The Tinker Man
Episode 4 of Shoe Factory Road
As with all of these short stories, they’re best when read late at night.
The local news played on the old television tube to an empty living room. The news anchor was recapping the night’s headline. “We have some breaking news this evening... a convict by the name of Bill Cottington, has escaped Old Orchard Penitentiary. If you see him, we urge you to immediately call the authorities. He is considered extremely dangerous.” The sound of the news was abruptly overlapped by the violent storm lashing against the window. Rumbles of thunder churned outside. Picture frames rattled. The growing sounds of 3 boys were heard laughing upstairs…
The 3 boys (12 years old): Sam, Will, and Eric were standing in the long narrow, second floor hallway. Above them was a trap door with a tiny metal hinge that held the attic door shut. The arched ceiling of the Victorian made the attic off limits. Their necks craned up, wondering what could be up there.
“How the hell are we supposed to reach that?” asked Will. “We’re not dummy, that’s why its out of reach,” smiled Eric. Will threw a growing smile back at Eric, who in turn gave Will a friendly thump on the shoulder. While the two of them were laughing in the background, Sam was fixated on the scuttle hole.
Sam squinted at the metal latch, figuring out his next move. “Got it. Let’s go.” The three of them spun back. “If we find gold, what’s my finder’s fee?” asked Eric, before disappearing down the stairs.
Sam’s hand reached into the darkness, finding the pull chain light bulb. Yank. A row of lights dimly lit the garage, barely catching the corners. The space was cluttered in a gadgeteer sort-of-way. Piles of old oil cans. Rusted metal blades hung on hooks. A workbench with tools of every sort. The three boys began opening drawers, sifting through junk, and turning the place over. Will peeled back a canvas tarp, revealing some contraption — two thin bike wheels on one side and two wooden legs on the other. The cart was candy apple red and had a pedal near the base. Years of use had taken whatever letters that were stenciled on the side of it away, leaving only the occasional fleck of silver remaining. A vertical stone wheel lay in the center. “What’s this thing? It looks like a cotton candy machine.”
Sam glanced back momentarily, “oh that’s gotta be my grandpa’s… all this stuff is. My mom’s still going through it.” Sam slid open a draw on the work bench. Bingo. He scooped up a flashlight. Pulsed it on and off, making sure it was good. “Found it!”
Sam moved the flashlight through the rafters in the ceiling, looking for a ladder. Finding only bare wooden slats. The 3 of them glanced around one last time, before giving up and moving on.
Back upstairs —
Will and Eric clasped their hands together, giving Sam a footing to step into. “How is there not one ladder in this entire place?” wondered Will as they boosted Sam to their shoulders, awkwardly pivoting their hands so Sam could get maximum reach. Sam wobbled a moment, before pushing both arms against opposite sides of the wall. The two boys below, gritted their teeth as the weight started to feel like snake poison moving towards their shoulders.
Sam stretched out one hand with all his might…fingertips barely catching the latch. It was just enough. Without warning, the latch sprung sideways, and BLAM! A pair of battered wooden stairs came hurtling out. The stairs were fold-down — and whistled just past Sam’s head, instinctively ducking at the last second, which offset his footing — sending him plunging backward.
Will and Eric ducked too as Sam fell next to them, just as the staircase dropped over their heads, stopping to rest an inch off the ground. All three of them looked up at the inky black square. Their adrenaline was palpable. There was no telling what was up there.
One by one they ascended the ladder, swallowing into darkness. The rain was much louder up here, continuing to cascade in sheets.
The attic.
Sam was first to enter. Beaming the flashlight cautiously around. The other two quickly crammed around him. Their eyes adjusted to the dim light. The place was a dark void— the only glow came from the grimy window positioned at the center, with the steady sound of rain rolling off it. “Dude, you’re mom’s gonna kill us, if she found us up here,” whispered Will.
“She won’t be back ’til late tonight, that’s why she wanted us to have a sleepov — ’’ Before Sam could finish, roaring cracks of blue lightening lit the room for a brief glimpse, drowning out his voice. The light vanished, rapidly.
Enough to see —
The attic was the opposite of the garage. More like a scholar’s study. Albeit with layers of dust and cobwebs. Bookshelves, journals, neatly folded newspapers. A single desk with a green banker’s lamp sat near the window. On one of the walls was a detailed map of the town. They scanned around for a moment. Astonished this was up here.
The boys immediately fanned out in fascination as if the attic was beckoning them. A section of the old floors creaked and groaned. Sam circled the desk, trying the lamp. It flickered before quickly cutting out. Eric tracked across to the map, before catching a cobweb to the face. Will moved to the bookshelf —
Stopping on an old dusty book, its jacket read: “A HISTORY OF OLD ORCHARD.” Will began thumbing through the pages. A quick glimpse into the town. Dakota Sioux tribes settled. Then colonists. Logging boom soon after. A flood wiping out half the town. Deaths. Lots of them. He turned the page and was caught by the headline:
FLOOD KILLS 84, SIOUX BURIAL GROUNDS RESURFACE
Underneath, sketches of water rushing through the town. People running with horrified expressions. Behind them human bones and makeshift coffins.
Will quickly flipped a few more pages, and moved his hand revealing another headline:
DOCTOR RESURRECTS TOWN
Townspeople cheering as a man named Dr. Prindable cut a ribbon in front of Main Street. Captioned: “Doctor who patented stethoscope promises to revive haunted town.”
The word haunted didn’t sit right. Rattled, Will slammed the book, and slid it back on the shelf. He reached for the stack of newspapers, when he was cut off by Eric —
“What do you guys know about a swamp 5 miles from Laramy’s farm?”
Will and Sam snapped their look up at Eric, and followed his gaze towards the map hanging on the wall.
Eric moved closer towards the map, noticing 6 tiny X’s in various parts of the town map. Dates and years above each “x.” All concentrated around an area labeled “The Snake Pit.”
“That’s over where those cult sightings were,” Will said cautiously. “Cult sighting? There were no cult sightings.” Eric laughingly dismissed the thought, and turned back to the map. Will took a moment as if reliving his own past, and began peeling through more newspaper clippings.
Sam, (who was still at the desk) moved on from the conversation upon feeling there was a hidden drawer flush with the desk. He shined the light under, revealing a makeshift latch that looked like it originally belonged to a briefcase. SNAP!
The draw slid out, revealing a thick layer of shredded newspaper. Rifling through the papers, Sam fished out a stack of old photos. While the other two continued bickering, Sam thumbed through them.
The photo: It was Sam’s grandpa, much younger. Black and white. Cigar boxes and knives being juggled while standing atop carnival equipment. Slicked back hair. Tuxedo. In his element.
Sam peeled through the photos, appearing like a flip book. It looked as though the images were moving. The boxes and knives circling faster and faster. Until one of the boxes dropped out of frame. Then Sam got to the last photo —
The last photo, much older now — his grandpa was wearing a newsboy cap — one leg up on the same cart we saw earlier in the garage. Tattered pants. Weather beaten skin. Deep brow lines. Holes in his shoes. Cold and solemn. On the side of cart read: The Tinker. Then something caught Sam’s eye…there was something more to the photo. At the corner edge, a shadow loomed on the dirt road. Half of it was cut off from view. As if another photo connected with it.
Sam felt his gut twist inside. The photo was eerie. His grandpa didn’t look right. He knew though, if the other half of the photo were anywhere…it’d almost certainly be in this room.
“Guys!” Sam blurted out. “Look for a cigar box…or some sort of shoe box.” Will and Eric swung their head back, their ears perking up. Eric ran over, “What’d you find?!” Almost yanking the photos out from him. Sam handed him the photos, while moving past, scanning the room with his flashlight.
The thunder once again sent a vibrato across the rafters, and through the eaves as the rain continued to drum against the window. Will scurried around, reaching his hands into any spot that looked pitch black. Eric tossed the photos on the desk and jerked open the drawer, clawing through the shredded paper. “This is a wild goose chase if you ask me. I want to find gold!” Eric said while shaking his head.
Sam was too mystified to listen. He glanced around the attic, and took three steps towards the map. Maybe he kept something in there. The floorboards shifted and creaked. One more than the others. He looked down. Stepped back over it. It was heaved slightly more than the rest. He got a closer look. The wooden board lifted and pivoted with the nail still intact. Sam’s heart began beating in his throat. He shined the light over the opening, snaking out the contents. His hand emerged with a scarlet sheet with a box wrapped in it. Something his grandpa had hidden years ago, was now in his hands. Dust swirled up into the flashlight as he lifted the lid…
Will emerged from the dark shadows, bending down to see what Sam stumbled upon. Sam threw the scarlet sheet aside and nervously opened the cigar box. In the background, Eric picked up the scarlet item.
In the box: A handful of newspaper snippets like: “Parents Warn Snake Pit Unsafe” and “Cult Takes Town of Old Orchard.” Sam swallowed hard. His hands were shaking and barely holding onto the flashlight he held near his chin. The next clipping appeared. In bold print:
“Tinker Suspected of Homicide. Six Stabbed With Own Kitchen Knife.”
“Foul play is suspected in the deaths of six victims. Suspect claims it’s “merely a coincidence.” Believed to sharpen the blood off, getting rid of all evidence.”
Sam and Will exchanged a wordless glance. His worst fears revealed. Was it possible his own grandpa murdered people?
Under the clippings were tarot cards. Flyers to the carnival. Beyond that, another photo: Cult members in cloak garb lined up in a row. Sam’s eyes went wide…
“Eric, gimme that photo….Eric!” Sam looked up. Eric was frozen; his jaw was unhinged as he stared at something in front of him. Sam and Will rose to see what he was looking at. Past Eric’s shoulder, he was holding the unmistakable scarlet cult garb. “Ugh guys…I think your grandpa was into some shit.” Will hastily snapped up the photo that was on the desk, and the three of them spun back to the floor. To the cult photo. It fit perfectly. Like a sick mosaic. The photo in its full form had the cult members on one side of a dirt road and Sam’s grandpa on the other. Now that the two photos were joined, you could see they were standing over a dead body. Sam wondered if it wasn’t the person who published that story.
For a moment the three boys stood there. For the first time in his life, Eric had nothing to say. Tears streaked down Sam’s face. The other two put a friendly arm on his shoulder. Suddenly, a voice was heard downstairs. “Boys…are you up there?!” Oh shit! — they simultaneously thought. “I thought she wasn’t coming back ’til late,” Eric said snidely. Sam scooped up the photos, and they bolted down the attic’s stairs.
Sam ran down the staircase, leaving Will and Eric in the hallway. Staying back, and scrambling to close the attic.
Sam raced into the kitchen, where his mom was sitting at the small table. Taking a deep drag of a cigarette, and looking worn out with heavy bags under her eyes. “Mom! Mom!” Sam said. “I need to show you these photos…” He took a deep breath before handing them over.
She took a glance over them, and calmly said “Why don’t you boys play up in your room, honey?” “But, Mom…grandpa was in a cult!” Her eyes lazily shifted from the photos to Sam. She continued with a blank expression at him, until he obliged.
She kept on Sam until he was heard climbing the staircase. She turned back to the photos. Paused on them a moment, before taking the nearby cigarette lighter and calmly torching the photos. Dropping them over the ashtray. Vanishing into merely carbon. She ashed her cigarette once more over the remains, shut off the lights and moved to the living room.
