The door slammed behind me as I stumbled in, shivering. In truth, it wasnāt that cold, but the rain chilled me to the bone. I reached into my overcoat to retrieve my handkerchief in an attempt to dry my face off, only to find it was just as damp as me. Giving up on this exercise in futility, I decided to investigate my environs. This gave me great pause as I realized I had barged into this humble shack without permission completely on the assumption no one would live in such squalor. I feebly called out into the darkness, asking if anyone was home and apologized for my rude entry, explaining that the rain demanded it. I heard a slight rustle to my left when I saw a vaguely shiny-blue glint lower itself. Upon half a second of thought, I managed to place an item to the nebulous shape it made in the negative space that was the room I now inhabited.
It was a gun.
I told the owner of the shining revolver I meant no malice, and that he need not worry about me causing trouble any time soon. He simply laughed and said he wasnāt in the least bit afraid of yours truly, and that my belated manners saved me from being set atop his mantle as a new trophy. I took this to be a joke and simmered down a little, taking my hand off my old .45 that was snugly concealed under my thick coat. The man plopped into a raggedy old chair opposite the door, and resumed what he had been doing prior to my barging in- light whittling. It looked as though he was carving out a small bear figurine from a smallish block of wood, but I didnāt investigate too far into it.
āNot many folks come out this way, nowādaysā¦ā the whittler said, more to himself than to me, āCanāt say I donāt enjoy that. Seeā¦ See, we have this nice little community āround hereā¦ We donāt have no fights, no gamblinā, no nothināā¦ Itās too small a commune to have too much vice. Yāknow what Iām getting at?ā
For some reason or other, I was a little unsettled upon hearing this. Outside it appeared as though there were only one or two more wooden shacks nearby, but no more than that. To call that a commune seemed off, not to mention the amount of emphasis he put upon the word āwe.ā
Something was up here.
āIām not here to start no trouble, mister. Iām on a bit of a mission, and a long one at thatā¦ See, my brother got beat up awful bad a while back āround these here woods. So bad he canāt walk or talk no moreā¦ Real pity- he used to play baseball, donāt you know. Mighty fine at it, too. Nowadays heās better off as a base than a basemen.ā Upon my uttering of this, every muscle of the whittlerās seemed to tense visibly. I gathered I had found my first suspect.
āSee, misterā¦ I want to get back at those men in ways the police canātā¦" I continued, "In grand ways, ya dig? I want to get the man responsible for putting my brother in a chair and return the favor. Now then,ā and here I pulled my gun from its holster, āif you so happen to know somethingā¦ Anything important to my cause, tell me. And I saw how you reacted when I told you about him so I know you know something. Donāt tell me Iām wrong.ā
The man simply laughed as a dull, metallic noise rang through my head like I was a bell that had been rung. I had been hit from behind by some other, shadowy figure, and while I was unconscious I was dragged down to the basement to meet the commune the man had spoken of before. They all have broken legs and the trauma they experienced leaves most of them mute.
I now know what became of my brother. My greatest folly beyond coming to this Godforsaken shanty was not realizing my captor flinched in response to the word ābasemen,ā as it was too close to ābasementā for his comfort. If anyone ever reads these memoirs I placed beneath these floorboards, pleaseā¦ Tell my family I'm sorry that I'm not coming home.
