The Waiting Room.

4-the farmer.

"He never answered my phone calls. When I sent e-messages, I received automated responses. Maybe he just doesn't like me," the Mayor explained to his best friend. "Could you please try to talk to him?"

"Monroe, I heavily respect your authority, but I'm not sure poking the bear is the right move."

"Oh Galen, I fear we may host such a treacherous creature," he sighed. "We have our carpenter work tirelessly to repair his residence, we have Sau plant a path directly from the bridge, we offer him a full membership in the community, and he won't even leave that ridiculous automobile."

"It's certainly unfair." The two waded in silence. "I'll talk to him." Galen yielded. He left Monroe's home and marched towards the Camry. Irwin was no where to been seen, as Galen searched and searched, and even knocked on the front door. Galen found himself wandering on terrain he'd defamiliarized himself from, drinking it up. Just then, on opposite sides of Stillgrave, the Mayor and Galen both felt confused.

Before Galen, a man bent down on his knees, laced in fine precision, planting seeds deep in soil. The earth looked tilled to its core. What a cautious man, Galen thought. Nothing but these bulletproof pines could grow here before Irwin. "A farmer? Not what I expected." He chimed. The Farmer did not hesitate, nor flinch in his attempt at growth. Rush searched for clues.

"Okra? A Louisiana delicacy." Irwin froze, sowing dainty spheres into the ground.

"Just kidding," he chuffed. "I know you're from West Virginia." The exhausted farmer slipped, tossing seeds across threaded and un-threaded land. He fell into remission and continued to plant, leaving the scattered kernels where they fell. Galen did not know what this meant.

"Sure is foggy on this side of Stillgrave. Might be nice to join us at the Locke And Key tonight for a drink?" Galen smiled; unreciprocated. "Welp, hopefully I'll see you there." Galen nodded at Irwin, who failed to meet his gaze. The officer turned on his heels, not full of pride, but the feeling of sufficiency.

Moments before, Monroe resided in his home, reclining in his computer chair. He was proofreading his application for an agricultural grant from the state, nonetheless closing the tab as he received a reply-email from Palmira Strother, the librarian. He thought about the termination of Irwin's home before it was rebuilt. He remembered the sickness in his stomache, and believed it to be one-of-a-kind. He imagined the look on his face upon seeing the body, or what remained of it. Most of all, he cringed reading an email from Darwin Quigi and his construction team, asking what to do with the teeth found buried under the porch floorboards. Never in his life did he face such a wretched decision that he vomited at any mention. But today he coddled a different beast: who.

He skimmed the message for a name until coming across it. Xuan Zheng Ming, who's death had only been recorded in the state of West Virginia. Every inanimate object in the world, and most animate ones, grew quiet as Monroe Quarles read on.
His great grandfather, he thought.
The house, he thought.
'From such crooked timber...', he justified.

He slid his steno to the nearest bin and barfed. Monroe ached in a part of his body he could not geographically pinpoint. There seemed to be more of him sinking in the trash than composing his body, now. As that which man is made, nothing straight can be fashioned. As the silence grew, spreading throughout the veins of the earth, everyone felt the harsh exhales on their skin. The mayor thought of how long the body had laid there. How he lived in Grimesmere while Xuan was alive and never knew him. Explains how isolated Irwin is, he thought. He wondered where his family fled to, and why they left him to die. Why they registered his death out of state and allowed The Gully to reside next to a corpse for so long. Galen returned to the Mayors home with deliverance of his encounter, postponing it to help his friend off the floor; startled to his core.

The Locke and Key was a well maintained bar-house. Embellished with hanging flower baskets, and a bed of perennials. The gutters were scraped twice a year, and the moss removed annually. Inside, an inviting row of stools to slump on, and fiddleback chairs surrounding engraved cedar tables. CJ Galvez had the place built on rustic charm and westernized customs, but just one day before opening, hung a thirty-pound disco ball from a beam stretching dead centre thought the building. They received several turned heads, swimming in it. To CJ, it represented the most morally incorrect decision able to be made. If such a decision could thrive in their shanty town, so could anyone.

Most often, Artisan Herma Peachy triggered the first entry chime of the night. As she waltzed in, CJ prepared a Bellini, nesting it on the coaster in front of her. They chatted for a while, in the same way one would chat with their mom. Herma explained that she spent hours crafting a delectable gift basket for Irwin, and on the walk here, she found it still sitting on the other side of the bridge. She said that seemed rude. CJ agreed, in the same way you would agree with an older relatives politically incorrect opinion. Truthfully, they thought maybe he just hadn't seen it yet. He must be very busy, they admired. Another chime broke the menacing silence that grew, credited to Palmira Strother, the librarian, and lover of Herma. She ordered a decartes-iri and joined Herma in conversation.

A half hour later, the Mayor wandered in with Galen, who began putting quarters in the jukebox, selecting a variety of Bon Jovi.

The bar eventually filled, completed by Linette Tarver after putting her children to bed. Lavender and body heat filled the air; a familiar and comforting scent in Grimesmere. Anywhere in the town, one could hear the euphonious laughter of Sau Booker, which was only heightened by the captivity of a community event. She hollered, exuding a kind energy that the garden of everyone's hearts photosynthesized. Monroe laughed with her, as it was difficult not to. He felt as though he had not be able to express himself this way until he met Sau, and reminded her of this during every gratuitous ascent he had.

As midnight struck, the body count slowly declined. Herma brought Palmira home after every Friday night at the Locke and Key. She didn't live far, as no one did, but getting Palmira home safe quickly burgeoned important for her. Next was Linette, as she disliked leaving her daughters home alone for too long. Then Darwin and Coy, who always left together, regardless of both having keys to their home. Sau left with her son, Quincy, at the realization it had become one o'clock in the morning. And soon, all that remained was Galen and his best friend. They sat through it all. The exit of everyone, and inevitably, the last song from the last quarter. They took in every smudge CJ wiped off every glass, wishing for it to be so easy. They waited, and waited, and waited, with nothing to show for it. And at three, frustrated, aching, and sober, they went home.

Roughly two kilometres away, the Farmer woke up to the sound of overwhelming crickets, and a wind so intense it chilled the skeletons of trees. Another day, he thought. But he knew it would become worth it, so he rose. Irwin has only been in The Gully for a few days, but felt like he had already adjusted. He knew Grimesmere had unlocked the twenty-fifth, sixth, and seventh hours of the days, and that the river that divided, hosted fish of a different origin. The Farmer lacked time to fear this, so he did not.
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