The Candelit Tales of Mr. Snodgers

By Salene Hill

The Candlelit Tales of Mr. Snodgers is a collection of fictional and surreal tales of a mysterious hermit, in the highlands of the Appalachian Mountains. The tales span over a momentous period of time, and embrace the rushed thoughts of Mr. Snodgers and his life story. Most people believe that historical tales and fiction are just make believe, made up words to only grasp the minds of the next door reader. Mr. Snodgers gaze into the outlines and fabric of a person's life, and move the brain closer to conclusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Salene Hill
• Release date: Feb 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215044162

Salene Hill

Salene Hill has been writing poems, proses, fiction and nonfiction for several years. Lately her writing craft has been created around: past history, current events, life stories, and positive thinking. Salene's next release will be a health secret of chance. 

Book preview

The Candlelit Tales of Mr. Snodgers

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By Salene Hill

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(A collection of mystery tales)

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November 2022

Catalog

Chapter 1 Doc Sanctuary Crew

Chapter 2 Around the Fox Hole

Chapter 3 Fall Holiday Madness

Chapter 4  A Change of Fate

Chapter 5 On a Snowy Eve

Chapter 6 New Year Tidings

Chapter 7 Heart On Replay

Chapter 8  A Kiss Before Silence

Chapter 9 Grandmother’s House

Chapter 10 Unforgettable Moments

Chapter 11 The Depths of Heat

Chapter 1 Doc Sanctuary Crew

lawn mower

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The summer months seem longer every four years. Depending on the geographical location, a person would wear shorts and t-shirts for seven months. In colder climates, people wore pullover sweaters and jogging pants. I preferred the spring and fall months, when I could wear the same attire without adding to or deleting my old fashion wardrobe.

Currently, I gather my evening hours beside a fireplace in my basement. The area is cozy, secured by thick walls, and the silence is enjoyed by my large ears. I'm sitting in an old chair, wearing a black velvet bathrobe and my soon-to-be winter slippers. In my aging hands sits a blank book of readings. The words appear on the pages as I speak to you.

I acquired this old house from a close relative in the late 1920s. The house was restored once or twice, burned once, and has seen better days. I kept the house cold year-round, so the snakes and many insects would not become my friends. I was past the age of reason and tried not to venture into the modern, outside world. My butler either took me into town by way of a horse carriage or I walked.

Onlookers watched me in distrust and haste, for they do not understand that their modern banking systems would one day break down. Most of the time, I smiled at the busy-bodied individuals as they rushed by the horse carriage and believing that one day their hurried lifestyle would vanish. I was happy to enjoy the cold walls of my dungeon, alone and in partially good health. My joints would ache from time to time if I do not light a fire in the winter months. If  the temperature outside got too humid, I would activate the wall air vents.

The evening is silent, except for the small mice that gaze out of the dark corners. Stray cats are allowed to adventure into the dungeon. The cats kept the food chain steady and decreased diseases. There is a music machine beside the fireplace, and it only plays the best of the classics and some opera. The majority of the dungeon's valuable materials were obtained through years of travel to foreign lands and a young nephew who decided to order other items from the internet. I was content with just my books, music, and nomad lifestyle.

My friends call me old man Snodgers. I call myself Oscar. A third great grandfather was Doctor Snodgers; he took over the island of the Cape of Good Hope in 1640. That Oscar was a tall, muscular, and brave man. However, he died on his way back to the United States of a type of typhoid fever. I try to remember family members who died of strange incidents.

I will not bore you with my family history. It is the time of the evening, a little after 6 o'clock, that my brain wanders, and words come easily to the paper. My tale begins with a summer of heat, humid skies, and animals that refuse to leave their burrows. It is a hot day in July, mowing company are at their highest level of money-making, and snakes are roaming.

In a certain neighborhood, a young boy plays outside with his bike. The boy looks to be around five, is high-spirited, and loves not to hear his mother’s calls for exiting the yard before sunset. On this very day, the young boy’s playtime is suddenly interrupted by two large, white trucks. These trucks drive slowly up to the medium-sized lawn and turn off their engines. Seated in the automobiles are four quiet men.

The boy is not impressed new events nor by the men. He continues to play with the bike and tries to avoid eye contact. In seconds, the boy’s mother walks out to the activity and rubs her son’s sweaty head. Like trained robots, the four men step out of the trucks and walk toward the small crowd. The oldest man decides to begin his speech,

Mrs. Little, we are the lawn crew that you ordered  last week. This is your one-time contract for today’s work. If you like our services, you can reach us at the number on the back of the contract. I ask that you take your son inside while we work. Sometimes, small children may not be seen, and there are accidents.

. Mrs. Little nodded her head and said, Thank you. The woman and her son walked quickly inside their home and closed the door. In a minute or two, expensive riding mowers and a small pushed mower were heard in the neighborhood. While the four lawn men did their paid service, the young boy stared out of an upstairs bedroom window. The boy never trusted strangers, and the  men seemed too professional for his liking. Outside on the lawn, the men worked quickly and did not lift their heads. Mrs. Little went about her daily housewife duties and summoned her son to the kitchen table for a late lunch.

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Sonny, come downstairs, and we will eat lunch. Your father will be home in some hours. Mrs. Little yelled. Sonny, get down here on the double! The boy ran downstairs as fast as his short legs could fly and raced to the breakfast table.

Mrs. Little had baked a small layer of hamburger turnover and tossed a dark green salad. Sonny disliked the salad but enjoyed eating the turnovers. His mother knew everything that was healthy for cooking. The father of the house once thought that Mrs. Little was trying to poison them during the first years of marriage. Mrs. Little appeared to be doing such a horrifying thing out of kindness and genuine value.

Do eat your lunch, and afterwards you can watch cartoons. I will clean up the kitchen, and after the service men finish, we can go in the back yard and play kick the can or ball. Mrs. Little patted Sonny gently on the head and sat beside him. She was a different type of woman, with a long upper body, small breast, and short legs.

Her waist was small, but her face was a little deformed. Sonny was glad that his physical appearance took after his father's side of the family. Mr. Little was a tall, muscular, and handsome type of person. He was always interested in Sonny’s hobbies and future interests. Mrs. Little was a wallflower with no intelligence, who only knew how to be a housewife. Sonny’s friends called his mother strange names and did not want him to come into their house.

Sonny ate his lunch hastily, because he wanted to pretend that he was watching cartoons while spying on the lawn crew. He was glad that Mrs. Little always locked all doors and windows. She did not have a brain cell in her skull but was slightly overprotected by the family. Sonny decided to excuse himself from the kitchen table and walk quietly to the living room. He delighted in hearing Mrs. Little pick up his plate and drag herself to the kitchen sink like a lazy bird.

Mr. Little always kept the same sly grin on his face while watching his wife do labor work. Sonny decided that his future wife would be just like Mrs. Little, and his occupation would be to work out of the house 100 percent of the time. Sonny thought that women were meant to stay at home and not get in the way. This was a family-known trait for the household. Today, Sonny would endure his mother’s off-key singing just to get a closer look at the men outside.

He turned on the television set and decided to stare outside on the front lawn. One of the men was steadily cutting wild grass near the flowers. A second man was riding the mower at a fast speed, making sure that all neighbors saw the performance. The third man that spoke