Free The Innswich Horror by Edward Lee Page A

was
the boy.
    I recovered quickly from the start. “Why,
hello there, young man. My name is Foster Morley.”
    “Hello,” he replied blushfully. He was thin,
bright-eyed, and had that look of so many children: curious wonder
and ripe innocence. He looked tenish—it was so hard to tell with
adolescents—and had been dressed neatly but in threadbare clothes.
One hand held the makeshift bow, the other a quiver of the
suction-cupped arrows. After a moment, he said, “My name’s Walter,
sir.”
    “Walter, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He
timidly shook my offered hand. “Now, would your last name happen to
be Simpson?”
    He seemed to quell surprise. “Yes, sir.”
    “Well, how do you like that! I’m a friend of
your mother’s. I spoke to her just this morning at Mr. Baxter’s.
You should be proud to have such a hard-working mother.”
    He seemed quietly astonished by this
information. “Yes, sir, I’m very proud, and so is my gramps.”
    His “gramps” could only be Mary’s
stepfather.
    “He’s asleep now,” he went on. “He’s…
old.”
    “Yes, and for the elderly we must always
have respect.” I glanced at his twine-and-tree-switch bow. “My,
Walter, you’re quite the archer. Practice makes perfect,” and then
I pointed to his window-frame target from which several arrows had
attached themselves, “and by the looks of your impressive skills,
you may one day find yourself on the Olympic archery team.”
    “Do you really think so?” he asked with
excitement.
    “Of course, if you remain diligent and
continue to practice. When you’re older, you’ll need to train with
a real bow, but I’m sure a careful boy such as yourself needn’t
have to wait much longer for that.”
    “My mom said I could have a real bow when
she makes enough money to buy one. But I can only use it when she’s
watching.”
    “That’s good advice, son. ‘Honor thy
mother,’ like it says in the Bible.”
    “Are you here… to see her?” he asked. “She’s
still at work.”
    I didn’t want to lie to the youth, yet I
couldn’t very well tell him I was pursuing a stalker nearby. “No,
Walter, I was merely having a nature walk when I happened upon you
and your house. These woods are quite a treat for me, for I spend
most of my time in the city. In Providence.”
    “Oh. I walk in the woods a lot too, sir.” He
pointed just behind the house. “There’s a neat trail right over
there that goes all the way back to town through the trees. That’s
how my mom walks to work every day.”
    “Why, I’m grateful for your advice, young
man,” I enthused. “I’ll be sure to take that trail back myself.
But, tell me. Why are you out here all by yourself? Surely you have
brothers and sisters old enough to play with.”
    His eyes blankened, as though the question
were a stifling one. “I have to go now, sir, to help my
gramps.”
    “Of course, and what a
fine young man you are to be so attentive to your grandfather.” It
was all I could say, for it seemed that to press him about my
previous question would only put him on the spot. Still, I had to
think, Mary’s got seven more children. Are
they all in the house? “But before you’re
off, Walter, let me give you a present.” I was probably out of
bounds by doing this, yet I couldn’t resist. “And I’m sure your
mother and gramps have quite wisely advised you not to take gifts
from strangers, but we’re not strangers, you and I, are
we?”
    “No, not really, Mr. Foster,” though the
mention of a present had clearly throttled his attention.
    “What I’d like you to do is take this and
buy yourself a better bow,” and then I gave him a ten-dollar bill.
“And with what’s left, wouldn’t it be nice to buy your mother some
flowers?”
    “Oh, yes, sir, it would!” he almost shouted
with glee.
    “And when your mother asks where you got the
money, just say her friend, Mr. Morley.”
    “Thank you, sir! Thank you a lot!”
    “You’re quite welcome, Walter.