A Quaint New England Town

By Gregory L. Norris

When Ezra Wilson took the job as a census worker, he never imagined it would lead to a place like his latest assignment. From the moment he turns off the interstate and travels past the village limits, it becomes clear that Heritage isn't just some quaint New England town.

A sinister encounter at an automobile graveyard is only

• Language: English
• Publisher: Planet Bizarro
• Release date: Jul 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781739792374

Book preview

A Quaint New England Town

Gregory L. Norris

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Planet Bizarro Press

Copyright © 2022 by Gregory L. Norris

All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Edited by Matthew A. Clarke

Proofread by Nick Clements

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Contents

1. Twenty-five Hours B.G. (Before Gorilla)

2. All Around the Mulberry Bush, the Gorilla Chased the Census Taker

3. Ouch!

4. Like in Those Old-Timey Comedies When They Would Sweep Dirt Under the Rug…

5. Heritage

6. Heritage North

7. Great Aunt Sarah’s Funeral, the Circus Comes to Town, and That Embarrassing Wedding Memory Where Panties Got Bunched Over the Garter Belt Tradition

8. Nights in Heritage

9. Open a Window and Let in Some Fresh Hair

10. Reggie

11. On a Clear Night, You Can See All the Way to Vanguard 771 and Beyond to Various Other Eyes-in-the-Skies

12. All Around the Town of Heritage, the Demons Chased the Census Interviewer

13. The Falls

14. Sonovabitch!

Gregory L. Norris

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Chapter 1

Twenty-five Hours B.G. (Before Gorilla)

The dude was dressed in old snakeskin boots, blue boxers, a T-shirt bearing half of a football team’s logo—the other half having gone missing in the rinse cycle—and a threadbare bathrobe over most of it. He held the snapping dog by its dirty collar.

I have my rights, the man barked when the dog didn’t.

"Keep it up, Mister, and you’re gonna get my lefts," Ezra said.

He flexed his left hand into a fist.

What? the man asked. Did you just threaten me, punk?

Ezra sucked down a cleansing breath and then exhaled it. Now would be a great time to inform you, Sir, that intimidating a Census Interviewer could lead to a $250,000.00 fine and/or five years in prison. So, if you’d be so kind, I’ve got exactly five questions to ask you.

Surrendering, the man shuffled his guard dog back behind the rusting fence gate. Folding his arms, he answered, and Ezra typed the responses into theappropriate boxes on his tablet—How many people live at this address? D.O.B.? Name? M or F? Nationality?

Thank you for your time and cooperation, Ezra said through a saccharine smile before moving on to the next neighbor’s place in the row of dilapidated houses.

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The pay was decent—twenty bucks an hour plus incentives with overtime beyond twenty-one hours per week. Given the rush to complete the Census by September, there were plenty of hours up for grab, and by the end of August when his supervisor, Bill Lehrer, called him into his office, Ezra Wilson had gotten ahead on his rent, truck payment, and credit card debt with a tidy sum banked in preparation for when the job ended.

Lehrer’s office was a temporary cubicle at the end of a long corridor. The two windows looked out on an unremarkable view of the parking lot. Lehrer was a likeable older man—mid-fifties, Ezra guessed. On this day not any more special than the seventy that had preceded it, Lehrer wore a blue polo shirt that mostly covered his paunch, jeans, new sneakers with audacious cobalt blue laces, and too much aftershave.

Mister Wilson, Lehrer said in the same cheery voice Ezra recalled from his three-and-a-half hours of Census training. Have a seat.

Lehrer waved him toward one of two chairs not covered in files, newspapers, and a raincoat.

While sitting, Ezra breathed in through his mouth. Am I in trouble?

Lehrer chirped a laugh. Hardly. I’ve got a special assignment for you.

Special. Was that some kind of euphemism for the crap left unresolved until the end? Ezra recalled his other special assignments, like the woman who’d answered his knock at her front door with a semi holstered on her hip, and the man in the gray ranch with black shutters on Juniper Road who’d given his Census answers wearing only a diaper. The diaper hadn’t been medical, Ezra guessed, according to its pattern of balloons and clowns.

Special? he repeated, the lone word sour on his tongue. Just how special?

Very. And I need one of my best Census Interviewers to handle it.

Lehrer toyed with his tablet while Ezra waited for more. His tablet rang with a musical note.

"I just sent you the details. It’s a bit out of your territory, but, as I said, this one needs the best—and that’s you, Ezra. Ezra, Lehrer stressed. ‘Ezra’ means ‘Helper’ in Hebrew, if I’m not mistaken."

Ezra waved the fingers of his right hand. I think there’s also something about a ‘Scribe’ and a ‘Priest’, but don’t quote me.

Lehrer eyed him over the top of his tablet. I’m fascinated by the etymology of names. My own—‘Lehrer’—means ‘Teacher’ in German.

Ezra absorbed the information. Okay, Teach—about this special assignment—?

Straight shot up the interstate, a couple of turns, and you’re there. The Village of Heritage. It’s a quaint New England town. You’ll love it.

Ezra narrowed his eyes. "What’s