The Mill
by
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They sat and talked about how Fred’s new position was going. Fred said that he really enjoyed it and the responsibility that went with it. After having three beers and watching an old rerun on the television with Sam, Fred decided to go for a walk to see what was going on in the neighborhood. It was a bright sunny day out and the warmest that it had been for a long time. He took a few hits off his pot pipe, put on his sneakers, and headed out the door. Sam asked, “When you get back we’ll go to the store for some beer, okay?”
“Sure Sam, anything you want.” Just as he finished saying that the door shut behind him.
Fred headed in the direction of The
Mill for no particular reason, but sub-consciously, as he wrote later that
night, he wanted to see if he’d have any more episodes. This has to be my imagination and just my
mind playing tricks on me. It was as if
there was a magnet drawing me toward The Mill.
Was it his imagination, or was there something there?
At the top of the hill that led down to The Mill, he paused. The feeling that brought him this far was far too strong to resist. The gate was locked, so he turned onto the roadway that went around The Mill. As he rounded the corner at the far end of the road that led back to the main road, he felt relieved. “So far, so good.” But just then he heard, “Fred help us, Freddie come back, we need you.” The voice was different this time from the first three times. This time it sounded like a small crowd of people that had mixed voices of old, young, male, and female. He took off running toward the main road. Turning around to take one last look at The Mill, he noticed a group of figures that had been formed in the smoke coming out of the exhaust of the heat-treat area. He stopped to rub his eyes to make sure he was seeing what he saw, and as he opened his eyes the figures seemed to be drawn back into the building, disappearing at the same time.
When he got home, he went to the store with Sam as he said he would. When they got back, he took a beer to his room. He sat on his bed holding his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth not knowing what to do. He decided to smoke some pot. I thought to myself as I read, Fred depended on beer and pot to make everything all right. Sunday ended with Fred staying in his room, only coming out for a beer and to use the bathroom.
June 14, 1997, This has to
stop one way, or the other.
Sam woke Fred up the next morning after he hadn’t heard Fred’s alarm go off. Sam had already made the coffee when Fred came out, so all he had to do was grab a cup and run out the door, so he wouldn’t be late. All the way to The Mill, Fred was thinking that he had to concentrate...he was there by himself, and if he let this stuff get to him he wouldn’t be able to perform. He made it to the time clock with only two minutes to spare. He was headed down the stairs to the heat-treat area when he heard, “Fred, Fred,” in almost the same tone as the voices he had been hearing. Turning around quickly, he shouted, “Leave me alone!” He was surprised to see Andy sneaking a few drags off a cigarette and realized that it must have been him he had heard. Andy wanted to know if Fred wanted any, but Fred shook his head and hurried to his area.
See ya at break, dude,” Andy yelled after him.
In heat-treat, Fred couldn’t concentrate at all. The voices kept asking for his help, for him not to leave, and for him to kill. Over and over again the same phrases...the only thing that changed was the tone. Sometimes it was a female; mostly they were males, young and old. There was no place that he could go to escape them. They seemed to follow him...never letting up, always persistent. He started to see more and more human faces and figures coming from all five ovens. He would turn his head away from them, and when he turned back they would be gone. Somehow he managed to do his job and do it well enough that no one noticed his conversations with the voices he was hearing. If they did, he would surely be called crazy and probably lose his job. At the end of the day, as he headed for the time clock, all of a sudden he felt a draft that gave him a huge whiff of the smoke from the ovens.
This time that smoke from all the ovens formed into the figures he had seen before. They appeared to surround him as he spun in all directions looking for a way to escape. His movement was stopped abruptly, as if something had frozen him in place. Panic set in and before Fred knew it he felt something engulf his whole being. Looking down, he saw one of the cloudy figures moving up his body. This entire cloud entered his nose and mouth until it vanished completely. He immediately started to choke violently and fell to the floor.
He searched around as he tried to get his breath to find someone to help him. But then the large cloud was gone and he could now move freely. The end of the day buzzer sounded, and as he punched out he looked around and saw that everything appeared normal near the ovens. He turned and ran up the stairs to get out of there as fast as he could. He looked back once more and saw nothing unusual. He continued to hear the voices until he left the building, but now they seemed more intense and much c
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About the Book
What happens to us when we die? This is a question with many different
answers. The most common answer is that
we go to hell or heaven. But, what lies
after death for those whose death goes unnoticed or if the ones responsible for
our death go unprosecuted? They say
when an individual dies everything about them dies with them. That’s not always true especially when one
dies at The Mill.
The Mill is a family owned and operated business
that has been handed down from one generation to the next. For Paul, Arthur, and Ruth work at The Mill
was expected, and necessary to make ends meet.
What happened to these three people and others while working there would
forever change things for the family that owned The Mill. Through a series of events, death would come
to Paul, Arthur, Ruth, and others, but the one thing that wouldn’t die would be
their need for revenge.
About the Author
Tracy Lamphere was born and raised in Vermont. He takes basic human needs and desires, and adds them to his twisted imagination to tell his stories about his home state and other places he has traveled. The Mill is just the first story he has to tell about Vermont. He has always believed that if one dies unexpectedly...their soul remains trapped until their issues can be resolved. Through his writing, Tracy explores this possibility and shows what the result can be. He also wants everyone to know that Vermont is not just known for its maple syrup and ice cream, but that every picturesque town in Vermont’s countryside has a story to be told.