Kingshearth was about the definition of small town America, all the way down to the tiny stores lining the streets, wooden signs with welcoming messages beckoning you inside, and the clean streets themselves, far removed from all of the litter and crap I was used to. The whole thing was disquieting. I felt like I had been dropped straight into one of those old-fashioned TV shows about wholesome values and the bonds of family and some other bull like that. I almost felt like there were a million eyes watching me, like they were critiquing me, judging that I didn't belong here. Straight up big city boy in a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere, a cliché if I ever saw one. I couldn't care less. I wasn't here for me.

The kind ol' cabbie that dragged me to this god-forsaken place had been gracious enough to discard my bag on the sidewalk. And by discard, I meant it in that he practically tossed the thing through the air a few feet until it was clear from the road. Luckily there hadn't been anything fragile in there. Hospitality was a long forgotten art, not that I had ever really been on the receiving end of it to begin with. Wasn't usually on the giving end of it either, so what could you do? He hadn't gotten too much of a tip, and probably wouldn't have gotten any if it weren't for the fact that the man looked like he could snap me in two with his pinky. Somewhere along the lines he must have abandoned his career as freakishly powerful body-builder in favor of driving around a stupid yellow car for the rest of his life. Who could blame him? Certainly not me.

So I sauntered over to my bag, trying to look about as nonchalant as possible for my non-existent crowd, and scooped it up over my left shoulder. My right hand was already preoccupied with holding tight to the entire reason for this little vacation, a small package with some mysterious contents. Nondescript, just brown paper tied with string hiding its content from my eyes. Written in handwriting that could have only been my mother's was Arthur Drake, 32 Walnut Street, Kingshearth, PA. There wasn't anything entirely dangerous in there, I was sure, but I had been asked not to open it, and it wasn't exactly a promise I could break in all good conscience. The curiosity was still paramount in my mind, though, let me tell you now. No doubt I would, if at all possible, sit myself close and ask the recipient to open it while I was still there. It would bug me endlessly if I never found out what was inside the box, even though I had my suspicions. Besides, it would probably be better if I stuck around, at least if my guess proved correct. It'd be pretty stupid to just run off if I was right.

One thing was definitely bugging me about this town. I glanced at my watch and confirmed that it was right around seven, still far too early for the place to be as deserted as it was. I could see two silhouettes a ways off, what looked like a younger couple, but that was it. Even in a place like this I'd have expected somebody to be doing something. Looked like I was dead wrong, and I actually found that bothering me.

The Kingshearth Inn wasn't far, my bag being graciously tossed right in front of the building, and I was done with the quiet sights for the night. Besides, the wind had started to pick up, and I had not been prepared for the cold sting it had brought along with it. Taking both my bag and the package, I made my way inside the building I would be calling home for the next couple nights. My return flight was booked the day after tomorrow, so until then I needed to get my room.

When it said "inn," it really meant it. While the outside of the building looked modern, the inside looked like something ripped straight out of some old fantasy story. Wood floors and walls, some tables for eating or socializing, an old-looking fireplace with a soft, warm fire going; basically it was exactly the kind of thing you thought of when it came to inns, which means that it seemed they succeeded with their intention. Building on all of that, the place just felt comfortable.

I noticed a few men sitting at one of the tables near the fire, just quietly talking with a beer resting in front of each of them. They seemed to be having a good time. Quiet socialization wasn't something I normally associated with people that were drinking, and it just seemed to add to the surreal feeling of the place. Eventually one of the men seemed to notice me looking, and simply nodded in my direction. Not sure of what to do, I simply returned the gesture. He went back to his conversation like nothing had ever happened, and I simply ended up moving on as well, finally approaching the front desk.

Even the front desk looked usual, giving off more of the feeling of an old bar instead of a hotel check-in station. In fact, there was a small shelf on the rear wall with what appeared to be a few random assortments of alcohol and the like. No brands I recognized, not that I was well versed in the stuff. It made sense that they had different stuff out here. Maybe locally brewed or something of the sort.

Above the assorted alcohol was a large picture that depicted what appeared to me a clock tower of some sort. Full-guess it was somewhere in town, or at least had been. I got the impression that the people here wouldn't be too embarrassed about marketing their town and its history.

"Welcome to the Kingshearth Inn. Are you here for a room?"

The girl had to have popped out from thin air, because one second she wasn't there, and then she magically was walking toward me from my left. She was on my side of the desk, and I noticed a door swinging closed back from where she had come from. Obviously an employee section of some sort, though I had turned too late to see what exactly was on the other side of the door.

She was cute in her own way, but not the kind of cute I usually went for. She was taller than most, maybe checking in at about six feet even, and had the exact same shade of brown hair I had: mousy. She also had a beautiful pair of green eyes and what appeared to be a light dotting of freckles, though I couldn't exactly tell in that light. What screamed at me about her features, though, was what appeared to be a birthmark, a small "S" shaped mark that was pressed into the upper regions of her neck, just above the neckline of her shirt. Not sure why exactly I noticed that, but it seemed to be drawing me in. She had to be about my age, but was possibly a bit younger.

It took a moment for me to remember that she was standing there just politely waiting for my answer. Feeling like an idiot, I just started speaking.

"I called in a reservation. Sebastian Ford."

The girl's eyes flashed at the mention of my name. All at once, she suddenly vaulted over the counter and ducked down out of my sight. I would have thought she was hiding from me if not for the fact that I could clearly hear what appeared to be the sounds of things being shifted around. I decided to set my bag down on the floor to give my arm a rest and to give myself a free hand. I held tight to the package, though. Eventually she reemerged from below the desk with a large green book in her hand that had the word Reservations cleanly handwritten in marker across the front. It was covered with a noticeable layer of dust.

She took the book and began flipping through it. I noticed a pattern with the pages as she went: they were all empty. I didn't see a single page with a name marked down, though there did appear to be little doodles sketched throughout it from time to time. She finally flipped to the page of March 2nd, and there, in glorious splendor, was my name. And I wasn't being sarcastic with that splendor thing, either. My name had been written in big bold letters, with small little pictures of exciting looking things scattered all around it. I noticed what appeared to be a few gold stars, stickers that had been put on the page to decorate it further. I was feeling pretty special, and then all at once I just felt terrible for the inn; if there was this much fanfare from some random reservation, things didn't seem to be looking up for the place.

"Here you are, Mr. Ford. I, uh, hadn't realized that we'd had a reservation at all. Silly right? Single room, correct?"

The girl looked up at me, waiting. I just wasn't used to being referred to as "Mr. Ford." It just didn't feel right. Didn't feel normal.

"Yes. Single please."

The girl just held her hand out, and I received what was balled up inside. A key. Not the usual keycard you're used to from hotels and the like, but a real key, attached to a moderately significant weight. It would have been even heavier than I had expected if I had been expecting anything of the sort at all.

"You're in Room 4, right down that hall."

She motioned to my right and my eyes followed the invisible line her action had drawn. A small hallway, just a few rooms. Maybe eight, likely six. It was hard to tell from my angle.

"If you need anything, just, uh, let me know. My name's Peggy. I'll be up here a few hours more. I guess"

I could tell that she meant to shake hands and so I obliged. She just didn't look like a Peggy to me, but then again that may have been because I tended to think of Peggy as an old-lady-name, the kind of name a person took on once they were past their prime just because it meshed well with their current station. Obviously not true, because this girl seemed to be a bundle of nerves and about as excited as possible. Was a reservation really enough to do that? Sad, I tell you.

A quick thanks and an awkward moment later and I was on my way, bag once again retrieved from the floor, to my room. There were six rooms in the hallway, like I had been leaning toward. I was the second on the right. Room 4, just for me. I fumbled with the key for a moment before the door actually decided to let me pass. The room was a bit better than I had been expecting.

It was spacious, not something I would have thought a possibility. The kind of sized room you got with two beds, not one, and with there only being a single bed, the place just looked a good deal larger. I took my bag over to the closet, intending just to throw it inside. I wouldn't be here long enough to justify unpacking. I opened the closet and was greeted with what appeared to be more of an extremely small room. I took a few steps inside to marvel at it. It wasn't exactly large enough that I would consider it "walk-in," but it was still a good deal larger than my closet back home. Being envious of a hotel room was a sour place to be. Not like I really needed the space, anyway. I had a single bag full of clothes and a small picture of my mother. It just felt right bringing her along with me.

My bag discarded, I still found myself struggling to figure out what to do with the package. Keeping it with the bag just seemed disrespectful, at least to me. Looking around the room, there weren't a whole lot of places I could put it. At the end of the room was a window facing out toward the street in front of the building; that much I could tell by simple sense of direction. Right next to the window was an old table. It looked mahogany, as did the two chairs resting beside it. The table was what I found to be the beginning to quite the obvious trend. On the left wall, on the same side of the room as the closet and bathroom, was the bed. The thing was huge, and rested in a beautiful wooden frame, the exact same shade as the table. It looked handcrafted, but I wasn't enough of an expert to tell. To the right of the bed was a small nightstand, also made of the same wood. Last was the desk across the room from the bed, resting up against the other wall. Needless to say, it was the exact same wood as everything else. Yeah, these people obviously thought that older wooden furniture added to the feel of the place. I had to agree.

I decided to place the package on the desk, right between the telephone and the oldish TV, directly under the picture of what appeared to be a flowery field. Done with that, I fell onto the bed face-first. I had no idea what I was going to be doing for the next couple hours before I went to sleep. The bed smelled strongly of fabric softener and my eyes practically began to water. I flipped onto my back as fast as I could to get some fresh air. Thoughts of a few things that I could do for the night flittered through my mind, most of which were located inside of my bag, but instead of getting up and finding them, I didn't move. The bed was comfortable, and not doing anything was becoming more and more appealing. I hadn't stopped moving, at least mentally, in weeks. Getting a chance to just stop was refreshing. I needed it.

I noticed the package resting on the desk out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look at it again. I wanted it gone, but the thought of getting rid of it was troubling. It was as much of a memento as anything I had left from her, and I was forced to just hand it away. It was a small part of her, and what exactly would giving it away mean? It had been a few months, but the pain wasn't gone. It wouldn't be gone in a few more months, either.

I could still feel my mother's hand. She still had tried to grip her hand tight around mine as I pulled her from the wreckage, and even through that one action I had been able to tell just how weak she had become. By the time I had set her down on the pavement, she had lost all strength and her hand was limp in mine. I rubbed my thumb against her palm, but there was no response. She just felt cold to the touch. No matter what I did, she never answered. That weak attempt to comfort me, to speak to me, was the last thing she ever did.

In moments the package was back in my hand and tucked into the darkest corner of the closet. I didn't need that dark reminder staring at me as I tried to sleep. Those memories would haunt me one way or the other; I didn't need to make things any easier.

Hello friends. For new readers, nice to meet you. For old readers, it's been a while. This is just a short story I wrote for a creative writing class. I figured, hey, why not just throw it up on fictionpress. I have no intention of getting this published, and because of that there's no harm in giving people something to read. Besides, it's fun to be able to get some feedback on stuff I wrote. I know the story's a bit different than my usual stuff, but I figure that's a good thing. So yeah, this is part 1 of 4. I plan on releasing part 2 tomorrow, and then 3 and 4 both on Saturday, considering they're both pretty short and add up to about the size of the first two parts. I hope you enjoy it, and, like always, I appreciate if you'll give me a bit of reviewing love. It's a bunch of fun for me to see what you guys think, good or bad. So read, review, enjoy, and take a moment to smile. It makes the whole day better. Zake out!