A Small Town

Chapter Eleven\ The LeTourneau Witch

"Ahem."

Bax and Lisa whirled around at the sound of the soft, polite cough. A man stood in the doorway. Above his head, the little bell swung soundlessly.

The colour had drained from Lisa's face and her hand was to her mouth but now she lowered it and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Pastor Black," she said. "I didn't hear you come in..."

He smiled but the smile did not touch his eyes which were blue and clouded. He was dressed all in black except for the starched white of his collar. He was the oldest man Bax had ever seen and he couldn't believe this was the same person who had been mowing the lawn not fifteen minutes ago. Bax looked down and the proof of it was staring him in the face. Pastor Blacks shoes and the cuffs of his pants were covered in wet yellowish-green grass cuttings.

The Pastor stepped further into the shop letting the door close behind him and this time the bell did a jingle, as it surely must have when he had opened it. Bax told himself they were just too focused on their conversation and had not heard, but in his heart, he knew that was a lie.

"May I ask why you would want to hear such a horrible story?" The Pastor asked as if Lisa had not spoken. "A girl died... that is the heart of the tale after all." Pastor Black's voice was thin and reedy but there was a great strength there as well and Bax found himself feeling like a schoolboy caught peeking into the girls change room. For all that, the fact that the Pastor didn't think he should hear the story only made him want to hear it more.

Bax looked Reverend Black in the eye, forcing himself to keep that contact as he spoke. "I had a dream... there was a woman at the bottom of the well..." He started, not sure where he was going but ploughing ahead anyway. "... and last night I heard a scream... I know it was a scream, and it came from down the well..."

Paster Black's eyes never wavered. Bax was sure the man hadn't blinked once since he'd entered the shop.

"There is no one down the well, son. There was a strong breeze last night, and when the wind blows hard across the top of the well, just right, it can sound like a scream... or a whistle, or an owl. I've heard it myself."

Bax shook his head. "The dream..."

"Was exactly that, Jeffery, a dream." The old man said.

Lisa had been hanging back, listening to their exchange but now she spoke sounding angry and confused. "Someone has torn all the pages about the witch trial out of my books! Why would..."

Paster black held up a thin, long-fingered hand and she stopped speaking. "People don't like to remember the failings of our past, Miss Turner, you know that. That trial is the one blight on the history of our town and it's best forgotten."

Lisa looked at him stubbornly, "But isn't it important to remember past mistakes, so that we don't repeat them?" She asked.

He chuckled at this, just a small laugh that sounded like dry leaves crunching underfoot and ended in a cough. "I doubt we need to worry about any more witch trials, Lisa."

"I'd still like to hear it," Bax said quietly.

The Pastor looked down at his shoes and shook his head sadly. For a while, he said nothing and Bax was sure he was going to refuse but then he looked up, fixed his milky blue eyes on the two of them and nodded. "If you must hear it," he said. "Then, I suppose, it should be me who tells it to you. My father was part of it, you see."

Bax didn't say anything... because he was afraid to... afraid the Pastor would change his mind and Bax needed to hear the story. He couldn't explain why he needed to hear it, he just did.