Here's the first chapter of The Trouble At Trails End. I hope you enjoy it!

1. Settlers

Tuesday Morning

September 13

Trails End High School

Paul Matthew weighed his options.

Stay in his car and hit the open road. Avoid work, mooch off friends, engage in the occasional panhandle, drink nightly until half-blind, chase loose women, eat poorly, disregard all manner of authority, and, with any luck, die before Social Security runs dry.

Or drag out and teach another day of history. Which was pretty much the same thing, but with less driving. Believing life offered options was merely an illusion. At least in the tiny Texas town of Trails End.

He slung open the car door and plodded across the grungy asphalt lot shimmering with morning heat. Up the stone steps and through the double front doors into the lobby. The crowd of students was thinning with the approaching panic of first period. Outside the glassed front office stood Susie Keller. She frowned at Paul.

“You’re late, Paul,” she said tersely. “Again.”

“Not my fault. If teachers had reserved parking spots, I wouldn’t be reduced to scouting for an empty spot at the distant corners of the lot. Highly disrespectful way to treat a valued faculty member.” He caught her eye. “And before you say it – I don’t like it either.”

“You could try getting here early like other teachers. Then you could park next to the building.”

“Right. Well, no use discussing if you’re going to talk crazy.” He gave her a discerning look.  “And your usual cheerful attitude is lacking. Granted, Tuesday is the second-worst day of the week, but what’s got your goat up so early this morning? A sour mood is expected from me. Seems terribly wrong coming from you.”

She held up a hand, gripping a tightly rolled newspaper.

“Have you read Warren’s latest rant?” she said. “Darn that man. He’s intent on causing trouble.”

Paul took the paper from Susie, smoothing out the crinkles and flipping the pages. He went straight to the Editorial, the section most likely to inflict grief for Mrs. Susie Keller, official school registrar and resident optimist:

Trails End Tribune

Warren Schneider, Editor in Chief

Editorial

Gluckschmerz,

Those foreign, elitist, wine swirling, espresso guzzling, tofu munching, bunch of self-anointed intellectuals from the Cumberland Research Center. Invading our tiny, humble East Texas town, gobbling up every advantage we offer and giving absolutely nothing in return.

Bulldozing through town square in their British Land Cruisers, shiny paint jobs perfect without a single scratch, chip, or ding, inky black tires spared the sting of country roads, their pampered chocolate Labradoodle pups perched alongside them in cushy, leather-clad seats. Public radio spewing out Gregorian monk chanting, while pained, remorse-filled commentators drone on about the danger of competitive sports, American pride, red meat, marriage, fidelity, God, and country. The CRC takes pleasure in remaining tone deaf to our beliefs and culture. 

It only takes one long look at the three new students already dumped on our quaint, historic High School to fathom the woes to come. A more adverse picture of the quintessential Texan could not possibly be imagined.

I won’t stand for it. The Cumberland Research Center is an affront to the German sensibilities espoused by our ancestors. They won’t take over this town without a fight. Not on my watch.

Paul folded the paper and clicked his tongue. “Hmmm. Now that’s one fine piece of fear-mongering – Warren has truly outdone himself. Quit the sermon. He failed to mention communists, socialists, and Yankees. Maybe he’ll circle back to it in tomorrow’s edition. Wouldn’t want to disappoint the few dozen town folk that actually read the Tribune.”

Susie shook her head. “Where does Warren come up with all this? He’s been grousing about the CRC for months, but he’s dived off the deep end this time. What do you think set him off?”

“It might have been me,” sighed Paul. “Quite unintentional. I nearly rear-ended Warren the other day.”

“You did?”

“Yup. I was barreling through town in my SUV, sipping a latte, with my black lab riding shotgun.” He grinned at Susie. “While listening to NPR.”

“I didn’t see anything funny about this,” she replied sharply. “Even taking the space out of his nasty newspaper to badmouth our three new students. It’s hardly a warm, southern type welcome. Saying these people don’t belong here. What does it matter if they don’t look like Texans?”

“And why would that be a bad thing?” asked Paul. “These kids should take pride in it.”

“I’ll remind you,” replied Susie pointingly, “that I’m a Texan.”

“Right. No offense. And I can certainly agree that looking un-Texan is a disadvantage. But then I’ve always said I don’t belong here. This dusty town is ripe for change. Let the CRC come in and shake things up. I’d kill for a good coffee shop. Finally get a decent cup of espresso without hauling ass three hours to Dallas. Art museum would be a stretch. Forget wine bar. For all their fine German heritage, these simple folks love cheap, watery beer. Can’t even make a decent sausage. No Oktoberfest and no bratwurst. That only leaves lederhosen and Wagner.”

“German heritage,” snorted Susie. “He’s forgotten our town was founded by small time crooks. Embezzlers, counterfeiters, snake oil salesmen. A worthless lot. They couldn’t even read a map. Got lost searching for New Braunfels and gave up. Decided it was the end of the trail for them.

“And when did Warren get all pious? Suddenly talking of the almighty. Can’t think the last time I saw him at morning mass. Sober that is. Got a lot of nerve brow-beating newcomers about their religious habits.”

“Nobody understands sinners better than the devil.” Paul watched the remaining students hurrying to class. “What did Warren mean by Gluckschmerz? Is that German for something?”

Susie shrugged. “It’s not really German. Just made up from two other German words. It’s when you feel anger at the good fortune of others.”

“Now that’s something. For once, Warren can be accused of truth in advertising.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rumor is Warren tried to sell his old farm to the CRC when they first showed up,” he explained. “Instead, they bought that worthless scrub land from Soderstrum. And they paid a hefty price for it. I’d guess Warren discovered how hefty that was. His ship finally came in and sailed away.”

“Why that mean little man! Using his newspaper to settle a grief.” She snatched the paper from Paul and chucked it in the trash. “If you can call that thing a newspaper. It’s nothing more than a nasty supermarket tabloid. He should just retire…instead of searching for ways to stir up the pot.”

“Can’t fault Warren for that,” replied Paul. “The CRC is an easy target. Very unpopular. He’s only selling what folks are buying.”

“You think he believes any of those things?”

“Hard to say,” he reflected. “Nothing sells print like a good controversy. I doubt Warren has any moral objection to feeding fears if it’ll drive up sales. The CRC is the next best thing to a martian invasion.”

“That’s hardly any excuse,” stated Susie. “Not everyone can agree on what’s important, but Warren’s got folks around here thinking the CRC is fixin’ to destroy the town.”

“Warren’s giving too much credit to the CRC. He underestimates how deep a rut Trails End actually is.” Paul motioned to a passing student. “Take this kid here...uhm…”

“Justin?” said Susie. “Are you talking about Justin?”

Paul took a second look and nodded. “Right…Justin…”

“He’s on the way to your class, Paul.”

He considered it for a moment. “Thought he looked familiar. Anyway, you could dunk Justin in a pool of art and culture, and he’d still come out bone dry. While holding a football. Forget about enlightenment. If you dressed your kid up as Einstein on Halloween, everyone would think it was Mark Twain. Or their Grandpa. Folks have nothing to fear from an intellectual invasion. It just won’t take.”

“Paul,” said Susie. “You gotta quit saying things like that in front of students. They don’t know you’re only kidding.”

“Who’s kidding?”

“Well,” she replied tersely, “could you at least pretend you are? It’d make my days go easier. Got enough on my plate with these new kids. Feel real bad for them. Hardly ever get a new one down here and now we got three of them that stick out like pink flamingos in a cattle drive. Remember how it was when you first got here? Fitting into a small town ain’t no easy thing.”

“I’ll say. First year here, and I mention that Texas was settled by illegal immigrants pouring down from the U.S., and you’d think I was the one who burned down the Alamo. And shot Davy Crockett. Don’t think people ever forgave me for that one.”

“You also said Texas got whupped in the Civil War.”

“Which is historically accurate.”

“And that Davy Crockett didn’t die fighting at the Alamo. He surrendered.”

Paul shrugged. “It’s an alternate theory.”

She let out a long sigh. “I sure hope these boys work harder at making friends.”

 “You know, Susie, there’s much to say about being unique.”

“That doesn’t work for everyone.”

“Right.” He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “And why are you out here? Guarding your office? Keeping someone in, or someone out?”

“Oh, neither,” she said. “Heard another new student might show up this morning. Just keeping an eye out for him.”

She watched the hall slowly empty. “You know, as a teacher, you could help these new arrivals get settled. It’s safe to say that those three boys have been struggling ever since they got here.”

“Not surprising,” said Paul. “I’d worry if they didn’t struggle.” He peered down the hall. “And so, you’re searching for another lost soul. Someone that’ll stick out…look out of place….”

“Uh-huh.”

“An oddball. Weirdo. Misfit. Outcast. Freak. Geek. Loser. Square peg, round hole. Something like that?”

Susie sighed. “I didn’t say that.” She turned and waved at someone inside the front office. “Paul, be a dear and keep watch. I gotta catch up with Mr. Newkirk.”

“I’d hate to be late for my class.”

Susie opened the door. “Paul,” she replied, “you’re always late for class.”

Paul leaned forward. Down the hall, the last few students drifted into his classroom. From the corner of the office, he could see both wings and the front entrance. The bell rang.

Paul turned to leave when a lone student staggered stiff-legged through the double front doors.

The new kid stopped in front of him, eyes darting side to side.

Paul looked him over. “Did you fall asleep and get off at the wrong bus stop?”

The kid startled. “Huh? What?”

“I mean,” said Paul. “Are you looking for the office?”

The kid pointed to the space above Paul’s head. “Isn’t that it?”

Paul glanced up at the large ‘office’ sign hanging above him. He shrugged. “Wasn’t sure you could read English.”

“What? Uh, sure, I can,” stammered the kid.

“Right. Go on in, and Mrs. Keller will help you out.”

“Okay,” replied the kid, not moving. “Good, uhm, before I go in, is…is there a bathroom close by?”

“Yes,” replied Paul flatly. “Yes, there are. Several bathrooms.”

The kid teetered on his heels; he blinked a few times. “Several…bathrooms…?”

“Oh,” said Paul, raising his eyebrows, “you meant where. Where are the bathrooms?” He stepped forward, raising a hand to point, then stopped. “Was that your stomach?”

“Uh-hum,” mumbled the kid.

“In that case,” pondered Paul, rubbing his chin. “You probably want the nearest one.”

The kid squirmed. “Uh-huh…”

Paul examined the hallway. “Good to have a few stalls to choose from. Boys' room, of course. Upstairs is a fine one. Very good shape. You’ll find plumbing’s always a problem in a building this old.”

Gurgling and bubbling echoed in the empty hall.

Paul scrutinized the kid. “Hmm. Better not climb any stairs.” He considered the alternatives. “Down this hall and to the right.”

The kid bolted, legs pumping in a jerky, power walk as he disappeared around the corner.

“Good Luck!” called out Paul.

Susie poked her head out of the office door.

“Was that our new student?” she asked, glancing down the hall.

“It was,” replied Paul. “He’ll be back shortly.” He stood with his back to Susie, studying the long passageway. “Might be a little longer.”

“Ok,” said Susie. “I’ll wait for him. Thanks for sticking around.”

Paul turned toward his classroom. “Glad to help.”

His innards exploded in a violent, burning whoosh the moment bare skin touched porcelain. So close, so close.

He reached for the toilet roll.

Oh no.

His hand slapped madly at the empty spindle.

Oh no!

He lifted the plastic lid to stare at the empty container.

OH NO!

The bathroom door swung open, and someone entered.

“Hey, kid,” called a voice from the other side of the stall door. 

“Just wanted you to know…” A sharp click echoed in the bathroom, and everything went pitch black.

“You’re doing a lights-out job in there!”