The Locket

By Sandra Mc Cuaig

The book is about a preacher who because of losing so many things in his life and now being forcibly retired goes crazy and delusional. He starts to rob graves, seeks revenge on his enemies, cannibalizes some of his dead congregation, and does other terrible things.
This book has many things going on that l think readers will enjoy, so sit back and read this unforgettable book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984553706

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

In The Beginning

It was a cold evening as Bill pulled into the parking lot of the town’s only tavern. Not the kind of cold you would get in the pre-winter day’s when you could taste the snow in the air or see the frost on the pumpkins still laying in the un gathered field’s, but the kind of cold that sent you scurrying for that hideously ugly afghan tucked away, condemned to the back of the closet where it stayed until tonight.

No doubt aunt Martha’s first attempt at knitting, with mismatched, and sometimes missing stitches, and colors that didn’t please the eye’s no matter how you looked at it. It may have been a well intentioned gift, but after the holiday’s had found it’s way into the deepest reaches of the closet. It might be warm Bill thought as he pulled the heavy rough feeling cloth back out and looked at it with a critical eye. His nose wrinkled at the stale and moldy smell that greeted him. He briefly wondered if she’d actually made it at all for he had never thought she was a very talented person. He held it at arms length as he carried it to the dryer throwing it and almost a half box of clothes freshener into the drum and setting the machine for a two hour cycle. Maybe it’ll be as good as new he said to himself as he closed the door and pressed the on button. He was sure when he got home that he’d curl up with it on the bed and have a good night’s sleep.

Tonight, Bill was meeting his old circle of friends for they’re ritual if not habitual story telling time. It was a way of relaxing from their weekly toil’s of work. Spending quality time together and besting one’s fellow story teller. He had always enjoyed these evenings and looked forward to tonight. He had been doing this for many years and had become a tradition that he had started when he first moved to the town. Sometimes other people would listen in as the stories were told but his group of friend’s didn’t mind. The more the merrier.

It was a Friday evening, and he noticed the parking lot was quite full. What luck he thought as he saw a car leaving it’s space three lanes away from the door of the building. He hurried to get to it before someone else got to it before him. He pulled in between two other vehicles and turned off the engine. The sudden soundlessness was deafening. He pulled the key from the ignition and secured it onto a ring attached to the belt around his waist, a precautionary measure. Not wanting another embarrassing episode of losing them.

Last time he had to get a new set from the dealership. His spare key was also on the same ring that he had lost. What an ass he thought to himself. Real men don’t do stupid things like that. He remembered the trouble and expense of having to get a new set not to mention the embarrassment at also having to be towed home to the delight and ridicule of his wife. She teased him about that for weeks.

She said she wouldn’t say anything to anyone about it but he could tell from the way his friend’s acted that she had let it slip. They’d very subtly jingle their car keys and look in his direction and smile.

His thoughts drifted to Clara, his wife of seven wonderful years, and absentmindedly his hand strayed to his pocket until it touched the treasure nestled amongst the dried fluffy lint that he never seemed to remember to remove when he laundered his clothes. He stroked the object fondly, then took his hand out of his pocket and reached for the handle of the car door. It swung open easily, exposing him to the chilly night air.

For a moment he gritted his teeth and pulled his collar tighter around his neck. There was a slight breeze in the air the dampness making it seem colder somehow. The fall was here again. Where did the summer go he wondered as he weaved his way through the car’s in the lot. Many of the windows were starting to ice over with frost. The intricate patterns of the ice crystals were in themselves pretty but yet on this chilly evening Bills only thoughts at the present time were on getting inside where it was warm. The cold chilled to the bone and beyond and he hated the cold. As he walked to the tavern door he thought about the house he had bought with Clara, when they first moved to Chesterville six years earlier. It was a pretty house, set on an acre of land. They both thought at the time that it would be a perfect place to raise a family. They both had come from a large family and wanted a large family as well. Bill was sure his parents as well as Clara’s parents would welcome grandchildren with open arms, and probably spoil them rotten as grandparents usually did. They thought it was their natural born right to do so. Clara’s parents were especially fond of children having had a total of sixteen, and often asked when would we settle down and start our family. We’d roll our eye’s and reply non committed soon. lt drove them crazy.

Bill had taken a position as an executive of the largest international floral company which sold millions of dollars worth of plants, seed’s and gardening supplies worldwide, and he loved his job. He always had a green thumb his mother had always told him when he was younger. She said he could make anything grow.

Best of all it was only an hour’s drive away from home, which only added to his enjoyment of living there. His wife Clara was in her last year of training to become a school teacher. She loved children and her goal was to teach primary classes. She had hoped to teach at the school three blocks away from where we bought the house.

They promised each other that they’d start their own family once she passed her exams he remembered fondly. When Bill reached the door of the tavern, he opened it. A wave of heat engulfed him momentarily making him take a step back. The warmth of the room beckoned him. He stepped inside and stood for a moment, watching the throng of people. The sound’s familiar and the smile’s of the guest’s inside pleased him.

It was always busy and fast paced with bar maids hurrying from table to table. Their old fashioned dress’s swaying as they moved in keeping with the antiqueness of the building. They flitted around the room with the grace and elegance of a ballerina. They’re moves almost like a well choreographed dance, never spilling a drop of the precious liquid cargo on the trays they balanced high over their head’s.

Bill thought maliciously as he watched a maid seemingly dancing among the tables. Wouldn’t it be funny to see her drop a tray on a few of the more boisterous patron’s head’s. The golden liquid, though wasted would give a good soaking to the unfortunates below. Would it make them mad, or just add to the fun?

The music was always’ too loud to suit him, sometimes giving him a headache by the end of the night. The band was a cheap group of kid’s that thought they had talent, and thought the louder the music the better. The bar tender who hired them didn’t pay them too much, but the musicians felt it was good experience until they got a better gig. He cringed when they started a new set of song’s. None of them could sing, all they could do was shout word’s that half the time you couldn’t understand anyway.

Bill, now feeling warmer took off his overcoat and hung it up on one of the wooden peg’s that lined the wall for such a purpose. He nodded a greeting to some of the people he recognized. The Laughter was infectious and happy. Bill knew most of the people there.

CHAPTER 2

An Old Building

He scanned the huge crowded room, searching for his friend’s, and after a few moment’s he spotted them gathered around the fireplace. The log’s were ablaze and looked inviting. He still felt a little chilled and looked forward to the warmth he knew it would give off. Carefully he worked his way over to the bar that stood back against the wall of the room.

The Fox and Hare tavern was built in 1790 in the town of Chesterville Alabama. It was a two story building with thick timber’s hewn out of well seasoned log’s and through the years had many owner’s. The window’s opened outward’s and until 1903 were just basically slab’s of wood on hinges. The shutter’s were added for extra strength and were so well made that when closed you could hardly slip a piece of paper between them. The owners used the upstairs as living space.

They made some small change’s, like adding screens to help keep out the insect’s. Other window’s had glass. They tried to keep the building as original as possible. The lighting too had been changed. The tavern now had electricity yet still had the old oil lamp’s dangling from the ceiling in keeping with the oldness of the building.

Even some of the furniture was original. Hard wooden benches still remained but there was some of the newer type of chair’s strewn about, like high wing back chair’s. The floor was wood and in some place’s was so worn you could see into the basement in different areas.

There were extra room’s in the basement and attic. There was even a barn with a small paddock area out the back for horse’s and a lean to for carriage’s keeping them out of the weather. When weary travelers needed to rest for the night, after travelling sometimes for days through the various towns and villages, there were rooms inside the tavern for a nights rest and a meal would be available for a small fee. Old harnesses and horse tack were still draped across lower beams in the barn. Dust and cobwebs clung to the cracked and weather beaten leather, the various straps of bridles aged and dry with the passage of time hung up on nails pounded into the wood of the walls had long since been forgotten. Lodging could be bought for man and beast. The hay that still lay on the floor so yellow and brittle, an animal couldn’t get any nourishment out of it now.

The dust deeply embedded into the chaff and everything in the barn showed in the spiders webs. even the spiders couldn’t find a meal now their webs so dried out couldn’t catch a fly the dust hung so thickly on them with the exception of one web that still held the skeletal remains of a small mouse still entangled which must have made one spider very happy, but now she too was gone.

Also out the back, stood an outhouse that boasted three hole’s. The crescent of the moon cut into the door, probably put there to ward off evil spirits. An oil lamp hung under the eves of the structure to light the way. It too was original. A homemade candle sat just inside the door for extra lighting. Sitting beside one of the hole’s, a pile of magazines. The extra paper was used for reading or wiping depending on a person’s needs. Nothing like the toilet paper of today. Both buildings were kept in good repair, but now sat unused except for the hornet’s that now had made it their home. The building was a reminder to people of the earlier time’s.

Ivy clung to the outside of the tavern adding to the old world effect, as it snaked ever upwards in it’s quest to dominate the building, the foliage always searching for a firmer grip as it slithered around and through the knot hole’s in the wooden windows and ledges creeping into the tiny holes the termites left behind. It reached for the sunlight, greedily grabbing at any orifices available, seemingly trying to devour it’s host. It had an insatiable appetite and it’s determination was unwavering in it’s quest for higher terrain. Every now and again it would have to be cut back. It grew like kudzu another type of plant which grew quickly and was very hard to kill.

Bill liked the look of the ivy, the way it gave an eerie feel to the building, like an old castle left to the ravages of time. Once, he had taken a cutting off the plant to put it in his own garden at home. He planted it by the tool shed and hoped to get the same effect, but it never grew as well. He just wasn’t getting the same results. What was lacking he wondered?

The original owner of the tavern was a man called Zachariah Bush, a charcoal drawing of the man still hung behind the bar. It was very faded and smudged now, the paper, brown and fraying around the edges, curled with age and was brittle but you could still make out the image of a heavy set man with a long beard, steely looking eye’s that even now seemed to actually be staring back at you from the picture. A bulbous nose and an unusually long thin line for a mouth lending it a cruel look, even though in the picture he was smiling a haughty smile.

The new owners tried to have the picture restored as best they could and put it in a glass frame hoping it would be protected more from the elements, hoping to preserve it for future generations. They kept it hanging in the same spot on the wall as a sign of respect. Apart from one oil lamp fire and an unexpected earthquake, the building withstood the test of time and remained the centre of the town’s dart playing, social drinking, wife swapping shameless little secret.

Throughout it’s history, the building had been used for many purposes. Sometimes as a town hall where important meetings took place, other times a public place where dances were held, and sometimes it was a place of safety during the bad storms. The townsfolk would gather inside to wait out the worst of the weather.

The fireplace which sat in a quieter section of the tavern away from the bar and noisier patrons, had a jagged scar running down it’s length where the earthquake had torn some of the larger stones out of its mortar sending them crashing onto the floor. A few stones broke in half with the viciousness of the trembling ground and the height of the fall. The timbers surrounding the chimney had caught fire and were slightly damaged. Repairs were done but you could still see the scars.

Bill worked his way over to the bar and placed his order. The bartender, large in girth nodded and brought a glass and a pitcher of golden brew filled to the brim and set it on the counter in front of him. When Bill picked it up the foam cascaded over the sides of the glass spilling some beer onto his hand. He could smell it and he began to salivate.

The bartender put Bill’s tab beside the register and walked away to serve other thirsty customers who wanted drinks. Bill gingerly worked his way over to his friend’s who were gathered around the fireplace. The mass of humanity pushed and jostled him as he went. It was times like this that he hoped he could move through the crowds as delicately as the barmaids did, and wondered how they could do it at such a speed and never spill a drink on the floor. It was amazing.

He was the story teller for tonight and his drinks would be free. One of the perks for the person telling the story. His friend’s would pay the tab at the end of the evening. For a brief moment Randy looked over, and seeing Bill, waved for him to join them. He called Bills name but with so much noise Bill couldn’t hear him. Bill nodded his head as he held his drink tightly hoping he wouldn’t spill it before he reached his friends. Again he wondered how the barmaids managed to do their jobs without losing their drinks and if they did would it come out of their pay?

When he arrived at the fireplace they all greeted him warmly, each speaking at the same time making it hard for him to understand them. They all had a beer in one hand, while the other hand waved around wildly as they talked. Bill was sure that if one hand was tied behind their backs they wouldn’t be able to speak at all and he laughed to himself. He could feel the tension leaving him and it felt wonderful.

Once a month they would gather to tell an entertaining story. It could be a true tale, or one totally made up by the teller, or perhaps a story of loves lost or won, maybe even a spooky tale that would make you’re blood run cold. It was all up to the person telling the tale, either way it was all for the entertainment of the evening. Although the fireplace room as it was sometimes called was quieter than the rest of the building, you still had to project your voice to be heard over the din of the crowd.

George and Randy were heavy set brother’s, both were clean shaven with great personalities who worked in the local families hardware store, their family had owned it for at least one generation. They were medium height though George was slightly taller, being six foot seven and just a little thinner He was always eating something. Everyone called him tapeworm.

You never saw a man who could eat as much as him and yet never gain an ounce. Tonight was no different. He had a huge sandwich three inches thick in his hand and munched away unconcerned while his brother looked on. His brother Randy had an irritating habit of constantly rubbing his chin. Simon another of the group would ask him sarcastically are we growing a beard? For a moment Randy would stop, then he’d reply in an equally sarcastic tone as a matter of fact, yes l am.

They’d all laugh and tilt their heads as if to see how the beard was progressing though there wasn’t a hair on his chin they’d reply oh yeah, we can see it growing now. It will make up for your other shortcomings as each man would glance at the crotch of Randy’s pants, and again begin to laugh. Randy would always take the joke in good humor.

Tom was quite a bit shorter being five foot three. He wasn’t a very talkative man and worked in a diner across the street from the tavern. He always wore a permanent frown on his face and rarely smiled. He was divorced from his wife and lived alone. There was no children from the marriage and it was one of the reasons the marriage failed, She was unable to have children and he had wanted a family so he left her to find another woman who could give him the family he’d always wanted.

Simon was a television repairman who ran a small business out of his home. He was very handy at fixing things and would fix our televisions for free. He said it added to his experience. He was about medium height six foot tall and had several tattoo’s on each arm. He also had earrings in both ears, and not only were they not just studs but really quite flamboyant for a man. Just to get