*****

“Omens.” Matt Kennett slammed open the front door of town hall with an expression of undying despair plastered onto his face. He had bags under his eyes and a book in his bag and a bag in his arm. “Bad things are happening, and we are going to be doomed; good morning, everyone!”

“What kinda omens we talking about?” said Cliffe Rhubis, “I heard some rustling in the woods last night if that counts for anything.”

“Things rustle in the woods all the time, Cliffe. I’m talking more ghosty stuff. This morning, my coat rack was on the ground, and I got chills every moment I slept. Worst of all, there was this blinding red flash in the middle of the night.”

“Sounds like—”

“Then I woke up and found this old tome lying on my lawn.”

“Sounds like poltergeist behavior,” said Archie West.

“Get real Archie, it’s never a poltergeist. I hate to say it, but it’s more likely my neighbor. She,” he breathed in and gulped, “she waved at me. It was with her left too. And the glove—the glove didn’t help, it was all scratched and torn up, I could actually see part of her palm.”

“Jesus!” gasped Cliffe.

“Could have been a cultural barrier,” said Archie.

“That is true,” Matt said, “I mean, she kept calling me ‘Mister,’ which I think is an American thing. But still, I don’t want to take any chances and risk another,” he shivered, “encounter.”

“How’d the rest of the meeting go?”

“I’d rather not talk about that.” Matt grabbed from the large ball on his desk and started subconsciously toying around with it. “But still, I think we’ve got a demon. I’m gonna do something.”

Cliffe held him back and sat him back down. Cliffe thought out loud, “Hallows Eve’s comin’ up, right?”

“Right around the corner,” said Archie.

“Okeydoke.” Cliffe stood up abruptly. “We can all restrain ourselves ‘til then. I say we just stand guard for now. If we got any corrupted spirits, that’s when everyone’ll figure it out, even if we’re not the ones to tell ‘em.”

Matt’s stomach creeped and turned all around. He conceded, “Alright. If we have to wait until Hallows Eve, we can. Beats standing behind a podium and making a statement, anyway. I’ve still got rotten tomato taste in my mouth.

Cliffe clapped and swept his hands. “Alrighty. That’s that, I guess.”

Matt grinned awkwardly and sat down at the main table. He placed down the book he was holding and flipped through it, setting the second piece of salt aside. There was a dubious curiosity in his face as he read. His eyebrows furled as he tried to read it.

“Is that the old tome?” Cliffe and Archie both pulled up a chair and asked.

“Yes. A blurry silhouette dropped it off, to top everything else off. Don’t know what it could b—” He flipped through the pages, saw the name Marion Marley, slammed it closed and, without hesitation, flicked it through the window like a disc, with a shocking crash.

“That was our favorite window,” muttered Archie.

“You good, Matt?” asked a concerned Cliffe.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Whenever Matt was riled with unexpected fear, his voice would develop a high, shaky tone with the resonance of riding on a washing machine. But remembering that he now had a lucky charm made of the spirit-repelling salt, he regained his cool and was breathing normally. Matt grabbed it, laid back in his chair, and held it up to the light.

“This stone’s been surprisingly soothing, Cliffe.” He squinted at it and found the scar on the palm more resembled actual letters. He grew more cautious, “What does ‘A.D.’ mean?”

“Australian digeridoos?” Archie guessed. He picked up the other stone Matt found and looked at its inscription.

“You came up with that awfully quick.”

“You didn’t know I played digeridoo in high school?”

Cliffe got up and stretched his limber body. His beard flicked into Archie’s face. “Ahhh, so what else do we got on our agenda today?”

“Well, I don’t know about you two,” Matt Kennett said, “but I’m gonna be in my office and go through the critique jar most of the day.”

“I’ve still got some welcome party stuff to finish up,” said Archie West.

“Weeellll, I got nothing to do as always,” said Cliffe Rhubis. He looked out the former window—the book was still laying on the thick dark grass. He strolled out to the front yard and took it for his own, came back, and threw it on the table. “Guess I’ll take a look at that at some point. See if it belongs to anyone.”

Everyone nodded and left for their rooms. Matt Kennett cleared a space on his toy-cluttered desk and rummaged through a large glass jar full of slips of paper. A box would always be left out right next to the front door for anyone to write and input any comments for any of the mayors. Every couple of weeks, they’d collect it and put it in the jar. Most of the comments they would ignore for being way too irrational or for having crude drawings and caricatures on them instead of anything insightful. The mayors enjoyed it. While Archie and Cliffe would typically laugh at them, whether silly or serious, Matt would always personally take them into consideration and spiral into an unbreakable trance about them until he would find something new to dwell on. He was a very controversial political figure in Plainwood, subject to criticisms on any side of the spectrum. For the most part, it hurt, since a person in charge of public relations should typically be someone people enjoy. For the rest of the parts however he was still a man who would push hard and persevere to deliver quality safety for each citizen, because keeping people safe was the one thing Matt Kennett would never hesitate to fully and successfully do.

Piles upon piles of slips of critiques flooded his desk as he poured out the jar, but one thing that caught his attention was yet another rock made of salt, shaped like an open hand. He snatched it from across the desk and read the inscription on the palm. N.A.? Matt sank his cheek into his fist but then had a shocking realization that straightened him back in his chair and stole his breath for a split-second. A wispy whisper escaped his mouth, “Nat Aureole!”

*****

Pitter-patter-knock-knock-slam! said the various noises outside that resonated and rattled in Matt’s riled-up head. He grabbed his squeeze ball and marched up to the window only to see Vivian Fay snooping around the lawn of town hall with an angered pout plastered onto her face, half-obscured by her flowing bangs.

“Good morning, Vivian Fay,” Matt put on his least effortful kindly façade.

“Good morning, Matt Kennett,” Vivian returned. “Isn’t it so funny how I have time in my busy schedule as a doctor to come over and visit you?”

“What can I say? Public safety is at a peak. Is it really that bad no one comes to the hospital?”

 “What kind of answer is that, Kennett? You don’t have the least bit of sympathy for the working class? I get paid by the patient, you know!”

“If you’re here to complain, I’ve got the jar right here,” he yawned.

Vivian politely shook her head in utter contempt. “Not a chance. I’m actually here about this.”

She tossed her book through the window, and Matt ducked. He slowly brought his head back up and stared back at Vivian. In a surprised realization that she had been complaining about something other than his work, he looked down at the floor instead of her.

“What, you got one too?” he asked in all sincerity.

“What? This wasn’t you?”

“Why would I of all people write about Marion Marley, you insensitive jerk?” Offense welled up inside and he grew more troubled and frazzled.

Vivian flinched a step back. “Whoa, no need to bring the Encounter into this! I didn’t even mention that! I’m talking about this book that just happens to wind up on my porch last night and just happens to have Eileen’s statue on the cover. Are you really stooping this low as to send Dawn and me propaganda now?”

“Vivian, I am just as confused as you! I found one on my porch too. Cliffe can vouch for me!”

Vivian squinted. Something within her made her believe him. She hadn’t even thought to take a look at the contents within the book yet; she had automatically rushed to assume the worst.

“You’re lucky I’m an avid reader.” She conceded and gestured, “ ’Kay, toss it back; I’ll get out of your hair.”

Matt was hesitant, but he finally returned the book to Vivian. She left the property putting on her best impression of a threatening and serious person, and as soon as she stepped back onto pavement, her face morphed into one of the most curious, confused, and intrigued expressions she had ever had.