Hatchets and Hearts

By Christin Haws

Henry Lowell is trying to recover from a traumatic event. He's taken a room at Alvin Quinter's house in the small, rural town of Carpenter in order to find some solitude so he can do some therapist ordered writing about the event, his next step in the recovery process. Neither Alvin nor his daughter Iris know that's the writing Henry's doing; they think he's writing a novel.

As Henry struggles to put the events of his tortured timeline on paper, strange things begin to happen around the Quinter place, things that are remarkably similar to what happened to Henry.

Is this all just a coincidence? Or is it all really happening again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christin Haws
• Release date: Feb 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311980984

Christin Haws

Christin Haws is a writer and podcaster with a fixation on reruns and cop shows, a love/hate relationship with the Chicago Cubs, and a tendency to use humor as a coping mechanism. Decidedly unhip, she occupies space in a small town in the middle of a cornfield.

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Hatchets and Hearts

a novella

By Christin Haws

Copyright2015 Christin Haws

Smashwords edition

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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to anyone living, dead, or undead is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

One Two Three Four

Five Six Seven Eight

About the Author

Home

One

I’m here on false pretenses. The nice people that have decided to allow me to stay in a room in their house for three month - me some stranger from another part of the country; it’s almost naive, really- think I’m here on a writing sabbatical. I suppose in a way I am. But they think this has to do with a book that I’m writing, a getaway to focus on the business of writing a book for publication without the distractions of my every-day-normal life. They think this is completely innocent, that what I’m doing has nothing to do with the act of bearing demons so I might release them.

Dr. Sheppard believes this to be just the thing I need. I have always liked to write, have always expressed myself better with words written on a page. I’m to write every day with the goal of writing about what happened. Dr. Sheppard knows this will be difficult and some days I won’t be able to get more than one sentence about it down on paper. On those days I’m supposed to write about how I’m feeling.

Like now. That’s what I’m doing. I’m writing about the purpose of the writing instead of writing about what I’m supposed to be writing about. I’m circling things, like I’ve been doing for the past two years.

This is supposed to be the last big hurdle. I just have to break down this last wall and then everything will be out to be dealt with and the dealing with will be easier than the breaking down and I have to keep telling myself that when I feel like giving up.

I’m doing all of this without Dr. Sheppard’s supervision. He’s trusting me to do this on my own. I’m not even allowed to contact him while I’m here. This is your journey, Henry, your road to walk, he said to me. The road is too narrow now for me to walk any father with you. I’ll follow behind. You cut the path.

Flowery talk, but I know what he means.

I know what he means.

Henry Lowell set his two bags down on the quilt-covered bed and walked to the window of his new room. It overlooked the backyard of the house he’d be staying at, a house in the country, far removed from his life at home, which is what he needed right now.

He turned to look at his landlord, who was leaning on the doorframe. Alvin Quinter was older with unblemished white hair and a pleasant face that seemed to always sport a faint smile. He was much taller than Henry, but didn’t seem at all imposing.

I know it’s not much, Alvin said, pushing off of the jamb and walking a few steps into the room. But you’ve got your own bathroom and we’re not picky about you using the kitchen. Help yourself to anything in there and if there’s something you want, just let Iris know and she’ll see about getting it for you. We eat about the same time every day and Iris always makes more than enough so feel free to join us.

Thank you, Mr. Quinter. I really do appreciate this, Henry said. He meant it. This autumn of isolation was going to be the best thing for him.

Alvin waved a hand. Please, call me Alvin. I like having boarders every now and then. A little extra income and you get to meet some different people.

Are there any other boarders? Henry asked.

Alvin shook his head. Not unless you want to count Iris and I wouldn’t. He grinned. My daughter moved back in with me after I had my heart attack last year. I needed some help around the place. This house sits on a few acres, including the woods. I wasn’t up to taking care of things while I recovered, so Iris moved in and took over. I’m up to it now, but she’s still in charge. I haven’t had a boarder since just before my heart attack. I finally talked Iris into having boarders again right before you contacted me. You’ll be the only one for the fall. Iris insists on only one boarder at a time while she’s living here.

Alvin laughed again and Henry smiled. The older man had a way of putting him at ease, which he appreciated. Though Alvin spoke of his daughter, Henry had yet to meet Iris. He’d only talked to Alvin when he was making arrangements for the room. Right now Iris was in town, but Alvin didn’t say what she was doing there.

"Well, I’ll leave you to get