Milt Belaris grinned and shook the ash off his cigar. He had set some sales records and he wasn't surprised when the district sales manager called him in.
"I'm ready to give it my best, George," he said, calling the manager for the first time by his Christian name.
"I know you will, Milt. We always said you could sell ice cubes to Eskimos, ha ha. But"--he paused--"there is something I should tell you. Something--well--peculiar about that territory."
"They're all a little funny, George, 'til you figure them out. What's so odd about this one?"
"Well, it's strange, but drummers who go down there seem to disappear."
"You mean they skip?"
"Maybe. But why? Three or four companies--Watkins, Fuller, Raleigh--have sent men down there and they don't hear from them again. Like they took their sample cases and just vamoosed."
"Farmers' daughters, maybe?"
"Beats me, Milt. Have another cigar. Take a couple for the road, stick them in your pocket."
"Don't mind if I do. Fine cigars, George."
"White Owl, two for a nickel."
Milt was on the nine p.m. train out of Moose Jaw. He jawed with some of the other travelers, read the sports page, watched the moonlight falling over wheat fields and pumpkin patches. He took a few sips from a mickey of rye and calculated his commissions. Looked like there'd be a lot more coming up. And if he did good, why hell, he might be sitting in George's office.
Mist drifted over the prairies, clouds covered the full orange moon, and winds began to make farmyard scarecrows dance. Turning to Alf, the Massey-Harris man, Milt said, "Looks kinda spooky, don't it?"
"Well, whaddya expect? It's Halloween."
Milt had dozed off when the train jerked to a stop, waking him. The conductor was in the aisle, saying, "Folks, got a bit of unexpected news. Mechanical problem. Gotta stop here until a crew comes out to fix it. Probably be tomorrow morning before we get going. Sorry about the delay, but there's a hotel in town and the railway will pay your bill."
"What town is this?" someone asked.
"Called Inferno."
"Never heard of it."
"Well, it's pretty small. Not even on many maps. Okay, folks. Get a good night's sleep."
Milt lugged his sample case off the train and went into the small wooden depot. It was dark and cold and looked deserted. But then he hard a voice. A woman's voice.
"Good evening," it said. "Welcome to Inferno."
Milt turned and saw a woman sitting in the shadows. Slim, skinny even. Long black hair, hanging down her back. Couldn't tell her age. "Thanks," said Milt. "Which way to the fleabag in this burg?"
"You mean the Princess of the Plains Hotel?" She laughed. "Not really your style." She lit a dark brown cigarette, and in the flame from her match Milt saw emerald eyes in a chalk white face. Not bad, he thought.
"What are you doing here, around--what is it, midnight? No train coming through, is there?"
"No," she exhaled smoke. "No, I like to come down here sometimes at night. Meet some interesting people. There's not a lot to do in this town."
"Don't suppose there's somewhere you and I could go for a drink?"
"No bar or saloon open, if that's what you mean. But I don't live far from here, and I'd be pleased to pour something to refresh you after your trip."
"Sounds good to me," said Milt. He stuck out his hand. "Milt Belaris, kitchenwares."
"My name," she said, "is Lily." Her hand was cold.
The small house was down a narrow winding road, and they walked quickly through the rain. When Lily opened the door, a black cat reached out a paw to her. "This is Lucifer," she said. "Lucifer, this is Milt."
"Well," said Milt, "looks cosy," although the scarlet decorations were not something he would have chosen.
"Take off that jacket," said Lily, "it's wet. I'll hang it up to dry and bring you a drink."
Milt settled himself on a sofa and took out one of George's cigars. Almost at once Lily was back with a tall glass. "Try this," she said.
He drank some, and said, "It's good. Don't know what it is--I'm a rye man, mainly--but this has a nice punch to it--yes, indeed."
"It's my own special cocktail," said Lily. "Why don't I get you something to eat? Some nice hot soup? You're probably hungry."
"Well, I could tie on the old feedbag," said Milt. "And look, glass is empty."
"I can fix that," she said.
Halfway through the second glass Milt began to feel light-headed, even began to imagine shapes moving in the room, shapes of things, of people, he knew weren't there. Well, he thought, it's been a long day. Might as well relax and enjoy it.
"Milt," said Lily, "those trousers are soaked. Why don't you crawl into bed, under that big, warm comforter, and I'll press them for you and hang them with your jacket."
This is turning out even better than I hoped, thought Milt, and while Lily turned her back he pulled off his soggy trousers. He was glad he was wearing the boxer shorts with the hearts and diamonds, and his best garters on his socks. He crawled into bed and noticed Lucifer sitting in the doorway. "What are you staring at?" he said.
Soon the aroma of soup drifted in from the kitchen. "Smells good," Milt called. "My special recipe," said Lily.
Wonder what's in it, thought Milt. Maybe I'll take a peek in the pantry. Might even see if she could use some new kitchenwares. Could be a sale, along with everything else. He slipped out of bed and started for the door. Lucifer hissed. "Get outa my way," Milt hissed back.
He pulled back a curtain that led to the pantry. Beyond it, in the kitchen, lily was stirring a huge, steaming pot. Milt began looking at the jars of spices and herbs. The usual stuff, curry, cinnamon, nutmeg, rosemary. But--what was this? Eye of newt? Toe of frog? Adder's fork, lizard's leg? Milt shuddered. He closed the curtain and crept back to the bedroom.
Wonder if my clothes are dry, he thought. Milt opened the closet where Lily had hung them and saw not just his suit, but half a dozen men's suits, all shapes and sizes. Wait a minute, he thought, I recognize that yellow checked jacket. It's just like the one Fat Lew Wilvers had. He checked the size: 52 short. Milt could hear George's voice: "Something peculiar--fellas went down there and just disappeared."
Behind the suits were stacked suitcases. No, not suitcases--sample cases. Milt started opening them. He found Fuller brushes, Watkins liniments, Raleigh spices, veterinary supplies, electric gadgets, yard goods. Lucifer was scratching his bare leg, but Milt hardly noticed.
"Soup coming up!" called Lily. The smell was overpowering, menacing.
Milt grabbed his jacket and pants, and ran for the door, Lucifer after him all the way, leaping up, clinging to his leg. Milt shook the cat loose and got outside.
It was still raining as the moon appeared and disappeared behind the clouds. Milt didn't care. With his clothes bunched under his arm, he ran all the way back to the railway depot.
You wore your W. O. Mitchell hat for this one. Delicious!
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