New Start

The road twists each and every way, revealing small clusters of trees between the rocky outcroppings. The figure shields her eyes from the watery sunlight spilling in, rolling down the window to let out the stale air that had filled the car during the long drive. The temperature gauge read three degrees outside, but the bitter wind seemed to mock the reading. The girl pulls her jacket tighter around her body, turning away from the rolling view beyond.

Instead, she was focusing on the small town slowly crawling into view. It could scarcely be called a town even, with a few streets with dreary houses and a sad excuse for a high street. The car trundles along at a pace she could outrun, which was saying something as Heather Bennett is not the athletic type. She pulls out her father's camera, trying to search for something interesting to devour her remaining RAM. Only pathetic streets and desolate storefronts meet the lens.

Heather sighs and realizes the car is idling outside a slightly run down little cottage at the edge of the town. It has a little wooden gate rotting with age out the front, with a sign swinging in the breeze next to it. One would expect a sign like that to read Stay out! You've been warned... but it simply read Bennett Residence. So, this was her new home. Her uncle sits on the porch, arguing with the taxi driver before giving in and handing him a few notes.

She steps out of the car, pulling out the old suitcase packed with clothes that would make her seem underprepared even on the warmest summer day. Her uncle eyes her, taking in her hair so much like his brother's. Straight black, offset by her mother's warm amber eyes. A Frankenstein-like hybrid, and anyone can tell her uncle sees that. He beckons with a withered hand for her her to follow, entering the cottage with a swift hobbling walk. If one could call any type of hobbling 'swift'.

Inside is like a different world. Everything is pristine, no dishes pilling up in the sink. So unlike her home. Heather drops her bag by the door and takes a seat across from her uncle at the large dinning table, meant for more than just a lonely old man.

"I thought you'd be younger," he pauses, looking her over. "You look so much like Clarence. Poor bastard."

Heather swallows and forces a smile. "Yeah. So, Matlock is a nice town."

Her uncle snorts, holding out his hand. "Sorry, I guess we should introduce ourselves. I'm Robert, Clay's brother."

"Heather. Was… did Dad ever live here?" She shakes his hand, the calluses course against her palm.

Robert's eyes roamed the room. "Grew up in this hellhole. Left as soon as he could. No surprise there. So," her uncle sighed. "You grew up in America, right?"

"In Seattle. Dad always liked the constant clamour. Said it was nice to have a distraction from… whatever the hell he did."

"He always did keep his job under wraps, didn't he, Heather? Well, did Clay or Pam ever call you anything else. Because I can't keep calling you Heather. It's a goddam mouthfull."

"Mum called me Hattie, but Dad liked Heather. When he was around."

Robert stands up, opening a few cabinets. "Anything to eat?"

"I had lunch on the way here, but thanks anyway," Heather picks up her bags, towing them towards the room her uncle pointed to.

The walls are a claret red with white trims. There is a simple bed shoved into a corner, plains white sheets adoring it. Through the small window by the seat, the forest outside is in full view. Heather sits down on the bed, sniffing the arid smell emitting from the door on the adjacent wall. She tugs the knob and the closet opens, ancient clothes still hanging there. A few bugs crawled out in an orderly fashion, meeting their untimely demise at the heel of Heather's boot.

"Robert, I'm going to head out for a bit. Just want to explore the town."

"That'll take about a minute, but sure. Be back by dark. Trust me, girl, you don't want to know what crawls around these streets when the sun is down," Robert casts a sly smirk in her direction before letting out a defeated sigh. "I was joking. But be careful."

Heather nods, grabbing her scarf before closing the door behind her. The town was fairly close, but the cold would certaintly turn her around quickly enough. She sees the bike leaning against the fence and throws a halfhearted glance over her shoulder before wheeling it out of the yard.

It is stiff but the wheels are pumped up and it's pedals move fairly well. An adequate bike, but one in desperate need of love. The girl starts off towards the high street, stopping to snap photos when she can. The decrepit state of Matlock is not the most welcoming site, but it would make an interesting portfolio if she wanted to start one. She smiles, reaching the high street. A woman looks her way, the folds on her face creasing at the sight before she enters the store. Heather approaches with caution, leaving the bike leaning against the brick wall of the shop.

The sign plastered out front was faded with age but lamps burning inside illuminate the stacks of bookshelves inside. Heather quickly flicks through her photos before reaching for the door. She hesitates when she looks at the more recent ones. Small patches of a blurred grey kept occuring. Gritting her teeth, Heather shoves the camera back into her satchel and pushes open the door.

A heater is blasting somewhere in the back, ferociosuly attacking Heather as she steps inside. The old woman is hunched over a desk. Her spine was bent and her hair was tangled in knots atop her head. She doesn't turn around as the little bell rings, only shufflinf further back into the shop.

"Excuse me-"

"I don't want to talk to the press. That bastard got himself killed, okay?" She snarls and shoots Heather a disgusted look.

"I'm not... I'm new here. I was just wondering if someone could tell me about the town. And, um, I'm sorry. For your loss." Heather takes in the books littered around the shelves, from timeless classics to the more modern titles.

"You look like a reporter. And you got that there camera, right? Kids these days have no respect. If I talk to ya, will you leave?"

"Of course, miss." Heather smiles and approaches.

"This here is Matlock. It's shithole for sure, only famous for killers and kidnappers. Ain't a single good thing in here. Aye, locals say it's cursed. Bullshit, but that's what them kids say. Boy was killed a few days ago. Dead in them Macaster Woods. Can you get the hell out now, not-reporter?"

"Uh," Heather feels the old woman's feeble grip on her jacket as she is shoved towards the door. "Miss, the curse? Is it related to the murder?"

"As I said, not-reporter. No curse. Only talk. People looking for a chance at fame. Out now, you've pestered me enough." The door slams shut in Heather's face, the heat disipatting in the autumn air.

Heather groans and looks down at her watch, shivering in the oncoming darkness. The rest of the town is quiet, only a few lights burning in the odd window. She grabs the bike, muttering as the cold blisters her ungloved fingers.

"Shit. I'm late."

Author's Note: This is a small tester for the novel I'm currently writing. The title is a placeholder because I'm completely stuck for ideas! I just wanted to get a feel for the tone of it and feedback would be greatly appreciated.