October skies

He gestured for her to follow and led her through the open door into the kitchen. The slice of traditional motif had spread into there as well. Pine cupboards lined the edge of the square room and in the middle, a large, sturdy, pockmarked and stained oak dining table surrounded by half a dozen breakfast stools beckoned them to sit down.

‘Take a seat,’ he said and then went over to the counter and poured a couple of cups of coffee from a cafetiere. He sat down opposite her and slid a cup across the table.

‘Thanks.’

‘So,’ he said, ‘I’m not real sure what it is you’re after. Grace mentioned something about the old wives’ tales that get told round here?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. That’s what brought us here originally… the number of spooky tales, UFO sightings, the Bigfoot sightings that seem to be floating around the area.’ She took a sip of the coffee. It was black and strong as hell — just how she liked it. ‘I’ll be honest, there’s a quirky internet site called DarkEye that deals with all things strange and Fortean; they listed this region as one of the most sighting-rich areas of America. So’ — she hunched her shoulders apologetically — ‘that’s really what brought us here.’

The old man’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Hmm… see, I trust Grace. She’s a rock in this community. Not that she was born here, mind. But she’s been living here long enough that we look at her as a valley girl. If Grace said you’re all right, I guess that’s good with me too. But,’ he said, raising a finger, ‘we’ve had a few news and TV people come here from time to time, especially when someone starts up with a new ghost story. They come up, film a little, interview one or two people and then go away. When it comes on the TV, they make us look like a bunch of simple-minded idiots.’

Rose shuffled awkwardly on the stool. That was exactly the sort of crap she and Julian had originally come here to make.

‘You get a lot of news people?’ she asked.

‘No, once every couple of years, when one of ’em stories crops up, is all. Ain’t all bad I suppose, though. Brings us a little extra motel business.’

She looked around the kitchen and noticed a corkboard with hooks in, and about a dozen sets of keys dangling from them.

‘You run this motel by yourself?’

‘No, my sister comes up from Fort Casey during holiday season and helps out. Rest of the year, when it’s closed… it’s just me here, rattling around like a pea in a tin can.’

‘Grace said you run a town newspaper of sorts as well.’

He nodded. ‘That’s right. Hardly a newspaper, though, sometimes just a page, sometimes maybe I get five or six sides with some local stories, a bit of history and a bunch of adverts for local businesses. The paper’s free and the ads don’t barely pay for the print.’

‘It’s a labour of love, then?’

He smiled, showing several gold teeth. ‘Could say that. Used to be a bigger paper, but then, it used to be a bigger town. I sort of inherited it… the paper, that is.’

‘Grace suggested you had some sort of archive and a lot of local historical knowledge.’

Aaron nodded dismissively. ‘I guess you could describe me as an amateur historian.’

‘I’m after some details about a thing that might have happened back in 1856. I know this’ll sound silly, but Grace mentioned Blue Valley has its very own boogieman. She called him the Rag Man.’

Aaron smiled. ‘Ah yes, that ol’ chestnut. Yes, just about all the local stories use him in some way or another.’

‘Could there be a grain of truth to the Rag Man? I mean, was he once based on a real person?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Aaron said. ‘Yes, it was, once upon a time, a very real person. He was a man that emerged from the mountains, nothing more than skin and bones, who was nursed back to health in Blue Valley. He then took himself off, never to be seen again.’

Rose smiled. ‘That sounds promising.’

‘Of course, back then this town wasn’t called Blue Valley. It was referred to as Pelorsky’s Farm, after Jacob Pelorsky who had built up a trade store here — trading for beaver pelts with the trappers and the Paiute and Shoshone.’

Rose scribbled the settlement name down and then sipped her coffee.

‘There’s a bit more to that particular tale.’

‘Really?’

‘This man emerged from those woods on the point of death, see. Somehow he managed to hang on and survive. As they fed him and tended to him, he recovered his strength, but he didn’t immediately take himself off. He stayed on for about half a year; a very troubled period of time that was too.’

‘Troubled?’

Aaron nodded, swilling a mouthful of his rich, aromatic coffee. ‘The man seemed to bring all sorts of bad karma with him. He was very disturbed by something. The family that took him in described him waking them all up repeatedly at night with his screaming. Anyway, apart from being a very mentally disturbed individual, there was a growing feeling amongst the small community around Pelorsky Farm that he was in some way cursed.’

‘Cursed?’