Critter: Something's been dug up...down south.

By Michael McClendon

At the Worsham Hotel, guests and staff hunker down, reeling from the effects of the '29 crash. In the middle of the Great Depression, they gaze uneasily into the encroaching darkness. Something cold and menacing is already in their midst. Waiting. Watching. The Gideon boys are the new owners of the massive Whistle-Stop hotel in rural Sunday Silence. Their housekeeper glides from attic to cellar with quiet authority and tightly held secrets. Young Micah and little Cooper seek out the spectres and shadows that abide in the empty rooms and twisting hallways of old, dark buildings. Frail Mr Tapp shares his dreams, Moss hovers near the radio glow and asks Franklin Roosevelt and The Lone Ranger to expunge his wife's voice and his own past. Sheriff Vardell materializes abruptly from the autumn fog. Miss Mimms knits and rocks, and watches with eyes as old and wise as the Sphinx. Into their midst comes Sera Grace, a reporter for The Nashville Banner, sent to investigate the legendary Carr's Creek critter. Is the critter to be found deep in the hills and woods? Is it imbedded within the walls of the hotel itself? Or could it have something to do with the stealthy Miss Grace? She does arrive, after all, on a dark and stormy night… With wicked humour and myriad twists, the story of the critter is exposed for who or what it is, and what it may yet be. The details are uncoiled in an increasingly rapid manner, as we are ambushed by stunning revelations, vivid characters and unexpected shocks. What is the critter? As Mr Tapp comments, "Oh, my! Wonders and illusions; amazing transformations and curious sights that defy explanation!"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Feb 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781528973724

Book preview

Twelve

About The Author

Michael McClendon is an actor/director/writer, whose work covers nearly five decades of film, stage, and literature. He is an award-winning film director as well.

Michael’s recent scripts and books have won first place honours at, among other venues, the New York Screenplay Contest, Alaska Film Awards, Los Angeles Film Festival, Indie Horror Film Festival, and The Christian Book Awards. He recently completed a novel which is the ‘companion piece’ to CRITTER.

Dedication

Crit-ter (Krit-ter) A living creature.

Copyright Information ©

Michael McClendon (2020)

The right of Michael McClendon to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528973700 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528973724 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2020)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Acknowledgements

Commit thy works unto the Lord, and thy thoughts shall be established.

Proverbs, 16:3; KJV

I am grateful for the thoughts, and for the critters who whisper their stories into my ear.

Michael McClendon

Persons at the Worsham Hotel

Sunday Silence, Tennessee

Autumn, 1933

THE GIDEONS –

Boone Gideon…….................................Co-Owner of the Worsham Hotel.

Vint Gideon………….Owns the hotel with Boone; younger by four years.

Cooper Gideon……............................................................Vint’s little boy.

THE CRUTCHERS –

Aunt Georgia………………Lives at the hotel and works as housekeeper.

Micah………………………………………….Aunt Georgia’s little boy.

THE HINKLES –

Moss Hinkle………………Permanent resident of the hotel; early sixties.

Nola Hinkle…………………….His wife; a few years younger than Moss.

THE TAPPS –

Mr. Tapp..A traveling salesman who uses The Worsham as his home base.

Kizzie…………………………………………..Mr. Tapp’s younger sister.

Miss Mimms……………………...............The Worsham’s oldest resident.

Sheriff Vardell Watkins………………...............Sheriff of Sunday Silence.

Sera Grace………………...............A reporter from The Nashville Banner.

Chapter One

Friday

The train ran underneath the town. Sera Grace knew this because she researched her subjects thoroughly and methodically. And the train she was riding on this day would take her beneath the burg of Ridgetop, Tennessee, and eventually to the town where she hoped to find the most important story of her life.

Although most of the assignments that The Nashville Banner had given to her in the past were shallow and thin, she always put in the work anyway. Sera believed that a writer could elevate any story by simply doing good work. But this new mission was quite different in many ways, and on every level, it did promise to have some meat to it. Sera was certain her editor wanted a fluffy take on the Carr’s Creek Critter that was rumoured to have terrorized the town of Sunday Silence for generations; Sera wanted to find something more substantial. For want of a better phrase, she was searching for the guts of the story. And so she dug deep with her research into the little Tennessee town and its main attraction. As an additional bonus, this story allowed her to take an extended trip out of town and she relished the adventure. Being a woman who worked for a newspaper in 1933, she was relegated mostly to her desk, lest her ‘fragile female sensibilities’ be damaged by the harsh reality of life. But at last she was here, on a train. A train that was soon to dive beneath an entire town. And on the other side of that tunnel was The Critter.

During her research, Sera was surprised to learn that The Nashville Banner had covered The Critter several times in the past, long before she had even been born. In her satchel she carried tattered newspapers with stories of critter attacks going back into the 1800s. And in these yellowed pages from years gone by, Sunday Silence had given up some long-held secrets. Some.

Sera was excited to be going. She would be glad to get there. How much further? Sera Grace was small but tough (even though she was only a female) and not at all uneasy; this she had told herself several times. She wanted the travel and the tough assignments, and though she often begged, she was rarely rewarded with travel. In fact, this would be her first assignment alone. And she was determined to aggressively bite into and savour every moment. Sera assured herself again that she was not uneasy.

At the most recent stop, the train had almost emptied. Now, alone in the train car, she sat back in her seat, way back, as the L&N engine tilted up, up. This pull up the ridge was the steepest between New Orleans and New York and the sharp incline was somewhat disorienting. Looking out the window intensified the queasy feeling, as the scenery outside not only plunged toward the misty valley below but sat at an odd angle. No need to worry. Trains had been making this pull up the ridge since before The Civil War. It was ridiculous to even consider that it would choose this day to break loose and go barrelling down the mountainside, carrying all to a horrible death with the sun setting on their grotesquely mangled bodies.

It’s an adventure. It’s what you wanted, she whispered to herself and doubled her efforts to enjoy each phase of the journey. Sera tugged at her sensible grey suit, grateful that the ugly, boxy fashions of the thirties were also loose. She wanted to take off her shoes, but thought better of it. Reaching into her satchel, she pulled out a stack of the old Nashville Banners.

And then it happened. After briefly levelling off, the train car was plunged into darkness. She knew what it meant: They were entering the tunnel that burrowed beneath the town of Ridgetop. Here she was, encased in an iron coffin, and buried without fanfare beneath this tiny Tennessee town. How many tons of earth were above her? How many houses, buildings, and automobiles sat over her head? And how long would it take to dig them out, if this town decided to settle down and close up the tiny, black tunnel through which she now travelled? Was this normal, the darkness and the unearthly quiet? Why was she here? She worked in an airy newspaper office! This wasn’t right. She wanted to stand but found she had as much difficulty moving as she had in trying to breathe.

Unbidden, the dream from childhood intruded. In this dream, Sera was walking through a deep forest with many people who seemed to know her. Though the others appeared blissfully unaware, Sera sensed something dreadful. She saw darkness falling, and in that darkness, something big and powerful and terrifying waited for her. Trying to warn the others, she was met with only smiles. Why were the others so calm? Panic settled in as her eyesight began to dim and she started to lose her fellow travellers, one by one. Alone, the darkness washed over her. And then… She always managed to wake herself up around this point.

The dream was so disturbing to Sera that she had basically trained herself not to dream, at least she didn’t remember dreams or embrace them. She slept lightly and forced herself to awaken several times each night. Checking around her perpetually lit bedroom, she would steady herself, erase any traces or particles of dreams that might have lingered, and then go to sleep again. Whatever was in the dark could be kept at bay and Sera had become an expert at control. As long as that thing in the dark was kept at a distance, her life was really quite wonderful.

The interior lights clicked on. Sera instantly shook off the dark thoughts with an image of her boss, Leo, laughing. She was grateful that he would never know how easily she had been spooked. Sera glanced at the headline of the newspaper in her lap. It featured a grainy but graphic photo of human remains. Ah, yes! This is exciting. Unlike the flower shows and quilting bees she had been covering, this story had a history. And she was determined to dig up every detail. And she would not—would not—allow any darkness to derail this trip.

The lights were cut again but within seconds they were on the other side of the tunnel. After the journey so far, and the hard pull up the ridge, and the black tunnel, Sera felt that Nashville was ages behind her. Good. This was a new start. Sera glanced out the window and saw puddles of fog caught between the little hills. The sun was setting. She must be near the end of her journey. Or the beginning.

Thumbing through her newspapers again, she marvelled at the garish headlines that screamed, Carr’s Creek Critter Claims Another! and, Critter Leaves Bloody Bones as Clues! This last headline was also accompanied by a photo of what appeared to be human bones, and pointing at them were several armed, solemn lawmen.

What’s them?

Sera surprised herself with a violent jerk when she heard the voice. She had been unaware of anyone near her, and the question was spoken directly into her ear. Indeed, she felt the breath on her face. Turning, she was confronted by the emaciated, overly serious face of a little girl with dirty blonde hair. Sera put her at about seven years old. Tugging at her shapeless, homemade dress, the child gestured to the photo of the lawmen pointing at the human remains, and asked again, What’s them?

Dead people, Sera snapped, still irritable with herself for being so jumpy.

What they pointin’ at? asked the child.

Sera regretted her blunt response, and was reminded how little experience or patience she had with children. And then an odd thought occurred to her. The little girl’s response, What they pointin’ at? was initially baffling, but then Sera looked at the date on the newspaper. It was written eighty years ago, so these stern lawmen were, indeed, also dead people. Dead people pointing at dead people, Sera thought. In a strange way, the child was completely accurate with her question. In the moment it took these thoughts to occur to Sera, the little girl was jerked up and away and deposited firmly in the window seat on the other side of the aisle. The child’s mother, with her severe and deeply lined face, sat stone-still, as if she had never moved.

Sera looked out the window just in time to see the last weak daylight pick out a mailbag, swinging wildly on its hook as it darted past her window. The train screeched and Sera shivered. Reaching up, she tightened the turquoise comb (the one adornment she allowed herself) that tightly held her hair. She was glad she had not removed her shoes.

Sera stood just outside the train terminal, her bags resting on the plank loading dock. Her grey suit rendered her practically invisible in the fog. Funny how she had not planned this step of the trip; that was not like her. She had envisioned the train ride, as well as her arrival at the hotel, but had never given a thought as to how she would get from one to the other. Should she expect someone to meet her? Sera couldn’t recall. Craning her neck, the only person visible was the stationmaster just inside the ticket counter. When she caught his eye, he turned his face away from her and toward the empty benches and potbelly stove and drawled, Just gonna git darker. Best go on now. Just out yonder a’ ways.

Oh. Out yonder. Well, that clears it all up. And gathering her suitcases, Sera took off out yonder.

Turns out ‘yonder’ wasn’t as far as she had feared. Sera simply followed the gravel road, which she could see well enough beneath her feet. Other than being soundly smacked by a low hanging tree branch at one point, the walk was uneventful. For no good reason, she began to feel suddenly that she was lost. Sera lifted her head up to see that she was being watched. Banks of lighted windows peered down at her. The tall windows seemed to float, independent of one another, staring outward all muted and yellow. As the fog