Kyle chewed his bottom lip, one last meal before his untimely death. He trudged to Dr. Z's desk, warily eyeing the miniature crane that still resembled a makeshift gallows.

Dr Z eased himself into a sturdy oak chair situated behind his desk, pouring a tired and old body into its graciously forgiving support. He heaved a heartily contented sigh as his creeky bones expressed ecstatic reprieve from gravity's ceaseless assault. The chair, a credit to its maker, only mewled once. All at once, he settled backwards into a relaxed posture and turned his gaze onto Kyle, who looked crestfallen, as if a funeral dirge echoed in the background. The teacher, though tired from constantly pacing and shouting through his entire lecture, presented a warm smile, hoping to tranquilize Kyle's alarm.

"Come, Mr. Cemtes, I'm not going to punish you," he said. "The fact is, I'm quite impressed you finally participated in class today."

Kyle eased his shoulders down slightly. What? What did he just say? No warning bells clamored through his brain, and Dr. Z seemed sincere. He just hoped it wasn't the sincerity of a wolverine preparing to viciously deprive him of his face.

"See? Nothing to worry about," he assured. "The fact is, you're new here and I understand you're still acquainting yourself with the social and educational aspects of this admittedly paltry facility. But you've broken your silence today, which is a very commendable first step!"

"Ye–yessir," Kyle stammered, still worried of some unmentioned ulterior motive waiting to render him spleen-less. He eyed Dr. Z suspiciously.

Unlike Kyle, the wily teacher defined perception and instantly recognized the leery stare directed at him; he laughed. "Kyle! I know you may not believe this, but we educators are also composed of flesh and bone. In fact, for this conversation, just call me James." He waited for Kyle to acknowledge the temporary informality.

"Well, I can see you're still not quite at-ease with your surroundings. Understandable, understandable. But you let your guard down today, and you said what you thought. That's how we learn, boy! If you were wrong, I would have corrected you, perhaps making the lesson more obvious. Don't think of me merely as some authority figure, greedily wringing my hands while fiendishly devising methods of tormenting you for my entertainment! That's what my children are for." He smiled at the last statement, fully aware his daughter had a son Kyle's age. "Tell me you understand?"

"I... Yes. Yes sir." Don't think of him as an authority figure? Kyle started to question Dr. Z's sanity; nobody ever renounced authority.

"Hmmm," he said, unconvinced. "It's a start anyway. Kyle, I know you're skeptical, but I am completely serious. I'm in authority, yes, but that doesn't necessarily mean I deserve blind obedience. I strive to earn the respect my students pay me, otherwise I risk becoming a hypocritical tyrant. The day I lose sight of the noble goal of educating pupils and revert to ruling them, I have failed, and will immediately tender my resignation. That's why you're here right now, young man: I wish to earn a little of your respect, as you've started the long road of capturing mine.

"But first, I have a question or two," he said, suddenly serious. "I've seen you exploring the area on occasion by yourself. You strike me as a thinker. So why? Why roam the streets with no company?" he asked, two questions rolled into one.

"I like to walk," he said, echoing his boilerplate response, a reflex built through years of such inquiries. "I just do. It's relaxing. I had friends back in the city, too! We built club-houses, played baseball. Oh yeah! We went to watch the Detroit Tigers cream the Browns! Rudy was killin' 'em!" Kyle, overtaken with excitement at remembering that September game, discarded his anxiety and tapdanced on the remains.

"But you don't care about any of that," he started, "I've been to Jason's place, and Zerb's. But I walk by myself, dig?" He quickly clamped a hand over his mouth; slang probably crossed an invisible informality line, straight into obscene, and firmly embedded in that's quite enough, sir, territory.

Dr. Z continued his smile. "That's what I thought, Mr. Cemtes. I commend it, really. I'm sure you keep safe, and so forth. But I have a favor I hope you'll entertain."

Kyle waited, now relaxed and glad to accommodate.

"Actually, you'll probably enjoy this anyway, so maybe I'm doing you a favor," he chuckled. "You see, though you probably wandered far and wide, possibly even to Craig's Hill, which anyone under the age of thirty scales with impunity, but unless you know where to look, you probably don't know about Old Town."

Kyle shook his head. Old Town? He wondered what kind of ridiculous decision bequeathed such a generic name. At least it wasn't Olde Towne.

"Yes. Quaint, and quite literal name, I'm afraid. Old Town was the ancestor of Tammond Dale, back before the fire of 1888 reduced it to ruins. The cruel among the townsfolk refer to it as the Summer of Crazy Eights. And I'm certain you've not ventured there, not because the old road is boarded up, plastered with numerous angry signs warning trespassers, but because the situation is quite reversed.

"They plowed the road and filled it in with wild grass. Winter or not, there's likely half a mile of rolling tundra between Tammond Dale and Old Town. You'd never see it from here, and nobody, not even you, will accidentally traipse through half a mile of grass or virgin snow. For whatever reason, the council decided in 1890 to build Tammond Dale here, and literally erase any record of Old Town."

Kyle interjected before Dr. Z could begin a new sentence, "So how do you know about it?"

"Well, you can probably tell by today's lecture that I'm a sucker for history. I don't just research crufty linguistics, but my surroundings; I like to know where I am. The council erased all local records of Old Town, but of course, maps not under their jurisdiction in neighboring archives survived unscathed. I was out of town on business and noticed Old Town appeared in maps until 1889, and in 1890 Tammond Dale appeared in its place. It wasn't until I asked a local historian that I realized it wasn't a mere name modernization effort. I never went there myself, even then I was too old to charge off like a fool over uneven ground to satisfy my curiosity. So, sadly, my curiosity remains unquenched."

"You want me to go there, don't you?" Kyle asked.

"Don't let anyone lie to you," he laughed, "you fake every oblivious gesture you own. Yes, I'd like you to make the trip. Just look around a little, maybe take a few notes, and tell me what you find. If it seems interesting enough, I may send you back with a camera so I can catalogue the architecture and perhaps even demystify the place. No rush, no hurry, just a little jaunt." He looked at Kyle expectantly.

"Sounds fun, Dr. Z," he said, grinning at the prospect for exploration. "I know, no rush. But I'll probably go after school anyway, for myself."

"That sounds very fine, Kyle. Ah! And before I forget... South. Just keep the cliff and Craig's Hill to your left and go South for about half a mile after the sidewalk ends. Now shoo! You're probably starving!"

Kyle nodded and started toward the door, still relieved he hadn't invoked righteous ire at his goofy gestures during class. He was almost to the door when his vision swam temporarily, his next step an uncertain shuffle as he blinked away the dizziness.

"Oh, and one more thing, Kyle," Dr. Z called after him. "There's a hidden danger here in town, as well. In your travels, stay far away from Adriana's house, and her parents. I don't care if she entices you with parties, dinner invitations, or sex; you never want to enter that house. While you're at it, be certain to stay at home after 10pm. You probably know what I mean already if you consider your recent dreams. Are we clear?"

This sudden change in Dr. Z. slapped Kyle into mental whiplash. He turned around to confirm the conversation actually occurred, vision again faltering into hazy ripples.

"What?!" he blurted.

Dr. Z jolted, dropping a pen he'd recently been employing to scribble on the stack of papers he brought to class. "Yes, Mr. Cemtes?" he asked, confused.

"Adriana..." he mumbled.

"Nice girl. She also did a find job in class today. But I mean it, you really should get some lunch. I've stolen enough of your time already. Just don't forget Old Town," he said with a devilish wink. Our secret, hmm?

Kyle meandered through the door, down the hallway to the lunchroom in a constant daze. Did that just happen? He felt as if he'd been blindsided a sock full of quarters; his head full of cotton, mouth tasting of copper. Unprompted, a sliver of recognition surfaced that sent chills down his spine. Old Town. Hell. Adriana. But before he could wrestle the memories into his waking mind, they again slipped into the lost fathoms, leaving him sick to his stomach and frustrated.

He hoped his appetite would return by the time he sat down with Jason and Zerb, or it would be a short lunch indeed.