Kenneth Tingle - Strangeville (3 page)

I slammed the door loudly behind me, hoping to quiet the screeching creatures as I started down the road. Just a trace of moonlight came through the tree branches above me, providing barely enough light to see the road I was walking on. The suitcase grew heavy fast so I switched hands often.

“Bzzzzzzzzz” something hummed as it circled my head. I couldn’t see what it was, which added to my panic. I could feel air from its wings so I knew this was a damn big bug. I had forgotten this fact before I got out of the car; in New England, we have the usual pain in the ass bugs…mosquitoes, horseflies, and so on, but in the South they have bugs we never even heard of. Big, green, mutated bugs that sound like little helicopters as they go by. “Bzzzzzz” circled my head again.

I swung the suitcase all around me frantically, screaming, “Leave me alone! Die, you filthy bastard!”

Whatever it was left the area, and I hurried along in the dark. Suddenly the road forked. I didn’t consider this possibility before I got out of the car. I just envisioned myself walking straight into some town. Now what? I chose to go left, for no good reason, but the sound of my footsteps soon told me this was a dirt road.

There was a rustling in the bushes not far behind me, and my mind went through different scenarios—a bear, a wolf, some creepy furry thing with a possum-like face and big teeth. I wanted to turn back to the other road but kept going out of fear.  I heard another rustle in the distance. Was something following me? Was
someone
following me? I walked even faster, cursing my suitcase for slowing me down. I was constantly looking over my shoulder into the darkness behind. Both my arms were exhausted from switching the suitcase back and forth. I had to stop and rest. My heart was beating faster as I walked to the side of the road and stood there.

In the moonlight, I could see that the edge of the road went down an embankment, ferns tapering down as far as I could see, its depth unknown. The earth felt soft and muddy beneath my feet. Then as I walked slowly, the ground just caved in below me, and I tumbled forward through some shrubs. I was rolling down the hill, my suitcase flying out of my hand and bouncing along beside me as small branches brushed against my face.

I covered my eyes so I didn’t get them poked out. The hill got steeper, and my body rolled and bounced faster; the soft earth cushioned the impact each time I hit. Then I struck the bottom and heard my suitcase land in the bushes next to me. It must have been made very well because it never popped open. I stood up and brushed myself off.

Just ahead, I could barely make out a parting of the bushes—a path of some sort. Maybe it led to a house or hunting cabin. I’d been walking for what seemed like a few hours and thought that there must be people around here somewhere.

I picked up my suitcase and walked the moonlight path, soon becoming discouraged; the path went on and on, twisting through the woods to nowhere. The dawn was breaking so I could finally see my surroundings.

My arms felt rubbery again, so I stopped and put the suitcase down. Up ahead, barely within eyesight, I thought I saw a clearing with some sort of sign. I grabbed the suitcase and hurried ahead to the clearing. There was a sign on the edge of a dirt road; I had to squint to read it in the dawn’s light. “What the…” I mumbled. It was just a wooden post with a piece of wood nailed across the top. It read, “Welcome to Strangeville.”

Like twilight, the dawn casts its own strange light, particularly in the first few minutes. I stood looking at the sign for a moment. “Strangeville,” I mumbled again. Was this some practical joke by a bunch of teenagers? The road behind, did it lead to a swamp or a terrifying scarecrow on the side? I was completely lost already, so I grabbed my suitcase and walked on—whatever Strangeville was, I would soon find out.

The road went for a mile or so before it came to a wide open area with a few small buildings visible in the distance. It was now paved with concrete, but it was old with scattered potholes. I saw antique-looking cars parked on each side; an old Ford pick-up truck, a DeSoto like my grandfather used to have in his garage, and other vehicles I’d never seen before. I looked them over as I entered town. One of the little buildings had light coming out the front window, and I could barely make out people sitting in some booths eating. There was a sign on the roof—Klemm’s Diner.

I walked inside and the smell of sausage, pancakes, hash browns, and other frying foods greeted me at the door. It was a good twelve hours since I last ate, and my stomach made a loud growling sound. The talking stopped and all eyes were on me.

“Ah reckon this feller’s powerful hungry. Sounds like a grizzly bear done went in his stomach,” an old man said from the booth beside where I stood.

It was a small place with five or six booths, a short counter extending the length of the diner, and there were six swivel seats with torn fabric that stood in front of the counter. When I was a kid, I used to spin around on those types of seats, but you didn’t see them anywhere these days.

An old radio with a coat hanger for an antenna was squawking out music behind the counter—a strumming guitar and a mournful voice wailing, “…Oh, she done left me. Oh, Carol Ann done me wrong. Took all ma money, ma sweet little honey, oh Carol Ann done me wrong.”

The customers still weren’t talking, just looking at me out of the corners of their eyes. I nodded politely and walked over to a booth to sit down. I put my suitcase on the side next to me, took out my cell phone, and turned it on. There was still one bar of power left. I dialed my aunt’s phone number; she lived in Virginia and should have some idea where I was.

My uncle’s voice greeted me, “Hello?”

“Uncle Mike, this is John! I got really lost last night.”

“John, we have been worried sick about you! Where are you?”

“I’m in some little town called Strange…” The phone went dead.

A customer spun around in the booth next to me with an astonished look on his face.

“Ah’ll be a son-of-a-bitch! Ah heard a feller’s voice comin’ out that thang!”

“Excuse me?” I said glaring back at him.

“That thang yer holdin’ ta yer mouth, ain’t no tape recorder! Ah heard another feller’s voice answerin’ ya!”

I shook my head and turned around. I wasn’t in the mood for a comedian.

“Klemm! Ya seein’ this?”

“Sure am,” answered the man standing behind the counter. He had gray hair that was parted on the side, a scraggly gray beard, and was wearing an old checkered flannel shirt. “Sure did. Ah seen this once in a magazine ah found out in the woods—Trek Star, or Star Trekker, something of the kind. Fellers would talk to a spaceship with them thangs. Sometimes they’d be one place, then they’d call the spaceship an says they needs to be someplace else. Next thang ya know, they gets all fuzzy an blurry like. Then they’s just gone an they ends up where they wanted to go, real quick, like less than a minute.”

I turned around and gave this guy a look of stupidity.

“Boy, this place is full of comedians. I’ve been walking all night. I’m not really in the mood.”

“Pardon us, mistah,” the man in the next booth started up again, “ya just mosey in from outer space er somethin’ an expect us ta pay no mind ta ya at all?”

“Careful, Biff. The fellers ah done told ya about in the magazine ah found, if they wanted, they could shoot a light beam at folks an they jes melted away like a snowman when it’s good an hot outside.”

“Ya still gut the magazine, Klemm? This feller ain’t gonna tell us nothin’.”

“Can’t says I do. The mayor got wind ah had it an took it away. He said folks shouldn’t know them kinds of thangs.”

“You guys are pretty good. Do you rehearse this stuff for whenever a stranger comes by?” I said sarcastically.

“You’s about the only stranger ever showed up in Strangeville,” said the man in the next booth. Then he stood up and reached out to shake hands. “The name’s Biff Flannigan.”

My jaw dropped, and I sat there speechless as I looked at him. He had a large upper body with a big pot belly, but he had long super skinny legs. It was like nature had made a mistake and put the wrong legs and body together. To make matters worse, he wore cowboy boots with big heels. When I looked at him, it was like two stilts were supporting a big fat body. He had a friendly, round face and kind of reminded me of the Skipper from Gilligan’s Island.

“John Campbell,” I said, shaking his hand.

“John, folks ‘round here is a decent sort. We ain’t done nothin’ ta no one. Ah hope ya don’t mean us no harm,” he said in an innocent way. He seemed a little gullible and naive, like someone you could take advantage of easily.

“Are you serious? Why would I want to hurt anyone? I’m just lost.”

Everyone in the diner smiled and looked relieved.

“Whew! Ah had me a case of the jitters maself,” the man behind the counter said. He stuck his hand out, “Klemm Johnson.”

“John Campbell,” I answered, shaking his hand firmly.

An obese woman stood up from a booth and walked over to us. Her face was wide and beet red, like she had a blood pressure problem.

“Clarissa Puddworthy,” she said, holding her hand out.

“What was your last name?”

“Puddworthy,” she repeated.

“John Campbell,” I said, shaking her hand, trying my hardest not to laugh.

Biff slapped me on the shoulder, “Now, I know what yer thinkin’, John. If that ain’t false advertisin’, what is?” he said and burst into laughter.

“Don’t pay no mind ta that pencil-legged critter,” Clarissa shot back, her face an even darker shade of red now.

What did I get myself into
? I thought.

“Seriously folks, do you have a store around here where I can get a charger for my cell phone?”

“Now don’t be kiddin’ wit us, John. Y’all know we don’t have that spaceman stuff around here.”

“Guys, this isn’t funny anymore. I need to call my aunt. She’s really worried about me.”

“Does she live in Strangeville?” Klemm asked from behind the counter.

“No, Lynchburg.”

“Can’t says ah ever heard of that place. I’d let ya use ma phone, but ya can only call folks in Strangeville.”

“I’ll pay any long distance charges,” I reassured.

“Phones only work here in Strangeville. Mayor says ain’t no reason ta call folks that don’t live here.”

“The mayor tells you who you can call?” I said incredulously.

They all laughed.

“Course the mayor tells us who we can call. Don’t yer mayor tell y’all who ya can call?”

“No one tells us who we can call, not even the president of the United States.”

My stomach growled loudly again.

“Doggone it, sounds like ol John here could use some biscuits an gravy. A few flapjacks will sort that rumble,” Klemm said.

“Do you guys take debit cards?” I asked.

“What’s that?” Klemm asked, putting some food on the grill with his back to me.

“This,” I said, showing him my card.

He took it and studied it closely, squinting his eyes to read my name on it.

“What’s a feller supposed ta do wit it?”

“You use it to pay for things. C’mon, you’re pulling my leg. You’ve never seen one?”

“Can’t says ah have. Well, ah ain’t never taken one before, but if ya says it’s good, ah’ll take yer word fer it. So ah guess we all even,” he said sticking my debit card in his pocket.

“You don’t keep it.”

“Yer sayin’ ya just shows it ta me an ya gets some vittles? Of all the crazy…”

“Wait a minute.” I dug in my pocket and pulled out four one dollar bills. “Can I get something to eat with this?”

“If yer lookin’ fer a feast, ya can.”

He pulled a one dollar bill from my fingers and handed me my debit card back.

“Breakfast at Klemm’s is always a dollar.”

The plate was chipped and the fork a little bent, but it was the best breakfast I ever had; soft biscuits with a white meat gravy covering them, homemade pancakes with real maple syrup, and fatty sausages that melted in my mouth. They all stood around watching me eat, commenting to one another.

“Klemm, looks like ol John didn’t have no biscuits an gravy on that there spaceship ya read about.”

“John, what kind a vittles did y’all have up there?” Klemm asked. He seemed pleased I was devouring the breakfast.

“You guys are really good at this spaceship act. I’m from Massachusetts. But, you’re right; I never had biscuits and gravy. Damn, it’s good!”

“Okay, John,” Biff said with a grin as he winked at Klemm, “but us folks would love ta hear about the spaceship someday.”

I grinned back, “Okay, Biff. By the way, what’s up with all the antique cars outside? Are you guys having a car show today or something?”

“Antique? Them’s the latest models. The mayor just had em delivered few weeks back.”

“You get your cars through the mayor?”

They all laughed again.

“Course we get em through the mayor. Where else ya gonna get an automobile? Ya sure are a funny guy, John,” Klemm said, taking my plate away.

“You guys can’t be serious. The mayor tells you who to call and makes you get cars through him. What else does the mayor tell you to do?”

“Everythin’, ah reckon. He’s the mayor.”

Clarissa smiled at Biff, “Ain’t he the silliest thang!”

“All right, guys, whatever you say. Listen, my car ran out of gas up the hill somewhere. I walked for a long time, but maybe one of you can help me find it?”

“I’d be much obliged ta help ya, but the mayor don’t want folks leavin’ Strangeville. He says there ain’t nothin’ but trouble out there.”

“Guys, enough of the game. I really need your help. If you don’t want to help me, okay, but don’t tell me the mayor won’t let you leave town. That’s ridiculous.”

They looked at each other with a blank gaze, like I just didn’t get it.

Suddenly the door swung open and a little old man in denim overalls hurried in, going straight to the counter.

“Klemm,” he started urgently “the mayor heard there’ssss a sssstranger in town. He’sssss headin’ thissss way!”

The old man was missing his front teeth, so whenever he said something with the letter S, it whistled.

“Now hold yer horses, Cleetus,” Klemm interrupted. “John here ain’t done nothin’ wrong. Don’t matter where he’s from. Ya done forgot yer manners as well.”

The old man turned to me and flashed me a toothless smile. He reached for my hand.

“The name’sss Cleetussss McChoparoosssski.”

“John Campbell,” I answered, shaking his frail old hand.

“Pleasssure ta make yer aquaintencccce, ssssir.”

Biff nudged my arm, “ John, if ah were y’all, I’d hide that thang ya was talkin’ on. Ya don’t want the mayor seein’ that.”

I went to answer Biff but the door swung open again. A tall, very lanky man walked in. He wore an old black three-piece suit with tails in the back. His hair was pure white and he carried a hickory cane in his hand. Beside him, on each side, stood big stocky men with beards, their faces expressionless and intimidating. They looked like lumberjacks.

“Well, well. Now what do we have here?” the mayor said.

“The name’s John Campbell, sir. I’m lost and trying to find my way back to my car. I was on my way to Lynchburg.”

The mayor sized me up, looking me over from head to toe. He turned to the big men at his side,

“You boys escort Mr. Campbell ta ma office. We can have us a conversation there.”

He walked out and one of the men motioned for me to follow. The mayor started down an old cobblestone sidewalk. The big men stood on each side of me as we followed, like they were prison guards and I was an inmate.

We passed a lot of those antique-looking cars on the side of the road; all 1950s models. I took in as much of Strangeville as I could see—mostly old buildings in poor shape with a sign above stating each one’s function.
Bank,
read one,
Hardware Store
another, and across the road an old movie theatre with one of those ticket windows along the sidewalk. It had been painted white recently and the sign above said,
Gene Autry - Cow Town.
Even the movie was from the 1950s. My mind was flooded with questions. Who were these bizarre people I had just met? Was this some replica town they used for movies? How else could they make everything so true to the 1950s? Was I even safe here? What did the mayor and his two big thugs want from me?