Kennedy Hoss of Musket

Chapter 2: Roost

Song: Come to Me by Lily & Madeleine

I mount my bicycle and head off toward Allderman's, our pharmacy, dentist's office, hospital, and crematorium all wrapped into one. Even though Dr. Allderman died five or six years back and is now run by Dr. Rosary, we Musketinians still refer to the place as "Allderman's".

Allderman's is about a mile from my house, which isn't too far. It's located in the heart of Musket next to "Cul-de Sweets" (a pun on the term cul-de-sac) and Centerbury church. A short distance away there's also an asylum-turned-school building, Duff's Dairy Products, a small post office, and my father's old shoe store. Musket is surrounded by a White picket fence that I have Never seen the absolute end of. The exit gate is right next to Allderman's, but only people who can drive or aren't locally employed have ever gone through it. All the kids in my town have grown up being taught this, for reasons we don't fully understand ourselves.

Just outside the fence lies our town hall and library, as well as an untouched playground. Many times I'll see other kids sitting in a line on the fence, just staring at the untouched seesaws and monkey bars, dreaming of what it would be like to play on them. The shoe store my father used to own was only yards away from that part of the fence, and he'd often encourage me to use the extra rubber glue to make balls for the kids to play with. Everyone in town began to refer to me as the "rubber ball girl", which I didn't mind as long as the kids were happy with their greasy gifts.

Like I said, Musket's a pretty small town. Most of the older teens and adults worked in the neighboring town Twain, and did a lot of shopping there. Though we're open to work and do business there, no one is allowed to actually move there. It's because of this that Musket seems so empty now, either because people are in Twain or were lost to the outbreak of corpse syndrome. Lucky for me, Hannibal works as an apprentice at Allderman's and doesn't usually leave town. So if she's anywhere, I figure that must be where.

Musket is practically a ghost town. The houses of its residents are scattered spaciously around the center, but are more dense toward the edge by the fence. But those houses are never occupied during the day.

My closest neighbors are Mrs. and Mr. Finn and their son Crow. Crow's real name is Hunter, but he sits on the fence so much everyone calls him Crow. I guess you could consider him my friend, I guess I do just because he's the closest person that's the same age as me. If you go a bit further down the road to the center, you'll see two tiny houses that look as if they are both halves of a house, each with a little porch and chimney. The burgundy house on the right belongs Windy Lachovair, who's four years younger than me. Her grandparents own the Lachovair Farm, where you can buy produce or get a job picking them. Most kids do the strawberry picking because there aren't any prickers, but Windy and I have always been the ones coming home with scratches on our arms and legs from climbing through the raspberry and blackberry bushes. We're also the ones who pick the grapes and quints because we aren't afraid of bees. Windy a family is the richest in town, aside from Dr. Rosary. Crow on the other hand lives in a barn that's been converted into a house.

After I pass Crow's house I cut diagonally across through the grass towards the playground. I splash through the long rut filled with water beside the fence and up to where he sits staring at the playground.

"Hannibal didn't pass through today, did she?" I ask.

"I didn't see her car today, no," Crow replies. He turns his head slightly, as if to ask if I'd be joining him atop the fence.

One of the things that make corpse syndrome so bad is that it doesn't only effect your body, but your mind, too. You start seeing things, believing delusions like a family member or friend you never had. Your mind starts creating all these false memories, and unless you get helped you live the rest of your life in fairyland. It feels sort of like your brain is taking over you, making you see and hear things that were never there or said.

"You look hot," I point out to Crow as he smoothes back his black hair. If you shaved off all his hair, or even my own chestnut hair, there'd be a big ugly C-shaped scar above our ear from when we'd had surgery on our temporal lobes. Most kids have the same such scars, as they're the ones who have the most issues with false memories.

"A little, I guess," Crow admits. I pull a ten from my pocket and wave it between my index and middle finger. He tries not to notice.

"Let's split it. I'm going to Allderman's to look for Hannibal so we might as well get a soda and some sweets, while we're there."

Turning his head, he looks at me silently. I wonder if it's because he wants me to sit, doesn't want to feel like a charity case, or because he's a little slow. No doctor can fix everything. If I remember correctly, that's partly why we have religion.

"I'm not thirsty," Crow replies at last. I wilt with disappointment, but decide to bring something back for him anyway. He knows I always come back.

---Flashback------------------------------

Sunlight streams into my window and makes my face too warm. It's 7 o'clock in the morning. Across the room, Hannibal's bed stands with the sheets and duvet strewn about and twisted. She moves a lot in her sleep.

From where Cat sits on my bed, he notices that I am awake and walks over to me. I try to move my arm to pet him, but I can't. I suppose my body is still in sleep mode and refuses to move.

Cat rubs against my hand, and it overturns. A sharp pain shoots up from the tips of my fingers to my wrist and I yelp. I hear Hannibal's footsteps padding down the hall. She peers through the open door at me and stands there very silently, watching, listening for the tell-tale sign.

Just then I hear heavier footsteps, and see two men carrying a body covered by a sheet on a wooden slab, and then another. I jerk upright, and an invisible dagger rips down my spine. Another blood-curdling shriek echoes through our house once again, but this time, it's mine.

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