Tales From the Valley E-Book

Watch Youth

• Herausgeber: Dancing Lemur Press LLC
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 205

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

The Ohio Valley’s Rich Stories and Fables…

Can Anna Lee change her town’s history when she spins back in time? Can Tracy save her family when nightmare creatures drop from the sky? What could go wrong when a woman turns her father's murder into a profession? Can a loner help a girl find a survivor community in the wasteland before it’s too late? What happens when a teen hunts to escape a chaotic home life and finds himself the hunted? Is Tori gone forever, lost in the murky waters of the Ohio River? Will Von overcome Their malicious demeanor and break the chains of Their oppression? Will a fun-loving cheerleader learn she doesn’t have to stay the victim of her domineering boyfriend?

Come along as we traverse the richness of the valley…

Leseprobe

By WATCH Youth

FREEDOM FOX PRESS

Dancing Lemur Press, L.L.C.

Pikeville, North Carolina

http://www.dancinglemurpressllc.com/

Copyright 2023 by WATCH Youth

Published by Freedom Fox Press

An imprint of:

Dancing Lemur Press, L.L.C., P.O. Box 383, Pikeville, North Carolina, 27863-0383

http://www.dancinglemurpressllc.com/

ISBN: 9781939844941

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system in any form – either mechanically, electronically, photocopy, recording, or other – except for short quotations in printed reviews, without the permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Cover design by C.R.W.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022952480

“The future of literature is bright and hopeful with the young authors who make up this collection of short stories. Not only do they show a highly developed imagination for writers of such fledgling age, they are already adept at structuring and pacing the action. Each tale is coherent and a constant page turner. I couldn't put the book down until I read each one all the way through. Keep up the great work and never stop creating and writing, for the only thing that sustains us as indispensably as food, psychologically, emotionally and physically, is imagination. And imagination is our only real weapon against ignorance and the recidivism of humanity.” - Dave Shelton, multi-award winning film and TV writer, cartoonist, musician, voice actor and author. His credits include Everybody Loves Raymond, Nickelodeon, Warner Bros., Cemetery GoGo and the International Book Award winner, Bag Boy and Sweet Slob

This book is dedicated to anyone with roots in Appalachia. You can and you will because you were born to climb mountains.

Table of Contents

Introduction

Making Detectives by Adyson Stadler

Foothills by Patrick Ingold

Friolero by Annie Roberts

They Watch From the Sky by Ashlyn Walters

Zoey and Travis by Abigale Brady

Anna Lee & Lewis Wetzel by Lily Giovinazzo

Taken by Sydney Balcerek

They by Landon Harris

Conclusion

Introduction

Appalachia is a strange place and Wheeling a strange town. The cracked and broken road that brought me here reveals the foundation of brick laid over a century ago when the city was the bustling hub of the coal, oil, and steel industries. Now, here on Stone Street, there’s a fancy casino, its modern façade and neon signs offering false hope. Farther down the street, set in the midst of solid-looking family homes, there’s an old, ramshackle house that probably shelters some unfortunate soul, their lives stolen by drugs.

It’s a place of pride and despair.

Maybe I notice the irregularities in this town because in my mind, I’m just passing through to someplace better.

I guess I could be called a run-away, though I consider myself a young traveler. My journey started from a small town several miles south along the banks of the Ohio River. I walked from there to here. In Wheeling, I have a choice of borders to cross and will decide where to go tomorrow. Tonight, the sun is setting against the hills and trees on the horizon, so it’s time to find a place to sleep.

Around the block, I see an elderly gentleman sitting on the steps of a timeworn house in desperate need of paint. He appears as old as the brick poking up from beneath the road and wears a bright red jacket with a yellow stripe going down the side with the words U.S. Marines. His withered hands lay folded over the top of an ivory cane he is using as a place to rest his cheek.

“What are you looking for?”

It takes me a moment to realize the man is speaking and even longer to realize he is talking to me.

I shove my hands in my pockets. “I’m uh, not sure.”

“Lost?” he asks, lifting his head from his cane.

I nod.

The man’s wrinkled face twitches in what could be called a grin. “Aren’t we all? I was too, a long time ago. Maybe I still am. I’ve been in every nook and cranny of this valley; know it like the back of my hand, and I still have no idea where I am.”

Worried that this might descend into a long-winded rant where he forgets I’m even there in the middle of it, I take a step back.

“What’s you hurry? In too much of a rush to listen to an old man and his stories?”

His words shame me, so I take a seat on the porch beside him. “I have a minute.”

“Good to hear. You see, I know all kinds of stories from all kinds of folks. Wanna hear a few?”

I nod and he smiles…

Making Detectives

By Adyson Stalder

The Beginning

In the kitchen, my landlady, Mrs. Harris, is making breakfast, something I never have time to eat. I grab a waffle, a cup of coffee, and my backpack on my way out the door.

“Bye,” I say, stuffing a bite of waffle in my mouth.

Mrs. Harris smiles and shakes her head. “Be safe, honey.”

I’m off to my office, which was once my dad’s old auto garage. Inside the garage, I throw my backpack over an old tool box. I turn on the lamp, open my bag, and grab my journal, some post-it notes, and the red yard I need to work on a project I’ve been focused—no, more like obsessed with— over for the last three years of my life.

“How many people did Dad have contact with?” I mutter, staring at the tangled web of threads.

The old metal garage doors burst open and I pull my sidearm (force of habit) and spin toward the sound. It’s my partner, Logan, carrying a tray of coffee and a box of donuts.

“Morning, boss,” he says with a smile, seemingly unfazed by the gun pointed at him.

“Why would you burst in like that? I could have shot you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, lifting the donut box and shrugging.

“I’m serious,” I say, holstering the sidearm at my hip. Logan is nice, but not always the brightest.

Logan stares at my project as he sets the donuts and coffee on the table. “Don’t you think you’ve gone kinda overboard?”

Hands on my hips, I follow his gaze. “I don’t know. Maybe? But how can I not? It seems like everyone but me has forgotten. My dad’s murder can’t go unpunished. I have to know who did such a horrible thing. It’s been over three years and that’s going to change.” I grab a cup of coffee, take a sip, and return to my desk.

Logan hovers over my shoulder and says, “You’ve stared at that paper all week. Do you think staring at it will make it talk back to you or something?”

I turn my head slowly, sending him a dirty look and an eye roll before returning my gaze to the contract on my desk. I have stared at this piece of paper for days. My gut says this paper is the key. But I can’t see it. Leaning back in my chair, I look over the progress from the last few years. Clues on a board linked together with red yarn.

My dad had been a lawyer in New York City for years—long before he met my mom and they had me. Shortly before he died, his partner bought out his share of the firm and Dad hung up his ties and did what he’d always wanted to do: open an auto garage. This one.

This is where Dad was happiest. I would come with him as often as allowed. I’d help him do oil changes and tear apart engines. Without him, the place sits empty of cars, but full of those good memories. I’ll never part with the space, so I made it my office. And I will never stop looking for my dad’s killer, so I got my private investigator license.

Returning my attention to the paper on my desk, I finally notice something. The address on the contract looked familiar. I close my eyes and think. Larry Fisher! He used to send letters to Mom from that address. The property listed in this rental contract belonged to Larry Fisher. Until this moment, I never considered him. I’d checked every one of Dad’s old clients and contacts, adding more and more clutter to my yarn-covered clue board, but never, ever have I considered Fisher. Dad and Fisher were friends. Larry used to send Mom checks until Mom assured him Dad had left her and I financially fine…taking out a huge life insurance policy as if he knew he might not live long.

I close my eyes a moment and remind myself to be rational. It’s time to run a background check on Larry. I flip open my laptop and in seconds, red flags pop up, though I’d probably call them minor. A couple of DUIs and several speeding tickets, but that’s about it. I sigh and watch the site’s loading bar inch slowly across my screen as the entire profile loads.

Up pops a theft charge. Then another. I lean closer. Seems being a thief was Fisher’s hobby. I print out his picture and pin it to my wall of suspects before turning to Logan and telling him, “Looks like need to give Larry Fisher a visit.”

I pull a pen out of my desk and write down the address. “4098 Brooklyn Avenue.”

“We don’t have a Brooklyn Avenue.”

I pull my car keys out of my leather jacket pocket, grab my backpack and sunglasses, and say, “Silly guy. Brooklyn is in New York.”

* * *

Mom and Dad were city people. Dad was from New York. Mom was from Tucson, Arizona. Okay, so Tucson isn’t nearly as big as New York, but it is way bigger than the tiny town of Sardis, Ohio where they met and lived in at the…well, end. How two people from two very different places ended up meeting at a little county fair is still amazing. Mom was in Ohio visiting relatives. I have no idea why Dad was visiting a tiny fair in the middle of nowhere.

No matter the reason, he was in town, met my mom, fell in love, and got married. Together, they moved to New York, had me, and lived happily ever after until Dad was killed. So devasted by his death, my mom moved back to Arizona. Too many memories, I guess. She put Dad’s life insurance money in a trust for me and went back home. I know she hopes I’ll give up the investigation and come to Arizona one day, but I won’t. This small town is where I am the happiest. Sardis is my home and it’s where I have my PI business, if you want to call it that. There’s little crime to investigate in this tiny town besides my dad’s murder.

A tap on my shoulder gets my attention.

“Hey boss, we’re here.”

I follow Logan off the train and through Penn Station. As we go up the steps to the outside, the noise of the city filters through like a hum. When we step outside the wide doors of the station, we’re greeted by horns honking and the smell of grease, filth, and grilled peppers.

It’s a world of concrete. I immediately miss the smell of grass and the lush green hills of home.

“Let’s get to Larry’s and get home.” I grab Logan by the elbow and pull him into a yellow cab parked at the curb. I give the cab driver the address and off we go. Logan says nothing as he looks out the car window at the sky scrapers slowly passing by in the bumper to bumper traffic. It’s his first time in the city. He stares and gapes. Not me. I’m over it.

* * *

At Larry’s apartment, I knock on the door. To my surprise, a girl answers. She looks like she’s about sixteen with long brown hair, green eyes, and a warm smile.

“Hi,” she says. “Do you need something?”

“Yes, we do,” I say. “My name is Kalli Matthews and this is my partner, Logan Meyer. We need to talk to Larry Fisher.”

“He doesn’t live here anymore.”

“But you know him?”

“Of course.”

“Do you mind if we ask you a few questions about him?”

“Sure.”

I open the notepad on my phone. “Do you mind telling me your name?”

“Ashley White,” she says, her words sort of stuttering out of her mouth. My taking notes must be making her nervous. “I’m Mr. Fisher’s niece. Uncle Larry lets me stay here during my college breaks.”

“Have you seen or talked to him in the last twenty-four hours?”

Ashley nods her head. “I talked to him this morning. If you’d like, I can give you his work address and number, if that helps. If you don’t mind my asking, why do you need my uncle? Did he do something wrong I don’t know about?”

“I’m sorry to say it, but I think your uncle may be implicated in the murder of my father, Josh Matthews.”

Ashley’s jaw drops. “I’m sorry to hear that. So, is your dad the lawyer who left the firm to open the auto garage?”

I nod my head.

“I’m sorry about that. I heard about his murder on the news.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Logan clears his throat, a reminder this isn’t a social call.

“If I could get your uncle’s info, we’ll get out of your hair.”

“Yeah, sure.” She grabs a notepad and pen from a stand next to the door and jots down the address and phone number and hands it to me.

Fisher Law Firm

20466 North Street

7th Floor

Marietta, Ohio

123-345-5678

I look at the address, shake my head, and say, “Thank you for your cooperation.”

Then I turn to Logan and say, “Looks like we’re headed back home.”

Back on the street, we hail another cab. As we watch for one to make its way through the traffic, I notice a white SUV parked near us. It has Ohio plates. What are the odds we would bump into someone from Ohio during our trip to the Big Apple? Maybe pretty decent, but I’m still suspicious.

“Logan, take pictures of that license plate. When we get back to the office, I want to know who that car belongs to.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

I smile. Logan may not have the I.Q. of a Harvard student, but he’s always on my side.

* * *

Back in Ohio, Logan and I go straight to the address Ashley gave us. Marietta seems smaller now, but there’s more green spaces and the fresh air. We go into the building and are greeted by a young man, probably in his mid-twenties.

He comes straight at us as we enter the building. “Hi. Welcome to Fisher Law Firm. How can I help you?”

“My partner and I would like to have a word with Mr. Larry Fisher. Is he in by any chance?”

“He’s on his lunch break,” the young man says. “I could take a message—”

The young man doesn’t get to finish his offer because he is interrupted by the man in a khaki colored two-piece suit with a white dress shirt underneath. Mr. Larry Fisher in the flesh.

“Wow,” Larry Fisher says. “Kalli? I haven’t seen you since—well, too long. It was such a shame what happened to your dad. I often wish he’d have stuck with law and not become an engine boy. He might still be with us if he had.”

I clutch my fist. Logan puts his arm around my shoulder, probably to prevent me from punching this guy’s front teeth out.

“Uh, Mr. Fisher,” Logan speaks for me. “Do you mind if I have a word with you?” Logan smiles at me. “Kalli, you stay here. Or better yet, why don’t you run across the street and get some coffee? We’ve gone a lot of miles in the last two days. Why don’t you go and relax and read the newspaper or something? I’ll talk to Mr. Fisher and be right over.”

I don’t know what Logan has up his sleeve, but I trust him. I head toward the door after I give Fisher a dirty look. Engine boy. I’d engine boy him.

I can barely enjoy my coffee, much less read the paper, wondering what Logan and Fisher are talking about. I start to worry. What if Logan confronts him and Fisher kills him? I push back my chair to leave as Logan plants himself in the seat next to me.

“Hello,” he says.

“So, how did it go?”

“He didn’t say anything. He’s smart and he knows his rights. He did say we don’t have any proof of anything, especially nothing that would tie him to your dad’s murder. He didn’t say he didn’t do it—just that we couldn’t prove anything. So, I guess that means we are back at square one.”

I sigh and check my watch. “Well, it’s a quarter ‘til five. I can drop you back off at the office and we can hit this hard in the morning.”

Logan nods.

I pull out my car keys as we walk to the car. Neither of us are talking. It’s been a disappointing couple of days. Thinking back over those days, the niece didn’t seem shocked when I said her uncle might have murdered someone, and Fisher never even tried to claim he was innocent. All he said was we have no proof. And we don’t. That thought makes for a long car ride home from Marietta to Sardis.

At the office, Logan turns to me. “Kalli, if this is too hard for you, I can look into it for you.”

“That’s very, very sweet of you. You were right to send me away back there. I wanted to punch Larry’s teeth out.” I sigh and shake my head. “But, I have to do this. I have to face him. I have to know what happened. But keep doing me the favor of never leaving me in a room alone with him. It might not end pretty.”

Logan laughs. “You got it, boss.”

Logan goes to his car. “See you bright and early. Will you want coffee?”

I wrinkle my nose up at him. “When have I ever turned down coffee?”

He smiles and slides his sunglasses on before driving off.

I head to the Harris’s house. I yell I’m home as I unlock the door so I don’t scare anyone. Bre comes running down the stairs, gives me a hug, and asks me how work went.

“It was ok. Logan was Logan.”

Mrs. Harris walks into the kitchen. “Ah, Kalli, you’re home. Bre and I were discussing dinner. Are you ok with pizza?”

“I’m always ok with pizza. I mean, you can never go wrong with pizza,” I say.

“I told you she’d say that,” Bre says.

Mrs. Harris rolls her eyes. “I never know. You two change your minds about everything else.”

“Never about pizza,” I say. “Or coffee.”

Bre looks at me and wiggles her brows. “Or Logan?”

I shake my head at her, too tired to argue the point with her again about how Logan works for me and we have to keep it professional.

My phone vibrates. It’s a text from Logan.

Hey boss. I know you might be asleep, but I got the ID on those plates from earlier and it turns out they belong to a guy named Edward Long and he happens to work at the Fisher Law Firm. There’s definitely something fishy about that law firm

My hands shake as I text back:

We are finally getting somewhere. Thank you! We can work/talk about this is the morning. Now you catch some sleep.

Oh, and Logan. No more fish puns.

Night

Logan:

Ha-ha ok! Night boss.

I put my phone down and look at Bre.

“So, was that Logan?” she asks all girly-like.

“Yes. It was business. Logan is my partner. I mean sure, he’s cute and I could get lost in his blue eyes for hours, but we can’t be romantically involved and work together. It clouds the judgment.”

“But—”

“No. It can’t happen. Ok, Bre?”

“Ok,” Bre says as downcast as if I told her she couldn’t have cinnamon roll pancakes for four months.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I need to change into some comfy clothes, eat some pizza, and get to bed. I’ve got a big day in the morning.”

* * *

The next morning, I wake with the sunlight pouring in my window. I look at the clock. It’s 5:02. I get out of bed and get ready for my day. I pull on a plain white tee shirt, a pair of black jeans, and last but not least, my very favorite black boots. I try to brush out my blonde hair, but even after a brushing, it looks messy, so I stick it up in a bun. At the door, I grab my backpack, slide on my sunglasses, and tuck my sidearm into my waistband.

At the office, I unlock the door and to my surprise, there sits Logan, already at his desk working on paperwork. He raises his head as I walk in and his eyes meet mine.

“Morning, boss.”

“Well, good morning. You’re here awfully early.”

“Yeah, I wanted to get a start on finding out who this Edward Long is. Was he following us? Or watching the niece? I couldn’t sleep wondering.” He looks back down at his papers, then back up at me. “Oh, and your coffee is on your desk. Black with two sugars. I know you can’t focus without your caffeine fix.”

I give him a smile. “Aww, thanks, Logan.” I grab the mug of coffee and take a sip. “You’re right. I’m a bear without my coffee.”

“How was your night? Did you and Bre do anything? Or did you head straight to bed?”

“We ate pizza and then I went to bed. I thought I was getting here super early, but it seems you’re the real early bird. Now, no more small talk. Let’s get to work.”

My words left the room in silence, all but the click of the keys on the keyboard and the scratching of pens on paper. Then in the middle of the silence, a loud, “Aha!”

I practically jump out of my skin, hop up from my chair, and run to his desk. “What did you find? Tell me, what did you find?”

“If you’ll calm down, maybe I will.”

I look over his shoulder silently.

“Seems Edward Long started working for the Fisher Law Firm three years ago. Right before your dad died. And Long has no law degree or any degree. He’s not even listed on the firm’s website as an employee. But he gets big fat deposits into his account every week from Fisher. How’s that for fishy?”

“Enough with the fish puns,” I say. Logan prints out a picture of Edward and we add him to the suspect board.

“I say we pay Mr. Fisher another visit. You up for another road trip?”

I grab my purse and coffee. As I dig out my keys, Logan shakes his head. “Oh, no. I’m not driving with you when you’re this, uh, intense. You’ll drive like a crazy woman with a bad case of road rage.”

“I will not.”

“Yeah, right.” He walks to the door. “Are you coming or not?”

I grab my stuff and follow him out the door. He slides on his sunglasses and takes the wheel. I’m so excited, I keep pulling on the door handle while he’s trying to unlock it. It takes three tries to get us in sync and get me in the car. Maybe he’s right. I might be a bit agitated today.

On the drive down, Logan asks, “What does your gut tell you? Who is our murderer, Fisher or Long?”

Before I can answer, a story on the radio catches my attention.

“Listen,” I tell him.

I hear him say, “Rude,” under his breath. I ignore him and turn up the radio. The newsman says there was a murder in Marietta—of an attorney—an attorney who came to the area after practicing in New York. The story continues with how the police are investigating and that Fisher’s body was found by an employee, Edward Long. The police will have a press meeting this afternoon.

“I’m going to guess Long is the killer,” I answer.

“Are you now?” Logan shakes his head.

“And why? Why would he want to kill my father and wait until now to kill Fisher?”

Logan shrugs.

We ride in silence until we get to the law firm. Logan parks his car on the street and we walk to the front door, where a police officer stops us.

“You can’t come in here,” the cop says. “It’s a crime scene.”

“We’re PIs, Kalli Matthews and Logan Myer. We’re here because your victim used to be the prime suspect in the murder of my—of our client, Josh Matthews. A cold case no one has bothered to solve.”

The cop checks our badges, one then the other, and then steps aside to let us in the building.

“If you don’t mind my asking, is Edward Long around here by any chance? I would love to speak with him.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Matthews,” the officer says. “But we haven’t seen Edward Long since he called in the death to 911. If you see him, give us a holler, because we’d like to ask him a few questions too.”