An Unusual Haunting

By N.H. Luedke

Sara Leigh Larson normally shies away from fate and crystal balls, but when an insistent fortune teller asks for help, kind-hearted Sara agrees to do her a favor. Finding a scarf at a thrift store for the old seer is easy. Delivering the cloth isn't, since it's haunted and the former owner's spirit takes an interest in Sara. Now a bond she can't sever has veered Sara’s life down a supernatural path never mapped into her college degree plan: indentured servant to a ghost with an agenda.

When Sara travels home to her family for winter break, seeking a few weeks off from her studies and situation, fate comes calling again, this time bringing an unholy guest in its wake. Threatened by an entity hell-bent on using her for its own plans, Sara is desperate to learn why she’s become the target of unusual paranormal attention as she struggles to survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: N.H. Luedke
• Release date: Oct 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005578664

N.H. Luedke

I was born and raised in Houston, and currently reside in a much smaller city in central Texas. Encouraged to read at a very young age, I voraciously devour books when time permits and write my own books when it doesn't. My favorite authors include Connie Willis, P.D. James, Jim Butcher, and Craig Johnson.

Book preview

Book I: Sudarium - Sunday, October 26, 2014

Vishi smacked me lightly upside the head with her free hand as she plunked down some cash on the little round cloth-covered table before us. Now that she had my attention, she let loose with a little sarcasm.

Go ahead, Sara. Take a match, light one of the candles, and let her tell you your fortune based on your flame. I’ll pay because I want to hear this. After all, you heard everything she said about me.

My roommate was giving me the evil eye because she knew darned well I hadn’t been listening. She’d forced me to sit with her the entire time Madam Turret spun her yarn, but eavesdropping on a private conversation is a mean thing to do, so I had politely let my attention wander.

The fortune teller’s tent was packed with things to keep my eyes busy: draped fabrics of all styles; candles of various shapes, sizes and colors displayed on the little table and hidden around the tent; and crystals hanging on fishing line from the tent supports. The folding chair beneath my rear end was a bit wobbly on the intricate rugs hiding the parking lot asphalt underneath them, so I’d kind of worked it around to where it didn’t wobble anymore while I admired the weavings. I’d been intently studying the four life-size weathered statues standing at attention around us when Vishi hit me. Until then, I had no clue they were missing my participation. Now Vishi was repaying my kindness with wanting to hear private things about me, and that didn’t set well.

Don’t do that. Keep your money. I quickly focused on the strange-looking elderly woman wearing veils, colors, trinkets and stuff I wouldn’t be caught dead in. No offense, ma’am, but I just don’t see the point.

Vishi frowned at me when I turned back to her. You don’t believe?

I held up a placating hand. It’s not that, and it’s not the money. If someone could tell me my fortune, that would be a skill worth paying for, but I’m of a mind that fortunes are best left unknown. I’d only stay awake tonight mulling over what the madam here said, and I’d rather get a peaceful night’s sleep so I can work in the morning. Again, no offense, I said directly to the lady.

The madam nodded her head. I am not offended.

See there, she is not offended. We can leave, and I can promise you I didn’t hear word one about your fortune because it’s your business, not mine. I pointed to one of the old wooden statues while Vishi retrieved her money. You know, that sculpture really caught my eye, I said to the madam. That’s some good work with a chisel. Very lifelike.

I can’t take you anywhere, said Vishi, rising awkwardly from her folding chair. I’m so sorry, Madame Tourine. It seems Sara is making a joke of all this. I imagine her negativity is what blocked your abilities to see clearly.

You were blocked? I rose and gave a slight bow. My apologies, ma’am. I didn’t mean to foul your signal.

The madam stared at both of us and then back behind her at the statue I mentioned.

For my curiosity, she said when she turned around, which candle would you choose to light for your fortune? Her thick Italian or Greek or something accent melted slightly, allowing me to understand her better. I would like to know.

I shrugged. None on the table. That stumpy one, there under the metal bird statue, would have been good. I was curious to see what kind of shadows it would cast.

She blinked a bit, and then smiled. It does not always light.

I smiled right back. Then it’s a good thing I’m not taking a match to it.

We exited the tent on good terms, and Vishi and I soon stood outside it, surrounded on all sides by portable rides, trailers, and tents that promised excitement and extravaganza. The traveling carnival was a sight to behold, transforming this area of the massive mall parking lot into a world of wonders, which is why my roommate had dragged us over here in the first place.

I sighed as happy people walked on by. May we go now? I’m not one for these kinds of things and you know it. We were supposed to come to the mall for shoes, not fortunes. Speaking of shoes, I still have to buy a pair. Plus, I have to study and get some sleep tonight. It’s a workday ahead for me, remember?

Typical. Vishi sniffed longingly at some passing cotton candy and sighed herself. I’ve known you for, what, three years now? You always have to work, you always need new shoes, and you’re always a terrible stick-in-the-mud about doing fun things.

I grinned, knowing the sweet tooth she denied was the source of her mean words. Then you shouldn’t have hauled me into this carnival. Tell you what, you go ride that thing you had your eye on before you spotted this fortune teller sign - the ride with the cute gentleman manning the entrance - and I’ll go get myself some shoes. We can meet back at your car in 30 minutes. Fair enough?

She reached up and patted my shoulder kindly. I’m glad you think he’s cute, too. Sometimes I worry about you. You avoid guys whenever possible.

Well, you’re pretty, and I’m plain. You’re startlingly gorgeous, and I blend in. I’ve learned not to expect the true attentions of any male, whereas you have them panting after you in packs. I still believe you wanted me as a roommate simply because I’m no competition, that and I promised your daddy I’d take care of you like a sister while you’re away from home.

That, and you can cook, she said, mimicking my accent. She turned her face up at mine and blinked in the afternoon light. You really think I’m startlingly gorgeous?

I assessed the flawless medium-toned skin, the perfectly cut short dark hair, the honey-colored eyes framed by dark lashes set within beautiful features. She was stunning but insecure, especially about her weight.

No, I just said that to put you in a better mood. I winked at her to show I was teasing.

She nodded thoughtfully in response. It did, thanks. And thanks for reminding me not to gripe so much while dieting. You’re startlingly gorgeous, too, by the way, and don’t forget it.

I sucked in a breath to argue, then laughed it out when I realized she'd just as neatly derailed my self esteem issues as I had hers. I guess that's what true friends are for.

Once Vishi left, I turned this way and that to get my bearings and find the most reasonably priced store on the outside of the mall. I didn’t want to get lost in the maze within it and only had so much money to spend.

Something tugged on the tail of my T-shirt, and I glanced around and down. It was the madam from the tent behind me. She sure hadn’t looked that short in her seat. Then again, I am somewhat tall for my gender, another downside to my dating potential.

Yes, ma’am. Did you need something? I asked politely. She motioned for me to follow her back inside the tent, which I did.

Do you know if there is a used clothes place nearby? she asked pleasantly.

I considered. There’s a nice little thrift store near the university campus. It’s kind of tucked back a bit in that area, but it’s easy enough to find. They have used clothes.

And you go there? Shop there?

The madam picked over what I was wearing with her sharp eyes, and I blushed. Vishi does say I should make more of an effort to look presentable. Maybe she’s right.

Sometimes, I said, defending my honest budget.

If you go there, that will do. It will be the good place. I cannot leave the carnival for I do not have a car and cannot walk well. Will you go in the store you know and buy a scarf for me? Will you do me this favor? She passed me a dollar. Will this be enough money? I do not have much but I love to collect scarves from every city we visit. Please?

It was a strange request, but I nodded anyway. This was something I could easily do and, as I had insulted her earlier by not paying attention, it could also be a way to make amends. Besides, my parents always tell me to respect my elders, and she seemed a lot older than my grandmother even, with all that long, flowing grey hair covering her shoulders.

Any particular color? I asked as I pocketed the money, for she was very near a walking rainbow.

The madam considered my question carefully. The scarf to catch your eyes first is good, she said, and she smiled again. Bring it here Sunday by lunch noon, yes?

Next Sunday? Yes, I promise, I replied.

Good, good. Tell my ticket taker to let you in free. She looked me up and down. Maybe you should wear it. See if you like scarves? Maybe brighten your clothes, yes?

Her accent had thickened again, and something about her eyes tripped the hair alarms on the back of my neck. She was smiling nicely, though, so I ignored the creepy feeling of being in a set of cross-hairs and smiled back, at least somewhat.

Sure. I’ll try it out and bring it on Sunday. I hesitated, not wanting to offend but not wanting to stay either. I have to go get a pair of shoes now. Sorry I can’t sit and chat.

She waved a hand airily and nodded. Sunday.

Sunday.

I maneuvered my way out of the tent and trotted off to grab the shoes so I could meet Vishi on time. I needn’t have bothered hurrying through the purchase. Vishi was 30 minutes late. That gentleman must have been really nice looking and a smooth talker, too.

-*-

The Man

Monday was a long day but not an unpleasant one. I was grateful Mrs. Milford let me work through my lunch, though she chided me for it, and let me skip out 30 minutes early. I hefted my backpack and walked out to my bike, thinking I could hit the thrift store and still make it home by my regular schedule. This way, dinner would be ready as usual and I could get a bit of studying done before lights out.

After a ten-hour shift in the cafeteria that started at 5 a.m., I was tired of standing, cleaning, cooking, cleaning, serving, cleaning, stocking, and more cleaning - cleaning up after hundreds of students - but I wasn’t tempted to consider fast food for dinner. I unlocked my bike and watched students go by me, intent to grab a bite from the place i just exited. I grinned at them. The cafeteria is better than most places, but I know what can happen when other people make the food I eat. Most times it’s hit or miss on nutrition. And since I care about what I eat, I cook almost all of my meals no matter how tired or hungry I get.

And my job is fun, I thought as I limbered up my knees and pedaled off. It’s an extension of living on a farm, where I’ve observed the behavior of cows, chickens, coyotes, hogs, and the like for years. People can be just as easy to spot a pattern on. That’s why I can predict, with fair accuracy, how students will react when Mrs. Milford makes a change in the food choices, the food lineup, the table arrangements, and so on. I make a game of it, and the day rushes on past, as it had today.

So, with my feet throbbing and my stomach rumbling but my mouth smiling with good spirits, I locked up my bike outside the thrift store and went inside to look around at my options for helping out a little old lady. I lost the grin when I realized Shirley, the manager, had put out the winter clothes already. Leaves hadn’t started falling yet and here I was facing tons of scarves made for keeping a body warm, not dressing it up. This would spell trouble for me, I thought, as I remembered the type of gauzy materials the madam in the tent wore. Nothing here looked anything like that. Even so, she’d said to pick the first thing that caught my eye, which gave me an idea: I’d leave the choice in other hands than mine.

Standing in the middle of the room, I closed my eyes and turned around in place a bit - not enough to make me dizzy, but enough to make it a hard guess as to which way I would end up. When I opened my eyes, I must have raised my chin, meaning the racks at my waist weren’t the first things I saw. Instead, I noticed something tacked up on a wall.

It was red, and roughly a rectangle, from what I could tell. Shirley had used this cloth as a backdrop for some hats she’d pinned up, letting the rich color show off what she had for sale. For some reason that red cloth, that plain bit of fabric, drew me to it like nothing else. It couldn’t have been the color, for I’m more of a blues and greens person. It couldn’t have been the size either, for it was nearly a yard wide and about twice as long or so - not great for anything but a makeshift cloth for a small table. As I studied it, I had the urge to go touch it, and darned if it wasn’t soft, as if it was some child’s favorite blanket. Heck, maybe it wasn’t a scarf at all, but it was the first thing that caught my eye, and I figured the madam could use it as a shawl for the coming winter.

A draft must have whipped through the room at that moment, for I shivered pretty hard with a sudden chill. Maybe winter was already here?

I hollered out to Shirley, who was in the back as usual, and asked for permission to take it down. She poked her dark head out, recognized me, frowned at the cloth I pointed to, and nodded before she went back to whatever it was she was doing. I knew she wouldn’t mind - everything in the store was for sale - but it never hurts to ask politely before proceeding.

Being six feet tall made it easy to remove the hats from the wall, gently unpin the scarf, and put the hats back the way I found them. Holding the scarf in my hands, though, kind of gave me pause. Was it a shawl? Or a thin baby blanket? How should I wear it if I did try it on? While I hesitated, a man dressed in slacks and a polo shirt like Shirley’s attire stepped up in my sideline vision and held out a hand for it. Thinking she sent him from the back to help me with the hats, I let him have it.

He scrunched it, making it long and narrow, then he folded and twisted it, forming a loop in one hand while holding both ends in the other. He flipped it over my head in a practiced move and stuffed the ends through the loop and pulled them out to tighten the configuration around my neck. It was like wearing a fluffy necktie, only it didn’t make it even halfway down to my belt. He turned me around so I could see my reflection in the full-length mirror behind me.

I was a sight in my work boots, tan slacks (one leg tucked in so it wouldn’t catch in the bike chain), and a white and collared short-sleeve cafeteria shirt. My hair was pulled back and braided within an inch of its life (so I could easily tuck it into a hair net). The red scarf, though, made all of this look rather ordinary. It stuck out on me like a brightly lit neon sign on a dark-paneled bar wall.

I grinned at the clothing ensemble and met the man’s eyes with mine to share my humor, for he was standing behind me. That’s when something sparked through me, like a strong dose of static electricity, making me blink and lose the smile.

The man’s head cleared my shoulder, matching my height exactly, and I quickly studied what I could to determine if he was a threat.

He simply stared back at me, making no comment or movement, so I took the time to notice the details. His hair was dark and far shorter than mine. It curved in bangs around his tall forehead and curled around his ears as it waved down to just above where his shoulder muscles began. His skin was a tad darker than my sun-browned areas, but then I was fair on the parts that didn’t get sun, and I was betting he was the same all over. His nose was long, his chin somewhat cleft, and his cheekbones high and sharp. He looked familiar somehow, maybe from a movie or a book cover, but he was no shallow pretty-boy model; his neck was too thick and muscled, his nose broken, his clean-shaven jaw strong and scarred, and his eyes too intense. He was like a living statue from a time when men labored hard for their bread and were proud of that.

As much as I say I’m plain and homely, with those striking male features beside mine, I realized I really did look very feminine and quite striking myself, in my own unique way. But before I could laugh at the absurdity of that revelation, he leaned in a bit and whispered a word in my ear.

Sudarium.

I closed my eyes in appreciation of the shiver that traveled down my neck when his voice prickled my skin with a strong vibration. His accent wasn’t thick like the fortune teller’s; it was smooth, and one I hadn’t heard before, nor was I likely to forget it. When I opened my eyes to ask him what the word meant, he wasn’t visible in the mirror anymore. I whirled around. No one stood behind me. No one was in the room with me.

He was gone?

Shirley? I called out in a panic.

Yeah? She poked her head out. Oh, Sara, that’s nice! For you, one dollar. Put it on the register. I’ll get to it in a sec. I’m by myself and don’t haven’t time to spare. Have a good one! she sang out before withdrawing once more.

She was by herself? The man wasn’t with her? The bell over the door hadn’t rung. No one had entered or left except me. This didn’t make sense. I hadn’t imagined him tying the scarf around my neck. He did it. He’d been right there!

I dug out the fortune teller’s dollar from my pocket while I slowly walked over to the counter, and placed it on the register as I was instructed to do. Shaking my head in wonder, I absently pulled the scarf from about my neck and stuffed it into my backpack.

Then I went out, unlocked my bike, and silently reflected on the strangeness of it all as I pedaled home. Once there, I changed, worked out, and reviewed my course notes for tomorrow as I cooked dinner and then ate.

During all that time, from leaving the store to eating my dinner, I didn’t say a word. I wasn’t sure what would come sputtering out. And the word he whispered kept revisiting my ear every now and again, making me jump at odd times and shiver all the more. Vishi stared at me when I did that, but she didn’t make any remarks and even cleaned up the kitchen without being asked to, which was nice.

I didn’t look in a mirror when I showered or brushed my teeth. When I went to bed, I thought I’d toss and turn after my head hit the pillow, but that never happened. As usual, I fell right to sleep.

-*-

The Connection

I stuffed my jacket in my backpack, just in case I needed it in the classroom, but left the scarf hanging in my closet. It couldn’t come with me to class as there was no time for dress-up this morning. Plus, I was leery of this whole scarf and disappearing people situation. That red cloth would stay in the closet until I took it to the fortune teller. In my opinion, Sunday couldn’t get here fast enough.

By the time the lecture at the community college started, I was focused on school and nothing else. This was my first semester and I needed my grades to be stellar when I transferred to the university two or three years from now in pursuit of a bachelor’s degree. Thinking of the university made my heart pound a bit, as both schools have vastly different ideas about how much a student should pay for an education, but I smiled away my tension.

So far I was enjoying college classes, especially history. Dr. Werner was on the ball this morning, too. He could talk about anything old and make it fascinating again, which I appreciated since I already knew a lot and couldn’t afford to have a chip on my shoulder about learning more.

My attention wandered, though. For some reason, the air conditioning in the room was in overdrive despite the slightly chilly autumn weather this Tuesday morning. Most around me had long sleeves on, but I ride far enough on my bike to make that an impossibility. I’d be far too sweaty if I wore sweaters and such with the temperatures still mild. Since I was in short sleeves and nearly chilled to the bone, I reached for my handy denim jacket without taking my eyes off Dr. Werner or my ears off his words, that is until my fingers felt soft thin fabric that wasn’t denim.

I yanked it out and discovered the scarf, in all its red glory.

It was too cold in the room to not wear something, but I raked through my memory as I draped that thing across my shoulders, dead sure I had packed the jacket, not the scarf. This did not make any sense.

Now that I was warmer, I concentrated back on the lecture just in time to hear Dr. Werner snidely remark on the use of My country, right or wrong, to justify some acts in World War II. Some students laughed, some squirmed, but a few muttered disagreements with his attitude out loud. I snorted and bit my tongue, deciding to hold my piece about it and let him continue.

Yes? Dr. Werner was looking at me.

My hand was raised and I didn’t remember doing it, so I pulled it back down slowly as I didn’t entirely trust it to behave at that point. Then my tongue opted to let loose what I was thinking before I could wrangle it under control.

In the first place, everyone messes up that quote. It’s kind of like the Wizard of Oz movie where everyone quotes Dorothy as saying, ‘Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore,’ when in fact it’s really ‘Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.’ She’s sure with one and not so sure with the other, not that there’s a huge difference, but if you do use someone else’s words, make sure you use them right so the real meaning comes through.

What on Earth was the matter with me? Why couldn’t I keep quiet? I was too nervous to look around and prove my theory that everyone else in the room was staring at me.

So what is the correct quote and the real meaning? asked Dr. Werner, a little smile playing about his mouth, Ms, and here he looked down at his roster to find me.

Larson. Sara Larson, I reluctantly admitted. Then my thoughts flew out again. "The real quote is, 'My country, right or wrong: if right, to be kept right; and if wrong, to be set right.’ The name of the man who said it is Carl Schurz, and he had rather an interesting reason to say it, and could shamefully be accused of not following his own good advice.

Schurz grew up in Germany, I explained, "and fought for democracy but was on the losing side. When Frederick William of Prussia made sure Germany stayed under Austria’s rule, and therefore under his command when he re-took control of it, Schurz fled his homeland to escape death. He later married and immigrated to America, where he got involved with politics to promote the democracy there. As Secretary of the Interior for President Rutherford B. Hayes, Schurz tried hard to end the racial slurs and derogatory attitudes against the American Indians, and yet he was responsible for breaking most of the promises made by the government to them about land and treaties. It seems he didn’t think they were quite up to his level of humanity and wouldn’t notice such trivial things.

"So he recognized that you can do a lot of harm by blindly following a political system, and that you should have rights as an individual, but he fell short by not recognizing that all people should have those rights when he furthered his position in government by cheating Indians.

I’m proud to be an American, I added, but I hope I won’t be quick to jump on a bandwagon when I feel it’s headed in the wrong direction to benefit only a few. I’d rather help steer it to a better course because I’m proud of what this country can be for everyone, not just me personally.

Now it felt hot in the room, or maybe I was hot. My cheeks were tight and I was betting they were beet red. They always do that when I speak in front of a lot of people I don’t know, or get riled up about something. I dabbed my upper lip with the scarf to stop the sweat I knew was there and keep it from being noticed. Suddenly the world went upside down for the briefest of seconds, like my head did a spin without the rest of my body following suit. After that, my spine was straight, my cheeks were fine, and the room was nice and comfortable.

What the hell was going on here?

Brava, Ms. Larson, Dr. Werner said, giving me a couple of claps to show his approval. That quote, the whole quote, and your opinion of it and Mr. Schurz give me hope for this country.

His kind words helped my heart rate calm down and my breathing return to normal, but I didn't dare take my eyes off him and see what everyone else in the room thought about my strange behavior.

The rest of his lecture contained interesting facts we all realized would be featured on his next quiz. When he was finished and it was time to leave, I shoved that strange scarf in my backpack and stood quickly, desperate to escape.

Instead my path was blocked by a nice-looking gentleman with familiar facial features.

Dougie? I asked, and pleasant memories stretched my mouth out into a grin.

The same, he said. Hello, Sara Leigh! Still sweet as pie, I see.

Well that ruined the moment, I thought as my cheeks flared again with heat and my smile faltered. Of all the people to run into from my past, I meet the one who associated my parent's choice of middle name for me with a snack cake company.

All these weeks I wondered if that was you, and then, when you said your name just now, I knew it could be none other. He grinned happily and I couldn't help but snort my amusement. I was hoping you’d remember me. It’s good to see you back in the old stomping grounds. When did you move back? And is this a permanent arrangement?

August, and maybe, I replied. Good to see you, too.

He opened his arms in invitation and we hugged.

I’d missed being a part of his life, of being part of the close-knit group of friends we had belonged to growing up. It sure had hurt to move away after my freshman year of high school. Since we weren’t the type to afford cell phones, calling hadn't been an option for keeping in touch, not even on landlines since others might eavesdrop. By the time I tried emailing, the sophomore year had begun and I realized I didn't want to share what had happened over my summer break. Seems Doug and the others hadn't wanted to share either because my inbox was empty. It got harder to justify sending birthday cards or Christmas cards the longer I was away, and I never received any myself, since the one person I gave my address to was notorious for not sharing information. My bad luck, I thought as I clutched Doug to me to make sure he was real.

You’re a sight, he said, letting go to hold me out at arm’s length. Got time for a coffee or a Coke so we can catch up?

Wish I could, I said truthfully. I’ve got ten minutes to make it to my next class. I cram everything here into Tuesdays and Thursdays and work the rest of the week.

Me, too, he admitted. Lunch then? Sunday, maybe? Noonish? Can I get your number?

He pulled out a cell phone and I laughed.

Sure, since I also have one now.

Miracles do happen.

We both grinned.

Oh, wait. I have an errand at noon on Sunday, so maybe a little later than that? I held out a hand for his phone, which he’d tapped on to enter my name. Here, I said, handing it back after I put in my number. How about Sunday at one o’clock?

You’ve got a deal. He saved the entry and pocketed his phone. I’ll call the Saturday before to confirm.

I punched him lightly in the shoulder. Call anytime in the evenings, before 8 that is. I looked him up and down. You sure grew up nice. I’m guessing you don’t go by little Dougie anymore since you might be a shade taller than I am.

He certainly wasn’t the kid from my past. His shoulders were broad, his arms and legs were long and strong, and his old mop of red curly hair was short, neat, and a dark rusty brown. If it hadn't been for the eyes and face, he could have been a stranger.

Yeah, it's just Doug He glanced up, down and back up like I had. You look great. It’s just Sara now, right? Still strong enough to lift your fair share of square bales, I bet.

Only in the summer, I said, laughing. I'm currently lifting boxes in the university cafeteria to pay for school.

I'm working at the co-op loading feedbags, so I guess were both in the business of keeping the animals fed. He sighed. You really look great. Doug settled his backpack with a shrug and gave me a final grin. Well, I’m gone. I should study for an upcoming quiz. See you, Sara! he said and trotted off.

Despite the temptation to follow him and do some catching up right then, I went to my next class and took notes to prove I listened. Funny thing is I had to reread them later to remember it all. Seems I kept smiling and thinking about how nice it was to see an old friend.

By the time I made it home to our little rent house (head full, heart light, and stomach famished), I was ready to deal with cooking, so I made a quick detour to my bedroom where I tossed my backpack on the bed and opened the closet to change into sweats and an old T-shirt.

There, on a hanger, was the scarf.

I staggered back and hit the bedpost, then I grabbed up my backpack and opened it to find my denim jacket inside it, along with my books and notebooks.

Stunned, I sat on the floor and pondered things for a bit. When my thoughts spiraled ever closer to fear, I shoved my anxiety aside in favor of getting up and dressed and fixing food.

I couldn’t solve anything on an empty stomach, I reasoned as I threw something together for dinner rather than let myself get sucked into an irritating mystery I had no chance of solving. That scarf had issues, but I wouldn’t discover anything by just staring at it.

Dinner might have been unseasoned or over seasoned, I didn’t notice. Vishi peered down at the food and back up at me with a questioning brow but, like yesterday, didn’t comment on the meal while we dined at our small kitchen table. Since she ate it, I’m betting it was edible. I wolfed it down too fast to tell.

I cleaned up while she studied for a test, and then I hit the books myself before yawning off to bed.

That night, I had the strangest dream.

I was walking along a road made of stones. Or I wasn’t walking on it, the man was, the one who had whispered in my ear at the store. I looked at things from over his shoulder and all around him, noticing everything. He wasn’t wearing slacks and a polo shirt. Instead, he wore some sort of off color short-sleeved long-tailed tunic belted at his waist with a cord. His feet were clad in funny-looking boot-like sandals and his legs were bare. The scarf around his neck was the same red cloth that hung in my closet. It was a hot day and he wiped his brow with a hand. He stopped by a nearby pond, pulled off the scarf, and dunked it in the water before draping it over his head to cool himself.

Back on the road, the man knelt down briefly to touch the smoothly laid stones, and I felt a surge of pride in my heart. He stood and watched as carts passed him, hauled by people or by animals guided by people. The carts were loaded with nice things, such as produce or handmade items. The people were cheerful as they walked along with their goods to sell. They waved at him and he nodded back. My heart felt buoyant and I thought maybe he had a hand in making the road - making a difference in the world - and he was proud of it.

More people appeared: men riding on horseback followed by others walking in chains. The scarf man’s jaw clenched. The chained people were sobbing, and were being cut or wounded with the whips wielded by others walking along side of them. No, not just others, I realized, soldiers. They wore the same long-tailed shirt the man wore, but on top of it they had on armor made of strange metal chain mail with leather shoulder straps affixed to it. Heavy belts cinched their waists, adorned with dangling leather and metal straps, daggers and swords. Each wore boot sandals, too, just like the man’s. They also had red scarves on, around their necks and tucked under their armor, possibly to protect their skin from chafing. I couldn’t see their hair, as they wore metal helmets, complete with knobs on the top and large sideburn pieces tied together under their chins with leather cords.

They nodded once in recognition when they passed him and scarf man kind of nodded back, though he didn’t say anything.

My heart felt heavy and somehow I knew he wasn’t nearly so proud now.

-*-

The Robbery

Wednesday, I awoke to a cold front. The weather had turned, at least for a day or two. It never stays too cold for long here in the fall. Even so, it was time for a warm breakfast.

Thinking Vishi might appreciate something other than cereal, I made her an omelette while I ate mine. I wrapped hers up while I wrapped and packed something for my lunch bag. Lo and behold, my roommate stumbled into the kitchen, yawning wide enough to swallow anything in her path.

It smells so good in here, Vishi mumbled.

I showed her the omelette before I