Talisman by S.E. Akers
I scanned the article for any additional information. Nothing. The news reporter seemed to be just as in the dark as the rest of us.
“Look what made the front page,” I smirked and handed him the paper.
“I figured as much,” Daddy groaned. “One of their reporters bugged the heck out of us last night tryin’ to find out as much as he could before they went to press.”
A subtle “squeak” pounded my eardrums. Daddy was still chowing down and clearly hadn’t heard a peep. But I did, and I knew exactly what had made it. I remained still and listened intently, locking on the sound’s source and direction. Just as soon as my gut fired off its shot, I reached down beside my chair and snatched the tiny field mouse in mid-run. With my prisoner in tow, I proudly strutted over to the back door for a merciful reprieve.
“Nice catch . . . as usual,” Daddy beamed. “Is that a new visitor or the same one?”
I held the cute little guy up in the air, checking for the familiar gray patch on its belly that resembled a heart. “Same one,” I affirmed with a wink and then shooed it onto the porch.
“I’m going upstairs to finish getting ready for school,” I announced. “Could you be a dear and get rid of that glue trap behind the fridge? Oh, and be sure to let Mom know that I didn’t touch it.”
“Consider it done,” my father nodded. “And I’ll tell her that our little friend is history — for now.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” I grinned and gave him a kiss on the cheek. As soon as my dishes were rinsed and loaded into the dishwasher, I headed for my room.
“See ya after school,” I hollered as I exited the kitchen.
“I’m sure you will,” Daddy chuckled.
My father never liked to say the phrase “good-bye”. He felt it was too inappropriately final. And rest assured, you would have to correct yourself real quick if you ever slipped up and said it accidentally. He preferred, “See-ya” or the occasional, “Later gator”. Personally, I thought it was a quirky OCD thing, but I humored him — out of love.
I hurried up the stairs and over to Chloe’s door where I tapped softly several times. “Are you up?” I asked and waited. When I didn’t hear any movement, my “taps” turned into “bangs”, which were notably louder and longer. Those finally got Sleeping Beauty’s attention.
Her door flew open in a matter of seconds. “JEEZ! I’M UP!” Chloe barked. “Do you have to bang on my door like that? I’m not freakin’ deaf!”
“Your breakfast is ready. Don’t make me late — like you usually do,” I piped back.
“What did you fix?” Chloe questioned and then took a deep sniff of the aroma lingering through the house. “Is that french toast I smell?”
“Yes,” I confirmed, “ . . . and apple crisp.”
Chloe tossed back her hair and stomped her foot on the floor. “Shit!” she raged. “Why don’t you just throw a couple sticks of butter on my plate and sprinkle some damn cinnamon on it! I can’t eat that! I have to fit into my Sophomore Court dress tomorrow! Ugh! Don’t you EVER think?”
She was certainly being pissy about the menu. I never see YOU making an attempt to prepare any meals around here, I grumbled quietly while I humored her little rant.
“Chloe, just grab a yogurt out of the fridge and quit your bitchin’. Heaven forbid you have a blowout on the field tomorrow night. How embarrassing!” I exclaimed as I placed my hand over my mouth, pretending to gasp.
Unimpressed by performance, the little witch threw me a dirty look and then slammed the door right in my face.
“Be ready in FIFTEEN MINUTES,” I grunted through the door.
“Mike’s picking me up. You can leave a-n-y-t-i-m-e you want!” Chloe yelled back.
“GOOD!” I snapped and dashed into my room. I quickly ran my fingers through my tresses to make sure it was dry. The last thing I needed was the cold outdoor air hitting a head full of damp hair. That thought sent a shiver straight down my spine. Once my jacket had been zipped snugly to the top, I grabbed my things and flew down the stairs, headed straight for the front door.
Despite the chilly morning air goading a speedy recovery, I finally found my car keys hiding in the bottom of my junky purse. Those weren’t as easy to snatch as any slippery critters. I gazed at the old two-story farmhouse that my father had built with his own two-hands while I waited patiently for my old ’69 Charger to crank-up. It was actually Daddy’s very first car when he was my age, and it looked it too. But, hey — it was still a car. Thankfully the West Virginia Department of Motor Vehicles still considered it one as well, or I wouldn’t have any way to get around this small hick-town. I didn’t mean to trash my hometown, but in reality, that’s what it was. No sense in candy-coating it.
A wave of anxiety hit me like a ton of bricks as I started my winding drive down the mountain. I never cared for the stretch of Shiloh Ridge that twisted alongside my daily path. It didn’t matter, come dusk or dawn, a foreboding feeling always rode shotgun with me. I kept my eyes on the road, my head in the present, and my foot firmly depressed on the gas pedal — possibly a little too hard from time to time. The secure confines of my car helped, but today I felt eerily vulnerable—almost naked—like I was zooming past that godawful patch of land in a convertible waving a sign that read, “I’m right here black cloud of death!” Ugh… I wasn’t a scaredy-cat by nature, but there was just something about that mist that was straight-up evil. A fact that I still believed to this very today and burned from the depths of my soul. And for some unknown reason that particular day, it had its sinister sights set on five-year-old little me. In my mind, Dorothy had it easy. Of course the only yellow thing striping my road was a pair of faded double-lines, but in my mind, a wicked witch with a horde of flying monkeys would have been a much fairer storm to weather.
A nagging feeling inched down my spine. Especially today…
I came to a screeching stop at the bottom of the mountain, but only because Mike Riverside and his shiny red Camaro had cut over into MY LANE when he was veering onto the uphill road. Stupid, arrogant, ASS! Once my tirade of horn-blowing and finger-saluting had played out, I found myself idly parked with my eyes locked on Highway 52 in a daze. My mind urged me to turn right and go straight, but my heart inevitably tugged my head to the left for a curious gander down the road. The bustling sights and sounds of the Riverside-Pocahontas Coal Mine hailed my attention like a caution flag. The parking lot looked way more crowded, even for this time of day.
Maybe all the extra crews are because of the impending meeting today? Ugh… Mr. Riverside just can’t shut down the mine! Over half of the town works there. I didn’t want to think about what its closing would do to the area or how devastating it would be for all the miners’ families — especially mine. The sight was only fueling my restlessness, so as soon as all the speeding coal trucks had whizzed past, I pulled onto the road and carried on with my mundane commute to school.
The temperature had turned considerably colder, even for early November. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if we had an early winter this year. Just thinking about the first snowfall made me reach over to crank up the heat a bit. This was the time of year when West Virginia’s countryside was truly spectacular — my favorite time. Nothing beat the beautiful colors of the fall foliage cascading over the mountains with a blazing autumn sunset igniting the sky. I treasured each and every one of them. You could be in the most horrible mood, and it would always lend you a better outlook on everything. Nature’s way of putting things into perspective.
And I really could have used one of them to lull me into a state of tranquility…right freakin’ now.
I found myself thinking along the way (yet again), how EVERYTHING around here always remained the same. I drove past the Colemans’ house. Like clockwork, the retired couple was sitting outside on their front porch in their designated rocking chairs, David on the left and Shirley on the right, just casually watching the
Yes, there was something sentimental, yet somber about my small hometown. I loved it and hated it, both at the same time. Welch was the only home I’d ever known, and even though I held so many fond memories, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t meant to stay here forever. Absolutely nothing about my town ever changed, so I knew it had to be me. Something was churning restlessly inside me and had been for a good while. I longed for a change. Something unfamiliar. Something exciting. Something amazing that would fill my unworldly eyes with stars and knock me slick off my feet. And I knew I would never find it anywhere around here. Surely something that spectacular required a passport.
HOWEVER, in no way was I seeking A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G as horrifyingly mind-boggling as what I’d just revisited in my nightmarish dream. Spectacular, I thought with a resolute nod. Definitely not spooky!
My car wound through downtown Welch like it was on autopilot. The ornate architecture of the four and five story buildings lining McDowell Street was a charming, yet sad reminder of a booming era that had long passed. You wouldn’t know it to look at our town now, but Welch used to be one of the wealthiest counties in the entire Appalachian region. Coal was our community’s lifeblood, but unfortunately, its veins had almost entirely dried up. There was once a time when our county was home to thirty-eight fully operating mines, though tragically it had dwindled down to just one. All the others had closed due to various reasons, most of which hinged on the mine’s profitability. And though bankruptcy was typically the culprit, there were also several instances when the owners weren’t staying on top of the required safety regulations. The state supervisors would come in and shut them down themselves. Then a handful of sites had been excavated to their limits and couldn’t unearth any more coal. Our area’s economic industry was already depressing enough. I sure hoped the situation wouldn’t get any worse. It wasn’t like I’d been planning to hang around Welch for the rest of my life, but I didn’t want it to become a ghost town. There were too many good people who lived here, and jobs were scarce. The livelihoods of all its residents would be shattered — possibly forever.
As my car continued cruising down our town’s main thoroughfare, I spotted Mr. Estell sitting alone on a bench outside the Flat Iron Drug Store. I didn’t know his first name. He was just one of those strange drifters who didn’t talk to many people, if any. Mr. Estell roamed the streets, always hunched over with his hands shoved deep inside the pockets of his ragged tan-colored trench coat. His black and white hair was never anything less than wiry and unkempt. Something about him gave me the willies—seriously—but it wasn’t in my nature to be rude to him just because he was different. I’d always tried my best to steer clear of him. Funny thing though, he always seemed to be popping up.
Especially here lately, I pondered.
It didn’t take any time at all to breeze through town. Why should it? There were only two traffic lights and one of them just blinked. The sun was starting to peek through the clouds, shining brightly down on Welch High School, home of the Golden Knights. Our school sat majestically on the side of a mountain, proudly overlooking the entire town. Even its striking and streamlined Art Deco design served as a symbolic reminder of Welch’s rich history.
I turned up the winding road that led to the school’s upper parking lot. An early arrival guaranteed you a prime spot on top. Since Chloe was notorious for making me late, I usually had to park down in the lower student lot, located at the bottom of the hill. Trekking up that steep thing on any given day was a major pain; snow made it even more of a bitch. I’d busted my butt plenty of times going up and down those icy steps in the winter. Ouch!
I’d just pulled into a space next to the Math and Sciences building when a single “ping” coming from my cell sent my hand digging through my purse. Once I’d located my phone, I pulled it out and read my latest text.