Quiet Whisperings by Mark L. Stinson

Miles of road sprawled across the land. The countryside was criss-crossed with endless ribbons of lonely concrete, all of it dutifully painted with careful white stripes to keep me in line. I knew these roads well. I wasn't sure anymore exactly which one I was on, or where it led. To tell the truth, I no longer remembered from where I came. I just knew about the roads, and I knew where they were likely to take me...somewhere else. How long had I been travelling? The days had become weeks, and the weeks months, and I truly did not remember. Anyhow, these details hardly matter to the story, and that's what you’re interested in isn't it? The story.

Coughing and lurching, my car had broken down somewhere between the last place I had been and the next place I would be. I began to walk. Stretching my legs felt good, and the gusting west winds were blowing my hair and stinging my cheeks. I remember smiling at my situation. Thinking how quiet and alone I was. It was so peaceful.

A few hours later, miles from my defeated car, the sky clouded over, and the wind began to whip at the road and at me. Within minutes the land around the road had been swallowed by the blowing dust, and I was trapped in a small brown world of whistling wind and swirling dancing dirt. "Do the places that I remember still exist beyond the confines of my dusty prison, or has it all been wiped clean by the whirling and twisting of the storm." Fear crept up within me. I was not only isolated from the company of other people, but from all that I knew...except the road.

Being alone has never bothered me, and just hours earlier I had enjoyed a peaceful quiet solitude. But now I had been swallowed, erased by an unstoppable and unpredictable turbulence of nature. The storm had taken me with little concern for what it consumed, and my confidence that I would make my way back into the world lessened with each minute I spent within the gritty blustering hell. I felt the dust sticking to my eyes and around my nose and mouth. With each blink or movement of my now slitted eyes, a thousand little razors sliced and tore at the soft whiteness. The dirt began to cake within my nose, and I could taste the filthy soil that fouled and thickened within my mouth. I was choking, and in a panic I pushed on, feeling some little comfort at the firmness of the pavement beneath my feet.

As I struggled forward step by step against the raging temper of the storm, a wind-swept desolate town made its appearance from behind the curtains of dust. It was old and decrepit, and wore the signs of its abandonment proudly. Peeling paint, broken glass, collapsed roofs, wind-eaten wood, and not a sign of the living. This was not a town, but the corpse of a town, kept company only by its memories, remembered only by those long dead. The road had become a street lined with dark homes, lost businesses, empty stores, and churches long defiled by forgetfulness...and still the storm tore at it relentlessly.

Corpse though it was, the town was shelter, and with night’s darkness encroaching I began casting about for a refuge from the whipping wind and dust. A light came on in one of the buildings...or had it been there all along and simply shrouded by the curtains of dust? I rushed towards it and stopped in front of what appeared to be an old bar or tavern, and looked again just to make sure. Yes, there was just a bit of light sneaking its way through the dirt streaked windows of the gray wind-worn establishment. A warped wooden sign blowing violently back and forth over the closed front doors was crudely painted with the words, "Ludwig’s Tavern, Good Company, Drinks, and Rooms for Rent.”

Once upon the sidewalk, I made my way between blowing piles of sand and dirt to the doors of the dimly lit business. My hand upon the old brass doorknob, I paused and listened for the familiar sounds of merriment one can expect to hear outside such a place. But I heard nothing from behind the doors, only the strained whine of wind whipping its way through the streets of this old lonely town.

A cold apprehension gripped at me. The isolation of the storm and the desolation of the town were working on my nerves, and I began to feel as if some great danger hung over me. For a moment my fear ruled, and I ran from the sidewalk into the swirling storm with all intentions of taking my chances on the road. A blistering evening wind tore at my clothes and face, and gaining some control of my nerve I blindly made my way back to the double doors of Ludwig’s Tavern. However uncertain and frightening, my future awaited me within these walls. Blinking my watering eyes I twisted the knob and gave a slight push, determined now to have a peek at who, if anyone, was responsible for the light spilling reluctantly from the dust-covered glass.

"Lewis."

"Good to meet you, Lewis, my name's Howard." The bartender smiled a nervous smile and then leaned slowly over the bar, so that his face was very close to mine. "You just stay up here at the bar with me...relax...have some drinks. You're a stranger here, and you don't know this sad little town yet. Stick with ol' Howie, Lewis. I'll watch out for you."

I looked hard into Howard's eyes, hoping to see some glimmer of humor that would let me in on his joke. Surely he was just messing with me, working some angle to frighten a bigger tip out of me, or making a fool of me for the benefit of his buddies at the bar. "Thanks, Howard, but I don't think I need someone watching..."

He leaned even closer and interrupted me. "Lewis, I've tended bar at some serious dumps, and of all of them, this place is the worst. These people are desperate and sad, Lewis...look around, kid. Look in their eyes."

I gulped down some of my drink and in order to humor my new strange "friend" Howard I turned on my stool to face the room. At the time I wanted to believe it was all a joke on his part. A prank on the stranger in town. But he had mentioned their eyes...those dark hollow eyes. I felt more than a little amount of dread in spinning to face the room of dusty strangers. Maybe Howard was right. Maybe I had sensed desperation when I entered the bar. Maybe I had wandered off the road that I knew...ended up somewhere I should not be. Shaking my doubts aside I studied the patrons of the tavern.

An old wrinkled man sat alone at a small table, his red-rimmed eyes downcast into his dark liquor. Occasionally he would focus a lazy glance upward at the twisting strand of smoke issuing from his stubby frayed cigar. Once, and only once, I saw him smile and turn to the empty seat beside him. But when he realized that she was still gone, that she would always be gone, he went back to his drink and his thoughts.

At a table littered with shot glasses and cigarette butts, sat three silent men wearing finer clothes, like those for Sundays or a professional occupation. They did not laugh or talk, they were just sitting there, drinking and smoking, absorbed in their three private worlds. Their faces were grim, their eyes drowning in shadow, and at first I imagined they planned some fancy business take-over or clever financial strategy. But their hollow eyes betrayed the truth. They were re-living, over and over, the disappointments, the could-have-beens. For each of them, failure had been the rule.

Near me at the bar, two young men covered with the honest grime of a hard day’s work, spoke in quiet hushed tones of the things they would one day own and the women they would one day marry. In their voices I could hear that each spoke only to impress the other, and neither believed they would live the pleasant lives they spoke of. Theirs were to be hard lives of toil and struggle, with uneducated, half-faithful wives, and too many children to raise right.

A group of women toasted the night, straining meaningless laughs from their smoke and booze stung throats. The gray hairs and the extra skin had appeared right about the time their husbands had left, and their children had stopped caring, the way most children do. Their attempt at fellowship, at sharing the pain, had been ill-conceived. Bringing more sorrow together had only bred further sorrow, and the women spoiled each other’s night with petty insults and catty comments born of desperation.

There were many others in the tavern that night, and while I would like to put to paper all that I imagined of them, the entire night has begun to fade in my memory, like a dream not told to another soon enough. Adding to my discomfort, others in the tavern had taken an unreasonable interest in me. I could feel their steady gaze upon me, and I could not help but believe that there was something in their eyes more than just natural curiosity about the new stranger in town. Their eyes were so sad and dark, and there was a certain jealousy burning there. I anxiously glanced from one face to another, my gaze always torn away first, their stares never wavering. And as my fear worked itself up into a frenzy, I noticed her.

She had her own table up against the back wall of Ludwig’s, and she was silently holding back sobs and tears. Her mascara had run, her eyes were red, and her drink stood ignored, though the empty glasses on her table hinted at many drinks not neglected. I turned back to Howard who was pouring me a second double. “Who’s the sad girl, Howard? What’s she drinking?”

“Lewis, you’re a stranger here. I’m your only friend, believe me. Drink your drink, share some shallow conversation with yours truly, and then, when the storm dies down...get back on the road. Be on your way.”

“What’s wrong with you? I’ve been in bars before. I’ve seen sad people, heard some sad stories...That girl is crying her eyes out at the back of your bar...I just want to know who she is.”

Howard stood there ignoring other customers, just looking at me, frowning. “Lewis, I’ve tried to do good by you here...ah, hell. She’s gonna break your heart. Her name’s Anna...”

Howard was still talking, but I just walked away. Walked towards her. Anna didn’t notice me until I was standing right by her. She looked up slowly, a tear spilling from her eye and a weak smile playing across her face.

“You don’t know me Anna, but I couldn’t help noticing you here...crying. Are you O.K.?” It was a lame introduction, but it was honest.

“No, I’m not...O.K.” She looked back down into her drink. “I’m lonely.”

“Lonely? This place is packed. Where are your friends? Your man?” She sniffled once, and then began crying harder. I had been too forward, or had mentioned something that hurt her. “Anna, I’m sorry...that was rude. Forget what I said...” My own loneliness making me bold I sat down across from her. After a minute or two of silence, her sobbing slowed and she spoke.

“Lewis...right?” I nodded. “Don’t waste your time here...with me. Believe me, I want you to stay here with me...you don’t know how much I want that. But, I’m not worth your time.”

“That’s for me to decide, isn’t it?” She was beautiful. I could see through all the sobbing, the tears, the mascara, the booze...I could see her fine features, her smooth skin, her dark shiny hair. She was definitely worth my time...and with the storm raging, I had plenty of it.

We had only a little more to drink, but we talked and talked. It was like coming across an old friend you had neglected for too long. So much to catch up on...but none of the guilt or blame of having lost track of each other. I wanted to know all about her, her dreams and hopes, what made her laugh...and cry, and most of all, what I could do to make her happy again.

Anna was evasive and would answer questions with questions, or simply ignore the personal queries I posed to her. I began to realize that while Anna liked my company, enjoyed my presence, she did not really want to discuss anything personal about herself. She was most interested in me, and what stories I had to tell, but she had no intention of actually reciprocating the exchange of background. I didn’t seem to mind though. She was completely beautiful, and I began to realize she was flirting with me, enticing me.

I have always shied away from hurting others, and in this sense I am a pure soul of moral virtue. But I have never shared the devout Christian’s aversion to carnal matters between two consenting adults. For this reason I was neither shocked nor insulted when Anna asked me to come to the room she kept over Ludwig’s Tavern. “Lewis, let’s refresh our drinks and continue this conversation upstairs.” She had looked at me from under half-closed lids, and reached out to touch my leg under the table. Always a gentleman, I felt obliged. After all, had I not been searching for what action I could take to make her happy? Here was my chance.

Lest you think me insincere, allow me to admit that I wanted Anna horribly. From the moment I saw her I had been attracted, and now she was asking me! Thoughts of broken down cars, dust storms, and the dark eyes of the patrons of Ludwig’s Tavern were gone, and all I thought of was Anna and what we would soon share.

I approached the bar to refill our glasses, and Howard seemed to know what was happening. “Lewis. You don’t realize...”

“Mind your own business, friend.” I was not about to have this nosey bartender spoiling my good fortune, and I let him know it. Howard turned away from me to pour our drinks, and when he turned back, his eyes were dead to me. It was as if my harsh words had somehow stolen the life from them, from him. Without another word we parted company.

Anna’s room was small and dark, decorated in a fashion long past from the world. Flowered wall paper, furniture of dark intricately carved woods, lace doilies, paintings with heavy gilt frames, a dark wooden floor with a multicolored rag rug, and a tall feather bed heavy with hand sewn quilts. I made an attempt at small talk, nervously gulping my drink, but Anna did not reply. She walked up to me and kissed me...and we became much better acquainted in ways that talking had failed.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps the exhaustion of having walked so many miles through that horrid storm, but a series of visions, or better yet delusions, came to me during our intimacy. I would feel the softness of her kiss against mine, but somewhere deep in my mind, I would see dried blackened lips curled back from time-yellowed teeth. Her warm moist breath would brush against my shoulder, but I imagined I heard and felt a rasping sigh of icy coldness. My hands would explore the soft flesh of my beloved, but I felt dry dusty skin tightly stretched over unyielding bone. I looked deep into her dark liquid eyes only to see, in a very far away place, the deep empty sockets of one long dead. I find it impossible to describe the pleasure and the horror I felt all at once during our time together in the large bed of that small room.

When we had exhausted ourselves, I stood to stretch, and when I climbed back under the covers, I found Anna to be crying again. “What’s wrong? Did I do something...” I did not know what to ask. I only knew that I wanted to make this beautiful woman happy, no matter what it took. I owed her that at least.

“You were nice,” I barely heard her whisper.

“So why are you so sad?”

There was a long pause. Then Anna rolled towards me and looked deep into my eyes. For a brief second I got another horrible flash...another delusion. A skull with the skin tightly stretched over its surface. Its black lips and yellow teeth framing a cold black breathless hole. Its dark empty sockets gazing from death deeply into my living eyes.

“Lewis, cherish me...remember me...stay with me.”

I shook off the necrotic vision and I held her then. I listened as she fell asleep in my arms. My chest was wet with her tears, and soon after I followed her into restful slumber.

I awoke in a rotten bed, its sheets stained with mildew, feather mold, and time. The light of the morning sun angled its way through holes in the time-ravaged ceiling and lit for me a scene of desolation and horror. I was no longer in Anna’s small room with its ornate wood furniture, flowered wall paper, and golden picture frames. I was in a ruin. Dark furniture lay warped and broken on the floor, wallpaper with evidence of flowers hung in strips from the walls, water-damaged and turned brown by the sun and wind, and torn paintings lay in heaps on the floor where their frames had failed and fallen from the wall. A heavy layer of dust covered every surface. Anna was gone.

I ran from the room in a daze, entering the hall and stairs that led to the tavern below. I was greeted with warped dusty floor boards, peeling paint, and a ceiling that would not stay up much longer. I carefully made my way down the creaking stairs hoping that the tavern...and Howard were not also lost to me.

Dust, damnable dust covered the broken tables and chairs, the bar, the floor, and everything else. All of it gone. Or had it never been there. Had I dreamed it all...or had Time and Death played some trick on me. Allowed me to meet...and love one of their own. I don’t know.

Now that I am old and soon to pass from the world, I think a lot about that night with Anna. I catch glimpses of her in the shadows and her desperate whispers come to me on fleeting autumn breezes. That night was real, Anna was real, and I have come to believe that she waits for me...