Withering Flats, part one

Today, coming from the storied vaults of Memory’s Old Literary Domain, where the shows of yestertimes just don’t get any better, it’s drama, suspense and romance from Withering Flats, the small town in the Heartland of Decency and Family Values. Yes, dear old Withering Flats, where men are men, women are women, children are seen and not heard (unless written into the script) and tongues (when they aren’t wagging about the neighbors) are planted firmly in cheeks where they belong.

This morning we find our protagonist and hero, down right up right Clem Clum, out searching by the railroad tracks, looking for his sweetheart, the twinkle of his thoughts, the bell of his heart and the apple of his smile, sweet Janee Trubloo. It was very important that he find her for she was last seen in the company of that archfiend, that despoiler of good manners, that vicious and dastardly unsavory character, nasty Nick Nak.

The train track switch house operator, Mr. Wuntrak was sitting outside his little shelter near the big switch that moved the tracks to send trains to the left or right, depending on their cargo.
“Hello, Mr. Wuntrak,”Clem called out in greeting, “Have you seen Janee or Nick about at all today?”

The old man looked up from his dozing focus on the ground in front of him and sputtered, “Eh...huh? What’s that?” And, upon looking closer as Clem approached, said, “Oh it’s you, youngster. What’s that you say?”

“I’m looking for Janee Trubloo and Nick Nak and I was wondering if you’d seen them,” Clem repeated as he stopped along the track bed near Mr. Wuntrak’s chair. “It’s really important!”

“Hmmm,” mused the grizzled veteran of countless decades along the tracks, “Seems to me I saw a couple of whippersnappers this morning. They wanted to know if that silly, new-fangled passenger express was due soon. I told them it had already gone by, off to the left into the city and good riddance. Then they wanted to know about the slow and steady freight that goes right to the industrial mills with all the important stuff for industry, and I told ‘em it wasn’t due until late this afternoon. Gotta keep to the schedule, you know.”

“Was Janee okay, Mr. Wuntrak?”asked Clem, seeming a bit anxious.

“Janee? Was she the one gagged with her hands tied behind her back? She didn’t say much... grunted a lot. She seemed well enough to me. It was the other one all dressed in black that did the talking,” was the answer. “Seemed a nice polite boy,” Mr. Wuntrak continued.

“Did he say where he was taking her?” asked Clem, a bit more nervously.

“Well, it seems to me he said something about Woodinpate’s new saw mill, but I warn’t payin’ too much attention ‘cause I gotta mind the track,” replied old Mr. Wuntrak

“Now you skeedaddle, young man, you’re too young to be playing about these here tracks, it’s a dangerous place,” shaking his finger and standing up to emphasize his point and then over-balancing on his wobbly legs and falling onto the nearer rail.

“Eh?” he grunted, “Where’d you go?” he wondered, as Clem hurried over and helped him back up.

“Oh, there you are,” getting his bearings again. “What was I saying?” he wondered out loud.

“You were telling me I’m too young to be near the tracks, but I was forty-two last October, Mr. Wuntrak,” Clem voiced.

“What’s that? Forty-two? Yessir, that’s what I said, too young to be around here. Now move along home, your mother is probably wondering where you are and I’ve got to get ready for the train... it’s due in a couple hours and the track needs to be switched.”

“Okay,” said Clem, “thanks, Mr. Wuntrak!” as he scurried off.

“Maybe I should try Mr. Woodinpate’s new saw mill,” Clem spoke to himself, as he hurried back along the way he came, desperate to find them. He turned down the path through the woods and headed back toward town.

Coming up to the old mill a few minutes later he was greeted by the loudly abrasive sounds of lumber being sawn into planks. Stepping through the open door he was greeted with a spray of saw dust and wood chips as the vibrant buzz of the big blade screamed into a fresh log. Mr. Woodinpate was standing by the long lever that operated the belt-driven conveyor that ran the log into the whirling teeth. The log finished its run through, the newly hewn plank falling off onto the rollers along side of the belt platform. The plank slid along the slight downslope of the rollers as the angle of their plane tilted to the left causing the plank to fall into a large, long bin holding several other freshly cut planks. Mr. Woodinpate pulled the lever, stopping the forward motion of the belt, then flipped a small switch in the box next to the lever and pushed the lever forward again putting the belt into reverse, bringing the log back to the front of the saw once more.

As he stopped the conveyor after the log had been pulled back far enough, Clem shouted out, “Mr. Woodinpate! It’s Clem Clump!”

Mr. Woodinpate flipped the small switch again, pushed the long lever forward to start the conveyor’s motion toward the saw once more then turned, saw Clem, lowered his eyebrows in suspicion and shouted, “Hey there, what are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for Janee Trubloo and Nick Nak, have you seen them?” Clem shouted above the shrill whine of the blade.

“Hold your horses, young man, there’s too much noise here,” shouted back Mr. Woodinpate as the blade tore noisily into the log again.

He reached over to a nearby upright beam and pulled off a large pair of sound proofing head gear from a hook, pulled them on over his ears and said, “That’s better,” with a contented smile as the log kept screaming into the saw, “now I can talk,” then he looked at Clem again and scowled with suspicion, “You’re not one of those danged perverted tree-hugger types are you?”

“Oh no, sir” Clem shook his head, “I’m looking for Janee Trubloo and Nick Nak and I was wondering if you had seen them.”

“Confounded tree-huggers,” continued Mr. Woodinpate, not hearing Clem’s query, or anything else for that matter, “Can’t trust ‘em and don’t want to. All they want to do is grow things. If they had their way, pretty soon we’d all be overrun with trees and we wouldn’t have any lumber to build things!”

“No, Mr. Woodinpate,” protested Clem, “I just want to know if you’ve seen Janee or Nick!”

But Mr. Woodinpate was lost in his own musings, and said, “Why just the other day I was out cutting down a prime specimen to make lumber for the new tourist office for the Visitor’s Bureau and some busybodies tried to stop me saying some silly thing about that tree being the main attraction of the town,” he fumed, getting into his subject.

“Well, of course it would be something to look at, it was a wonderfully large oak, hundreds of years old! Did they think I was stupid and wanted to cut down some scrawny little sapling? Sheesh, it’s no wonder those tree-hugger saps are so ignorant and full of ridiculous ideas trying to stop progress,” he was getting more into his story.

“So I told them if they wanted tourists to look at it, then hang up a picture of it in the new building. Then I knocked a few of those protesters down and had Sheriff Blyndors lock the rest up until I was done,” he finished with smug satisfaction. “I showed those wacko’s a thing or two, and told them that when the trees are all gone then I’ll go ahead and stop!”

And with that, he turned and pulled the lever to stop the conveyor, which had long since finished running the log through the saw. He flipped the small switch, pushed the lever once more, brought the remaining log back, pulled the lever to stop it, flipped the small switch again, then before putting the conveyor in motion again, twisted to Clem and said, “Go on, sonny, just like I told that nice young fella earlier today who wanted to cut up his rolled up, lumpy carpet, I’m too busy keeping this place running to be bothered with unimportant, mundane things like anyone else’s problems,” and he pushed the lever forward sending what remained of the log into the hungry saw once more.

“Thanks, Mr. Woodinpate,” shouted Clem as he turned and left.

Walking back into town, Clem was at a loss as to where to try next. He thought, that since Mr. Woodinpate had mentioned him, to try Sheriff Blyndors and ask if he had seen Janee or Nick. He was beginning to get worried that his searching would get him to the focus of his concern too late!

... to be continued ...

Oh my, dear readers! What ever will happen? Will Clem find Janee and Nick in time? Will Nick find a place he can act out his evil plans? Will Sheriff Blyndors see the need for action? Will I stop asking these silly questions? Find out tomorrow in the conclusion of this episode of Withering Flats!

Written by Michael Steven Platt 4-19-09