Dark Corner Page 2

  David picked up the newspaper. It was dated March 9th. Two days before his father had vanished.

  A chill zapped through him, like an electric shock. He dropped the paper.

  There was something eerie about touching an item that had been last handled by a dead man. But he would have to get used to it, if he was going to live in this house.

  King bolted inside the porch. Tongue wagging, the dog bumped against David, eager to go inside.

  David opened the door.

  The first thing that struck David was the smell: a stale odor hung within, as though the house had been sealed for years and not only for a few months. He found the thermostat in the entry hall, and switched on the fan. He'd open windows, too, as he encountered them, then turn on the airconditioner later.

  King set off down the hallway, sniffing eagerly.

  As he stood in the foyer, David had the distinct feeling that he had walked into a dream. Like a place in a dream, the house felt familiar, yet foreign. The last time he had visited, he was fourteen. He'd spent two weeks there during the summer, entertained by his two cousins (whose names escaped him) and, less often, by his father. He'd left convinced that it was the most boring place in the world-they had none of the cool stuff they had in Atlanta-and vowing that he'd never visit again, no matter how badly he wanted to spend time with his dad.

  Funny how time could change a person's mind.

  A staircase twisted up to the second floor. Four doorways were in the first-floor hall. David slowly walked past each room. The living room was the first room he passed, a spacious area full of overstuffed furniture, a grandfather clock, framed family photos, a television, a fireplace, and a rocking chair. Next was the dining room: a large oak table stood in the center, circled by matching oak chairs. On his right, a bathroom. A familiar slurping sound came from within.

  "King!" He opened the door. The dog had its snout in the toilet, lapping up water.

  "I'll get some water for you" David went through the doorway at the end of the hall, into the kitchen. He found a large bowl in a cabinet, filled it with tap water, and set it on the tile floor. King drank greedily.

  The kitchen was basic: it had a gas range, Formica countertops, a pine dinette table. A Polaroid photo was pinned against the refrigerator with a magnet: his father, clad in fishing gear and standing on the deck of a boat, showing off his catch of the day, a large, gleaming bass.

  Dad died on a fishing trip like that ...

  David's breath caught in his throat. He left the kitchen to explore the rest of the house.

  On the second level, there were five rooms: a master bedroom, a guest room, another bedroom, another bathroom, and an office. One look inside the office confirmed that this was where Richard Hunter had spent most of his time, because the other rooms lacked any distinctive mark of his personality.

  Two large windows, veiled with half-open venetian blinds, admitted afternoon sunshine. Oak bookcases lined the walls; the shelves were packed with tomes-his father's works, and many others. A large oak desk stood along the far wall, a black leather chair in front.

  From his research, David learned that his father had written at least three of his novels while sitting at this desk. An IBM Selectric typewriter sat in the middle of the desk, like a museum relic. His father had composed his work only on typewriters, never on computers. A jar full of sharp pencils stood to the left of the typewriter, and a rubber coaster lay on the right, marred with a coffee stain. His father would drink coffee continuously as he hammered out his prose.

  At David's town house in Atlanta, he had arranged his desk similarly: writing implements on the left, a coaster on the right, and a computer, instead of a typewriter, in the center.

  He settled into the chair. He was the same height as his father, six-foot-one, and he found the angle of the chair and desk comfortable. Perhaps he would set up his own computer in this room, right here.

  "This is where the great man worked," David said. His voice seemed loud, and he laughed, uneasily. The office was so quiet and still that he might have been sealed inside an airtight cell.

  He noticed that a framed photograph lay on the corner of the desk, facedown. He picked it up. It was an old picture of David, at maybe three years of age, his mother, and his father. All of them had afros, and wide grins.

  He was shocked to find that his father had kept this family photo close at hand. This gave him something new to think about. Had his father missed the family life he had once had?

  He looked around. No additional clues jumped out at him yet.

  David yawned. He'd driven over nine hours and needed to take a nap. Thinking about this stuff was tiring him out.

  Before leaving, he opened the blinds of the window nearest the desk, to see what kind of view the office provided. He saw a vista of rolling green hills, deep forests, and, perched on a hilltop in the distance, a sprawling antebellum mansion, a remnant of the old South.

  Coldness tapped the base of his spine.

  He didn't understand why looking at the house made him feel cold. He could not remember ever seeing the mansion, though surely it had been there when he'd visited the town as a teenager.

  Someone should tear down that place, he thought, suddenly and irrationally. It should be demolished-

  The door burst open, and David almost screamed.

  It was only King. The dog dashed inside and leapt onto David, tail wagging.

  "Okay, okay, I know, your bladder is full now and you need to pee" David stroked the dog's neck. "Come on, let's go outside."

  David looked out the window one last time. The chill returned, skipping along his spine like an icy finger.

  Hurriedly, he left and shut the door.

  Outside, while King cavorted across the yard, David began to unload the trailer. Although he was exhausted, he worried that if he dared to sleep he would not wake until late in the evening. He didn't want to leave his possessions in the trailer overnight. He likely had no need to fear thieves in this town, but years of city living had made him cautious.

  He had opened the trailer door and gripped a cardboard box full of books when the grandmotherly woman who had waved at him earlier walked across the street. She was accompanied by a tall, lean man who appeared to be her husband.

  "Good afternoon," the man said. He had a crisp, deep voice. "Are you our new neighbor?"

  "That I am" David placed the box on the ground. "My name is David Hunter."

  "A pleasure to meet you," the man said. "My name is Franklin Bennett. This is my wife, Ruby."

  David and Franklin shook hands. Franklin had a strong, dry grip. David immediately had a good feeling about him. One of the few things his father had taught him was how a trustworthy man will always have a firm handshake.

  Franklin and Ruby looked to be in their mid-sixties. Ruby was dark-skinned and petite, with large, clear eyes. She wore jeans, tennis shoes, a United Negro College Fund T-shirt, and a cap that covered a full head of salt-and-pepper hair. Franklin was bespectacled and balding, with a trimmed gray beard. He wore a white dress shirt, slacks, and suspenders. He had a scholarly demeanor. David was willing to wager that he was a teacher.

  King came over and snuffled the Bennetts' legs. David introduced the dog, and the couple smiled and petted King. They were obviously dog lovers.

  "So you're a Hunter?" Franklin said. "Was Richard Hunter your..."

  "He was my father," David said.

  "We're so sorry to hear about what happened," Ruby said. "What an awful accident."

  "Your father was a good man," Franklin said.

  "Thank you," David said. "I moved here from Atlanta. Someone has to take care of the house for a while. It's been in our family for a long time."

  "That is most certainly true," Franklin said. "Since nineteen twenty-seven, in fact"

  "Really?" David said. "I didn't know that"

  Franklin chuckled. "I'm a bit of a history buff, David. One of my long-standing hobbies has been exploring the history of
our fine town"

  "Don't get Professor Bennett started" Ruby grinned. "Will you be living here permanently, David?"

  "Maybe for a year. After that, we'll see. I've never lived in a small town, so I'll see how I like it."

  "It's a markedly slower pace of life than what you're likely accustomed to," Franklin said. "But we love it. We grew up here, moved away to Washington, D.C., to have our careers and raise our family, then decided to come back here for our retirement."

  "What's the age range of the people here?" David said.

  "It's not a town full of old folks, sugar," Ruby said. She chuckled. "We've got retired folks, like us, stable, working families, then some kids your age, and younger. We've got our share of young, pretty women, too. Are you single?"

  "Ruby, don't pry-" Franklin started.

  "It's no problem." David laughed. "I'm single."

  "Keep your eyes peeled, then," Ruby said. She winked. David laughed again.

  "We could talk your ears off all day," Franklin said. "But I see that you were in the process of unloading this trailer. Why don't I assist you?"

  "Thanks, but that's okay. I don't have that much to take inside."

  "Frank only wants an excuse to keep asking you questions," Ruby said. "David, please let him help you, or else he'll talk me to sleep wondering about you"

  Franklin scowled. "Woman, you do not know my mind at all." Then he laughed.

  "Since you put it that way, I could use a hand" David smiled. These were the nicest people he had met in ages. Although he could have unloaded the trailer on his own, he was interested in continuing his discussion with Franklin. The old man claimed to be a history buff, and he might know a great deal about David's own family history as it related to the town.

  Most of all, David wanted to ask him about his father.

  They chatted as they conveyed boxes inside. David learned that Franklin really was a retired history professor. He had taught at Howard University for over thirty years. In his life as a retiree, he spent his time pursuing his lifelong passionhistory-and had become the town's official historian. The historian position had never been formally conferred upon him by town authorities-they didn't have an official post for such a person. It was official, Franklin said, because everyone, including the mayor, approached him whenever a question about history arose.

  "Are you a writer, like your father was?" Franklin said as they hefted boxes full of books into the house. "You've got quite a few titles here"

  "I'm an avid reader. Outside of English classes in college, the only writing I've ever done is in computer code. I worked as a programmer for a consulting firm before I started my Web design business two years ago"

  "Ah, so you're an entrepreneur!" Franklin set down the box he'd been carrying beside the staircase. Sweat glistened on his face. He pulled out a handkerchief and blotted his skin dry.

  "Listen, you don't have to help me with all of this moving," David said. "I can finish the rest on my own"

  "Nonsense. I need the exercise. Don't be concerned, I won't have a heart attack on you"

  It took half an hour for them to finish lugging everything inside. Ruby returned to bring them tall, icy glasses of sweet tea. David sipped the tea gratefully; King looked at him with sad eyes, as if expecting him to share. "None for you," David said, and stuck out his tongue at the dog. King barked.

  Exhausted, David and Franklin took seats at the dinette table in the kitchen. David thanked Franklin again for his assistance, and Franklin waved it off.

  "The only physical exercise I pursue these days is riding my bicycle around town," Franklin said. "I'm happy to do some weight lifting."

  David nodded. "You know, since you live across the street, I was wondering, did you know my father?"

  Franklin pursed his lips. "Interesting question. Although I was Richard's neighbor for seven years, and though he was often present during that time, I'd have to say that we were acquaintances, not genuine friends. This is the first time I've set foot within this house"

  "So my dad wasn't very friendly."

  "He was friendly, but he was a private man-rightly so considering his public persona. I think when he was here, in his home, he wanted to be left alone, to enjoy life like an ordinary man. He was famous here, understand. Tourists came from hundreds of miles away to drive by this house and gawk, or they hoped to spy him as he made one of his brooding walks throughout the town.

  "That said, I don't think Richard had many friends in Mason's Corner. But of course, absolutely everyone knew him."

  "I didn't," David said. When he realized what he'd blurted out, he blushed.

  Franklin arched his eyebrows.

  "I might as well tell you," David said. "My father and I didn't exactly have a good relationship. He was a stranger to me, to be honest" He swept his arm across the kitchen. "Then, when he passed, he gave it all to me. Everything he'd owned"

  "Which perplexes you, and understandably so," Franklin said. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, David. Richard Hunter was an enigma to me. I don't pretend to understand his motivations."

  "Neither do I, and that's why I'm here. I want to piece everything together-as much as I can, anyway. I won't be satisfied until I get some answers"

  David was surprised by how openly he spoke to Franklin. He'd told his mother, and no one else, about his purpose for moving to Mason's Corner. His family and friends believed that he was there because he wanted a temporary break from Atlanta.

  "I wish you Godspeed in your mission," Franklin said. "I suspect you'll find life in Dark Corner to be an enjoyable change of pace"

  "Dark Corner?"

  "The locals call the town Dark Corner. Do you think you know why?"

  "I've no clue."

  "Because the town is over ninety percent AfricanAmerican, and has been for generations. Dark Corner was originally a slanderous name, actually think of the derogatory term, `darkie'-but over time, it acquired a certain charm and became part of the shared language of the residents. I suspect Edward Mason would be aghast if he were alive today to see what had become of his lovely corner of the South. The Negroes have taken over the plantation!" Franklin laughed.

  David laughed, too. "Was Edward Mason the town founder?"

  "Correct. Around eighteen forty-one, Mason established an immense cotton plantation here. Have you seen his estate, Jubilee?"

  David thought about the mansion he had spotted from the window upstairs. The place that had given him a chill.

  "Is it one of those antebellum houses, with columns out front?"

  "That's the one, you can't miss it. It's perched on a hill at the eastern edge of town, like a castle. Edward Mason liked to stand on the veranda of Jubilee and survey his cotton kingdom, and glory in his achievements."

  "Does anyone live there today?"

  "Certainly not. Jubilee is reputed to be haunted. Townsfolk won't go near it."

  David's hand was curled around the cold glass of tea; the iciness in the glass traveled up the length of his arm, and spread throughout his body.

  "Haunted?" David said. "Are you serious?"

  Franklin shrugged. "That is what the stories claim. I've never seen evidence of it myself, but then, like other townspeople, I avoid Jubilee, too. It has an aura about it that ... well, it disturbs me, to be frank."

  "I felt the same thing when I saw the house earlier. A chill."

  "Trust your instincts," Franklin said. "I'm a man of reason and logic, but the more I learn, the more I realize that there is much in our world that resists easy classification."

  "I don't plan to visit the place anytime soon," David said.

  "Wise choice." Franklin nodded. "One of these evenings, you must join Ruby and me for dinner. I'll share some of the tales with you. There are many. Mason's Corner is a small town, yet claims a colorful history."

  "I'd like that," David said. A yawn escaped him.

  Franklin hastily pushed away from the table.

  "You need your rest, you've had a long day,
" Franklin said. He retrieved the empty glasses. "We'll talk more soon. And you're welcome to come over anytime."

  "Thank you again for your help." David accompanied Franklin to the door. Franklin crossed the street, a bounce in his step.

  David smiled. What a guy. He had made his first friend in Mason's Corner.

  But he'd had enough activity for one day. Tomorrow, he'd finish getting settled in and would begin exploring the town.

  He dragged himself upstairs. In the master bedroom, King lay across the bed, snoring loudly.

  "King, I think that's my spot"

  The dog raised its head, groggy.

  "On the floor, buddy," David said. "The rules haven't changed"

  Groaning, King hopped onto the floor, and slumped on the rug.

  David lay on the mattress and sank into a deep sleep.

  "Now David seems like a nice young man," Ruby said to Franklin. She was in the kitchen preparing dinner. "He's a spitting image of his daddy, too"

  "That's the first thing I noticed." Franklin put the empty glasses in the sink. "For a moment, I thought I was seeing a ghost."

  "I hope you invited him to dinner."

  "I extended a dinner invitation for the near future, but I'll wait a few days before I mention it to him again," he said, thinking of David's purpose for moving to Mason's Corner. The boy was on a mission to learn about his father, and Franklin didn't want to hound him, though he would like to spend more time in the Hunter house, exploring.

  "He's a friendly kid, quite open, not at all like his father," Franklin said. "We'll be spending more time together, chatting."

  "Don't you go digging through his family's possessions," Ruby said.

  "The Hunters have lived in Dark Corner for generations. They must have books, photos, relics-"

  "Like I said, Professor Bennett. Respect the young man's privacy."

  "Am I that intrusive, my dear?"

  She smiled. "Sugar, when you've got something you want to find out, only God Himself can hold you back"

  Franklin leaned against the counter. He stroked his chin.