As I came into the tiny town of Jackson it looked somewhat normal. I walked around town and cars were still in place, parked in front of businesses, just like the owners had come into town for a normal day of shopping. I don’t know the story behind this town or what happened to the residents during or after the fall. But now it just looks like a ghost town that people just left suddenly. Everything has a thick coat of dust and grime, but other than that nothing seems out of place or looks like it’s be
en looted. I went into a few of the stores in town and collected a few items that would get me back in the routine of eating on a daily basis like I try to maintain. I came to an old house off the town square and decided to take a chance on seeing what was inside. To my pleasant surprise I found nothing. No bodies, no bones, nothing but a musty smell greeted me. I turned a knob on the stove in the kitchen and heard the hiss of gas. Sure enough, there was a propane tank out back that somehow still had gas in it. I also noticed a well in the back with one of those old pumps with a handle sticking out of it (like the ones you used to see in those old westerns). I walked out to it, gave it a pump or two and water came out. I looked up and breathed a thank you.That night I fixed a meal on a real stove, I bathed with hot water that I heated up and poured in an old tub and then I laid down and slept on a real bed. With my belly full and my bones not resting on the ground, I begin to think that night I could stay here, I could stay here for awhile and maybe rest.
The next day I looked around the house and found some old photos. T
he family that lived in this fine old home was the Winzers. From what I could tell, this old house had been in the family since the late 1800s. Most of the pictures on the wall looked like they could have dated back to the 1920s or 30s. I decided to walk back into town and pick up more stuff and maybe have another big meal that night. But I began to hear things.At first in sounded like someone was walking behind me, but when I turned around no one was there. Then I would hear a door slam, but still saw nothing. I passed it off as the wind or some wild animal and went on with my shopping. Once back at the house, I lit a few candles and prepared for the dark. I was in the kitchen fussing over the stove like the cook I used to be when I heard footsteps again, but this time it was inside the house. I slowly walked to the front door and saw out of the corner of my eye a man standing in the middle of the living room. When I turned around to face him head on he had a shotgun pointed straight at me. My mind raced and came to the conclusion that my rifle was upstairs on the bed. The man had a wild look in his eyes, his teeth were a dark shade of yellow (I knew that because he had them gritted at me), and his hair was in all matter of disarray and looked like an oil slick that could catch on fire if exposed to an open flame. He spoke. “You know your trespassing.” I said, “Sir (I address him this way even though I had 30 years on him at best), I saw no one in this town until just now. I thought I was the only one.” “Well, you’re not,” he said in an elevated tone. “I can see that,” I said “and I apologize.” “This is the Winzer house and you need to leave,” he said, never changing his bead on me with that shot gun. “Are you Mister Winzer?” “No,” he said. “He is out there,” and he pointed outside towards the east. “Can I speak to him and apologize in person?” “No, you can’t. I speak for him. I speak for the whole town.” “Okay, Sir,” I said again. “I will leave if you will just let me get my stuff. I will be on my way right now.” With that he nodded his head, lowered the gun and walked towards the front door, but then he turned around as if a moment of civility struck him and said “ Leave in the morning if you like. Old man Winzer won’t mind. He’s not using the place anyway. No one uses anything any more.” With that he opened the front door and walked out, not even bothering to close the door behind him. I heard him mumbling, “No one uses anything, no one uses anything, no one uses……” and he kept repeating that same sentence as he disappeared into the night. I rushed upstairs and got the rifle; it stayed with me the rest of my time in Jackson.
I got one more night’s rest (if you can call it that, because I kept one eye open for old yellow teeth). And the next morning, I walked on, but I’m thankful for the supplies. I even thank the town and I’m sure old man Winzer as I passed this mass open grave with one handmade coffin after another placed in a row. That’s what the man must have been pointing to that night. That poor wild-eyed man must be the only on
e left and got the thankless job of laying all his friends and town folk to rest. All that work must have taken him years, but what else did he have to do, I guess. He must have left the grave open for when his time comes because at the very end was an empty coffin with no lid. What that man has seen and done is enough to drive anyone crazy. I almost went crazy myself, but my walk freed me from that. That is one gift all this walking gave me, is freedom, I‘m not stuck to a town, house or anything. I left it all behind. Joplin once sang (her version I always like the best) “freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose”. I think Kristofferson wrote the song though, but the words ring true none the less…..Great, now I will have that song stuck in my head as I try to sleep tonight……but at least it’s one of my favorites……..
Go to Day 974
