James Place

Written for the Fall 2011 Anthology (Legends) at http://www.gayauthors.org/stories/category/39

James Place

Guys like Linus didn’t win the lottery. Who ever heard of a Linus ever winning the lottery? He was just your everyday working stiff. As a barista at a couple of different coffee shops, Linus just barely managed to make enough money to pay his rent, and occasionally date -- although he hadn’t had a date in three months. Twice a year he took a week off to visit his parents. Every couple of years or so he’d pay for an online class that he wouldn’t finish. He liked Nutella on toast for breakfast and since he couldn’t cook, ready-made meals for the nights he was home for dinner.

He was an unassuming man, on the short side with thinning, straight brown hair that was beginning to go gray. He wore glasses and read comic books. He owned a computer bought for that semester he’d actually attended college. Every day was the same grind, just drifting through existence waiting for something that never came.

Life was dreary and dull and predictable. Linus admitted to being good at really only two things: making coffee and being invisible. Nobody looked twice at a slightly overweight man in too-skinny jeans at a club. He’d been working at the same coffee house since that aborted attempt at higher education and still none of the regulars so much as remembered his name. His landlord still referred to him as ‘that noisy college kid’ despite the fact he could count on one hand the number of people he’d had over in the last five years.

The only spice in Linus’s life came from the weekly ticket in the state lottery. Fridays on his way home from work, the brown grogginess of the day would lift for an hour or two until they showed the winning numbers on the TV. Then he’d see that once again he’d won nothing so much more than a free lotto ticket and he’d look out the convenience store window to see that, yes, the world was the same dingy gray morass it’d been before he handed his money to the cashier.

But Linus had a dream. He knew that one day all his scratchers would pay off and he’d see those magical words: JACKPOT. Then he could pick up everything and move to Hollywood and live among the stars. He’d get one of those personal trainers to shape him into another Brad Pitt. He’d go to one of those salons where people paid a thousand bucks for a shitty haircut, and he’d be like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman with all the stores fawning all over him. He’d eat caviar and drink champagne all day and drive a car that cost a hundred grand. One day he’d walk into Fox studios and hand them the script -- that he’d written, of course -- to the next big blockbuster that would then go on to win all the Oscars. One day it would happen; he just had to win the lotto first.

One day he’d wonder if all things happen for a reason, or if God was just messing with him.

He bought his ticket as usual on the way home from work. Coming off three back-to-back days of double shifts, he didn’t pay as much attention as he normally would and ended up on the wrong bus home. Then he fell asleep. By the time he dragged himself up the steps to his apartment, the hour was after midnight and all he could think about was sleep.

The crotchety woman who lived below him woke him indecently early by banging on the ceiling. Linus had long ago ceased trying to figure out what she was screaming about and just ignored her, but by then he was awake. Scuffing his feet on the worn carpet, Linus drank orange juice straight out of the carton and flopped down in front of the TV. He thought about checking his lotto ticket, but he was comfortable where he was and besides, he never won anyway.

Then it was time to go to work. It was the normal kind of day, what with being smooshed into the bus like a sardine with someone talking way too loudly into her cell phone and the guy in the wheel chair giving him nasty looks. His coworkers had a million new things to whine and complain about and why did no one ever stock the cups in the morning?

“Wow,” he heard one of his coworkers say later that morning. She stood with a fashionably dressed young woman that had to be a friend what with how they’d had their heads together twittering the last five minutes. They were both now looking at the plasma TV hanging in the corner. No one paid the TV any attention except during basketball season, so this was a little odd. Linus moved closer to listen.

“So someone actually won the jackpot this time,” said the friend, shaking her head and pursing her lips like she’d smelled something rotten.

“Yeah, they’re saying that the numbers were sold somewhere locally. Can you imagine? Three hundred and fifty million dollars! That’s more money than God.”

Linus stopped listening at that point, retreating to his work. Guys like him didn’t win the lottery, but he still surreptitiously jotted down the winning numbers on a napkin. If he got even one number, maybe he could fly down to see his parents this year instead of taking the bus.

At home, the first thing he did was fish the lotto ticket out of the bowl he left by the door for his keys and all the other miscellaneous junk he acquired in his pockets. Old lotto tickets and a desiccated stick of gum found a new home on the floor he’d been intending to sweep for the last couple weeks. Finally, the ticket was in his hand. He opened the napkin and compared the numbers. He couldn’t swear he didn’t faint, just for a minute, mind.

His whole mediocre life flashed in front of his eyes. Elation quickly plummeted into icy fear. He remembered the last time anything good had happened to him and the ridicule piled on his head. If he said something and it turned out to be some kind of hoax or mistake, he’d never live it down. Sure he’d make the tabloids, but not in a good way. People would probably make fun of him until the end of the world.

He stood there and stared until his phone ringing brought him out of his daze. Only telemarketers and his mother ever bothered to call, so Linus didn’t answer. Instead, he turned on the TV and flipped channels until he found someone talking about the lottery. His last hope was that he’d written the numbers down wrong, but they were exactly the same numbers as on his napkin and on the lotto ticket he’d bought.

Guys like Linus did not win the lottery.

Quicker than Linus could cash his tax refund, his whole life changed. Within a week, he decided he didn’t like this fame stuff, not one tiny bit. His apartment was broken into, reporters followed him everywhere, and suddenly everyone wanted to be his friend. The only sanity he found was in his new lawyers’ office signing all the paperwork and bank forms and new tax forms and gobs of who knew what kinds of forms. Lawyers were not friends, but this guy -- his name was Jake. Jake Winters. He was polished like a shiny penny and had a fabulous accent. He also wore funny ties and had thick auburn hair just perfect for grabbing a good hold. And Linus had a weakness for mustaches.

So when Jake suggested Linus take a little vacation and get used to the idea of being a multimillionaire, Linus decided that was the best idea ever. He left Jake’s office and bought the most expensive car at the first dealership he saw. By noon, he was out of the city and by suppertime, he was, inevitably, hopelessly lost.

He ran out of gas on a road barely wide enough for his car. With a sigh, Linus got out of the car and sat on the hood. He couldn’t catalog all the different scents he smelled. The wind felt cooler out here in the middle of nowhere than it ever had in the city, but for some reason, surrounded by trees and the endless fences, Linus didn’t feel quite so alone. He actually leaned back against the windshield and looked up at the stars. He couldn’t remember ever seeing so many. The only constellation he recognized was Orion, but he’d never been able to find the Big Dipper or the North Star, so he didn’t worry about it.

An hour later and thoroughly bored, Linus started walking. He was used to his feet aching from hours of standing on them and kept walking for hours until he reached the flashing, yellow stoplight he’d seen in the distance. Linus wasn’t used to seeing absolutely no one for so long. The stoplight had filled him with excitement, but, as usual, he’d only been disappointed. The light only indicated the intersection of two roads; one went North-South and one went East-West. There were no houses, just the fences and the road.

He decided to wait anyway. Logic dictated he’d have a better chance finding someone here than wandering around in the dark.

Linus didn’t get rescued until long after he contemplated shooting himself just to get away from the evil crickets. The old man in the equally old pick-up truck chattered away about tourists and city people, but Linus was too glad for the company to quibble. He was never very good at maintaining a conversation anyway, so it was a relief to not have to talk at all. At least that way he couldn’t say anything serious.

“We don’t get no signal for those fancy cellular phones,” the old man said. “Hop in and I’ll take you on up to town. Robby Junior can take you on back for the car. He and his pappy can tow you right on in and fix ‘er up right ‘nough.”

Linus just nodded his head occasionally and stared out the window. He hadn’t seen this much green since that one summer his parents forced him to attend Boy Scout camp. About all he could remember of that experience were all the wedgies and practical jokes the other boys had tormented him with.

“Town” consisted of a handful of buildings clustered around a section of road that had three lanes; the center lane was a turning lane. A sign hung off a wooden shed by the church advertising fresh strawberries. Next to the church was a tiny cemetery surrounded by a quaint white picket fence. The church looked only big enough for a couple dozen people, if they all stood close.

Across the street was a two-story building that was the general store and post office. Linus was cheerfully informed that when the doctor came to town he’d stay with Dottie, the woman who owned and ran the store. They were old sweethearts, you know.

“Ye-up,” said Linus’s savior -- he learned his name was Ted. He smacked his lips in satisfaction and turned the pick-up down the road hidden between the general store and the farrier’s. A few yards in, the road widened to deposit them in a large parking area clustered with beat-up old junkers that even Linus would have been embarrassed to drive.

Then Ted leaned on the horn, scaring the next five years off Linus’s life. He tried to tell Ted that he didn’t have to do that and he’d just come back in the morning when the garage was open, but Ted would hear none of it, cheerfully informing him that Robby’s Tow and Service was open 24 hours.

Linus just covered his eyes and silently blushed furiously. Thankfully, Robby Junior stumbled out quickly. He was still sliding the strap of his overalls over his shoulder when he stepped into the pick-up’s headlights. Linus hoped he wasn’t about to be murdered. Robby was by far the biggest and blackest man he’d ever seen. His biceps had to be larger than Linus’s thighs. Not that he worked out or anything.

“Ted!” Robby called in a deep, booming voice that shivered its way across Linus’s skin. “What’s the problem, you old coot?”

Linus sank as low as he could in his seat.

“Coot? Who you calling a coot, you grease monkey! Feller here needs a tow.” He flipped his thumb at Linus and Linus tried to smile.

“Uh, hello. If you please.”

“’If you please,’” Robby echoed, smiling slow and deep. “Well, now, t’ain’t often we get city folk out this way this time of year. Where you from?”

“Oh, this here’s Linus James, from the city,” answered Ted. “Got hisself a fancy car out by Duke’s, couple miles from the turnpike.”

“You don’t say? Well, I’ll find it, Mister James. Ted, take him over to Mary Beth’s place. She’ll put him up for the night. And I’ll go and get yer car.”

“I was just gonna do that,” Ted replied. “No need you tellin’ me what I already know.”

Robby slapped the side of the pick-up. “Well, then, see y’all tomorrow.”

The tires spit gravel as Ted hauled the pick-up around. Linus soon learned that Mary Beth worked at her father’s restaurant, the biggest and finest eating establishment in the entire county. Linus of course only nodded to this boast since he couldn’t very well offend his host by saying he’d never heard of the place. Mary Beth was apparently a former dancing girl and had come home when she’d gotten pregnant out of wedlock. Everyone knew, apparently, that she and Doug Henderson were having an affair, but it was okay because everyone knew that Henderson’s wife was an old shrew who hated his guts.

“Dunno why she ain’t never just gone home to her momma,” Ted commented.

Mary Beth’s house sat off the road under some huge trees that blocked the moonlight. Feeling even more awkward, Linus got out of the pick-up and waved goodbye to Ted. Then he walked up to the front door and hunted for the doorbell.

“Good gracious!” was Mary Beth’s greeting. “Thought you was Dougie! Come in, come in.” Linus wondered if she might be in some way related to Ted because she talked just as much as he did. Mary Beth was older than he expected, at least his age, and was certainly no beauty. He liked her right away.

In the morning, she woke him for ham and eggs and (he was sure jokingly) offered him some spam. He did, however, enjoy a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice before she sent him walking back into town.

He arrived back at the garage hot and tired and itching something fierce. His new car was there in Robby’s lot, still out of gas.

“Oh, fuel truck don’t come by ‘til Monday,” he explained cheerfully.

Linus stared at the one gas pump and sighed. It was just his luck to end up on the vacation from hell.

“There’s a fancy hotel up by them fancy folk’s summer houses,” said Robby hopefully. “I hear tell they have their own golf course and even one of them big gas stations.”

“Oh? Where is it?”

“Over by the turnpike, of course. You prob’ly passed it last night.”

Linus rubbed his head. “So why didn’t you take my car there?”

“Then how’s you supposed to git there?”

Right. Small town logic. “Well, can you give me a lift? I can pay,” Linus quickly added.

“It’s on the other side of the lake.” Like that explained everything. “Miss Georgie could prob’ly give you a lift on her way to school.”

“Okay. Where can I find her?”

Robby pointed. “Her pap runs the dairy farm over yonder.” He gave the sun a significant glance. “Better be on yer way if you want to catch her.”

When Linus walked down the street a few minutes later, two old men seated in front of the general store called out to him. They’d apparently heard all about him from Robby already. When they learned where he was headed, one of them shouted out to ‘Missus Dottie’ who in turn sent her son to take Linus up to the farm, since he was a-going anyway.

“Well, I appreciate it,” said Linus. The teenager only grunted and the truck squealed as he changed gears, so Linus kept his mouth shut for the remainder of the short drive.

Georgie was the eldest of five children. The school, she said, was on the other side of the lake by the highway and all the rich folks’ houses. Juliet Dickens, wife of the preacher, taught the younger kids in the church, but for high school, the town sent the kids across the lake. Consequently, Georgie’s daddy let her use his motor boat to get across the lake to meet the school bus every day.

Dottie’s boy was named Richard, or Dickie as everyone called him. He sat in the bow and sulked, but Linus saw how he watched Georgie and had to smile.

The trip across the lake was nice. The breeze of their passing whipped water into his face, amazing after the exhausting heat he’d experienced since he had to leave his car’s air conditioning behind. The lake was large enough that Linus could barely see the far side. Trees pressed close from every angle and birds dived into the calm waters with wet plopping noises as they fished. Ducks quacked and a tractor echoed from back in the woods somewhere.

Georgie pointed out the buoys marking the public part of the lake. On the other side were the state park and the fancy homes that people only lived in during the summer.

“They’ll start coming out any day,” said Georgie, grinning. “They get out their big boats and have races and fireworks every weekend.” Then she pointed to the roped off swimming area and said she hoped that Sammy came back with his family this year. Predictably, Dickie said something crude and teenage bickering filled the boat.

Linus ignored the children and relaxed into his seat, feeling better than he had since discovering his winning lottery ticket. The town’s hospitality was refreshing. He was a nobody here and that was far more comfortable than being a celebrity in the city. Jake had been right; a vacation was just the thing he needed. Maybe he could rent one of those summer houses?

He waved goodbye to the children as they tied up the boat and climbed into their school bus. Linus headed the opposite way, soon enough cursing the heat and humidity. He heard the highway long before he saw it. The turn off wasn’t anything special and per the sign in the window promised to be open in time for Memorial Day.

Grumbling to himself, Linus kept walking and before long, the signs for Jamestown Lake pointed him to a fancy clubhouse set back among the trees.

The clubhouse rented golf carts by the hour, had a gift shop, a barber, post office and tiny market, a pool, bar and grill, and staff ready to point him toward any number of things including directions to the RV park, the public docks, the beach (for swimming), the lake manager’s house, the realtor, and the all important gas station. For a tip, one of the staff offered to run him up there in one of the golf carts. Linus readily agreed.

The boy’s name was Marshall and this was his summer job. He was studying history in college and wanted to be the next Indiana Jones. He pointed out a few more attributes as he drove the tree-root plagued road. His chatted freely about the lake and resort, cheerfully informing Linus that people lived there year-round. There was even a really nice restaurant over by the lighthouse that would cook any fish you caught and serve it to you.

The public docks offered dumping and refueling services as part of the dock fees. Residents could use the facilities for free since the fees were included in their homeowner’s association fees. The sheriff’s station offered to provide Linus with a gas can and ride back to Jamestown. That was apparently the name of the tiny place he’d stayed the night.

Linus poured the gas into his car, said goodbye to Robby, and set off down the road. A few miles down the highway, he filled up and turned around. He parked his car in front of the realtor’s house. Ellen enthusiastically agreed to show him around, explaining that they had many homes for sale and in fact, there were still weeks he could rent if his needs were more short-term.

The first house shocked Linus. It was a single-story, with its own dock and boathouse. He could rent the boat for an additional fee. The house had four bedrooms, two large living rooms, more bathrooms than he could count, and a kitchen as big as his whole apartment in the city. The houses only got bigger and fancier as they buzzed along in the realtor’s motorboat.

Toward mid-afternoon, Linus was really starting to feel the effects of his late night. The lake was simply too peaceful and quiet. The pleasant coolness of the morning was slowly being overcome by the sun beating down on them. Linus was staring unseeing at the houses set back from the water when he saw two dark towers peeping from out of the trees. They were old and quite unlike anything he’d seen so far. At once Linus didn’t feel quite so drowsy anymore.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Hm? Oh, that’s the old James place. You don’t want to see that,” the realtor said quickly.

“Why not?”

Ellen grimaced. “The locals have a lot of superstitions about that place. They say it’s haunted. I’m afraid there’s a lot of legends about that house. None of them good.”

“I’d like to see it.”

“There’s this house just a little further that I think you’ll love.”

“Miss Rhoades, I’d like to see James Place.”

She muttered to herself, something unflattering to be sure, but Linus had his eyes on those turrets and didn’t hear.

The house overlooked a wide, shallow beach that looked like something out of an old movie. Trees and bushes leaned over the little lagoon and Linus had to hold them back as Ellen navigated the entrance. Once through, Linus gaped at the house. It wasn’t so much a house as a castle! Very old, and with the character of a gargoyle perched upon the roof of the city library. No one made houses like that anymore.

The paint was some god-awful shade of dark purple, peeling away from the flat board beneath. The trim looked like it had been white once, and the roof sagged on one side. Ellen ran the boat onto the beach because she said the dock was rotten. She sat in the boat and pointed out the detached garage to one side, although she also said that she doubted anyone could drive up here anyway because the road was so overgrown.

“No one’s lived there for fifty years,” she said. He gave her an inquiring look and she added, “Most of the local legends say it’s haunted. There’s a lot of unexplained things that happened here.”

“Like what?”

“Well, like I said this is all local legend and hearsay, but the original owner was supposedly a witch. She and her husband died in a gruesome way -- stories differ on the reason. Their only son disappeared the same night, presumed dead. A few years later, the new owner died, also died mysteriously, although the police refused to call it murder. There’s all sorts of things like that, people reported getting deathly ill after entering the house, animals winding up dead, all the usual things when you’re talking about haunted houses.”

Linus noted that she looked rather ill just talking about it.

“I think it looks lonely,” he said. He’d never seen a haunted house before. He wasn’t one of those people who normally enjoyed horror movies and roller coasters. He didn’t believe in ghosts and found most supernatural shows on TV too ridiculous for words.

“Well, that’s the house.”

“Can we go inside?”

Ellen stared at him. “Uh, the key is back in my office,” she finally said.

“Okay, tomorrow, then. Is it for sale?” he asked as Ellen got them on their way and they’d fought through the trees again.

“I believe so, yes,” Ellen replied somewhat faintly, but she was back to her professional self once more as they entered another buoy-marked lane.

She showed him a few more houses, but James Place stayed in Linus’s thoughts. The back porch had a round, covered seating area with steps down to the beach and dock. The lawn was all green and trees had crept close over the years. There were three stories, and perhaps a basement, too. The house itself was square-ish and blocky, with the two towers on opposite corners like ears. There were two chimneys and two wrap-around porches like somebody’s dream house.

Linus made plans to meet Ellen the next day and see inside the place. Then he drove back to the clubhouse and bought Marshall an early supper.

“James Place?” he said in surprise when Linus asked him about it. “Oh, yeah, sure, I know the place.” He shivered theatrically and gave Linus a grin. “It’s haunted! I remember daring my best friends to go up there at night. You had to touch the side of the house for the dare. Good fun.” He laughed.

“The realtor said there are stories about the house.”

“Oh, yeah, gobs. The James family -- hey, that’s your last name, too!”

Linus shrugged. “It’s a common name. What about the family?”

“They settled this whole area, like, two hundred years or so ago. Rich folk. Real rich. They’d be millionaires at least nowadays. But the town was plagued with disaster after disaster right from the start. One year they even had a tornado! And we don’t get tornadoes here. There’s stuff on this in the historical archives in Jamestown. The library there is hundreds of years old.”

Marshall took another bite of his burger. “James Place has been bought and sold a hundred times,” he bragged. “No one’s kept it very long. In fact,” his voice lowered to a loud whisper, “most of the owners died under suspicious circumstances.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. There was this one woman who lived there who swore she heard moaning at night, and one of those ghost hunter people like you see on TV came up here once. He ran out of the house screaming in the middle of the night. Wouldn’t talk to anyone; just left, just like that.”

Linus returned Marshall’s conspiring grin. That tingle of excitement he’d only ever gotten playing the lotto ran its icy fingers up his spine. He imagined that James Place would provide the perfect setting for the screenplay he was going to write, the one that would make him famous for something other than getting lucky.

“I think I’ll buy it.”

“What?” asked Marshall, a sentiment echoed by both the realtor and Linus’s lawyer. Linus calmly listened to and ignored all their protests. The inside of the house might be antiquated and in bad repair, but money was no longer an object and Linus had a severe need to escape the city forever. If yet one more person knocked on his door claiming to be an old buddy begging forgiveness, Linus was going to buy a gun and start shooting.

He’d never before thought he’d be actually grateful to be invisible.

The owner had no objections to selling. She was quite happy to be rid of the place. The price was astonishingly low, but the remodeling costs more than made up for it. Linus signed all the checks in a bit of a daze.

James Place was his. His last name was James. This was fate. The legends of James Place were going to make Linus a legend, too. He was sure of it.