Jeremiah Strout and The Curse of The Golden Harp

For Lia and Devan

THE MOVE

FLYERTON WAS EXACTLY what I expected. You couldn’t even call it a town. It was one street about three city blocks long with a church on one end and a tiny grocery store on the other.

Even the sign going into the town looked bored: Welcome to Flyerton, Population 101. With the last number one hanging on for dear life.

But I swallowed a groan when I saw the smile on Mom’s face. I hadn’t seen that in a while. Not since the divorce.

Hmm, I’m not exactly sure where the house is... Mom slowed the car and looked at the map in her hand before she came to a complete stop.

Right then, like seriously at that exact moment, an old guy came out of the church. He had a dog with him. It might have been a Border Collie but it was kind of hard to tell because it looked like it had been dipped in cooking oil—the poor thing probably hadn’t been washed, ever.

Mom pulled the car up to meet him. Let’s ask this man. Maybe he could help us.

Mom, I whispered. What are you doing? He could be a psycho...

Jeremiah, she hissed, behave yourself.

I widened my eyes and shook my head. I read a story once, where this guy pulled his car up next to a stranger who then pulled off his mask to reveal an alien head with eyeballs dangling from tentacles.

Actually, I think that was an episode of Gravity Falls, so never mind. The muscles in my neck relaxed a bit when I came to that realization.

Excuse me? Sir? she said.

I sank down in the front seat, just in case.

Excuse me? she said, again.

I popped my head up just past the window to take a look.

He was an older man, maybe forty. However old he was, he was too old to wear cargo shorts the color of burnt pizza. They, along with the suit jacket and brown hiking boots, were bad enough. But his scraggly red beard and farmer’s cap made him look like he didn’t know if he was going to work, about to climb the mountain in the distance, or had lost his sheep.

I had to stop myself from locking my door and pushing the button on the dashboard to close the windows.

Sir! Mom was getting impatient now.

He finally turned around and put his hand in his pocket. He stared at us from under his cap, but didn’t say anything for a minute.

I sank down in the seat again.

We’re looking for the McCallum house. Mom sat forward, fumbled with the map, then held it out to show him.

Oh, aye? McCallum is it? He screwed his lips together like he had to really think about his answer.

Yes, perhaps you knew them? Cecily? Her husband was Robert? Mom put the car in park and smiled. She leaned back, though, when the guy came toward us a little too quickly.

I’d told her that could happen.

He rested one hand on the roof, his other on the car door, and bent down to look at us. He sniffed loudly, then turned and spat on the ground behind him.

I’m all for clearing your throat. I’ve even been known to hock up a good one at the dinner table, but this one was especially gross. Thick and nasty, and there was still a little bit hanging from his bottom lip.

Mom leaned back even further. At this point her brown hair hung over my seat.

Aye. I knew of ‘em, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll turn this car ‘round and go right back where you came from, he hissed.

What? Mom sputtered in surprise, then grabbed the gear stick and tried to put the car in drive. I was tempted to slide over and do it myself. What’s wrong with you? she asked. Why would you say that?

It’s not safe for ya here, son. His beady eyes peered at me. I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder to make sure there was no one behind me, but yep, he was definitely talking to me.

Get out while ye still can, he warned.

I wanted to say enough said, no problem, we’re outta here, but all that came out of my mouth was a squeak.

Hektor Krote! A woman’s voice came from behind him. Hektor, have you nothing better to do with your time than scare the living daylights out of every visitor that comes to this town? Go on home and leave these good people be!

I could have told her not to worry about it, that we were leaving anyway. But I figured I’d let Mom handle this one.

Krote pulled his head out of the driver’s side window and turned to the woman. Elsa, he said, his voice softening but his dirty fingers still gripping the car door.

Elsa was an older woman with tight curly white hair. She stood under the shrunken doorway of a townhouse, maybe ten feet from the car. I could barely make out the sign above it, which had ‘Cafe’ written in script. It was so faded I wouldn’t have seen it if I wasn’t looking.

She wiped her hands on her flowery apron while she walked to the car. I’m not exaggerating when I say she looked exactly like Mrs. Claus, even down to the wire-rimmed glasses, rosy red cheeks and flat black shoes.

You can’t be doing this to every person that comes into this town, Hektor. Now, will you go and feed that dog of yours? While her voice was stern at first, it softened after a minute and she smiled at him.

But I wasn’t interested in her smile. All I could think was that she had a point. Not just about Krote scaring us, but about the dog as well. The poor thing looked miserable, like a wet dishrag. It had floppy black ears that sat limply on the side of its head. It wasn’t on a leash but was practically glued to Krote’s side anyway.

Have ye a bit of bread for Captain ‘ere? Krote asked with a nod toward the dog, whose tail gave a slow wag in response.

I was trying to stay really cool by attempting to whistle while rubbing furiously at the scuff mark on my sneaker. I was fully aware my whistling always sounded more like a bird taking its last breath, but I gave it my best shot anyway. It definitely distracted me from the guy for a minute or two. That was until Mom slapped my hand and muttered something about me being annoying. When I looked up in protest, the guy was still squinting in the window at me. I wasn’t close enough to tell, but I can say with some degree of certainty that if I was closer, I definitely would have seen his big nostrils flaring. He was a freak.

If you come back later I’ll give you whatever’s left after the day. Now go on! Elsa smiled again and waved toward the street. She watched Krote as he turned and walked away. But she wasn’t looking at him like he was a nut-case (which was how I was watching him). She was giving him the same look Dad used to give Mom... before. Dad used to call it an admiring glance, but Mom called it annoying.

I don’t know whether or not Mom noticed the exchange and I didn’t have a chance to ask her because Elsa approached the car. You must think we’re all nuts. She laughed and looked embarrassed.

It would have been rude of me to agree, so I didn’t answer.

Please, come in for a coffee. My treat. She extended her hand and introduced herself to Mom. Elsa Pembroke.

Mom laughed and her face relaxed. Susan Strout. She gripped Mrs. Pembroke’s hand. This is Jeremiah.

Hello, Jeremiah. And how old are you?

Twelve, I answered. But she must not have been really listening because she didn’t acknowledge me after that.

Coffee? she said again to Mom.

I’d love one, especially after that outburst, Mom answered. Who is he anyway? She nodded toward Krote’s back as he walked away, then nudged me to get out of the car. But there was no way I was getting out after that little incident. These people were clearly Looney Tunes. We were all too far from civilization. I held on to the door handle and shook my head.

Who, Krote? Mrs. Pembroke answered. Oh, he’s harmless enough, though the locals don’t care for him too much. They call him Crazy Krote, she whispered behind a cupped hand, then gave a little guilty laugh.

That was confirmation enough for me. He was crazy.

Did I hear you right? Mrs. Pembroke asked. Did you say you’re looking for the McCallum house?

Yes, Cecily was my great aunt. Though I never met her. Did you hear of her passing? Mom asked, but not before giving me the stink-eye. Don’t be rude, she muttered under her breath. She opened the door and got out.

Okay, okay, I grumbled. I got out too, but not until I armed myself with the stylus from my Nintendo. It was all I could grab.

Yes, I heard. Very sad indeed. Mrs. Pembroke led us through the front door, down a short hallway, and into what I guessed was once a living room. But now it had six round tables set up and a dresser in the corner. Each table had a red and white striped cloth on top. She motioned for us to sit down before she grabbed the coffee pot. Mom hung her bag on the back of the chair. She piled two big spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee once Mrs. Pembroke finished pouring. I raised my eyebrows. She’d complain when I tried shoving two or three chocolates into my mouth at the same time. I didn’t see the difference.

Mrs. Pembroke was about to sit but hesitated when she looked at me. She bent down, grabbed a juice box from a shelf on the bottom of the dresser, and handed it to me.

Why’d he say that? Mom asked, at last. Why would Krote tell us to leave?

I held my breath and waited for the answer. I had images of alien invasions swarming around in my head. I tried to remember where Area 51 was, but I couldn’t ask Mom because then she’d figure out I’d been Googling it even though she’d warned me not to.

Oh. Mrs. Pembroke laughed. Hektor loves a good story.

I do too. I’m not a huge reader, but Dad used to let me stay up late on weekends. He’d turn off the lights in the bedroom and tell me stories from Tales from the Crypt and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Apparently Mrs. Pembroke had no intention of doing the same.

Instead, she gave me a nervous glance and said, "Oh,

I’d hate to burden you with ridiculous tall tales."

I assure you, Mrs. Pembroke... Mom began.

Elsa, please.

I assure you, Elsa, Mom continued, there’s not much that can rattle Jeremiah, if that’s what you’re worried about.

Then it got weird. Weird in the sense that I wished Mom hadn’t asked, because after Mrs. Pembroke’s story, I was worried I wouldn’t sleep a wink again.

Mrs. Pembroke looked thrilled but tried to hide it by pretending to look thoughtful. She tilted her head to the side, licked the corner of her mouth, and clicked her tongue while staring right at me.

I shifted in my seat, wishing she’d just say something already. The way she was studying me was starting to freak me out.

Flyerton and its legends, she said with a giggle that I personally thought she was too old to use. I never could get behind them. She moved