Daughters (Open Novella Contest 2020)

Prologue: Coming In

There is a sort of giddiness that comes with having something small of yours broadcast gloriously for the larger world to see. That's how we all felt when the film maker from the big city came to our little town of Haventon with his camera crew to make a recording for his documentary on small town life in America. As the name suggests, Haventon, originally "Haven Town", was initially created as a safe space for all the weak and unwanted creatures of the late 1800's. To some extent, you could say that it still serves the same purpose today. The history of Haventon residents runs deep and old, like the town itself. Nothing ever leaves Haventon, that is to say, nothing ever comes out of it. It and we remain peaceful and pure, but also primitive and unpublished. So imagine our delight when a handsome TV man decided to come and open us up for the world to see.

Walker Evans. That was his name. You heard it dropping from every pair of Haventon lips during the summer of 1955. He had come talking about great things. Said he wanted to showcase the joys of simple Southern life and that our own town was perfect for this goal—since no one outside Haventon knew what ever happened in Haventon. He said he wanted to tell the world that there was beauty in the poorer things of life. He said he wanted to qualm the fears and doubts that rural life was not a happy one. He said he was here to do good by us.

But Walker Evans' documentary never made the light of day. He didn't showcase anything. He didn't do any good. He did bad. He did evil.

It took little convincing for Walker and his men to get lodging at the Mayor's house. There were no hotels in Haventon back then so accommodation only came by if you could charm it your way. Walker sung a gambit detailing the Mayor's role as the star of the film, as he shook hands with the older man, and within a minute Mayor Douglas had his door wide open to Walker. He still had a chance then, Walker. He still could have made something of himself and of this town... if only he hadn't kept his eyes lingering too long on the bare lower thighs of Douglas' thirteen year old daughter, who stood near her Daddy in her pretty little flower dress, welcoming the city men in.

It was in that moment in which the First Demon crept up those hairy nostrils and into the cavity of Walker Evans' mind. What he did that night, when the windows were shut, and all the lamps had been switched off, was a crime against humanity and God.

Walker Evans' documentary never went into the world because Walker Evans never made it back to the rest of the world.

The sun rose quickly on what he had done to that little girl, and everyone could see it with their eyes. The stains were permanent, commanding attention to what had happened. Mrs. Douglas could never wash them away as hard as she tried and tried. They caused the air in the town to halt, and for the first time in a hundred years, the blood of the once placid people to boil like those who had forced their grandfathers and grandmothers to hide their smiles. Guns were loaded and fires were lit. The women and men wet the ground with spit. They cursed down Walker for the crime he had commit.

Crimes had to be paid for, as the people saw fit.

But they never found him.

For three days they searched for the man whose name burned on every single pair of Haventon lips, but he was no where in sight. The town was small and it didn't take long until every stone had been upturned in vain. The closest they got was his three diligent camera men, found floating heads down in the Gladys river. Finally, they gave up. They conceded to the cries of her mother and let that little girl lie softly in the earth. But the spirit and body of Walker Evans was still among them. They all knew it and felt it, even though they couldn't see it, or kill it like they wanted to.

Nothing ever left Haventon.

But this was the beginning of the story of the things that came in.