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Secret Mercy

By Lynne Waite Chapman

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I dragged a thick woolen scarf around my neck and tightened the collar of my jacket. The weatherman had predicted chilly and breezy conditions, but the sun was shining brightly. I looked forward to the brisk walk to work. How many more opportunities would I have to leave the car at home? Only five blocks to work. I craved the exercise. Or my forty-year-old body did. I just loved a walk in the park, even with plants going into hibernation for the season and trees losing their leaves. Once at work I would be stuck sitting at a desk for most of the day looking at dust on the cabinets and walls in need of paint.

But first, I had to do something about the garbage cans rolling about in the street. The wind gusts had been powerful overnight. Good citizen as I am, I grabbed the can and pulled it to the side of the street, then chased down another. After I’d finished my clean-up campaign, I continued my walk.
I arrived at Bennett’s Hardware, my workplace, grateful to get in out of the chill that had begun to filter its way through my coat. “Good morning, Mr. Bennett.” My boss stood at the sales counter wearing white shirt and tan slacks, his uniform for almost every day since I’d known him. Now that the cold weather had set in, he’d added a blue striped pullover sweater. His attire for the winter.

“Good morning, Libby. Did I see that you walked to work this morning? Car trouble?”

“No, my car’s fine. I felt like walking today. The sun’s shining and it isn’t terribly cold. I want to take advantage of as many days as possible before the mornings are freezing.” To be truthful, my car’s engine had been making a clicking sound, but I was sure it was nothing. I’d take it to a mechanic later, sometime.

Mr. Bennett continued. “Let me know when you’re finished today. I’ll give you a lift home.”

Like many sixty-ish men, when my boss gets an idea in his head, he doesn’t really listen to me. “I’ll be fine walking. It’s supposed to be a nice day.”
“Might rain.”

“The weather man didn’t call for any participation.” We’d had this argument so many times that I’d stopped paying attention, too.
Mr. Bennett walked into the store room. I hung my jacket on the hook in the office and slid into my seat at the desk. While the computer booted, I gathered and stacked the receipts from the previous day. The man would simply toss them haphazardly onto the desk when he closed up in the evening, trusting that I’d sort everything out when I arrived the next day. What would Stanley Bennett do without me?
~~
Bennett’s Hardware front door flew open with a bang and a gust of cold air.
I’d just taken a much-needed break from balancing inventory against purchase receipts, and leaned on the sales counter waiting for the coffee pot to finish brewing. I was a bit surprised to see the diminutive woman who stomped into the store.

A longtime customer, Willow Ottenweller had always seemed a tranquil soul. Strong and energetic for her age, but generally calm. Before this particular episode, I would have described her as a sweet little lady who could warm your heart with her smile and who loved to talk.

She wore over-sized cold weather boots. I thought they might have belonged to her son in his teen years. The calf-length skirt of her dress showed under a longish sweater. A winter coat hung almost to her knees. Her wispy white hair had never been in complete control, but on this day, it failed to behave at all. Tufts stood out in the back, and the sides spread out like butterfly wings. The woman looked like she’d had a rough morning.

I called a greeting. “It’s good to see you, Willow. How about some coffee? I have a fresh pot brewing.”

She threw a wild-eyed glance in my direction. “I’m sorry, what is your name?”
“It’s Liberty Cassell, Katherine Cassell’s daughter.”

“Oh yes, Liberty. I’m sorry. I’ve been distracted this morning.”
“No problem, Mrs. Ottenweller. How about that coffee?”
“No. No thank you. I don’t want any.”

She did seem distraught. More upset than I’d ever seen her. It was likely best to leave her alone. We all have our bad days.
The tiny woman continued her stalk down the aisle. I figured if she wanted my help, she would let me know. I’ve never been an aggressive salesperson. Actually, not a salesperson at all. An accountant of sorts. I kept the books for the store. I ventured onto the sales floor only when the four walls of my little office became oppressive.

Mr. Bennett, having witnessed her entrance, hustled out from the back room. “Hello Willow. It’s so nice to see you.” My boss could be very kind to our older customers. “I sense something is bothering you. What may I help you with?”
She had been so distracted that he stood at her side before she noticed him. She jerked her head up to gaze at Mr. Bennett. “A lock. I need a big heavy lock for my shed. And what do you have that will secure the lid of my garbage can?”
Willow scooted past my boss before he had a chance to offer any suggestion, and continued pacing the aisles. She selected multiple items only to hold them in her hand for a moment and then discard them—out of place. She destroyed our organized products while carrying on a continuous whispered conversation with no one in particular. This seemed odd behavior even for Twin Fawn residents, and it was making a mess of the display shelves that I’d helped to arrange.
I’d always considered Willow Ottenweller level-headed for her age. She’d never been a problem in the few times I’d waited on her at Bennett’s Hardware. I guessed her to be in her eighties. I suppose mental episodes might come on quickly for the aged.

Mr. Bennett took his time following a few steps behind Willow. One thing I admired about my boss was his patience. He considered it his responsibility to cater to the emotional needs of his customers while supplying nuts and bolts. So, he walked behind her occasionally restoring an item to its rightful place.
He spoke softly. “Tell me what’s on your mind, Willow.”
I wouldn’t have been so calm, but I guess he’d built up a bank of experience dealing with some of the odd residents of our little town. He was closer to Willow’s age. Not as old, but maybe had more understanding of quirks of the elderly.
“We probably have something that will fit the shed, but I’m not sure about the garbage can. What’s going on? Are the raccoons giving you trouble? They’re pesky creatures.”

Willow glanced toward the front door and then at me. I pretended to be intrigued with the cash register. As if I hadn’t even noticed her tirade.
She glanced up and down the aisle before she said, “No, not raccoons. It’s the Crosley Monster.”
Monster? My head snapped up so fast I worried about whiplash. After that, it was obvious I’d been eavesdropping.
In his kind way of addressing everyone, no matter how skewed their thoughts, Mr. Bennett said, “The Crosley Monster? That’s interesting. I’ve always thought of it as a myth.” He lifted his shoulders. “You know how people love to talk and make up tall stories.”

Willow huffed and aimed beady blue eyes at him. “People. They’re just like my boy, Johnny.”
I’d met Johnny Ottenweller, Willow’s son. He was not a boy. He was probably going on fifty, at least. Not bad looking, with white hair like Willow’s though cut short and controlled.

His business and family home were located a couple of counties away, but he made regular trips to Twin Fawn to check on his mother. He’d been in the store several times with her. There was always something that needed fixing at Willow’s house, so they’d make a trip to the hardware. He seemed to be a nice loving son who catered to his mom whenever he could.
Willow wasn’t feeling the love at the moment. She grumbled, “He didn’t believe me either. I called him first thing this morning, because I needed to talk to him. Don’t mind telling you I was scared. I didn’t get a bit of sleep all night. Just like a man to dismiss it. Did he care anything about what I felt? No! Didn’t even give me a chance to tell him what I saw.”

Mr. Bennett leaned toward Willow. “Maybe you caught Johnnie at a bad time. Possibly before he’d had his coffee. And you know, for someone who has never seen it, the Crosley Monster might be hard to take seriously.”
Willow turned angry eyes at Mr. Bennett, again. “Of course, the monster’s real. People tell stories about it, but that doesn’t mean those tales aren’t based on fact. And as for no one seeing it, there’s a report that it was seen not that long ago. My neighbor Luann told me. I think it was back in 2006. Chased a group of hikers right out of the Crosley Wild Life Area.”

Johnnie may not have been interested, but Willow had grabbed my attention. I quit trying to look busy and moved a couple aisles closer to Willow and Mr. Bennett.
When the old woman twisted toward me, her cloud of cotton-like hair floating in the breeze, she seemed sad and alone. “You know about the Crosley Monster, don’t you?”
“Um. I’m afraid not.” She wanted confirmation, but I considered honesty the best policy. And it would be hard to fake it when I had no idea what she was talking about.
Willow stretched to her full height—about four foot nothing—and raised her voice to an authoritative level. “I’ve studied ‘em. Likely a relative of the Sasquatch. Big and muscular. They walk upright on two feet. People say they can be at least eight feet tall and covered with hair. Nobody knows how many might live in Crosley Forest. I’m certain there’s at least one family unit.”
Willow turned and gazed through the front window. “They could live right here in Twin Fawn. Probably out in the country. That’d be a good place to hide.”
The woman had my full attention. Not that I believed her. As Mr. Bennett said, it was a tall tale. But I wanted to hear her story. “You say they’re tall and hairy? Like a gorilla? Is the hair very long?” Mr. Bennett shifted his eyes to me. A clear message for me to refrain from encouraging her.
But I’ve always loved scary stories.

“Like a gorilla but shaped more like a man. They tend to have long arms. Longer than a man would have. Some people say they’re a cross between an ape and a sloth. Isn’t that something? I’m not sure about the length of the hair.”
“What color is it—the hair?” Don’t ask me why I was fascinated with the hair.
Willow’s heart rate must’ve been soaring as she related her tale. Her eyes were big and round. Her cheeks flushed. “All the stories say that the color ranges from blond to light brown to black.”

Mr. Bennett gave me another look that I interpreted as, ‘Shut up.’ You would think I’d heed his meaningful looks, as often as they’d been directed at me.
He turned his attention back to Willow, keeping his tone soft and comforting. “I’ve heard the stories, but that’s in Crosley not Twin Fawn.”
For such a tiny woman, Willow could stand her ground. “Crosley Lake isn’t particularly far away. A creature of that size could easily migrate over here. Just a day’s walk, maybe two, depending on whether there were little ones with it.”
My boss is resilient. He tried changing lanes. “You say you’ve had trouble with your garbage can?”
Willow’s head bobbed in a nod. “I suppose the monster, or monsters, worked up quite a hunger on the trip. You know, out of its element. I imagine there aren’t enough fish and small animals to satisfy that kind of appetite here in Twin Fawn. Especially if there’s a family of them.”

Mr. Bennett pulled off his glasses and propped them on his almost bald head, but remained silent. He was at a loss for words or had given up on Willow’s sanity.
She planted fists on her hips. “I wouldn’t want the creatures hurt, but the authorities need to find a way to round ‘em up and get them back to a safer place. Back at the park. So, I called the police. That Officer Arnie wouldn’t even listen to me. Too busy, he said. I guess there’s some kind of thefts and destruction on North Point Avenue.”

Willow locked eyes with me. “Mark my words, Liberty. You have to stand up for yourself in this world. When you get old, nobody listens to you. Just wait until Arnie starts getting reports from all over town. It was my yard last night. Hard telling who’s next. There are bound to be more sightings. Just you wait.”
She glanced around the store. “I’ll take that big padlock for my shed, but I don’t see anything to protect my trash can. Guess I’ll keep the can in the shed.” Willow grabbed the lock and made her way to the cash register.
I hurried to beat Mr. Bennett to the cash register and grabbed the lock. “What convinced you it was the Crosley Monster?”

“Didn’t I tell you? I heard the moan. Not the howl people talked about.” She lowered her voice and leaned toward me. “Never heard anything like it. An unearthly moan. Bone chilling.” She shivered. “Combined with a growl.”
Unearthly moan with growl undertones? Yikes, seems like she could have led with that piece of information. “You say it was unlike anything you’d ever heard?”
“Yep. When I looked out the window, I saw the creature leaving the yard. It was dark out but I got a glimpse. Light colored hair kind of reflected in the street lights. Guess you’d call it blonde. I bet it’s real pretty in daylight.”
Willow leaned on the counter. “I didn’t sleep all night and went out to the yard as soon as it got light. I found the footprints. They were hard to make out in the grass, but I knew what to look for and they were there.” Willow stood for a moment before she went on. “And my garbage can was thrown clear across the yard.” She glanced at Mr. Bennett, who had gone back to arranging the shelves. “There’s no way a raccoon did that.” She picked up her package. “I’m thinking of getting a ball bat. You don’t have any of those, do you?”

I shook my head. “No bats here but you can probably find one at the sport shop.”
“Don’t want to get a gun, but I need something for protection in case it tries to get inside.” At this, Willow marched out of the store.
Mr. Bennett glanced at the banging door and shook his head. “Silly old woman. She’s lived alone for too long.”
I’d never noticed any hint of dementia in Willow, but I guess it’s a sneaky disease. Had to agree with her though. People don’t always listen to older women. Eventually I’d join that unfortunate group, losing credibility as we age.
“You don’t believe her, then?”
Mr. Bennett laughed. “An eight-foot-tall, hairy monster in Twin Fawn? And blond at that?” He guffawed. “Must have been to the beauty shop. Don’t tell me you fell for that nonsense.” Mr. Bennett picked up his clipboard and began checking off items in the new delivery. “Like I said, she has lived alone for too long. Probably rattles around in that big ancient house of hers. It’s the one beside the park.”
“The old mansion across from Bird Song Park? I’ve admired it on my walks through the park. Never conne
cted it with Willow.”
“That’s the one. Not many would call it a mansion. It’s a big old house. I can’t imagine how she cares for it. She should sell it. Her son wants her to. Told me so last time he was in, but she’s fighting him on it. It would be an easy sale. The town council even offered to buy it. They have plans to tear it down and extend the park. Wouldn’t that be nice for the town? Getting rid of an eyesore and gaining a play area for the kids.” Mr. Bennett gazed into the distance. “Maybe a water feature.”

Willow’s home did need some attention. The wrap-around porch had lost some of the decorative corner pieces. The window casings appeared loose. But I admired the original architecture. “I wouldn’t call it an eyesore. I’d say it has character. The culmination of years of family moments.” I’ve always been fascinated with old buildings. “A larger park area might be good for Twin Fawn, but wouldn’t you hate to see her pressured into giving up her home if she doesn’t want to?”

Mr. Bennett grasped his clipboard with both hands. I had the feeling a lecture was coming. “There comes a time for everyone when it isn’t safe for them to live alone. Experiencing hallucinations of a big hairy monster is a pretty strong indication, wouldn’t you say? Willow’s time has come.”
“I see your point. Poor Willow must have been scared to death all night.”
Mr. Bennett put his glasses back on his nose and carried his clipboard to the store room. He called over his shoulder. “I sure hope she doesn’t get herself a gun.”
Well, I couldn’t argue with him. After all, what was worse than an old lady in the progression of dementia stumbling around in an old, unkempt mansion? One carrying a gun.
 

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