Unheard Voice, Chapter 1 and start of 2

Sue arrives in a her new home, and works to settle into her new life. She finds a mysterious book in the local library.

Unheard Voice

By Dustin Stone

 

Chapter 1

                I looked out the car window at the empty landscape. Nothing blemished the dust strewn plains. Sighing, I turned back to my book. Escaping into a voyage on the high seas was vastly better than this trip. I could almost smell the sea salt and feel the spray of the mist upon my flesh. My fingers tingled over the pistol that hung around my hip. Sweat dripped down my skin from the sun of the Caribbean.  My every breath sucked in the moist air. The ship gently rocked back and forth with each swell.

                My mother tapped my leg and I was pulled back to the present. She pointed ahead as we came over a small rise and descended into the town. She gestured “We’re here, Sue,” with her hand. I just rolled my eyes as we went past a sign reading: Welcome to Green River. Bah, I thought. I had interest in moving to this town. If not for my dad being assigned here, none of us would have come.

                I had been happy back home in New York. I had friends, things to do. It was where I belonged. Oh, my mother swore that I would make new friends, that I would find new things to do. Of course, she would say that. It is the dutiful thing to say, but she was forgetting one facet of my life… I was deaf.

                My whole life, I had never heard a sound. Not a single note or tune ever touched my mind. I can still remember a time before my parents could sign, before they knew how to speak with me. I would point and gesture, but my actions meant nothing to them. It took them years to gain any confidence with my language. My struggles blessed me with a school for the deaf. I found many dear friends there. It was sad to leave them. The party they threw for me only reminded me of how precious they had become over the years. I guess, that’s what happens when you’ve been in the same small circle all your life.

                When I heard of our impending moving, I through a fit. More so when I learned about where we were going. It took me only five minutes online to decide that I hated the town. It was some middle of nowhere town where only mining companies like my father’s operated. There was only a single public school for the county and few people like me. My mother had spent weeks setting up an interpreter for me in school. From all I could find, there was nothing that interested me. My eyes scanned the quiet buildings that we passed by. A few “Mom and Pop” shops filled the streets. Finally, we pulled up to our new house. Dread filled me as I look at the two-story structure.

                “This is our home,” my mother explained, pointlessly. “You and your brother each get your own room. See, better already.” I turned to Joe and he shook his head. He was as upset about the move as I. He was supposed to be entering his Junior year of high school, but to be dragged across country now… It would be sometime before either of us forgave our parents. “Come in and see it,” she motioned. “Neither of you have seen it yet.”

                Reluctantly, we both followed. I quickly found her in the open living room. I was grateful that I could see the rest of the floor from here. Nothing irked me more than not being where I could see and sign to my family. “We will still need to get the lights rigged to the doorbell for you,” my father warned me. “No electrician available in time.”

                “Okay,” I flashed him. “When do the movers get here?”

                “Tomorrow.”

                Looking at my watch, I added, “Any more that we need to do?”

                “Your mom is taking you two to get registered for school. And you can meet Mrs. Farris.

                “The interrupter? Why couldn’t I stay with Mel and her family? It would have been easier,” I requested. “I would have loved to start high school back home.”

                “No. I told you. We aren’t splitting the family up. Besides, this is good for you. Clean air, and you saw the mountains. Magnificent,” he kissed his hands. Frowning at my smirk, he added, “You want to unpack the car. If you’re fast you can claim which room you want.”

                “Can I get the master? I’d love my own bath.”

                “No,” he clicked. “That’s your mom’s.” I laughed as I rushed back to the car and snagged my suitcase. I let the heavy baggage bang against each step sending reverberations through my arm. At the top, I gave a quick peek into the master bedroom. The room was easily double that my parents’ last one. Turning the other way, I found two more… admittedly much smaller rooms. It took me only a minute to pick one. Out of the sight of the others, I found a comfortable patch of carpet. I propped my book against my suitcase and continued to read.

                Sand squirted between my toes. Its heat baked my skin. The gentle lapping of the tide cooled my feet and washed the grit away. Foreign birds flitted in between the branches of the tropical trees. Their vibrant colors were astounding as the flowers back in Holland.

                Footsteps percussed through the floor into me. Looking up, I saw my mother. “I called the school. We three need to go and finish registering you. And you should meet Mrs. Farris. Back in the car,” she instructed. Bemoaning her, I relented. Joe was already in the front seat by the time I joined him.

                “Nose in the book again?” he teased me. I turned my attention from his quick jab. He had always been that way. He ceaselessly teased me about my reading. Of course, I would return with one about his love of television. The flashes of pictures meant very little to me. Even with closed caption, I felt I lost too much. The empty words on the screen were nothing to the lively and detailed ones between the pages. The local landscaped pressed upon my thoughts on the short car ride.

                It took close to an hour to complete the registration for our classes. My mother had to translate everything the staff told me. My head kept spinning to watch the students moving passed the glass wall on their ways to their own classes. I could see them talking and laughing with each other, but I heard none of it.

                My eyes followed a round little woman as she walked into the office. Even without sound, I could hear her bubbliness. She waved at everyone. “Hello, I’m Mrs. Farris. You can call me Helga,” she spelled with her fingers.

                “Hello,” I replied. “I’m Sue. Nice to meet you.”

                “Nice to meet you,” she returned. “I’m the translator,” she explained needlessly.

                “I know. How long have you signed?” I requested.

                “Oh, twenty years,” she guessed. “I picked it up in college. Do you have anything you like doing? Any sports?”

                “I read,” I told her.

                “Okay. The school has a good library. There’s also a public one in town.”

                “We’ll check it out,” my mother swore. “Thank you.” That was the only useful thing I gained from our interview. She prodded me with every question she could think of, but it was all surface material. Nothing she asked truly introduced us. No, that was something that a mere meeting could never accomplish.

                “You’ve got a bit of an accent,” I told her as we neared the end of our meeting.

                My mother scolded me was a glance, “Don’t be rude.”

                “Just commenting,” I shrugged.

                “No, I don’t sign much and some of my signs are different.”

                “When was your last student?” I pressed now that it was my turn to ask.

                “About ten years ago.”

                “There isn’t much of a deaf community here.”

                “No. Very few deaf people here. Most are old people that are just hard of hearing.”

                “We should get going,” my mother intervened. “Your dad frets if we leave him alone with the cable people. He’s like you a little. Nice to meet you.”

                “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Edison, Sue,” Mrs. Farris returned.

                “Thank you. I’ll see you next week, when I start class,” I waved goodbye. I was thankful to escape Mrs. Farris. Something about her rubbed me wrong. It may have been that I was always uneasy meeting new people or that she seemed inexperienced. I hated being dependent on someone else. Even the act of having my own mother serve as my voice irritated me. It was slow and people looked at her, not me. They are trying to talk to me, for Pete’s sake.

                Halfway back to the house, my mom found a little Chinese restaurant. “Hungry?” she asked us. Of course, Joe accepted. He was a bottomless pit. I stood by the counter while we awaited our order. The place was basically empty. Only the lone wolf sat around the bar eating. Peering around the corner, I watched as the staff meandered about the kitchen. Their mouths opened and closed as they tossed out orders to each other. Regardless of what words I missed, we left a little while later weighed down with a cardboard box of food. My father had prepared a crude table from a box from our car. We squatted down around it. It was crowded and I could barely move my arm without bumping someone.

                “What did you think of Mrs. Farris?” my father inquired.

                Putting down my chopsticks, I answered, “No sure. Just met her.” He spun his hand in a circle indicating more details. “Just seems like another person. I can’t pick something particular about her.”

                “And classes?”

                “Normal stuff. Math, English, and the lot. I did get a Mythology class that looked fun. Also an art one. The register tried to get me to take band. Bah, I can’t feel most music.”

                “Why not? He played the drums when you were little.”

                “Dad,” I exasperated, “I was just banging them so I could feel it. I don’t have a sense of rhythm.”

                “What? It could be fun.”

                “Music means nothing to me.”

                “It’s just learning a pattern.” He tapped his hand on our crude table in a consistent pattern. “It’s just like math. Your good with patterns.”

                “But I can see those patterns. I can’t see drum beats, besides a band is multiple people all working together. I can’t,” I complained. Hurried, I picked my chopsticks up so I could keep eating and avoid additional questions. My father turned to my brother next, but thankfully he used his voice and I did not have to hear.

                I allowed my mind to wander while the others spoke. The trip across country had been stressful. Crammed into a car, barely able to move, and no escaping everyone. My mother felt the need to constantly entertain us. Her insistent interruptions kept pulling me from my book. The mindless trivia that she shared about the tourist traps and historical sites we passed. It was not that I had no interest in history… No, that was probably my favorite subject. History was just true stories. No, why my mother’s interjections bothered me was that they were not relevant. Hearing about the pioneers and their trials was a topic that we covered so many times in school.

                My father got up abruptly and left the table. I stared around while I tried to catch up with what was happening. Seeing my confusion, Joe explained, “He went to get the sleeping bag from the car. We’ll pitch it outside. Dad said that we should get a good view of the stars. Better than back in New York. We’ll see.” A minute later, my dad came in totting the bags. I folded my chopsticks and followed him into our new backyard. We laid them out beneath the darkening sky.

                The air felt cold upon my skin as I stretched out over the old sleeping back. The grass scratched my arms and legs when they shifted off of the old fabric. Gnats kept landing on my skin forcing me to brush them aside. I turned my eyes to my father. He was pointing at the sky. His finger drew the constellations above us. My neck kept turning from my father’s hands and up to the sky. I stayed up watching the twinkling lights from eons ago. I wondered how many of them still burned in the deep recess of space.

                I had almost feel into sleep when I was startled by a spray of water. I sprang to my feet and looked around. My family was yelling silently to my sides. Another wave of water struck me in the face. My hands wiped it away as fast as I could. A hand grabbed me and tugged me to the side with so much force that I lost my footing and landed face first in the wet grass. Stumbling to my foot, I followed my family back inside. As my feet touched the porched, I glanced at my father.

                “Sorry,” he signed and spoke at once. “I forgot about the sprinklers. I’ve never had them before. Sorry.”

                “We’ll sleep inside, then,” my mother decided. “Let’s find a comfortable spot on the floor. We’ll have an early day tomorrow when the movers arrive.”

 

 

Chapter 2

                “That’s the last box?” my mom smiled as she dropped another box onto the floor. “You’ve got too many books,” she complained.

                “No. You can never have too many books,” I corrected her. “I don’t have those built in bookshelves anymore. I might not be able to put them all out. Or, I’ll just cover the bed in books.”

                “You’ve got wall space. We could run and buy some new bookcases. It would fit well here, frame the window.”

                “Thank you,” I smiled.

                “We’ve got the time. And we did talk about getting you a library card. It’s only a block or two from here. You could walk there and get new books. It’ll keep your room from turning into a library itself.”

                “But that’s my dream.”

                “Get in the car,” she tilted her head. My butt was sore from sitting in the car for yet another day, but at least this time it was a trip I wanted. The library was a large building that towered over the other buildings in the area. It was aged and parts of the plaster on the outside had cracked from the years. The darkened windows and dead trees in front offered a chilling feel to the place, but none of it compared to what it felt when I stepped inside. The very air inside almost seemed to freeze as soon as I entered.

Across from the front door was several display cases. Inside were serval tattered and old books. A small card under each claimed that they were journals of settlers and pioneers, over a hundred years dead. A few Native American tools and belongings filled another. Again, little cards explained each object. Together they told a story of life upon the prairies before the arrival of white men. A final case was filled with relics from the construction of the transcontinental railroad. I could see each fragment of history, but I could not touch them. I could not feel the rust on the railroad spike, the dust imbedded into the hide dress, or the pen strokes on the pages. They might have just been pictures.

My mother swept me along. We moved between the towering bookshelves. Hundreds of tomes filled the area, each with a little label and number. I was very familiar with the numbering system that had been used to categorize the books. I glanced at the titles as we moved towards a counter against a wall. One the thing that was missing was other visitors. This place was empty of life as a crypt.

A single woman sat behind it. She was bent over by time. Her wrinkled face scowled down her crooked nose at us. Her lips moved as we approached, but no words reached me. My mother began to talk with her. I could guess at what they were saying. Usual pleasantries and introductions. blah, blah blah. Oh, yes, library card. Please, let me get the papers, Yadday yadday yadda. The old woman reached under the table for a slip of paper and a pen. I quickly snatched it up and began it out. I only paused a moment while I asked what our new address was. While I wrote, the old bat kept her gaze upon me. Her look sent shudders through my body. It felt as if her eyes were peeling my flesh away. Her icy fingers brushed my own as I offered her the paper.

She mouthed something to my mother who translated, “She’s going to make the card and will be back in a few minutes. Why don’t you go find something?” Nodding, I left my mother. Wandering aimlessly, I shifted between the bound papers. A layer of dust lay over much of the carpentry. My fingers were the first to touch these books in years.

I bumped against a bookcase as I rounded the corner. Grabbing the bookcase, I steadied it. But I was not fast enough and a single book feel free from the top. It landed spin up. Every inch of it was coated in dust. I brushed the layers away and examined the discolored leather bindings. It lacked any of the usual slips or markings found on library books. There was not even a slot for check-out-slips on the inside cover. There was no publishers mark or date. There was not even a title. Flipping to first page, I found the first word on it.

Hello?

                That was the only word on the whole page. It was written in a delicate script. It reminded me of my grandmother’s wiry scribble she put on cards. I flipped the page and once more there was only a simple line written in the middle.

                Hello? Is someone there?

                What kind of book is this? I thought. Flipping the page, I read the next line.

                Please help me. Please, I beg you.

                The handwriting had become more frantic. Each letter was larger and often swept over each other. It was like they were written in haste. Curiosity took hold and I continued reading.

                Please, my name is Ester Merchant. Please, I need your help. I’ve been trapped in this book by a witch. Please, you have to believe me.

                I stared at the page. In several places looked as if they were marred by tears. I ran my fingers over the ink and could feel the grooves in the paper. They were deep here. I paged back through to the start and fingered the writing. The writing left only the slightest of impressions. I traced each letter across those four pages. It might have been my imagination, but I could swear that I could feel a pulse within the pages. Shaking my head, I placed the book onto the shelf. There was a strange vibe to it.

                Some part of my mind wondered if it was true. No, that could not be it. Witches were legends, they were not real… Were they? Did not all legends come from historical events? Was there not some real event which laid the foundation for embellishment which turned a simple deed into a great story. No, I was being stupid. There is no magic. The only magic that exists is in books and dreams… or so I thought.

                I grabbed several books. One of local history, another of a lost child, and finally, an old horror book which I had read before. All the while, my mind kept shifting back to the strange book. Could it be true? No, I kept telling myself. There was no magic, but there was something strange about that book. Why wouldn’t a library book have any of the usual trappings so people could find it and borrow it? Why was it hidden on the top of the shelf rather than in its proper place? No, it must be someone’s poor idea of a prank. That’s all it must be, I convinced myself.

                “Finding something?” my mom asked as I rejoined her at the counter.

                “A few,” I motioned with my fingers. The old crone of a librarian was back at the desk. Her icy glare chilled my heart. I shuddered as I handed her my selection. Those eyes scrutinized me as she examined each book, I choose. There was a sickening feeling in my stomach as if she was peeling away my skin with her eyes. It was as if she was judging my soul. Not the most pleasant of thoughts to have.

                “Thank you,” I signed as we left. I waited until we were back in the car before I shared my thoughts. “She’s not the friendliest.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “She just looked mean.”

                “You’re just assuming.”

                “Mom,” I exasperated with oversized movements. “I’m the deaf one here. I’m the one who sees everything. I’m better with reading faces than you.”

                My mother did not reply while she drove the unfamiliar street. Her hands were too busy with the wheel and her eyes were fixed on the streets. She had put the idea out of her mind by the time we arrived at the furniture store. We moved through the store aimlessly. It only took us a short time to find what we came for. We found a pair of simple shelves that just needed to be assembled. A five-minute job, I figured. Finding an associate took a little longer. A middle-aged man helped us check out. He waved a young man over and motioned for him to load our purchases into the car.

                The young man looked at me with a quizzical look. His lips moved to speak, but I heard nothing. I pointed to my ear and drew a line to my mouth. Seeing the boy’s confusion, my mother mouthed an explanation. He nodded before hefting the toe boxes into his arm. I reached to take one from him, but he pushed me away.

                “I’m only deaf. I can carry them,” I signed. It was pointless. The boy could neither see me, nor understand me. I clenched my fist in irritation. Nothing bugged me more than being considered helpless. My mother stilled my displeasure with her hand.

                “He’s just doing his job,” my mother tried to sooth me while he loaded the car. While we sat in the car, my mother shared her thoughts, “He was cute.”

                “The boy?” I pointed back towards the store.

                “Yeah. Him.”

                “No.”

                “He looks about your age. Might be in your class.”

                “Maybe. Won’t matter. I can’t speak with him. He doesn’t sign.”

                “He might learn,” she suggested. I paid her no mind on the drive home. I scampered back upstairs with the bookcases as soon as we got home.

                “Need a hand,” Joe offered while I unboxed the plywood shelves.

                “No. I want to do this,” I swore.

Author's Note

Opinion of characters so far, plot, story element, etc.