In the summer of 1973, a string of unexplained disasters spread through Castle Rock like wildfire. It was the year Ace Merrill nearly died. He reckoned, in retrospect, the events started when he broke that damn antique statue, but his wife believed it started with the death of Owen Bundy.
Owen was a South Paris local, a big-name officer with the Paris Police Department (PPD) who was well into his sixties and pushing retirement. Those who knew him would often say that he was kind and generous, a man who gave more back than he took. For that reason, the community was rocked when boaters pulled him from the Little Androscoggin River a week after he went missing.
His body was bloated and some of his skin had peeled away like an orange from the tissue, most likely eaten by the marine wildlife - Ace even made the crude remark that he had become fish food, a joke that did not sit well with some.
An apparent suicide, the papers claimed.
Few were in disbelief, including Elise, Ace's sensitive wife, who swore there was something unusual afoot.
"Some people, no matter how fucking well they hide behind a smile, are truly lonely," Ace told her on the matter.
Elise was not sold. She could not explain it, but something didn't sit right. No. She wasn't like some of the Castle Rock residents who insisted that foul play was a factor in his tragic death, though she did believe he didn't just toss himself into the river. Honestly, she wasn't sure what to believe.
One thing was for certain, the entire town was in a state of unease. Elise could feel it. The air was stale and thick, and to make matters worse, a week later, another sudden disaster out of South Paris had dug its hooks in deep with the community. A fire.
Elise was in line at Brownies, a small country store when she heard the news. Martha Young, a regular with a love of gossip, was in front of her talking loudly about the incident. Ace liked to call her a 'fucking twattle-basket', a nickname that made Elise laugh every time she heard it.
She had to hide her wide smile behind her hand as the memory came to mind. Luckily it was just her, Martha, and Jessie Emerton, the cashier inside the store.
"My brother said it was really bad. He works with the county and saw the damages," Martha stated. She paused and drew a cross in the air over her chest. "Poor souls. I reckon they lost five."
Elise felt her heart race. Five, and then Owen Bundy. What sort of misfortune was brewing in South Paris?
When it was her turn to approach the counter, Martha turned and noticed her, painting on the fake smile she always wore when she saw someone she disliked. Elise heard she had as many friends as she had manners, and that wasn't many. If she turned up her nose to her enemies, then there would be no one for her to gossip to.
"Elise! Why I didn't notice you behind me," Martha lied, speaking like they were old friends who were reuniting for the first time in years. "Did you hear about those poor people in South Paris?"
"Yeah, I did. It's unfortunate," she uttered, opting not to mention that she overheard her talking to Jessie. The entire store could have heard her.
Martha frowned.
"I'll pray for them all."
Elise had no doubt. She was a devoted Christian, or so she claimed to be, but everyone knew she liked the taste of gin a bit too much. The aroma was strong on her today, no matter how much perfume she put on.
"I will make sure to pray for that ruffian husband of yours too." She drew another cross in the air in front of her chest, then turned and walked out the door.
Bitch.
Elise tightened her jaw and tried to ignore the obvious insult. The chime of the overhead bell on the door eased her a bit, but she was heated. Her marriage was a hot topic amongst the residents of Castle Town. She couldn't be seen with Ace without a person spreading a rumor.
Are those bruises she's covering?
Look how unhappy she looks.
Gossipers rejoice. It was bullshit, but it wore on her.
Elise was warned about marrying Ace, by friends and family alike. They were opposites, but she fell hard. She was young, in her early twenties when he tossed her the ring; no 'down on one knee' or 'special moment'. It was the best day of her life. Then he went away.
Ace was arrested for attempted robbery and caught cracking a safe at the Mellow Tiger. He was sent to Shawshank Penitentiary for four years and not a day passed that Elise didn't consider calling off the engagement. But for some reason, she stayed. Love, perhaps. Rumors spread that she was lonely, that she had no one after her daddy died. At the time, maybe the rumors were true. She didn't know.
Either way, she said 'I do. Forever and always' to Ace in 1970 at the courthouse in Castle Rock. Richard Chambers was the witness; wasted but in attendance. And she never felt regret, not in the three years she carried his name. Aside from his dark sense of humor and controlling nature, Ace took care of her. The scrutiny she tried to overlook, but it was hard.
Sometimes she couldn't control herself.
Elise charged out of Brownies, ready to berate Martha Young. Narcissistic old drunk. A gentle breeze tossed her cornflower blue baby doll dress as she crossed the parking lot, carrying sacks of groceries and searching for the beat-up cream-colored Buick that Martha drove around in, but to no avail. She had left. Elise tightened her jaw in irritation.
Chill. She isn't worth the effort.
It still would have been nice to call her out. Elise took an uneasy breath and left the lot, heading south on Route 117. Her Chevelle, left to her by her father, rolled down the blacktop with ease without squeaking thanks to Ace. He was passionate about cars and nearly refused to let her drive it once it was fixed.
"It's too much car for you to handle, darling," he told her.
"You're too much for me, Ace, but I handle you just fine," Elise retorted.
She never heard a complaint after that, but his stern blue eyes turned to her from time to time when she hit 80 on Pleasant Road just after the Bowie Stream Bridge.
On Cranberry Bog Road, a two-story farmhouse came into view. It belonged to Ace, given to him by Junior Merrill, his father, before his death. It was the only nice thing that man ever gave him and even then it needed a lot of love and care.
A sleek blue Ford Galaxie was parked in the gravel driveway near the front porch, windows down. Elise raised a curious brow and pulled into her spot next to it. What was Ace doing at home? He normally worked at the junkyard from 6 to noon and sometimes he would stop by the Emporium Galorium to check in on his cheapskate uncle before returning home for the afternoon. It was odd.
Elise got out and gathered the groceries, then took them inside. The screen door creaked loudly as she walked into the house, realizing immediately it was cooler outside. She groaned in irritation. The AC unit must have given up and finally died; it had been messed up for a month now.
As she sauntered into the kitchen, she saw Ace leaning against the counter with a beer in hand. The electric fan plugged into the wall beside him tossed his side-swept blonde hair out of place as it rotated from side to side. Even with it on, Elise could see that it was still hot. The white slim-fit t-shirt he was wearing was damp with sweat.
"I see the air is out," Elise mentioned, setting the sacks down on the table.
"Compressor is bad. It would be cheaper to buy a new unit than to waste money tryin' to fix it," Ace retorted. He gulped down the rest of his beer and then crushed the can, earning a wide-eyed look from his wife.
Elise sighed.
"Bobbie won't take those if you crush them."
"Take 'em to the scrap yard. You get more money for them," Ace retorted.
He was always suggesting better ways for Elise to earn more, but she was stubborn. The grocery store was paying her in dimes and nickels for the cans; the scrap yard would pay her more, and he could crush them without one of her 'I can't believe you just did that' looks.
Walking over to the sacks on the table, he looked through them, narrowing his eyes as he realized that she had not bought more beer, an action that didn't go unnoticed by Elise.
"My check was less than I thought it would be. "
Ace hummed. Cheap ass bozo. Mason Gilmore, the practice manager at Castle Rock Family Practice was just sore because Elise was not hot for him, a statement that his wife always laughed off.
"Mason? He's just overly nice," Elise had stated.
"All guys who wanna get laid are overly nice."
Ace knew he acted the same way when he first met Elise. Hook, line, and sinker.
Who caught who though?
Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her against his chest, despite the uncomfortable heat. She was thick in the thighs with a round butt, fitting to him like a glove.
Elise chuckled as Ace's short scruffy beard tickled her neck. He leaned in and blew air in her ear.
"That's because you won't wear those cute cutoffs I like. Let him look but not touch."
Elise snorted and turned up her eyes.
"He's a good man. A Baptist."
"Then he can thank God for what he made for me," Ace retorted. He smacked her rear, then went back to the counter to stand in the path of the fan.
It was scorching.
Elise emptied the sacks and then began to put the few items she bought in their designated areas. The cool air from the fridge was a welcomed surprise. It was a shame neither of them had the money to buy a new unit though.
Speaking of…
"Did something happen at the junkyard?" She was referring to the reason he was home early.
"I told that old fuck to shove it and left," Ace retorted as though it were no problem at all.
Elise could not believe him. He quit. Milo Pressman was an angry old drunk, but he at least went out of his way to hire Ace despite him being a felon.
As if he knew she was on the verge of reminding him how broke they were, Ace let her in on his plan.
"Pop might be starting a moving service. He has a friend in South Paris who needs some antiques moved to Jerusalem's Lot. If I do this, that cheap fucker might let me in on the business. I'll make more, a hell of a lot more than I was at the junkyard."
Elise was happy for him, she was, but he should have made sure first before he quit his job. Reginald "Pop" Merrill was his uncle, but he was also a greedy old man who cared little about his family.
"Hon, your uncle is just…not reliable. It feels too good to be true."
Ace tightened his jaw. He knew how bad his family was. Hell, he made mistakes too, but it still irritated the hell out of him when Elise tossed their faults in his face.
"You married into this family, darling. But that doesn't make you an expert."
Elise took an uneasy breath.
"I'm not trying to belittle you, Ace, or your family, but times are different. We need to start thinking about tomorrow and not just how we plan to make it through today."
"What the fuck do you think I'm doing?" The blonde snapped. He pointed his finger to nowhere in particular. "I'm out there bustin' my ass every day only to come home to you, breakin' my balls."
Elise had nothing more to say; warm tears stung her eyes. Was she really putting so much of a strain on him? Did he really feel this way? She averted her attention to the floor, wanting to think about anything but this, but Ace walked forward and turned her toward him.
"Forever and always, remember."
Elise shook her head the best she could with Ace's fingers holding her jaw. Of course, she remembered. She said it in her wedding vows.
He stared at her a moment, eyes as dark and stormy as the sea, then released her.
"Don't bother waiting up."
Ace stormed out of the house, letting the screen door crack against the frame, a sound that for some reason made Elise overly nervous. She sprinted out onto the porch to catch him, but he was already tearing out of the driveway, heading up Cranberry Bog Road.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. Something did not sit right about this.
Amid the quiet, humid night, Ace Merrill flicked the spark wheel of a cheap disposable lighter and lit the cigarette between his lips. He took his first draw in what felt like hours; his fussy ass partner, a man in his late fifties, had been smoke-free for three months and pitched a fit when he lit up in his truck once they left Castle Rock, so he had no option but to go cold turkey for the 18-mile long stretch to South Paris.
The nicotine made him feel a little less antsy, standing beside the moving truck near some shady as fuck alley while he waited. The cargo was loaded, but the store owner had another important piece she wanted them to take to Jerusalem's Lot, paying them upfront for the transfer. It was a hassle, but at least he earned a little extra. Elise could finally get her panties out of a twist about their lack of income.
When Ace stormed out, her blue eyes were glistening with tears. She was an emotional one. He felt bad, but he was not going to apologize to her; she pushed him to anger. If all the cards fell into place and Pop came through, then he'd buy a new unit for the house and maybe let her go shopping at that boutique in Castle View she always talked about.
That ought to put her on cloud nine. And put him in the door for some boss sex. Elise was always her best when happy, but there was no denying her ability to blow his mind when she was mad.
If he pushed her–
The sound of faint ringing tickled his ears. Ace swallowed hard. There was an intense pressure like he had submerged his head beneath the water, and then it stopped. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and walked to the back of the truck, peeking over the ramp at the alley beside the antique shop. There was a dim light above the stairs leading into the store's basement that bathed the surrounding bricks a burnt mustard yellow, a light that drew him in like a moth.
The old Ace, the free spirit, would have checked to see if there was a lock on the door. Antiques sometimes sold at a decent price. His old buddy from Shawshank, Nat Copeland, knew some guys who could help him find a buyer.
There was a lot at stake if he got caught again, however. That was the domesticated Ace's way of thinking; the old Ace didn't care; the Ace who was whispering in his ear to man up.
Whispering.
Ace swore he could hear someone, but their words were jumbled, an echo of hisses and grunts that didn't sound like a language, yet he knew what they were saying.
Come and see…come.
He stalked robotically toward the alley, stumbling over the ramp once, but never stopping. His cigarette fell onto the asphalt, forgotten. Closer and closer like the voice implored. If the light were a Zapper, then Ace was an insect, walking in a daze toward it, unaware of its true intention. Unaware that he might die.
Come and see…come…come.
The whispers increased, so much so that Ace didn't hear his name being called until someone roughly grabbed his shoulder.
"The fuck you doin', boy?" Henry Rawlins asked. He was an associate of his uncles - Pop didn't have friends - a stocky man who reminded Ace of a lumberjack. "You on drugs?"
Ace blinked, then darted his eyes around the alley. He had walked as far as the corner, just before the stairs. What was he doing? He could not remember.
In annoyance, he yanked his arm away from the old brute and fixed his shirt.
"Chill out, Paul Bunyan. I thought I heard someone."
Henry raised a brow and glanced down the alley. There was no one there. He turned back and eyed Ace suspiciously for a moment, noting the sheen of nervous sweat that clung to his skin, then grunted. Damn Merrills.
"Come here and help me for a minute. This last crate is fuckin' heavy."
Ace considered telling him to shove it, but he wanted to get paid. He followed Henry back into the shop where the store owner, Mrs. Libby, or Lindsey - he couldn't remember - stood; there were puffy bags under her eyes as though she hadn't slept in days, and beside her on the counter was a medium-sized box made of aspen with a latched lid. Chunks were missing from the wood and certain areas were stained black; it had seen better days.
Heavy my ass.
Ace tightened his jaw.
"Take the box out to the truck, kid," Henry ordered.
It's for the money.
Gripping the box by the sides, Ace lifted it off the table and knitted his brows. The black stains had a powdery touch to them like ash and came off onto his fingers when he readjusted them. While it had some weight to it, the box certainly wasn't as heavy as Henry let on. One thing was for certain though, it stank.
The musty smell of old wood and something akin to iron permeated his nostrils, making his nose itch.
"What's in this damn thing?" Ace asked.
Mrs. L smiled and reached forward with a bony hand, petting the lid.
"A precious package. Be gentle with it."
Whatever creepy lady.
Ace took a step back to detach her from the box, much to her dismay, then turned and walked back outside to the truck. He hurried up the ramp, ready to put the damn thing down, but a headache as quick as thunder pierced his skull, shooting pain down his neck. His grip loosened and the box plummeted to the oak floor with an echoing thump.
"Fuck!" Ace growled.
He was sure he heard a distinct crack from within.
The headache subsided and then faded just as quickly, leaving Ace in a state of confusion. What just happened to him? He ignored the incident and squatted to check the box. It did not appear to be damaged more than it already was, but what concerned him more was inside the box. If he broke the package, then Pop would deduct his pay.
Ace popped the rusted latch; its hinges made a sharp squeak as he lifted the lid and peered inside. The scent almost made him retch. It was far worse than before like hundreds of old pennies were shoved into his nostrils. He covered his face with his hand, smearing the powder onto his skin, and searched the old shredded paper for the package.
A corner of it was sticking out of the packing, a murky yellowish-brown rock that looked like an old bone. Ace reached inside to pick it up, but to his dismay, a fragment broke off into his hand. It felt brittle and smooth, then Ace noticed that it was hollow inside.
"So much for–"
Suddenly a black smoke, darker than any shade he had ever seen lurched from the hollow rock like a predator and covered his face. Ace tried to wave it away, but it clung to him. To his horror, it flew up his nose and into his throat, filling his lungs. He sputtered, trying to catch his breath, but it seemed impossible; he felt like he was drowning.
Then all at once, it stopped and the smoke vanished.
Ace gasped for air, taking in as much as his lungs could hold. His throat was sore and his eyes were glistening with tears. Visibly he was shaken. He slammed the lid back down onto the box not concerned that he had broken it, then raced down the ramp, almost slamming into Henry.
"What the fuck has your panties in a twist? You almost look like you've seen a ghost, kid."
A stray tear slid down his face, but Ace wiped it away.
"It's–" He paused. What was it? How could he explain it? Ace tightened his hand into a fist. "Nothing. It's nothing."
He ignored Henry's curious look and walked to the passenger side door, hauling his trembling body into the truck. Henry could deal with the rest; he wasn't going anywhere near that damn box again.
Ace sat in silence, turning the band of his wedding ring around his finger as he listened to Henry whistle a jaunty tune, entering the truck on the driver's side once he secured the back. He started the engine and off they went, up Brigg's Avenue toward Main Street.
The silence between them was deafening. Ace stared out the window almost in a trace, watching the town rush by in a streak of vivid light. It wasn't until they passed a house that lay in a heap of burnt plastic and twisted metal that Ace snapped to like he had been struck by a brick. His stomach turned and he felt strangely sick.
Wasn't that the house that he heard about? The family of five. It struck a chord in him, for some reason; he wasn't sure why. It just felt…connected to him. Ace turned the band around his finger again and again, an action that did not go unnoticed.
"Someone actually decided to marry you," Henry teased. "She must have been desperate."
No Merrill was a good Merrill.
He grunted in annoyance as Ace ignored his comment, looking more unfocused than ever. Must have been some strong stuff he was on. Henry leaned forward and turned on the radio, anything to drown out the silence.
[We've only just begun…]
An intense bout of anxiety suddenly overtook Ace. He couldn't make heads or tails of it; he could hardly think.
[Sharing horizons that are new to us…Watchin the signs along the way…]
The music began to fade, sounding muted as though the Carpenters had been submerged in water. Their voices were drowned out by the eerie hiss and grunt of a voice that spoke in tongue; a voice that Ace could understand.
Abandon thy will…come unto me.
The last thing he felt before he seized up and went unconscious, was the band around his finger biting into his skin.