Machines of the Little People

By Tegon Maus

Ben Harris’s sister died of cervical cancer more than three years ago... his best friend and her husband, Roger Keswick, disappeared the day before the funeral. For the next six months everyone from the local police to the Department of Defense searched for him but to no avail... it was as if he had simply fallen off the face of the planet only to reappear at work as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

Then by the purest of coincidences Ben finds himself pulled back into Roger’s life only to discover he has remarried... to Jessica... a woman the looks, sounds and acts just like his dead sister. To complicate things Roger is insistent his home, his car, his life is infested with tiny elf like creatures he calls the Katoy. He claims they run massive machines under his house and watch his every move... every move that is until Jessica is found bludgeoned to death in his living room and Roger is nowhere to found . . . again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing
• Release date: Apr 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311927439

Tegon Maus

Dearheart, my wife of forty five years and I live in Cherry Valley, a little town of 8,200 in Southern California. In that time, I've built a successful remodeling /contracting business. But that's just my day job... everyone that writes, everyone who tells you how to write, all say the same thing... Write about what you know and what I know is me. Well, at least the me I see when I write... a protagonist frequently wedged between a rock and a hard place but manages to work things out at the last minute after all. Like most of us when pushed into a corner it only brings out the best in us and we become the unstoppable force of a reluctant hero. If I have a signature style for creating a character then this is it. I have a Action / Adventure novel called "The Chronicles of Tucker Littlefield," published by Netherworld Books and a Paranormal Fiction story called My Grandfather’s Pants as well as Sci-Fi novel called "Machines of the Little People carried by Tirgearr Publiashing and a number of short stories published by The Short Humor Site.

Book preview

Ben Harris’s sister died of cervical cancer more than three years ago… his best friend and her husband, Roger Keswick, disappeared the day before the funeral. For the next six months everyone from the local police to the Department of Defense searched for him but to no avail… it was as if he had simply fallen off the face of the planet only to reappear at work as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

Then by the purest of coincidences Ben finds himself pulled back into Roger’s life only to discover he has remarried… to Jessica… a woman the looks, sounds and acts just like his dead sister. To complicate things Roger is insistent his home, his car, his life is infested with tiny elf like creatures he calls the Katoy. He claims they run massive machines under his house and watch his every move… every move that is until Jessica is found bludgeoned to death in his living room and Roger is nowhere to found . . . again.

THE EVE PROJECT:

MACHINES OF THE LITTLE PEOPLE

book 1

Tegon Maus

Tirgearr Publishing

A Smashwords Edition

Author Copyright 2014 Tegon Maus

Cover Art: Amanda Stephanie

Editor: Troy Lambert

Proofreader: Barbara Whary

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please log into the publisher’s website and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting our author’s hard work.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

DEDICATION

To my wife Dearheart for always laughing at all my jokes . . . even after the 200th time and for reading all my books one sentence at a time six or eight times in a row until I could get it right.

The Eve Project:

Machines of the Little People

Tegon Maus

Prologue

Surrounded by thirty, perhaps forty people, I had never felt so all alone before in my life. It was cold, overcast and I feared it would rain.

I’m sorry, Ben. We’ve looked everywhere.

I barely heard the words, just the conformation Roger wasn’t going to be here. The man I admired more than any other . . . my best friend . . . was going to miss my sister’s funeral. He was brilliant, absentminded, but with her being his wife, I thought sure . . . it didn’t matter . . . they were both gone now, both dead to me. I was alone.

Everything in life is about balance: give and take, good and evil, yin and yang, and sometimes . . . the Katoy.

Chapter 1

Ooooh no. No, no, no. Hold it right there. Please, Mr. Harris, give me a break. Don’t cross this curb.

Roy, your boss promised.

I know, and we’re taking care of it, I promise you, but you know you can’t go in there. You know what happened the last time, he said, pressing his hand firmly to my chest.

Roy, Butch said 7:00 am. It’s now 7:30. You have Margaret and I want her.

Mr. Harris please, I’m begging you. I got blamed for the last time you went in there. I almost lost my job after all those cars . . . not to mention the fire. Butch said if you took one step over this curb, he would have my head.

Roy, I want Margaret and I want her now and I mean right now.

"I swear to you, she is in very good hands and will be here any minute. You’ve got to understand. It’s not like we can just run down to the hardware store and get shields for your radio. That stuff has to be ordered and even when we get what we need it’s complicated work.

"Roy, I have appointments, places to go and people to see.

Please, look! Here comes Butch now, so just hang on okay?

Ben.

Where’s Margaret, Butch?

"I need a little more time, say another thirty minutes. Go get a cup of coffee or something. She’ll be ready when you get back.

I’ve got a nine o’clock in Riverside. I don’t want to be late.

I’m no genius, Ben, but your brother-law put some weird-ass shit in her and I can only do the best I can do. I’ll make sure you make your stop on time, but I can’t if I’m out here bullshitting with you. Do me a favor; go see Carmen for a couple minutes.

Alright. Thirty minutes and then hell or high water, I have to go.

She’ll be ready.

I had no choice; I had to give him the benefit of the doubt. I hate mechanical problems, but when the radio goes down it makes for a really quiet and long day.

Butch was right, a cup of coffee would be good right about now, but I had mixed feelings about getting it. Weighing the pros and cons, I walked across the street.

Oh, God! Oh, God! He’s here, Carmen, he’s here, the young clerk shouted from behind the counter.

For a convenience store clerk he left a lot to be desired. Carmen went through them like tissue paper. I tried to ignore it, tried not to take it personally. I stood at the door and waited.

Hold it right there, mister. Don’t you move, you know the rules, Carmen Neva voiced roughly, pointing an angry finger in my direction as she appeared from the back of the store.

Yeah, yeah. I’m right here.

What are you doing here today? It’s not Friday.

My radio isn’t working so Margaret is in for repairs. I’ve got a little time to kill. I thought a coffee would be nice.

Don’t move and for God’s sake, don’t touch anything. I’ll get it. Cream and sugar?

Please. Carmen, you know it wasn’t my fault.

All I know is I had to replace a perfectly good ATM machine, twice. Do you know how those people look at you when you ask for a second one in less than a month?

You know it was raining that day. You can’t possibly think I would deliberately . . .

And coffee machines? Do you know how many coffee machines I’ve had to replace?

I just stood there and shook my head, uncertain of the answer.

Eight! Eight coffee machines. I’ve had the electrical system checked, I’ve had the coffee machine suppliers come out, I’ve had everyone short of an exorcist look the store over from top to bottom and you know what they found? Nothing. Not one thing.

Carmen, I’m sorry, really sorry.

You know when they all went bad? Friday. Every one of them. A month or so apart mind you, but a Friday none the less. Which Friday you ask, every Friday you were here for coffee, she said, pushing the cup into my hand.

Carmen, we’ve been friends since high school. You know me. You know I wouldn’t, couldn’t do anything of the kind. It had nothing to do with me. It’s a coincidence, nothing more.

Uh-Huh. You want to know what I think? I think they have much better coffee at the doughnut shop down the street.

I know you don’t really mean it. You’d miss my ugly mug if you didn’t see me every Friday morning.

Not as much as I miss my coffee machine. Now get out of here.

Carmen, I began shoving my hand into my pocket for money.

On the house, Ben. Now get out, she said, opening the door for me to leave.

Her expression made me feel bad.

See you Friday, she said as the door began to close.

I’ll bring the doughnuts, I returned.

I sipped my coffee and made my way back across the street where Butch waited.

Butch. I don’t see Margaret.

The boys are bringing her around now. Here’s the deal. You should be okay for a while, but I can’t guarantee it for long, he said, tossing the keys in my direction.

Thanks, Butch. What do I owe you?

You do my sister’s drain and we’ll call it even. I take that back. Do the drain and the next time Margaret needs a little something you call me and I’ll come pick her up myself and bring her back to you good as new. You just can’t come here anymore. Deal?

Butch, you know I didn’t . . .

Ben, I can’t afford the insurance. I’ll come for your truck, just don’t come here anymore. Deal?

Alright, Butch, deal.

Happy to have my truck back, I made for home to pick up a few things and check in with Mrs. Henson before starting the day in earnest. I could also pick up any new jobs that might have been called in while I was gone.

* * *

Pleasantly plump and in her mid-forties, Mrs. Henson was a force of nature who had made it her personal mission to look out for me, becoming my personal secretary. My costumers would call her and she in turn would pass me hand written notes on what they needed done. She set the schedule, and made all the arrangements. All I had to do was show up. I tried many times to give her money or do some repairs in exchange for her work, but she would have none of it. After my sister Kate’s passing Barbra Henson single handedly saved me from myself and kept me connected to the outside world.

* * *

Can you fix it? Mrs. Cashel asked.

Sure. Your p-trap arm is corroded. It’s not a big deal, I said.

After thirty six years as a handyman in Southern California, I am always surprised when the simplest problem seems so huge to someone else.

A little water in the bottom of a cabinet and the world is coming to an end. Some people tried to solve the problem themselves and ultimately got in over their heads, while others don't try at all. I have no respect for the latter.

How much, Mr. Cashel asked from behind the morning paper. It was always the same with him. Money first. The Cashel’s were pretty much my typical customers.

He sat at the dining table, pretending not to be interested in my inspection but watched my every move. After eight or nine calls over a two-year period, we had yet to connect.

She was a different story. Mrs. Cashel bestowed complete and utter trust on me after the first repair, and always made an effort to make me feel welcome.

There were some customers I refused to work for no matter the money involved. They behaved as if I was a slave of substandard ability and they my disappointed owner. They were easy to spot and I usually had no trouble avoiding them.

Henry, please don't be rude, she chided.

You have to be practical, Emma. Things aren't cheap.

I can do it for under a hundred thousand, I said matter of fact.

The newspaper fell to the table in a noisy crumple. Mr. Cashel gave me a sour look that would have stopped Godzilla in his tracks.

As a rule my little joke usually broke the ice and made it easier to come up with an acceptable price, kind of good news, bad news thing. It also afforded me a private little laugh. It took a moment for most people to decide if I was serious. The look on their face as the thought passed through their minds was satisfaction enough to keep doing it.

Ben, you can be so much fun, she said, placing a frail hand on my shoulder.

Money is no laughing matter, Emma.

How does twenty dollars sound? I asked. I have the part in my truck and it will only take a few minutes.

Ten sounds better, Henry said, returning to the other side of the paper once more.

Twenty will be fine, Benjamin. I'll get my purse, Emma patted me on the shoulder.

I'll get started, I said, following her to the foyer.

After a few minutes I returned with the part, well on my way to solving the problem. The day had started off a little rough, but if the rest of the day turned out to be this easy, it promised to be a good one.

As I lay under the cabinet making my repair, I was assaulted with the constant barking of the Cashel's dog in the backyard. Both Mr. and Mrs. had disappeared upon my return. Their dog was going nuts, making my dog—waiting in the truck—bark as well. I tried to ignore it, but it got under my skin.

Benjamin Harris? a male voice suddenly questioned.

I slid out from under the sink, leaning on one elbow. Half in, half out of the kitchen back door stood a well groomed man.

He towered well over six feet, wearing a dark blue suit, pale blue shirt with a dull red tie and dark sunglasses.

I was immediately put off by his presence.

The Cashels went that way, I said, pointing toward the other end of the house.

Harris right? he asked, looking over the top of his glasses.

Who's asking? I was openly irritated. Who was this guy and why was he asking my name? He had an IRS look about him I didn't like. I shifted to get to my feet, but by the time I stood he disappeared. I went out on the porch but he was nowhere to be seen. At the far end of the yard, the Cashel's dog still barked at something on the other side of the fence. The yard was too large and the fence too tall for the man to have gone that way.

Damn dog, Mr. Cashel said, returning to the kitchen. You know who he's barking at, don't you? he asked with a touch of anger in his voice.

I glanced toward the dog. The hair on the back of its neck stood straight up. It charged the fence pouncing on its front paws where the ground and fence met. It ran back and forth several feet before returning to the same spot.

Yes, I know, my brother in law, Roger.

You know he throws rocks in my yard don’t you? Mr. Cashel asked before stomping off.

I was drawn to the fence.

The old man grabbed the animal by his collar, yanking him back toward the house.

The hound struggled, balancing on his back feet, his front dangling in the air, twisting to get free. It never stopped barking.

I looked through the slats and on the other side, Roger stood with a large ax in his hands. He chopped at some tree roots that ran close to the surface of the ground. He cursed and muttered as he swung.

Suddenly, he stopped chopping and stared back at me through the fence.

Benjamin? he asked, coming closer. He dropped the ax, placing his hands on the boards to pull himself up to look over the top.

Roger? I said. His hands, his face, even his hair were covered in what looked like blood.

Kate's not home, he said.

My head was suddenly swimming, and I was unsure what to think, what to do.

Kate? A wash of memories coursed through me: the hospital, the cancer, her funeral.

Did I say Kate? he asked, slipping down behind the fence, picking up the ax. I didn't mean Kate. Did I? He turned toward me again.

No, Roger, I wouldn't think so, I said, pulling myself to the top of the fence. A shudder of panic shot through me. He appeared to be covered from head to toe, smeared with the red substance. I forced myself to speak. Roger, are you alright?

Without my noticing, a woman had crossed the yard from the house. She placed a small hand on Roger's shoulder.

Everything okay here? she asked, giving me an