Page 14 of The Quiet
“We’re looking for information on Tunedyl Forest,” Kay interjected, leaning over the bar. “We’re up to date on the tall tales about the Strike and the cursed man, but want to hear the facts from a veteran.”
Ella rolled her back against the bar, watching the windows as Kay carried on the conversation. Lamplighters were lighting the lamps as dusk settled outside.
Mark returned to cleaning his glasses. “I wish I had more facts than I do,” he said. “My guess is that someone caught a pretty bad mutation. Terrible luck.”
“So the part about the man is true? That the mutation has lasted for a while?” Ella chimed in.
“It hasn’t been verified by the capital. People like to write it off as a ghost story, and it’s an old one. People around here are raised on it, and no one who has disappeared so far has been important enough to force an investigation at government level. Way I see it, the capital has turned a blind eye to the hearsay, and no one goes into the woods. A disappearance every five years or so keeps people on edge enough to hang back.”
“Okay, well what do you think?” Kay prodded.
“Seen it myself,” he replied, which surprised them both. He nodded, continuing to polish glasses. “I didn’t go in close, but sure as the morning I saw a figure in the woods, moving around. There is something there. Not sure if it’s human though. Could be some kind of mutated monkey. Has a strange face that doesn’t look like either though.”
Ella and Kay exchanged glances.
“A strange face? What did it look like?” Ella asked.
Mark nodded across the bar and they both spotted a painting over the fireplace. “A lot like that,” he explained as Ella examined the white painting with black, angular lines marked over it in the vaguest shape of monstrous eyes and a mouth.
Kay seemed hypnotized by it, approaching the painting as if it might jump out at him.
“Mark,” Kay said. “There’s a library across the way, right?”
“Few houses down, a small little cottage. Not sure you should call it a library. Probably closed for the day.”
“I’ll be right back,” he said to Ella and Mark before rushing out.
“He’s still as restless as a cat in a hailstorm,” Mark whispered, before nudging Ella. “Why all your questions about the woods? You aren’t thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you?”
Ella sighed. “Between us Mark, you probably shouldn’t know what I’m thinking.”
Mark set a glass down and picked up another. After cleaning a few more, he rested the rag across his shoulder. “Mutations been on those woods for as long as we know and if it is a man, and he’s not dead–well, I’d rather believe it a ghost, like many of the folk here.”
“Yeah,” Ella replied, sensing the warning and leaving the statement where it was.
“You know why they call them curses and not mutations when they’re stable for this long?”
Ella chuckled. “I know, I know. You think a Strike created it, that it was designed.”
“Nah, nah,” Mark laughed. “I think it’s very, very, very bad luck, and when you have very, very, very bad luck, chances are you deserved it.”
Ella was surprised and relieved Mark offered an alternative explanation so easily. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it,” she replied. “Not the most forgiving way.”
“You’re either looking at an awfully dangerous mutated animal, a rare mutated person–either way a beast, or a ghost that you can’t kill anyway,” he jested and then his expression grew serious. “Whatever is waiting in those woods, it’s not going to be a pretty sight.”
“Mark might be right about that one.”
Ella jolted hard, causing Mark to jump with her as she turned to see Kay standing near the door.
“You scared me!” Mark said, gesturing to Ella. “I’ve never seen you jump before!”
Ella rubbed her forehead, exchanging a knowing look with Kay who understood her nerves were still raw from the trauma of her last mission. He looked her over with an analytical eye before putting a book down on the counter, and opening to a page with a row of masks that had black and white patterns similar to the one over the mantle.
“This?” he pointed to one specific mask most similar to the pattern on the wall. Each mask had a label of an emotion beneath it. Beneath this one was the word,Rage.
“That, yeah, that,” Mark shoved a bulbous, calloused finger onto the page. “That’s quick Kay. You have a memory like a trap.”
“It’s history. This is a ROSE mask. That isn’t its face. It’s actually a mask. The ROSE would wear them to imitate certain emotions. It could hypnotize newer Strike and make them easier to kill.”
