Status: Active

Nowhereville

Into the dragon's lair

I locked the door behind me. I decided to change into a fresh t-shirt, grab another pack of cigarettes, and then go back to the town square as soon as possible. I had been reluctant to take Moriarty and Dilworth up on the offer of grabbing a couple of drinks at the saloon, but one look at Kari’s face was enough to make me not want to hang around the house for more than was absolutely necessary.

I smoked a cigarette just for the sake of wasting some time, while gathering my courage to go back out in the street. The decisive argument in favor of leaving the house was the fact that in case Kari was truly dangerous (In what way, I did not know. I had not formed any coherent thoughts referring to Kari or the threat she might pose simply because all of the reasons I could think of were too eerie or abstract to consider without admitting to going insane.) the paper thin walls would not keep her out.

The breath I took before pushing the front door open was the diver’s breath, before he makes the plunge.

I scrutinized the house, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t be there. However, it appeared that each night after dark, Kari was lodged on her front porch. She was just sitting there, on the railing, her long spidery legs dangling in the air. She was idly gazing up at the night sky.

My skin crawling, I stepped out onto the path that led to my front gate. I tried to appear oblivious of her presence, but she wasn’t fooled.

“John! Come on over!” she called out and waved me over cordially.

“I really can’t, I have to be somewhere,” I yelled back as I opened my front gate. My voice was far from convincing, and she picked up on that.

“Don’t be silly, come here for a moment!” she said, as she jumped off of the front porch railing.

Knowing I wouldn’t get out of this, I walked mechanically across the street. To my horror, she opened the gate for me and beckoned me inside. I walked past her into her front yard.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked, with the ever-present mocking grin plastered on her face.

“No, I really have to be somewhere,” I responded desperately.

“Oh silly me, I thought you were just making up an excuse to avoid me,” she said. “Do tell, where are you going? What’s with all the urgency?”

“I’m meeting someone at the saloon,” I replied truthfully.

“How exciting! And who might this someone be?” When she spoke, her facial expression became almost giddy with excitement and she gestured jovially. This childishness did not suit her in the least, and it had the paradoxical effect of making her seem all that scarier.

“Elijah Moriarty and Samuel Dilworth,” I said. “They live down the street, you might be familiar with them.”

“Indeed I am, Mr. Morris,” she answered, this time gravely. Once I had uttered the names, her facial expression had changed dramatically. She now appeared to be furious. “You are lucky to have met me, because now you have the chance to be warned about them. They are vicious men, simply vile. You want to be more careful in this town, lest you end up in the company of the wrong people.”

“How do you mean?”

“Let’s just say that they have not been very welcoming to me and my friends when we initially arrived here. They’ve been downright rude. And undeservingly so, I might add.”

“How so?”

“It’s a rather lengthy story. I’ll tell you all about it if you’ll just step inside for a few minutes. Maybe I could even whip up some tea for you, although I doubt I have any.”

“No, I really couldn’t…”

“I will take a refuse as a personal insult,” she said. Her mouth was playful, smiling, but her eyes were steely, without a trace of hilarity in them.

I hurried to assent, and followed her inside. Once inside, my eyes had a hard time adjusting to the gloom within. I could barely make out the contours of furniture in the hallway. She led me into a spacious sitting room, which was just as dark. The French windows were entirely covered by dark blue velvet curtains. Dust frosted every surface, and the room had a poignant air of decrepitude.

Kari plopped down on a shabby sofa that creaked ominously even under her negligible weight. She gestured evasively toward a fauteuil and I sat down.

“Tell me, Morris, what brought you here?” she asked, stretching out on the sofa, which was too small for her impressive height.

“My grandmother’s death.”

“Faye Morris? Ah, she was a good one, your grandmother. One of the last ones to go, if I’m not mistaken,” she said reflectively.

“What?”

“Oh, never mind me.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Anyhow, I don’t think you should go down to the saloon. Wouldn’t you rather stay and meet my friends? I could’ve introduced you to them last night, but you scurried back into your house. A very rude thing to do, if I may be so bold.”

“Look, I really have to go,” I said, beginning to stand up. “I promised them I’d meet them. I’ll just show myself out.”

I all but ran to the front door, but just as I had started opening it, it was slammed shut by a physical force far greater than that of my feeble arms.

“Oh, John, I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere.”
♠ ♠ ♠
Once again I have to commend plastic_surgery for commenting.
I would appreciate more of you doing so, though.
xoxo