Dave Zeltserman - The Caretaker of Lorne Field

“Well, it’s really pretty simple.” Minter adjusted himself in his seat and took one more gaze around the room. “What we’d like to do is develop a theme park around what you do.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“We’re going to put this town on the map. Instead of people spending money to go to Salem, Massachusetts, for witch trials, we’ll get them to spend money here watching monsters being pulled out of the earth. Imagine this house being turned into a museum and gift shop-”

“Wait a minute. Where are we supposed to live?”

“We’ll build you a new house,” Minter said with a wide smile. “With the numbers the investors are tossing around, we should be able to build you something nice. Central air, central vacuum, gourmet kitchen, home theatre, pool and Jacuzzi in back. How does all that sound?”

“Sounds okay,” Jack Durkin admitted. “But it’s going to have to be close by so I can get back and forth to that field.”

“That’s not going to be a problem. There’s quite a bit of land deeded with this cabin for us to build on. Getting back to what I was saying, along with this house being turned into a museum and gift shop, we’ll offer tours to Lorne Field so people can watch you at work, and-”

“I ain’t allowing nothin’ that goes against the contract. No one’s allowed at Lorne Field but me.”

Minter forced his smile wider. “Contracts can be amended-”

“Nope. Not this one. It ain’t being changed. Not a word of it. Everything in it is written for a reason. You start messing around with it and we’re all lost.”

‘Please, Mr. Durkin, you need to be reasonable-”

“I’m not allowing a single word of that contract to be changed. Not a single damn word.”

“Is there anything in the contract against turning this home into a museum or gift shop?” Lydia asked.

Durkin thought about it and shook his head.

“How about against you setting up cameras down there so people can watch you work?”

Again Durkin ended up admitting that there wasn’t.

Lydia turned to Minter. “How about all that then?” she asked. “Would that be good enough?”

Minter pursed his lips as he considered it. “I think that would work,” he said. “We could clear out some land behind this cabin and recreate Lorne Field. It might even be better that way. It would both add to the mystique of the actual field and give us more control. And people wouldn’t have to traipse miles through woods to get there. I’d still like to have a supply of weeds that we could laminate and sell as souvenirs.”

Durkin’s jaw dropped as he digested what the lawyer was suggesting. “W-what do you want to do?” he stammered out, not sure he believed that he had heard right.

“We could make a small fortune selling those weeds.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Okay, okay.” Minter held out a hand to stop him. “I just thought I’d ask. The marketing potential could be huge for something like that. But it’s not a deal breaker.”

“So we’re all set?” Lydia asked.

“Well, we’ll see. The investors I talked to so far are excited, and I think I have the support of the town council. So as long your husband doesn’t have any further objections…?”

Durkin glanced at his wife and saw that her eyes were fixed on him. He also saw her still gingerly holding her injured hand. “As long as it don’t violate my contract, you and my wife can do whatever you want.” He cleared his throat. “What would be in the museum?” he asked somewhat sheepishly.

“Quite a lot, actually. A complete history of Lorne Field, the legend of its monsters and, of course, paintings and sculptures of them, along with portraits and a short biography of each of your ancestors who’ve been Caretaker and, as your wife brilliantly suggested, video monitors so people can watch you at work. You are going to continue weeding the field, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’m just asking.”

“I’ll be weeding the field until my eldest son takes over. As required by my contract.”

“That’s good,” Minter said. He was still smiling broadly, but it was beginning to lose some of its luster. “It will give the whole thing an air of realism. Kind of a Colonial Williamsburg-type vibe. And of course the centerpiece for the museum will be the Caretaker’s Contract and Book of Aukowies under a glass display.”

“How do you know about my book?”

“Your wife told me about it.”

Jack Durkin shifted a suspicious glance towards Lydia, then grunted as he pushed himself away from the table.

“Let me get it for you so you can see it for yourself,” he said. “And the contract, too.”

Durkin left the kitchen, careful to avoid the broken shards of glass littering the floor, and hobbled down the narrow basement steps. He stopped when he found the two loose stones. They weren’t pushed back as deep as they should’ve been. He knew he didn’t make that kind of mistake and guessed that either Lydia or Bert had found his hiding place, knowing that Lester wouldn’t have had the initiative. It was too bad. The hiding place had been used by the eldest Durkin ever since the cabin was built, but he decided it no longer mattered. The whole damn place was going to be made into a freak show soon anyway. But at least it would get Lydia off his back. And with video cameras at Lorne Field, people would see what the Aukowies really were. They’d all learn soon enough that this was no joke.

He took the contract and the Book of Aukowies out of their hiding place and brought them back upstairs. He dropped them in front of the lawyer and told him to feel free to take a look at them. With the cursory glances the lawyer gave them, Durkin knew he had seen them before, which meant Lydia had found his hiding place. He felt better knowing that. He would’ve hated to think Bert would’ve been so sloppy as to leave the stones pushed only three-quarters of the way in.

“Why don’t you read the contract more carefully,” he suggested. “I got some questions for you about it.”

Minter showed him a puzzled smile. “What questions?”

“Let me show you.” Jack Durkin took the contract in his hands and ran a thick index finger down the vellum paper until he found the clause he was looking for. “About what it says here-” Durkin stopped for a moment to squint hard at the paper, then he read out loud: “No person may interfere with the Caretaker from carrying out his sacred duties.”

“Yes?”

“Can that be legally enforced?”

“What do you mean?”

“Jack,” Lydia interrupt, “don’t bother Mr. Minter with this.”

He ignored her and went on. “I think Sheriff Wolcott is planning to arrest me.”

Minter blinked stupidly, but kept smiling. “Why is he planning to do that?”

“He’s claiming I cut off my son’s thumb.”

Minter’s face fell. “What?”

“There was an accident today,” Lydia said. “Jack took our oldest boy, Lester, to that field to teach him how to weed and there was an accident.”

“Is that true, Mr. Durkin? Your son had an accident today?”

“Yep.”

“How-I mean, what happened?”

“My son lost his thumb.”

“Yes I know, that part I heard. How did it happen?”

“An Aukowie chewed it off.”

“What do you mean?”

Durkin shrugged. “Just what I said. Lester put his thumb too close to an Aukowie and it chewed it off.”

Minter looked from Durkin to Lydia hoping to see that this was some kind of joke. All he saw in Lydia’s face was resignation, and in Durkin’s a stubborn earnestness.

“You’re serious?” he said.

“That’s what happened.”

“And this is what you told Sheriff Wolcott?”