This week's installment of Autumn Moon...
Autumn Moon and the Book of Secrets
by Bob Freeman
Chapter Five
“Oak Hill”
The Oak Hill Cafeteria was a vast feeding ground filled with the din of chaotic teen angst and the clatter of lunch trays and silverware on the grey glace laminate tables that stretched out in their even little rows. I never served in the armed forces or spent any time behind bars, but I was sure that this cafeteria was little different from the mess halls that catered to such folk. Cassie and I waded through the throng of middle schoolers to semi-join a group of students who, if they weren’t careful, would end up in the later group of adult cafeteria dwellers. Sitting in a tight group, near the lunchroom stage and furthest from the kitchen, these were kids with more than schoolwork on their minds.
Sean Duncan was the ringleader and eager to set things in motion. Around him were gathered his closest friends. Angela Conley was a cute brunette, a bit on the skinny side, but with a razor sharp mind and a love for the theatre. Her boyfriend, Greg Stevens, was a math wiz and band nerd who seemed to be born a bit shell shocked and quiet. Nancy Wilson was the real odd ball in this group. A straight A student, vice president of the junior high class, and a runner up at the State Speech Team finals, Nancy had a secret crush on the Stevens boy and tended to hang out as near him as possible.
Cassie and I were not part of the in-crowd and were not even able to crack the peer group walls of this collection of misfits, but they were the closest we could come to calling friends and so we sat near to them at lunch, though rarely spoke or were spoken to.
“The circle is now complete,” Sean grinned.
“Yes, oh wise one,” Angela and Nancy chimed in. They giggled and then caught themselves, almost embarrassed.
“Quit clownin’,” Greg said, re-crossing his legs and picking up his dog-eared copy of Kerouac’s On the Road. He flipped the pages making a rhythmic sound. “We’re here, so what’s the big mystery? What are you cookin’ up for Halloween this year?”
Sean reached to the floor and produced his button covered backpack. With a wide grin the redheaded teen reached within and produced a small leather bound sack that looked as if it were plucked from a fire.
“Ta-da!” Duncan proclaimed with fanfare.
“What is this?” Angela cooed, sliding closer to him and reaching for the bag.
Sean slapped her across the hand and barked, “Hands off, bitch,” he laughed. “This is the real deal, kids. These are the ashes of White Feather, last of the great medicine men of the Miami Indians.”
“What the heck are you talking about?” Greg leaned forward, pulling his girl away from Duncan.
“He’s talking about conjuring up an Indian Spirit, dimwit. If you ever pulled your head out of those text books you’d probably have half a clue as to what’s going on around you, nerd boy.”
Everyone’s head turned toward the stage and the voice that spoke. Vickie Rybolt dressed in black, wore black make-up, dyed her blonde hair black, and did her best to think black thoughts. In another decade or so they’d have a name for the angst-ridden teen… Goth. In the early sixties, however, as the free love hippy movement was beginning to flower on the west coast, most just considered her “troubled”. And she was. Just not in the ways that people assumed.
“Jesus, Vickie…”Angela snorted, “hows ‘bout a little warning before you creep up on someone.”
“That defeats the purpose of creeping, loser.”
“So why don’t you just beat it, weirdo. No one invited you and this certainly doesn’t concern you.” Nancy Wilson was on her feet. She didn’t like Victoria. She hadn’t for a long time, going all the way back to grade school and the two girls rolling around on the playground pulling each others hair. Cassie said the fight happened after Vickie’s mother had very publicly announced she had been having an affair with Nancy’s father. It shattered both families and, in the small community of Converse, was quickly the talk of the town. Nancy had called Vickie’s mother a whore and a home wrecker. Vickie had responded with a right cross. The two girls considered the other their mortal enemy.
“Chill out, Nance,” Greg said as he stepped down from the table top and placed his hand on Nancy’s shoulder. “What’s your interest in this, Vickie?”
“Well, lover boy, if you must know…” Victoria hopped off of the stage and slunk over to the skinny boy, “my grandma was a Miami Indian. If you’re going to be playing around at conjuring up one of my ancestors then you’re going to have me tagging along…not that it’ll work. It’s going to take more than a shaman’s ashes to wake the dead. You’re going to need some type of spell or powerful mojo to pull that off.”
“”I know where we can get a spell.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. We never spoke to these guys. We just hovered about. And we certainly didn’t talk about what I feared Cassie was going to talk about.
“Cassie,” I fired off giving her the look of death.
“Wehaveabookwithspellsandmagicandstuffandoneofthespellscan…” she took a deep breath, “raise the dead,” she spewed as quick as she could.
“Cassie!” I couldn’t believe it. I just couldn’t believe it.
“Well, well, well… what have we here? A couple of pint-sized Samanthas? If it were coming from anyone else I’d call them liars, but everybody knows that the Severes are knee-deep in black magic,” Vickie cooed, slinking over to where we sat.
“That’s not true,” I said. It was little more than a whisper.
“Oh, it’s true all right,” Vickie smiled, “and you little witches are going to help us conjure up a spirit on Halloween night.”
I stared at the floor, with my heart firmly stuck in my throat, and tried desperately to disappear.
It didn’t work.
There you have it... only one chapter remains... join me next week for the thrilling conclusion to Autumn Moon and the Book of Secrets when I post "Chapter Six: All Hallows"
by Bob Freeman
Chapter Five
“Oak Hill”
The Oak Hill Cafeteria was a vast feeding ground filled with the din of chaotic teen angst and the clatter of lunch trays and silverware on the grey glace laminate tables that stretched out in their even little rows. I never served in the armed forces or spent any time behind bars, but I was sure that this cafeteria was little different from the mess halls that catered to such folk. Cassie and I waded through the throng of middle schoolers to semi-join a group of students who, if they weren’t careful, would end up in the later group of adult cafeteria dwellers. Sitting in a tight group, near the lunchroom stage and furthest from the kitchen, these were kids with more than schoolwork on their minds.
Sean Duncan was the ringleader and eager to set things in motion. Around him were gathered his closest friends. Angela Conley was a cute brunette, a bit on the skinny side, but with a razor sharp mind and a love for the theatre. Her boyfriend, Greg Stevens, was a math wiz and band nerd who seemed to be born a bit shell shocked and quiet. Nancy Wilson was the real odd ball in this group. A straight A student, vice president of the junior high class, and a runner up at the State Speech Team finals, Nancy had a secret crush on the Stevens boy and tended to hang out as near him as possible.
Cassie and I were not part of the in-crowd and were not even able to crack the peer group walls of this collection of misfits, but they were the closest we could come to calling friends and so we sat near to them at lunch, though rarely spoke or were spoken to.
“The circle is now complete,” Sean grinned.
“Yes, oh wise one,” Angela and Nancy chimed in. They giggled and then caught themselves, almost embarrassed.
“Quit clownin’,” Greg said, re-crossing his legs and picking up his dog-eared copy of Kerouac’s On the Road. He flipped the pages making a rhythmic sound. “We’re here, so what’s the big mystery? What are you cookin’ up for Halloween this year?”
Sean reached to the floor and produced his button covered backpack. With a wide grin the redheaded teen reached within and produced a small leather bound sack that looked as if it were plucked from a fire.
“Ta-da!” Duncan proclaimed with fanfare.
“What is this?” Angela cooed, sliding closer to him and reaching for the bag.
Sean slapped her across the hand and barked, “Hands off, bitch,” he laughed. “This is the real deal, kids. These are the ashes of White Feather, last of the great medicine men of the Miami Indians.”
“What the heck are you talking about?” Greg leaned forward, pulling his girl away from Duncan.
“He’s talking about conjuring up an Indian Spirit, dimwit. If you ever pulled your head out of those text books you’d probably have half a clue as to what’s going on around you, nerd boy.”
Everyone’s head turned toward the stage and the voice that spoke. Vickie Rybolt dressed in black, wore black make-up, dyed her blonde hair black, and did her best to think black thoughts. In another decade or so they’d have a name for the angst-ridden teen… Goth. In the early sixties, however, as the free love hippy movement was beginning to flower on the west coast, most just considered her “troubled”. And she was. Just not in the ways that people assumed.
“Jesus, Vickie…”Angela snorted, “hows ‘bout a little warning before you creep up on someone.”
“That defeats the purpose of creeping, loser.”
“So why don’t you just beat it, weirdo. No one invited you and this certainly doesn’t concern you.” Nancy Wilson was on her feet. She didn’t like Victoria. She hadn’t for a long time, going all the way back to grade school and the two girls rolling around on the playground pulling each others hair. Cassie said the fight happened after Vickie’s mother had very publicly announced she had been having an affair with Nancy’s father. It shattered both families and, in the small community of Converse, was quickly the talk of the town. Nancy had called Vickie’s mother a whore and a home wrecker. Vickie had responded with a right cross. The two girls considered the other their mortal enemy.
“Chill out, Nance,” Greg said as he stepped down from the table top and placed his hand on Nancy’s shoulder. “What’s your interest in this, Vickie?”
“Well, lover boy, if you must know…” Victoria hopped off of the stage and slunk over to the skinny boy, “my grandma was a Miami Indian. If you’re going to be playing around at conjuring up one of my ancestors then you’re going to have me tagging along…not that it’ll work. It’s going to take more than a shaman’s ashes to wake the dead. You’re going to need some type of spell or powerful mojo to pull that off.”
“”I know where we can get a spell.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. We never spoke to these guys. We just hovered about. And we certainly didn’t talk about what I feared Cassie was going to talk about.
“Cassie,” I fired off giving her the look of death.
“Wehaveabookwithspellsandmagicandstuffandoneofthespellscan…” she took a deep breath, “raise the dead,” she spewed as quick as she could.
“Cassie!” I couldn’t believe it. I just couldn’t believe it.
“Well, well, well… what have we here? A couple of pint-sized Samanthas? If it were coming from anyone else I’d call them liars, but everybody knows that the Severes are knee-deep in black magic,” Vickie cooed, slinking over to where we sat.
“That’s not true,” I said. It was little more than a whisper.
“Oh, it’s true all right,” Vickie smiled, “and you little witches are going to help us conjure up a spirit on Halloween night.”
I stared at the floor, with my heart firmly stuck in my throat, and tried desperately to disappear.
It didn’t work.
There you have it... only one chapter remains... join me next week for the thrilling conclusion to Autumn Moon and the Book of Secrets when I post "Chapter Six: All Hallows"
posted by Bob Freeman at 11:04 PM
4 Comments:
I am anxiously awaiting the conclusion.
Thank you for posting this as an early Christmas present to your fans.
I hope they are both very happy :)
both? naaaaaah, there's at least three :P
can't wait to read the last installment, bob, i'm all curious about what will happen ^_^
I'm sad to see the last chapter come this Wednesday, Bob. I've enjoyed following Autumn's tale. I can feel something big building for the final installment! Something that will change the lives of these innocents forever. Now I know I must pick up "Shadows Over Somerset."
Best,
Louise
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