2 Found!

It was an afternoon in May 2017 when I arrived in Port Millsword, 150 miles from my beloved home in the capital, I was transferred there from my job as a journalist.

In fact, according to my bosses, it seemed that this small town had a big secret behind it.

You see, I work for a newspaper that mostly deals with crime news cases that very often, however, falls into the supernatural, both because of us journalists, and because according to our chief editor in this way we would sell more copies.

Can I be honest? I hate these things: I hate having to cheat our readers, giving them false news and false information about things that probably don't even exist, fake ghosts, fake serial killers, fake genocides of entire countries now forgotten.

Anyway:

It was 12:45, I remember it well, when I got off after the three hours of travel, with my legs sore from having been sitting for too long; just outside the door of the bus I found myself in front of the boarding house that would host me for those weeks; bare, old, uncared for, she seemed almost uninhabited. I entered without thinking too much outside, I found myself in front of the reception and an elderly lady, Agatha Smith, so she told me to call herself, she was ready with my keys, she handed them to me and pointed out, without even speaking, that the my room was second floor, room 117.

When I entered the room I immediately noticed the hanging pictures of a happy town, the date reported on them was April 15, 1956, I immediately wondered if somehow that painted village was not this dull mass of houses where I had arrived.

I looked out the window, the sky was leaden, it seemed as if an interminable downpour had to break loose at any moment. I didn't even finish unpacking, I was tired, I immediately threw myself on the bed, stretched my legs and immediately I felt the uncomfortable mattress under me, hard and deformed by who knows how many people before me; I tried the cushions, which were also deformed; so I decided to get up and go around the country, I thought that maybe a drink in a bar would make my day easier.

I walked on the streets, which were also gray and I noticed how everyone was staring at me, they seemed almost intimidated by me, I didn't pay much attention to them and went to the bar; I stopped at the door, even the bar was old, bare, worn, but I needed something to swallow all this bitter pill that I had to take without objection, so I went inside.

The bar looked like one of those classic inns seen in the movies, dark wooden tables, each with two or three chairs to sit on, also made of some very dark wood, the counter, behind which the bartender stood, struck me immediately, clean and cared for, far from what I expected looking at the outside.

"Bah, maybe I only had bad luck with the inn" - I thought to myself, observing the shiny and huge piece of wood on which rested glasses filled with any type of alcohol.

I then went to the counter, moved the stool; I placed the sole of my boot on the small metal footrest just above the base of the stool and sat down on the burgundy leather of the stool.

Then, slightly bored with the situation, I put my elbows on the counter with my arms crossed;

<< "Give me a whiskey please." >> - I said to the bartender.

<< "You're not from around here, are you?" >> - The man replied as he poured me, as it seemed, an excellent brand whiskey;

At that question, I looked up, fixed until that moment in seeing my reflection on the shiny wood of the counter, and I noticed the man's face; he was a fairly old man, he must have been in his sixties, with graying hair and a thick white beard. He may have been slightly taller than me, but I wondered why he looked so tall behind that counter and, looking down, I noticed a rise, from which a trap door protruded;

<< "That is my cellar, there I keep all my liqueurs, if you want to show it to him" >> - He said after agreeing that I was observing everything around me, then he continued:

<< "You don't see many foreigners around here, and she seems really disoriented, is she from the big city right? ">>

<< "Yes, I come from the capital, I arrived here this morning." >> - I answered while I put my hand near the glass resting on the counter.

<< "What brings you here from the big capital?" >> - He kept asking.

At that point, I raised my curved back, took my elbows off the counter and approached the glass to my mouth I said:<< "Journalism." >>.

And I drank in one gulp that fine whiskey that had been poured into me.

I placed the glass on the counter and with a nod asked for a second.

<< "Journalism? And why is a journalist so interested in this small town?" >> - He kept asking while he poured me the second glass of whiskey.

<< "I don't know either, they just sent me here to find new stories." >> - I answered then snorting.And again, I brought the glass to my mouth and drank this in one gulp.

<< "I feel sorry for her, but for years now nothing has happened here, we all know each other here and nobody causes trouble to anyone." >> - The old man replied, then making a big laugh.

I continued to look around, without speaking, and looked at the faces of all those people sitting at the tables who kept on drinking, as if they hadn't noticed me; until suddenly I noticed the face of a man facing me.

<< "Excuse me, who is that man?" >> - I asked the bartender in a low voice.

<< "James Mitcherwills, don't worry he doesn't harm anyone" >> - The barman answered while he poured me a third glass:

<< "This is offered by the house . ">>.

And like the other two times before, I finished my whiskey; I left the money on the counter; I got off the stool and waved goodbye to the bartender and walked towards the door.

I stopped just before I left, with my hand still on the knob.

I turned my head as far behind me as possible.

"I found!" - I thought to myself; I left the shiny door knob and went quickly to the counter; I hit him with my hands and approaching my face to that of the bartender I asked:

<< "In what sense have they been years since nothing has happened here anymore? What happened before?" >> - It must have been alcohol, it would have been the fact of not having a shiny head, boredom, the refusal to find me there, but I hadn't heard, or maybe I didn't want to hear it.

<< "Well, if you want to know, it must have been about seven years ago when the case ended in prescription, however not much is known about this story, the police kept everything mostly hidden, but you see, they turned and still turn, somewhere in the country, old stories about the director of the old prison now out of town ">> - replied trying not to be understood by the rest of the people in the bar.

"Found!".