The Ghosts of a Forgotten Town Part 2

That’s about when everyone’s nightmares started.

No, I mean, real nightmares.

None of us could articulate them, but it felt like doom was hanging over the town. You know those things they show on videos, those tidal waves? That point where it’s hovering over some sleepy seaside town, poised to strike, but the slide hasn’t started yet, there’s no downhill momentum. Yet.

That’s what it felt like.

Our thunderstorms come through too fast to hold this complexity. There’s no poise, no hovering. It’s clear, it’s sunny, there’s a bit of breeze, and suddenly the sky is “black as the Ace of spades,” as Ma puts it, and swoosh, and it’s run and hide till your personal Angel of Death has passed over.

Some of townfolk have a body part the call a “weather knee” or a “weather elbow,” and some get fierce-some headaches. That’s our only warning that something’s about to go sideways, unless someone is paying attention to the only barometer in the barber’s shop.

I was getting the sinking feeling that I’ve become the town’s barometer.

I would feel strange urges, and no amount of force could stop me from following them. I knew, with full certainty, I had some jobs that needed to be done, and not much time to do them. That wave would soon crest and fall, and by God, I’d better be done before that happened.

The first one was about a week after the Grocery Incident. Yes, that’s what people called it.

It didn’t take long for Heathcliff to be found rather horribly guilty of chiseling, and he was forced to pay back all the differences to everyone, with interest. His wife was so embarrassed that she withdrew all the rest of what was deemed their rightful money, and left town in a horse-drawn cart. She sent word later that she’d met up with her sons, and was living with them.

Heathcliff himself? Was freed when all the money was repaid, and he tried to sell the building. No one so much as nibbled, so he simply walked out of town. No one was really sorry to see him go – or interested in what happened to him.

I was walking down the main street, trying to find Sarah or Myrnie. Both were a little younger than me, so we tended to hang together when we were free from chores. They touched a bit odd once I turned fourteen, but I wanted to chat with them, do something, even if it was wander down to the stream, and dangle our toes in the water.

Main Street has a wooden walkway that runs the whole length of houses. We have a dirt road for Main Street, nothing fancy like cement or asphalt. When the rains come, it’s a mud pit. The walkway is necessary.

It’s uncovered, though. Except for one part.

No one is sure what got into Crazy Jace’s head, but he doesn’t come by the moniker for nothing. He’s not known to be Calm, Rational, Jace, you know, for good reason. I was told he lived up in the garrett, precariously balanced up above what used to be the saloon, a lifetime and then some ago.

He also died under mysterious circumstances.

I could see the picket fence in front of Susan’s when I heard high-pitched shrieking. “Help! Help me, please! Someone! Anyone! Can you hear me?”

I stopped. I couldn’t see anyone.

“Help! Please, help me!”

There was a slight echo to the voice. Not alive, then. I knew there were living souls within earshot. No one was running to help, so that means only I can hear them. Joyous.

I guess it’s up to me. I sighed. “I’m here! Where are you?”

“In the garrett!”

Sigh.

Of course.

I went inside.

This is no longer a saloon, in the strictest sense of the word. There are “adult beverages” for sale, sure, but nothing you can go and buy at a regular store. Mister Alisdair Cooper runs a respectable tavern, he’ll tell you, and he makes all the hooch himself. Everything from rotgut to fine liquor, he’ll tell you. Me? I have no idea. I just reached my majority, according to our town, what would I know?

Mr. Cooper was quite surprised to see me. “Why, Miz Lisbeth! Pleasure to serve you, Ma’am, if you’d like your first taste of the hard stuff. First one’s on the house for your birthday.”

The only ones in the tavern at this time of day were the hard core drinkers, three of them, lined up on weathered stools, that molded to their shape over time. “Ah, no thank you, Mister Cooper. Howdy, Misters Adams, Dean, McVair. Ah, um. I find myself at a loss. May I have a root beer, and some of your gentlemen’s time?”

Everyone perked up at that. “Well, this is highly unusual! Unprecedented! But after the hearings I hear, perhaps trouble follows you like a puppy, eh? Such strange goings on! Impressive, young lady, to knock Heathcliff off his pedestal.” A lovely bottle swooshed down the counter, expertly stopped in front of the stool I pulled up. “What bringings bring you here?”

“Something like, I’m terribly afraid. I know this might disturb you, gentlemen, my being a very youngish lady and all, but I think you have a story that I need to hear. It’s not a pretty one, but please, I need to know. Consider it my birthday present, if you would.”

Where were these pretty words coming from?

The men glanced at each other, a bit uncertain. “Um, miss, I’m not sure…”

“I know, gentlemen. I know. And yes, I may be a new adult, but we all fear my Ma, who would come down like thunder on all of you if she heard this. But the first voice led me true, I can only hope the second is the same.”

Mister Cooper’s shoulders slumped. “Is he at it again? Ugh, you know, if you rid us of Crazy Jace’s ghost, you’re doing us a favor.”

“And obviously I don’t know his story, just the normal rumors us kids tell each other as a jump scare. What’s real? I’d like to know what you truly know, please. I think it’s important.”

I think it was Mister Adams who gulped into his ale. “Problem is, miss, I don’ think nobody knows the truth. Maybe he took it with ‘m when ‘ee vanished.”

McVair nodded. “Heard quite a few yarns about him, in my time. Could knit a coat with all of ‘em. He was a robber, would sneak down to the train line thirty miles away, hold ‘em up. Come back, spend the gold on loose wimmin and the hard stuff- er, begging yer pardon, miss.”

“No offense at all, gentlemen, I knew it wouldn’t be a pretty ask.”

“Well, um. That’s one story, anyway. Another is ‘e killed his own family, took the family fortune, came here to hide.”

“Aye, I heard summat like, he an’ his brother went to Calley-Forney, got their gold, he shot ‘is brother in the ‘eart, took it all.”

“I heard he took bounties for shooting In’yans, sneaking inta the mountains.”

“Mmm.” I was referring to the root beer, which was very fresh, and hardly fizzy. Just the way I like it. “None of those make much sense, though. We get newspapers. Marshals come through occasionally, when they remember to. If they wanted him, it’s not like he was hiding. Same with the Indians, they could easily sneak down and take him when he was three sheets to the wind. We know full well they still count coup on us, though they’re nice enough to return our horses.”

“You know the saloon has been in my family, miss. My own sainted father would tell stories of his antics that were passed down, father to son, but never how he got his money. But one thing I can say: he never paid in gold. Bits of rough silver only.”

My eyes widened. “An illegal stake, on Indian lands? He was crazy!”

“Aye, that’s my guess. I think he died up there, and the Indians just buried him in his little scrape. They wouldn’t care much if he would sneak in and out, and take little bits. Watch, sure, but not interfere. That’s their way. But if he got himself in trouble, they wouldn’t help either. They know what the Black Hills gold rush did to them, and it’s their mountain now. They wouldn’t let us whites up there to find and retrieve him, for nothing.”

“That’s fair.” I sipped thoughtfully. Well, I hope it was thoughtful. “So, what were his antics like? Never mind my delicate ears, my older brothers made sure of that years ago.”

“Hah, I’m sure they did! Well. He would literally swing on the chandelier, he thought it would impress the loose ladies. They lived on the second story above us, and he was on the third, but if he wanted their affections, he had to pay. Great-great-great-great-Grandda would make sure of that.”

“I heard he’d want to arm wrestle anyone he could sucker into it, and play the piano – very badly.”

“I heard it was Indian leg wrestling instead.”

“Likely both, knowing him. I heard the same, plus he’d try to tap dance in his boots like some Vaudeville star.”

“That’s what my father said, and some of the talent shows in town would try to, um, reproduce his attempts.”

“That part’s certainly true, my uncle would trip every time, trying to do them moves in his clodhopper boots.”

“He ripped up Widow Henby’s flowers that one time, I heard, trying to get free favors from the ladies upstairs, and when the widow woke up and discovered the damage, she stormed upstairs and beat him half to death with her slipper!”

McVair snorted into his ale, and the rest of us collapsed in giggles.

I had never seen Mister Cooper so consumed with mirth, wiping away tears of laughter. “Aye, he was quite the character. Of course, nothing compared to his- um. Well, his bowel movements.”

“I was never rightly told, and unfortunately, that’s likely the thing I think I need to hear about.”

Mister Cooper got a case of the shyness, but Adams burped softly. “One pint was all he needed, lady, and he would whiz on anything. Anywhere. He would out-whiz dogs. Literal pissing contests, and he’d allus win. No bush was safe, no window sill was un-dribbled on. And the outhouse up there-”

“Adams, really? Must you?”

“It’s all right, Mister Cooper. I need to know.”

He sighed. “Very well, but delicately. He would, um, do his business in the Number Two department where he should, but he didn’t want to bother with chamber pots. So somehow he rigged up something up there, with a slide or tube or something, and it would just – um -”

“Whoosh! Plop onta the sidewalk!” Dean made surf-riding motions in the air, and the other two giggled again. Mister Cooper looked pained.

“When all attempts to correct him failed, we put up the roof over that part of the walkway. Funnels, a barrel. It was – a lot. Of all his antics, it may have been the funniest, but cleaning up after him was – a bit too much. My ancestor may have been sad when he vanished, but he was relieved he no longer had to clean up after Crazy Jace.”

“Has anyone been up there since?”

“A few of us, over the years. I keep it locked. We’ve looked, and there’s nothing there.”

I finished my root beer. “May I borrow that key, please?”

Mister Cooper shut the tavern, and the men were kind enough not to protest. They took their last round and stools to the porch, and promised to wait for developments. Then the key, myself, and Mister Cooper carefully climbed the rickety stairs to the third floor.

“Are you sure this is necessary, ma’am?”

“Do you hear him calling for help?”

“No, but others over the years have heard it.”

“In daylight?”

Mister Cooper had no answer.

The garrett was plain, and well-lit. No curtains, no furniture, no trace that a human called this home - well, occasionally, home.

“It think he had a bedroll to his name. The pickax and shovel, he’d ‘borrow.’ They never came back.”

“Forgive me, Mister Cooper, but this is where I look like I’ve gone mad.” I raised my voice. “All right, Crazy Jace, I’m here! You were hollering for help! This had better not be one of your tricks, or I’m leaving!”

Can a voice sound muffled? “No, please, it’s not! I’ve been stuck here! I want to go on now, I promise, I’ll be good!”

“Where are you? How do I help?”

“I’m in the outhouse!”

I looked around. Cooper looked at me as if I’d gone mad, and I peered left and right. “Okay, I give up. Where’s that famous indoors outhouse of his? All I see is floor, and wood panels.”

“Hunh, you’re right.” Cooper scratched his head. “I never thought…”

I gently stepped into the room, fearing breaking through the floor. It had been a long time, and wood can do dangerous things over time.

Cooper stayed in the doorway, but was ready to help if needed. I stepped cautiously across the room. Seemed pretty solid.

A tiny window looked out over the main street. I peeked out. The roof was to my left. So…

I looked. Tin panels, painted green. Old. But when I turned, I caught a… shadow? Divot?

I reached over, tapped on a panel. It was hollow, and there was something that looked like a handle tucked in a recess right against the wood. I wrapped my handkerchief – what lady doesn’t have one?- around my fingers, curled them inside the recess, and pulled.

The whole side panel came away from the wall.

“What?” Cooper gingerly stepped across the floor, and took the panel from me. Laid it down. “Do all of them come off?”

“Only one way to know.” Together, we pulled and poked, and soon had a stack of false panels in the middle of the floor.

Not much, but evidence of a life.

An old, ratty shirt, more patches than fabric. A pair of loaded dice. A strip of pink silk ribbon, amazingly not chewed by mice. A pile of dirty canvas sacks. A battered lady's sandal. A small iron box, locked good and tight. No key.

“Did you forget about me? Help!”

“Sorry, there. We were distracted by your stuff. You’re real, not just a figment of a saloon’s imagination.”

“Well, I’m still stuck here!”

There was a smooth hole, oval, flush with the floor. Right aside of the window, in line with the roof over the walkway.

Cooper was incensed. “Did you build this yourself? Without permission?” His mustache quivered in indignation.

He couldn’t hear the answer, but I did. “Um, maybe?”

I snorted. “So why are you stuck there? You didn’t die there trying to get out, did you? I’m not going down there, looking for you!”

“Aw, naw, barkeep there is right. I took off into the hills, to my claim. Well, you know. Not mine, but I poked around like I was taught, and found a vein. The In’ians let me do it, Lord Hisself knows why. I’m still up there. I was buried when my crappy roof caved in on me. Didn’t feel a thing.”

“So, why are you here?”

“I dunno! I died, and suddenly I was here. The bedroll, pickax, shovel, and some of the sacks are still up there. Only thing here is the key, hidden above the hole.”

A flap of thick tin roofing worked like a lid, I guess. It probably kept out the stink, too, at the time. I placed it gently over the hole, and straddled it, looking for where the framing slats were. A little wobbly, but if I was careful, I could do it.

Cooper was right behind me. “Miss, please don’t fall. If you slip, I don’t want to think- Right. Begging your pardon, let me grab the back of your belt, to pull you away if you fall.”

“Here.” I re-tied my belt sash in such a way that it had a tail, and handed that to Cooper. Then I climbed back up, wobbling a little, re-setting my feet on the slats.

“Can you see it?” A muffled voice coming from straight below my legs was more than a bit disconcerting.

“I don’t see a thing.”

“There should be a nail.”

I looked around. “I see a nail sticking out, but there’s no key.”

“Ah, blast it, where did I put it?”

Cooper was too big to fit, but he was bent over, and squinting. “Miss, there’s a framing slat above you. We always lay our keys on them at home, out of reach.”

“Hm.” I could stretch a bit, and my fingertips could just reach the rim. I went on tiptoes, tried again, and got farther. The tin wobbled, but I thought I might feel – something?

“Cooper, I’m gonna hop. There might be something up here, maybe. Give me just enough time to hop, and reach, but then yank me back towards you, so I don’t do myself a mischief.”

“Miss, your ma will kill me.”

“You and me both. But let’s try. We’ve gotten this far.”

I braced, and so did Cooper. He watched me, I nodded, and he took up the slack in the sash. I took a breath, one, two – and hopped as much as I could.

Without seeing, I slapped my hand above the slat, and just fumble-grabbed for anything that might be up there. I was suspended for a tiny moment, and then gravity pulled, I realized the tin had shifted under me, and oh no-

Cooper pulled.

I went flying backward.

I landed on Cooper, but I scrambled off fast. Ma would kill me, if she knew I was on a married man, no matter what the circumstances, no matter that I was an adult who could make my own choices.

He sat up, both of us breathing hard. The floor held us. “Miss, are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” I could feel something in my hand, cool. Smooth. Metal?

I opened my hand.

A key.

*******

We took our treasures downstairs. The three drinkers had amassed a bit of an audience, and again, it looked like the whole blamed town was waiting for our return. Including my family, my little brothers waving eagerly from the back of the crowd. Oh boy.

We were dusty, disheveled. But in we all went, to show what we found, and how.

Cooper poured. I displayed stuff, and explained about the secret panels. People nodded wisely; everyone’s homes were built on the bones of the past, with the new covering the old. There were likely secrets hidden in a few homes, and not just piles of rusty razor blades under their medicine cabinets.

People were telling the Crazy Jace stories they knew, and we didn’t know till later, the town’s self-appointed archivist was scribbling away, saving it all for history’s sake.

I kept the lock box for last.

It looked to be steel, as did the key I still kept in my hand. I sat on the bar, so everyone could gather round and get a good view. Adams and Dean and McVair were front row, eyes shining.

No oil was needed. Click, and snap, and the door sprang open.

I tapped three silver nuggets onto my hand.

Everyone sighed.

Cooper shook his head, but couldn’t hide his smile. Outside, I heard a “Wheeeeee!” It tailed off, got all echo-y, and faded in the wind.

I gave the nuggets to Cooper, and he plucked the biggest one. It looked like a cluster of frozen crystals. “Here, Lizbeth, you keep this one. You’ve earned it. I would make it into a ring, a souvenir of our adventure. I’ll have a nice display box made for the rest, take pictures of the room upstairs for it too. It’ll look nice at the end of the bar.”

Adams looked around. “Is he gone? Crazy Jace?”

“I think so. I heard him yell and fade when we opened the box.”

Ma finally broke the spell. “All right, young lady, I know you’re grown and all, but that’s enough fraternizing. I’d rather not have my boys turning into root beer jerkers, not this young.”

“Aw, Ma!” Each was on their second mug, the greedy guzzlers.

I gripped that nugget tight as we walked home, and I stowed it away carefully in my treasure box. Not that I had many treasures, but this was by far the most important one. I would like a ring, someday, with the nugget set in the middle.

But that weather-knee feeling, of a storm coming, still didn’t fade.