Hair Wreath and Other Stories by Villegas Halli

Author:Villegas, Halli
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror
ISBN: 9781926851020
Publisher: ChiZine Publications
Published: 2010-09-10T04:00:00+00:00

Picnic

They found the shoe first. It was not a tennis shoe, like the ones you so often see on the side of the highway, sole facing the passing cars, laces trailing in the dirt. This shoe lying in the long grass under a tree was a silvery pump, with a little cluster of rhinestones on the toe. It reminded Abigail of a pair of shoes that she had coveted in an expensive store near their apartment, but that were out of reach of their budget. Mark picked it up.

“That’s weird.” He looked around in the tall grass for the mate. “How in the hell did it get here?”

“You won’t find the other. Lost shoes are always single.”

She took the shoe from Mark and turned it over in her hands to read the label. An expensive brand. “Too bad. It’s even my size.”

“Who wears shoes like these here?”

They had been on their way to their favourite picnic spot, off the highway, down a country road, then a turn-off and a short walk through some trees to an open grassy spot with a small creek running through it. Mark had never told Abigail how he knew about it. She suspected his last girlfriend, the one he called “the farmer’s daughter,” had brought him here.

“Someone very elegant, who probably brought champagne and Brie in a basket, not turkey and rye in plastic bags from the No Frills grocery store,” Abigail said. “Should I keep it?”

“Hold on to it for a while, we may find the other along the way.”

Abigail wasn’t holding out much hope, but she found herself scanning the edges of the path as they walked. It was a nice shoe. But it was Mark who saw the clock.

“Holy shit. Look at this, just sitting here.” Mark bent over and picked up a clock in a wooden case. What Abigail knew was called a mantle clock. Her grandmother had had one on the mantle in her house.

The clock Mark held was in good shape—the wood shiny with a fine grain; the face un-clouded, though the hands had stopped at four thirty. It was almost an antique. No one Abigail or Mark knew had a clock like it. It was something you inherited and they were not at that stage yet.

“I bet it would run if I wound it.” Mark turned the clock around: “But it needs a key.”

He handed Abigail the duffel bag with their picnic in it and squatted down. He sifted through the weeds and rocks where the clock had been waiting; no key. Abigail stood beside him toeing through the dirt in front of her. Finally, after about five minutes, Mark stood up. Abigail started off down the road and Mark had to hurry to catch up.

“Hold on Abigail, this thing is heavy. I want to put it in the bag.”

Abigail stopped. “I think it’s creepy.”

“It’s just a clock.”

“But why is it out here in the middle of nowhere? I think you should leave it where it was.”

“Come on Abigail, someone probably dumped it.

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