they was putting this road through. Farmington Road didn’t exist last summer, you know.”
“That’s what the real estate guy said.”
“Anyway, they was clearing the wood and the dozer ran into something. The driver got out to see what it was. Then, somehow, the dozer ran right over him. Squashed him like a pizza.”
“He must have left it in gear.”
Annie shrugged. “I don’t know. But the darndest thing—the dozer’d hit a headstone—one of the ones just beyond the plaza,” she said, pointing in the direction of the historical cemetery. “There was a whole graveyard buried there in the woods and nobody even knew about it.”
“Hmm,” Erik said. “That’s interesting. How old is it?”
“Dates back to the 1700’s. Roger Williams’ time. The road was supposed to go right through here. But they had to change it because that was a historical site.”
“I didn’t know this area was settled that long ago.”
She nodded. “No one did, I think. Or at least no one wanted to remember.”
He frowned. This woman was definitely strange.
“But the darndest thing about the graves isn’t how old they are,” she continued.
“What is it, then?”
“It’s the headstones themselves. One’s made out of real weird stone. One of them professors from the University was here studying it and he said it’s made out of a meteorite. A stone from outer space.”
“That is interesting. A headstone made from a meteorite. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“It’s weird. But it ain’t the only weird thing.”
“What else is there?”
“The headstones. They all have strange markings. And some have weird sayings on them, too.”
“Epitaphs,” Erik said. “Some of those old headstones have strange ones.”
“And there were shells and Indian things all around the cemetery, too. The professors think the people in the graves might have been killed by the Indians.”
“That’s quite a story.”
She nodded again. “And the Indians surrounded the place with charms and things, quahog shells and other unusual things. The bulldozer disturbed a lot of it when it ran into the stone. See, I have a few here.”
She went behind the counter and brought out a necklace of polished shells, streaked with blue-violet and white. It had a striking resemblance to the charm Dovecrest had given them, the one Vickie had hung on their back door.
“Course the string was all rotted away,” she explained. “But the shells were like new.”
“Interesting,” Erik said. “How did you wind up with it?”
“I own the land,” she said. “Course I can’t use half of it because it’s a historical landmark. But I did pick up a few things that the professors and the historical guys missed.”
“You’ve lived in the area for a long time?”
“Lived in this town all my life and I’ll be 86 next month. When the road went in I built the plaza and opened my store. The store don’t make no money, mind you, but the other tenants pay the bills and it gives me something to do. The Dairy Mart does quite a business. And the pizza place, too. That’s where I’d hang my posters if I were you. ‘Course, like I said, I don’t suspect they’ll do much good.”
“So you say strange things have been happening ever since they found the graves?”
“That’s right. Pets disappearing. People hearing voices. Weird noises in the middle of the night.”
“What do you think it is?”
“There’s a curse upon this place,” she said in a firm voice. “And the dozer done disturbed those graves and woke up the curse.”
Erik laughed nervously but she cut him off immediately.
“Don’t you laugh until you know what you’re laughing at, young man,” she said. “You just go look at the graves for yourself before you make fun of an old woman, and then you tell me if you don’t feel the hairs rise up on the back of your neck. You just go look, and then you tell me.”
“I’m sorry,” Erik said. “I didn’t know if you were being serious or just joking with me.”
“I’m not joking.”
Erik nodded. “Thanks for letting me hang the poster, ma’am. And when I get a chance I will look at those graves.”
“If I see your pet, I’ll be sure and let you know, Mr. Hunter. Maybe she just wandered off.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
The bell rang quietly as he closed the door behind him.
-4-
Melissa Jones frowned as the man hung the poster of the cat on the window of the Dairy Mart. He’d told her mother that the cat was lost, and that made her feel bad. She’d had a puppy once and it had run out into the road and had been hit by a dump truck. That was when she was just a little girl, but she still grieved.
But that seemed like such a long time ago. Since then her parents had divorced and she’d been living with her Dad in Miami for the last two years. But she’d fallen for a boy in her class and her Dad had sent her back to New England as punishment. Now she’d be staying with Mom in the store. She was afraid it was going to be a long summer. There weren’t any kids her age in this hick town, let alone cute boys.
It wasn’t even lunch time yet and she was already bored. She watched the man with the lost cat take a jug of milk out of the cooler. She felt bad about his cat. It looked really cute in the picture, like it was the kind that purred when you pet it. Maybe she could help and find the cat. That would be good. Anything would be better than staying here and waiting on customers.
“Mom, can I go outside? Maybe I can look for the man’s cat.”
“I don’t think so,” her mother said from her seat behind the cash register.
“But I’m bored. And it’s a nice, sunny day outside.”
“I’d rather you stayed here with me.”
“Can’t I just go for a walk?”
“Maybe later,” he mother said.
Melissa knew what that meant. It meant it was going to be a long, boring summer spent inside the boring store and watching people buy bread and milk and ice. All of her friends in Miami would be outside now at the beach, or swimming in the pool.
“It’s not fair,” she mumbled as she watched the man with the lost cat pay
