Rose A Town Called Taxi

Once you arrive, there's no turning back
1. Auflage 2024
ISBN: 978-1-923078-56-7
Verlag: Vivid Publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, Band 1, 296 Seiten

Reihe: A Town Called Taxi

Daniel Starr loves a road trip and a good story, but when he stumbles upon the remote town of Taxi in Outback Queensland, everything he knows is turned upside down. As hidden truths surface, Daniel is drawn into a world of deception, lies, and chaos. In this strange town, questions arise: What is Betty hiding? Why does Taxi have a large crematorium? What is Medi-Corp up to? And what mysterious force is heading toward Earth? Amid the turmoil, Daniel finds unexpected love and uncovers deeper secrets, including the curious role of taxidermy in Taxi. As the town's dark forces close in, Daniel's life is irrevocably changed. 'A Town Called Taxi' is a tale of love, immortal souls, and friendships forged under extraordinary circumstances, set in a place that exists off the grid-where once you enter, there's no turning back.

Stephen Rose is the author of 'A Town Called Rose'.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Rose, Stephen

Leseproben

2

Bart’s Truck Stop

Bart’s Truck Stop
Stay a while, and we will look after you! You are everything to us.
Taxi: Home of Taxidermy in North Queensland!

The sign over the station ba?ed me—who knew there would be a taxidermist way out in the middle of nowhere—but my tank was getting low, so I thought it would be a good opportunity to fill it up. I turned off my truck and scanned the parking lot. It seemed so desolate and rundown with only one other filthy car out front. An old Slim Dusty song played over the rusty speakers as the pump slowly filled my tank. I put the nozzle back and headed inside to pay. Opening the creaky door, I was confronted by an unusual smell. Suddenly, a huge barn owl spread its wings directly in front of me, and I ducked instinctively.

A sweaty, domineering, old man sitting behind the counter snorted gru?y and slowly stood, scratching his stubble and nodding. “Heh, gets ‘em every time.”

I took a closer look at the bird and straightened back up when I saw the bird was stuffed and tried not to be embarrassed. The man took a stained, white-and-black rag from his pocket and wiped dust from the counter as he peered at me through round, thick, smudged glasses that sat crookedly on his hairy, bulbous nose.

I could not put my finger on it, but this place gave me the creeps. I peeked into the attached diner I’d just noticed and saw a few people sitting down with food in front of them and steam rising from their coffee mugs. The light from the afternoon sun streamed through the narrow blinds, illuminating the suspended dust particles and making it hard to distinguish anyone else’s features.

“Howdy, traveler, how you doin’? I’m Bart,” the man growled at me.

Apart from the music playing in there, it seemed deathly quiet; an eerie silence surrounded the occupants of the diner.

Bart rang me up for the gas. “That will be ninety-five dollars. Anything else strike your fancy? Where are you staying? Gertie has a nice place down River Road that will suit your needs: Gertie’s Bed and Breakfast.”

“Who, said anything about staying?” I asked.

“Oh, I can tell the stayers from the goers. You’re a stayer,” he replied, staring into my soul.

“Right, okay, then. I’ll see you around,” I answered.

“That you will,” he replied with a creepy grin before motioning to the people in the diner. “I’ll be right with you folks.”

Funny—I didn’t hear any of them ask for anything.

The patrons’ faces were still obscured by sunlight beaming through the blinds, but I swore they hadn’t moved since I walked in. Was that a spiderweb stretching from one guy’s shoulder to the table? Surely not. They creeped me out; they had to be mannequins, but if that was the case, why did they have hot coffee?

As I left, Bart called out in a menacing tone, “Welcome to Taxi!”

There were no taxis in Taxi, and as I drove down Main Street it became apparent that life there was slow. The locals sitting outside some of the quaint little shops were watching the sun go down behind the distant mountains, staring off into the distance. I supposed I needed to stay the night since the next town could be miles away. Reluctantly, I took Bart’s advice and headed down River Road to find Gertie’s. The drive was eerily quiet as the shadows stretched out and the sun turned everything a reddish hue. I didn’t pass a single car and had to wonder if everyone was just having dinner at the same time or something. I was hungry myself, and hoped my destination had some food.

Opposite a bend in the river, I could see Gertie’s. I was more than slightly impressed by the homely, turn-of-the-century dwelling that may have once been a hostel or a hospital. From the outside, it was clearly well-kept and tidy. It had a commanding view of the broad river, a few cars parked out front, and lights on inside. As soon as I came to a stop, I clambered out of my dusty truck and grabbed my bags.

I could smell food, which just ramped up my hunger to the point that I felt as if I could already taste the food and licked my lips in anticipation. I was about to ring the doorbell when I noticed a small sign that read, Beware of Gertie. Confused, I rang the bell anyway. I opened the front door and was immediately confronted by a huge emu. It had to have been six feet tall, and was glaring at me menacingly. I stopped in my tracks, petrified and gasped.

“I see you’ve met Gertie,” a warm voice called from within.

Beyond the sentry at the door, I could see the walls of the hallway were lined with all manner of stuffed creatures: snakes, fish, an owl, an eagle, the head of a water buffalo, a cat, and two dogs.

Wow, these people must love their taxidermy.

“Quite a collection you h-have here,” I stammered. “Hi, I’m Daniel Starr. I’m looking for a room for the night. Just me—I’m traveling alone.”

“Hi, I am Betty. This is my place…oh, and Gertie’s. Come on through to the o?ce and we will find you a spot. Are you hungry?” Betty bustled out from what must have been the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Yes, please,” I shook her soft hand briefly, but all I could feel was pain. My rheumatoid arthritis was acting up, and I feared that soon it would take over and my very soul would scream in agony. “Your cooking smells great. What’s on?”

“Kangaroo stew: one of my favourites’,” Betty said, staring at me as if she was going say something else.

“Sounds great. I’ve never had ‘Roo.’”

“I’m sorry, but do I know you?” Betty bluntly asked.

“Er, no I don’t think I have ever met you before, and I’ve never been out this way, either. Pretty sure I’d remember that charming smile of yours.”

I smiled at her, but she looked down at her computer screen and pressed some buttons.

“Sorry, you just kind of look like someone I used to know.” She quickly changed the subject. “Yes, ‘Roo is one of those meats that is considered roadkill in the outback. You must get over that death thing and cook it correctly if you want to get the true flavors of the meat. It’s quite gamy and lean.”

The fantastic stuffed animals in the hallway came to mind, as well as that owl and those folks in the diner. I had never seen such realism; they were amazing recreations of their living selves. Getting over death could be hard. After all, how long had it been since my own life changed beyond recognition? Seven years, and yet it felt like only yesterday. The loss cut so deep when they passed. I doubted I’d ever just get over it.

“Can I take it to my room? I am tired and need some rest.”

“Sure, I will bring it over. Would you like a bottle of Shiraz? That goes great with ‘Roo.” She handed me a key. “The rooms are out by the car park on your left.”

“Yes, that sounds great, thanks Betty.”

Do I know you?

Betty seemed vaguely familiar to me, as if I had met her before, but I doubted it. I was probably just exhausted—dead tired, even. I headed out toward my room, my head swimming with so many emotions.

I checked the number on the key in my hand and kept walking until I came to my room: lucky number seven. By then, memories I usually tried to keep buried flooded my thoughts, and tears flowed down my cheeks. We never forget tragedy, I realized. It followed us like shadows. We tried to shrug it off, but we couldn’t. It embraced us until it became us.

Before long, there was a tap on my door. “Hey, it’s Betty. I have your dinner.”

I opened my door and found Betty balancing a huge tray filled with a beautiful, home-cooked meal. The aromas that filled my nostrils making my mouth water. “That looks amazing and smells great! Thank you, Betty.”

“No problem—enjoy! You can leave the tray outside your door, and I will swing by later and collect it. Please fill in your breakfast form, too.”

“Thank you, Betty.”

She grinned and walked off; I watched her for a few moments, then shut my door.

Famished, I sat down at the small table in my room, opened the wine, poured a healthy glass, and took a sip. I pulled the plate close and took in the big chunks of meat, potatoes, carrots, pumpkin, and peas, all in a thick, dark gravy with a hunk of buttered, crusty bread. I dove in and was not disappointed, it was delicious; Betty was a great cook. The kangaroo was so tender it melted away as I chewed it.

When I’d eaten the whole lot and finished off the wine, I was fully satisfied and ready for bed. It had been a long day. I undressed and climbed into the double bed, which was soft and comfy and smelled of fabric softener. My watch stated that it was only seven-thirty.

It was so quiet—almost too quiet. The whole town must’ve been asleep. In the city, I was always bombarded with all kinds of activity.

As I started to drift off, I heard the faint rumble of a truck—no, two trucks slowly approaching the bend out front. I opened my eyes and looked toward the window, expecting to see headlights bouncing...