Chapter 1
Jacob Collins now finds himself in the town of Hunter’s Creek, searching for the perfect material for his current novel. What he doesnt expect to find is a boy the town calls an enthusiast of the macabre.
There are no frightening scenes in this chapter, its actually just a small bit of mundane things. Jacob just has a inconveniently bad morning.
To say that Jacob had a pleasant morning was… a bit of a strong word. Decent could work, though he felt that drab fit it all quite a bit more. The bed had been very stiff as if it was old enough to have been worn down to the creaking springs that supported it, breakfast had been a no go after hearing some shouting from the inn’s kitchen, and Jacob had fumbled with his clothes this morning, walking out in a mismatched outfit before having to turn around and head straight back in to fix it. He silently hoped none of the staff had witnessed that.
The coffee shop, as it were, was only a few stores down from the inn that he had rested at. Which was lucky for him since currently he was barely functioning thanks to the aforementioned inn room stay. Hopefully they would have breakfast as well.
When he stopped, I front of the door it seemed that they had only been open for a few minutes, which was odd considering it was already almost nine. Jacob stepped in and immediately the aroma of breakfast and coffee flooded his nose. He took a deep breath and sighed, he finally found himself able to let his shoulders relax. The smell of an actual breakfast made his stomach rumble, and he adjusted his bag on his shoulder while finding a nice spot to sit at the bar.
“What can I get you today, sugar?” a woman behind the counter gave him a large smile. Had Jacob been paying more attention to her he would’ve noticed that her teeth seemed so perfect they almost looked fake, and she wore so much makeup that it was more of a detriment to her looks rather than a helpful addition. Her hand absentmindedly twirled a lock of bleach blond hair.
“Ill have a coffee and a small plate of pancakes,” he said while setting his laptop on the counter.
“Coming right up, sir,” she winked.
He smiled and waited for her to leave before giving another sigh. He expected the people of this town to be a bit much, and were he running on a good night’s sleep he figured he would be more apt to handle it. He wasn’t however, so for now he tried to focus on an outline for his currently novel.
“What brings you to Hunter’s Creek, stranger?” she asked while pouring him a cup of coffee. The smile was still present on her face, and by the looks of it, it didn’t seem forced either. He wished he could channel that much raw happiness at a time like this. If only he could sap her motivation and use it for his own. The thought wasn’t one he expected his mind to conjure up, but he supposed he could use the idea for part of his story.
“I’m looking for stories,” he responded, wondering if she had any.
“Like scoops? You with the media, Mister?” she looked at him with an accusing gaze and he quickly lifted his hands in defense.
“N-no ma’am! Not at all. I’m a fictional writer, and I was hoping to find some folktales or stories about paranormal activity in the area,” he said, but as it came out of his mouth, he realized that just sounded like a stupid excuse. Luckily it seemed to work anyways.
“Ooooh, I heard from the McDonrey’s that they had a writer stayin’ at their inn. You must be the man of the hour,” her smile slipped right back onto her face as if it hadn’t left, “We got plenty of old coots willing to talk your ear off about magic and crazy nonsense. Though, I’d be a bit careful who you talk to.”
That caught his attention and he finally looked up to make eye contact with her. He took this opportunity to see if his coffee had cooled any too. It had not, no creamer either, he would ask for that in a moment. For now, he listened intently.
“Mr. Baker. He’s always going on about crazy stories. Scares the kids half to death when he talks to him. I know he’s just messin’ around, but yeesh, how messed up do you have to be to have that many spooky stories to let loose?” she sighed and leaned on the counter. It was slow today, but then again Jacob began to wonder if this was normal for such a small town. It was oddly different than the city that he was used to.
“He just thinks up stories on his own? He doesn’t get them from anywhere?” Jacob asked with interest. If they were original works, he would gladly pay if they were good enough to cause a fright, and at this point anything new in those regards would practically be godsend. People just weren’t scared of all the classics anymore.
“Yeah, seems such a nice man until he starts telling those stories. In all other respects he’s a saint. He’s actually a regular at the shop too. It’s almost that time of day when he finally crawls out of whatever hovel he comes from,” she joked, “He doesn’t always share stories, only when the kids ask, and that’s on them.”
“What’d you say his name was?” Jacob opened a notepad on his computer so that he could write the name down.
“Trace Baker, he’s an odd one, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Once he gets to talking it just doesn’t stop.” She set down his pancakes and went to help another customer who had walked in.
Jacob could deal with a senile old man—well as long as said senile old man didn’t have a weapon. Judging from what she had said though, Mr. Baker seemed an agreeable fellow, likely with too much time in his older age to think up stories to mess with the local kids. If he talked as much as she said, then good. More information meant more inspiration. Though he figured the man might be reluctant to sell any ideas, which may end up being a problem.
As he thought he almost ended up forgetting about his pancakes, which he promptly ate now before they got cold. The coffee wasn’t any better now that it had cooled off, and it felt a bit too late and too awkward for him to ask for cream and sugar now, so he decided he would rather just deal with it.
“Coffee without creamer? You’re an odd one, stranger.”
Jacob looked up from his now empty place to the source of the voice. Next to him was a man perhaps just a few years younger than himself with a smile that felt more genuine than most he had ever seen in his life. He sat next to Jacob, which he found a bit odd considering all the available spaces still left in the café. This didn’t seem to bother the mysterious man at all.
“Ah, not something I prefer, usually,” Jacob felt a bit awkward and fiddled with his keyboard just a bit. He didn’t feel so bad as he would’ve with someone sitting next to him, after all his document was open, but it was blank for now. He never could get over people who read over his shoulder nosily.
The man gave out a bit of a chuckle at that and Jacob couldn’t really tell if he was laughing at him or with him. He gave a bit of a sigh, not one that he thought could be heard, but as his luck would have it, it was. The laughter stopped.
“Are you the writer I’ve heard about?” the man asked.
“Word travels fast here if a nobody like me gets this much attention,” Jacob took another sip of the bitter coffee.
“The town doesn’t get many visitors,” he gave a lighthearted laugh once more, “But you sure don’t seem like a nobody to me. Can I ask what you’re here for Mr…?”
“Just Jacob is fine.”
“Alright Jacob,” he started, “What brings you here?”
The other man seemed far too excited about a newcomer in the town. Far more at least than everyone else he had run int who knew that he was new but didn’t pay him any mind. Meanwhile whoever this fellow was looked ready to burst at the seams.
“Uh-“
“Trace, stop running off my customers!” The woman from before wore a large, irritated scowl. The mention of the name Trace however gave Jacob a bit of whiplash.
“Me,” he said, “but you’re the one forcing the guest to drink bland coffee.”
At that she snatched Jacob’s cup, “Crap, I forgot!” she muttered to herself before running into the kitchen. The name certainly wasn’t the only reason he was a bit shocked now. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond to a community so tightly knit that everyone seemed to act like feuding family members.
“She can be a bit forgetful, you just have to remind her,” Trace said with no evidence of bother in his voice.
“Hold on a moment,” Jacob collected his thoughts, “You’re Trace Baker? The town’s scary story enthusiast?” he would’ve found it funny if he weren’t in shock. He supposed he shouldn’t have assumed it was an old man, but the idea of ravings on paranormal activity seemed nothing short of senile.
“Yes…” his tone shifted just a little and he looked more confused now, “I wouldn’t call myself an enthusiast, but I am Trace Baker.”
