Smooth Read online

  Smooth

  A Novel of Horror

  catt dahman

  Copyright.

  catt dahman

  © 2014, catt dahman

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book, including the cover and photos, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. All rights reserved.

  The characters, places, and events depicted are fictional and do not represent anyone living or dead. This is a work of fiction.

  Chapter 1

  Pax and Katie walked across the park together, beneath the sweeping oaks and fragrant pines, enjoying for a few seconds the banishment of the blistering hot sun. The shade was dark enough so that it felt like walking into a tall cave, cool and fragrant, and it cut off most of the far-away noises. Pax sat down on a bench and took off his backpack with a sigh of relief.

  Katie lifted the front of her body up onto the bench so she was almost face-to-face with Pax. Her eyes reminded him that she was being a good girl but that he could hurry up and do his job. She needed something now and was patient, but mindful of his responses.

  “Okay. I am hurrying. I know...you’d do it yourself, but the lack of opposable thumb issue is causing the...I know...I know....””

  He reached for her collar and first unclamped a D bracket which went on a D clip on her collar that ran through a hole bored through her ‘quick-fix’, small, clean, metal water dish. He set it onto the bench and unclipped the second D ring and took a little insulated tubular bag from her neck, and from that, a bottle of water. Pax poured the water into the bowl and set in on the ground.

  Katie watched Pax with her head cocked and waited patiently and politely until he had unhooked his own canteen and uncapped it. When he started sipping at his water, Katie began to lap her own water. It was difficult to wait.

  Pax handed her a small beef stick; she ate the stick, and then they shared three more with a few cubes of cheese, five small crackers, and three ginger cookies each. Next, they drank more water. Katie looked at him, letting him know she was game to eat more snacks, especially cheese, but he didn’t offer any more. At least he hadn’t tried to offer her any more of the other stuff in a baggie; she didn’t like trail mix at all.

  Afterwards, Pax washed the bowl out for Katie, thoroughly dried it, and refilled her bottle and his canteen. He clipped his canteen back on; then, he fastened her bowl and water bottle back to her collar and to the straps that made them her little back pack. She also wore a bright green bandana around her neck. She was accustomed to carrying her gear for herself and ignored the faint tinny noises all of it made as she ran.

  “Let’s have our rest,” Pax said. Katie lay next to the bench in the soft leaves. For this, she gave in because she wasn’t tired, but if he wanted to nap, then she would pretend to as well.

  Cold Springs Est. March 12, 1929

  Pax read the sign a few times as he sat on the bench. Katie opened one eye and knew his words mattered not to her. Unless it was about cheese, the sign was uninteresting.

  It was an old town, full of idiosyncrasies and secrets, ripe for the telling and was a self-contained place here in the middle of nowhere. That idea had its charms. It wasn’t as if he had to read the sign so many times, but he kept wondering what the place had looked like back then. How did people know where to set up towns? Did the original settlers stay?

  What did the trees know? Had they wondered about the newcomers? Most of the original people were gone now, but the trees still grew. Pax always wondered about the past and wished he could see pictures of everything, before and now.

  In a few minutes, he stood, and Katie jumped to chase the red ball he tossed for her, leaping into the air to catch it or using her nose to dig it up from the leaves that the ball stirred up.

  He threw it over and over. She scrambled on the walk way and then caught it on a bounce. Pax put the ball away when they were both winded.

  “Good job, Katie. Give me a shake.”

  She shook his hand.

  “Give me a kiss.”

  She gave him a sloppy lick.

  “Who is the best Katie?”

  She woofed happily.

  Pax motioned her to come along side him. “Okay, let’s go check out this Cold Springs. Be on your best behavior.”

  “Woof,” she replied.

  “I will, too,” Pax said conversationally. {It was better to talk to his dog than to talk to the voices in his head, if he had any.} He felt dogs were great conversationalists. They listened, didn’t comment overly much, and told no secrets.

  He adjusted a strap on his backpack and settled into the same timing he had maintained across two states when he didn’t have a ride. It was a determined pace and one that would get them places, but it wasn’t so hurried that they missed seeing anything interesting along the way.

  As they walked over a bridge that crossed a wide little river branch, Pax glanced down into the water and found it clear and deep, running fast over big rocks and shaded by huge trees that dotted the sandy bank. He looked out at the branch of water and wondered how a photo might look taken of Katie and him standing there on the old bridge; he thought it would be a good picture of the bridge and his canine traveler.

  It would be a good photo of him since the long walk had toned and trimmed him quite a bit. He was back in shape and leaner than normal. The walk had been good for him in many ways. Months before, he hadn’t the strength and endurance he had now. His slight paunch was gone, and his belly was flat.

  Had there been a picture taken, it would have been of the man and dog, looking out across the water on the low bridge that flooded occasionally but had served as the town’s only entryway for more than a century. Cold Springs butted up to jagged hills and farmer’s fields, and the roads ended where those farms began.

  The bridge was constructed of concrete, rock, and brown bricks and was mossy along the edges of the opening arch the water ran through. A strong wooden railing and slats were along the sides, and above, was a wide area for walkers and two lanes for traffic, and all were covered with a thin layer of cracked and pitted cement.

  If there had been a picture, the bridge would have looked the same a decade before, a day before; there would be no real changes. The difference in scenery would have been just the man and the dog.

  The man, Pax, wore a clean white tee shirt with a faded, but clean, buttoned up checked shirt, a loose pair of faded-almost-white jeans and heavy, expensive hiking boots. The jeans had been snug two months before, and the boots had been unscuffed. Those things had changed.

  Anyone looking would have noticed he was clean cut for a drifter, too relaxed for a common hitchhiker, and too focused for anyone who was simply looking for a new town to call home. From a distance, Pax would be difficult to describe with any details.

  He was of average weight, had no facial hair, and his plain, brown hair was cut short. With a trim body and longish legs, he was forgettable except for his pale, sky-blue eyes and the big grin he almost always wore. Only one who was close enough to see his eyes and the grin would describe him accurately.

  With the pale eyes and infectious grin, he was the type that became better looking as people were around him. It wasn’t just personality; with familiarity came a relaxation of his features that made him attractive. It wasn’t anything he thought about, however.

  His dog was by far more interesting to him.

  Katie wore her little backpack and the green bandana against her black fur; she never complained about carryi
ng her own gear. She was pure muscle since she was a youngish dog, but she was still old enough to be well behaved and to walk happily and politely beside her master and friend.

  She was beautiful, well behaved, and smart.

  Before each ride they had accepted when they were hitchhiking on the main roads and highways, she had sniffed the cars and trucks thoroughly and indicated she thought it was a safe ride free of drugs or alcohol or anything nefarious. She might not have known thumbing rides was dangerous {And it was very dangerous}, but she knew whose cars smelled bad and whose smelled safe.

  Only once on a dreary evening when Pax had thought a man seemed fine to ride with, had she whined and cast him a nervous look.

  He didn’t know what she had scented, but he took her advice and said to the driver, “Never mind”, and they walked, Pax wondering what it was Katie knew and he didn’t. And whether or not it had been a dangerous ride, Pax didn’t know, but everyone they rode with, all those who Katie had okayed, were generous, friendly, safe drivers who might grudgingly accept gasoline money but always shared meals and wasted away the miles with happy chatter. Everyone had been particularly taken with Katie and her excellent manners.

  Katie might have been wrong, or maybe the man had an unusual scent that confused her, and Pax would never know what it had been, if anything. He never saw anything about the man in newspapers, but something had bothered Katie. It was better to be safe than to take his chances and hope he could survive, if threatened.

  Miles had flown by.

  They had met fascinating people, people with stories, and some with few words at all. In each, Pax had found a slice of life; it was as if he could, for a few minutes, see into another life.

  The trek had also afforded Pax the chance to kick at pebbles and see what was tossed out onto the side of highways. He had even picked up a silver ring set with a pretty black faceted stone (Okay, it could be a black diamond but was likely a cheap stone instead} and countless pennies and nickels. Dirty diapers and toilet tissue, he skirted.

  Some items made no sense. He wondered why there was always just one shoe. Never two. At those times, he felt locked out of stories and was curious.

  It wasn’t safe, maybe, but it was how Pax had wanted to travel to Cold Springs, with just the necessities and his best friend, Katie, and cash strapped to his leg and nothing remaining of his material possessions once he had sold or given them all away. He felt freer and more with the world than he ever had before with nothing tying him down such as a car or a house or a job. {He was a hobo at heart}.

  He had made a great deal of cash selling clutter he didn’t want or need and found a certain catharsis in having everything that mattered in his backpack or walking beside of him. The church had been thrilled with his donation of everything that hadn’t sold; he took pride in knowing that his cast offs would clothe people in need. But this wasn’t just altruistic; he had just wanted to be free of material goods and have the money to start over somewhere else if he desired.

  Somewhere such as Cold Springs.

  Maybe.

  “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” Pax asked.

  Katie woofed in agreement, it seemed. {She might have also been looking at a squirrel}. She panted and showed her doggy grin as she danced around him to get him moving again. There was so much to smell and see.

  As he looked out, refusing to budge yet, she leaned into him impatiently until her weight finally made him take a step and stop staring at the scenery. “Fine. You can have your way,” he said as he began walking again, crossing the old bridge, and emerging on the main drag through the town.

  Chapter 2

  It was like walking into a stage set of a television show from the 1950s with the old, brick buildings which were orderly and neat, charming street lights, and shops of every kind. The town was welcoming and safe.

  “There you have a mechanic’s shop, and it’s a gas station. They and the one up the street are very competitive. That old building is a florist…that is flowers, Katie…and antiques and next to it…a bank. There is a small hotel, and beside it is a spa. Tourists come here in droves. Did you know they have both a hot and cold natural spring here? They have mud baths there you would love and massages; those are like getting scratched and petted, only it’s for people.”

  The small area for parking was packed because people came from other places to visit this spa. “The owner grows some of her own herbs for this spa, and she grows some other herbs for herself to smoke, if ya catch my drift,” he talked to Katie as they walked. {The woman smoked a lot from what Pax had been told}.

  Katie peed on a tree.

  “Katie, stop peeing on trees; that’s rude.”

  Pax knew a lot of little details about this place that most who visited would never have guessed; he wasn’t psychic, but rather, he had been told these snippets. “That gas station? The prices will rise and fall all week as they compete with the place at the end of this street. And at the bank, the president’s wife is bald as a new baby, but she wears expensive wigs she orders from somewhere in France, and she thinks people don’t know, but they do.”

  Katie sniffed at a stop sign and waited for Pax to indicate they could cross the street and carry on. She knew at places like this she was to wait until he said it was okay to go on. She didn’t want to get smushed by a car. She waited, listening, in case he might mention the cheese again.

  “The school is that way, tiny with less than a hundred school children and a handful of teachers. Most of the graduates marry local and stay here, and could I tell you stories about the goings on with all those people….” He trailed off. “Here you have good kids from good families, but Katie, there are secrets in any town and the ideas here are no better or worse than in the city. People are people....”

  There were a newspaper/electronics/ office-needs building, an antiques shop, and a shop called a Five and Dime which meant it was cheaper than going into the city, and it was clever, but merchandise was certainly not a nickel or a dime in cost.

  “Pharmacy there, always count your pills because a few are always missing, accidentally, of course,” said Pax as he chuckled. “Barbecue there, it isn’t great, but it’s okay; the cook is always trying to make his recipe better.” He admired the details on the big courthouse building behind the pharmacy and barbecue place, at least those he could see.

  When Pax saw the building he was looking for, he grinned again. It was on a corner and large, an eatery named Coral’s Diner that sat across from a farmer’s market, where everyone bought vegetables and fruit. {No pesticides or chemicals used, they claimed}.

  Although he didn’t see it, he knew that the back parking lot of Coral’s was full and that the diner at this hour would be packed with patrons, feasting on the delicious food, drinking good, strong coffee or iced jasmine tea, and chattering about the day they had. There would be families and couples, lone diners, teens, and the old folks, and the music playing would be old country such as Jim Reeves, Conway Twitty, Patsy Cline, and Johnny Cash.

  Pax hummed a little. Katie liked when he did.

  There would be specials at the diner such as crispy chicken fried steak, smothered in thick or creamy gravy, meatloaf with a tomato and pepper glaze, or fat, juicy hamburgers with thick, home fries, of course. The vegetables for the side dishes came fresh from the farmer’s market across the road: corn and beans and squash.

  A spaghetti dinner with bread or broiled, savory pork chops served with fresh carrots and big salads was offered. A vegetable and beef stew and a soup of green beans, cabbage, potatoes, and ham were popular. The rolls and corn bread were homemade, slathered with sweet butter.

  The waitresses might offer the pinto beans, turnip greens, and a tall glass of buttermilk with cornbread, too, all you could eat as a special. Pax’s mouth began to water as he thought about the menu.

  Coral, the owner, was the cook, and he always came up with spicy sauces and was prone to adding an extra side to the orders so patrons could really fill
up on his good food. He even made his own pickles, so along with pickled cucumbers, he pickled other things such as peppers and onions and carrot sticks.

  “I could do with a few pickles. That sounds good, huh? No? You have no taste, Katie.”

  Katie looked indignant as Pax put a leash on her and clipped it to a bicycle rack, but she sat down in the shade and sighed. She could smell the food. What insanity was this? To keep her out here when the good stuff was inside? Maybe it was a test to see if she was a good girl; she was.

  “This will just be for a little while, and I’ll bring back dinner for you, okay? I don’t want you running off on me.”

  She refused to make eye contact. She hadn’t planned to run away, and this was insult to injury. She might have gone to play with squirrels, but this was unjust.

  Pax went into the diner where the wonderful scents of food assaulted him, teasing his taste buds while the chatter filled his ears. Several stools were unoccupied at the snack bar, so he sat down and waited for the waitress, Lydia, to come take his order. She was blonde, thirty, but she claimed to be twenty-seven. She chomped gum habitually and wore a tight, short, royal blue dress with red piping with her high-topped sneakers. She was a cute gal.

  “Howdy, stranger, and welcome to Coral’s. Can I get you a menu, or do you have an idea what ya want? Now Coral can make ya anything you got a hankerin’ for, but the specials are mighty delicious.”

  “Hi, Lydia,” he said as he glanced at her name tag, “I want a Coral’s double cheese burger with the works, and give me a side of chili fries and a glass of iced tea, please.”

  “Good choice although anything is a good choice here. Chili fries are delish. And how do ya want that beef patty cooked?”

  “Make it rare. And then on the side, I’ll have two doubles of meat and cheese for my dog out there.”

  She strained to see. “Awe, that black one. He or she?”

  “She. That’s Katie.”