Pond

By A.M. Mann

Eden Chance is a seeking a stolen treasure. His quest has led him across numerous continents until he finds what he hopes is a clue in a rural southern town. Happenstance offers him a clue to the possibility as he overhears the local residents talk about a dead man's claim to have hidden a cache of jewels, a tale they consider tall. Griffin has long since passed away but the rumor that he had stashed the 'loot' on his property gave Eden hope that his journey may be close to ending. He rents the old man's ramshackle cabin deep in the woods and begins searching for clues. Every possibility is considered until he finds a book written in 1653 about angling.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.M. Mann
• Release date: Feb 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9780982959381

A.M. Mann

I have been a professional writer for over twenty years. And although the lure of creating content for a nonfictional world (finance, business, etc.) remains an attractive alternative to my NEED to write, I no longer have the passion for that genre.Over the last several years, since walking away from that world in 2018, I have refocused my efforts on fiction. I have learned several things as I dabble in various styles of varying lengths. I prefer writing novels. However, a collection of short stories is being gathered. There is a seventh novel, which I have queried with little success. The release on this platform is now scheduled for May 1, 2023.I hope you enjoy my work. It is a bit dark, perhaps slightly misanthropic, or at least my main characters tend to be, but hopeful. Even when isolation is preferable, these tales allow well-meaning social interactions with supporting characters. Ironically, I do consider my novels to be love stories.I have lived in Portland, OR with my wife for almost four decades.

Book preview

Pond

A Novella

A.M.Mann

Copyright © 2020 A.M.Mann

ISBN: 9798712276653

All Rights Reserved

The characters and events in this book are fictional.

Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is coincidental

and not intended by the author.

For my wife, Bonnilyn

POND

Eden was fascinated by the people he'd see on those house shopping shows. I'd mean, he'd think to himself, where do these people get their vision? He knew he was mostly unable to look at a wall and see it gone or imagine which design of window dressing would make the room look larger. They could see the drama in color, the arrangement of furniture in the flow of traffic, the carefully chosen accent pieces that would draw the room together as if the four walls had not served their purpose. These people had what the common folk who watch these programs, he included, called a gift. It must be. If someone possesses some talent you don't have, and you wish you did, it indeed must be a gift.

The real irony was how little he watched television. Eden had never been a fan of life squeezed into a rectangle. And yet, no matter where he was, a hotel room, or wherever he laid his head for the night, those design shows sucked him in. Someone once referred to it as house porn. Maybe it was. After all, isn't porn just an overarching quest to admire specifics rather than generalities. Like the way, he was fond of big breasts at the exclusion of the rest of the girl. 

House porn was the atmosphere inside. It was the way the place was appointed, arranged, or otherwise accentuated. The location didn't matter, and yet it did.

He was thinking about this as he looked around at his current choice of surroundings. It had no décor, just what the previous occupant had left. So, technically, true to the ad, the house came furnished.

He had tried not to look too closely at the interior of the house on the initial tour. The woman showing him the place was nervously chatty on the drive over. He understood; he fit the description, or so he was told once. Alone in a car on a rural road was not the most comfortable arrangement for the young woman. 

He tried to appear interested in her conversation, which rolled from topic to topic. She was just a real estate agent. He was only interested in staying in the area for a while. 

This sudden interest was a new development. Eden Chase hadn't been looking for a place to stay when he arrived in the small town on foot. But what he overheard at the diner yesterday morning gave him the idea that this tiny hamlet might be an excellent place to hang around, assess his next move.

The agent's name was Anthem. Like the National Anthem, she told him in her office. It was my momma's favorite song, and she said I was named aptly, 'cause I was just a hard to birth as that damned song is to sing. 

Eden smiled, trying to think of a next best thing to say. He never made any comment about his mother's reason for naming him, and he never shortened it to Ed. It is a hard one to sing.

My momma used to sing it at local ball games. Anthem chatted about many subjects trying to engage the stranger. She didn't ask questions; she made statements that created the need for answers. 

Eden still chose the most straightforward reply. He mostly listened. He never had much interest in the background of the town he was in or its residents or the countryside passing his window, or her momma. He knew it as a fear of attachment, and he wanted no parts in overcoming that particular personality quirk. 

Anthem concluded her client wasn't much of a talker.

After taking an unmarked driveway, Eden began to understand the agent's nervousness. This house was remote and wild. It sat in the middle of a wide clearing surrounded by a deciduous forest skirted with lush undergrowth. It was weather-beaten on the outside to the point of bleached. Anthem described the look as rustic. 

It ain't nothing a couple of gallons of paint couldn't remedy. Or possibly a bulldozer. Anthem laughed at this. Eden wondered if she watched those shows too.

While an exterior coat might help, he suspected the interior might also be just as neglected. 

Shall we take a look inside? So, you know, Mr. Chase, I haven't been inside for a couple of months. She made a curious face that gave him the impression she did not want to accompany him inside. 

She unlocked the door and stepped aside. 

The walls were also unadorned, the rough-hewn wood that held no ornamentation. He was unfazed. Eden was concerned about only three things: A roof that didn't leak, the solitude this place seemed anxious to provide, and finding whatever Griffin had hidden.

Item one seemed to be in good shape. He saw no signs of any leaks.

Item two also seemed to be possible. Eden had asked her one question on the drive over, and in hindsight, he could see how it might have made her nervous. 

How isolated is this place? Anthem shot him a nervous look, her hands visibly tightening on the wheel. I'm a poet, and the solitude I require is not so easy to find. I mean, the kind of isolation that lets you be alone but not totally cut-off from the world.

Well, Mr. Chase, this place is definitely that. For a small-town realtor, she composed herself rather nicely at that explanation. "There was no one around for miles. 

They call this place, the Griffin place. But, that's recent. This house sits on the county's farthest edge, and the rest of the adjoining area was state-protected timber.

A good roof and no real neighbors gave him hope that, item three on his list, whatever Griffin had hidden, whoever Griffin had been, and his search for whatever it was would not be interrupted by some curious neighbor shuffling down the drive with a howdy and what's-you-up-to.

He decided to take it. Anthem told him the typical lease was for six months. That'll be fine, he replied. 

*

Eden was a light traveler. While some voyagers would arrive at their next destination starved for conversation or willing to talk to any stranger about anything they might be interested in talking about, he was not one of them. He