Tales from Oakville, Part 1

Kelly squinted at the words, trying to make the print line up properly. Since the power had gone their job had become immensely more difficult. She couldn’t imagine trying to do this paste-up nonsense every day. A weekly paper was more than enough.

“Hey Jim,” she called without looking up from her work, “Usage for ‘wolfman’?”

The clack of the typewriter never ceased. “Wolfman singular, usually for a particular werewolf. Werewolf for general use. Plural werewolves.”

Kelly straightened and stretched. “So is this talking about The Wolfman? Like…The Wolfman.”

Jim stopped typing and looked up. His eyes were tired, his face haggard. He hadn’t shaved in a week. “Just print it up, Kelly.”

They didn’t bother with bylines anymore. Jim and Kelly were the only ones left to put out the Live Oak Ledger. Reggie, before he’d vanished, had joked that they should change the name to the Dead Oak Ledger. Nobody laughed.

Kelly looked at her watch. “I need to call the guys soon. We print in an hour.”

“Paperboys,” Jim muttered. He resumed typing. “Those poor bastards. They lost another man yesterday. Tell them to avoid 6th. Mummy spotting.”

“We have fifteen subscribers on 6th.”

Jim looked up at her over his glasses. “Not anymore.”

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