Installment 3

It was five in the morning when Jake was startled awake by the phone ringing. The sun was just beginning to rise. He recognized the voice of Margaret, Walter’s nurse on the line. “I’ve been with Walter since last night . . .” her voice trailed off, “It’s not looking good, and he says he wants to see you.” Jake felt his stomach turn inside out. He wanted to run as fast has he could to Walter’s side, but at the same time, he wanted to stay in bed and wait for the world to go away. He pulled his clothes on, and stepped out into the dewy morning.

Jake held his breath as he knocked on the back door to Walter’s house. He half expected to see the old man open the door, cigar in hand. Margaret’s face appeared, and Jake could see the bags under her eyes weighing on her smile. “He’s in the bedroom,” she whispered quietly. Jake stepped over the threshold and made his way down the hallway, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the rug below. A glow was coming from the bedroom, and Jake rapped gently on the door before entering.

He spotted Walter’s face; it looked so small floating in the double bed. “You know I’m not a religious man, Jake - - but thank God you came,” Jake heard the familiar sound of Walter’s raspy voice. As Jake approached the bed, he was shocked by the gray color of Walter’s face, and suddenly thought of the ash and smoke of his cigars. “Margaret, please - - you should take a rest while we talk. Jake will wake you up if anything happens,” Walter spoke to Margaret, who had been standing in the doorway. She didn’t object, and closed the door on her way out.

“Jake, I’ve put you in my will. You can have the house. I don’t have any children, and no one visits me - - except for you. You’re the best I’ve got.” Jake was silent as Walter went on, “I don’t mind if you sell the house when you’re done with it. Put the money to good use; you deserve it more than I do.”

“Thank you,” whispered Jake.

Suddenly, Walter’s eyes welled with tears. “I’m such a coward, Jake. I thought that I would at least be able to confess on my death bed, but I’m too ashamed.” He forced out a remorseful laugh through his tears, “I’m even ashamed that I am ashamed! Listen carefully, Jake. It sounds ridiculous now that I have to say this, but I left you clues. Clues to the past that haunts my dreams. Jake, you have to promise me that you’ll follow them. Promise me that you’ll figure them out and still respect me when you know everything. Promise me you won’t hate me,” Walter began to sob.

“I promise, Walter. No matter what, you were a good man to me,” Jake held Walter’s hand and looked him in the eye. He saw a man who was unable to unburden himself.

“Michael Glosham. That’s your first clue. Please just follow the clues. I’m so sorry. I’m just so sorry,” Jake had never seen such a strong man become so weak.

Soon Walter lost his energy, and could no longer speak or cry. Jake looked on as the man slept, though there was no peace in the deep wrinkles of his forehead. That evening, Walter passed on. Jake watched the sun set over the water and behind the mountains as night fell. He cried in frustration, realizing that the stars lit his way, but confused him in a maze of constellations.

Installment 2

After that first encounter, Jake made it a habit to go to the right when he took his morning walks. He saw Walter nearly every day and learned more about the Holly Community than he ever wanted to know. Jake sincerely hoped that most of what he heard was no more than rumor. As Walter smoked, he told lighthearted stories of getting locked out of the house while skinny-dipping on New Year’s Eve and of rivalries with neighbors. During lunch, Walter always fell into a more pensive mood and shared memories from his childhood and bits of wisdom on life.

One evening, Walter seemed particularly wistful. “Everyone tells you that your young days are the best days. Even through all the suffering you feel, they are the best. Well, I’m telling you the truth. That’s all bologna. My old days have been the best. For one, I get to smoke all I want and no one cares because I’m dying anyway! My nurse comes once a week, but she’s given up on nagging me. At this point, she’s more concerned that I die with a smile on my face.” He paused, “You think I would have told you the worst of Holly’s secrets by now. Not even close. Children can do such terrible things - - even when they know the difference between right and wrong. It’s as if their consciences are still growing along with their brains and bones.”

“Sure, but they are also capable of wonderful things,” replied Jake.

“You’re a smart man, Jake. God, sometimes I wish I had children . . . but most of the time I’m thankful that I didn’t. What kind of role model would I be? A damn lousy one!”

“Smoking aside, you’re a fine example. If everyone had a bit of vinegar like you, we’d all be better off.”

“Maybe . . .” Walter drifted off, “I have plenty to tell you Jake, but I can’t tell you all of it now. I just hope I have enough time to confess it all in the end.”

Jake was silent. Lately, Walter seemed to be losing it. His mind seemed to be failing him. What else could prompt his talk about wicked children and confession? Jake mostly ignored Walter’s nutty rants, but occasionally was caught by what the man said. Perhaps what Jake took for lunacy was really the ravings of a tortured conscience.

Installment 1

Her feet pounded the floor, her shrieks echoing down the endless hallway. He was right behind her – IT was right behind her. She clawed at the walls, but they gave her no mercy. She turned the corner and found a dead end. Death was closing in upon her. Just then . . . Suddenly . . . Out of nowhere . . . That was when she heard . . .

Writer’s block. It hit him every time he got to the climax of a story. His editor was enthralled by the beginning of his stories and always returned his drafts with notes in the margins saying, “Great! I can’t wait for more.” Jake never came through. Dozens of unfinished manuscripts littered his Seattle apartment. When his friend Taylor offered Jake the opportunity to stay at his cabin on the Olympic Peninsula for a few months, Jake jumped at the chance. He told himself that the change of scene would be good for him and provide endless inspiration. Still, he just wanted an excuse to run away from his writing. On Sunday afternoon, he quickly packed, grabbing whatever he saw first, along with his laptop and portable printer.

It was nearly a two hour drive to the house, and when he reached the rutted dirt road leading to it, he found a green and red sign that read “Holly Community.” The cabin was better than what he had expected. It had two bedrooms, each just big enough to fit a bed and a dresser, along with a kitchen, eating area, and living room. Sliding doors led outside to a brown lawn, which turned to a stony beach, sloping down to the water. Jake ate his macaroni alone before falling asleep in the bedroom closest to the kitchen.

The next morning, he awoke at 8 o’clock to the sun streaming through the window onto his face. After a breakfast of leftover macaroni, he decided to go for a walk on the beach. Jake went to the left first, but turned a corner and found that the tide was too high for him to continue. He turned around and headed past his house to the right. After passing two other houses, he heard a voice. “I’m Walter,” it rasped. He turned and saw an old man sitting on the beach, smoking a cigar. Jake looked at Walter’s salt and pepper hair, and estimated that he was about 70. Walter sized Jake up, noticing his sandy brown hair, and estimated that he was a spring chicken of about 25. “I’d offer you a cigar, but it’ll kill you. It’s killing me, you know.”

“Uh, thanks, but I don’t smoke anyway,” replied Jake.

“Don’t start, unless you want lungs that look like moldy raisins.”

“No, uh, that would be bad. I’m Jake.”

“So what are you doing around here? You don’t really fit in - - it’s like an old folks home, you know?”

“I just came to get away and try to find some inspiration.”

“Well don’t stay too long. You don’t want to end up like everyone else. I’ve lived here all my life, and I don’t think I’m going anywhere until they come to take me to the funeral home.”

“Did most people grow up around here?”

“Yup, and pretty much everyone hereabouts is as old as dirt. I’m the resident troublemaker. I could tell you stories about my neighbors that would make you laugh, make you cry, and make you run screaming out of here faster than a mouse at a cat convention.”

Jake laughed “You’ll have to share them with me sometime.” Walter talked endlessly and his mouth could hardly keep up with all he had to say. He seemed to be the perfect source of inspiration.

 “Come back tomorrow, and maybe I’ll let you in on a few community secrets.” Walter winked, and Jake continued on his way.