Rain, constant, hard, always there. Wind, a force, always cold, senseless, heartless and never gone.
I got out of the pickup truck, into the dark cold rain, and the wind blew on me like a hurricane. Step by step, puddle by puddle up to the door. I opened the door and stepped through into the still warm air of the coffee shop with the comforting sounds of a sax being played on stage with drums taping alongside. I walked through the pencil lead and cinnamon filled air leading up to the coffee shop's counter feeling warm and toasty inside and out.
Then the cashier said, "the usual?". I responded plainly, "Yeah, like always". She smiled and rang up a hot chocolate. Before she asked I put the money on the counter, four dollars, and twenty-five cents. She collected it and closed the cash register.
I could hear the strong wind whistling on windows, but mostly I drowned out the very smooth jazz on the small stage. There were only a few people at the tables and they weren't making a sound. I turned and talked to the cashier "How's it going Alex?" "Same old, same old. How about you Malachi?". I wanted to talk about my time at school but "Same, same, how shop doing?". She told me during the rainy seasons business was hard "slow, but locals like you pay the bills. But there are some who need more than I do". I agreed "yah, that true, it is hard to make a living out here during the rainy sessions. Michelangelo has been having trouble because one daughter is getting married".
Alex came with my hot chocolate, then sat a cardboard holder down on it then said, " who's Michelangelo again, I forget". I put a thumb behind my back "the owner of my favorite Italian restaurant, mobster's meatballs". She caught on "oh yeah, you know I don't like Italian food that much she plus it executive". I smiled "not with me it isn't, I was the first customer awhile back. The guy gives me a discount, he treats me like family. Maybe you should come with me along during the summer". Alex wasn't thrilled "yah, I pass, I'm busy".
"Oh, here Malachi, just how you like it". She handed me my cup of hot chocolate, then she said: " Better bundle up, the storm is nasty outside". I walked to the door, then turned to say" see yah Alex". Alex stopped me "hay wait, I have to tell you something…I'm thinking of moving". I was in shock, "what! but you said business is fine!". She tried to calm me down "yah, yah, that's not it. I'm lonely, I need a boyfriend Malachi. I wanted to get away from my parents, but there were not a lot of black folks here and everyone is in their 40s. I'm thinking of moving to the salt city". My heart cracked "do you think your the only one, I'm alone a lot". Alex smiled at me like I was joking "what? How could you be alone, you know everybody in town" the shell in my heart cracked a little more "I don't talk to everyone every day". She looked at me little concerned "what about your folks. You never talk about your folks, you kinda skip around it". My heart sank "I don't want to talk about it". She went on "I know your mom is mayor and all but does she spend enough time with you". I began walking away "again I don't want to talk about it and she's not my mom!" I stormed out of the Coffee shop.
I escaped outside with all the heat leaving me, making me freeze to my bones. The cold hit me like wet polar bears in Antarctica. My clothes were parsley soaked adding to my discomfort of the cold. I stepped out of the shop's awning and my jacket crashed with the never-ending rain. I quickly walked over to my escape from this bombardment of the hale of water soaking my jacket.
I step back into the truck, escape the rain but soak in the cold. The truck's cabin was stale cold and seamed not much different from outside. The truck smelled of dust and chair foam comforting me because the smells were associated with dry. I held the hot chocolate in hands, feeling the heat in my palms. The hot chocolate nursed my body and soul, it felt like a piece of coffee shop's atmosphere faintly came to me through the heat of the hot chocolate.
The truck started, lighting up the dimly lit dashboard and the green clock that said seven-thirty. I slowly slipped my hot chocolate as she…..next to me didn't say a word to me and only looked at the road. As I began to settle the truck instantly started and moved out of the parking lot. I folded my arms as I sat in the cold truck, why couldn't she get the heater fixed. She has the money, why can't she fix it. She never ever listens. I could never get a word in with my aunt, she almost never talked to me. Even if I asked a question she wouldn't answer, she only talks if it was absolutely necessary. I was so tense, I couldn't face her. Her coughing gives off this unwelcoming emotion, making me want to get away from her. But I didn't always hate her this way.
When I was little and nieve, she seemed different. I don't know what was, things were the same. She did speak much and wore the same things. There were times I was a little scared of her, but as she put her hands on my shoulders I wasn't scared. The gloves felt smooth and warm on my energetic shoulders, I then felt really rewarded when she peeled back the vale to kiss me on the forehead. It was sad at times, but I remember being happy most of the time.
But as I got older, I started to realize how cold she was. I really noticed when I saw other parents. As I reached 10, 11, 12, I looked at my aunt in a very different light. Then in my teens, I started to hate her, questions like when she not like this? why are their parents better? why can't she be normal?
I hate my aunt, I hate my classmates and I hated this stupid rain. The rain was great, it lasts almost all year here and I could never go outside without getting bashed up with hale or hard rain. That's why living in Oregon isn't fun, well until summer that is. I might live in a small town but this place becomes one of the biggest tourist attractions in the state. Having a beautiful beach, shops, events, and a seasonal amusement park down near black woods. What used the summer for scuba diving but, I go on warmer days.
Reality came crashing into me, as the light turned green on a stoplight. we proceeded out the town and into the lone path that leads to a hump in the coast. A small Mountain called mystery mountains. I got my usual chills seeing the huge mounts and my memory of a distinct friend that had more questions than answers for. The paved road led around the mountains and into the thick fog. We passed the turnoff for mystery park and head down a road that led to a dead end. We soon got to the turn around that would lead us back into town but I knew very well whats was at the dead-end of this street.
The car stopped at the fenced entrance and the gate had posted signs saying " private property keep out, all intruders will be pursued and arrested, and then a custom sign stating "This is a private beach, not owned by the city, no visitors are allowed!". My aunt unlocked the gate and walked back to the truck. She had the door open while she drove the truck though, then she relocked the gate and got in. Then we drove through the thick fog to the house on a private beach, called mystery beach.
Mystery Beach, what a name. In reality, the beach doesn't really have a name cause my aunt privately owned it. Nevertheless, I still call it a mystery beach because it sounds cool. I did make the name mystery beach though, that credit goes to my favorite book called "Mystery and Magic: A real town". The book was a collection of myths and reports about the history of town going back to the 1800s. The book reported on evidence that native Americans believe some of these myths as gods. This town is full of myths and mystery about these visitors. I know each and every myth about the town from the book, the internet, and friends around town. Generally, these visitors look like us, which leads many to speculate that could have been early settlers from Europe or Asia. But boring White duds from other country's don't sell knick-knacks and souvenirs, which most of the town believe them from outer space teaching stopping wars between native tribes.
I enjoy the fictional stories about there's invaders and Indian tribes. It's a hobby I mostly do for fun. I have a lot of free time on my hands when I am done with my homework. If I not occupied, my house seemed to get real quiet at times. Dead quiet, so much so I started to be scared of the dark when I was a kid. I wished I had a mom.
My mom died, a day after I was born, and I don't know about my father. The only person who I can call family is Aunt, Lazarus. When I was little, I thought she was my mom, but she later then told me the truth. She wouldn't bother to read with me even if I asked. Lots of times in the dark, I stood dark waiting for something to happen.
To see my door open revealing my aunt covered in a velvet cloak that stretched to her ankles with her face being covered by a thick velvet veil over her face. Being mystified how it covered her identity and makes me feel alone previously, but now existed me for what was in store for me because she was reading her own story. One she picked, the one she thought I would like to hear from her smooth tranquil voice. She opens the book with her velvet gloves that didn't show her hands, reading a story about natives fighting and masters from above to intervene to stop the bloodshed. Then afterward she would kiss me cheek and I would wait for her to say "goodnight" but then realize I was talking to myself.
The truck stopped, my house was a medium-sized house with big windows. I don't know how my aunt is the mayor of the town. She has been mayor for 20 straight years. She gets a bonus on how well the town does. She works hard thought and she did tell me that this town was going to bought by someone before she got elected. The town is very remote and has issues during the rainy season. Today's one of those days where she had to stay late to deal with some of the town's financial problems and bookkeeping, that is why she didn't take me home after school. She gave me some cash and let me off at the small inside city arcade. After an hour and a half, she came back and got me hot chocolate or I myself got the hot chocolate and now here we are. Soon we got home and before I can say anything, in her simple tone she said: "I have work, please don't bother me". She says "please don't bother "every day, oh I got used to it, please don't bother me, my paperwork is more important than you. All I am is an annoyance, nothing else. She just figures, a figure of a parent, a figure of nothing. I took a deep breath went into my room and laid down. She might as well be my imagination and might as well be air but deep down I knew the truth. I remember glimpsing at her face as a child as the wind blew showing her true face, it pale but pretty and young. Now it just blurs in my memory, a reminder that she is still a person and not a machine. She always wore a velvet cloak over her any time we went out; which was not often. Most of the time, she would take me to school and herself to work. But besides that. she never showed her face and never left the truck. I had to get things myself, make my own breakfast, do my own laundry. She makes me so mad, but ….. I can't stay mad because she's all I have. There is no point, I went to my bookshelf. I chose my favorite for this time of night. "Mystery and Magic: A real town" and everything became so much better. The pages flew open, I went one my favorite that reminded me of my aunt. It's about a goddess with wings made of water that can fly and she makes the water into anything and controls it like Moses. Suggested by the paintings and statues carved by native Amranines. It's recorded in 1892 by the inhabitants of the town while it was still developing. Fisherman blamed the goddess for the fish disappearing from waters near the town, it still joked about it today. Then there are the black woods shadow's, with most saying if see a shadow move, your good as gone; which kinda is ridiculous because most people live to tell the tale, but there have been reports of people gone missing in black woods. These people who went missing weren't these ghost hunters, they were normal people who had car trouble or were on hikes. They just upfront vanished out of thin air. Nobody, no blood just a ring, watch or something usually connected to the victim.
The book is even more convincing after you read the excerpts of people's testimonies of the people surviving, It makes it feel real. It makes a good scary campfire story if I was invited to one. I have to keep the lights on when reading them. The reports go up to just recently, with one in 2003 taken to the extreme and bring lots of lights and night vision cameras. The report didn't find anything until the very end when all of sudden all their equipment with plenty of electricity, shorted out.
They did capture one picture it looks like something went wrong with the camera. The pitcher has a big black spot in the shape of a person, the book says "this image was recovered from the camera, the crew claimed it was 100% legitimate, critics say it looks like a bad photoshop, or possibly a camera malfunction, but what if isn't and then what turned off the lights that scared 10 full-grown adults to 'pee their pants"'.
The book tries to make things entertaining which is ok but sometimes it's a little cheesy. The book is thick being over 500 pages, despite my reading all the time I always finding something new. I always thought this book is fiction but one day.
I was hiking on Mystery mountain alone when I was 11 years old because I try to kill time. I made it to the top and where there was an empty parking lot that looks out at the town. I looked around and saw also saw a memorial, it read
" all those who need help or wisdom the black knight always prevails and always helps those who need it.
mankind"
I was dumbfounded in who was the black knight. I stared at the letter black knight "who's the black knight". Then suddenly I heard a voice above me say "it's me". I looked up I saw a faceless hooded warrior covered in a long dark coat which blew in the wind. It scared me and I speechless to say anything, I looked at him having a mask that covers this interface and not moving like a statue. My heart bust in fast beats as I waved my hand to see if it can see me or if I imagining it. He didn't budge, made me think it was a statue and I was imagining things. Then suddenly my eyes widen "it rude, not say hello to somebody right in front of you" his dark deep voice made my heart race and send shivers down my spine. My hair was on edge "are you real?". He responded irritated "aren't you?", I said bravely honest "you .. you looked like a statue". In light mocking tone he slowly turned this neck "is because I still" he jumped down from on top of the memorial right in front of me. At the time he looked to be six feet and looked down on my like the grim reaper. I started to shake down to my legs feeling I think I might have made him angry. He moved and made me jump, he extends this hand and rubbed my hair. The hand felt hard and leathery but then he gently tilted my head forward and bent his knees. He talked to me in a deep but friendly voice like a father "do want to hear a story?"."wha… what kind of story" I asked in a nervous tone. He unbent is keens "about 2 native tribes, who almost got into war over a misunderstanding". "What kind of misunderstanding," I ask in curiosity. He walked over to curb and sat down, he patted down a spot next to him for me. I sat next to him and he begins to tell a story of over spoiled daughter of a chef and overconfident son. After the story, I went home and I saw that he was in my book and he hasn't been seen in over 200 years.