Page 41 of The Knucklebone Brothers

I’d always just laugh. Let 'em stare. Let 'em whisper. They were just a bunch of scared little rabbits, and I was the big, bad wolf. I drove through the center of town, the old brick buildings looming over me like tombstones. The post office, the diner... they were all there, but they were all closed up, the windows dark and empty. It was like a ghost town, a relic of a bygone era, a place where time had stopped and the only thing that moved was the dust.

I pulled up to the general store, the only place in town that would still serve me. I killed the engine and sat there for a moment, just looking at the old building. It was a relic, a piece of history that refused to die, just like us. The paint was long gone, peeled away by years of sun and rain, leaving behind the weathered, gray wood underneath. The porch sagged in the middle, the posts leaning at a drunken angle, and the screen door was ripped, hanging crooked on its hinges. A faded Coca-Cola sign, its red paint cracked and peeling, was nailed to the side of the building, a ghost of a bygone era. I took a deep breath, the air thick with the smell of hot asphalt and fried food and got out of the truck.

The bell above the door gave a sad, little tinkle as I pushed it open, announcing my arrival to anyone who cared. The inside of the store was a goddamn time capsule. It smelled like old floor wax, dust. The air was thick and heavy, and the only light came from a few dull bulbs.

The first thing I noticed was that the whole place was decked out for Halloween. Fake spiderwebs hung in the corners, and a string of grinning paper jack-o'-lanterns was strung across the ceiling. Right by the door, they had a big cardboard display filled with cheap, plastic masks. I couldn't help but smirk.

I stopped and looked them over. There were a few good ones, real creepy-looking clowns with dead eyes and painted-on smiles. I found one I liked, black-colored hair and a mouth full of sharpened teeth. I grabbed it. Then I saw one for Aurora, a perfect little jester mask. I grabbed that one too, tucking them under my arm.

The place was small, but it was packed to the gills with a little bit of everything. Shelves lined every wall, sagging under the weight of canned goods, dusty bags of flour, and jars of pickled... well, pickled everything. There was a counter at the back, with a big, old cash register and a display case full of dried meats and cheeses. A few people were milling about, their faces grim and determined, their eyes avoiding mine like I was the plague itself.

But then a voice cut through the silence, a warm, friendly sound that was as out of place here as I was. "Maverick! How you doin', boy?"

I looked over and saw Old Man Hemlock, his face a roadmap of wrinkles and his eyes a pale, milky blue. He was the only one in town who treated us like we were people, not monsters. He helped us with the carnival every year, setting up the booths and running the games. He also bought our hides and bones, the ones we got from the animals we hunted, to use in his famous "healing" broth. He said it was good for what ailed you, and judging by the line of old folks at his door some mornings, he was right.

"Hey, Mr. Hemlock," I said, a genuine smile spreading across my face. "I'm doin' alright. Just here to get a few things."

He nodded, wiping his hands on a dirty apron. "What you need today, Maverick? Stockin' up for winter?"

"Nah, nothin' like that," I said, leaning against the counter. "Momma sent me to get a few things. Said we were runnin' low on some stuff."

A knowing look crossed his face. "Ah, Hester. Always thinkin' ahead. That woman could run an army with what she keeps in that pantry of hers. What's she need?"

"Just some flour, some salt, and maybe a can of them peaches she likes," I rattled off, grabbing a basket. "And a bottle of that cheap whiskey she uses for... well, you know."

He chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "I sure do. Tell your momma I said hello, now."

"Will do, Mr. Hemlock." I turned and started wandering the aisles, my mind already racing with all the things I was really going to buy for my girl.

I stopped in front of a small shelf tucked away in the corner, a place I'd never had any reason to look at before. It was covered in girly stuff, all bright colors and fancy lettering. I picked up a bottle of lotion, the label a mess of swirling script and a picture of a pumpkin. "Pumpkin Spice & Everything Nice," it read. I sniffed it. It smelled like autumn and sugar. I tossed it into my basket.

Next to it was a rack of lip stuff. There were a few of them, all in different shades and flavors. I picked one up, a little tube with a picture of a cherry on it. It was a sheer, glossy red. I tossed it in the basket.

I was standing there, staring at a bottle of shampoo that promised "volume and shine," I was confused by all of it. Why did she need so much stuff? And what did "volume and shine" even mean? Her hair was fine the way it was. I grabbed the shampoo and a matching bottle of conditioner, just in case, and headed for the counter.

I got to the counter and dumped my basket on the worn-out counter. Old Man Hemlock started ringing up my stuff, his eyes twinkling as he looked at the contents. He picked up the lip stuff, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face.

"Lady friend, or Hester back on her tricks and lookin' for a new husband?" he drawled, his voice a low, teasing rumble.

I just rolled my eyes and gave him a look. "You know Momma," I said, my voice flat. "Always needs her... supplies."

He chuckled, a dry, rasping sound, and was about to say something else when the door flew open with a frantic energy. A girl with a box-blonde, bleached-out mess of hair stumbled in, her eyes wide and wild. Lacey. Rory's annoying, dumb-as-a-box-of-rocks cousin. Just what I needed.

She looked at Hemlock, her voice high and shaky. "I'm sure you heard, but I need to add Rory's poster to the board outside. Can I... can I leave one in here too?"

Hemlock's face softened, the playful look gone. "Of course, child. Of course. You just pin it right up there by the door."

As Lacey fumbled with a thumbtack, her eyes flicked over to me. She scanned me up and down, a slow, deliberate examination. I didn't look away. I just stared right back, letting a slow, wide grin spread across my face. I tilted my head, my eyes never leaving hers, making it real obvious I was enjoying her discomfort. Her own eyes widened, and she swallowed hard, her hands starting to shake even more. She held my gaze for a moment too long, a flicker of fear replacing the annoyance in her eyes, before she turned and practically ran out of the store, the bell above the door jingling her frantic exit.

I watched her go, a low chuckle rumbling in my chest. That girl was dumber than a sack of hammers, but for a second, she looked like she knew something. And I didn't like it one bit.

Hemlock finished bagging my stuff, his old eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at me. "I remember when you were a teen, a handful you were," he said, his voice low and nostalgic. "You had a little crush on that wild cousin of hers, didn't you? Asked about her all the time. Never did shoot your shot, though."

He let out a soft sigh, shaking his head. "Shame 'bout her momma. Poor girl lost her damn mind, and her whole family besides that child Lacey."

I just chuckled, leaning against the counter. "Well, you know how it is, old man. Some fish are better left on the hook." I tapped my fingers on the worn wood, changing the subject before he could get any more sentimental. "Yeah, speaking of that... what was her favorite drink? I don't recall."

Hemlock's face lit up, a memory sparking in his eyes. "Oh, that girl loved her some Dr Pepper. Couldn't get enough of it."