The town wasn't that old. A little more than a hundred years had gone by since it had been settled. Nor was it pretty or quaint. Actually quite ugly and dirty. However it was a good Baptist town. A town where membership to the big church on the hill was almost mandatory. It was a town where many secrets were hidden behind closed doors. A town where no one spoke of its' origins or the original settlers. Only four remained that remembered the turn of the century farmhouse which oversaw the town; where the church now stood. Stella Dixson was one of those four.
Stella thought she would go to her grave with that secret. She was one of four in the town of three thousand that did not belong to the big Baptist church. One of the remaining four who were shunned. One of four who were routinely tormented not only by the children of the town but also their parents. The other three were elderly like her and lived near the outskirts. They escaped much of the abuse by refusing to come into town. Stella lived on the hill, across the street from the big church. For her, there was no escape. She was seventy-two, far to old to move, far to stubborn to give in.
This was her town. She had been born and raised here. She had married here. She had lived in this house for all of her seventy-two years. What did she care that her yard was papered at least once a week? Or that the paint on the outside was dingy, cracked and peeling from all the years of rotten eggs thrown at its' sides? Or that the children called her a witch and the parents called her worse when she made her weekly walk to the town store for groceries? None of that mattered to her. She was a thorn in the side for the whole town. Of that, she was rather proud.
Stella watched with interest as the realtor showed the empty house next door. Many of the young couples would look over at her house and yard, then at the agents who would whisper to them. They would shake their heads no and get in their cars and leave. The house had been on the market for over a year and although Stella knew the asking price was low, no one had made an offer for it. Until last month.
Stella had seen the young couple arrive. They had stepped out of the car and looked at the house. They had looked at her house. The realtor arrived. For the first time in months, the realtor actually unlocked the front door and showed them inside. An hour passed. They emerged from the house. The young woman pointed at Stella's house. The realtor leaned forward and whispered. The woman looked at her husband and shrugged. They had moved in a week ago.
The townsfolk had tried to welcome them. They had been turned away at the front door. The Pastor had gone the day before to invite them to church. He never made it to the door. The young husband met him in the yard and after a moment of conversation, the Pastor was heading back across the street to his church. His face was grim.
Today was Halloween. Services were in full swing at the church. Stella was sure the Reverend was preaching the evil of the pagan holiday. Only because it was Sunday, would the town's youth not come and destroy more of her house and yard. They would be in church.
The young couple was at home. Stella had just finished frosting a chocolate cake. Putting it in a cake keeper, she carried it out the door, down the steps and across the yard. She knocked on her neighbor's door. The young woman answered.
"You're Charlotte's granddaughter. Welcome back to Stanton."
