MC Chapter 3

July 27th 2025

Andy’s orange Dodge Charger stood out among the obnoxiously massive pickup trucks and SUVs that lined Main Street. We got a few curious glances from the locals who didn’t know us and waves from those who did.

“Would have been a really nice place to live,” he mumbled. He shot a quick salute to Mrs. Mitchum, his old piano teacher, “if things hadn’t gone south so quickly.”

I brushed his statement off with a shrug. “Small-town life isn’t my thing.”

“Can’t say it’s boring, can you?”

“I think it’s supposed to be. Stop at Richards’. I want to pick up a cake for mom.”

“Want to see your old coworkers?” he teased.

“I doubt anyone I know works there anymore, except maybe the old man and his kids.”

I had my first job at Richards’ Family Grocers when I was 14. Cashier. I was only there for about two years before Andy and I moved back to the city with our aunt Janet, but it was a good job and I always had a soft spot for the owner, John Richards.

“Alright, maybe I do want to see them,” I confessed. “They were good people.”

“Speak of the devil,” Andy said, pointing to the store as we drew closer. Out front sat an old white panel truck and an elderly man on a stepladder scrubbing something off its side. “Looks like he’s still running the business.”

Andy barely had time to stop the car before I jumped out and walked over to Mr. Richards. I felt like a giddy schoolgirl as I excitedly called out his name. He glanced over and shot me a wide smile. “Is that my employee of the month for, oh, what was it, April 2006?” He got off the stepladder and opened his arms for a hug, which I gladly accepted. “How have you been? Where’s the missus?”

“I’m alright,” I replied, “just tired. Fi’s sister is due sometime this week, so she’s in California helping her out.”

“You’re going to be aunts? Congratulations! Any plans for you two?”

I blushed. “Maybe someday, but we’re not ready for that yet. I’m okay with being an aunt for right now.”

“Whatever you choose, I wish you all the happiness in the world. Now, what brings you here?”

Andy walked up beside me and gave a tired wave. “Just vising our parents for the week,” he replied. “Been a while. Mom’s been bugging us to come down.”

I looked over at the graffiti on the delivery truck. It read in big red spray-painted letters:

MARSHALL O’CONNELL COME HOME
YOUR FAMILY MISSES YOU

“Who’s Marshall O’Connell,” Andy asked, “and why did someone tag your truck?”

Mr. Richards shook his head and said, “The kids around here are bored. All those phones and computer games, and they’d still rather make a mess of things. They usually keep their ‘art’ in alleyways or on fences, but they’ve been getting brazen lately. As for Marshall, he was a local man who just vanished, oh let me think, 20-some years ago? Not that anyone cared, of course. What little family he had sure as hell doesn’t miss him.”

“Why wouldn’t anyone care?” Andy asked. “It’s usually a pretty big deal when someone goes missing.”

“Well, he was the town freak,” Mr. Richards said while wiping the sweat from his brow with a ragged old bandana. “And the town drunk. And the town pedophile. All-around nasty guy. Nobody actually went looking for him when he stopped shuffling into town one day. We all figured he died off in the woods somewhere. Good riddance.”

“So, why the graffiti?”

“He’s something of an urban legend. Got all these conspiracies and rumors surrounding him. Then you got the little kids who swear he’s the boogeyman.”

“I don’t remember hearing about him when we were kids,” I pondered. I looked at Andy, who stared at the graffiti with wide eyes.

“Well, you two always kept to yourselves. I’d imagine you didn’t hear much from the other kids.”

“What did he look like?”

“Thin with a beer gut, shaggy gray hair, and a really mean, wrinkled old face. Oh, and a scar across his left cheek. He got that when he attacked Holly Mayweather in ’79. Tough little girl. Put up a hell of a fight.”

Andy began shaking. His breath sounded labored. “And nobody thought to chase him out of town?” he asked.

“We did for the most part. No clue where he went, but he’d show up about once a week for booze and food. Mostly booze. Police said we couldn’t stop him from coming into town for basic provisions, but he knew he wasn’t welcome beyond that.”

I knew Andy’s shaking would turn to full-blown convulsions if I didn’t calm him down. I told him to sit in the car while I went inside. He agreed and walked back with almost robotic movements.

“Amy,” Mr. Richards stopped me as I turned around, “I know Andrew has those issues, but I also know that they aren’t triggered by nothing. Is everything okay?”

What should I have said? Yeah, Mr. Richards, he’s fine. He’s just reliving the traumatic last moments anyone ever saw Marshall O’Connell alive. That would have gone over well, if he even believed me at all.

“Work’s just got him stressed out,” I replied before going inside the store.