Story Starter 3 -

[Rachel E.]

He was a tall man. Everyone always had told him so. His green eyes were hard and level, and his black hair shone darkly.

When he looked at one, that person could not help feeling like they had done something wrong.

Who was this man, this enigma? What was his purpose? Why was he come to our small village?

These questions and more we asked ourselves.

[lynnmosher]

Nestled in the fertile mountainous valley of North Carolina sits our sleepy little village. Here, in this secluded spot on the map, everyone is like family.

You would swear each person is a Peeping Tom, staring in all the windows at night, discovering his neighbors’ secrets. But that’s the local pipeline, the gossip trail. Nothing is sacred in this tiny burg. Everyone knows everyone else’s business.

With a stranger in our midst, it didn’t take long for the news to spread from house to house.

[Cymrugirl]

At eight o'clock each night, he entered the Foam & Fork and ordered wine (he preferred red - properly breathed for ten minutes in a wide-mouthed glass) and dined on lamb, always asking the waiter to exclude the sauce.

On Sundays, he could be seen inching the creekbed in rubber boots, seeking lonely trout, and on Tuesdays, at twilight, he walked, always with a single book, in a solitary aisle of chestnut trees along the eastern hill, talking. To himself.

The village children hastened to stay out of his path, while simultaneously haunting it. He was not a man, but an empty house, silent and brooding, brooding and creaking - like Mrs. Fizzbottom's knees in winter, the children said.

[Tommie Lyn]

"Is that him? He's coming in here, I think!"

"Shhh!" Merrilee shushed Janice. "Here he comes."

She busied herself rearranging the condiment caddy on the counter while Janice hurriedly picked up her cup to take a sip and almost scalded her lip on the hot liquid. A gust of chill air accompanied the stranger inside when he opened the door.

He sat two stools away from Janice and plucked a laminated menu from the rack in front of him. He scanned it, front and back, then laid it down.

Merrilee swallowed, took her order pad from her apron pocket and approached. "You ready to order?"

He nodded. "The four star special. Over easy. Bacon. Hash browns scattered and smothered. Toast. Coffee." He rattled off his order rapid fire, as though he'd memorized it.

"You must eat at Waffle Houses pretty often," Merrilee commented.

"Often enough."

[Tamera]

Marrilee placed the order on the spindle for the kitchen and walked back to the table where the tall stranger sat.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" Marrilee asked.

"I don't mind," the stranger said.

"We were all wondering," Merrilee said as she looked into his deep green eyes. They seemed like they were piercing her very soul. "You've been around these parts for going on a month now. Ain't a body in this town that knows who you are or why your here. You ain't got a job around here. Do you have family in these parts. Why do you want to stay in this hick town."

"I don't mind you asking, Merrilee. But I hope you don't mind me not answering."

Merrilee shrugged and walked back to the counter where Janice was snickering.

[Tommie Lyn]

Merrilee kept an eye on him as he ate, kept his coffee cup refilled, but tried not to hover. Yet, she seemed to feel something inexplicable tugging at her, pulling her attention to him each time she looked away.

And once, when she stood in front of him, holding the coffeepot, and asked, "Need a warm up?", he raised his gaze to meet hers. She was so close she could see the little white and yellow streaks and flecks that softened the deep green luminosity of his eyes. And a sensation of falling, of being caught in a whirling, swirling eddy, overwhelmed her for a moment. She had to grip the counter to steady herself.

"Sure," he said.

Merrilee could not move. She could only stare into his eyes, caught in their green intensity as if mesmerized.

"I said, sure."

He cleared his throat, looked down at his plate, and somehow, she was released. A burning flush of embarrassment rose through Merrilee, heating her throat, her cheeks, even the top of her head.

[Cymrugirl]

Later that night, over a round of pool, Bob Scratchit nursed a pale ale and slapped a ten dollar bill on the green.

"I say he's Elvis."

"Elvis? What're you nuts? He ain't old enough to be Elvis." This was spoken by a slick haired man - whose slick was more grease than shine - called Ed Baker. Ed had a penchant for plaid flannel shirts and, as luck would have it, was actually the local baker. He and Bob were regulars at the Foam & Fork on Tuesday nights.

"Well, he coulda had some of those botox treatments or something. Those things freeze your face."

"Yeah, but they've only been around a few years. He'd a had plenty of wrinkles by the time he got his first shot."

"I still think it's him. He was rich enough. He'd a found a way."

"You're just jealous cause they say Merrilee got all weak in the knees over him down at the diner this morning."

Bob pocketed a red and snorted. "What do you think he's doin every night down at the Chestnut Grove? He's singin' songs. Writin' new ones. That's just the kind of place Elvis would go to write a song."

In a week, this became a popular theory. Even with Ed Baker the baker. However, Mrs. Hobbs of Peach Street was convinced he was a vampire, (she'd been known to hit the bottle a little too much) and Henry Prothero, the village washing machine repairman, had concluded a more sinister notion. That the mystery man was from the IRS.

It wasn't until a small incident with the village's sole vending machine - an ancient coca cola fridge that used to actually hold glass bottles - that the mysterious mist surrounding the village's favorite new citizen was pierced. Nobody - least of all the mystery man himself - would have guessed this would have happened at the hands of a nine year old boy.

[Derby]

William was just nine and was snoozing contentedly outside the Foam & Fork, on an old chair by the door. It was a hot day and he had run all the way from the river to get a lift home for tea from his big brother Bob. Bob dropped by here every weekday to see Merrilee. He had nodded off waiting. He wasn’t asleep for long; he was suddenly awoken by an angry voice. It was the stranger, shaking the Coke machine. ‘How do you get a bottle out of this crate?’ he shouted into the air. ‘Hold on Mister, I’ll get some help’ said Will, and he ran inside to get Merrilee. She was some while coming. She had got time off, it was her birthday and Bob had arranged to pick her up instead of the usual brief chat. She had finished smartening up for the occasion and was looking great.

The old machine was always causing her problems and she was not in the mood for such a delay, now that she had just got dolled up. She struggled to unlock it, then struggled with the delivery gear, then struggled to secure it again. She was doing quite a dance. As she gave the stranger his Coke Bob drove up and the three of them were off.

‘What did google eyes want?’ said Bob to Merrilee. ‘Just a Coke, nothing more’ she replied, still hot and bothered from her wrestling. ‘Bob’ said Will. ‘Yes, what now!’. Will replied ‘He said something odd Bob. He said – how do you get a bottle out of this machine – Coke comes in cans, everyone knows that’. Merrilee said ‘That machine used to give bottles but it was converted to cans years ago.’ Will was sitting close to Merrilee and, looking at her with admiration and devotion, he added ‘and something else Merrilee, when you were struggling with the machine he was staring right at your butt all the time.’

‘You don’t say, Will Scratchit’ said Bob quietly. He had gone a deep red colour and they got home very quickly.