“With who?” he asked with mild contempt loaded into the two words.
None of your damn business, bozo.
I responded with a sense of nonchalance, “Corbin and Bale.”
Malcolm’s expression hardened enough that I thought he had turned to stone. A few tense and mildly terrifying seconds passed, and then it was like he unfroze and slipped back into a carefree version of himself.
“Of course!” He clapped his hands together. “Those two are quite the welcoming pair. However, I feel duty-bound to warn you about their intentions so your honor can be protected.”
He leaned forward, and I mirrored the movement.
“Oh?” I asked with intrigue in my tone.
He lowered his voice to a whisper, like the mute books might also not be deaf. “They’ve always been a source of trouble around town. Ask the Sheriff, she could tell you stories. But don’t take only my word for it. You can read all about Corbin’s family and all the trouble they’ve been responsible for over the years.”
I matched his whisper with one of my own. “And if I were interested in such history?”
“First bookshelf on the right, the Faust family.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the referenced shelf.
Genuine surprise filled my eyes.
Corbin is related to the Fausts? The founding family of Falston. The former owners of the land my parents purchased.
Why didn’t he say something?
Snapping out of my stupor, my next question tumbled out before I could think better of it, causing Malcolm to pause in his retreating steps towards the stairs.
“What about Bale?”
He turned, considering his response for longer than made me comfortable.
“The thing about Bale is, he’s always been an enigma. Bad attitude with an even worse reputation amongst the ladies.” Shrugging, he leaned against the handrail.
The bad attitude—confirmed. Terrible reputation with the ladies? Believable. But I couldn’t help but feel like everything else about him was a product of this place, of whatever transpired in his past that shaped him into what he was today.
“Thanks for the heads up, Malcolm.”
He gave me a two-fingered salute from his temple. “Anytime, sugarplum.”
I swallowed down the sensation to gag at the pet name as I watched him continue disappearing upstairs.
Even after he was gone, there was a heaviness in the air, the type that left goosebumps on your skin and hairs on your neck standing upright. And a sickly smell of fermented honey and rotted leather.
Powering through it, I was determined to do the research I had come down here for. I approached the shelf Malcolm had referenced, where I found several books related to the first settlers of Falston, with one in particular simply titled, “Faust.”
Stacking my arms with several books of interest, I carried them to the table and sat down, prepared to mentally soak in everything I could about the town and Corbin’s family.
The Faust family was interesting, albeit ordinary. Harold Faust and his wife, Gretchin, purchased the homestead as a place to raise their son, Christopher. Living with them was Mr. Faust’s elderly mother, Cora.
Nothing really stood out, until the moment I flipped the page and staring at me was a black and white photo with the iconic smirk I had gotten to know well. Corbin’s eyes burned through the page, almost lifelike, as I stared at a slightly younger-looking version of him.
He stood there leaning against a tractor, the very same one that was on display in the courtyard.
Beneath the photo was the caption reading:
Christopher and the tractor his parents, Harold and Gretchin, gifted to him in honor of his sixteenth birthday.
The date? Over a hundred years ago.
