Suspense Magazine November 2012

eating on me.”
Seconds later, the twins plodded into the room. They
looked like their mother with red hair and freckles, but
taller and a lot meatier. They were wearing the usual sullen
expression, which I was starting to think was the trademark
of the town.
Robson jerked his chin at Sarah. “Did you rough this gal
up”
The twins chorused a “Yup.”
“What for”
Another chorus, “ ‘Cause we felt like it.”
Their father nodded, unconcerned. “Well, there you have
it. My girls figured it was the right thing to do. I can’t come
down on them for something like that. It would be pretty
unfair on my part, don’t cha think”
Dad just stood there, flummoxed, trying to grasp the
logic of it, his mouth working without words. I stared down
at my sneakers, the right one making nervous circles on the
rough pine floor. Sarah began to sob.
One of the twins took a threatening step forward, her
eyes ablaze with anger and hate.
“Ya know something, Sarah. I should have split your
dumb head open like a watermelon.”
Then the other twin took a step forward, looking even
meaner.
“And I should have plucked out your eyes with my
jackknife.”
Robson gave both of his daughters a wallop alongside
the head.
“You jus’ hush up.” Then he turned to my Dad. “You folks
are new around here, ain’t cha”
“Uh…yes. We’ve only been in town for a little over a
week.”
“Where ya from”
“Scarsdale.”
“I like the scars part. Pardon me for asking, but where in
the be-Jesus is that”
“New York.”
Robson gave each of his daughters another wallop. “Ya
see that, girls. These folks are new to these parts. From up
north. They ain’t had the time to settle in yet, to learn our
ways.” Then he wrapped an arm around my dumfounded
father’s shoulder. “C’mon, have a drink an’ we can bury the
hatchet.” Chuckling, he jabbed a finger into Dad’s forehead.
“Right about there.”
“No thanks. I don’t drink alcohol.”
“Who in the blue blazes said anything about alcohol I’m
talking about water from the springs. That’s our beer around
here, our whiskey, our elixir.” A guffaw. “Our snake oil so to
speak.”
My Dad and Sarah seemed to jump at the chance, grateful
for the sudden camaraderie and the unexpected lessening
of tension. The house was a pigsty, smelling like an old root
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cellar, and the glasses were filthy, but they eagerly accepted
the water, Sarah replacing tears with a wavering smile. When
offered a glass of the water, I waved it aside.
“No thanks. I don’t like water very much. I’ll have a Coke
if you have one.”
Robson’s eyes narrowed.
“All we got and all we drink is water. Nice and fresh,
straight from the springs. C’mon, you’ll like it.”
“Nah. That’s okay. I’ll pass.”
“You’ll be learning. It might take awhile, but you’ll be
learning.”
Dad and Sarah gulped down the water, fairly smacking
their lips with pleasure. Then they drank a second and third
glass, as though it was the best thing they’d ever tasted. I
couldn’t figure it; water was water. When we were leaving,
Robson gave my father a jug of the stuff to take home.
“By the way; my name’s Clyde. My wife’s name is Maggie.
You know Tanya and Tasha. My other three girls and my son
are up in the woods, hunting rabbits. There’s nothing like a
good rabbit stew to go along with our water. When they get
lucky, they sometimes bring home a dog or a cat. Now there’s
some good eating.”
I winced at the thought of eating a dog or cat, but
strangely enough, the idea didn’t seem to repulse my father
and sister.
“I ‘spect I’ll be seeing you folks at the water festival.”
Dad raised a brow. “The water festival”
“Yup. It’s coming up in a little over a month. There’s
water-chugging contests, water fights, water dunking, ice
sculpturing, apple-bobbing, you name it. Great fun.”
“Sounds fantastic. Well definitely be there.”
I walked out of that house completely lost. Dad never got
any satisfaction for Sarah’s injuries and as for Sarah, herself,
it seemed as though she’d forgotten about the whole thing.
And the following week kept getting stranger and stranger.
Actually, scary.
The next thing that I noticed about Eureka Springs was
the general dirtiness and slovenliness of the town. It rivaled
the sullen, gloomy, and mean-spirited attitudes of its citizens.
The Robsons weren’t an exception, they were a norm. Even
the cars and trucks were all filthy and caked with mud. The
fly-specked store windows looked as though they hadn’t
been washed in years. And the people stank as if baths
and showers were a luxury. If they all liked the water of the
springs so much, why didn’t they go up there and bathe in
it I was beginning to hate the town, thinking of all I’d left
behind in Scarsdale.
But what could I do I was only fifteen and a teenager
had little to say about things.
I was in for a shock one afternoon while I was walking
home from school, driving my uneasy feelings to even greater
heights. I was midway through the one block of Main Street
when a battered Honda plowed into the rear of an equally
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