A Quiet Little Town
The town of Mannington is a hard-working town overshadowed by the secret laden Pastor Lairre and his church, and burdened by dangerous people. Then when greed leads to murder, a dark secret is unleashed that stalks and hunts from the shadows of the forest.
1
Visible from space was a galaxy with rainbow like colors and a bright sun in the center. In the colors also sat a blue planet like a marble, and on that planet, amid cities and towns was a long road that bent around the south like a mouth bent in frustration.
The road left the freeway that sat in the south and it traveled out into a part of the world where absurdity grew and bloomed like weeds. The road featured gray pavement that wound into a place where tall trees towered over the land like soldiers waiting for combat. It dipped down and crossed a bridge that was insulated with the lovely aroma of rotting trash and sewage that tantalized the nose of any driver on the road.
When it rained the bridge was adorned with waves of water as the river swelled and lovely decorations of snakes and other things with eyes and teeth swam over greeting visitors who's vehicles would swing and rock with the pressure of the brown water.
On the other side of the bridge was the urban territory, with standing weeds that shrouded houses covered with chipped paint and streaks of gray, their windows often black and shrouding rotting walls that stunk from leakage and hosted clans of rats and bugs that lived in peace and joy gnawing on the houses year after year.
Outside the houses were tractors and cars, blind in one eye where headlights had been lost, engines turned to piles of rust and tired flat, often the work horses of families gone by or that project dad was gonna get to but never quite found the time as he grew fat and spent his weekends watching football.
The town then came into sight and two edifices welcomed new comers. One was the tall factory with it's steel walls and cement block, cracked parking lot and rusted fence.
Inside the factory workers toiled incessantly, without holiday or weekend to satisfy an unending string of customers with new products, unless they were some of the ones who got on the big boss man's bad side and ended up in the "recon" department where old product was reconstituted or constructed in sweltering heat up to 113 degrees that remained unchecked because the boss man did not want company profits dented by electric bills for the air conditioner.
The boss man was a massive pile of humanity with a neck that resembled a hairy tree trunk, a body that looked like a bursting laundry bag atop a stomach that stuck out far enough to need headlights and registration.
Swaggering from side to side in a rocking stroll filled with arrogance, the boss man had various passions including waiting at the clock at the end of first shift to draft departing workers for second shift. He enjoyed making his workers come in on weekends, and he made it clear that he viewed women as inferior, less intelligent and incapable.
He enjoyed being rude and picking arguments with employees and got a twinge of amusement when someone would quit on the spot, particularly after complaining for the heat, long hours or any other issue and being told "it's called work! Perhaps you've heard of it!"
Sexism, racism, and one of his pets, genderism were among his favorite amusements. He loved the frequent trans gender applicant, amusing himself with them.
Going down the road beyond the factory was an edifice made of brown brick, towering high with a sign featuring a lion and lamb on it and the letters T.W.O.G. which stood for The Work Of God, a church that housed all of the town inhabitants except the atheists or don't know-ists or dont-give-a-fuck-ists.
The church had several elders which kept it rolling smoothly, a slightly bald man named Sam N. Man who, along with a large man with enough hair on the sides of his head to resemble a bear's ears, served as "mentors" or "guardians" in the church, such being the assigned papa-daddies who served as surrogate husbands to all single women.
The pastor taught that women, being over animals and beneath men, were not smart or responsible enough to manage their lives or finances without a man who had control of their affairs and he summarily assigned these mentors to be that man.
Besides, God made man first and woman second and said a woman should be submissive to her husband which obviously meant they were to be property...along with any other scripture which could be worked to his personal end.
The pastor man was a massive pile of humanity with a neck that resembled a hairy tree trunk, a body that looked like a bursting laundry bag atop a stomach that stuck out far enough to need headlights and registration. Swaggering from side to side in a rocking stroll filled with arrogance, there was a reason why he resembled the big boss man, and it was because both men were one and the same.
Pastor Edward Vincent Irving Lairre was a self proclaimed "anointed of God" who's word, according to his congregation, his wife and his son who was simply a younger version of his dad, came directly from God and as a result he could not be questioned for risking blasphemy and damnation.
Outsiders condemned the WOG as a cult, and books were written, detailing Ed giving church help in the form of loans in which he had the borrower sign contracts to give him their cars and homes among other things if the loan soured, which seemed to happen with alarming frequency.
Ed was well versed in doing foreclosure and repossession paperwork, and the church bank account that was in his name was plump.
He was on a first name basis with Clyde, the sheriff who exercised his will.
For some reason the goings on in the WOG seemed to go unnoticed or perhaps ignored by the members of the church who seemed dependent on what the church stood for, if someone unstably.
Theology reigned terror on the people. According to the picture painted by the powers that controlled TWOG, God was a being who long ago made a bunch of other beings, Lucipher among them, and at some point being a CEO did not suit him so he attempted a mutiny. God won, and put Lucipher in a basement office known as Earth with a new name, Satan, where he then made a bunch of beings known as humans.
God made a big office door to a place called Hell in which those condemned for the myriad of things God did not like would get hook-n-tossed into hell where Satan managed variety of tortures fueled with temperatures that would liquefy titanium.
Now, dum da da dum dum, Satan and God were locked in an eternal fist fight to see who could get the most souls for all eternity and, oh shitskies, God was losing about 85 to 92 percent of them as he sat with his fists tight on the throne of heaven hating a long list of transgressions Satan made fun.
Now God had provided a way to seek redemption and it was simple: Go to the church, get the big guide book Ed had written himself, come to church dressed as he told you and give money, and do exactly as Ed Leirre told you because he was going to judge you. Dont piss off Ed Lairre or his elders.
There were other churches in Mannington but TWOG was the big one, as was it's imperious leader.
If Ed got angry his eyes widened like dinner plates and he screamed through gritted teeth like a she bitch and would often damn people to hell himself. His followers knelt in humble submission to his reign of power in the church.
Vickie Timm had listened with fascination as Ed preached and cruel circumstances had given her to his hands in the form of a contract for a loan signed to be given back ina time frame after which he could claim her home. Vickie was old and weak at 98 but still spirited. She also had some mysterious tricks up her sleeves that made people look at her with a bit of concern.
Most notably were her conversations with unseen elements and the fact that the tall, dark, dense willows on her property seemed to pet her and hug her as she passed, even when the wind did not blow.
No one knew the reason, and they did not speculate. Ed's followers dismissed everything down to the common cold as the work of demons and that was the end explanation of all that could not be explained.
Country was the name of the game in Mannington, simple, bend the rules and play the game to win. Ball caps, tee shirts, jeans, trucks for men and guns for everybody, but you could walk into any business with an AK47 on your back and revolver on each hip and the town folks would not look at you twice.
But if you thought you were going to cause problems they would put one between your eyes before you could say your name.
Even Vernon, the toothless, frightening looking creature down the road who towed cars for the car crusher people occasionally came to church. Children avoided him.
Into this mix came the little Goth woman, the only one in town, who stayed to herself and was considered a witch by the town people. Hey, didn't witches wear black, ruffles and lace, as well as sexy high heels?
There were no truly smart people in Mannington, they came down the road looked at the town, then punched it and left a cloud of dust.
But there were others, many others, lining the roads and along the small ponds of the town. People with secrets, lives they wanted no one to know about. Down the road from the church was the garage, with the big broad figure of the woman who worked there prowling the building, with a flat top crew cut, huge muscles and a booming voice that froze people in their tracks. Her assistant, a dried out man with few teeth who frightened children and teenagers and made cops keep their hands close to their guns.
Even the school superintendent who peered over his glasses, and spoke slowly and calmly, almost like a psychopath savoring the approach to his latest victim. Not much happened in the school, but on the occasion that any students had issues, they preferred resolving them between their own selves as opposed to walking into the office and having the door shut which sealed them into the box with him, and merely a desk between them.
Today dawned bright and clear, with hillbilly trucks rolling down the road and country people going about their business almost robot like, paying little or no attention to others.
Pastor Ed entered his office in his church and scrolled through his list of events and he smiled.
Destiny Peterson had applied for a loan a bit back and signed the usual document prepared and notarized by the officials that was Ed’s favorite piece of paper. It stated that Destiny had taken out a loan and secured it with her personal box of family jewelry worth more than the load amount, but besides her car and house and body parts, she owned nothing more of value.
The load was soon to come due, and Ed had not seen Destiny in church which meant her family jewels were soon to be his, so to speak. Ed opened his bottom desk drawer and looked at the box, opened it and saw the jewelry, not of it costume, but bunches of it vintage, and he smiled. He was staring at it when the phone rang and he picked it up. It was Harold, one of the town royal family of never do well bullies and trouble makers who spent so much time doing over nighters in jail he had a radio and one or two other items in the jail safe for use on his frequent visits when Clyde did not have time to make sure his bad behavior stayed within acceptable limits and anything more would land him in trouble Clyde could not get him out of.
“Hey unc, jew want us to do that tonight?”
“I do unless you have a girlfriend to try and abduct…I mean date.”
“Oh no big deal, I just wanted to make sure we had all the stuff.”
“Don’t do any real damage. As long as you get the right paper and your face is not seen, there is nothing she can do. If she can’t produce her paper in court, she can’t do shit. If she can’t identify you she will be just a crazy old bat no one gives a damn about.”
“Yeah man, this ain’t our first rodeo, Hoss. We got yer back like always, we gone do it up right.”
“Good. Then come see me and I’ll pay you.”
Harold agreed and hung up the phone. He knew Uncle Ed would pay him. There were too many things that could…go wrong otherwise. If you have a truck load of dirty laundry, best be keeping the door shut on the truck and make sure no one chews little holes.
Ed heard his office door open and to his sadness it was Destiny. She had a bit of a scowl on her face and an envelope.
“Ed, here is the loan, in full. I even threw in interest.”
“Oh, that wasn’t necessary.”
Destiny stared at him. “I don’t want any…shall we say…misunderstandings.”
“Really?” Ed laughed.
“Yeah. I read a book. I also have enough common sense to know churches help people, they don’t give secured loans.”
“We just expect people to be responsible for the loans. Besides, the church needs to keep where we can help others.”
Destiny all but cut him off. “I need my box of jewelry please.” She handed him the envelope with a snap.
Ed took it.
“Count it.”
“I trust…”
“I don’t trust. Count it.”
Ed counted the money. “Okay. But I will have to go and get the box. Can you come to church this weekend or something…”
Destiny glared. “So you can misplace it and I can wait while you kill time and you get the loan money AND my jewelry?”
Ed paused. He then looked serious. “I am a man of God. God ordained me to do his work on this Earth in his end times. I don’t…”
Destiny looked down and Ed froze. She bent over, opened the drawer more and pulled out the box, held it out angrily and demanded “you were saying?!”
Ed got quiet. “Do you need anything else?”
Destiny smiled mockingly. “Yes, to leave this miserable little shitbox of a town, but I am on my way now, so, BYE!”
Destiny walked out and Ed kicked the drawer shut and returned to his computer.
“That’s why bitches need to know their place.” He muttered to himself.