The Moss Imagines

4: |Under: Part One - Cornflower|

2024

Her name was Whisper. She moved to our town less than five years before what happened. My parents used to take me to her diner maybe once every few months when I was a child for about two years, but I don't remember anything about it of course.

It was named Willoughby's and she worked there by herself a majority of the time. People assumed it was her last name, but she was too secluded for it to be confirmed. Sometimes the townsfolk would get together and go in to give her some business, but it wasn't often since there weren't a ton of seats. It was a small diner after all.

Our "town" is just a little unnamed city (some say) between two states. People pass through regularly on road trips or anything like that, so we have a handful of motels and restaurants, which is what many of us figured to be the reason why Willoughby's didn't get customers compared to the rest of the eateries here.

Whisper was a tall black woman. She was close to her late twenties. There are only two pictures of her around. One was taken the day she took over the diner, and another was taken at an office party she was invited to in the first months of her living here.

After the fire, people went to her house which was a forty-minute drive from the diner. They searched her things and undid her floorboards looking for important documents. They wanted something- anything to point them in a direction to know about her by any means. Where she came from, family, or even a birth certificate to prove her identity. Most importantly, they wanted answers as to why she did what they accused her of doing that night.

We had a sheriff by the name of Scotty Mason. After the Willoughby's Massacre, so it was dubbed, he tried his hardest to keep people away from the remains out of respect for Whisper and the victims. As much as it worked, it all went to shit when he died last year. Everyone affected by what happened has been trying to build a gravesite over the remains.

I don't support the idea.

Late 2013

The sound of gravel crushing pulled her out of her daze. She had been staring at the menu for a long while, but she wasn't sure how much time had passed.

Pushing herself off the counter and standing up straight, she looked through the window and saw a police car.

Two men were already walking towards the diner when she made it to the door.

"Good morning, Sheriff Mason." she spoke. She wasn't used to getting visitors so early, but lucky enough she had some bread and pastries in the oven in case they wanted to leave with something.

"Good morning. I told you, Scotty is just fine." he smiled, trudging up the steps followed by a man who looked identical to him, but younger.

"I'm still getting used to it, I'm sorry." she apologized. He usually embraced her with a hug, but some days she hoped he wouldn't. He usually smelled of whiskey and lime from his clothes, but never his breath which always threw her in a loop.

"Ehh, don't worry. Whisper," he began, turning to the man who was quietly waiting behind him on the veranda. "... this is my son, Theo."

As if the sound of his name being introduced was as sweet as pie, he gave her a warm smile and held his hand out.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Whisper. I've heard good things." he said. His voice was deep, and a faint aroma of cigarettes fell from his lips.

"It's nice to meet you as well, Theo." she smiled, taking his hand and letting him shake it. His hold was rough but warm. She felt herself wanting to shy away when the timer went off from the counter, telling her the oven needed to be turned off.