Nightmare Country Read Free

memory.
    â€œPerhaps you’d show it to us, Mr.…” the fragile-looking woman in front of him said.
    â€œBurnham. Russ Burnham.” He liked the way sun picked out the copper in their hair. “It’s not lush, but better than a sod hut.”
    â€œI should hope so. Isn’t it unusual for a company to provide housing for a schoolteacher?”
    â€œIt’s not like we’re crowded. B & H is responsible for most of the children here.” He led her past the burned-out foundation to the second triplex in the line.
    â€œB & H. That’s sugar, isn’t it? Mr. Curtis said this was a mining town.”
    â€œWe mine limestone. Used in the processing of sugar.” Why was he always the only one out and about when the teachers showed up? Her next question would be: “Then why is it called Iron Mountain?”
    â€œWhy is it called Iron Mountain if—?”
    â€œBecause of the color.” What’s Curtis doing sending someone like her out here? Creep’s got the brain of a dead gnat . “But then, he used to be a teacher too.”
    â€œWhat?” Tamara Whelan stopped on the concrete steps up to the chicken-wire fence. “Who?”
    â€œJust talking to myself.” Wait till you’ve been here awhile, and you’ll be doing it . But he was embarrassed and kicked at the wooden gate. The remaining hinge gave up, and the gate fell into the weeds. He ignored it with a growl. “This one’s been altered. Abner Fistler knocked out inner walls. Made three apartments into two. Makes more room for you and Mrs. Fistler. Also gives you three doors instead of two. Made old Kopecky nervous.” He stomped up more concrete steps to the porch and tried the front door. Locked.
    â€œWho’s old Kopecky?” She probably thought he was crazy. Her daughter had stopped where the gate should have been, not bothering to hide a look of horror. Because of him? Or her new home? Why should he give a damn?
    â€œLast teacher.” He walked over to the corner entrance. Locked. A dirty face peered around red brick. Russ grabbed a small arm and pulled it and the body attached into view. “Want you to meet your new teacher. Mrs. Whelan, this is Vinnie Hope.”
    â€œHello, Vinnie.” The new teacher smiled uncertainly and took on a whole new look.
    â€œVinnie, your mom got the key to this place?”
    Vinnie snatched a glance at the fat daughter and scurried off through weeds toward the next triplex. Red shorts, tanned stick-legs, tangles in her hair. “Name’s Gloria Devine Hope,” Russ mumbled for want of something else to say. “That’s why we call her Vinnie.”
    When Deloris Hope arrived with the key, the teacher moved her car across the road and Russ helped them carry in (boxes, groceries, luggage, and a stereo. He avoided looking around the place, pushed away memories of the last time he’d entered it, ignored the startled expressions of the Whelans, assumed a brusque attitude to put off questions, and pleaded the excuse of work to get the hell away from there.
    A gold brocaded couch and matching armchair sat on a Persian rug in a room with livid aqua walls and grimy ceiling. A small maple dining-room set stood on a floor of chipped institutional-gray tiles. A stove, cupboards, counter, and refrigerator faced into the room from the back wall. A film of chalky dust over all.
    Inside cheap metal cupboards and nestled on folded linen cloths—exquisite chinaware, rimmed in gold and decorated with tiny pink and lavender flowers. Goblets of cut crystal, some clear and others shaded in cranberry. Tamara held a delicate teacup in her hand and stared at Deloris. “But I brought my own dishes—”
    â€œRefrigerator’s working.” Deloris closed the door on an ancient machine with rounded corners. It began to rattle and the floor to vibrate. Faded eyes in a young face looked from the teacup to Tamara and