Chapters (29)
Unfortunately, I couldn’t outrun my past. I was an unmarried man with no connections to the town, and no interest in any of the women who threw themselves in my path. Of course, I couldn’t tell them I was looking for more than they could offer, so the rumors would start. And once the rumors started, I would leave.
A new town, a new post office, and a new life. This was the pattern my life took for the next two decades, until I ended up in the town outside of the woods. Forty-something with no family. No wife. No kids. No white picket fence. Just me, and a sack of letters and parcels. The only difference was this time, I liked this town. I liked the people. And the butcher reminded me of James. His wife would shoot me looks suggesting they both might be looking for more, too.
Before I could dig deeper, the rumors began again. The kids began their pranks, having heard their parents talk about me, trying to run me out of town themselves. This time, though, I wasn’t ready to leave. So when the mayor’s bratty son handed me a package addressed to the house everyone declared was haunted, I merely smiled. Later I would find out that the house wasn’t on the postal routes anymore. But then, all I wanted was to know more about the handsome butcher and his pretty wife. I wanted to dig my feet into the earth, and settle down. A silly haunted house wasn’t going to stop me.
So maybe this was where I made my stand. With a package, and a dare. I’d set out to deliver the parcel, and bring a souvenir back for the kid. Something creepy from the decrepit house, something to show him I wasn’t afraid. I slid the box into my sack and waited until the rest of the mail for the day was delivered. The sun was still high in the sky when I set out on the small path out of town.
I knew where the house was–everyone did. Kids dared each other to enter the gated courtyard, closing their eyes for ten seconds while their friends ran and hid, leaving them alone in the silent woods. My footsteps kept me company as I walked, the package banging against my thigh in my nearly empty bag. I thought about what I would bring back for the asshole kid. A candlestick maybe, or a creepy portrait. I thought about his face when I handed him my trophy. I thought about my newfound life, and what the butcher and his wife were like behind closed doors.
I never once thought that I’d never leave the house again.