<< Go Back

The Clock Tower Treasure

By Victor Hess

Order Now!

Chapter One
Advice from a Dead Man


Behind the Bigley Funeral Home was a small brick building that used to store tools until this guy was found dead at the edge of Sabina, Ohio. They cleaned out the shed and laid the corpse out inside, so people could come by to try and identify him. That was twenty-six years ago, 1929, and he’s still there. People from everywhere came to see Eugene and write their name in his visitor’s book. Tonight, it was locked, so I pulled out my knife to jimmy the latch like my friend Karen showed me. I looked around through the mist to be sure no one could see me. Once in, I closed the door and flipped the light on.
Both of my closest friends were girls. Lynn was almost ten years old, like me and lived downstairs from us. Karen was nineteen and lived across the street. Karen told me she liked to visit Eugene when she had some problem to fix. Eugene was a temporary name they gave to that dead man. Even though he never spoke, she said just talking to him seemed to inspire the right answer in solving her problems, although she was so cool, I never thought she had any problems.
Eugene lay there in his small room, waiting, arms on stomach, and his gold tooth glistening from the bare light bulb. “Hi, Eugene. It’s Jesse.” I offered. “Karen, you know, the
clerk at Knisely’s Five and Dime. She said you helped her think through her problems. Can you help me?” I stepped toward him.
“I have to move, and I’m not happy about it. We’re moving in with my brothers and their dad. You know, Gary and Danny. They were here yesterday.” I leaned my head against the chicken wire that separated Eugene from the people who came to see him. It was very quiet in the room.
“We’ve lived here a whole year and now that I have friends and a paper route, Mom wants us to move.” I backed away and put my hands in my pockets.
“I don’t want to go. I like it here.” I turned and glanced up at the wall, covered with news clippings about Eugene.
“By the way, how did you end up in Sabina? You don’t know anyone here, cause by now you’d have a real name and a headstone in the cemetery.
“Did someone drive you here and drop you off? Did
you stay with someone here? What were you looking for?” The article I was looking at had a photo of Eugene taken before they put up the chicken wire.
“My dad made a mess of it. He hurt Mom and now we’re split up. Did you make a mess of it?” I stared at him. His eyes were closed, like he was sleeping or praying. He was wearing a suit, white shirt and tie, ready for burial.
“Did you gamble. Did you get drunk? Is that what you did? That’s what my dad did.
“How come you didn’t have any identification? Did
the guys that found you take your billfold? They said all they found was a piece of paper with an address. Look, it’s right here in this article about you.” I pointed at the framed article from the Wilmington paper.
“They said they found you lying in a ditch by the Cantrell farm. What happened?
“Were you sick? They said you died of a heart attack. “Do you have kids? Because, if you do, I wonder why
they didn’t look for you?”
I waited, staring at the sign on the wall describing Eu- gene’s history. I’d read it a hundred times, and he was still a mystery. I tried to imagine him alive, back in 1929, walking through Sabina. I wondered if he was wearing a suit when he was found.
“Did you have a wife? Did you guys fight a lot?” I waited after each question, like he was really going to answer me.
The pamphlet never said where he was from, only that a Cincinnati address was found in his pocket.
“Where did you sleep the night before you died?” I asked him questions the pamphlet didn’t answer, so I waited for a sign or something. Anything. But nothing happened.
“You know. Once you’re identified, they’re going to
bury you. They say you’re just good for business. Did you know that? More than a million people have visited you. Did you know that?” I studied the visitor’s book counting the different states people came from.
“My dad is supposed to pay us child support, but he’s always late or skips a week. Mom says we won’t have to worry about that in Xenia. She won’t need his money anymore, be- cause Albert’s going to take care of us. Albert is Gary and Danny’s dad. She divorced him once. I wonder why she would even want to get back with him.
“Mom’s been singing a lot since she told me about us moving. You should hear her sing. She’s really good. Maybe you remember when she came here. She brought me the first time I met you.
“I guess I’m lucky. It’s a new house. She said we have to move on.” I was back clinging to the chicken wire.
“It’s not fair. Everyone else who comes to Bigley’s gets their own grave with their name on it. All you get is this shed and a borrowed name. Once you’re identified, maybe then, I bet, you’ll have your family.”
Suddenly, I heard the doorknob jostle. I reached over and flipped off the light and hid behind the table that held Eu- gene’s visitor book. The door opened.
“Jesse. Are you in here? It’s me, Karen.” She flipped on the light. I stood up.
“How did you know I was here?” I was glad it was her. “It’s the first place I’d look. There was a light under the door,” she said. “Your mom is worried sick. What are you doing in here?”
She quietly closed the door.
“I have a big decision. I thought Eugene could help.” I walked toward Eugene.
“Well, Eugene, did you help Jesse?” She turned to Eugene with her hands on her hips. I edged closer to her.
We both stared at him. I was waiting for him to nod or utter some wise words. She reached for my hand. I tingled at her touch. I always did.
“We’re moving, but not ‘til Christmas. I’ll miss you,” I said.
“We’re gonna miss you, too, Jesse. Right, Eugene?” Then
she turned to me. “I think we’re the only ones who talk to him.” I was still looking at Eugene’s face, waiting for some sign but he just lay there, still dead.
“Shh.” She flipped off the light. We heard steps. They
stopped, then continued down the street.
“Let’s go, Jesse. Bye, Eugene.” She smiled at him. Her face was beautiful.
She opened the door slowly and peeked outside. “C’mon.”
We walked quietly for a few minutes.
“We could always write each other, Jesse. Your mom told me about your new house. I bet Mr. Davis could get you a paper route in Xenia. You’d make a lot more money there. You need to ask him about that. It’s a big city. Xenia’s a lot big- ger than Wilmington. You’d have some keen stories to tell your new friends. Like bustin’ up the purse snatching kids.”
“Mike Stafford still doesn’t talk to me. Do you think he
knows I’m the one who took that picture that got him caught?” “Does that bother you?”
“A little. I wanted to see his dad’s car showroom. I’ve never been in a show room.”
“You sure like your cars.”
“I want to see the new Ford Thunderbird.” “Me, too. That’s one fine car, Jesse,” she said.
She held my hand all the way home. She was like a big
sister.

Order Now!

<< Go Back