Sunday morning eccentricities

[Wolfman2006]

Since Mason’s return to Whisper Hill life has (as it does sometimes) slowed down to a calm crawl. Whisper Hill again demonstrated its ability to emulate or even surpass other old New England communities with it’s serene placidity. The snow withers away and hints of green begin to creep into the brown mosaics underneath the various pines, firs, and spruces.

For those who would notice such things; either due to cautionary paranoia, polite curiosity, friendly interest, or even hostile suspicion. Mason like most of the living things in and around this community, it appears is very much a creature of habit. Since his return he has mostly kept towards himself, spending most of his time (you would imagine) in or at the Hanley Halfway House. He has been seen combating winter’s wrath with household repairs, or upkeep on the yard, sometimes just sitting quietly on the front porch sipping a beer staring off thinking about heaven (or maybe hell) knows what. And yes he stops by the AAA diner to say hello, get his copies of the various newspapers. He shows genuine interest and care about the affairs of others, but it's as if he is always holding something back.

Every Sunday however Mason is nowhere to be seen for those who might look. His car remains in place, and good neighborly folk of Whisper Hill (such as they are) may say they’ve seen him walking yonder way. For those who would notice such things (many perhaps are their motivation) “yonder way” is in the direction of where Shadegrove once stood, the Powerplant, and for those who are aware of it’s existence (and significance): the Cave of Whispers. Maybe it is due to concern for his well being (the kind and considerate friend that you are), or perhaps you fear what his motives and agenda are (being what he is after all), or mayhap you simply wish to know where and what he is up to (its said that satisfaction did save that poor dead cat): should you choose to seek him out, he is not hard to find.

He wears a solemn face and walks with clear purpose, as he passes the burnt wreckage of Shadegrove. He wistfully glances at it and swallows to fortify himself (didn’t he or maybe Gus mention something about a fire?), before continuing on. The path that forks to the powerplant is ignored, and a much less well known trail by only a select few (although “few” may not really be accurate anymore) is taken; the Cave.

He walks directly to the cave stopping at the mouth as if indecisive if he truly wants to enter the lightless abyss of black stone. He takes of his hat, and enters. Now this is a particular conundrum for to follow him in will surely reveal your presence. And secrecy has its uses after all. Should you not wish to invade his privacy, it's best he not know you were there. Or if you wish for no suspicion to be laid upon you, his ignorance will serve you best. Perhaps waiting just outside the cave may reveal more?

He does not come out for some hours. When he does he places his hat back upon his head, shakes off some secret thought and walks home. Inside the Cave is all as it should be, he left it as you would expect to find it. Perhaps next Sunday? And sure enough he re-enters the cave as before. This time however you can hear the murmuring of speech. Straining your ears, there can be no doubt that is Mason’s voice, yet oddly enough there seems to be no one else partaking in this very one sided conversation. Should you be a patient, dedicated, or maybe tenacious individual this weekly ritual continues with the occasional difference varying week by week. Sometimes he stays for but a scarce hour, other times he is in there a long time. Sometimes you hear nothing but silence, before he leaves. Occasionally you hear him speak, to whom or of what is obscured. More than once you’ve heard an emotional cry, a passionate shout, and the painful sounding thud of a fist on stone. Those days when he leaves he often is nursing a bruised and swollen hand. A few times you see a faint greenish glow coming from his neck as he exits. Each week it's mostly the same, remove the hat; enter the cave, leave the cave, replace the hat. The last time you witness this Sunday ritual, a little bottle hanging from a necklace is seen openly for the first time. A familiar faint green glow emulates from within the bottle, and when Mason notices it’s exposure he immediately tucks it back under his shirt with protective concern. And with that he once again begins his journey home.