"Something is awry."

People come up to me all the time and ask me, “Nathaniel Aberdeen, how much is too much?” I usually respond by saying, “Who are you, why did you use my full name, and how did you even get here? This is a fishing boat,” before proceeding to throw them off. And in my feats of unbelievable human strength, I think to myself, Perhaps keelhauling an innocent bystander is too much, and perhaps using an unlikely scenario as an anecdote to introduce a chapter of a book no one will read is too much, but then I realize, No, I know what too much is. Too much is consistently checking your mailbox every half hour to see if your concubine has sent you back a letter. Too much is your boss pestering you every chance they get to see if you faxed them your quarterly report yet. Too much is not a quantity, but a mentality. Too much is the desire to disprove the devilish doubts that loom in the back of your mind.

The city-state of Plainwood, for example, was notorious for not trusting any of its citizens (so much so that there was one year where a cactus was written in as a mayoral candidate. Many voters liked the sharp points it made in debates). Had Plainwood trusted its people more, the idea of a triumvirate of mayors would have been an ingenious idea and would have revolutionized the government of the small bit of land it occupied. But, since the main reason for their three-mayor system was because the founders didn’t trust having only one person in charge, the idea of the triumvirate suddenly seems like too much. Still, like most Plainwooders, I’m no political science major.

On the topic of the mayoral system in Plainwood, I feel it necessary to bring up how it worked. Like many townships in the United States, there was no main person in charge of everything, but rather one person in charge of their own department. Archibald West oversaw public facilities and utilities, from drinking fountains to the school district. Cliffe Rhubis oversaw legislature and enforcement, a somewhat impractical and antiquated position, given Plainwood’s low-to-nonexistent crime rate. Matt Kennett oversaw public safety and relations and made it his number one goal to make Plainwood a habitable place, due to his looming doubts that said otherwise. 

*****

Eyes shot open, a pool of sweat drenched his head. A wad of pillows and blankets scrunched up between his arms. Matt patted every area of his person and sighed in relief. He opened the blinds and was greeted by the pitch-black twilight of pre-pre-sunrise. The clock on his bureau blipped “4:59am.” How convenient this nightmare woke him at his usual wakeup time.

There’s a feeling you get when someone sneaks up behind you and they’re about to tickle the back of your neck. In your peripheral, you could sense someone is there but don’t know who they are or what they are planning. You just know they are going to do something and you spend the rest of those seconds that feel like eternities in dreadful anticipation of that person, whatever they are going to do, whenever they are going to do it. And then they finally tickle the back of your neck, and the tension increases in your body, causing you to curl tightly backwards, followed by a laugh of all types of hysteria. This was how Matt Kennett felt every day.

Matt rose and made his bed, singing in Latin, “Sit villa manere tutum, Sit villa manere tutum. Secrurus a malum, sit villa manere tutum.” He went to his bathroom and turned his shower faucet to the farthest cold setting it could reach. After, he dried himself off and temporarily shed off his worries with a brief meditation, caressing his black salt lamp. He was a sucker for salt, as it was a multipurpose mineral beneficial in cooking, clothing, and clericking. Whether as a rock or as small crystals it could ward off the spirits. When thrown over one’s left shoulder, it would blind any inevitable demons perched there like a parrot.

Afterwards, he grabbed a pastel green button-down shirt from his closest and took his wallet from the nightstand, still only while using only his right hand. He walked downstairs and made himself a cup of lightly salted herbal tea. After wrapping a scarf around his neck, he took his travel cup and strolled outside to finally take in a breath of fresh air. He sipped his tea as a comforting aura of warmth surrounded him. He jumped in relief when he saw his cousin out standing across the street. “Morning, Eileen. How are you today?”

“Well, I spent all night ‘grading’ ‘analyses,’ I listened to ‘Scream in ma Face!’ by Rowcus Cowcus three times in an hour, and I’ve gotten into making sourdough. So, same old. How are you?”

“I don’t know. To be honest, I’m a bit antsy today.” Hs shivered and took another sip of his tea. “Have you met any more of our neighbor? How are they?”

Eileen took in a deep breath through her nose and quickly exhaled, clasping her hands together around her face. She took a moment to think about who she was talking to and what she was talking about. Then she merely put on her distinctive Eileen smile and began to calmly answer.

“They’re fine, they’re good.”

“That’s good. I only saw them for like a minute or two yesterday.” He remembered, “You were there! So, anyway, they’re nice? Nothing odd about them, did you notice?”

“I mean, they speak French.”

Matt bubbled down into giggling relief. “God, please never change, Eileen.” He breathed in and straightened his whole body, stiffening himself like a pole. “But seriously, I’ve been thinking a bit, and I’m sort of starting to worry about everything that’s been happening lately.”

“That’s understandable, but Natalie’s a great person. Just a little bit shy, that’s all. I’m sure it’d make her day if you just headed over, said hey hey, and explained everything.”

Matt’s mood drastically flipped around, and all his tension released. He clapped his hand on his cup. “You’re right! Either way though, just be careful. ‘d hate for anything to happen to you.” He took one more sip and cringed at how cold it got. Patting both of his pockets to check he had everything he needed and nothing had spontaneously appeared. “Okay! I’m going to head out. Don’t miss me too much!”

“I’ll try not to, Matt,” her voice rose and continued to plateau, “But my friends just occupy so much of my mind.”

*****

With a giddy kick in his step, Matt Kennett approached the porch of town hall. An enormous gust of chilly wind puffed in his face, which slowed down everything else about him. The natural cold always brought down his resolve, but he could always rely on the rising sun the same time every morning to keep it back up. Still, he was quick to rush into the heated offices.

“Good morning, Matt,” said his co-mayor, Archibald West, “How are you today?”

“I am fine, Archie, thank you for asking. How are you?”

“Well, Martha has been suffering a terrible cold lately and it’s especially hard to help her with all of the overtime I’ve had to be doing. And Brendan won’t be coming home anytime soon since he just learned his wife is having a baby. I guess I’m going to become a grandfather soon enough, so that’s a thing, I suppose. I managed to literally be in the middle of a bitter feud between my two neighbors about a topic I’m not entirely certain what it is, but I’m quite sure involves a lawnmower and an IV. My blood pressure has been fluctuating lately. The doctor tells me it’s nothing too drastic, but you know how doctors are. My brother came over last weekend, so that was a pleasant surprise. Although he did also bring over his wife, who, honestly, talks and complains way too much about taxes and government intervention, even though I keep telling her that it’s the only thing that’s keeping our state well and thriving. But she keeps insisting otherwise, and frankly, I’m getting quite annoyed by it. Yes, the first one or two times, I could tolerate, since I’m a fairly tolerant person, but the fact that she keeps jamming her beliefs—which are inarguably wrong, by the way—down everyone’s throats is starting to get on my nerves, which doesn’t really help my blood pressure. I’ve also been crunching some numbers lately, and I doubt we’ll be close to affording those extra drinking fountains for shorter people in most of our public facilities, which I find quite a shame, being five-five myself. But the good news is that we can afford railings for some other parts of the mountain, which I know you’ve been excited for. My weekly Cheese of the Month order came yesterday, and have you tried sage derby? I think you’d really like it, Matt, it’s got a lot of herbs in it, and I find it very tasty. I started getting back into reading, and I’m currently in the middle of a fantastic novel about this blind man who went off and became a big executive. Marissa just got back from Belgium, and I was ecstatic to see her, although now I can never tell when she’s speaking French or German. Both have similar r and u sounds, you know, and I suppose the e-u is also comparable to the o-umlaut. She did bring back a large variety of chocolates, and the pictures were stunning, especially the statues of the Mannekin Pis. I don’t know if I pronounced that right, but it’s a big thing in the city of Brussels. And she’s also getting engaged! I’m so excited! Also, I finally took Cliffe’s advice on getting a hobby, and I have to say: it’s very fun learning to whittle. I probably won’t ever be as good as him, but I did spend last weekend making a cute little dog—or, what barely resembles the shape of a dog, anyway.”

“So, same old?”

“Yeah, same old.”

“That’s good, that’s always good.” said Matt. He was speaking slightly quieter, in a tone where one would otherwise clear their throat after talking.

The thin knee of a long bony leg pushed open the front door, and a tall, scrawny old man came ambling in, holding carrying a wooden box of objects, items, stuff, and things. “Aaaaahhh, g’mornin’, people,” said Cliffe Rhubis. Living out in a log cabin in the forest, one of his hobbies included scrounging about and picking up any interesting trinkets he could find to decorate the office. It gave the building some nice friendly, homey feels to it. “Got some Monday scavengings for everyone.” He poured the box on the floor and a cascade of dirt fell along with it. “Eh, sorry about that. I’ll clean it up later.”

Rusty wrenches, used bullet shells, broken flashlights, degrading cloth dolls, shattered flasks. Trash, treasure, it was all the same to a minimalist like Cliffe. One thing that caught everyone’s eye was a rock as black as the farthest reaches of space.

“That one just flew into my house the other day,” Cliffe said. “Thought it looked just like the statue on ‘Leen Pritchett’s place.”

Indeed it did. The rock was carefully crafted and cut into the shape of a left hand, half-open, as if reaching for something. Just like the statue, there was a deeper cut in the palm.

Matt snatched it from Cliffe and examined it himself. He turned it around the light at every angle. His instincts told him to throw it back in the pile, but something about the rock itself made him not as scared to touch as he would have been. His suspicion drove him closer to it, and eventually, he dared to lick it.

“This is salt.”

“A hand made of salt?” Archie said.

His body ran in double time, blood rushing, heart pounding, brain thinking. “We all need to get to work. I will be in my office if anyone needs me.”

Coincidences don’t exist, according to the Pritchett-Kennett family tree. Everything happens for a reason. Coincidentally, I never used to believe in that until my friend Jackie told me how she had to break up with her boyfriend Amos for a reason completely out of Amos’s realm of control. At first glance, one could say that was an awful coincidence for everyone involved. But even so, it was still something that happened, and results did come from it that caused the present. Jackie learned how much she really loved Amos, and Amos learned that everything too good has to have a catch to it. The fatalist views it not as a coincidence but as a wakeup call, a learning experience, a growing experience, something that was meant to happen to teach a lesson or come as a warning. Such a discussion turns into a philosophical one about free will, where the less you believe in coincidence and the more you believe in fate, the less free will you consider yourself to have.

Matt stayed seated in his ornate office, tapping his foot, bouncing his leg, racking his brain. He tried to get his mind off of matters like the newbie and the salt. The crystals suspended from the ceiling shed a rainbow of light in the room, bouncing off every mirror hung around the walls. The toy bird on his desk kept drinking and drinking without any other purpose in its life. The rabbit foot on his keychain was lucky to no longer be part of a footless rabbit. But every thought came back to the center of the spirograph.

“That’s it, I can’t rest easily on this. Something is awry.” He left and signaled his co-mayors to come out of their offices for a discussion.