Moth to a Flame

By Mike Ramon

A novella. Sean Hollister is trying to finish writing a book years after his first book flopped. Needing a change of scenery, he takes up residence in a house in the small town of Grainville. Sean will soon learn that there is a darkness at the heart of the town, and he may not be able to leave.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Ramon
• Release date: Oct 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005103866

Mike Ramon

Born and bred in the Midwest.

Book preview

MOTH TO A FLAME

Mike Ramon

© 2020 M. Ramon

Smashwords Edition

This work is published under a Creative Commons license (Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 4.0). To view this license:

https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/

If you wish to contact the author you can send e-mail to:

[e-mail]

Web addresses where you can find my work:

http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/mramon

Table of Contents

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 One

Sean Hollister checked his phone while keeping one hand on the wheel. Sliding his finger across the screen to unlock it, he took his eyes away from the road just long enough to see that he had no missed calls, no waiting voice messages. He'd known this is what he would see even before checking; he’d had the phone volume turned up ever since leaving Cedar Falls, and hadn’t heard a single call come in during the trip. Even so, he found the lack of a missed call dispiriting. Did she really not care that he was gone?

He tossed the phone back into the console between the seats and returned his full attention to the road. The woods were lovely, dark and deep, and he felt like he’d been driving through them for three days, though it was probably closer to an hour. In all, the trip from Cedar Falls had taken four hours, including a twenty-minute stop at a Burger Shanty on Rt. 60, where he'd had to wait in line behind an old couple who argued openly about what to order for nearly ten minutes before settling on two Chicken Lickin' Sandwiches and a couple Shanty Shakes. When he finally had the chance to order, Sean had ordered a Big Slammer and curly fries. Now, the day wearing on, his legs were sore and his back stiff; when he got to the house, he would take his stuff inside, and then he would lie down to take a nap.

The windows were down, and cool air whipped through the car, bringing with it the green smell of the woods. Up ahead, the way brightened as the trees receded from the roadway. Soon, Sean was out of the woods entirely, passing a sign welcoming him to Grainville. Not far past the sign, he saw a Food N' Gas and decided to stop there. He would have to stock the fridge at the house, but he was impatient to settle in, and so decided to just get gas for now.

The pumps looked like they'd been put in sometime around the tail-end of the Nixon Administration, and there was no way to use a card to pay at the pump. Sean parked at pump #2 (there were three in total), and walked inside, passing a pick-up parked in front. The place smelled of oil and lemon-scented floor cleaner. The guy behind the counter was old, his face wrinkled with deep grooves like a rock weathered by a century of cold winter winds. A man in blue work overalls, who Sean assumed to be the owner of the pick-up, was perusing an aisle of snacks. The old-timer at the counter didn't look up even as Sean walked up and stood in front of it. The stitching on the man's pocket identified him as Sam. Sam kept his eyes on the scuffed counter-top. Sean thought the man might be zoned out, asleep on his feet, and cleared his throat to get Sam's attention. The man finally looked up at Sean. The whites of the old guy's eyes were yellow-tinged and bloodshot, a bit watery.

What do you want? Sam the Gas Station Man asked.

Sean was taken aback by the surliness with which the question was put to him.

I need some gas, Sean said.

He took a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet and set it on the counter.

Sam looked down at the bill, wrinkling up his nose as if Sean had just laid something ugly (and perhaps malodorous) on the counter-top, then looked back up at his customer with those jaundiced eyes.

Why the hell are you here? Sam asked with a note of strain in his voice. Why do you people keep coming here?

Easy now, Sammy.

Sean looked around to see the man who'd been looking at the snacks; the man was now standing at the end of one of the aisles. The guy didn't spare Sean a glance, instead holding Sam with a stony glare. Sean looked back at Sam, whose face was a picture of confusion for a moment.

I...I'm awful sorry, fella, Sam said. I just...it's been a long day. You know how it is.

Sam gave a short, false-sounding laugh.

No problem, Sean said. We've all had those days. Twenty on pump two.

Yeah, sure thing.

Sam punched some buttons on the register and laid the bill in the cash drawer when it popped out. Sean looked back at the man who'd interceded, but that man had gone back to studying bags of chips.

Back outside, Sean filled his tank with the gas he'd paid for and drove away from the Grainville Food N' Gas. The directions he’d been given by the caretaker had been pretty detailed. Sean knew that if he followed the road he was on, it would take him to the village’s downtown area. To get to the house, he’d need to take the first left after the gas station. He made the appropriate turn and followed this new road (Briar Rd., according to the caretaker, though there was no sign confirming this).

Fields on both sides of the road, the ones to the right leading to town, the ones to the left leading to the woods in the far distance. Sean passed a big farmhouse, its fields bare. The house came into sight a half-mile past the farmhouse, sitting to the left of the road. He pulled up close to the house, stopping next to an old, beat-up Ford truck that was already parked there, and cut the engine. He stepped out of the car and stood looking at the house. The photos on the internet hadn’t done it justice; it was bigger than he’d thought it would be, white with blue trim. He’d paid for three months in advance.

Cora had barely said anything when he’d told her about the house. Sean already had a speech prepared: he needed to finish the book, he was stuck, a change of scenery would help to clear his mind of the clutter that got in the way of writing. But the speech remained unspoken. When he told her about his plan to go stay in a house in the boonies for three months, she’d merely nodded and gone back to eating her bowl of reheated pasta.

Hello there.

Sean was startled out of his thoughts. He turned to see a big man in a flannel shirt and faded blue jeans coming around the back of the house. The man had a bushy beard that seemed to be of one piece with his shaggy head of hair. Sean thought this must be the caretaker, but he couldn’t quite remember the man’s name.

I’m Phil, the big man said. We talked on the phone.

Sean breathed a sigh of relief at not having to ask his name, reaching out and shaking Phil’s beefy hand when it was offered.

Sean, Sean said, just in case Phil had forgotten.

Phil’s handshake was short and brisk, with none of the bone-crushing quality to it that big men seemed so fond of, what Sean's dad had called the King of Shit Mountain handshake.

I just wanted to welcome you to the place, Phil said. I was worried you might have trouble finding it.

No, no trouble at all. First left after the gas station, just like you said.

It might sound simple, but I've had to travel to the other side of town to lead people back here after they went and got themselves lost.

Phil let go of Sean's hand and looked up at the house.

Well, here she is, Phil said. Hope she's everything you thought she'd be.

I haven't been inside yet, but the place looks nice from out here.

I was just giving the place a once-over to be sure that everything was in order. The water takes a while to heat up, but it's not that bad. If it gives you too much trouble, just let me know and I'll see what I can do.

How long has the house been vacant?

Phil thought about it.

About three months. The owner hasn't been out here in years, so he just rents the place out to people looking to get away from the city and the suburbs for a while.

And he pays you to look after the place.

Right.

Sean reached down into the car to hit the trunk release, then walked around to the back of the car. The trunk had a couple of boxes in there along with his typewriter case. Two big suitcases in the backseat of the car made up the rest of the belongings he'd brought with him. Phil had followed him to the rear of the car, and now stood looking down into the trunk.

Need any help taking your stuff in? the big man asked.

No, thanks; it's not much.

Well then, I'll leave you to it. I'm running late for supper.

All right. I guess I'll see you around.

Phil started toward the Ford but stopped.

Oh, I almost forgot. You'll be needing this.

Phil pulled a gadget out of his coat pocket.

It a clicker for the garage.

Thanks, Sean said as he took the gadget, slipping into his own pocket. And the keys are where you told me they'd be when we talked on the phone?

Yep.

Without further ado, Phil got into his truck, started the engine, and pulled out of the driveway, heading back the way Sean had come. Having watched him go, Sean took one of the boxes out of the trunk and carried it to the house, setting it down on the walkway so that he could reach around