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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/877158-The-Path
by Phil
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Mystery · #877158
John Mercer finds himself in an unusual situation where things are not what they seem.
         John Mercer gradually became aware that he was walking. He was walking on what appeared to be a rarely traveled dirt road, not much more than a wide path, and there was a very small town before him. He did not remember how he had gotten there, or even where ‘there’ was. The last thing he remembered in fact, was sitting in his living room watching a movie.

         He stopped and looked around. There was nothing behind him but the path. It stretched as far as he could see. On both sides of him was thick forest, so thick that the light seemed to barely penetrate. He strained his eyes, but could not see more than a few feet into the tree line. Deciding that the only logical course was forward, he plodded on. As he neared the town, the trees pulled away from the road, and feeling encouraged he quickened his step. He wanted to find out where he was, and find a way back home.

         As he entered the town he realized that it was much smaller than he had originally thought. There were only six buildings, but they seemed clean, and well kept. There was no sign of activity, which seemed odd on such a nice day.

         As he continued to walk he saw a small grocery store on his left, and an adult video store on his right. Beyond the grocery store was a bed and breakfast with a sign declaring it ‘Molly’s Bed and Breakfast’ planted in the front yard. Just ahead of the video store was a cozy looking restaurant, and past that were two buildings that he could not readily identify.

         Walking past the buildings he still saw no signs of life, and it was beginning to make him uneasy. There were no cars, no bicycles, and no skateboards. The place looked deserted, and he was steadily growing more and more troubled. John had never been a ‘people person,’ he preferred his privacy, but he urgently hoped he would see someone now.

         Being alone in your home is one thing, but being alone in a strange town is quite another, he thought.

         Deciding that the grocery store would be his best bet, he started toward the front entrance. As he stepped through the door however, he immediately felt the emptiness of the place. His footsteps echoed ominously as he first walked, then ran through the store, hoping to find someone … anyone, inside.

         After covering every inch of the store twice, he began to feel desperate, and panicky. Something was screwy here, and he was getting scared.

         “Hello, anybody? I just need directions.” His voice cracked with alarm.

         Something must have happened here, he thought. And not something good. People don’t leave their stores unlocked in the middle of the day and walk out, unless something is terribly wrong.

         He decided to try the bed and breakfast next. Surely there would be someone there. They would be able to tell him where he was, and offer him a phone so that he could get out of this place.

         As he entered the front door of the bed and breakfast, he knew immediately that there was no one there. This did little to comfort him, and he started to hyperventilate. Knowing that panicking would only exacerbate the situation, he took a minute to calm himself, and began a thorough search of the entire building. The place was empty, just as he had known it was from the moment he stepped through the front door.

         John returned to the front office, sat in a comfortable recliner that was situated in a corner, and began to laugh. He felt he had two choices at that point, laugh or cry. If he started crying right then, he thought he might lose his mind, and so he laughed. As he continued to laugh, he began to get hysterical, and then his laughter betrayed him and turned to tears.

         He surveyed the room slowly, and couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that something was wrong, or out of place. He could not put his finger on it, but he was certain that he would figure it out in time.

         Feeling that he would get no answers in the bed and breakfast, he decided to move on to the café. He got up from the chair and started toward the front door, stopping momentarily, and looking back. The feeling was still there, something just didn’t quite seem right.

         He stepped through the door, and then out into the street. The café looked ominous, and he had an irrational fear of going in. Shaking off the feeling momentarily he made his way to the front door, and peeked in the window. The café was as empty as the bed and breakfast had been, which had in turn been as empty as the grocery store before it.

         Well, might as well get on with it, he thought, and he snapped the door open.

         A bell tinkled merrily as the door swung open before him. Had he not explored portions of the town already, he would have guessed that the employees were in the kitchen, but he knew better. He was already certain that he would find no one here, and he felt panic threaten to overtake him once again.

         After taking several deep breaths with the vain hope of calming himself, he strode toward the kitchen with apprehension.

         “I’d like to place an order please,” he called out nervously. “So if someone could send out the waitress I would appreciate it.”

         Once again, he had that nagging feeling that something was not quite the way it should be. It wasn’t only that there was no one around, although that was his greatest concern at that moment. There was something else, and he decided that he wasn’t going to leave until he figured it out.

         He began to walk slowly through the diner, carefully studying as many details as he could immediately assimilate. As he walked along behind the lunch counter, he dragged his right hand along the counter top. It was the feel, rather than the sight, that told him what had been nagging at him.

         There was no dust. If there had not been anyone here for a significant length of time, there should be dust on nearly everything. There was no dust to be found here in the café, and he was pretty certain that there had been no dust in the bed and breakfast either. He couldn’t remember if the store had been dusty, but he suspected that it had not.

         Beginning to get caught up in the mystery, he decided to investigate the kitchen for signs of recent activity. He stepped through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen, and noticed immediately that it was as dust free as the area out front had been. This offered him no comfort.

         If someone has been here recently then someone will be back soon, he reasoned.

         Not sure what he was looking for, he stepped around a steam table and pulled open the door of a large, stainless steel refrigerator. His jaw dropped, and his eyes widened, as he stared mutely at its contents.

         The refrigerator was filled with food that appeared to be fresh … very fresh. There were several sandwiches wrapped in plastic film, that looked suspiciously like turkey with crisp green lettuce, and sliced tomato.

         These sandwiches can’t be more than a few hours old, he thought.

         He removed the plastic film, and carefully took the tiniest bite, fully prepared to spit it out should it have the slightest trace of a bad taste. It was magnificent, and he devoured the entire sandwich in less than a minute.

         Never had he tasted such a delicious blend of flavors. The turkey was mildly smoked, with a hint of honey and brown sugar. The dressing had a sweet creamy taste that flowed delicately over his palate. The lettuce had even more snap than he had imagined, and it gave a satisfying crunch with each bite. Most amazing however was the tomato. He had never tasted anything quite like it. It had the familiar tang of a tomato, but it was so much sweeter. There was a salty sweet bouquet that seemed to grow stronger with each bite, and the bread had the texture of a fine croissant.

         Licking the remnants of the sandwich from his fingertips, he reached into his pocket, and removed a substantial wad of cash. Even though there was no one around, he would pay for what he had taken. John Mercer was no thief, and the sandwich was well worth the five dollars he would leave in the refrigerator.

         He opened the refrigerator door, and reached to the rear of the top shelf. It seemed like a good place to leave the money, but when he placed the five dollar bill on the shelf, his fingers brushed against something that felt suspiciously like more cash. Rising up on his toes he was just able to see the pile of five dollar bills on the shelf.

         Someone else has been here, he thought. Someone with the same apparent troubles I am having. They even chose the same shelf to leave money for the food. I wonder if they are the one who made these sandwiches.

         Mercer decided that a closer inspection of the café might shed some light on what was going on, and he began to look around in earnest. He searched the diner diligently for close to an hour and found nothing further. Memories of the sandwich he had eaten earlier slipped back into his thoughts, and he decided to have another. This one he ate slowly, relishing every bite, and he placed another five dollar bill atop the growing stack on the top shelf of the refrigerator.

         Feeling satisfied, he decided to explore the little town further, and exited the diner. He looked up and down the street in front of the café, and tried to shake the feeling that something seemed unusual. Staring intently at the bed and breakfast he realized what it was. The shadows had not changed their position in the time he had spent inside the diner. He was certain that he had been inside for more than an hour, yet it appeared to be no later than when he had entered. It seemed in fact, as though no time had passed since he had arrived in this godforsaken town.

         Mercer shook his head, completely bewildered, and headed for the adult video store. As he stepped through the front door, he immediately sensed that something was unusual. It took a moment, but he finally realized what it was. The place was clean, spotless in fact. In his experience, adult video stores were not commonly so tidy. As he scanned the room, he realized something else. The place was on the bleeding edge of technology.

         He approached one of the shelves of DVD’s and was shocked to see ‘HDVD Featuring blue ray technology’. Blue ray was a brand spanking new technology, and Adult DVD’s with blue ray were unheard of. High definition video disks were also a thing of the future, and he was stunned to see this kind of technology in such a small town.

         How could this little skidmark of a town have something this advanced? He wondered.

         As he continued to scan the room he noticed a colorful box on the counter labeled ‘Inflate-a-Date’. He made a mental note to remember this. If he should not find someone soon, he would come back and inflate her, and use her as a companion. She wouldn’t talk back, but having someone to talk to might keep him from going mad.

         Convinced that the video store was as empty as the other buildings he had visited, he decided to move on, and check out the remainder of the town. He turned toward the entrance, and made his way to the front door.

         As he was stepping through the front door he saw a man with long silver hair, and wearing what appeared to be a white toga, standing on the sidewalk across the street. Unable to contain his excitement, he began to sprint toward the man. As he got closer he noticed that the face of the old man appeared very wise, and quite beautiful. Having never been attracted to men, he was surprised with himself at noticing the man’s beauty.

         “Boy am I glad to see you,” he said. “My name is John Mercer, and I seem to be lost. Can you tell me the name of this town?”

         “The name of this town is whatever you wish it to be,” the old man replied.

         Mercer noted that the old man had a soft soothing voice, and he immediately felt more at ease. He knew it was absurd to take comfort in the man’s voice, but he took comfort in it just the same.

         “I’m not sure what that means, but it doesn’t matter. I just need to find a way home.”

         “This is your home brother, you built this town.”

         “I’m afraid you have me confused with someone else. I have never been here before. I am from Woodland Michigan, and I am not sure how I wound up here,” Mercer replied.

         “You were sitting in your home watching the television, and you had an aneurysm that burst in your head. You died within minutes, and your soul was transported here, to the paradise you created for yourself during your life.”

         “Paradise? This is no paradise. There are no other people. There are only the basic necessities and a porn shop. How can you call this paradise?”

         Mercer was feeling panicky again, and even the voice of the old man was doing little to soothe him.

         “During your earthly time, you gradually pulled away from others. You spent virtually all of your time at home alone, watching adult movies and uhh gratifying yourself. Your actions during your earthly time are the building blocks of your own personal heaven or hell. I gather then, that this is more of a hell than a heaven for you.”

         “Yeah, you might say that,” Mercer answered. “Give me some people.”

         “I am afraid it doesn’t work that way my brother. You must spend eternity in the paradise you created.”

         “We’ll see about that,” Mercer said, and he turned his back on the old man, and started up the path he had come down when he first entered this horrible town.

         John Mercer gradually became aware that he was walking. He was walking on what appeared to be a rarely traveled dirt road, not much more than a wide path, and there was a very small town before him. He did not remember how he had gotten there, or even where ‘there’ was. The last thing he remembered in fact, was sitting in his living room watching a movie.



2,477 words





© Copyright 2004 Phil (philmiller at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/877158-The-Path