Anathema Read Online Free

remarked, glancing over his shoulder. He found it hard to believe that anyone who looked like a walking toothpick would be much of a threat to anyone. “He looks pretty harmless."
    "He is. Most people just laugh him off."
    The door opened again and a man dressed in a white jumpsuit entered. He walked directly over to Jim.
    "I know who you are,” the man with the wild eyes and pasty skin said, “and I know why you're here. The children told me."
    "You know you're not supposed to be in here,” Jarvis said. “Now scram."
    "But I have to tell him about the children. He has to know."
    Sheriff Ebert came into the bar. Ebert was a big man, not fat, but muscular. A shock of dusty brown hair poked from beneath his cap. He immediately grabbed the vagrant's arm.
    "Come on, you know you're not supposed to leave the hospital.” Ebert lowered his voice to a whisper and dropped his gaze to the floor.
    Prairie Rest had its secrets: Jake Malone, Carleton Green, Pete Underdahl, but Honeybrook Asylum was the town's dirtiest because it can't be hidden. It's right there for the entire world to see. Like a blackhead on the porcelain face of a teenage girl.
    The asylum was a group of five, red granite buildings that sat on thirty acres of land about a mile and a half west of town. One of the four smaller buildings was the staff's residence; the other three were divided into apartments where the elderly who were forgotten or abandoned by their families could live out the rest of their days in relative comfort. The main building housed patients who needed more supervision than those in the apartments.
    A ten-foot cement wall surrounded the acreage of Honeybrook, but every once in a while, a patient managed to scale the wall and wander into town.
    "But he needs to know about the children,” the vagrant whispered back to the sheriff. “Someone has to tell him."
    "I'm sure he'll be just fine,” the sheriff remarked, gently leading the patient out of the bar and into the squad car.
    "Poor guy.” Jim finished the rest of his whiskey. “Who is he?"
    "Dunno,” Jarvis lied. “He wandered into town one day crazier than a lesbian in a room full of cracks.” The bartender refilled Jim's glass. “So, what brings you to Prairie Rest? Research for your next book?"
    "Actually, I live here now. I bought the old Miller place."
    The bartender's jaw creaked open like a rusty hinge, and the color drained from his already pale face. His hand shook so violently, he spilled booze all over the bar. Unconsciously, he touched the cross that hung from his neck.
    "The old Miller place, huh?” He tried to keep his voice as calm as possible as he sopped up the mess with a towel he'd taken from the waist of his pants. “Pretty run-down, ain't it?"
    "Yeah, that it is,” Jim admitted. “Thought I might fix ‘er up. I'm in between books right now and thought it might be fun to do something else for a while."
    Jarvis was about to fill the glass again, but Jim stopped him.
    "I think I've had enough for now. I kinda wanna check out the rest of the town. See what it has to offer.” Jim reached for his wallet. “How much for the drinks?"
    "Forget about it,” Jarvis said. “They're on the house. First visit and all that."
    "Well, thanks.” Jim slid off the barstool. “That's real kind of you. I'm sure I'll see you again."
    "Yes, I'm sure you will."
    Once Jim left, Jarvis collapsed into the chair next to the beer cooler. His heart thumped in his chest. His legs felt like overcooked spaghetti. Beads of cold sweat erupted on his forehead and tumbled down his temples.
    The Miller place. Good Lord in Heaven, he'd bought the Miller place.
    "Jake. Jake Monroe,” Jarvis said once he'd composed himself. He poured a pitcher of beer from the tap and set it on the bar. “Why don't you and your friends belly up to the bar here and keep an eye on things for a while. I need to go see Larry Taft."
    That said, Jarvis disappeared out the back door.
    * * * *
    Lawrence Taft Reality