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    One Spring in Cherryville
    One Spring in Cherryville
    One Spring in Cherryville
    Ebook39 pages28 minutes

    One Spring in Cherryville

    By Matthew Kressel

    ()

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    About this ebook

    A dying town. An abandoned factory. A buried secret. But in a town where everyone knows your name, secrets are hard to keep. And some things are best kept hidden from the light of day.

    About the Author

    Matthew Kressel is a multiple Nebula Award finalist and World Fantasy award Finalist. His first novel, King of Shards, was hailed as "Majestic, resonant, reality-twisting madness," from NPR Books. His award-nominated short fiction has appeared in many venues, including Tor dot com, Clarkesworld, Lightspeed, io9, Nightmare, Apex Magazine, and many anthologies. His work has been translated into six languages.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSenses Five Press
    Release dateNov 27, 2017
    ISBN9781386799139
    One Spring in Cherryville

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      Book preview

      One Spring in Cherryville - Matthew Kressel

      One Spring In Cherryville

      By Matthew Kressel

      Also by Matthew Kressel

      King of Shards

      An index of his short fiction can be found at:

      http://www.matthewkressel.net

      One Spring in Cherryville

      © Copyright 2016 Matthew Kressel

      Cover design by Kris Dikeman

      This is a work of fiction.

      1.

      We were four fools, Don, Vic, Lisa and me, smoking grass down by the old Newmann Furniture factory one Sunday afternoon. It was late May and the sweet lilacs and honeysuckle perfumed the air. They promised the deep glories of summer, soft cooling rains, languid days in Lisa's arms, blissful skinny-dips in the lake under the holy glow of the Milky Way. Newman Furniture was the pride of Cherryville in the '50s, or so my mom liked to say when she drank too much gin, which was always. But nature had since reclaimed it. Newman Furniture had become a rusted out shell, like dozens of factories in Cherryville, each a tombstone marking our nation's slow descent into irrelevance. Weeds poked up from cracks in cement poured half a century ago. In a few decades there'd be nothing here but forest.

      I don't know why we crawled through the fence. What was another empty factory? We'd all grown up in Cherryville. We'd cut school together and hid in the shadows of a million rusted walls and smoked Luckies and swigged cans of piss, a.k.a. Meister Brau, we'd smuggled in. Maybe we were just stoned, but I like to believe the factory was calling us.

      Since graduation, Don had worked at Earl's Meats and had been taking liberties with his employee discount, so the hole in the fence wasn't quite large enough for him, and Lisa and I had to yank him through. Lisa was tall and graceful, blue-eyed and ginger-haired, and we had been a thing since senior year, after I bummed a cigarette from her even though I don't smoke. Every day since I'd been saving for a ring, one minimum-wage hour at a time. One day my life packing groceries would end and together we'd leap like baby birds into the greater world.

      When the four of us had made it to the other side of the fence, Lisa said, Do you think anything's left inside?

      Ghosts, said

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