The Traveler

Landon Smith tossed his cigarette butt on the ground as he charged across the road, narrowly avoiding being hit by a Volkswagen Beetle. The irate driver stomped on his brakes and they squealed in protest, but the car stopped anyway. The driver raised his hands in irritation at the kid but merely got the bird flipped at him in return. The teenager banged twice on the car's hood trying to piss the driver off even more, as he continued across the road without stopping. The Beetle started moving again and continued a little further along the road, before making a right turn and disappearing.

He turned to face a single-story, nondescript building and bounded up the four stone steps leading to the entrance. A stone lintel set above the arched entrance proudly announced the name of the building: The Brandon Public Library, built-in 1956. The facade of the building certainly didn't look anything for Brandon to be proud of, it just looked old and tired.

A worn noticeboard attached to the wall outside the entrance held two notices, both announcing missing kids: Brad Ames, and Brody Richardson. Smith didn't look at them, he didn't need to; he knew who they were. The three of them had hung out together for the last few years. That was until they disappeared within one week of each other, without either of them saying a word to him. They had probably skipped town together, leaving him here on his own in this godforsaken place. Some pals they were!

Landon announced his entry to the building by letting the door slam closed behind him. The noise wasn't that loud, but still caused people at the tables to raise their heads from their books, newspapers, and cell phones. It was late afternoon, and the library wasn't full. There were perhaps seven people in the building, mostly seniors, but also a couple of other kids who looked up, and then looked down again quickly when they saw who had just walked in. The majority of them sat at various tables scattered around the lobby. One or two were browsing the aisles in search of something interesting to read.

The library was designed like a wheel. The lobby was the hub, while the aisles led off like spokes. Signs were everywhere on the drab, yellow walls asking patrons to keep their voices low. The whole building, inside and out, needed a new coat of paint and some TLC. To Smith it gave a good representation of the town as a whole; it was ok at first glance, but when you looked closer, it was nothing but a shithole. The librarian station was in the center of the hub. It was empty. "The bitch's probably down one of the aisles," Smith mused.

He made his way over to the desk to wait. Smith's eye caught sight of a service bell. He pressed it and it gave out a satisfying ting. After getting no response from the first ring the youth slapped his hand down on the bell seven more times. Ting-ting-ting-ting-ting-ting-ting. The volume rose with each repetition causing the readers to shake their heads in rebuke. One old man even had the nerve to point to one of the 'be quiet' signs plastered on the wall. Smith gave each of them withering looks that seemed to invite them all to drop dead.

Where was the fucking librarian? Was she hiding? She'd better be! Just then Smith saw the woman he was looking for pop her head around the end of aisle 6. She saw who was disturbing the quiet and her head quickly disappeared.

"That's it bitch, hide!" Smith muttered out loud. "I got 'ya now." He nonchalantly made his way over to aisle 6, in no rush. He knew she had spotted him, so let her stew for a moment or two. That was part of the fun.

—

Landon had lived in Brandon, Kentucky his whole life, which consisted of seventeen years, and detested the place. The population was 3,800 as of the 2016 census. The main industries around the area were, or had been, horse farms, tobacco farms, and bourbon. Due to the ever-increasing smoking bans, tobacco farms had taken a severe hit and were either adapting or going out of business. The old tobacco farms were turning to their last hope: hemp. Some farms were managing to make a success of the transition, but a lot more weren't.