“One Spring in Cherryville”
Exclusively on Kindle
March 28, 2016
English Language

Reviews

“Wonderful story…Matt Kressel is toying with us the way Stephen King did with his short stories. A very satisfying read but left me wanting more.” – 5/5 stars, Chris, an Amazon reviewer

“A sage of a story…There is eloquence and beauty, both simple and divine, contained herein.” – 4/5, R. Finegold, an Amazon reviewer.

Cherryville was a booming factory town in the ’50s. But now all the factories have turned to rust. The once plentiful manufacturing jobs have moved overseas, and Mitch and his friends in the small town of Cherryville have few prospects for their future. So when Mitch and his friends discover a valuable secret left behind in an old factory, he hopes his luck may have finally changed. But in a town where everyone knows you by name, secrets are hard to keep. And the greatest secret of all, a dark secret from Cherryville’s past, might be waiting for them to uncover.

We were four fools, Don, Vic, Lisa and me, smoking grass down by the old Newmann Furniture factory one Sunday afternoon. It was late May and the sweet lilacs and honeysuckle perfumed the air. They promised the deep glories of summer, soft cooling rains, languid days in Lisa’s arms, blissful skinny-dips in the lake under the holy glow of the Milky Way. Newman Furniture was the pride of Cherryville in the ’50s, or so my mom liked to say when she drank too much gin, which was always. But nature had since reclaimed it. Newman Furniture had become a rusted out shell, like dozens of factories in Cherryville, each a tombstone marking our nation’s slow descent into irrelevance. Weeds poked up from cracks in cement poured half a century ago. In a few decades there’d be nothing here but forest.

I don’t know why we crawled through the fence. What was another empty factory? We’d all grown up in Cherryville. We’d cut school together and hid in the shadows of a million rusted walls and smoked Luckies and swigged cans of piss, a.k.a. Meister Brau, we’d smuggled in. Maybe we were just stoned, but I like to believe the factory was calling us.

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