Hauntings (11 page)

Chapter Three

              He awoke to the cold light of dawn. Frost covered the windshield. Oswald felt stiff from the cold, he could see his breath as he exhaled. He started the car and let the heater run, it was blowing cold air into his face from the panel. He turned the blower down and let the car warm up.

              He was tempted to let the car run and go into the rest stop for a cup of coffee. He knew what to expect now. It wouldn't be good, but it would be hot and that's just what he wanted. He decided to go for the coffee and let the car warm up after he had a chance to warm himself up. He dashed to the rest stop holding his arms tight about his chest trying to conserve his body heat.                Somehow the building looked different in the daylight, not as warm or inviting as it appeared last night when he first walked in. It looked colder, more business like, like the truck stop it was he supposed, yet somehow more institutional. Once through the doors he felt and welcomed the warmth.

              Oswald used the mens room to relieve his bladder, and splash a little warm water on his face, and wash his hands.
So much for morning hygiene when on the road
, he thought, and  went out to the vending machines for breakfast. He fumbled in his pockets searching for change finding none, he glanced about looking for options. hoping someone walk in so he could ask for change for a dollar, he notice a change machine mounted on the wall hidden beside the coke machine, which unlike the coffee machine, accepted  dollar bills, but coke isn't what he is looking for this morning. He slid a dollar into the machine and after a pause four quarters clinked into the cup at the bottom of the machine. He scooped the change into his hand and slipped two quarters into the coffee machine. Remembering how bitter the coffee was last night, he selected extra sugar. A paper cup dropped to the receptacle followed by steaming black liquid. When the liquid stopped, Oswald slid the plastic door open and reached in for his coffee. It was hot to the touch, the paper cup provided little insulation from the heat of the coffee. He took a sip, then another. The extra sugar helped. He held the cup in both hands savoring the warm and the steam rising from the cup. He finished the cup tossed it to the trash and went back to the coffee machine for another. He slid his last two quarters into the slot and pressed the buttons ordering his second cup extra sweet just like the first. Another cup dropped from the machine into its receptacle more hot black liquid squirted into the cup.

              Once it stopped, Oswald took the cup, and found his place on the hard bench facing the giant map. Sipping his coffee, he was beginning to feel more himself. He knew he wanted more than cheese and peanut butter crackers for breakfast. He decided he would find a restaurant somewhere down the road. Finishing his coffee, he got up and took one last look at the big map on the wall, not wanting to get himself turned around or making any mistakes while he was still half asleep.  He checked his position on the map in relation to Illinois. It looked as though all would be well as long as he continued traveling west.

              Oswald walked back to his car feeling better, less stiff than he expected, warmer thanks to the foul machine coffee. It had done its job. He opened the car door slid into the driver's seat. A  turn of the ignition key and the car's engine roared to life. Oswald turned the heat on high and set it to defrost the windshield. He studied the atlas for a moment while he let the heater do its work, confirming once again he was headed on the right track. As soon as the windshield was cleared of the frost, he released the parking brake and backed out of the parking space, following the signs leading back to the highway, Oswald merged into the traffic. This early in the morning traffic was still light.
Must be too early for the rush hour
he thought.

              “Let's see how many miles we can get under our belt before breakfast,” he said aloud turning on the local news talk station. Not that he cared what was on the news, he only wanted some white noise in the background while he drove. The hours passed uneventfully. After a couple of hours he did stop for breakfast at a commercial truck stop. This stop was built above the road like a bridge spanning all of the lanes of the highway. He pulled in, selected one of the food court options and then settled on a egg sandwich on a biscuit. He washed it down with a cup of coffee and was back on the road in minutes. Oswald felt the gods must be favoring him today as this coffee tasted like it was made from coffee beans and not reused coffee grounds. All was good with the world.

              Oswald drove through the corner of Pennsylvania into Ohio and on into Illinois just as his map directed. He had no desire to drive through Chicago though. He didn't want to let the city's heavy traffic slow him down if he could help it. 

              Oswald barely took notice of the abandoned mustang parked on the shoulder, it looked to be one of the boxy models from the eighties. Oswald was surprised it was still road worthy enough to have gotten this far.

              Miles passed and he noticed a woman standing along the roadside with her thumb out, the universal sign requesting a ride. There looked to be a gas can at her feet. Oswald hesitated for a moment, not wanting to pick up a hitchhiker, but it was a woman after all, probably out of gas and the owner of the beater mustang a few miles back.

              He pulled onto the shoulder and stopped. He waited for a moment for her to realized he had stopped and begin to run towards his car with the gas can in her hand. He unlocked the passenger door and opened it for her. She bent over a bit to peer into the car checking Oswald out, as if trying to decide whether he was stranger danger or not. Equally, this brief moment gave Oswald a last chance to decide whether he wanted to risk giving her a ride or not. Her complexion was clear, her eyes were brown as was her hair, she looked tired, but not strung out. He had seen enough crack heads on campus over the years to recognize the breed, she didn't appear to be one.

              “Is that your mustang back there?” Oswald asked breaking the silence. She blinked as if she was surprised Oswald could talk.

              “That would be mine alright,” she replied her face drawn, she looked to be more than tired she looked exhausted. He could see that this young woman would be beautiful under other circumstances.

              “Hop on in, I'll give you a ride to the next gas station.”  She slid into the car and sat in the passenger seat holding the gas can in her lap almost as if it were her pet.

              “Thanks mister. It's been a long day”

              “And it's not even noon,” Oswald replied. She smiled weakly, attempting to be polite in response to Oswald's attempt at humor.

              “Where are you headed?” Oswald asked.

              “No where you would have heard of. Its a small town in Illinois, west of Chicago. It's called Dixon.”

              “Well you haven't too far left to go then do you? I'm headed that way myself. Not to Dixon exactly, but nearby, I suppose. A friend of mine is letting me use his cabin in the woods for awhile.”

              “That's nice of him, must be some friend to trust you with his house.”

              “I suppose he is.” Oswald replied trying to think of Aleister Dyer as his friend, not his boss.
That would put things in a in a new light,
he thought.

              Ahead on the right was a blue sign listing the amenities available ahead, food, gas, lodging all available at this one exit. They followed the exit and turned into the first gas station. Oswald got out and filled the Volvo. The girl stepped out of the car taking her gas can with to another pump.

              ”Hold on, I'll get that for you.”

              “I've got some money, I can pay my way.” She replied.

              “I'm sure you can, just let me pay a little something forward. I may need your help in the future.”

              “Sure, if you put it that way, okay.” She walked back and handed the empty can to Oswald, then headed off to the gas station. She disappeared behind the door to the station briefly then came out holding the key to the woman's restroom attached to a big piece of wood. No one is going to steal that key, that's for sure, Oswald thought while topping off the gas can. He put the gas can in the back of the Volvo and walked into the gas station to pay for the gas.  He met the girl coming back in to return the key as he was going out.

              “I'll meet you in the car.”

              “Okay.”

              Oswald slid into the drivers seat and waited, soon the girl came out of the gas station, looking refreshed, cleaner and somehow younger than she did when he picked her up at the side of the road.  She could be one of my students back at Leicester University, she is so young, Oswald thought.

              She climbed in to the passenger seat of the Volvo, gave Oswald a sweet smile, then slammed the car door shut. Oswald eased the car away from the pumps and back onto the highway being sure he was heading east to retrace his path to where he saw the beater Mustang.

              “Are heading home from school?” Oswald asked, trying to start a conversation.

              “No, why do you ask? Do I look like a school girl to you.”

              “As a matter of fact you could pass for one of my students.”

              “You're a teacher, I thought you might be, but I wasn't sure. You don't quite look like the teachers I'm used to, though.”

              “Oh, what do the teachers you're used to look like?”
              “I don't know, I can say really. Maybe it's not a look as much as a feeling they give off, like they know so much more than you and they know it, and they won't let you forget it, either.”

              Taken aback, Oswald replied, “I hope I don't give that impression.”

              “No, you don't maybe that's why I wasn't sure what you were, but I did think teacher for a bit. Where do you teach?”

              “I teach at Leicester University in Leicester Massachusetts. Have you heard of it?”

              “No. I never thought much about going to college. It wasn't in the stars for me, I guess. So you're a professor, eh? What do you teach? English, I bet.”

              “No nothing that useful, I've been teaching Medieval Metaphysics for the past twenty years, and now I'm going on a well deserved hiatus”

              “Hiatus. What is that?”

              “It's like a long vacation. It's a time to take stock of one's life and to decide where to go from there.”

              “A hiatus, eh? I need one of those. I need to decide what I'm going to do with my life. Look, there's my car!” Oswald saw the old Mustang parked on the shoulder of the opposite side of the road, its hazard lights flashing. He had to drive past to the next exit so he could take the overpass  to enter back on the highway heading on the same side of the road as the beater Mustang.  Oswald pulled over to the right lane and took the exit. Soon he was on the overpass and instead of merging with the traffic when he entered the highway he pulled onto the shoulder, and pulled to a stop behind her car. She opened the passenger door to get out.

              “Before you go, tell me your name. You never know we may bump into each other in Dixon sometime.”

              “Okay, my name is Clara. What's your name?”

              “Oswald Hubble.”

              ”You don't meet many Oswalds do you?”

              “The name is a little old fashioned I suppose, but then again so am I.”

              “Well, Ozzie, thanks again for the ride and the gas, so long.” Clara walked away from the Volvo to her mustang, she took the the cap off the gas tank and emptied the gas can into her car. Oswald waited to see if her car would start. After a couple of false starts her  engine roared to life, and she was merging into the traffic ahead of Oswald.  Oswald watched her car as she sped away, soon she was out of sight lost in the traffic ahead.

              In time Oswald caught sight of a sign on the side of the road advising he was approaching the Dixon exit. He moved to the right lane and slowed to take the exit. There it was to his right. He pulled off the road to look for the little map Dyer had drawn for him. According to this the main drag was Galena Avenue, and he was to take this driving through downtown Dixon. According to Aleister, downtown Dixon consists of Oliver's General Store; the post office; two taverns. Jake's was the bar on the west side of the road, across the street stood Rhino's for variety sake; there is a little family restaurant aptly named Sam & Ella's Road Side Cafe; and a two pump gas station called Smiley's. Oswald thought he had better stop at Oliver's before going on to the cabin. He would need cleaning supplies, food, maybe even water and lanterns. Aleister said it was rustic, but he didn't say how rustic. He had better pick up  batteries a radio and toilet paper too. He hoped there would be indoor plumbing and electricity, it was too late to ask now. He'll just have to wait and find out when he got there.
No point worrying until then when I know what I've gotten myself into,
he thought.

              The speed limit along Galena was a leisurely thirty miles an hour. He kept this speed religiously, he knew small town police had a way of making out-of-towners uncomfortable at the slightest provocation. Oswald was tempted to stop at Oliver's first to stock up on his supplies, but he knew it was better to grocery shop on a full stomach to avoid impulse buying. Everything looks tempting when you're hungry. So he stopped first at Sam & Ella's.                The place looked like something dropped out of time from the 1950's. There was a lunch counter reminiscent of those that were a staple of Walgreen's drugstores and Woolworth's dime stores in the fifties, but more than just a lunch counter was here there were booths running along the wall and tables placed between the booths and the lunch counter. At each booth sat a miniature juke box where one could insert a quarter and select a record. Oswald wondered if any of them still worked. He decided to pass on trying one of the little juke boxes and sat at the lunch counter. A menu was placed for his convenience between the sugar dispenser, the salt and pepper shakers, and a chrome stand that was attached to the back of the counter top.