prologue "Souls Encounter" (temp. title) by minea

PROLOGUE

It was early Autumn and all the tourists were finally packing up and going back to the city. They left in droves, with their boats and bicycles and tired children eager to return to school.

Now the people of Matachewan could relax and count their profits made from the busy summer. Carnivals, food vendors and Bed and Breakfasts would all be shut down until next year.

The lakes and forests seemed empty now, without any boaters or hikers or campers, but many of the local people preferred it that way. The majority of locals were retired senior citizens who enjoyed the peace and quiet the little town offered, going to bingo every Saturday and to church on Sunday. In contrast the younger ones struggled to make ends meet with dreams of leaving the uninteresting place to start anew. They could travel three hundred kilometers and reach the big city of Toronto, or remain within a few miles radius of a another town if they didn’t mind driving long distances to work. But for the timid ones who feared leaving their families and all they ever knew, there wasn’t much of a choice.

Matachewan was more precisely a village since it held a population of just over three hundred people. Driving along the highway one could miss the turnoff if they weren’t paying attention to the road signs. However with a good map and a trained eye, one could see a red and blue poster ten feet from the road, partly hidden in the bushes, which read:

WELCOME TO THE VILLAGE OF MATACHEWAN. POPULATION 308.

Newcomers made the usual jokes - What happens if one person moves or dies, or someone has a baby? Will they change the number on the sign?

Drifters came and went. Fifty years ago everyone there knew what everyone else owned and did for a living, but times had changed and now there were as many unfamiliar faces as there were familiar ones walking around. That didn’t take away from the pleasantness or the beauty of the area though. In the downtown section there was a post office, general store, hardware store, police station, and two small family-owned restaurants. Uptown was made up of a public school, marina, hotel, fire station and community center. The large stretch of the Matachewan River could be seen while driving along the main street, and was home to a picturesque lighthouse watching over the village.

On the quieter outskirts of town, neighbors were few and far between, and everyone had their own large chunk of privacy to enjoy. If one were to pick a random road to follow down they would find at most two occupied houses and several cottages locked up for the winter, but nothing more except surrounding wilderness. Running around were lots of deer and raccoons, the odd moose and bear, and every kind of wild bird imaginable.

The tall forests were sources of firewood, which many people needed for the bitterly cold winters there, and also gallons of maple syrup came from the trees which was a popular item for tourists to buy. For the handful of artists around, Matachewan was the best place to be since the majestic surroundings seemed to fan the fires of imagination and creativity in sculpting, drawing, painting, and wood carving.

However, during the eight-month long dull winters even the most creative ones got bored and the beauty of nature seemed to grow dull and plain. For some, this problem could easily be overcome by just getting into a car and driving to a different place for the weekend, depending on the weather and road conditions. Things got very slippery and for the people who had to drive to work every morning it was tedious travelling, so why risk it on the weekends if it wasn’t necessary?

It was easy to forget about those who lived deep in the woods with no car or means to escape, perhaps because they were ill or didn’t enjoy walking several hours to reach town. For them, things began to look dreary and painfully dull. Hopes and dreams seemed unreachable, and depression set in like a year-long bout of the flu, taking its toll on even the healthiest body and mind.

How was one to survive with no close relatives or friends, no transportation, living in what could be called the middle of a frozen nowhere? The answer was they couldn’t, and sadly the Matachewan police had a collection of empty gun shells which proved that.

One of the lonely forest dwellers named Rosetta Wilson didn’t have a gun, however she did have a razor blade and a rope.

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