Melancholies & Wanderlust

By Pendleton Weiss

Throughout the world is found myriad out-of-the-way places, unsettling vistas that travelers pass through quickly, if unable to avoid entirely. Sometimes, the fears dredged up by such places are unfounded, a mere symptom of an unfamiliar road. Of course, there are actual places to be feared too. Masked by vagaries and altered names, a careful listener may find some clue - subtle to the uninitiated, bold elsewise - that a macabre tale comes from such a place, one stranger and to be feared beyond all others. Shiver at the revelation and hope someone similarly knowledgeable has merely latched onto the rumors, deciding by their own twisted purview to attach a lie to something so horribly true.

In short, Hope It's Fiction.

Melancholies & Wanderlust adds twelve more stories to the Hope It's Fiction series. At the heart of that old, misty country, hidden among the towering trees and the enshrouding mists lies a lake with no name. It is a place of surreal stillness, a place that seems untouched by time, untrodden by mortal feet. A place where thoughts are left to wander. This second book forgoes active scares for a creeping existential worry that may see the end of one, many, or all.

Tread near the smooth-stoned shores of that unnamed lake in "The Sailor of No Sea I Know" and "The Beauty of the Lake." Uncover more of the secret of Brickwood in "New Neighbor." See characters return, as in "Another Day," "A Matter of Trust," "Coincidence," and "Degenerate." And see that mist-shrouded world expand further in "Cat Person," Trash," and "The Flooding of Mr. Fitz's Cellar." These stories and more await those ready for some circumspection.

Do not be overly entranced by these tales of unsettling and thought-provoking horror, even with their subtle suggestions toward even grander terrors. All you need to do is Hope It's Fiction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098378936

Book preview

Text, letter Description automatically generatedText, letter Description automatically generated

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 by Pendleton Weiss

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

For more information, address: [e-mail].

First paperback edition April 2021

ISBN 9781098378929 (paperback)

ISBN 9781098378936 (ebook)

Printed through BookBaby

www.bookbaby.com

CONTENTS

ANOTHER DAY

A MATTER OF TRUST

CAT PERSON

THE SAILOR OF NO SEA I KNOW

FIXATION

TRASH

THE BEAUTY OF THE LAKE

COINCIDENCE

THE FLOODING OF MR. FITZ’S CELLAR

TINDER LOTS

NEW NEIGHBOR

DEGENERATE

ANOTHER DAY

The world outside the windows of that old, misty country remained darkened by one of those fleeting, wintry overcasts. Sunrise struggled against the clouds, giving them a purple glow, but nothing substantial enough to light the bustle below. Regardless of how they grumbled, the students filed into the hallways for another day of school. The near-night outside made the florescent lights feel duller; their yawns and heavy eyelids, unenergized, all the more so. The buses were disgorging the last of their passengers; the elementary schoolers and junior high schoolers were unloaded just before, driven out into the early morning hastily, keeping to a tight schedule. Those that could walk in or drive filed in nearby, mingling with the crowds as everyone funneled to their lockers, classrooms, or favorite before-class hangouts. The first bell would not ring for a few minutes more.

With the first period teacher out preparing for the day (likely with a budget mug of coffee from the teacher’s lounge), Mimiko arrived alone to an empty classroom. She settled herself into her seat without delay. Her binder of assignments and notes was placed in the middle of her desk, a mechanical pencil and pen aligned parallel to its top, and her backpack propped up along the interior of the desk’s table leg. One last look to guarantee that everything was in place and ready for the day. Then she brought her book out and proceeded to read.

A minute would pass before another soul joined her in the classroom. A minute she spent statue-still, transfixed. The only movements a light breathing and the turn of a page.

Becky scanned the room, every corner, as she entered. A trembling hand held the knob. Her legs leaned her slightly forward, but there was a trepidation toward taking an actual step into the room. A quick look out into the hallway. Unsuccessful. A longer look at the blackness of the uncovered windows and the outside beyond them. A shudder. Becky turned to stare at Mimiko, contemplating. It would have been rude, creepy even, for anyone else; Mimiko was either oblivious or unconcerned. After another look around the room, Becky hurried to her desk, dropping her backpack carelessly into the aisle adjacent, sitting sideways in her chair to stare at the doorway. She bit her fingernail as she waited, trying hard to ignore the darkness of the windows behind her.

A few more students shuffled in, but none were the one she was looking for.

Sounds from the hallway reverberated into the room as more and more students filtered into the building, drawing closer to their classes or rifling through their lockers in preparation for their first period. Bodies passed the doorway without pausing; most were close pairs or wider groups lost in conversation. Becky’s head swayed to better see the faces of everyone who went by. After the fourth or fifth disappointment, she turned toward the large hanging clock. The deliberate ticking was too fast for her liking. The minutes were dwindling. There might not be enough time before class…

Screeching metal drew the attention of everyone in the room. Even Mimiko’s, if only for a moment. Steven cursed and kicked out at a now-crooked desk; his foot had hooked one of its legs and dragged it along as he shuffled inside. The kick did little to return it to its initial position. He yawned loudly and continued on. His backpack jostled another desk as he casually swung it onto the floor near his window seat. Those in his path had squished themselves close to their stuff to let him pass. Those death glares he received went unnoticed. The process of dragging his chair out and sitting down was equally noisy. He ruffled his mop of unkempt hair, scratching idly. Then he set his head on his desk, encircled it with his arms, and presumably slept.

It had been an unwanted disruption, but one Mimiko could quickly ignore. Resetting herself, she pulled the book open. Centered her body to align with the fold. A hand on each side, the minimum force delicately holding the pages apart. Her eyes quivered as she looked down toward the words. She was ready.

A confused expression snuck over her features. She silently mouthed a word, her lips barely parting, never intending it to be audible. Her hands trembled as though straining against some unobserved urge. The pages began to close against her will. Her thumbs drew closer, disappearing into the narrowing crease. Rapid blinking. Another silent conversation. Then a comforted smile. Her attention lifted from the book.

At that very moment, Angela appeared in the doorway. She locked eyes with Mimiko and smiled. Setting her backpack on her seat, she came over and said good morning. Mimiko returned the sentiment with a smile. A pause. Angela asked about some trifling things, plans for the weekend and the like.

Her eyes drifted down toward Mimiko’s book, carefully held in her lap, narrowly hidden under the desk. The book jacket had some man on it; the author’s name: something Dunsany. It would be different soon. Mimiko was due for her weekly therapy session. The book always changed afterward. The book jacket anyway. Anyone diligently watching might have recognized that each of her books were all the same size. How they were all the same number of pages. Angela might have figured it out, but Mimiko had told her about it before she had a chance.

Well, let me know, okay? Angela said with a smile before heading a few desks over to her own seat. As she brought out her papers and pens, she cast a quick glance back to Mimiko. The book was already back in position. Open.

The talk from the hallway shifted: quieting in some places as more and more students departed for class, energizing in others as they vomited out all of the words that needed saying before their speakers had to separate. The classroom was filling up, with only a few desks left vacant (including the teacher’s). The desk next to Becky was one such desk.

Two bodies filled the doorway and lingered. Even though their relationship had lasted nearly eleven months, some could still hardly believe that Carter Paulson had ever wooed Maria Noble. They stood facing each other, framed perfectly in the opening. They barely spoke, in both word and volume. Carter turned to enter, but Maria clutched his hand in hers. There was a flash of tense, white skin. He looked back and they stared at each other for a moment. Even in profile, Maria’s eyes were transfixing; Carter’s brow furrowed as he tried to decipher their meaning. Maria lowered her head and Carter inhaled sharply. He quickly leaned in to kiss her on the forehead. She looked up again with a conquering smile. His hand was freed and she let him slide past before disappearing further into the hall. It was odd chemistry to be sure.

Becky had been watching the whole affair with a disgusted fascination. It was almost enough to preoccupy her mind. Almost. But then Melissa sauntered in. Jerking upright, Becky took the brief moment before Melissa reached her to dart a look toward the wall clock. Barely a minute before the bell rang. And she had so much to talk about.

Good morni- Melissa began as she slid into her seat.

Becky lunged forward, bringing her mouth to her friend’s ear. She hissed: she got out!

Melissa cocked her head. What? A flash of realization shocked the confusion from her face. No! she said in disbelief.

The two drew in closer, whispering quickly.

Are you sure? How do you-?

I have my sources, alright. Did your dad-?

You know he doesn’t tell us anything. But, is there anything, I mean, it’s troubling, but do you really think…

"After what she did to Jack, I’m not going to take any chances. And she managed to disappear from a jail cell somehow. Not through the window, not through the bars. Just poof and gone."

Melissa gaped.

A hydraulic hiss sang through the room and there was a shifting of air. The various conversations fell away, leaving only the sound of shuffling papers and a single tread of feet on the tiled floor. A bag thumped into place at the teacher’s desk as the classroom door closed.

Just let me know if you see or hear anything about Molly, Becky whispered quickly as both girls turned to face the front of the room. Melissa gave a curt nod in response.

Everyone settled in, a pencil or pen hovering over a fresh or lightly-doodled piece of paper, awaiting their teacher’s lesson and the start of another day.

A MATTER OF TRUST

The light from a small flashlight fought feebly against the stygian air surrounding it. Even pointing it directly down revealed little about the pavement below, leaving any unevenness or cracks a surprise for the foot. The overpowering fog that had crept in did not help either; sweeping legs cut through it for a time, but swirling vapor would quickly fall upon the opening, smothering the shallow trench away like an onrush of water.

It was cold too. A man blew on his hands, each in turn. Open one first, three long puffs. Then the one holding the flashlight, only two; he tried to keep it steady regardless of its ineffectiveness. Finally, both hands together, rubbing them. He did not have any gloves. His breath was visible near the glow of his light; that or the fog was growing higher. Thicker.

He shivered before readying himself again. Flashlight at his side. Bare hand on the metal barrier. It was acting as a better guide that night than his light. But it was cold. His palm stung after only a few moments. He tried to fight it, but relented. A short breath and a long breath. Lowering his hand again, but not all the way, he let it hang in the air, approximating the guard rail’s position just below. Tracing it with his imagination. He doubted. Extending two fingers out, he found the cold metal again. The road was curving. His fingertips were going numb, so he stuck his hand into his armpit and leaned into the railing, grinding a leg against it. He could still feel the cold through his pants.

As much as he might consider it, Lawrence C. knew that this was no night to stop. He was unfamiliar with the area. He could not trust it. And his meager supplies would offer little comfort there. His blanket and tarp - worthless against the damp, chill air of that wilderness. From what he could see, the trees had grown thicker since sundown. Tall enough that he could not see their lower branches with his flashlight. Large enough to block out the stars and the moon. And who knows what kind of animals might be lurking further in.

No, it would be better to wait until morning. Sleep in the sun. Get warm. Dry off. Find a bench somewhere. There should be a town soon enough. He had been walking for hours and could walk for a few more, until dawn came.

He hefted his backpack tighter over his shoulder, adjusting his grip on the flashlight afterward. The duct tape on the other shoulder strap had slipped apart sometime earlier, after it was too dark to deal with it. He did not want to stop and try to fix it. It would be easier in the light. And he might not have enough tape to fix it properly. Not at the moment. The bag weighed on him, but not for a glut of provisions.

Lawrence shivered, but kept going.

The metal started to straighten out again. He confirmed it with the passing sweep of his hand. Another straightaway. His pace quickened, his side left the guard rail. As long as nothing got in his way…

His foot caught something hard and he stumbled. The sound of a clattering stone fled erratically out into the road. After the initial shock died away, Lawrence could feel a wetness in his shoe. Not the warm stickiness of blood, despite the pain he felt. It was cold. The wiggling of his toes stirred air within, a damp air. That old sole had finally torn loose.

He returned his free hand to the metal railing. His pace slowed. It was not because of his cold foot.

An uncounted span passed with Lawrence lost in thought. What might he do about his backpack and his shoe? He tried to mentally review what he had in his bag, but a lingering sense of paranoia made him second-guess everything. What he once had was discounted as used, lost, or stolen. He would check it all again when the sun rose. After he found a quiet out-of-the-way place.

A glimmer of light ahead brought his mind back to the real and the present. His head jerked up from its slight lolling and his eyes focused on the distant point. A jerk of his hand turned his flashlight away, allowing for an uncontested look at the glow. Unmistakable: car headlights.

Lawrence grunted. A mucusy, annoyed grunt. The vehicle was still a good distance away, far enough that the twin headlights were not yet distinguishable as two separate sources. Enough time to think. It would be easy enough to hop the guard rail and hide behind one of the nearby trees; they were thick enough for that, he would not have to go very far in at all. Turn off his flashlight and let himself blend in with the shadows.

Perhaps it would not be necessary. It was late and the driver might be too sleepy to be curious. Driving too fast to want to stop. Might not notice or care. And it was a public road, goddammit. Lawrence C. had every right to be there. As much as anyone.

He snorted angrily.

The headlights had grown bright, separating from one point into two. The car was moving quickly. Would pass him by in a few moments. Subconsciously, Lawrence squeezed his arms closer to his body, narrowing his profile, limited his movements. At this distance, he would have been noticed, he would have stood out from the colorless mists and empty roadway. But if he did not move much…

The growing roar and harsh light passed him by, disappearing as he flinched. The sound fell away behind him, muffling itself quickly behind the bend in the road. The oncoming blackness was instantaneous. Lawrence stood frozen for a moment. Just long enough for his heart to settle and the cold to slowly gnaw its way back into his limbs.

He shivered and shook himself loose again before returning to his traveling stance. Hefting his backpack into place. Twisting his flashlight back toward the road. Began his next step forward as his free hand blindly groped for the nearby guard rail.

Everything looked a little brighter, in a fairly literal way. A subtle glow, revealing the edges of the nearby trees, the whirls of vapor all around, grew and grew. That faint disappearing sound of the car engine returning gradually to his ears. Then it all exploded from around the bend. Light streamed out from behind, casting a pillar of shadow outward. Everything else succumbed to the bright headlights, their details overcome by the glare.

Lawrence shuffled closer to the guard rail, not bothering to look back at the approaching car. He hoped that it would just pass him by, drive on ahead and disappear. That this was another car, coming along by coincidence, and not the previous one turning around. But it was driving slowly. Too slow to be merely an act of caution; the fog was bad, but not that bad.

Two chirps rang out into the night accompanied by a brief flurry of red and blue lights. A police car. Great.

Lawrence sighed heavily and turned toward the tree line nearby. His hands fell to the guard rail and he sunk into a weary lean, readying himself for any demands the officer might make, or to jump over and out into the wilderness if the need arose. Fingers clenched painfully on the rough edge, fighting the cold with a crushing hatred.

Just minding my own business… he mumbled aloud; the rest stifled, pushed back into his mind.

Tires slowly stopped their rotation. The engine idled. A door opened and someone got out from the driver’s seat. There were no footsteps of approach.

Good morning, officer, Lawrence C. offered quickly. It was a practiced phrase. Unfortunately. He did not bother looking up as he said it, but he spoke loud enough. Loud enough that his annoyance could not be masked.

And good morning to you too, came the reply. Young, male, chipper. It was a better tone than he usually heard, but sometimes they started out nice enough.

Lawrence turned. The headlights were angled away from him into the other lane. He was not blinded by them, but their contrast to the darkness nearby obscured the man’s face. The siren lights were off, so no distracting spiral of red and blue; no illumination from them either. Just the dashboard and the overhead light (triggered by the open door) revealing the most general details of the body.

Thin. Uniformed. But casual. One arm rested on the roof, the other on the top of the open door. Saying I just want to chat.

Right.

Are you in need of any assistance? the officer inquired. He left the question hang, leaving a blank to be filled in at the end. Asking two questions.

Lawrence. I was just going for a walk.

I see…

He mistook the simple musing for an identification of his initial. C.? Does he know who I am?

Headed anywhere close? Into town, you say? Well, that’s a pretty long walk from here. I can give you a ride if you want.

Lawrence could not contain his frown. It must have been obvious amid the ambient glow of the headlights, even angled away as they were. He could not see the officer’s reaction. But he could guess. He had experience.

Might as well commit.

I’m not fond of riding in police cars, he said gruffly and turned a fraction away. The officer acted shocked and tried to stammer out something - lying about him misunderstanding. Lawrence cut him off. Am I under arrest?

What? No. It’s just a friendly offer. And frankly, I could use the excuse to take a break from patrolling these lonesome roads. He faked a yawn.

Lawrence turned all the way to face the officer. Took a step forward and tried to block out the beams of light with his free arm. The officer mumbled something and ducked his head into the vehicle. He was not grabbing a weapon. Instead, the headlights disappeared, plunging the world into darkness again. When he stood again, the officer had a flashlight in hand. The beam was pointed down toward Lawrence’s chest, leaving the dimmer edge to illuminate his face. He blinked his eyes and relaxed the squint away. There was enough residual glow to show some detail of the officer’s face now: young, short hair, smiling.

I don’t accept friendly offers from people I don’t know, Lawrence tested. What’s your name?

Charlie. The man offered it gladly.

Full name.

Carl Charles. But people call me Charlie. Offered less gladly.

Right.

And your badge number?

Charlie groaned. I still haven’t bothered to memorize it.

Lawrence froze his glacial approach. Charlie asked him to wait a moment, then plunged into the vehicle again. The interior light showed him clearly fumbling around for a few moments, checking a few spots, then excitedly discovering his badge. Rising again, he read off everything with an official tone; it disappeared immediately upon completion, replaced by that wide smile.

So, since we are all nicely introduced, let’s get going. Come on. Officer Charlie waved Lawrence over.

Lawrence’s eyes narrowed and his mouth drew taut. He had caught a glimpse of something he did not like. The look might have been hidden in the darkness, or overlooked by the policeman, for the man’s cheerful attitude remained unfazed.

Isn’t wearing jewelry against regulation around here? Lawrence asked cautiously, his fingers squeezing his flashlight into the strap of his backpack. His light disappeared into fabric, leaving only a stifled dot of glow.

Charlie held his right hand out in front of him, looking it over. A plain silver ring glinted on his middle finger. He did not try to hide it, at least.

This? It’s a religious thing.

I didn’t think you were allowed to wear that kind of stuff either…

Charlie chuckled. Thank God for small-town exceptions.

The officer started to wave him over, but Lawrence took a step backward and began to turn away. Charlie called after him.

Well, thanks anyway, but I think I’ll just walk.

Hey!

Charlie’s tone remained jovial, maybe a little sad. At the misunderstanding. Misunderstanding. Lawrence C. took a few more steps.

Hey!

There it is. That authoritative tone. The chat is over. The ordering begins.

He-!

Lawrence turned to face the officer once more. He expected a change in position, but Charlie remained almost exactly as Lawrence had last seen him. No hand at his hip. No steps closer. The flashlight was raised, pointed at Lawrence, but only briefly. His body seemed tighter against the car door, his free hand clinging to it. Was he nervous?

I’m not a threat, Mr. Policeman. I’m just trying to mind my own business in this free country of ours.

I think it would be better if you got into the vehicle, Lawrence, Charlie stated. He was trying to keep the smile up, but it was strained - forced - now. His attention turned toward the empty woods nearby, one direction and then another, scanning the closest trees with his flashlight.

You have to understand. Regardless of whether you come with me or not, I’m going to have to write our little encounter up. Regulations, right? And-

Whatever happened to ‘small-town exceptions’? Lawrence interjected.

What?

Lawrence repeated himself.

This little ring isn’t going to hurt anybody. A touch of annoyance crept into his voice.

It would if you punched someone. Lawrence managed to keep that comment to himself. He merely stared back silently.

Anyway, Charlie continued. We have a bit of an animal problem in the area and it would look bad if I left you stranded out here. So it would be better-

What kind of animals? Lawrence pressed.

Charlie hesitated.

I’ve been-

Bears. Charlie interrupted.

I’ve been all over the place, Lawrence pressed on, louder than before. I’ve dealt with bears before. I’ll be fine.

The officer’s flashlight scanned the darkness again. Have you been in this area before? Tenser words.

He is trying to pin me to some local crime.

Nope. Just passing through. Does this place have some kind of special bears I should worry about?

Charlie hesitated again.

Then I’ll be fine.

Lawrence began to turn again. Slow and deliberate. At the last moment, he saw the officer’s hand slowly creep from off the door. Shoulder rolled so the hand could drop. Headed for the pistol at his side. His flashlight was pointed elsewhere. His gaze too. His focus aimed elsewhere, hoping Lawrence would look that way too. And not at him drawing his gun.

The beam of light snapped back, latching onto Lawrence’s back as he threw himself into a sprint. The scuff of slipping shoe on pavement drew his attention. A loose rock clattered away. The officer called after him, cursing. Lawrence was too busy pumping his free arm and clutching onto the remaining backpack strap with the other. Behind him, a car door slammed, an engine revved, and the restored headlights swung erratically as the vehicle lurched into motion.

It was all a matter of timing. The patrol car was rushing up upon him; it would only be a second or two before it reached him. He had better not be on the road. He could imagine the car hitting him easily enough. The front bumper slamming into his legs, forcing him down to the ground, grating his back and head as it drove over him. Catching his backpack and dragging him along for a while. Or a quick swerve when it came along side, smashing him into the guard rail. Squishing him out like toothpaste from a tube.

The headlights loomed. The sirens were not engaged. Small-town exceptions.

Lawrence rolled to the side, throwing himself over the guard rail as the car roared past. His whole weight fell on his arm and somehow he managed to roll it enough to keep his momentum going. Most everything else cleared the biting metal, but his backpack hooked onto the other side; he was jerked back and landed in a sitting position, his feet kicking out without traction in the soft dirt of the forest.

He quickly stood and scanned the closely-knit trees to find the best pathway to escape the road, but Charlie shouted from behind him and the sirens exploded into a vortex of color. Lawrence risked a look.

The officer had pulled the car in at an angle across the two lanes of highway. There was space enough to open the passenger door, but little else. It had passed him. Charlie had tried to block him in, not run him down. His pistol was in his hand, the ball of clenched fingers resting on the steering wheel; the barrel aimed away from him. For now. The passenger-side window was down. He was calling out through it.

The chase was over. Assuming Charlie had any experience with his weapon, he could hit Lawrence from that distance, no problem. There would not be enough time to reach cover. Best to cut your losses. Lawrence C. raised his hands and turned around to face the officer.

It was not what he expected it. The pistol remained at the wheel, almost forgotten. The officer made no attempt to rush out of the vehicle, to force Lawrence down and punish his non-compliance. He was rooted to his seat, eyes wide. His free hand waved Lawrence over frantically.

His stop, stops had become get in, get ins.

Bears. He said I had to worry about bears.

Lawrence turned. There was something in the air, and something in the way Officer Charlie’s eyes were looking beyond him, that made him do so. The flashing colors of the siren was partially obscured by his own body, leaving a dark patch amid the strobing forestry nearby, yet that human-sized blackness was far too small to completely blot out the thing that now stood so terribly close.

It was as big as a bear.

It was far worse than a bear.

A wide body of lengthy, course fur - fur-like - or, something unidentifiable, with tips that wriggled amid the flashing lights. A rounded mound, until it reared up onto a sturdy base, appendages akin to arms rising up monolithic, terminating in death incarnate; the head, face, eyes now out from the shadow, revealed in their entirety, a scream-inducing visage that sent Lawrence lurched backward into the guard rail behind him, cowering.

Charlie saw only the most general shape of the thing. Too far away to catch much of the detail, the light too dim, his view obscured by the confines of the car. Only seeing what he could see through the passenger window and much of