“One second!” I said, scrambling to put everything back in the floor. My journal didn’t fit, but I panicked and jammed the floorboard on top anyway. I’d never kept a journal before, but it felt appropriate now. New Year’s Day, I asked Elsie if she had something I could write in, and she gave me this and a number two pencil. The first few pages were clearly torn out, I’m guessing she found it in the lost and found.

  I threw on a tank top and squeezed into the ill-fitting pajama pants left on the bed for me, and took a deep breath to gather myself. Everything is fine, I told myself, you’re not in trouble. No one knows anything. I opened the door.

  In front of me stood a 5’7” man in a matching striped pajama set, holding a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

  “I see you got my gift,” he nodded toward the high-water pajama pants. “Sorry they’re not quite your size.”

  His blond hair was cropped high and tight and he had a friendly demeanor. He held up the whiskey and glasses.

  “Drink?”

  Yes. Fucking. Please. I motioned for him to come in. He sat at the desk and poured us a couple glasses, I sat across on the bed.

  “I’m Benny, I have the room next to yours.”

  “Emmett, good to meet you.”

  He had a strong, firm handshake, the kind you’d expect from someone in the 50s.

  “First week in Elk Valley, huh? How’s it going?”

  “Eh, not exactly,” I said. “I spent the last month and a half in the hospital.”

  “Christ, you alright?”

  “More or less,” I took a sip of my whiskey. Holy shit, what a whiskey. Buttery, with almost a pecan-like sweetness to it. Complex notes of cedar and leather, this was no Jack Daniels. Before I realized it, I’d finished the glass and Benny was pouring me another. We talked for a while after that, the usual type of surface-level chit chat. He moved here a few years ago and started working at the pulp mill just outside of town. I made a mental note about that. I still don’t know how I’m going to get back home, but it seemed like getting out of Elk Valley might be a good start.

  I asked him who lived in this room before me and he got a little shifty.

  “His name was George, he’s gone now. Good riddance, I say.” He underscored that thought with a final swig from his glass. “Well, you should get some sleep. It was good to meet you, Emmett, I’ll see you around.”

  He stood up and started to leave.

  “Wait, your whiskey,” I reminded him.

  “Keep it kid, seems like you need it more than me right now.”

  The kindness of these people amazed me and I couldn’t help but think there must be an angle. But you know, gift horses and all that.

  Dreams of ghosts and demons and faceless people in 50s attire kept me stirring all night. I woke up at around 5:30 and gave up on trying to sleep any more. Besides, there was work to be done. First stop was the library. I’d never heard of Elk Valley before I got stuck here, so I thought some research was in order. Without access to the internet, or literally any modern conveniences, I figured the library was a good place to start. With any luck, they’d have a backlog of local newspapers and maybe even some town historical documents. I asked Mrs. Grady for directions during breakfast, which was a scoop of scrambled eggs and a single piece of slightly burnt toast. She’s not the best cook, as it turns out, but at two bucks a week I can’t complain. Besides, it’s only temporary.

  The best part about Grady Manor was its location. It was only a couple blocks from the main drag, which turned out to actually be called Main Street, and almost every place worth going to was within a couple blocks of that, the library included. I arrived a bit earlier than I expected to and waited around until about 9:05, when the librarian showed up. She was a cute 30-something brunette with her hair in a high ponytail and cat-eye glasses. She looked like the friend in a romantic comedy who takes off her glasses and lets her hair down, and the guy realizes how beautiful she is. She clumsily unlocked the door and profusely apologized for being “so late.”

  It was a quaint little library, fitting, I suppose, for the quaint little town. The librarian, Anne, directed me to the newspapers and I started my search. I figured I’d go backwards starting with the most recent editions, which went all the way up to December, 1956. Every edition of the Elk Valley Review was about eight pages, which included a front page with national news then a few pages with Elk Valley specific news, which was mostly wedding announcements, obituaries, and classifieds. There was also a high school sports section and church notices, and about a third of the whole thing was filled with ads for local businesses and coupons for Bailey’s Grocery on Main and Cedar. The biggest obstacle I faced now was I had no fucking idea what I was looking for. I was just hoping for some kind of insight into where I am, what this town is and maybe a clue as to how to get home. But after three grueling hours of learning about the Fighting Beaver’s terrible season and Buicks on sale at Getty’s Used Car Lot, I was ready to throw in the towel.

  “Emmett?” I turned around.

  “Elsie, hi!” I sounded too enthusiastic.

  She was dressed in her regular street clothes, a departure from her usual candy striper uniform or the more formal outfit she had on for New Year’s Eve. She wore a deep red form-fitting cashmere sweater, and a long plaid wool skirt. She smelled like flowers and citrus and honey. Don’t get me wrong, she looked stunning in that NYE dress, and that candy striper uniform may have awakened something deep within me, but there was something about seeing her look so striking in her normal, everyday clothes.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  “What are you doing here?” She asked.

  “Oh, just doing some research on my new, uhh, home.”

  Her beauty mark bounced up and down as she giggled.

  “Well if you really wanna learn about Elk Valley, you could just ask me! I’ve lived here my whole life.” She clutched her books to her chest and looked down, swaying from side to side.

  “Say, you wouldn’t want to go get a malted at Ray’s, would you? I could teach you all about our wonderful little hamlet.”

  “Ray’s?”

  She gasped. “You haven’t been to Ray’s? Oh boy, you’re in for a real treat.”

  “I don’t know…” I remembered the greaser from the night before. I didn’t know what he was capable of, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.

  “Ugh, did Johnny get to you?”

  AND his name is Johnny? Jesus.

  “Big guy, blue car, leather jacket?”

  “Oh, he’s harmless. We broke up last month and he still thinks he owns me. But I’m my own woman, I can go to Ray’s with whomever I want!” She said, defiantly.

  She spun around quickly, making her skirt flare out and blonde curls bounce, and headed for the door. She looked back at me.

  “Well? You coming?”

  Ray’s Malt Shop was exactly how you’d picture it. Checkered floors, red vinyl booths and barstools, shiny chrome trim. It even had a jukebox and a guy with a white hat and red bowtie.

  “Hi Ray!” Elsie practically skipped into the shop.

  “Hey there, Elsie!” The man with the red bowtie looked up from his sweeping and smiled. “What’ll it be?”

  “Hmm…” Elsie pondered and looked at the menu.

  “Chocolate malted?” Ray asked.

  “Two straws, please!”

  We sat down at an empty booth across from the bar.

  “So, Emmett, whaddya wanna know?”

  A tough question to answer. What I want to know is how the hell do I get home. But I couldn’t exactly ask that straight out.

  “There was a guy at Grady’s before me, George, do you know what happened to him?”

  For the first time since we’d met, Elsie looked uncomfortable.

  “George… Hmm…” She looked up in thought. “Doesn’t ring a bell. There was a George that was the janitor at the high school when I was a girl, but he passed years ago.”

  Ray came by the table and placed an ice cold frosty milkshake on the table between us, topped with fluffy whipped cream and a shiny red cherry. Elsie didn’t waste a second. I watched her take an enthusiastic sip from a blue and white striped straw.

  “Mmm… So good! You have to try it!” She gestured for me to take a sip. I obliged.

  Holy shit, was everything better back then? The chocolate was rich and creamy, beautifully bittersweet and perfectly salted. I’d never had anything like it before.

  “Woah.”

  “Right? Ray is a national treasure. They oughta give him a medal.”

  She moved on from George pretty quick, telling me all about her childhood in Elk Valley. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought it a perfect utopia, the way she spoke about it. The more praise she gave the town, the more I couldn’t help but feel she was hiding something. It was clear from George’s stash that I wasn’t the first of my kind to show up here. So what’s the big secret?

  I looked up at the clock above the door.

  “Damn!” I was running late to my job at the drive-in. “I’m sorry, Elsie, I have to get to work.”

  “Wow, look at you, fitting right in to our little community!”

  That felt strange to hear, somehow.

  My shift at the drive-in was fairly uneventful, but I was getting marginally better at it, so there was that. We showed the same movies as the night before. My manager, Carl, a seventeen year old pizza-faced kid, told me they show new ones every weekend. I’d look forward to seeing what’s coming next week, although I hope to god I’m gone by then. Exhausted, I made my way home to Grady’s, hoping they’d all be asleep again.

  I slipped through the door quietly and looked around. It seemed I was in the clear, until I approached my bedroom door and saw the lights on. I slowly pushed open the door and saw Benny in his PJs, sitting on the bed, holding a hammer, the drawings, and my journal.

  “Benny… What are you doing here?”

  He didn’t look up.

  “I noticed the loose floorboard when I came in last night.”

  Fuck, I knew the journal didn’t fit.

  “I thought I’d come in and fix it for you. Be a good neighbor.”

  He finally looked up at me.

  “What is all this? Who are you?”

  “Benny, I—” I walked up to him but he freaked out stood up, creating space between us with the hammer.

  “No, explain yourself! 2026? Like the future? What are you, some kinda Martian?” He started backing up and out the door, brandishing the hammer like a weapon.

  “Benny, no, I’m not a Martian.”

  “Stay there! Don’t follow me, spaceman! I’ve seen the movies.” He backed out my door and started running.

  “Benny, wait!”

  I chased him down the hall, out the front door, and out onto the cold, dark, asphalt.

  “Benny, please, I can explain.”

  In a flash, the blue Chevy One-Fifty came roaring down the street, connecting with Benny’s unprotected body. They papers flew into the air and Benny was pushed to the side, rolling into the gutter.

  “Holy fuck, Benny, are you alright?” I ran to help him and rolled him over. The claw of the hammer was lodged in his right eye, and the gutter began flowing with a deep red. Benny was dead.

  Johnny’s blue Chevy peeled out and I heard sirens down the street.

  Shit that was fast. The journal.

  I ran to collect the bloodstained pages as the blue and red lights of the Elk Valley sheriff turned the corner. Without thinking I stashed them in the metal trash can at the side of the boarding house and waited for the cops. Mrs. Grady came outside and broke down crying. She sat on the porch and waited with me.

  Sheriff Donahue predictably treated me like a suspect when he arrived. New guy in town, bit of a weirdo, showed up with no explanation. Shit, I’d suspect me. Unfortunately, this was attention I did not want or need right now, trying to run my own investigation into the town.

  “Stay out of trouble, I got my eye on you,” he said just before he left. He wore a big cowboy hat that he tipped to Mrs. Grady. “Ma’am.”

  I waited outside for the coroner to load up the body and drive off before going back to the trash can to collect my stashed goods. I walked over and quietly opened the trash can and looked in. But the journal, the drawings, they were gone.

  - Emmett Brewer, suspected murderer