Village Carson Mystery

• Hugh Maunder, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2009

The village of Carson sat nestled amidst numerous undulating hills (at which from the eastern peak the spectacular view could be seen of Carson with the plains of Nebraska spread wildly below, which was where currently the man sat, the view with a prodigious change, and one which is now to be explained).
Holocaust. The first word summoned to his lucid mind. ‘Pure Holocaust’. Though it could not be explained. Where once stood a lush green small country town of 5,000 now lay a desolate and destroyed village. Where once children could be seen cavorting in spring’s new clover fields and their parents found gossiping in the town’s only café, all that now could be found is what could be mistaken as a dilapidated municipal incinerator. “A cold wind blew from over the village” The man later recalled “As I stood perched on the peak of this prominence in awe of what lay before me, or lack of what lay before me, I was impotent of speech, or even of feeling”. What lay before the man was an inky crater between the hills surrounding, a place where light itself seemed afraid to reign. The trees had withered and ceased to live, the mountains surrounding seemed somewhat diabolical in appearance as the loomed over the village, unaware of the secrets held by the town. The words kept tightly bound behind the decrepit lips of the village walls ‘No Witnesses’ the words drilled ceaselessly into the walls over the years spent solitary. With the bitter wind wafted a lost letter, tattered as though it had been in hiding for years, hard years in which weather and time had left a visible brand on the paper. Sifting through the air soaring with currents, and falling with the wind, the paper came, whipping between the forest trees, joyfully ascending the mountain in its last spree of life. One miss turn and the paper slammed against a tall darkly tree, the torn edges flipping in the wind, the unread message the paper held facing the world, to be fathomed by all who could see.
“Dear John, you must accept my apologies for the lateness of my reply. The timing it may seem is not excellent, the children ill, the neighbours gone, but it must happen soon. The town is in dismay and the rioting has not stopped. None can explain from where the army has come, or what its intent, more men have been captured, and women, although no pattern can be found between the captures, near our entire street has surrendered themselves to defeat and deserted their homes. If we don’t move quickly we too will be swept within the grasps of the enemy. I hope all is well with you and that we shall be with you soon. Keep safe and I pray this letter reaches you in time. With love Jayne and Family.” Perhaps the only remaining attestation to the mystery surrounding the Carson Village case, flicked with the wind, tumbled towards the inky sky and found its fragile anatomy eviscerated by the forests leaves as it rose and scattered itself across the far off Nebraska plains.