Lester of Two Evils

Keep Your Friends Close

The Thanksgiving edition of the Giles Hollow Mosquito displayed a full-page color photograph of several prominent town leaders dressed as pilgrims. Together they stood beneath a cloth banner with the words Giving Thanks spelled out in yellow squash and orange pumpkins. A short, rotund gentleman gripped a large live white turkey in the middle of the group. Both bird and man stared into the camera with the same look of unease.

Lester dropped the bundle of papers into his bag and shook his head, grateful neither of his parents had chosen to appear in the image. With all he'd learned in Salem, from the madness of the Witch Trials, to what his ancestors had endured, this hokey version of fellowship among the first settlers had lost its sheen.

The garage door complained loudly as it dragged itself open, and Lester wheeled his bike into the pale gray morning. Each day would lose a few minutes of sunlight from now until the winter solstice. In another couple of weeks, he'd be making his deliveries in complete darkness.

Switching on his bike light, Lester jumped as it illuminated a pair of golden eyes.

"Mac!" he said in a loud whisper. "You nearly scared me to death. How are you, boy?"

The dog responded with a low growl, then shook, sending a spray of water across the yard.

"Have you been chasing geese out of The Ditch's pond again?" Lester asked, eyeing the icicles beginning to form in Mac's fur.

The morning air was frigid, and Lester shivered as he looked up and down Main Street, then back at the dark windows of his house, before reaching out a hand and slowing his breathing. The tingling started around the silver ring and spread quickly up his arm.

Mac whimpered, and his ears went back.

"This isn't going to hurt, boy," Lester said, bringing his fingers together and pulling downward as if plucking a ripe apple from a tree.

Hundreds of water droplets began rolling off the dog, gathering in a wobbling puddle at his feet. Concentrating, Lester moved his hand to the side, and the puddle followed. When it reached the storm drain at the edge of the street, he made a fist, and the water disappeared through the grate.

Mac gave a shake of his now dry fur, barked once, and ran off.

"You're welcome!" Lester called after him, grinning as he watched the dog go.

The rest of the morning's paper route was devoid of spectators, canine or otherwise. Lester rode along alone in the stillness, making his deliveries as the town slept. Finally, coasting past the new For Sale sign sticking out of the ground in front of The Darling Place, he arrived at his last stop.

As he propped his bike against the side of the Post Office, Lester fought back a twinge of sadness. It had been nearly a month, but part of him still expected to see Ben's smiling face waiting to greet him from behind his counter. The temporary replacement they'd sent to fill in for the absent postmaster was a thin man with a bad combover and no sense of humor. He wasn't from Giles Hollow, didn't know who anyone was, and did everything by the book. Despite being the office's only employee, he'd installed a time clock, which he used to regulate his meticulously calculated breaks.

The bell above the door rang, and Lester tossed a rolled-up paper through the customer window and into the back office. He was turning to go when a voice called out from behind the wall of mailboxes.

"Lester North, is that you?"

Mae's father suddenly appeared in a brand new blue and gray uniform. Grabbing a picnic basket from the counter, he quickly stepped through the half door.