Welcome to Harper’s Grove!

Posted on May 1, 2013 by Eric Storch

Vermont small town with trees in autumn colors. Vermont, New England, USA

Hannah Anne Ennis rode her ancient bicycle along the curb, swerving around the parked cars, enjoying the warmth of the newly risen sun on her face. The small town of Harper’s Grove, New Hampshire was waking up and Hannah winced every time her left leg pumped down and the bicycle squeaked. She tried to hum an old song that Aunt June used to sing, tried to ignore the squeaky gear, but it was no use.

The bike screeched horribly and so did Hannah as she turned a hard left to avoid a dog that jumped out at her from behind a parked car, nearly tumbling her into the street. When she saw that it was just Jack, the old mortician’s dog, she stopped the bike in another screech as the brakes grabbed. I really need to fix this thing, she thought ruefully, it makes enough noise to wake the dead.

Hannah kicked the stand down and swung off the old Schwinn. Jack stood by, half-heartedly wagging his tail, watching with his rheumy eyes. The dog looked much like his master: old, thin and dried out. Clumps of hair were missing here and there and he smelled of an ammonia-formaldehyde cocktail.

Straightening her denim skirt, Hannah reached out a hand to scratch Jack’s ear when a voice like dried leather said behind her, “Hrm, he bites.”

“Jack doesn’t bite and you know it, Mr. Lux,” Hannah said to the voice behind her amiably.

“Well, hrm,” a skeletal hand the color of death grabbed Jack’s collar. “That may be, hrm, Miss Ennis, but Jack doesn’t like people.” The hand jerked and Jack was pulled away from Hannah.

Turning, Hannah confronted the mortician. Nearly a foot and a half taller than she, Mr. Lux was a personification of Death. Tall and thin, his joints showed as points through his black suit. A weak scruff of white hair wrapped his head from ear to ear, carefully combed back with Brill Creem. He bared his teeth at Hannah, which she knew to be his attempt at a smile.

“I think it’s Jack’s master who doesn’t like people,” Hannah told him firmly.

Mr. Lux’s grin grew wider, revealing an impossible amount of teeth. “The dead, hrm,” he jerked on Jack’s collar once again, though the dog hadn’t moved, “The dead have more interesting things to talk about.” He placed a hand over his breast and sketched a brief bow. “Good day, Miss Ennis.”

“Good morning, Mr. Lux,” Hannah smiled as friendly as she could. The mortician always made her skin crawl.

“Hrm, come Jack,” Mr. Lux jerked the collar once more, turned, and led the dog back the way Hannah had come.

Hannah watched the pair as they walked away, climbing back onto her bicycle. Rumors said that Mr. Lux could talk to the dead and that he was saving the stories they had to tell. Stories that revealed secrets about the inhabitants of Harper’s Grove. Hannah did not know how true the rumors were, but she did know that what seemed impossible, probably wasn’t.

She kicked off and began the squeaky ride once again. Various Harper’s Grovers were about the beginnings of their morning business and Hannah greeted them all with a smile. The morning was just too glorious to let her encounter with the mortician bother her.

Hannah’s morning bike ride to her shop was a staple of Harper’s Grove. Other shop owners looked for the short, plump woman with the mousey brown hair streaming behind her as she peddled her way up Main Street. Hannah usually stopped and visited each, asking after their health and making small talk, collecting hot tea, a bagel or croissant, the morning paper and maybe an apple or two. Hannah put everything in the wicker basket she had made that hung from the handlebars. She wouldn’t trade small town life for any other place in the world.

Harper’s Grove was in the Monadnock Region of New Hampshire, south of Keene and just east of Brattleboro, Vermont and was a postcard vision of a New England town. The town was kept clean, buildings painted regularly, lawns mowed and trees trimmed. It was the home of one fire department garage, which housed a thirty-five year old engine; a sheriff’s office, which was almost always closed as Sheriff Burns was also the town barber and held court at the barbershop; a general store that also doubled as a farmer’s market in summer and early fall, which had a post office counter in the back that ancient Mrs. Jones stood behind all day, even on Sundays though no one knew why and a town hall building whose upper floor had been converted into a library in 1929 when old Clarence Brown died and donated all his books to the town. Above the town, on a slight rise, stood the Episcopal church, built in 1701, which still rang its bell at six in the morning, noon and six at night.

The small town was also the home to Seven of Cups, Herbs and Sundry, Hannah’s small shop that she co-owned with her sister, Deborah. Hannah inherited the small shop when her aunt June passed away almost a decade ago. Hannah immediately offered a co-ownership to her sister. Deborah had hedged for a few days, but had agreed. Deborah had wanted to leave Harper’s Grove for New York. She hated small town life and always dreamed of something bigger for herself, but Hannah was sure there was a man involved. There always seemed to be a man in Deborah’s life.

Hannah hopped the bike up the curb and coasted to a stop in front of the shop. She swung off and balanced the old Schwinn on her hip as she dug for her keys in a voluminous skirt pocket. Finding them, she slotted the key, grunted until the tumblers fell and pushed the thick wood and glass door open.

The shop was dark and smelled of scented candles, herbs and patchouli. Hannah wheeled the bicycle inside, shut the door and opened the blind to the window that was most of the door. Large planks of wood, worn by nearly a hundred years of walking feet, squeaked as Hannah expertly wove her way to the back of the shop in the faint light from the door window. Shelves of books on a variety of subjects lined one wall, all in keeping with the theme of Seven of Cups: herbology, witchcraft, new age self help, Wicca, biblical studies, Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Shinto, numerology, astrology, and many others. It was an extensive library dedicated to religious and ceremonial studies of all kinds and was Hannah’s pride and joy.

Throughout the center of the shop were a number of free standing shelving units. Dried herbs were on one unit, candles of all sizes, shapes and colors on another, athames, chalices, and jewelery decorated with pentacles, suns or moons were on a third.

Harper’s Grove seemed a strange place for such a shop since the town had a long history of Protestant worshipers, but Hannah, and her aunt June before her, were well liked by many and the store prospered.

Hannah flipped the light switch to the back room office, wheeled her bike into a corner and brought her tea and blueberry muffin to her desk. She sighed when she saw there was no space for her breakfast on the desk. Deborah had left it a mess again after closing last night. She nudged a few papers aside, set the tea down and began gathering up papers with one hand while she bit from the muffin in her other. The paperwork would be filled out correctly, of that she had no doubt, and barely glanced at it.

Once space was clear and the papers put away, Hannah glanced at the clock. Five minutes until she had to open. Once again she sighed. No time for me, she thought. I hope whatever you did last night was worth it, Deb.

“Father of Super-humans”, Dead at 86

Posted on June 1, 2012 by Eric Storch

The Super-human nation of Leestan reported yesterday that science fiction author Eric W Storch died at the age of 86.

While not super-human, Mr Storch is thought to have lived a comfortable life in Leestan after the Super-human uprising of 2043.

In his younger days, Mr Storch was a prolific author, penning multiple Hugo and Nebula award-winning novels as well as a web series called “The Linden Tree” which was translated to television as “The Healer” which ran for six seasons. Many of his novels and short stories saw Hollywood adaptations (before the government media regulation law passed in 2032). But what Mr Storch is most known for is his novel, “Gene Shift,” which tells the story of lab manufactured super heroes. Mr Storch’s details on that process were so accurate, geneticists were able to duplicate the process and in 2029, the first Super-humans were created.

When the zombie pandemic started in 2038, Super-humans were instrumental in containing the threat over the following years. After the signing of the World Peace Accord, these government sanctioned teams of Super-humans were officially labelled as unnecessary and the entire project ordered destroyed. Mr Storch publicly spoke against such action, garnering him support from the Super-human community which he readily accepted.

When the Super-humans rebelled in 2043, causing world-wide destruction, they took the slogan, “I deserve life,” a throw-back to a line from Mr Storch’s book. Mr Storch then became wanted by the World Government and was arrested in 2044 and labelled the cause of the rebellion.

When a pathogen was developed that could kill Super-humans, the war was ended and the country of Leestan was founded (the former New England states). Mr Storch was released from prison under the condition that he live within the walled boundary of Leestan.

In an interview in 2054, just two years ago, Mr Storch said, “I just wanted to write a book that I would enjoy. Superheroes were relegated to comic books and I just wanted to try writing a superhero novel. How could I have known any of this was going to happen?”

Mr Storch always claimed no malice forethought, but his detractors have been many, though their proof slim.

When the spokesperson for the President of Leestan announced yesterday Mr Storch’s passing, a reporter asked the cause of death. Her response: “A broken heart.”

This is in response to the writing prompt at Studio 30 to write our own obituary. Obviously, I have no idea what’s going to happen to me, so I decided to have some fun with it. I hope you enjoyed it too.

A Strange Occurance in Bedford

Posted on April 6, 2012 by Eric Storch

I must relate some recent events.

In the summer of 2006, I was visiting my in-laws – I had come over to lend a hand with the removal of wallpaper from their living room – and during lunch, I took the opportunity to browse my father-in-law’s modest, yet very interesting, library. His books are arranged by subject, and having an interest in history, I perused those books first.

Amongst books about the American Civil War, World War II, Army Training Manuals and colonial life in New England, I found a thick volume bearing the title, “History of Bedford, NH, 1737-1971.” My father-in-law lived in Bedford (had since the early 1960′s, though he was raised in Manchester, just to the east). At the time, I resided in Hooksett, north of Manchester, though the events I am about to relate caused my relocation in the following years.

I asked if I could borrow the book about Bedford, along with the other volumes relating colonial life (all of which were written in the 1950′s for school children), with the hope that I would learn something of early New England life. The response was, “Yes.”

The school books taught me nothing new and two pages into the History, I knew that I would be disappointed. The book, published in 1971, relied heavily on an earlier history of Bedford, published in 1903, for its beginning chapters. The bulk of the 782 page 1971 history dealt with the 20th century. The 1903 history (which the 1971 book lists at 1,128 pages!) was reduced to about 100 pages in the newer history. Gone were the first-hand accounts of people who remembered the Bedford of the mid-19th century. Gone were the reams of Town Meeting minutes. Gone were the most extensive genealogical tables of any town in New Hampshire. Gone was the detailed information I sought!

Angered, I became determined to find a copy of the 1903 history.

It proved to be an impossible task in the following years.

The Bedford library no longer had any copies available to the public. Their one remaining copy was in such a state of decomposition that no one but professional historians were allowed to view it, and then only sparingly. None of the libraries in the surrounding towns (Manchester, Merrimack, Amherst and Goffstown) had copies. Book retailers (both new and used) as well as internet searches turned up nothing.

I soon gave up my search, read the 1971 history, and then forgot the whole ordeal.

In the fall of 2008, I took the family for a drive up Mount Uncanoonuc to observe the foliage. Uncanoonuc is located in Goffstown, just north of the northwest corner of Bedford and is actually two mountains, both very rounded. In fact, Uncanoonuc is a Pennacook word that means “woman’s breasts.” Many of the place names in Hillsborough County are, or are derived from, Pennacook words. During the early 18th century when Scottish settlers were claiming land in southern New Hampshire, the Pennacooks were the only Native tribe that were friendly with the Europeans – relations have remained good throughout the centuries.

While driving north along Joppa Hill Road, just before crossing into Goffstown (we could see the twin peaks of Uncanoonuc before us), we saw that there was a yard sale going on at one of the old farm-houses. My wife suggested we stop and take a look for any antiques. I agreed and we went.

It was there that I found a decent copy of the 1903 History. It was in a box with a number of other books. The kind old lady who owned the house sold me the lot for five dollars.

It was the most important five dollars I ever spent.

I was unable to investigate the box of books over the next three days (children have an uncanny ability to ruin the best plans of their parents). When I finally had the time, I was astounded at what I had in my possession.

Apart from the 1903 history, there were five leather bound books measuring roughly 8×5 inches and each about one inch thick. The leather was dried and cracked – it was obvious the books were very old. I made sure to wear surgical gloves while handling them (I keep a box with my tools in the garage – they’re very handy at keeping my hands clean while working on my cars or other smaller engines).

It took some time to get used to the thin, spidery hand in which the books were written. They were a journal or diary of a man named David McClary. From what he wrote, it seems he built the house from which I bought the books in 1778. The first book was nothing more than a ledger of sorts he started in February 1779 in order to track the day to day business of his farm with a few unimportant notes about his family and neighbors.

I assumed that the other four books were much the same and decided to turn the lot over to the Bedford Historical Society (BHS).

Over the next two weeks I enjoyed reading of the exploits of the inhabitants of early Bedford via the 1903 history. It satisfactorily fulfilled my need for knowledge. Recounting all I learned from those pages would take too much time, but I will quote one entry from the Bedford Town Meeting Minutes of 1780 as it pertains to my tale:

March 28, 1780: “To see whether the town will allow the constables for the year 1780 any reward for their extraordinary trouble.” $1,780 was given (odd that it is the same number as the year – also a sizable amount for the time!) though there is no mention at all – anywhere – of what the “extraordinary trouble” was.

Satisfied with the history, I turned to McClary’s journals for reading material before surrendering them to the BHS.

As I said before, the first book (which dates from February 20, 1779 to March 2, 1780) was rather dry reading throughout until the last entry.

It reads: “March 2, 1780 – While at the Town Centre today, in order that I might buy seed, I did meet one Peggy Littlefield, a spinster, so she said, also a mulatto. God forgive me for what I did! A spell she laid, an she must, for next I knew, I was in Riddle’s barn, with no knowledge of getting there, and laying there with her in a carnal way. Lord, forgive this poor soul and Damn Peggy Littlefield and her infant, Hager, as she called him, who did watch us from the shadows.”