(The Wagon Wheel Cafe.)

Chapter three:

Main Street proved to be everything James Monroe had promised. Which, Deanna acknowledged, wasn't much. The buildings were mostly wooden frontend, with pitched roofs laden with snow and covered walkways in front. A few were made of brick, and they drove past a paint constructed from big blocks of gray stone. Christmas decorations already showed in many of the shop windows, and the lampposts had been wrapped with red ribbon. Samantha pointed out the Wagon Wheel Cafe, which had a wagon wheel missing two spokes right at the one o clock position, spotlighted next to a painted wooden sign. It looked to be a standard small town diner, like many the sisters had been in and occasionally thrown out of in the last year or so. She hoped they did see James their she definitely wanted to run into him again.

Two doors down only a neon open sign glowing in a blacked out window gave any indication that the Plugged Bucket Saloon was occupied, but Deanna guessed that there was a handful of drinkers at the bar, maybe a couple making eyes at each other in a dark booth, and a jukebox well stocked with country music hits that were at least two years old. She imagined she could hear Shania Twain singing Man I feel like a woman from here, although with a rush cassette pounding from the Impala's stereo, she wouldn't have been able to hear her if she was standing on the sidewalk with her full band.

She reached out and cranked the volume knob to the left. Any sign of the motel? Deanna asked her sister.

We passed the Bide A Wee on the way in. Samantha said. On my side, I didn't say anything because I thought we'd decided not to share a room with giant insects. Present company excluded. Replied Samantha.

What about the other one James mentioned? Deanna asked her.

The Traits End? Not yet. Replied Samantha.

Deanna scanned the street. A couple of trucks were parked along the sidewalks, but no people were in evidence. Have you seen a single human being? Deanna asked her.

Not a one. Samantha replied.

You don't think... Deanna said.

What, we're too late? Something's already slaughtered the whole town? If that was the case, I think we'd see bodies, blood in the streets. I think it's just a small mountain town and people go home early. Samantha said.

Okay, Deanna said. I like that better.

Up ahead, light spilled from a storefront that was set back from the road, with a parking area in the front. Swanson's High Country Market. Here there were people, including a woman with two kids, pushing a shopping cart towards a green jeep. See? Samantha said. Nothing sinister. And if we don't like the Wagon Wheel, we can stock up there. Samantha said.

Let's up it stays quiet, Deanna said. I wouldn't mind if we were wrong for once and there was nothing strange going on at all. It'd be a decent place for a vacation if we didn't have to worry about people killing murdered.

That's what I like about you, Deanna. Samantha said. Your eternal optimism. Always looking on the sunny side. Samantha said.

Deanna glanced at her sister. She could see the family resemblance, particularly in the shape and sharpness of the nose, but Samantha's face was rounder, softer somehow. Her sisters eyes were brown, while Deanna's were green. Longer brown hair, covering Samantha's ears, curled over her collar and accentuated her youthful looks. Samantha was four years younger, though, and had spent that time away at college. Deanna supposed that by the time Samantha reached twenty five her age those dimples and soft lines might harden, become deep crag's, from the stress of fighting the denizens of the dark.

If, of course, they survived that long.