The Oak Hotel - Watty Awards 2013 Finalist

Chapter Thirty-six - Sabernatch

Chapter Thirty-six

Sabernatch

With each step forward, the shadowy form took on the dimensions of a man, but oh, what a man! His misshapen head was bald except for patches of coarse hair and festering sores. His body, withered to the point of skin-covered bone, shook with the pulse of a second hand on a tightly wound pocket watch. His right hand swung forward and backward, landing weak thuds against his hollow chest.

"Say! Burrrr! Natch!” he wheezed, slapping his chest with each syllable. "You came. Yes, you are here before me now."

Stopping a few feet before a creature that might have once been human, Kayleigh felt more disgust and pity than fear. "Your name is Sabernatch?" she asked.

Still rocking slightly, the man inclined his head upward, shielding his eyes from an absent sun. "You are in exile?"

"No," Kayleigh replied.

There was no reaction from the man, who continued to stare at her from beneath his cupped hand.

"We’re searching for a man named Truman Stitch," Kayleigh said slowly. "He was sent here. Do you know where he is?"

"The Lost Boardwalk has been waiting for you, lady," hissed Sabernatch. "It has sat here for a long, long time. First, there was Kendra, then there was the boardwalk. The Stitch man has been waiting, too."

"Where is he?" Lincoln asked, finding his own voice.

"Who paints in darkness, lost in silence, far from home? Is it not Stitch? He does not fear the boardwalk as you do."

"Is he on the boardwalk?" Kayleigh asked; she turned around, but saw only the faint, parallel lines of boards running left and right.

"Painter, sailor, climber, jailor. He dares not ride the nightmare. Listen to Sabernatch!"

Lincoln looked past the shriveled man to the odd, pulsating mist. The illusion of rolling waves was nearly perfect, down to artificial foam tapers in their retreat. What could be causing it? he wondered. He felt no breeze, nothing that hinted at a coaxing force.

"Where does Truman Stitch stay?" Kayleigh asked, rewording her question.

Sabernatch cocked his head to the left, then the right. He stared off past them like an animal sensing a predator. "Stitch used to stay in the hotel. There are many equations that negate its properties, but none were found. Except for the paints. He wished for paints and brushes. He was given paints and brushes."

"But where is Stitch now?" Lincoln asked, impatiently.

Sabernatch turned his gaze upon him and Lincoln wished he'd remained silent.

"One and one are not two," the thing spat. "You remember that, boy."

Lincoln stepped back and stood beside Kayleigh. They watched as the decrepit soul turned his body toward the artificial sea. Sabernatch stretched out his arms and placed both hands palm-down on the sand in fealty to the counterfeit surf. He started to moan, then howled deeply, but never brought his head up.

Kayleigh took Lincoln's arm and turned him around. They moved cautiously back up the beach and climbed the narrow stairs to the boardwalk. WELCOME BACK! had been painted on the sign above them.

The rich, buttery aroma of warm, soft pretzels wafted from one of the many stands around them. Kayleigh's stomach growled. Lincoln knelt and pulled open his backpack. Inside were layers of wrapped items. He grabbed the first two on the top. Slightly squashed, yet still intact were a pair of round rolls stuffed with dark, yellow cheese and various spices. Kayleigh sat down, took one and bit gratefully into it.