Finding my destination turned out to be far easier than I thought. I was prepared to search through back lots, upper floor offices or perhaps a poorly marked ground floor of someone’s house to find it.
Instead, the New Lockwood Historical Society building all but reached out and slapped me across the face. Occupying one square block of the main corridor through town, the two-story building was built from dark stone, featuring small, heavily recessed windows and a roof that appeared to mimic the crenellations of an older medieval castle. An arched doorway with a gaily colored sign proclaimed the building’s purpose.
It was quite the building for a historical society of any size, let alone such a small country town. I had to wonder what they needed so much space for? I assumed the building itself was repurposed from its original function, whatever that was. But why were there no other tenants?
Odd.
Stepping inside the door, I found myself in a long hallway with a mirroring arch to that of the door, all made from that same dark-colored stone. Large statues lined the walls, giving the impression of walking through an honor guard. Behind each statue was a painting and a printed sign describing who they were and their interactions with the town. At the base of each statue were a pair of soft off-white spotlights, providing the only lighting down the corridor itself.
Early mayors, lawmen, businessmen and people who had made a large impact on New Lockwood were all represented.
A heavy swinging door marked the end of the hallway. I grasped the handle and pulled. The door barely budged.
Frowning, I set my feet and pulled harder. Slowly, with much resistance, the door swung open, moving smoothly on its hinges, despite turning out to be more than six inches thick.
“That seems like overkill,” I muttered, stepping into a brightly lit foyer.
Straight ahead was a large square desk. Along the perimeter of the room were display cases containing various important pieces of New Lockwood history. The largest held what could very well be the founding charter by the looks of it.
On the desk itself was a little hand bell and a sign saying to ring for assistance, if necessary. Otherwise feel free to look around. Not knowing where to look, I tapped the bell and waited.
And waited.
Bored, I walked around the main lobby, looking at the various items in the cases. None of it caught my interest. I saw a portion of stone from the “first road” and also the knocker from the first town hall. Nothing that would help me figure out what was going on.
My phone buzzed in my purse, providing a welcome distraction. I pulled it out, wondering if it was Charlene. We’d been trying to reschedule our lunch plans after the animal 5k race threw everything into disarray.
It was Caidyn.
Caidyn: My girlfriend needs to respond when I message her. This childish ignoring me crap needs to stop. Now.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I hissed, furious.
Sylvie: Ex-girlfriend. And I don’t need to do anything you say. When I get back home, I’ll pack up your things and ship them to you. I promise. You can believe me. I’m not the one who lies. Now leave me alone!
Caidyn: Back home? Where did you go?
I groaned loudly enough for it to echo off the walls. Why did I have to say that? Now I had to worry about him going to my apartment while I wasn’t there and trashing it or stealing my stuff to say it was his.
Shoving my phone back into my purse, I made a vow to myself then and there that I wouldnot text him back. Again.
In need of a distraction, I wandered into an open room adjacent to the lobby. In it were blueprints and diagrams along with a miniature diorama of the historical society building itself. Only it wasn’t being used as a makeshift museum. As it turned out, the NLHS occupied the building that had once been the original fort for the area.
That explained much about the odd construction, though not the stone. Most forts would have been made from wood for a town this small. So why the stone?
I didn’t have time to wonder, because footsteps finally sounded from the main lobby.
Upon seeing me emerge from the side chamber, Desmond Crane’s face turned from cool neutrality to unbridled joy behind his thick beard. “Miss Wilson!” he cried, practically bouncing across the tiled floor, his shoes clicking with every step. “It’s so good to see you again.”
“And you, Mr. Crane,” I said politely as he took my hand and shook it.
“I told you, it’s Des, please,” he replied with a wag of his finger, a big smile from ear to ear that echoed in the bright brown of his eyes.
“Des,” I said with a little nod.
“You’re here to formally take your seat on the board, I take it?” he asked with unrestrained eagerness.
“Ah, no,” I said, feeling awkward as I turned him down. I’d totally forgotten about that. “Not exactly.”
“The seat is yours, you know. Taking it is just a formality, sign a few papers, that sort of thing. We really could have it done in no time flat.”
“Thank you. But I came here today for another reason,” I said, steering the conversation back on track.
“Very well,” he said, schooling his facial features into cool neutrality. “Tell me, how may I help?”
There was an odd emphasis to his question that caught me off guard. Had he expected this of me as well? The intensity in his eyes as he awaited my purpose was unusually strong.
“I want to know more about the past of New Lockwood,” I told him, watching his face closely. “Particularly about a conflict around 150 years ago.”
Crane didn’t look surprised at all by my question. “What do you want to know?”
“What can you tell me about it?”
“Not much.” Crane thought for a moment. “It happened. We know that much. Few records remain. Some say the forest turned on us. That it covered the town in darkness, which is preposterous, of course. I suspect they meant it metaphorically.”
I thought of the dreams of darkness lit only by eyes that I’d had recently. “That makes sense,” I said, trying to stem the discomfort I was feeling. “Who did the conflict involve?”
“According to legend, the people of the forest.”
“People of the forest?”
Desmond nodded. “For a long time, there was rumor of people who lived in the deep of the forest, hidden from the rest of the world.” He shrugged. “I’ve only ever encountered it in documents about events like this. No verified sources, only second- or third-hand mentions.”
Forest people. Was that who Lincoln was?
“So what happened 150 years ago?”
“Fighting. Lots of it. Most of the town burned down. Those few who survived didn’t write much about it,” he said. “Only fragments, bits and pieces. From what I can tell, they were rather scarred by the entire experience and worked to put it behind them.”
“Between the townspeople and the forest people?” I asked, shocked. “Why?”
“We don’t know.” Crane shrugged. “None of the records actually mentionwho they were fighting. So we don’t know that it was against one another, but … who else would it be?”
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