Vagrant

“How long have you been on the road?” Donald asks as he thumbs through a stack of bills. His voice disrupts me from my thoughts, and I look back at the portly gentleman. 

“Five years,” I reply. An early spring breeze comes down from the hills in the distance, blowing across Donald’s property. It feels nice and cool on my skin as I stand in the light of the morning sun. 

I shuffle my feet. My denim pants are a little worse for wear, and my duffle bag has some duct tape patches in various spots. 

Donald nods to himself. “Five years without a place to call home. I don’t know how you do it, but I’m glad you came along. You’re a lifesaver.” He looks around, his eyes darting from the restored 60s and 70s muscle cars scattered around his property. “I’ll make more in a weekend selling these beauties than I did all last year, thanks to you. You’re a real jack of all trades, aren’t you?”

“I’m just glad I could help,” I reply. 

He hands me a stack of bills, which I secure with a money clip and place in my inside coat pocket. 

“You be careful now. I know you’re a big boy, but even you’re not bulletproof. Any of those bums out there find out you’re carrying a wad of cash like that, you might get hurt,” Donald warns. 

I nod. “I’ll be alright.” 

I begin my trek along the dirt road that winds through his property and eventually leads out to the asphalt. I keep to the shoulder. Even though I’ve gotten used to walking barefoot the way Yukiko always did, I still hate the feel of the blacktop. 

I follow the road south. Occasionally a car will pass by, but otherwise, this part of the country feels so still and peaceful. Flanking the road on either side are endless stretches of farmland. I spend the day traveling, occasionally snacking on a large bag of trail mix. 

In the early afternoon, I climb over a fence and into a farmer’s field and sit atop a little hill, watching the clouds among a couple of cows. I reach into my bag and retrieve a spoon and a can of soup – beef barley. I grab my can opener and pop open the lid, then the sigil on my hand glows a moment, and the soup heats up by itself. 

One of the cows comes up to me as I finish eating, and I rub her snout gently. “You’re a friendly gal, aren’t you? I don’t have anything for you though… oh!” 

I reach into my duffel and find a bag of oats. I grab a handful and hold it up for her to eat, while I pet her. “There you go, that’s a nice little treat for you, isn’t it?”

I rinse the can and my spoon with the water in my canteen and put everything back in my bag. As I return to the road, I take one last look at my four-legged lunch date and wave, though I’m certain the cows hardly notice the gesture. 

When the sun begins to set, I walk away from the road, towards a little collection of trees near a creek. I take my canteen and fill it with water from the creek, then I retrieve a black, leather-bound book from the bag with Yukiko’s sigil imprinted on the cover. I flip open the worn book to a particular page with a strange array of geometry in a circle, with the alchemic symbol of purification at its center. The magic circle glows blue for a moment, and then the spell purifies the water in my canteen, making it safe for drinking. 

I pull my bedroll free and unravel it under a tree, and camp out beneath the stars there.

It’s morning when I return to my travels. Farmland quickly transitions to woodland as I wander along the road, and eventually, traffic starts to get a little busier. I pass a few lonely houses and barns, indicating that civilization lies just ahead. 

As I walk alongside the woods, a strange shiver runs down my spine, and my eyes dart west, toward the thickest part of the woods. I can feel something from deep within. In my mind, the image of a forgotten manor flashes by, too quick to make out any details, and I can feel some invisible force within the structure staring back at me. 

Something powerful lies beyond these trees. A Witch perhaps? No, this is something different. This feeling reminds me of death. 

A ghost, most likely. 

I carry on walking. Spirits – imprints left behind when particularly strong-willed people pass on – are not especially rare, but there is something about this one that makes me uneasy. I’ll have to make a point to avoid its territory.

I make my way into town. It’s a charming one-street town, the sign identifying it as Stormwell. I see a pub around the center of town, and I cross the road to it. I have to bow my head to enter, and once inside, I take a look around. 

It feels like an old lodge inside – the bar sits across from the entrance, to my right, on the far wall, there is a large fireplace and a dining area, and to my left, there are some pool tables and a stage for live music. 

“Whew, you’re a big’un,” the heavy-set man behind the bar remarks, as he comes out through the kitchen doors. “What can I do you for, stranger?” 

“You got a menu, sir?” I ask, taking a seat at the bar and dropping my duffel to the floor.

“Sure do, big guy. Most everything is made in-house by my wife, it’ll remind you of mama’s cooking, I guarantee it.” 

After scanning the menu, I hand it back and say, “I’ll take the ribs and sweet tea to drink.” 

He nods and wanders over to the end of the bar. “Hey Lorelei! You want anything?” 

I hadn’t noticed before, but there is one other patron in the bar – a small, mousy woman with raven hair and big glasses, sitting beside one of the bar’s windows, an assortment of books and notebooks scattered across her table. She scribbles furiously in one book as she reads through another, her head shifting between the two so much that I feel exhausted just looking at her. 

“Another coffee, Bill!” she shouts back. The barman, Bill, shakes his head as he walks back toward the kitchen, a friendly smile on his face. 

“She’s some kind of bigshot author,” he says as he passes me. 

“What does she write?” 

He shrugs. “Dunno, I haven’t read a book in 20 years. I’m a TV guy.” 

Bill seems friendly enough. He brings out my food after a short wait, and it’s very good – much better than anything I’ve had in weeks. The woman, Lorelei, writes in her notebooks endlessly, pausing only to sip coffee. 

“So,” Bill asks. “What brings you to our little corner of Alabama, mister?” 

“Nothing in particular, I just sort of ended up here. I’m a bit of a wanderer if that makes sense.” 

“Well, you picked a good town to wander to, Stormwell is friendly as friendly gets. If you need accommodations, there’s a nice little inn just a few doors down, they’ll take real good care of you.” 

I nod in reply. “Thank you. Do you know if anyone around here needs a hand? I’m looking to earn my keep while I’m here.” 

Bill strokes his chin for a moment in thought. “What can you do?” 

“Just about anything with my hands. I can do most household repairs, I can do any kind of farmhand or fieldwork, I can fix up cars, I can paint, I can build, I can cut wood, and I can hunt and fish. And I know my way around just about any tool you can think of.”  

“You know what? John and Donna have a farm not far from here, they were looking to rebuild their barn after last year’s fire. They’ve got the lumber but John went and hurt his back a little while ago. They ain’t got much to pay you with, but they’d sure appreciate the help, I bet.” 

That sounds good enough for a start. “Can you tell me where to find them?” 

Bill nods. “Sit tight, I’ll write down the directions for ya. And listen, they live up near Sturm’s Thicket, so don’t go wandering off the road out that way, you hear?”  

“Why?” 

“It’s haunted!” Lorelei shouts from the other side of the bar. 

“What she said,” Bill adds. “It’s just a rumor, but lots of folk who go in them woods never come back. There’s some old house from the Civil War out there, and they say the ghost of the guy who lived there still wanders the forest.” 

“Is that so?” That must be the presence I felt earlier. 

“I don’t know about all this ghost business, but every few years someone goes missing out there. So stay on the roads.” 

“I hear you.” I have no intention of engaging with a spirit anyway. 

I eat and pay for my meal and head out with my bag and the directions, following one of the roads splitting off from the main street through a heavily wooded area. The winding, narrow path is more like a trail than a road, barely wide enough for a single truck. The air is cool, and the canopy of trees makes for beautiful shadow patterns with the sun’s light shining down on them. 

I can sense something moving in the woods – a great spiritual force. It might be unwise to stick around here, but as long as I don’t enter the deeper parts of the woods it shouldn’t come for me. 

The trees open up to a big property with a couple of old houses in the distance. There is the large main building just ahead and a smaller home beyond it. And amidst the large field to my right is a cleared-away section of land with all kinds of lumber around it. 

I approach the old colonial house, walk around the rusting pickup truck parked out front, and climb the wooden steps of the porch. The home has to be at least a hundred years old. These people probably inherited it. 

I knock loudly three times, and call out, “Is anyone home?” 

Steps echo against the floorboards from inside, I can hear someone with heavy heels approaching. 

An older woman with a short bush of white hair opens the door. She’s dressed like a grandmother with floral patterns across her clothes. Donna, I presume.

“Hello dear, what is it?” 

I bow my head. “My name is Seath, I’m staying in your town for a short little while, and I heard you folks are trying to rebuild your barn. I’m pretty handy, and I need the work. I could build the barn for you.” 

“Oh my,” she replies, a note of uncertainty in her tone. She turns her head back toward the inside of the house, and hollers, “Hey John! Get out here! There’s a gentleman here says he wants to build us a new barn!” 

John comes to the door, and the two of them step outside to talk. They ask me all kinds of questions, namely where I came from and what I’m doing in their town. I’ve been to enough towns and met enough people that the answers come without a second thought now – I’ve spent five years on the road, wandering from place to place, and I have no intention of stopping. I share with them some of the other jobs I’ve done for people that were like this one – I’ve renovated people’s homes, built sheds and fences, I’ve helped do construction work, and I know all about how to put together a barn. 

“Can I ask why you live on the road like this?” John asks. 

I take a moment to answer. That question always stings, no matter how many times it comes up. “My wife passed away suddenly, and I stayed in our home together for a year before I just couldn’t do it anymore. She was…” I pause and take a deep breath, as if trying to swallow down all the buried feelings talking about Yukiko always brings up. “She was my whole life, and without her there that house was just too damn empty.” 

Donna brings her hands to her mouth. “You poor thing. Oh, give him the job, John. Lord knows you can’t do it yourself with your back anyway.”

“We ain’t got much to pay you with, this isn’t exactly a rich town, you know.”

I give them a nod. “Tell you what. Give me a meal on days I’m working, and 200$ a week for the inn, and I’ll get that barn done faster than you can blink.

“200$, are you sure? This is a big job, fella,” John tells me. 

“I’m sure,” I reply, offering my hand.