his product to the residents, making a successful sale each time. His suitcase was almost empty.

“Can we throw rocks now?” It was almost noon.

“Very soon, my dear boy.” He patted Petey's head, messing up his hair. “I need to catch up on some research, but then we shall throw rocks all afternoon.”

“Research? Ya talkin' ‘bout the library? Pa says readin’s for girls.”

Joseph laughed. “You'd be amazed how smart girls are.”

“All right, I'll be waitin' for ya over there,” Petey said, pointing to a nearby sand hill.

“Sounds good. Can you point me toward the library?”

“Go that way,” he answered, pointing to the west end of town.

Joseph smiled and walked away. He sensed Petey was trailing him from a distance. He resisted the urge to tell the boy not to come.
He could be the one.

Joseph nodded at the librarian when he entered the library and headed for the newspaper rack. He grabbed several days’ worth of papers from Lake Heron and Cone Valley, the next town over.

He pretended not to notice Petey hiding in the children's aisles as he sat down and pored over the newspapers, circling certain sections with a pencil in the Lake Heron edition. Ten minutes later he pulled out the piece of paper with addresses and copied down another address. He picked up a Cone Valley edition and read the middle page, circling the paragraph in the top left corner.

Joseph left the articles he had circled on the table as he stood up, making sure Petey saw them. He put away the rest of the newspapers, thanked the librarian, and opened the front door as if to leave, but stayed just inside the entrance, out of general view. He peeked around the corner and watched Petey walk to the table.

Petey moved his lips, trying to read some of the words Joseph had circled in a Lake Heron paper. “Bob Daly. A..a..arrested for child mo..mo..mo...” He gave up and looked at another page from Cone Valley. The name ‘Bob Daly’ appeared there as well, but this one had a picture. He tried to read the words at the top but decided to ask the librarian.

“How can I help you?” the librarian asked. Her glasses hung at the end of her nose.

“Yes Ma’am. What’s this word?” he asked, pointing to the top of the newspaper.