Visiting the Historical Society

It was a few days later, after school had gotten out that you found yourself at the local historical society, sitting before the historian in his tiny little office that was cluttered with books, yellowed maps, and old photographs from easily a hundred years ago.

The historian, a man by the name of Horace, was a small, rotund fellow perhaps a few years shy of seventy. His bald head was covered in liver spots and a few strings of vestigial white hair. His eyes were small and piggish. But he smiled at you and it seemed genuine.

“I knew your Grandfather,” he said by way of greeting. “Great man. He was good to us here.”

“He loved his history,” you agreed.

“A trait I understand he passed down to you,” Horace laughed. “Mayor Chapman speaks highly of you.”

You smiled, a big wide PR smile. “All things historical excite me.”

“Well, you find plenty of excitement here then,’ he rose to his feet and after a beat you did the same. “Come, let me show you.”

Shelves upon shelves of books lined the cavernous building, interrupted only by a few glass casings containing different items of various make and origin. Horace stopped by what looked to be a very old spear that had been snapped in half, the head fashioned by a strange dark, jagged stone you couldn’t recognise.

“The local indigenous tribe were quite resourceful,” the old man was saying. “A meteor struck the land, oh, four hundred years ago, and the locals made use of it in their weapons and ornaments.”

On your hand, you felt the ring pulse strangely, as if singing to the spearhead. But Horace had already moved on, gesturing a framed black and white picture of hospital. “St Helen’s,” he said, wistfully. “Burned down shortly before the start of World War II. Damned shame. Killed over fifty people.”

The two of you moved down several rows, “One of your tasks will be the maintenance and cleaning of the displays,” he said, “but don’t you worry, there’ll also be more stimulating tasks. We get several books, photos and other items donated to us every week. It’ll be on you to scan and archive them for our digital records.”

Eventually the two of you came to a stop in front of a bigger display case, and inside you recognised what appeared to be several weapons. Horace tapped at one in particular, a pistol. “Recognise this? It was your Grandpa’s, brought back after his tour of Vietnam.”

Truthfully, your grandfather’s military service was something rarely discussed by the family, but you didn’t have to pretend to be interested. “That’s incredible. It’s so well maintained.”

“Still fires,” the old man beamed, “or at least it would if we had any ammunition. But this is the level of care we take here, and I hope you understand that.”

“I do,” you replied. “Absolutely, I do. This place is,” you looked around, “amazing.”

Old Horace was pleased by the compliment, but soon fell silent. A thought occurred to him and he looked at you strangely. “So, I take it you’re involved with Mayor Chapman’s daughter?”

You felt he was being intrusive, but suppressed your irritation. “We’re…dating, yes.”

“Oh that is terrific. A Maywood and a Chapman, two of the blessed families united for the first time in centuries!”

You narrowed your eyes. “Blessed families?”

“What I meant to say is the founding families,” the old man amended hastily. “The five founding families of Silent Oaks.” He wiped at his mouth uneasily, and then let out a laugh, “but I think that’s enough talk for today. We’ll see to your duties tomorrow at 4, yes?”

The old man ushered you out with a wave and a nod, but your interest had been stoked by his slip up. As you stood outside the old building you went over the names of the six founding families. Your mother’s family, the Maywoods, the Chapmans, there was also the Smiths, the Halberts…but damn, who was the other family? The thought plagued you the entire walk home.

You were still lost in your thoughts as you came through the front door, but something snatched your attention back to the present. Voices. One of them was your mother’s, and the other…