The Armageddon Bug

By William Molloy

This is the story of how a small-boy genius from Willow Falls, New York was dominated as a youngster but due to a life changing event, grew up to become one of the nations top genetic engineers.Until one day he finds his secret work has been stolen and he loses those most precious to him. He vows revenge in a way that could destroy all life on earth, and he must be stopped.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Molloy
• Release date: May 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463497227

William Molloy

I've had a diverse professional life. I've been a licensed Real Estate Salesman and broker. I owned a custom home building company in New York for 18 years. I've sold real estate and vacation packages for Marriott and Hilton. I was a senior corporate officer with a non profit credit restoration company for 6 years and taught personal and business credit at a local community college for 3 years.For more than 40 years I've worked with people with credit issues.I've learned how the system works and how to use it to improve personal credit.

Book preview

THE

ARMAGEDDON

BUG!

By

WILLIAM MOLLOY

Copyright by William Molloy 2012, Published by William Molloy

At Smashwords

( From The Old Version Of The King James Bible)

Revelation 16:12-16 "And the sixth angel poured out his vial upon the great river Euphrates; and the water thereof was dried up, that the way of the kings of the east might be prepared. 13 And I saw three unclean spirits like frogs come out of the mouth of the dragon, and out of the mouth of the beast, and out of the mouth of the false prophet. 14 For they are the spirits of devils, working miracles, which go forth unto the kings of the earth and of the whole world, to gather them to the battle of that great day of God Almighty. 15 Behold, I come as a thief. Blessed is he that watcheth, and keepeth his garments, lest he walk naked, and they see his shame. 16 And he gathered them together into a place called in the Hebrew tongue Armageddon.

This is a work of fiction. Names and characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book is for your enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer or purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

THE ARMAGEDDON BUG

COPYRIGHT 2012 by William Molloy

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic from without the authors permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights.

I would appreciate a review of this book . It will help me to become a better writer. Thanks.

This book is dedicated to my new grandson, Jackson William Molloy, who became fully aware of the outside world at 1:06 AM, on January 20, 2012.

Welcome!

Other books by this author. (Non-fiction)

The Complete Home Buyer’s Bible,

Copyright 1996. Published by John Wiley and Sons, Inc, NY.NY

Save $50,000 On Your New Home,

(Yes! You Can Be Your Own General Contractor)

Copyright 1997. Published by John Wiley and Sons, Inc, NY.NY

Raise Your Credit Scores. In One Day!

Copyright 2012.William J. Molloy, Published on Createspace.com and Amazon.com

Acknowledgements:

I want to thank the following people that helped make this book a reality.

Carolyn Mullen, my partner in life, who encouraged me to finally write it. Marc Molloy of White Plains, NY, for taking the time from his new father-hood to help edit it. Mike Cooper and Mary Banks of Las Vegas, NV, for their patience and helpful comments and a special thanks to Brad Crawford of Las Vegas for his time reviewing and his expertise with graphic design for the cover and making sense of the self-publishing world.

Thank you all, my thanks is more than I can express in words.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

PROLOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

OTHER BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR

PROLOGUE

Following the Waldo family custom, Sunday was the day to drive out to Wild Oak Pond for some swimming and drinking fun. The area where the pond was located was named for the abundance of large oak trees dotting the landscape, some dating back to the Revolutionary war.

The pond was just a few minute’s drive from the village of Willow Falls, in the center of a small-green valley of sweet-grass and bright-green alfalfa and a few fields of corn standing like stiff soldiers reaching for the sun.

The pastoral landscape was enhanced by late 19th century white- two-story colonial-style farmhouses and red-painted barns. Wild Oak Pond was an enlargement of a small-natural pond the farm-owner used to provide water to his dairy herd. He got the idea by watching his own children play in the stream. By damming one end, enlarging the pond and adding a diving board he created a new source of revenue in an area where farming was slowly being replaced with housing tracts.

Many locals would pay one dollar per car during the hot-humid summer months to swim, play cards, shoot horseshoes, drink excessive amounts of beer and cook mounds of greasy-hamburgers and hot dogs over copiously smoking barbecues.

Phillip Waldo’s father was a truck driver, a Teamster, a union man. Phillips mother did piece work at the local textile mill. Neither parent ever finished higher than the fifth- grade but they worked hard to achieve the one car in every driveway and chicken in every-pot American dream. Middle America, the forty-hour work week, a great retirement plan and the twenty-year gold watch retirement dinner.

Phillips father was always a little disappointed in him. He never quite measured up to the old man’s picture of the rugged outdoor type of son he always wanted. It didn't matter that Phillips IQ at nine years old, was over One-twenty and climbing.

Samuel Big-Sam Waldo was a big man, over six feet with large- powerful hands and massive shoulders earned from driving the big-eighteen wheelers for the factory. They can make it but it ain't going no-where until it gets on my truck, Big-Sam Waldo always said as he slid onto the stool at O'Malley's bar, which by coincidence was located just next door to the Waldo’s three-story apartment house about half-way up West Main Street in the Village of Willow Falls.

For this reason Phillips mother was a bit over-protective of her only child. When Phillips father came home drunk, which happened with regularity and the arguments and beatings began, Phillips mother would immediately usher him from the area of confrontation, afraid that one strong blow from her husband’s powerful hands would forever still the only thing she truly loved. Phillip longed to prove his ability to swim with the other kids without the restrictions of a life vest and show his father that he had the guts a trucker’s son should have. Phillips mother always made him wear the vest when near the water when the other kids were free to run and jump unhindered. The kids would make fun of Phillip yelling Waldo, Waldo, afraid of what we all do!

Phillip endured the taunting even though he desperately yearned to be free like the other kids and just have fun.

One sweltering-Sunday afternoon, after watching his peers romp and play unhindered one more time, Phillip tore off the life vest, ran to the diving board and threw himself into the water. There was only one problem; Phillip Waldo did not know how to swim.

He belly-flopped into the water--knocking the wind from his lungs and immediately plunged to the muddy bottom.

No one noticed this frail little boy’s plunge into deaths cold-grip.

His father, totally unaware of Phillips gallant rush to heroism, was slurping the foam from his sixth beer of the day and was happily oblivious to anything but the game of horseshoes he was playing with his friend and associate-trucker Moe Bailey. After all, he had a two dollar bet on this game.

Phillips mother was busy setting the table with potato and macaroni salads cold from the cooler and chatting amicably with Moe's wife and like her husband, Barbara Waldo enjoyed yet another cold-Schlitz right from the can like a good truckers wife should.

Phillip realized his mistake even before he hit the water but it was too late. His fate was unstoppable as he sailed through the air, adrenaline pumping, elated that he had performed such a brave and dangerous act. He glanced at his father as he plummeted into the cold blackness and realized that dad wasn't paying any attention at all.

As he plunged to the bottom of the pond Phillip immediately began to panic, his lungs aching for air, water forced into his nose from the dive, his chest and belly burning where he smacked the hard surface, Phillip shoved his feet into the soft bottom and began clawing with his arms and hands knowing that to do nothing would mean the end of his short, uneventful existence.

He clawed and pulled at the water with all of his strength for what seemed to be an eternity until finally his head broke through to the surface. Spitting out a mouthful of muddy water, he gasped the humid-air into his burning-lungs.

The pond was alive with screaming-- splashing kids and no one was witness to the life and death struggle by this brave and foolish little boy. Phillip had seen other kids dog- paddle around the pond and began to whirl his arms and hands as fast as he could, pulling as much water towards him, forcing water into his open mouth and nose once again.

He went under once, twice, three times but continued to windmill his arms, coughing and sputtering and after several minutes with the muddy water gushing out of his mouth and nose, gasping short-quick breaths pumped with adrenaline, he was able to make his way to the edge of the pond and lay his face on the cool-soft mud of the shore.

Phillip remained there, coughing and gasping for air for a long time, regaining his strength. His heart felt as if it would explode from his bony chest, his temples pounded and his arms and legs quivered and Phillip realized in his young mind that he had narrowly cheated death.

A dragonfly landed just in front of his face and Phillip marveled at the iridescent colors reflected off its wings and wondered how such a tiny creature lived? What did it eat? How did it breathe?

The insect’s exoskeleton gleamed in the sunlight and bulbous eyes stared at Phillip as if to ask, Why are you laying there like that? The dragonfly preened itself with its back legs and glancing once again into Phillips eyes abruptly flew off in a blur that signaled to Phillip that it was time to get up and tell someone about his adventure.

With some small effort he stood up, the soft mud sucking against his chest and belly. Still coughing and dripping water he ran to his father, excited that he had survived this struggle, eager to gain the recognition he deserved and explain as only a young boy can,

Dad, I drowned but I came back!

His father, totally absorbed in the game of horseshoes, where the pot was now up to five-dollars a throw said as he glanced at Phillip,

You’re covered with mud, go wash off and help your mother set the table! and, immediately turned back to the game.

But dad I almost drow--- Phillip gasped,

"I said go wash off, it's time to eat!" His father said more sternly this time still not taking his eyes off of Moe Bailey’s turn to throw.

But dad, you have to --- Phillip! I said not now, do what your told, I don't want to say it again!

Phillip knew that tone and those words meant that if he did not obey violence would be the answer to his plea for attention. Phillip did as he was told and went to the stream to wash the mud from his chest and stomach.

He glanced in the direction of his mother who was engaged in a cacophonous conversation with three other women and realized that no one witnessed his brush with eternity and no one was even interested to know where he had been.

As he stared at the water below the diving board, the place where he committed a heroic struggle and cheated death, Phillip vowed never to forget that day and that this would be his secret. He had chanced death and survived and came to the realization that this was the beginning of a new outlook on life for him.

Phillips huge intellect won out over his youth and he knew--in his soul--that he had just been reborn and from that moment he knew that he, alone, would take control of his life.

A powerful and deeply personal decision for such a small boy, he would organize his life, plan it, nothing would be left to chance. Phillip felt his life now held a purpose. He realized an important decision had been made. Although not quite understanding the new direction his life would take and a little afraid to go it alone, Phillip forced himself to relax and accept his newly acquired fate.

Phillip finished cleaning himself and as he turned to walk to the picnic table he felt the beginnings of a smile forming on his face.

For the first time in his life, he was feeling the stirrings of real personal-power.

Little did he know--that life changing decision--could doom the entire human -race to a lingering painful-death!

CHAPTER ONE

Early spring in the Hudson Valley, New York is always a surprise. The weather comes out of the Ohio Valley and sometimes spring is depressingly wet, winter hangs on for weeks longer than the groundhog predicted or it's absolutely perfect… like today.

Warm-sun, cool-breezes, and a few small-puffy-white clouds in the deep-blue sky! Green-grass, budding bright-green new-leaves on the trees, perfect!

Phillip Waldo smiled as he left the building at exactly 11:50 AM with the quiet knowledge that he beat the company out of another ten minutes. Phillip calculated the number of minutes stolen at ten minutes per day over fifty-one weeks (one week for vacation) and he would accumulate almost a full work week for free by year’s end.

He wondered how he would make up the missing minutes to complete the week. Maybe leave another minute earlier and scatter the minutes over several weeks? Or, arrive at work one minute late nine times? He would have to plan this carefully. He felt that this stolen week was precious, secret and added to his constant need for control over his life.

Since he was a child Phillip felt strongly about how one's thoughts and daily life should be organized. In the late-1950’s, when he was a nine years old, Willow Falls, was still considered to be in the boondocks, by those just over one hour away in the Big Apple of New York City.

Willow Falls was a typical Hudson Valley factory town where most buildings were new in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s and in those days the town was surrounded by miles of dairy farms and apple orchards and was mostly populated with Irish and Italian families, descendants of the immigrants that passed through Ellis Island during the great exodus from Europe in the early 20th century.

Hard-working people trying to achieve the American dream for their children. Long-hours and low-pay at the textile mills with the typical array of levels of prosperity. Incorporated within the Town of Willow Falls lay the Village of Willow Falls, with population less than fifteen-thousand people but the village had one unique feature.

In the early nineteenth century, just north of downtown, the garment mills damned a large creek, aptly named Willow Creek, to produce what is now known as Willow Lake.

The lake grew to be about five-miles- long and quarter-mile wide and fed water down through large feeder pipes to the new textile mills to produce the massive amounts of electricity to operate their machinery.

Over hundreds of years Willow Creek carved a huge chasm more than three-hundred fifty feet deep from the surrounding hills--down to bedrock--creating terraces that step from the highest hill down to the present creek level creating a spectacular water-fall just south of the bridge that spans East and West Willow Falls.

The main thoroughfare through town was of course named Main Street, divided by the bridge into East Main Street and West Main Street, rising up from both sides of the bridge to reach the high hills above the creek. In typical small town designs, three story storefronts line each side of East and West main Streets with apartments above the stores below.

The row of buildings on the creek side of Main Street teetered on the edge of sharp embankments that fell to the creek more than one-hundred feet below while the buildings on the opposite side were built into the bottom of the terraced hills that rose more than two-hundred fifty feet to the top.

Main Street was the main thoroughfare through the village and was connected at each end with Route #9, the only major state road, besides the New York State thruway in Orange County, from New York City to the state capital in Albany three-hundred miles to the north.

At the bottom of the economic ladder, close to the commercial centers and town center the factory workers rented or owned their small clustered homes of wood and clapboard. Higher up on the surrounding terraces the factory managers established their private turf where aluminum siding and brick were the norm amid green lawns and a few swimming pools.

Higher still the executives and factory owners cluttered the hilltops with garish mansions that overlooked all of those who were beneath them in economic and social status while enjoying the views of the surrounding lush countryside consisting of pastoral green fields of dairy farms and the hedgerows of apple orchards. East and West Main Street were connected by a red and gray-stone bridge that was erected in 1927 after the old wooden bridge burned down along with the firehouse at the eastern corner of the bridge.

Legend has it that the huge brass fire-bell from the old station that bordered the East end of the bridge rolled down the hill, over the falls and sank to the bottom directly under the falls where the bedrock had been carved more than one-hundred feet deep by the constant pounding of water and the tumultuous annual spring runoff.

So deep that no one has ever been able to swim down far enough to confirm that the bell is actually there.

The local kids would sometimes swim under the falls and they assure everyone who asks that the area directly under the falls is bottom-less and huge eels have been seen swimming there at night. The water would cascade down through the chasm creating smooth multi-level platforms of rock until it reached the lower creek and began its search for the Hudson River several miles downstream, only to be sucked into the great electrical generators feeding the textile mills about a mile downstream from the bridge.

Phillip was never allowed to climb among the rocks or swim under the falls. His mother felt it was too dangerous.

Phillip worked as a research scientist in the genetics lab at AgriDyne Industries, a huge, international, multi-level corporation that began as a small distributor of seeds and fertilizers to the local farmers of the once small community of Sawkill, a few miles north of Willow Falls and by far the areas primary employer with more than forty thousand employees working around the clock in three shifts.

Everyone wanted to work for Agie as the locals say. Good pay and great benefits. Located directly on the Eastern banks of the Hudson River to take advantage of their ability to ship their goods by train or ship, AgriDyne’s location afforded a sweeping view of the river. You could see north or south for several miles and even watch the cars traveling like busy ants along Route #9G on the opposite side of the river that was Orange County.

AgriDyne Industries adjusted to these the rapid growth of the area, evolving from a farmers store into one of the largest biological and genetic research companies in the world. With the help of extensive government research grants and an expert multi-level marketing network, the company had expanded into food production and distribution, genetic research and development and cloning of hybrid seeds that grow foods bigger and tastier than those provided by Mother Nature.

Biological research into bacteria's and viruses that would be developed to combat others of their kind for the betterment of mankind was another area where AgriDyne received extensive government financial rewards.

Employed for more than twenty years, Phillip always thought of the bacteria or viruses he altered as the good guys eating up the bad guys. Microscopic white-hatted cavalry--charging into the fray--defeating the black-hatted (food destroying) bad guys.

With a Ph.D. from Pennsylvania's Villanova University in micro-biology and a Master’s Degree in genetic engineering, Phillip always felt he was overqualified for his present position as assistant to department head--Martin Marty Rogers in the A section.

He felt Marty was a pompous-company man, always saying what you wanted to hear. Always smiling at the right time and overly squeezing your hand at every handshake. An ass-kisser. A right-tie, right-suit, right-car, right-house, smiling, groveling before the bosses, ass-kisser.

If that's what it took to be department head, they can keep it Phillip thought.

I make more than one-hundred grand per year. I have a nice house, two late model cars, a lovely wife Anne and two beautiful daughters. Jenny, the light of my life who just celebrated her twelfth year on the planet while budding into womanhood and Sarah who, at fifteen, has been accepted into the Julliard School of music and leaves next Monday for New York City for six months of studies with the great masters.

All in all, life is good Phillip mused, whistling a Beetles tune as he heads for his favorite bench that overlooks a panoramic view of the wide Hudson River Valley, to eat his lunch.

Phillip structured his existence to maintain control of all elements of his life and as would be expected, his physical condition was of concern to him. At forty-eight years of age Phillip liked to at least try to maintain an exercise regimen. He loved to hike through the mountains and swim in the mountain lakes. He would make it a point to walk up the stairs rather than take an escalator and walk to the store rather than drive.

Although Phillip vowed never to be the man his father was he had no choice but to inherit his genes. At just under six-feet in height and maintaining a steady one-hundred-seventy-five- pounds his physique had grown from a skinny small boned child to a broad shouldered and muscular frame. However, time marches on. Working in the lab does not require much physical labor and middle age has begun to creep into his waist line.

With a ruddy Irish complexion and graying temples Phillips most appealing feature was his deep azure-blue eyes. Barbara Waldo would always make a point to mention that she fell in love with his eyes first. Deep, soft, kind, warm eyes with long lashes and just the right amount of laugh lines to show off his maturity.

Phillip knew his eyes were attractive. Woman always made it a point to stare into his eyes. Phillip would smile inwardly, careful not to expose his slightly crooked teeth. An imperfection Phillip had to be reminded of every morning when he used the toothbrush. He should have had his teeth straightened with braces during his young adult life but his parents never had enough money and his father, who also had crooked teeth, would say,

It's the man that counts, not what he looks like!

As a young adult Phillip could not see himself to wearing braces, drawing more attention to his personal defects. As the years went by it became less and less important.

With a high forehead, a slightly receding hairline and strong lines outlining his nose Phillip always thought he looked like the busts of Emperor Augustus Caesar of ancient Rome he had seen in the Museum of Natural History in New York City.

Not bad he would say to himself when he studied himself in the bathroom mirror. Not bad at all!

Phillip sat at this bench (weather permitting) almost every day for his twenty years with the company. Through the expansive view, Phillip watched the ships and boats transverse the more than mile-wide river as they make their way up through the state on their way to ports in Kingston and the state capital at Albany.

Ships from the world over use this powerful river to distribute their wares and occasionally one will moor at AgriDyne's dock. He often wonders about all of the exotic places these ships will visit , what the crew is like, what type of life that must be, how much the ship must weigh, how powerful are the engines, how big is the screw, how much fuel consumed to push a ship of that size at that speed for one full day?

Phillip chuckles to himself, Can't stop analyzing everything, even the view.

Resting his hand on his lunch box Phillip realized the sun was warming his lunch and he should get to the business of filling his stomach. The company allows exactly forty-seven minutes for lunch and fifteen-minutes has already been used day-dreaming.

Phillip likes to day-dream. Life is such a wondrous thing and life experiences, good and bad, are what add the spice to the humdrum of living. Enjoying the salty-sweet taste of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, his favorite, Phillip ponders why everyone else can't seem to grasp wonders of life and the universe around them as he can.

Everyone is so busy scurrying around on the surface of the planet, rushing from one task to another, brows furrowed, jaws clenched, stressed to the max, just to claim ownership of the larger house on the better side of town or fancier car with the wire wheels and the large gold letter on the hood that advertises that you have made it.

Why can't they realize that none of these things really matter? No one can truly own anything. Everything eventually returns to its origins including people. Why can't they reach above and beyond these trappings and embrace the true existence of man?

All of this scurrying about on the surface of a dust ball of a planet that floats within a small solar system of other floating dust balls which in turn spiral around a dwarf-yellow star, all together floating near the edge of a spiral arm of a spiral galaxy of one hundred forty thousand light years in width with billions of other stars which is turn is spiraling through an expanding universe of billions of other galaxies and trillions of suns into infinity.

There are suns out there million's of times larger than our own. There are planets so huge that thousands of earth's would not fill their bulk and there are kids today that bring guns to school and shoot their classmates for fun and Phillip's next door neighbor mows his grass early Sunday mornings just to piss Phillip off.

Why are people like that? Phillip wonders as he polishes off the last sticky bite of his peanut-butter sandwich and washed the gooey clump down with a swallow of the now lukewarm milk.

That's why I eat alone Phillip whispers to himself. None of these people would understand a fraction of the knowledge he just passed through the frontal lobe of his brain.

How can you form friendships with people who only care about the big arm of the clock reaching 4:47 PM Monday through Friday, the baseball game on Saturday between the Bulls and the Bears and Sundays at Willow Pond. Willow Pond. Phillip remembered Willow Pond and wondered how many other little boys were ever as brave as he was.

A perfect day, another interesting lunch, and time to get back to work! Phillip wads the napkins and aluminum foil into a ball and drops it into the trash. He puts a spring into his step as he walks the tree lined path back into AgriDyne’s A building.

It doesn't pay to be late, not even for a second. Marty Rogers watches the clock like a hawk and if any of his chicks are late coming back into the nest you'll see a notice on the bulletin board the next day.

Too bad for Marty he isn’t smart enough to watch the clock when lunchtime begins. If you’re late coming back your name and time of late arrival displayed for all to see and the laughs and stares from you co-workers will begin.

Marty pays special attention to Phillips schedule. Phillip knows he is by far more intelligent than Marty and Marty knows Phillip is right but too bad. Marty is Phillips boss and smartass Phillip had better remember that.

Once more Phillip swings into the building with one second to spare and makes a point to slowly wander past Marty Rogers open office door. With a smile and a wave to Marty Phillip quickens his step towards his lab laughing inwardly that life is good, oh yes, life is very good.

All of that is about to change!

CHAPTER TWO

As Phillip enjoyed his lunch, Sally Ludwin was speeding down the potholed street trying not to knock the wheels out of line on the dirty-white state-owned pickup truck. Sally was recently hired by the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation (N.Y.D.E.C.) as an apprentice biologist. Just out of college she held to the ideology for making a difference, believing she could be instrumental in providing a cleaner environment. Sally came from the upstate former-carpet capital of the world at Amsterdam, New York.

Since the huge carpet mills moved south when Sally was a child, Amsterdam was now but a shell of its former glory. As with most factory towns, her small city was populated by second generation immigrants. Sally’s grandparents came from Poland and settled here to raise their family. Sally’s father was a big man as is her older brother. Working in the mills provided her family with enough stability to purchase a modest middle income home and send both kids to college. Her brother is now a University Professor and Sally chose biology as her career. Willow Falls reminded her of her home town.

Market Street in Willow Falls, directly opposite the Falls Coffee Shop on East Main Street, was so named for the open food markets the farmers erected in the late eighteen-hundreds but was now lined with old run-down warehouses and one and two story factory homes, their multi-colored clapboard siding and painted brick constantly peeling and the roofs in need of patching.

Running alongside of Willow Creek and the spillway, Market Street followed the textile-mill pipeline north past the dam, about a quarter mile from East Main Street north to the end of the street where there is a large open grassy area right on the southern end of Willow Lake.

You could still see the small-piles of