Stormy Weather

By L. Chambers Wright

Nathaniel Mayfield doesn't expect anything more than a routine business trip. When he attempts to cross the notorious "Sam's Gap," mountain pass, things take a turn for the terrifying.

The bizarre storm appeared from nowhere, just like the road he seeks shelter upon. He embarks on a journey that leaves him stranded in the outer realm of an endless night, where past and present collide, and there's no promise he can ever return.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black House Books
• Release date: Mar 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476278636

L. Chambers Wright

L. Chambers-Wright also writes as Laura Wright. She grew up surrounded by Appalachian folklore and ghost stories, many of which find their way into her material. She currently lives with her family in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. She has had many books published, and continues to prolifically write fiction, as well as non-fiction history. She is the primarily caregiver for a number of relatives, several pets, and an unknown number of wild animals. Her interests include photography, music, and casual gaming. Her personal website is Laurawrites.net [http://laurawrites.net]. She runs the Virginia Creeper Appalachian History and Folklore website [http://vacreeper.com], as well as Appalachia Obscura, an obscure history and folklore website [http://appalachiangothic.com].

Book preview

Stormy Weather

L. Chambers-Wright

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Smashwords Edition

Second Edition Copyright ©2016 L. Chambers-Wright. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

First Edition Copyright ©2011 L. Chambers-Wright.

Published by: Black House Books [http://blackhousebooks.com]

Printed in the U.S.A.

Author’s Note: The song Stormy Weather was written in 1933 by Harold Arlen. It’s available at the National Archives: [http://www.archive.org/details/HaroldArnold-StormyWeather1933].

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Chapter 1

Nathaniel had prepared for the trip all week, but the beautiful day outside still distracted him. He couldn’t take his eyes from the window. He toyed with a pencil as he tried to force himself to work.

He hated business travel, but the new Lexus promised a luxurious drive. It arrived several days earlier and he anticipated a leisurely drive on the open highway. He had lusted for one those gorgeous machines for nearly a decade. The meteorologist forecasted a day of sunshine and cool breezes. It was the perfect opportunity to see how the car handled at high speeds.

His accounting agency worked with a Southeastern branch of the FDIC. Reports of questionable pecuniary activity had surfaced in Northeast Tennessee. Financial institutions with dubious practices always seemed to flourish, perhaps their ruthlessness made their ascent easy.

Embezzlement tempted the most dedicated of bank staff. Banks often held power over people, and the shady institutions knew it. Simple human greed pervaded the world, and no matter how many safeguards were in place, someone always found a loophole.

The clang of the coffee canister resounded through the reception area. After a slight groan of aggravation, Bonnie yanked paper towels from the dispenser. Out, damned spot! She was a gem of an assistant, but even more of an asset to him personally. Her maternal appearance softened the hard, corporate lines of the office. Her decades of experience made her the most professional and efficient woman he knew. Often, he believed she knew more about his job than he did. She came to the threshold of his office wiping a spot of spilled coffee from her shirt. She watched him gather paperwork. He knew what she was going to say. She warned, You’d better be ready for rain.

He laughed to himself a moment, he was good at predicting her warnings. It isn’t going to rain, Bonnie. I heard the weather report five minutes ago. It’s supposed to be clear through the weekend.

She rolled her eyes and chuckled. They don’t know everything. When my elbow starts aching, it always rains. I may be your assistant, but I know a little about the weather.

He answered, You’re a walking barometer. He finished with a cackle, but she laughed harder than he did. She grew solemn, At least I can make a decent pot of coffee.

Touché.

He enjoyed his job the most when executives weren’t present. He and Bonnie teased one another to pass the time, discussed their lives, and what they hoped for the future. It seemed to keep them both in good spirits and lessened the monotony of routine. As much as he loved numbers, a jovial office was more important than cold practicality.

He looked at the clock and sighed. Minutes crawled by. He was marooned until four, with still half an hour to go. He couldn’t leave until after hours. He had to be there in case there were further developments regarding the bank in question. His boss could reach him by cell, but didn’t want to. It wasn’t a hectic job, but it did demand his presence. He couldn’t even leave the office for lunch breaks.

He angled the screen away from the door and went to the web site for Weekly World Sleaze. Bonnie would never let him live it down if she knew how much he read trashy tabloids. He couldn’t help it, it was a bizarre compulsion that was only satisfied through tales of the fantastic and the unbelievable. It was far more compelling than any issue of The Wall Street Journal.

His grueling schedule was deliberate. They had to anticipate any sly calculation when trouble arose. The bank was clever enough to request he arrive on a Saturday after business hours. That typically eliminated unpleasant rumors among customers or talkative tellers. He hoped the strange hours would also deter any destruction of potential evidence. Because he had encountered so many guilty parties, it was often difficult to believe any were innocent until proven otherwise. The facilities they investigated didn’t do well. Current estimates held that around 85% were engaged in some kind of fraud.

People lost their businesses, their houses, and their lives to banks. The worst companies reigned in smaller towns where the residents weren’t particularly aware of their rights, and even the tellers seldom knew. The local officials weren’t always ready to lose such generous contributors to simply blot out corruption for the common good. It wasn’t Wall Street that people had to fear, as much as nepotism and malfeasance