The haunting of millers.., p.1
The Haunting of Miller's Crossing, page 1
The HAUNTING of Miller’s Crossing
David Clark
1
“Still coming out here every morning?”, Father Murray asked Jacob Meyer.
The twenty-nine-year-old former high school athlete now turned farmer leaned against his beat-up 1983 Ford pickup turned farm truck. More dents and dirt covered the truck than any of the original light-blue paint it had left the factory with almost forty years ago. But it ran, and he rather liked the patina look. He was parked at the roadblock that stood guard just short of the now destroyed bridge over Walter’s Creek. Knocking the bridge down was Lewis Tillingsly’s idea. The once retired sheriff, who now found himself wearing the badge again, felt it was a suitable cover to keep traffic from going out that way. Jacob looked out at the scarred landscape where everything changed twelve years before. It still mostly looked as it did that day, minus the fires, lightning strikes, and rain of scorching blood. Nothing had grown back. No trees. No flowers. Not even a weed, and those suckers can grow through concrete. The only sign of life was the small island of trees where the simple hunter’s shack stood. An oasis in the sea of demonic destruction. “Not every morning, but most.”
“Yea, me too,” Father Murray replied. “It’s like a car crash, I just can’t look away.”
Jacob couldn’t disagree. Every day since the day they pulled his sister out of that shack, this place had been on his mind. The entire time he underwent training at the Vatican, the image of this spot haunted every waking thought, as well as the nightmares that dominated each night’s sleep.
When he returned home, it was the first place he went. Why? Was it curiosity about what happened? With all he had learned, that was a large part of it, but remorse was an even larger portion. What happened at this spot devastated more lives than he could ever count, not that he hadn’t tried. Outside of the twenty-one people who lost their lives in the event, their loss impacted another four dozen or more, based on how Jacob mapped it out in his mind several years back. That was one of his obsessions that both his father and his mentors, Fathers Murray and Lucian, strongly discouraged. They each told him he would find only heartbreak and sorrow in such a task. Each also reminded him that no one was responsible for this. It just happened. That was something he found hard to accept. No matter how you looked at it, his family was the epicenter of the event. Either they caused it, or failed to stop it. The related remorse ate at Jacob. Some days the bites were larger than others. Those were the days his obsession would start the count again, which also included the dozen or more families that left Miller’s Crossing after the event. None of them publicly said it was the reason, but Jacob knew. It was rather obvious to him. The adults in the families looked over at Edward and Jacob as they bid goodbye to Father Murray on their last visits to the church, or they looked and whispered when saying their farewells to others in the congregation around town.
The families that remained in Miller’s crossing did their fair share of looking and whispering too. For months, Jacob couldn’t pass anyone without feeling their gaze on him or hearing that far off buzz in his ears as their tongues wagged to each other with what he assumed was a derogatory comment about his family. That ignited a fire deep within him. One not even the remorse he felt could extinguish. Each look added more kindling. Each whisper stoked it a bit more. It burned, just below a five alarm fire. He wanted to lash out. Tell them it wasn’t their fault. Tell them how sorry they were and explain they did everything they could to stop it, and place full blame on the demon that had roamed Miller’s Crossing since well before he was born. The longer the fire burned, it spread to placing the blame fully on Father Murray who let it out to begin with. The man who broke the line of Keepers in Miller’s Crossing, and tried to handle the situation himself, but instead made it worse. More times than Jacob could remember, his mind had placed full blame of everything right on the shoulders of the elderly priest. It all went back to that one moment. The moment Jacob’s grandparents were killed. If they had been alive, they would have handled that demon decades ago.
Each time the fire threatened to explode out of him, the image of a lake appeared in his head. The rough storm whipped waters slowly settled to just ripples. The ripples dissolving into a glassy surface, and with it the rage dissipated. The rage that blocked logical thought and let emotion dictate false truths. With the fire stamped out, blame was snuffed from his thoughts, leaving him with the remorse of what had happened. But just like he couldn’t lash out in rage, running and telling everyone who would listen how sorry he was wouldn’t accomplish anything but rub salt in wounds that were attempting to heal.
Healing was a reoccurring theme that seemed to be visible everywhere. It first appeared in the sermons of Father Murray. It was weekly for a while, then it became less frequently, but Jacob noticed Father Murray didn’t let a month go by without touching on it. Then it showed up in the community. For the longest time, only the hospital, the school, and Ted Barton’s mercantile were open. The entire town looked like a ghost town when Edward drove Jacob through it on the way home after he returned from the Vatican. The normally busy sidewalks in the center of town were desolate. Only a few leaves traveled them on light gusts of wind. Stores that were always open at that time of day were not just closed, but shuttered. Jacob asked his father if they would ever open again. Being the steadfast man Jacob had always known his father to be, Edward said, “In time. In time, son.”
The time Edward spoke of took longer than Jacob had thought, or had hoped. It was almost spring when Jacob first saw Ruthie Day, large hair-do and all, standing outside sweeping the sidewalk in front of the Perm and Clips to clear away leaves and trash. Not to be outdone, Fred Ralph had opened his drugstore and soda shop by the next time Jacob drove through town. Like Ruthie, Jacob saw him outside, washing away the months of grime from his front window. He waved to Jacob as he drove by. That stuck with Jacob for a while. It was the first sense of normalcy in months. The first sign that someone in this town didn’t hate them.
The last to open was a Stitch-n-Time. Jacob once overheard Larry Sanders and Edward discuss shutting down the shop. It was Sarah’s, or was to be Sarah’s. But each time it appeared they settled the matter, either Larry or Edward would say, “Myrtle would want it to go on.” They were right. That was why they made the agreement with Sarah to keep it going. Two weeks before Easter the doors opened, with Charlotte Stance waiting inside to help the girls of Miller’s Crossing find the perfect dress for the occasion. Edward and Jacob had helped her get the shop ready to open, and Jacob remembered the uneasiness the first time he walked through the door. It was like he was entering a crypt that was full of memories of a long ago life that will never be again. He even believed he heard his sister’s laugh echoing through the store.
Jacob looked down at his watch, a twenty-first birthday present from his father. It was exactly 7:41 in the morning. The two men stood there in silence and watched the pebbles and debris levitate several feet above the ground. Each piece vibrated slightly where they hung, producing light ripples in the morning fog. This continued for several minutes, and then the objects dropped back to the ground, silently. There was no great thud. No thunderous boom. Just the quiet of a tranquil morning. If you could use that word while looking out at what everyone called, the Scar. “Like clockwork.”
“Yep,” was the only answer from Father Murray.
“When did it start?”, Jacob asked.
“The day after we pulled Sarah out,” said Father Murray, then he gave Jacob an annoyed look. “Why do you ask me the same question basically every day?”
“Habit, I guess,” Jacob responded, his attention still looking out upon the barren landscape. “I just wish I could figure out what is still out there causing that. There is no doubt in my mind it is related to everything else that is going on around here now.”
“No doubt,” agreed Father Murray. “Your friends at the Vatican have any more thoughts about it?”
“Eh,” Jacob answered, letting it trail off. Even though it had been years, the death of Father Lucian still hit him with pangs of loss. Jacob looked down at the old pavement and kicked at a loose stone. It skittered across the surface. “I’m still trying to find someone I can relate to.”
“Yea, me too. I talked to Lucian often. Losing him was… well, was a loss. I agree with what he told you before though. You are the person to figure it out, it just might take time. What about your sister?”
Jacob’s head jerked up in surprise. He didn’t answer Father Murray, at least not verbally, and he didn’t need to. The look Jacob gave him was enough.
“Oh, that’s right,” stammered Father Murray.
“We can’t ever talk to her about what happened here. Father Lucian made that clear several times to both me and her.” During the four months Jacob stayed with Father Lucian at the Vatican for his training, that point was driven home clearly. Sarah had no memories of what had occurred, and telling her anything about it or trying to help her remember would be catastrophic to her mental health. The less she knew, and the more she forgot about it, the better.
“I remember,” Father Murray said, as he walked around the front end of his large Cadillac. A car that was well past its lifespan, but given stays of execution by Jacob’s self-taught mechanic skills. “Forget I suggested it. You will figure all this out,” his finger pointed out at the scarred landscape, “in time. And speaking of time, don’t you need to get going?”
Jacob checked his w
“I can. I think it’s a glorious thing. One day you will too,” Father Murray said. He opened his door, which creaked. Jacob made note of the sound. He would take care of it with some simple lube later that afternoon, when Father Murray wasn’t around. He couldn’t stand for anything in disrepair not receiving proper and prompt attention. “Just promise me you will pick a more reasonable hour of the day. I am surprised anyone agreed to come.”
“Won’t have to worry about that, Father. I won’t be doing this.”
“You will change your mind, or more likely someone will change your mind for you,” the old priest said with a laugh. The shocks on his car squeaked a little as he shuffled into the driver’s seat and shut the door. As the Cadillac pulled off, Jacob took one more look out at the tuft of trees before getting in his truck and starting it up, following Father Murray back into town.
2
The center of town was quiet as they passed through. Seeing everything locked up and no one out sitting on one of the green-colored metal benches reading the paper was an eerie reminder of how Jacob found Miller’s Crossing when he returned home. The sight sent a cold shiver through him until he reminded himself of what today really was.
The early morning sunlight wasn’t strong enough to pierce through the tree canopies that covered the roads leading out of town. The layer of dense morning fog trapped by those canopies hung over the road. The two red circles from the taillights of Father Murray’s Cadillac were all Jacob could make out in front of him. This wasn’t a problem for Jacob. He knew where he was going so well he could drive it blindfolded. His body felt the turn approach, and his hands turned the wheel just as Father Murray whipped his car to the left and into the driveway of the Meyer’s family farm.
Jacob followed him up through the trees and up the worn drive, through the masses of parked cars and white lace draped guideposts. Father Murray pulled into an open space between two cars, but Jacob continued on up past the house and out to the old barn, which he had converted into a dream garage that any car enthusiast would be jealous of. Inside he had every tool he needed to do any repair on either his truck or tractor. Jacob never wanted to rely on anyone else for help, so he taught himself how to tear both vehicles apart and put them back together. Something he has done now more times than he cared to count.
He pulled inside, and left, closing the barn door, but when he went to latch the door, he paused and thought better of it, leaving the lock dangling as he left and headed into the house through the backdoor.
“Dad! Dad!”, he yelled from the empty kitchen. Edward’s coffee cup was still there on the island, so Jacob knew his father wouldn’t be far behind.
“In here,” Edward responded from down the hall.
Jacob was right. Edward was just outside the kitchen door in the dining room. “You sure you don’t want to use the barn? I cleaned it a few days ago. All I need to do is move the truck and tractor out and open both doors. It would be nice in there.”
“I am sure it… would,” Edward said, distracted by his task. He never once turned to look at his son.
“What are you doing?”, Jacob asked, noticing his father’s frantic search.
“Looking for something,” Edward said. His hands searched the bottom shelf of the bookcase. He went book by book, lifting them to see what was stacked underneath. “This!”, he exclaimed while wiggling a large leather-bound book from under the bottom of the pile. It was a book Jacob had seen only once before. His father had shown it to him and Sarah when they were younger, to explain their family’s history. Though, years later, Edward confessed to Jacob that Father Murray had to explain it to him first. “We are going to need this today.”
“You expect Father Murray to hold that during the ceremony? That thing has to weigh twenty pounds.”
Edward turned and placed it on the dining room table with a thud. Jacob smirked as his point had been proven. Then he looked his father over with a disapproving look. “You’re a mess.” Jacob rounded the table and reached out and tugged out the wrinkles in his father’s vest and then went about straightening his bow tie. “There, you almost look presentable.”
Edward cracked a wry smile at his son. “You are sure you’re okay with this?”
Without hesitation, he said, “Yes, dad. I am more than fine with this. I am happy about it. I am happy for you.”
“You sure? Your sister said the same thing.” Edward paused, then with a cockeyed expression, “in fact, she said it exactly like that. Almost like you guys coordinated it that way.” He laughed, and Jacob did too, but both were laughing to choke back the tears that hit them. Jacob knew his father would have loved for Sarah to be there for this day. Jacob wanted her there too, but he understood when they said it wasn’t possible or advisable. Part of Mother Francine’s refusal was her concern about how people in Miller’s Crossing would react at seeing Sarah again. To be honest, Jacob shared that same concern. He had no idea how people would react to her.
“Well, you ready?”, asked Jacob.
“Yep,” Edward responded, standing up straight but also looking out the window beside him at the scene outside in the field.
“It's not too late. We can still move it to the barn. The sun hasn’t burned off the dew yet and there is still a bit of a chill in the air,” Jacob offered again.
“Nah, we wanted it outside. If we wanted to be inside some building, we would have used the church.” Edward slapped his son on the shoulder and moved past him. “You bring the family bible.”
Jacob went to pick up the old book, but left it on the table and rushed through the kitchen door after his father. His father took a sip of coffee before heading out through the backdoor. Jacob yanked a dishrag off the counter by the sink and ran back to the dining room. He gave the bible a good dusting, sending up a cloud of dust that danced in the streaks of sunlight that shone through the window. Then he grabbed the massive book with both hands and followed his father outside.
Everyone they knew was out there waiting for them, seated in white folding chairs. Each wore their Sunday best. Jacob and Edward walked down the aisle that split the chairs and joined Father Murray at the front. Jacob went to hand the family bible to Father Murray, who gave it a quick look and then said, “You hang on to that until I need it.”
“Yes, Father.” He positioned the book in his right hand and pinned it against his right side to help with the weight of the hefty object.
All eyes shifted from the three men standing at the front, to the activity behind the seats as Alice Werner, the science teacher and old classmate of Edward, began her walk down the aisle. Jacob’s left hand reached into his pocket and hit the button on a flat remote. Speakers Jacob had positioned on the outside of the barn and farmhouse came to life with a string quartet’s rendition of “Here Comes the Bride”. Alice’s hand covered her mouth when the music started. A surprise he planned and setup with no one noticing.
She was all smiles in her white dress that spilled down across the tightly mown grass. The clicks of cameras added to the symphony of sounds as everyone attempted to get a picture using their phones. Not that it bothered Alice or Edward. Their eyes were transfixed on each other. Jacob wondered if they even realized anyone else was there. She grabbed Edward’s hand and they both turned toward Father Murray.
“Friends, family, we are gathered here today to do what is to be honest, one of the best parts of my profession. To unite two wonderful souls, and two of my dearest friends, in holy matrimony, before you, and before God. Nothing else warms my heart more than this does right here.” Father Murray reached up and brushed away a single tear from his cheek. He wasn’t the only one. As Jacob looked around, he was sure there wasn’t a dry eye on the farm. “Let’s get started, shall we,” continued the priest. “Dearly beloved, you have come together before God to show your intent to enter into the bond of holy matrimony.”
