FOREWORD

 

Mournful voices haunted her in the night…

The words were barely distinguishable, as dead and fragile as the cracking of dried leaves. From where they called to her, language was only a memory. A fragment of sound no longer carried over vocal chords, rasped between withering lips.

Sometimes, when they were near, she heard a hiss, like the rustling of a snake through undergrowth.

Worse than that was the sound of scratching.

She kept a light in her room, until the candles were extinguished or morning came, whichever was first.

She kept a gun beneath her pillow. The best sleep came at dawn, when those that whispered to her sought the sanctuary of their graves.

 

 

Luella arrived in town with one trunk and a suitcase.

The trip had been a long one. The train stopped two cities away, and from there she rode a coach up to Lazarus.

The town was small: a church, a city hall, a Sheriff’s station. A few stores, including a bakery and a commissary. The saloon and hotel sat further back from the street, the windows dark beneath the shutters drawn tight against the blanching desert heat.

Luella entered a small, dark building, and leaned over the counter to speak to the man behind it. “May I speak with the Sheriff?”

The deputy, a man named Sully, roused himself from his daydreaming and blinked.

The woman wore a fine, pale blue dress and matching hat. As hot as the afternoon was, he didn’t see a bead of sweat on her. She regarded him coolly, her brown eyes narrowing as his stare slipped from her face to the swell of her décolletage.

“Miss, uh, can I help you?” Sully asked. “If you’re here to report a crime, then I am the man you need to speak with.”

She smiled. “No sir, that’s not why I am here. I have specific business in which the Sheriff will take an interest.”

“Business. From a woman,” he muttered under his breath. “Well have a seat, ma’am.”

She stared at him for a moment, and seeing no other choice, took a seat in the corner.

Sheriff Drake didn’t come back into the office until a little past twelve. He saw the young woman sitting in a chair, playing with a timepiece in her palm.

“Miss?” he said.

She snapped the timepiece shut and looked up at him. “Are you Sheriff Drake?”

“Yes, I am ma’am. And you are… Miss…?”

“Mrs.,” she corrected, “Luella Pembry.”

“Have you been waiting long?” he asked.

Her eyes flashed over at Sully, who pretended to read paperwork on the desk in front of him. “No sir, not at all,” she replied.

“Well please, come into my office, and we can discuss whatever it is you need.”

The Sheriff’s office was cramped. The desk seemed to take up most of the space in the room. The window behind the desk was open, but the air that sifted in was hot. Sitting across the desk from him, Luella was aware of just how close the space was.

The Sheriff was a tall man with black hair and dark eyes. He had a cleft chin, and olive skin. He grinned, and the expression lit his eyes.

“You’ll have to excuse Sully,” Drake said, “his manners could be better. I was a few doors down, talking with one of the shop owners. I’d have come if I knew you were waiting. Are you settling here in Lazarus?”

“That’s my intention,” she replied.

“Then your husband will be joining you?”

 “No, he won’t. I am a widow.”

 “I’m sorry for your loss ma’am. Is his passing recent?”

“Somewhat. It’s been little over a year.” she paused. “I’ve come here to get a new start.”

“You have relatives nearby?”

“No. Which is part of the reason I came to California.”

“Well I do suppose family can be both blessing and curse. So what brings you here to see me today, Mrs. Pembry?”

She sat back in her chair. Staring out the window, Luella paused before looking back at Drake.

“My husband was a wealthy man. I’d like to buy property here in Lazarus. I am told that, even with the means to buy, it’s very difficult for a lady like myself to secure land on her own. I was also told that certain exceptions could be made and that you’re the man with whom I should speak.”

“Mrs. Pembry, I do sympathize, but the town’s laws are what they are. I hope you’re not suggesting….”

“What I am suggesting is that I can be of service to you and your town. And once my services are provided, I’d like to purchase a plot of land here to build my own home, in my name.”

“Services? What would that be?”

“Sheriff Drake, the train’s been coming in to Roseville for a few years now. That’s a stone’s throw from here. By all rights, your town should be prospering. The old families stay, but new ones don’t come. There’s a reason for that.”

“Mrs. Pembry, I don’t recall you saying exactly where it is you’re from.”

“You don’t recall because I didn’t tell you. My husband and I lived in Boston. That’s where he was born. But I’m from Louisiana.”

“Then how is it you think you know so much about Lazarus?”

“I don’t think. I know,” she leaned forward in her chair, her voice dropping to a whisper. He could smell the scent of rosewater on her skin. “You and I both know that people are afraid to stay in this town, and for good reason.”

“Since you know all about the local folklore,” Drake spat, “let’s talk plainly about it, then. What is it you‘re getting at?”

“You’ve got a problem keeping the dead in their graves here,” she said. “And I can help you.”

Drake stared at her. A moment elapsed, and they were both silent.

“How did you come to hear of our local…folklore?” he pressed.

“People say things. I listen. It’s not as well kept a secret as you and Mayor Cole think that it is.”

“Mayor Cole…?”

“Jasper thinks that he knows everything,” she continued. “So do you. It’s one of the things you have in common. But as of late, it’s happening more often, isn’t it? The dead are restless.”

“Who are you?” Drake asked. “Who are you really?”

“That’s not the right question.”

“Then what  are you?”

She stood. When she smiled, the expression did not touch her eyes.

“Certainly, Sheriff Drake,” she said, “you can figure that out on your own.”

_____________________________

©2010 Lori Titus

Want more? This novella has been published through The Library of the Living Dead Press, and is available on Amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/Lazarus-Lori-Titus/dp/1453775722/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1285486200&sr=1-1

Edited by Felicia A. Tiller

Cover Art by Tony Smith

Sheriff Stephen Drake always closed his office near twilight.

He took his radio and pager home, but usually by nightfall things were quiet in town. Sure, occasionally something went wrong, but that was mostly the weekend. On a normal weeknight, say a Tuesday or Wednesday, he could look forward to a hot meal and a shower at home without getting a call. Lazarus was small enough that everyone knew everyone else; he rounded up the same drunk and disorderly twice a month, busted the same teenagers, and dealt with occasional spousal fights.

He let his secretary off around 4:00, and his two deputies cleared out about an hour later. Stephen was finishing some paperwork in his office, and running late. He finally got up and was ready to leave around 6:20. He realized he’d left his wallet in his drawer and went back for it.

When he turned around, a man was waiting at his front desk.

Stephen frowned - he didn’t recognize his visitor. “Sir,” he called in his most authoritative voice, “I will be with you in a moment.”

“Very fine,” the man said in a soft voice.

Stephen sighed and came around the front and stopped short. He did know this man. This was a neighbor: Tom Dayton. But he had not seen the elderly man in at least two years.

“You’re looking well, Mr. Dayton.” He was actually trying to remember how old Mr. Dayton was. Was he around the same age as his own grandmother?

“I am sorry to trouble you,” the man said, his eyes shining, lips turned in an uneasy smile. “I am not sure how I got here today, but I have been trying to come see you, Sheriff. I hope you can help me.”

“Okay. Would you like a seat? What can I help you with?”

Tom Dayton sat down, holding his hands in front of him. “Is it hot outside?” he asked, taking a glance out the window. “Last time I was out it was snowing.”

The statement alarmed Stephen. Here, in Lazarus, California, a desert town, asking if it were hot outside in the middle of summer was like asking if people had a shortage of ice water in Alaska. And as far as snow, there had not been any since the January before.

“What brings you here today?” Stephen prodded.

Tom shook his head, as if trying to dislodge a bad memory. “I have not been well these last years. I am sure you’ve heard.”

“Yes…”

“My son and that girl of his came up here from the city to help me out. For a while, it was fine. Pete’s a good kid, mostly. Some of the time. He gets mean.”

“Gets mean how?” Stephen’s stomach took a turn.

“He doesn’t listen to me anymore. I told him if he doesn’t want to stay, he should leave town. I don’t care about his having friends over, you know. But he’s got to respect my rules. Is that too much to ask these days, you think?”

“No, Sir, but I don’t know exactly what you’re trying to tell me.”

“I’ll get to it,” Tom said. “Haven’t got all night for jabbering, neither one of us.

“Anyway. I told him he and his little girlfriend needed to clear out. He’d went and got these papers drawn up from some lawyer. He wanted me to sign the house over to him. Said it was for my good and I couldn’t keep up the place anyway.”

Tom paused here, and Stephen nodded. “Go on, Mr. Dayton.”

“Of course, I did not sign. I went back to my room, and I heard the two of them talking downstairs. Mindy, Cindy, or Windy, whatever he calls that little heathen girl, was telling him something about them not being able to do without the house. I just sat there and listened. Turns out they had been playing me for a fool. They’d already tried getting money off the house. That I can’t help you with–the details I mean; it’s fuzzy in my mind.”

“That’s okay, please, go on,” Stephen said. He crossed his arms and sat back. He had the bad feeling that he knew where this was leading.

“Well, the girl brought me my meals now and then, and she did that night. Now here’s the thing. The girl’s actually a good cook. And I thought, well, if I promise to sign whatever they want, they’ll leave me alone. So I told what’s-her-name that if she sent Pete up in the morning, I’d sign whatever he asked. I was so hungry by then I really would have, too.

“My son never had as much backbone as a worm, I’m sorry to say. He always gets tied up with these little spitfires that kick him around. Whatever they gave me must have been in my tea… they both knew I always drank it to the last drop. I don’t remember much of anything after that. Just looking towards the window and seeing the snow.”

Tom Dayton looked dreamily out of the window, as if he could still see the snow in front of him.

“Can you help me, do you think?” he said softly. “Do you understand, son?”

“Yes,” the sheriff replied. “I believe so.”

“Thank you.” Tom stood, a relaxed smile on his face.

The phone rang.

“Excuse me,” the sheriff turned. When he turned back, the man was gone.

“Goodbye, Mr. Dayton,” he said to the emptiness.

* * *

One advantage of being a small town sheriff is that it’s easy to get a valid search warrant.

No one really cared to ask how the sheriff came about his “hunches” or the fact that they were always right. Stephen had a search warrant for the Dayton place before noon the next day.

Tom’s son and his girlfriend Cindy were living there. When they were first questioned, they had nothing to say. Once a thorough search was done, and they were told what was found on the property, both confessed. Pete broke first, saying he’d never have done it if only his Father were reasonable.

A search of the grounds revealed a partially decomposed skeleton. The corpse was male, and had been deceased about ten months. Tom Dayton had been buried beneath a window at the back of his house, where his spirit may have laid and stared up at the snow falling against the glass.

__________________

©2008 Lori Titus

Lori is currently writing a new book about Lazarus and the dead things that dwell therein. Meanwhile, her nightmares are haunted by zombies, werewolves, and a teenager named Marradith.

Lori’s book, Green Water Lullaby, is available here:  http://www.sonar4publications.com/green.html