Junebug Jones
Randall Hawke was on his twentieth book signing at the local bookstore in Fleet, when he quickly began to realize that book signings in small towns always ended up having the weirdest of weird people. The fans that creep into an event like this are usually the die-hard of die-hard fans. People here were, what’s the proper word for it ... the overly friendly type, where you’re not sure if you should be happy or creeped out.
‘It’s not often a famous person comes throughout town Mr. Hawke’, said a fan, while she gripped her copy of his latest book.
‘Thank you for your kind words, I appreciate everything.’
I never know what to say I don’t take compliments very well.
Another fan walks up to the table, with the breath of a gas attendant that’s slaved to many back to back shifts, with an abundance of smoke breaks, not even Listerine breath strips could cover up this smell. Pastie purple-toned skin, black rotting teeth, and the sunken eyeballs resembling a zombie from a George Romero film.
‘Where did you find inspiration for your last novel?’
I had to take one deep breath in before exhaling my response in one go, anything to avoid an accidental inhale of 40-year-old stale cigarette breathe.
‘The last novel was based on real experiences that followed my family for decades.’ Said Randall.
After a mere two hours of book signing, I was onto the last one of the day, the room temperature was dropping like the plague with the lack of warm bodies in here. You could hear a pin drop on the floor it was so quiet. I finally had a chance to take a breather. I took out my flask “discretely” to grab a swig of the bourbon I pack in there for emergencies like this one. If I got caught with this I’ll probably get kicked out. But I have my reasons for doing it —which no one will give a shit about it— I’ll have to deal with the consequences should they arise. I put my head on the table to stretch my brain muscles, out of nowhere a woman was standing in front of the signing table. She either crawled on the ground or quietly tip towed her way here, the way you sneak your way into your house after a night of partying with your friends and you don’t want your parents to find out that you snuck out of the house.
She had a great big smile and her eyes glossed over with the stare of a night stalker, which looked like Margot Robbie from the Harley Quinn films.
‘Boo! Did I scare ya?’ Said the girl
I’m not gonna lie she scared the shit out of me, caught me off guard.
‘I guess things just run a little different around here.... must be something in the water’, I accidentally blabbed louder than I should have.
‘Hi’ said the girl as she waved her hand viciously in Randall’s face. ‘I heard everything you just said, I’m right here’
She got a few steps closer leaning over the table staring deep into Randall’s eyes as if she was trying to see her own reflection.
Randall snapped out of it realizing that he’s blessed and shouldn’t take for granted that a person would come out just to see him.
‘I’m sorry, thanks for coming out’ Randall says with the smell of the potent bourbon lingering in his breathe.
‘I’m Junebug, oh and by the way, you probably shouldn’t be drinking booze in here.’
She reached out to shake my hand, however, I don’t do too well with people getting in my personal space, and besides, you don’t where anyone’s hands have been.
‘Nice to meet you Junebug ... if you use the sanitizer over there I can shake your hand, and hey, don’t worry about what I do, I’ll have to deal with the consequences later if the wrong peasant finds out’.
‘Okay, np I’ll sanitize, and about the, I just care that’s all, I don’t wanna see something good get taken away.’
She accidentally squirts a big slime glob of sanitizer on her hand, enough where you have to rub it in for a few minutes before it completely evaporates, and even then you still get a sticky residue left behind, she reaches her hand out for a nice shake.
‘It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Hawke, your books have helped me escape some of the toughest times of my life, I’m very grateful to open your novels and escape reality for a bit. I’d say I’m probably your biggest fan’
‘It’s quite possible, you might be, people just jive the same way about my stuff back home. Besides I’m still baffled that people read my books, that feeling probably doesn’t vanish for anyone.’
Junebug’s eyes glossed over again lost in Randall’s eyes, enjoying anything that comes out of his mouth.
Feeling quite uncomfortable Randall waves his hands in front of Junebugs face aggressively.
‘Sorry, I may come off a bit weird, just starstruck I guess, I never thought I’d ever say that,’ Junebug says a bit embarrassed. ‘This is my first time ever meeting someone remotely famous. Trust me when I say this, I’m normal for a Fleet person, sorry if I scared you a bit’
‘Honestly........ I thought you might’ve been a crazy person for a second.’ “Nah just excited.”
‘So did you come to get a book signed? Or were you just browsing?’
‘I heard about your event in the newspaper’
Junebug pulls out 3 copies of Let Me Stay gripping them nervously tight and puts them in front of Randall.
‘Can you sign these? ......One’s for my grandma , and one is for my Mom’. Pretending that they aren’t all for herself.
‘And of course, I can’t leave here without getting one signed for myself’
‘Of course, I can. This isn’t the first time a fan has brought more than one copy to get signed, most of the time they aren’t for anyone other than themselves. So what do you want me to write on your copy? To.....?’
‘You can write something like To: Junebug it was nice seeing you, and then you’re signature.’
‘Junebug., you know I meant to say that’s such a beautifully unique name. My great grandmother went by that name.’
‘Is Mr. Hawke hitting on me?’ She gives him an admiring look for validation.
‘Maybe.’ Randall says smiling with his sexy scuffed Kurt Russel cool guy look
‘Okay well, I have a question for you. Did you start writing your next novel?’ She says biting the lipstick battered bottom lip with her cheeks blushed and flattered that’s she getting attention from someone successful.
’I did, however, a good author never tells anyone what their story is about until it’s written. It’s kind of a superstition. You know, the saying goes if you write a child’s name in red, the child will probably die an unexpected death.
It’s similar to that. If you tell someone about your story, you’re telling them the death of it. The damn thing will never get written, It becomes a back burner story that could have been something great, and when you run out of ideas entirely, that will be the one you rely on to get your next book deal’
Junebug feeling a sense of rush as she just remembered the afternoon screening of Stephen Kings’ maximum overdrive with her father at the Rio Theatre.
‘I’m so sorry I better get going, I’m gonna be late for a movie’
Junebug passed him her business card that read Junebug Jones, Author, Fleet, Ontario, with her phone number and e-mail address on it.
“If you need any recommendations on places to eat or fun things to do while you’re here, just send me a text or email.”
“Your so kind, thanks”
Junebug rushed away from the signing desk and exited the giant bookstore doors leading to the shopping mall.
“Junebug!!!” ..........“Junebug! Wait for a second, I have a question” Yelled Randall.
She couldn’t hear him calling her name, he sprinted toward the door slid across the marble floor at the doorway of the bookstore, caught up with her in the hallway, and tapped her on the shoulder.
“Junebug, I did have one thing to ask you. I was hoping to go to a haunted house or something while I was here. I didn’t want to waste a trip to a small town, without shitting myself in fear first. Do you know of anything good around here? It may drive some inspiration for my new book.”
“I see you... coming to me for inspiration, I like that. Okay, Mr. Hawke. I know a place not too far from here, the only way to get inside is to book one of the rooms for the night. The Moulin Rouge, the motel with a tortured history, twelve bucks a night. In fact, it’s rated the scariest place to stay in Southern Ontario”, Said Junebug.
“What makes this motel so tortured,” said Randall as he grabs his notepad from his pea coat pocket and a pencil from behind his ear and starts writing down everything that Junebug has to say.
“70 deaths in total so far at The Rouge, 25 of those were drug overdoses which no one really has sympathy for. The rouge is a hotspot for prostitution, so a lot of married men would come here, get high, fuck some hooker and when this became a habit and escape for life some of them would eventually just off themselves. Twelve of the deaths were children under the age of ten, and the rest were suicide over the age of nineteen. Forty of the suicides were in the thirteenth room. Don’t Fall Asleep was a common phrase that’s been finger painted on the walls with their own blood. They say if you fall asleep in that room you either don’t wake up or you’ll get possessed by the demons of the past.”
“So what you’re saying is ...... I should stay in room thirteen... I do like a good scare once in a while, helps me tap into things I’ve never believed we’re there. Although I don’t believe in the urban legend that you won’t wake up or you’ll get possessed. That sounds like a classic gimmick, but hey I’m all for it. I once read that the only way to see spiritual beings is to visit another dimension. Maybe the room is a portal for astral projection.”
“I ...... I don’t know about a portal, but dead ass, there are definitely other beings lurking among the famous rouge hallways and bedrooms.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it ... In the past twenty some odd years I’ve been exploring the paranormal, I have yet to actually encounter a real experience with the others. The stories I’ve written about in the past have been personal experiences from childhood. I believe when you’re a child you have a heightened sense of brainpower, where you can communicate with other dimensions in a single dimension. It’s either that or your imagination is like an adult on acid”.
“Oh my god I’m so sorry, I’m late for the movie, my father’s waiting for me,” Said Junebug.
“It’s fine I ... ah.. have your number”
Junebug rushed away to the movie theatre leaving Randall in mid-conversation.
“Bye.......“. Meanwhile, Junebug was already miles away.
