The Best Intentions (Good Job)

[MalReynolds]

This is long, so stay with it.

-

I had been traveling from town to town, free from attachment in this modern world, until I entered the small borough of Addersville Tennessee. It was a small town, friendly people out sweeping porches and cleaning the storefront windows, happy to see everyone and anyone, new or not. I was a freelance photographer who was just looking for any place that would be a good place to set up nature shots, create atmosphere. More than anything, it was my goal by the end of the year to put out a calendar, and this town looked like just the place to begin.

It wasn’t too heavily wooded, although there were trees lining the streets. At the end of the main street was a large hill, covered with a thick blanket of foliage extending to the top and disappearing over the other side. I crested the hill the first day I was in town and gazed down the other side, looking at nothing but the tops of trees and a small creek that cut through the valley bed effortlessly.

There was no local hotel for me to stay at, Addersville being so out of the way from modern society and any highway. It was a long look for a place to stay, although I’m sure if I had just worked up the nerve I could have knocked on any number of doors and gotten a hot meal and a bed. But I decided against the vagabond begging game and walked into the diner, taking a seat at the counter. The waitress walked up with a pot of coffee in one hand, smiling a knowing half smile.

“Hey, hon. What can I do you for?�

“Do you know any place I could stay while I shoot some pictures for a calendar?�

The woman shrugged, walking through the back door and into what I could only assume was the kitchen area. Before the in/out door could make a full swing, she was back with a small slip of paper in one hand. She slid it over the counter.

‘John and Yolanda Thurgood, 1220 Addersville Lane, Bed and Breakfast.’

“Isn’t that for married couples?�

“This place is so out of the way, they’d just be thrilled for the business.�

I slid a dollar bill over the table, the last remaining monetary unit to my name, and walked out of the diner. My car was on empty; as soon as I had money, I’d fill it up and move on… After I’d gotten some decent shots.

It was a short walk through the brisk autumn chill to the house, which sat back in a cove of trees. I walked up the front steps, noting a wheelchair ramp that extended towards the driveway. It went into the ground, the supports every few feet, very sturdy. The canvas bag in my hand was heavy, filled with photo equipment.

I rang the doorbell and a sweet old woman answered the door, her face so wrinkled that it was hard to see her eyes.

“Yes, dearie?�

“Are you Yolanda Thurgood?�

“Yes I am, dearie.�

“Oh, well… I’m looking for a place to stay and I found from Annie in the diner that this place is a Bed and Breakfast?�

She nodded and motioned for me to come in. She set one foot down on the stairs, and hollered upstairs. “We got one, John!�

John began down the stairs, the young man in the wheelchair behind him. Sitting in the chair, he stared down at me with simple eyes, child’s eyes even though he looked thirty. He smiled and drooled onto his shirt and waved. I waved back.

“That’s Timothy, our grandson. His parents…� Yolanda stopped. “His parents aren’t with us anymore. He stays with us now.�

I nodded. John finally took the last step slowly, extending a hand. I shook it, his hand feeling slightly like sandpaper in mine.

“Glad to see we can finally host someone again. Haven’t had anyone stay here since… Since we had to close the place down.�

I nodded again. “Well, what happened? Why did you have to shut this place down?�

John was about to speak, but Yolanda interjected. “There was some unpleasantness with one of the customers, unfortunately. When you open your home to people like we used to, sometimes things just happened.�

It sounded kosher, but if I had the time, I would check it out at the library archives later. “How much is it for me to stay… For a little while?�

“Oh, depends. Normally we charge thirty dollars a night, but how long are you planning on staying?�

“Until I get the photos I need and can get out of town,� I said, smiling and setting the camera bag down.

“Price negotiable,� Yolanda smiled at me.

“Excellent,� she said, patting me on the back and showing me to the kitchen. There was a faint thudding sound as a hidden door slid open and Timothy rolled out into the kitchen.

“We had to have an elevator put in. Timothy has to stay on the same floor as we do, in case he needs us in the middle of the night.�

I smiled. John turned around. “I’m going back to my study, Yolanda. Holler for me when dinner is ready.� A quick peck on the cheek and he was gone up the stairs again.

Yolanda opened a sliding glass door into the back yard, leading me to a secluded courtyard like area. Slate created a walkway to a broken yet beautiful fountain, but that wasn’t the centerpiece. In the middle of the yard was a cherry tree standing tall among all other things.

“I’ve taken to bottling and selling cherries in town when the season is right. It helps pay the bills, all things considered. I’ve been told they’re the best cherries, but I can’t really be the judge of that. Or take what people say to my face as the truth. Care for one?�

I smiled and nodded. She bent down, plucking a fallen cherry from the ground, feeling it for ripeness. She handed it over and I casually tossed it into my mouth. It was definitely a good cherry; sweet, but not too sweet. Tart, and the pit was a little larger than I was used to, but all in all, excellent quality.

I spit the pit into my hand. “That was really quite excellent.�

She grinned. “Timothy loves them. Every time he does something good, I give him a home made tree-cake with a cherry on it.�

I heard the sliding door open behind me and the wheels awkwardly bounce over the cracks in the slate. The young man stopped beside me, looking up and extending his hand, a picture drawn. From what I could tell, it was a picture of me that this young man had taken upon himself to draw. The only real feature I could tell that let me know that it was me was the bag that he had drawn into the picture.

“Why, thank you Timothy. I’ll keep this in my room.�

“Yoo welcome,� he smiled.

Yolanda was blushing. “Oh, yes, Timothy. Good job. Let me get you a tree-cake.� She scurried into the house, clanging was heard from the kitchen.

“So, Timothy, do you like to draw?�

He smiled and shook his head, but I wasn’t holding his attention. He was watching something scurry over the ground, in between the cracks and over the slate. With one deft motion, Timothy plucked the spider from the ground and looked at it. His touch was gentle; not deadly to the spider but loving, its legs thrashing. He took no perverse joy in holding it and placed it into the jar with fascination.

“Oh, he collects spiders,� I heard Yolanda say from behind me. “I hope that’s not too off putting. He has some in his room, some on a board. He finds the strangest ones around the house. Have you ever heard of a brown recluse?�

The name rang a bell, but my vacant expression must have given my clueless-ness away.

“They’re the most deadly spider, I believe. Their bite will infect your skin and cause it to rot right off… If you get bitten by four of those, chances are, you won’t make it… Or so I read.�

“That sounds dangerous.�

“Timothy has found six around the house and has them all pinned to board in his room. We keep calling the exterminator our and he keeps telling us that he’s killed all of them, but if he has, where is Timothy finding them? He’s found black widows before.�

Timothy rolled up to Yolanda, who handed him a tree shaped cake covered with frosting, wrapped in a napkin with a red cherry on top, pitted and smooshed into the cake. Timothy giggled and began to eat the cake, smiling, his teeth stained with frosting.

I gazed back at the tree silently. “If you don’t mind, Yolanda, I’d love a picture of that arbor for a calendar I’m making?�

She laughed a shrill laugh and brushed my arm. “Go right ahead, dearie. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.�

-

I couldn’t get the light right no matter how hard I tried. I kept growing more and more frustrated with the fact that as soon as I framed the shot I wanted, the wind would sweep through and blow trees in the way of the sun, blocking the shot. As soon as I would frame another shot, the wind would come through again and destroy what I was trying to capture. These moments in time did not want to be taken, so I left. I told Yolanda that I was going back into town, look around and see what I could see, but I had a definite destination in mind.

When I had first entered town, I saw the library directly to my left. An old building with roman columns extending several feet, the design completely clashing with the red brick exterior. They were open, but not for much longer. It was almost five by the time I had reached the front door and they close at five fifteen. I would have to make my work quick, and I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for.

The woman at the reference desk was older than time herself. I deduced that she would be the one to talk to about why the Bed and Breakfast closed.

“Hi,� she said, looking up as I approached the desk.

“Hello. This is going to sound completely strange, but I was wondering if you knew any reason as to why the Bed and Breakfast closed down? Why they’re just opening up now?�

The woman behind the desk handed me a roll of microfilm that she had procured from the drawer she was sitting in front of. “Take it to the microfilm viewer in the back.�

It clicked into place and I stared into the eyepiece, gazing over the headlines. There was nothing about the Bed and Breakfast at all; just stories about the local bake sale and the PTA disbanding because all the children were growing up. On the fourth page, a small headline caught my eye.

“Tourists Found Dead In Park:

It was late in the night when Yolanda Thurgood found the body of the young woman and the young man in the park. She was out for her nightly jog when she stumbled across the bodies, whereupon the immediately called the authorities.

The bodies were identified as Tim and Kerry Young, newlyweds who were visiting the town during their honeymoon. What is even more strange is Tim and Kerry were staying at the local Bed and Breakfast, run by Yolanda Thurgood and her husband, John…�

This wouldn’t be something to talk about with them, I realized… So I naturally brought it up during dinner.

“Did you close the Bed and Breakfast because those tourists died in this town?�

The silverware fell to the table. I know I struck a chord, but my curiosity had gotten the better of me once again. Yolanda stood up and walked away from the table. Timothy wheeled out of the room after her in an attempt to raise her spirits. John wiped his mouth with the cotton napkin before looking at me.

“We don’t talk about that much, you hear? Those were good people and no one knows why they died. The coroner says they were poisoned, but didn’t get much more specific than that… Yolanda took it personally; she did, felt like she had something to do with it. After we closed the Bed and Breakfast, she sunk into a rut. The only thing that ever brought her out was Timothy.�

I nodded. “I’m sorry to hear about that… Maybe I shouldn’t stay here after all.�

“No, no, you should stay. If you were to disappear, who knows what that would do to Yolanda. She’s been through enough. Just stay for the next few days, for us. Free of charge. It’d help bring in new customers as well.�

“Alright. I’m sorry about ruining dinner, John.�

“You didn’t ruin anything.�

We sat silently for a minute before I stood.

“I’m going to head upstairs to bed.�

John sighed and pushed back from the table. “As will I. I’ll see you in the morning.�

“Goodnight, John. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.�

-

It did help bring in new customers. I never brought up the reason for the place closing and they introduced me as their son. Time passed as I stayed, I got to calling them Mom and Dad. After a few weeks, Dad’s arthritis flared up and it hurt him to keep making breakfast, so I took over that duty. There was only one spare bedroom; I stayed in the other original spare which now had become my room.

I was walking out of the house to run down to the store when I found the car stalled out on the side of the road. The engine was sputtering; it had hit a guardrail somewhere along the line and continued on, bouncing off of the other rails, merely clipping them before coming to a complete stop. There was no attempt to brake; the road was clear, no smell of burning rubber. The only thing I could smell was car and the plumes of black, chemical smoke that the enflamed engine was sending into the air.

I almost didn’t recognize the woman behind the wheel of the car through the flames until I ran closer and tried to open the door. I didn’t know her personally; I had seen her at the house before, with her husband. She had stayed there during their honeymoon; I remember that much, less than two days ago. They had packed up and left yesterday. The husband wasn’t in the car.

I walked around to the other side of the burning wreckage and found her husband on the ground, hugging he knees and walking back and forth.

“Sir,� he didn’t move. “Sir?� I repeated.

“Huh? Oh, yes.� He looked at my jogging clothes. “Wonderful morning for a jog?�

“What happened to your wife?�

“I don’t know. She just stopped living, I think. I shouldn’t have let her drive, it always made her nervous.�

The battery on my cell phone was almost dead, but I still was able to place a call to the police station. They arrived and picked me and the man up, taking me down to the station so they could file a report. Officer MacReady stood behind the desk asking the questions, his beady little eyes sizing me up.

“You know we don’t very much like newcomers, don’t ya’?�

“Well, Officer, I wouldn’t say I’m a newcomer. I’ve been here for almost two months.�

He began to hawk and spit into a coffee mug on the desk before pulling more chaw out of his breast pocket.

“If you don’t have any other legitimate questions, then you have to let me go. I don’t know much law, but I do know that much. Unless you want to file some kind of formal charges against me for some reason, then you have no choice.�

MacReady smiled and leaned forward in his chair.

“I’m keeping my eyes on you, boy. First time someone died like that in a long time. Just a coincidence, I suppose, that it happened after you came into town and the people died after staying at the Bed and Breakfast.�

I coughed. “Yes, Officer. Coincidence. Good day.�

I left the station, not in a hurry. I didn’t want to give the Officer any more ideas that he already had against me, and I was due at the house twenty minutes ago to make dinner for Mom and Dad.

Mom was broken up over it. She was having flashed of déjÃ* vu back to the original case and Dad was doing his best to help her through this. Timothy sat at the other end of the table, smiling and playing with his mashed potatoes. No one was very hungry, I suppose. We all went to bed quietly that night, silently deciding to take a hiatus from running the Bed and Breakfast.

-

Another month passed and eventually the heat died around me. At first, there had been a cop car parked on the other side of the street, clearly visible from the foyer window, MacReady sitting in the drivers seat sipping some coffee out of a disposable cup. I wouldn’t have put it past him to make it Irish, though. After a few weeks, the car started disappearing on certain days; either he had obligations, or the community was getting upset that he wasn’t quite doing his job to the fullest extent that he could be and after the month had passed, his cruiser was nowhere to be found.

It was in that time of observation that I had taken my camera up to the hill, using the back door as to avoid prying eyes. Once again, I couldn’t get the framing or light right for any decent pictures. Every time I saw a bird perched on a branch or the sun shining in the creek, I would bring the viewfinder up to my eye and lose the shot somehow or another. Either the bird would fly away, a cloud would cover the sun, or a bird would fly over the creek, casting an eerie shadow.

It was as if this town didn’t want to be remembered in time.

For financial support, we were forced to open the Bed and Breakfast again, not for Mom and Dad, but for me. They still hadn’t charged me for staying yet, but I did have needs to fulfill. I needed more film, for starters, and I had to have chemicals shipped in for my dark room. My needs weren’t the only reason I needed money; Christmas was coming up and I needed to buy gifts for Mom, Dad and Timothy.

We didn’t have any customers, so I took to shooting birthday parties, always blurring some of the pictures some how but being paid in full. Weddings, mitzvahs (both bar and baht) and funerals were the norm for me now, although not so much on the last one. I bought Mom and Dad a DVD player and a copy of “You’ve Got Mail� special edition DVD with deleted scenes, although I doubt they’d know how to access them. Timothy received and entomologist kit for his love of spiders. I had taken the liberty of removing all the dissecting tools and leaving the microscope and prepackaged specimens, although I was sure he would add his own as the time came.

I wrapped the gifts and set them under the tree that I had also gone out to pick up, although Mom and Dad had footed the bill for it. They watched as Timothy and I decorated the tree, me doing the top section and Timothy carefully handling the glass ornaments on the bottom. By the time we had finished, it was impossible to tell whose work was whose, save for the heavier concentration of shiny ornaments on the bottom that Timothy liked to look at at eye level.

The doorbell rang and I was the first to say, “I’ll get it,� although Mom was getting up. I swung the door open to stare into the beady eyes of MacReady, who was shivering slightly in the cold.

“Officer, would you like to come in?�

“No, no, I’ll make this quick. You’re cleared. We found the guy that did it. We had him all along; it was the husband. After some… Interrogation, he confessed to tampering with the engine and the brakes. So… No hard feelings?�

“Good job, officer. I’m glad you found the guy that did it. I’m glad it wasn’t me. I’m hoping we can put this whole mess behind us?�

Mom and Dad were standing at the end of the hallway watching me talk to the officer; I could feel their eyes burning holes into the back of my neck. I hadn’t told them that I was the prime suspect, although they did note the cop car outside. It was an unspoken truce. Timothy rolled down the hall with a box covered in typing paper, poorly wrapped but considerate.

“Foo offico, meey Christma,� he said, holding out the box. “Goo hob.�

“Thank you, Timothy.�

“Don’t go opening that till Christmas,� I said, offering my most fake smile. What an asshole.

Officer leaned down and took the box. “You all have a safe holiday, alright?�

Mom and Dad waved from behind me as I shut the door.

“It was the husband,� I said as I turned around.

“I know,� Mom said. “I heard.�

They smiled at me, and hand in hand went to bed. I walked Timothy to the elevator and rode with him upstairs, taking him to bed.

-

I was talking to Mom the next day when she collapsed in the kitchen, shattering the coffee pot into a thousand pieces and falling onto them. She lay still, and I panicked, calling the police as soon as I realized what was happening. She was having a heart attack.

The coroner confirmed this. She was seventy-eight years old and had stressed her heart out last night after the viewing of “You’ve Got Mail� with John. They had given in and opened their presents early, a full week before Christmas. At least she went out the next day feeling like a new woman, the way she would have wanted to go.

John wouldn’t leave him room; he insisted on staying on the bed and working out all the special features of his “favorite movie�. Timothy was dealing with it better than anyone around the house; he was bawling. I don’t know if he fully understood the concept of death but he did understand one thing; he wouldn’t be seeing his Mom anymore. Neither would I.

It was that weekend that I got the strange call from the out of towners looking for a Bed and Breakfast to stay at. It wasn’t the fact that they wanted to stay here; I was still looking to run the place, but the manner of the phone call was very off putting.

“Hello, is this the Bed and Breakfast where three people died after staying?�

“Well, yes, but we don’t-“

“Alright, I’ll book it for the weekend.�

There was a click on the other end of the line. I set the phone down on the receiver taken aback, but happy to have customers again.

Mac Englewood was a surprising looking fellow who had a face that was in a state of perpetual shock. He shook my hand, not bothering to set down the TV Camera.

“Just show me to my room. Angie, hurry up with that light!�

His wife was shorter than he was, strawberry blonde hair down to her eyes, strange looking. Pretty, yet ugly. After seeing the equipment, I began to formulate a question but Mac shot it down before it was even out of my mouth.

“No, we’re not here to shoot amateur porn. We’re making a documentary about this area, and it just so happens that this Bed and Breakfast is a large part of Addersville history.�

I chuckled. “Alright, either way it’s no problem. Just keep it down. We recently lost-“

“I read the paper when I got into town. A death like that is second page news around here. She was a real pillar of the community, wasn’t she?�

“Oh, yes, she was. This is your room.� I opened the door and Angie tiredly set down the light, immediately dropping to her knees and bolting it into place. Mac ran back downstairs to his car, grabbing a tripod and bringing it back up, breathlessly. He was terribly out of shape; I was worried he would have a heart attack then and there, but he took a seat and pulled out a small silver flask.

“Good ol’ medicine,� he said, taking a swig. “That’ll be all,� he said, trying to usher me out of the room.

“Breakfast is at-“

“Goodbye.�

The door shut. I stood outside, listening intently to see if they had anything to say about the house or me. In a manner of minutes, I heard a series of clicks, and saw the light come on under the door.

““This is Mac Englewood with my wife Angie, staying at the notorious bed and breakfast where so many people met their untimely ends. I hope to put and end to the notion that this house is cursed, simply because the evidence stacks up against such a silly notion…�

My relief outweighed my anger of being lied to. Maybe they could dispel the stupid rumors that surrounded the house, bring in more customers. That would definitely be very good for business, considering how I had just stumbled into running this place from out of the blue.

I never got around to telling Mac when breakfast was, but he was downstairs, his face flush again, nervous. I set the bowl of scrambled eggs down on the table and walked over to him.

“Hey, Mac, what’s the matter?�

“You haven’t seen my wife, have you? She said she was heading out and-“

The sound of the ringing phone cut through his voice, shrill and unwelcome in this nervous room.

“Hold that thought, Mac,� I walked over, picking up the phone. “Hello? Oh. Yes, yes, yes. She was. Alright.� I didn’t quite know what to say to Mac, but he already knew.

“Mac, you’re going to have to come with me down to the police station… Your wife collapsed in the grocery store and… They just need you to confirm that she’s gone.�

He solemnly nodded. As soon as the phone rang, he had known somewhere deep down in his heart that his life wouldn’t be the same. One of life’s unhappy coincidences and the pain that inevitably came with them.

The coroner told Mac that the cause of death was a slow acting poison that she had ingested sometime in the morning. Mac was furious. He punched me in the jaw, claiming that I had something to do with it; I had the keys to the house, that I killed his wife because they were making a film about the house and that I would live to regret it. He said he was going to press charges against me, but there were no charges to file. There was no evidence that pointed either way; it seemed as though she had been poisoned in the store, but no one knew how that was possible.

Officer MacReady was taking off for the holidays, staying at his home happy with his wife and daughter, so I took it upon myself to investigate the store where they found her body. She was on the floor, clutching a can of tomato sauce, presumably checking the price against the local brand. Ours was cheaper.

She had then almost pulled down the shelf on top of herself, but they had just reinforced the bolting due to the collapse of the shelf a week earlier to the day. The sauce jar cracked, not from hitting the ground but from how tightly Angie was squeezing it. If the lid had been opened, the jar would have shattered in her grip.

A witness said they watched her wipe her brow, stumble around and fall the ground, hitting her head on the lower shelf. The coroner said there were no abrasions on her head, proving the last statement to be a total fallacy, so the investigation was the find out the truth of exactly what had happened. Perhaps she would have lived through the poison if she hadn’t hit her body? Maybe the fainting brought on cardiac arrest… I’m no doctor; I wouldn’t be able to tell either way.

The floor was clean where she fell, having just been mopped. Had I been a true officer of the law, this would have angered me for judicial reasons, but now it just angered me because the logic behind the situation was absurd. A woman died in this store yesterday, and they were business as usual, cleaning the floor and acting like nothing happened. Maybe it was better to act that way; not draw any negative attention to Addersville, letting it fade into obscurity, the town that time forgot.

I crouched down, hoping to find something where the body had fallen but coming up empty. The floor shined under the light as I saw the reflection of the woman approaching in the tile.

“Oh, hi. I didn’t see you there, I’m-“ I told her my name.

“I’m Jenna, I’m here with the Tennessee AP.�

“Word travels fast, doesn’t it?�

“I suppose,� she said, smiling. “Would it be at all possible if I could see the house?�

My gut told me to say no, but she was too pretty. Her teeth were perfect, her eyes blue and promiscuous. I could tell she was a real go-getter and wouldn’t take no for an answer. If I had told her she couldn’t come up to the house, she would have followed me anyway and been upset with me. Lesser of two evils.

Dad was still in his room pouring over “You’ve Got Mail� when I unlocked the door and brought Jenna into the house. Timothy wheeled past, following the small scurrying shape of a spider. She laughed and walked into the kitchen.

“Nice kitchen.� She eyed the eggs still on the table. I hadn’t bothered to clean up; I hadn’t been expecting any guests, especially AP journalists.

“This isn’t going to go into the article, is it? The eggs?� She laughed. A cute laugh, bubbly and excited.

“No, I don’t suppose it has to. So,� she reached into her bag and pulled out a little pad. “All the people that were killed in this house came from…�

“All over. They came here to stay at the Bed and Breakfast, get away from the world. Mainly newlyweds, but some older couples.�

“And they just died?�

“Well, a one had a heart attack, and the others were killed with a poison, although no one is certain where they… What’s the word? Ingested it. Everyone died far away from the house, so it’s possible that someone was following them, watching them.�

My minds eye brought up MacReady, following the people who had stayed, watching them leave their bottles unattended.

“And later they all died.�

“Did they have anything else in common?�

“Well, most of them stayed in the spare room. Its right upstairs.�

I took her to the bedroom, walking in. She shut the door behind us. Before I could turn around, she was on my back, kissing my neck. What else could I do?

When the morning light snuck over the blanket, I already knew that she wasn’t going to be beside me. She had come to town to find a story, and that’s what she had found. I’d have to shut this place down for good, get a real job, and maybe leave this place. Finish my calendar. I’d spent so much time here, sidetracked from my own life.

I was surprised to see Jenna’s car still in the driveway. I saw her slim figure in the drivers seat, unmoving. I ran down the stairs and out the front door, down the wheelchair ramp to the side of her car. I opened the door and her body spilled out.

They brought me in for questioning again, asking me if I had relations with her. I couldn’t lie. MacReady had come back, shining the light in my face and trying to ask me hard-hitting questions to make me crack. They weren’t hard hitting and there was nothing to crack.

“Officer, I left the bedroom, ran downstairs, and opened her car door. She was already dead, and I don’t know what happened. I’m not going to leave town, so that should tell you something… I just don’t know what to tell you so you’ll believe me.�

MacReady swung his fist at my face. It connected with my jaw, sending a slow spreading fire over my lower face.

“Is this how you got her husband to confess? Maybe you’re looking for the wrong person, MacReady!�

“What are you saying, son?�

“Just think about it,� I said, grabbing my coat and leaving the station. MacReady followed behind me, stopping me in the parking lot.

“I have nothing to do with this, son.�

“Oh, shove it, MacReady. Merry Christmas Eve, asshole.�

-

When I walked back into the house, Timothy was waiting for me. I tried to explain to him as best as possible that I had to shut down the Bed and Breakfast for good. He had been enjoying all the attention the guests had been showing him. He didn’t take it hard; instead, he rolled around finding another bug and placing it in the plastic jar with air holes that had came with his kit.

It saddened me that there was nothing left to open for Christmas, but I was also happy that Mom had gotten her gift before she passed. I went to bed that night after tucking Timothy in and knocking on Dad’s door, telling him goodnight.

I awoke the next morning with a start, walking into Timothy’s room. He was out and about the house, chasing something or other, and I looked at all the bugs he had on display from the kit. The spider board was the prominent centerpiece in the room, all kinds of exotic arachnids lined up and pinned to the corkboard. A sloppy label marked each row, ranging from “Baack Wido� to “Bown Reclo�.

My heart skipped a beat.

Dad wouldn’t open his door when I knocked, so I was forced to break it in. He was on his bed, a beard growing, helping himself to a box of Cheezeits that I had brought him.

“What are you doing?�

“I know what’s happening around here.�

Dad jumped to his feet. “Good job, m’boy! Good job! What is it?�

I held out my hand for him to be silent. I knew what I was listening for, but he had no idea. I heard the elevator lower to the ground floor, and I heard the wheels scrape across the kitchen tile. I heard the elevator doors slide close and open again, and the chair rolling down the hall to the tiny bedroom filled with dead insects. I heard the wheels roll down the carpeted hall to Dad’s bedroom. Timothy rolled around, holding out a cake for Dad, who graciously took it.

“I wouldn’t eat that, Dad.� I grabbed the cake from him.

“Why not?�

I broke the cake open, revealing an assortment of dead spiders. Most were poisonous.

Like Mom, Timothy liked rewarding people for doing a good job. He would give them a tree-cake, but he had no cherries to smoosh into the frosting. But he took so much pride in his spiders that it was the same thing to him to share the spiders just as Mom had shared the cherries.

He slept in the room next to the spare. Every time someone would stay, “Good Job� or “Yes� or “Oh God Yes� would be heard, and Timothy would set to work, grabbing a cake and putting his own cherry in it. He had no idea they were poisonous; he just wanted to share. Timothy was just rewarding people for doing a good job. The poor boy had the best of intentions, but was hurting people without knowing it.

I could feel the color drain from my face. Dad was already sitting on the bed, trying to cope with the situation.

“Timothy, what did you give Officer MacReady?�

“A tee-cake. Goo hob.�

Halfway across town, Officer MacReady was opening the present from the mentally disabled boy across town, staring at the cake curiously before eating it.

“Dad, what are we going to do?�

“Isn’t anything we can do? They’d put him in an institution, he wouldn’t be able to… Oh, Jesus. Someone has to pay, don’t they?�

I nodded.

Later that day, I confessed to the police. I told them that I had poisoned the cake because I was jealous of everyone staying at the house and taking attention away from myself. They didn’t quite believe me until they found MacReady’s body. I called it a premeditated crime of passion. They called it murder.

My camera bag still sits in that house, in the bedroom that I had called my own for so long. There were no good pictures taken of this town, the town that people would prefer hidden. The town that time wouldn’t touch and wouldn’t let me touch. MacReady was right; he didn’t like newcomers, and I don’t think the town did very much.

I’m in the Tennessee State Penn right now, and I don’t care. Dad’s taking care of Timothy, the state is taking care of Dad, and I got to help. Of course, the notoriety the town gained after I was jailed was tremendous. Addersville couldn’t remain hidden anymore, no matter how much they just wanted to be forgotten.

Commercialized is now the word for Addersville, a town run by Nike and Nabisco. I often wonder if these giants wouldn’t have come if I hadn’t turned myself in. There’s always a story behind a crazy murderer, but there’s hardly anything when it’s just a grown man with the mind of a child who doesn’t know what he was doing. His best intentions poisoned so many people…

My best intentions poisoned that town.

Good job.

-

Mal

[ddrruler]

Whoa...I can't think of anything to say....

[MalReynolds]

Just as long as you read it. I know it's incredibly long, considering the length of my other works.

Mal

[MonkeyFoo]

I'm going to paste interesting sections/sections with typos here as I read, and comment before I finish:

the last remaining monetary unit to my name --> I don't feel like "monetary unit" can refer to a dollar bill, but only the dollar itself. It's a little weird to read it, though I'm not sure it's incorrect.

a secluded courtyard like area. --> hyphenate courtyard-like, add comma after secluded.

whereupon the immediately called the authorities --> should be she. Also... whereupon? I'll have to trust you with whereupon.

they introduced me as their son --> whoa... time/story gap here. How long is he staying? How does he help bring in customers if they think he's their son? Why do people believe he's their son all of a sudden? Whatever. I will read on.

“Tourists Found Dead In Park: --> needs an end-quote.

hugging he knees and walking back and forth --> not only is it a typo, but you can't hug your knees and walk at the same time. Just not possible.

“You know we don’t very much like newcomers, don’t ya’?� --> I don't understand why you characterize MacReady this way, and with the chaw and all. Maybe I'll figure this out later...

--Stopping here, I'll finish reading and edit the rest in later. It's 2:30.--
--Started reading again at 1:00 next day--

Dad was still in his room pouring over “You’ve Got Mail� --> I believe it's 'poring' without a u.

I feel stupid... how could I miss the likelihood of MacReady's being at fault? [good job with the false culprit. Had me confused and fooled all at once.]

More stupidity... "who poisoned them?" i ask myself... black widows, brown recluses running around... but I suppose they would figure that out at the coroners... never mind. Unless Timothy poisons them.... ...

Well at least I realized it right before you come out and tell it to us.

So now, I have one or two factual questions first. How would people not notice that there are spiders in their cake as they are eating it? And... is it actually poisonous to eat them, or only when they bite you? I really don't know the answer to that one... it doesn't matter anyway.

Overall, a good lengthy piece. I was surprised that you managed to tie up all of my big questions, like why do none of his pictures come out right, why is MacReady all evil and such, etc. Though when you look at it from a little farther back, it's a story about a murderous retard. Now that, that's creepy.

So like, goo hob Mal.

[Zarbon]

That's a very good story! It would be a great book.

[JimmyN22]

Thanks, i enjoyed the story. Good short read.

[gerilla]

Dang Mal, You have done it again. I knew it was the spiders when He went to the library and saw the microfilm and it said 'The coroner said they died of poison'. I read way to many murder mystreies eh?