So it seems I've caused a bit of confusion with my newest adventure. Let me clarify a few points:
1. This isn't technically a crossover, hence why it isn't labeled as such. It's more of a Stephen King homage.
2. The title is a hint. ;-)
I'm glad everyone's enjoying it so far. Thank you for reading - I hope you stick around.
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it most likely belongs to Stephen King and SyFy. Please don't be mad that I've played with them...
There are other places Bobby Grimes should be. He should be in school, considering it's a Wednesday and he's barely fifteen. He should be learning about algebraic equations. He should be flirting with Jenny Holbrook over third period chemistry experiments.
But he isn't.
Instead, he's skipping class and wandering Main Street. He gave up on algebra last year when it ruined his GPA and his chances at playing ball come April. He's about ready to give up on English and American lit, too, since doing well in them seems to be ruining his chances of getting Lauren Calendar under the bleachers.
"She likes 'em dumb, Bobby," Mike O'Connell had told him three weeks ago. "If she wanted a smart guy, we both know she'd date me."
The rain catches him off guard. He'd overheard the weatherman out of Bangor swear up and down about clear skies along the coast when he'd swung through the kitchen that morning on his way to school. He pulls his hood up, looks for a shop to duck into – one where the owner won't ask him why he isn't in class.
Merle's old shop looms up beside him, the newspaper peeling away from the windows inside. The rain picks up, along with the wind, and without another thought he pushes through the unlocked door and steps into the old store.
Tables upon tables full of odds and ends. Bookshelves lining the walls, each filled with much the same. He remembers, from years ago, what this place used to look like – rods and reels up against the walls, tackle boxes, flies and hooks, and always the smell of bait: worms, night crawlers, fish heads. If you needed something mostly dead to catch something mostly alive, Merle's was the place to go.
The voice comes from the back of the shop, near the cash register, and Bobby blinks against the dimness. There's the shape of a man in the shadows back there.
"Sorry, mister," Bobby says. "I just needed a place to wait out the rain."
The form moves, shifts, and seems to disappear into the empty corners. When Bobby seems him again, the man is closer and he can get a good look at him. He's tall, lean, with a head of dark gray hair and a thick mustache over thin lips that curve into a smile as he looks at Bobby. There's a glimpse of yellow teeth, which, for just a moment, look pointed in the dim light.
"A respite from the deluge," the man says and without a switch being flipped, light seems to fill the shop. The tables and shelves are illuminated and Bobby can make out a variety objects, including a baseball and a gold book.
"You sellin' antiques?" Bobby asks.
The man shrugs. "Some are old, some are even older than old."
He has an accent, foreign. It isn't anything like the tourists that come down from Quebec. Bobby's heard something like it before, though. Michael's grandmother speaks that way; she's from Croatia…or some other European country that doesn't speak English.
Truth be told, Bobby's kind of given up on geography, too.
"Do you have a name, young man?" the man asks.
Bobby flips his hood back, scratches his hand over his spiky blond hair. "Bobby, sir. Bobby Grimes."
The man holds his hand out, smiles broadly under that dark gray mustache. "Very pleased to meet you, Bobby Grimes." Bobby takes the man's hand and they shake. "Leland Gaunt, at your service."