Day 3 In Royal
Ethan awoke slowly, a sense of unfamiliar comfort enveloping him. He stretched, his muscles surprisingly relaxed, and his mind clearer than it had been since Bessie vanished. As his eyes fluttered open, he noticed a soft weight across his body. A blanket. A faded, slightly musty blanket lay draped over him. He stared at it, a furrow in his brow. He had no recollection of finding this blanket, let alone covering himself with it the night before.
A shiver of unease, a familiar companion in this strange town, prickled his skin. Yet, beneath the unease, there was a subtle warmth, a feeling of having slept soundly for the first time in what felt like an eternity. He sat up, the blanket sliding to his lap. He folded it carefully, the worn fabric feeling strangely familiar against his hands, and draped it over the back of the makeshift couch. This had been the first night of truly restful sleep since arriving in Royal. He felt… almost normal.
Ethan made his way into the dusty kitchen. He located the collection of old, mismatched pots and pans he had discovered the previous day. Selecting a dented pot, he carried it out to the hand-pump well in the backyard. The morning sun was bright, casting long shadows and promising a warmer day. He worked the pump handle, the familiar squeak and groan now less daunting than before. Cold, clear water gushed forth, filling the pot. He splashed some on his face, the icy shock waking him fully, and then cupped his hands for a long, satisfying drink. The sun felt good on his face, a small, simple pleasure in this desolate place.
Back inside, Ethan placed the pot of water on the kitchen counter. He retrieved his suitcase from the living room and opened it, pulling out his small travel bag. This bag held the everyday essentials he needed. Items that offered a semblance of normality in this bizarre reality. He took out a washcloth and gratefully washed his face with the cold water, scrubbing away the layers of dust and grime that had accumulated over the past few days. Next, he brushed his teeth and shaved. The familiar routine, the clean feeling, was a small but significant victory.
Leaving his travel bag in the kitchen, Ethan returned to the living room and put on a clean shirt. He opened his cooler and pulled out the remaining half of a sandwich and an apple. He ate slowly, savoring the simple meal, his gaze drifting towards the folded blanket on the couch. The question of how it had gotten there still lingered, a subtle disquiet in the otherwise peaceful morning. The blanket did look familiar, a faint echo from a distant memory. Looking at it evoked a strange sense of security, a fleeting feeling of being almost… home. Yet, the persistent feeling of not being entirely alone in this abandoned town continued to nag at him.
After breakfast, Ethan decided to continue his exploration of the house. He cautiously ascended the creaking stairs, each step groaning under his weight. It felt as though years had passed since anyone had ventured to the upper floor. Upstairs, he found three bedrooms and a small bathroom. The bedrooms were filled with dilapidated furniture, some with sagging mattresses. Dust lay thick on every surface, mingling with scattered books, yellowed papers, forgotten toys, and piles of musty clothes, pillows, and blankets. The air hung heavy with the smell of mold and decay, the stagnant atmosphere a testament to years of neglect.
The bathroom was in a similar state of disrepair. Rust stained the sink, bathtub, and shower. On a whim, Ethan turned one of the sink faucets. Nothing. He headed back downstairs, the silence of the house pressing in on him.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, his hand brushed against a light switch on the wall. A sudden spark startled him. He looked up and saw a light bulb in the ceiling fixture flicker, emitting a faint, yellowish glow. Ethan stood frozen, amazement washing over him. Electrical power? Here? But where was the source? Just as quickly as it had appeared, the dim light extinguished. He flipped the switch repeatedly, but the light remained stubbornly dark.
Intrigued, Ethan went out the back door. He scanned the yard, his eyes searching for any sign of electrical utility poles. He didn’t see any. However, he did notice a thick electrical wire running from the house towards a tall, overgrown structure in the distance, almost completely obscured by vines and weeds. Curiosity piqued, Ethan ventured closer. He began pulling at the dense tangle of greenery, his fingers struggling against the stubborn tendrils. Beneath the vines, he encountered something solid and metallic. It felt like a tower of some kind, its true form hidden beneath years of unchecked growth.
Realizing he needed more than just his bare hands, Ethan retreated back to the house, his mind now focused on finding tools. He remembered the shed in the backyard. He made his way towards it and pulled open the door. Sunlight flooded the interior, causing a few startled mice to scurry into the shadows. The shed had two small windows, one in the back and one on the side. The air inside was dusty but dry.
Ethan’s eyes scanned the contents. A pegboard hung on one wall, adorned with a faded calendar from 1959 and a few surprisingly well-preserved pictures of Playboy playmates from 1957. A few basic tools hung haphazardly nearby. On a sturdy workbench, he spotted a toolbox. He opened it to find a hammer, pliers, wrenches, and a selection of screwdrivers. Several peanut butter jars filled with nails, screws, and various nuts and bolts sat neatly arranged. Shelves lined one wall, crammed with an assortment of forgotten items.
Ethan rummaged through the shelves, his fingers brushing against dusty objects, until he found what he was looking for: Hedge cutters. Perfect! He reached for them, and as he did, a small stack of booklets slid off the shelf and fell to the floor. He placed the hedge cutters on the workbench and picked up the booklets. He glanced at the covers. One was for an electric water heater, another for an electrical heating system. There were smaller booklets for a stove, a refrigerator, and a radio. But one booklet caught his eye. Its cover depicted a simple, yet elegant structure against a clear sky: a windmill electrical generator system. Ethan’s eyes widened. A windmill. Could that be the source of the fleeting power he had witnessed? A spark of hope, brighter than the brief flicker of the light bulb, ignited within him.
To be continued …
