Devil Slaying Amongst Other Things: Hyperlink to Lost Souls Chapter 2 (Second of two parts)

I’ve just gargled with some peppermint mouthwash. My breath probably isn’t too fresh after eating an abundance of herring for breakfast and you never know who I might kiss. Ha, ha.

Back to the herring, I’ve never eaten them before, but they were superb plus they’re good for you, all that oil. I’m going to enjoy eating Inuit style because I love fish.

Now, let me catch you up with the gossip. When I went down to breakfast, the atmosphere amongst the family was more than a little frosty and that was with the central heating on.

Charlie was going on about a lost soul and Stan was having none of it. When I joined them, Rachel told her pop to “leave it.” So from then on, all the old man did was eat and throat sing in between swallows. Therefore, I haven’t got to the root of what’s going on; I’m hoping to later.

For now, I’m getting ready to venture outside; the kids have chores to do around the house and Stan mentioned he wanted to check out the engine of the Coronado. Just in case it needs any essential repairs done before he goes back out on the road.

It all sounded a bit too technical for me; however, I may learn something that could be useful in the years to come, so I’m going to go out and see what’s going down. A guy needs as many strings to his harp as he can get. Do you think I can put socks on my hands instead of gloves to keep out the cold? Why? Because I have no idea what I’ve done with the gloves I had on yesterday. The glove gremlin must have sneaked in during the night and stole them.

Because of the dense cloud cover today, daylight is rather shy. I’ve wrapped up well, and as I leave the heat of the cabin, I can see the truck is parked where Stan has some work lights set up, in the shelter of a large wooden outbuilding about one hundred yards from the house. As I walk over to join my amigo, every breath that leaves me forms into a small icy cloud that floats eerily in front of me. Strange, but true.

    Stan looks up from the inside of the hood of the truck when he hears me approach and says, “Hi, Dan. Are you out to give me some help?”
    “I’m hoping I’ll learn something because I know absolutely zilch about engines. I couldn’t help you even if it was the engine of a lawnmower,” I say.
    “Lawnmowers are not much use around here,” Stan laughs.

    He opens one of the drawers in the large red toolbox on the ground beside him and lifts out a large, oily-looking spanner. Well, I think it’s a spanner. Anyway, with the spanner thing, he starts to tinker inside the engine compartment.
    “Have you found anything that may cause you problems?” I ask.
    “No. This truck is reliable. I’ve never had any problems with it. My last truck was a different make. It used to give me problems all the time, especially when I drove through heavy snowstorms. The filter used to draw in the snow and well, that was that.” Stan stands back and looks at the engine as though to admire it. “I can see by the look on your face that I may as well be speaking double Dutch. You have no idea what I’m talking about, have you?”
    “In a one word answer, no.”
    “Like you and I, the motor of a truck needs air, otherwise they break down and that’s where the filter
comes into play.” Stan keeps looking at me.
    “That makes sense,” I say.
    “Dan, why do you have socks on your hands?” Stan scratches his head and laughs.
    “Couldn’t find the gloves I had on yesterday and I knew they were a necessity rather than a fashion statement around here. Socks are just gloves for your feet, so what’s the difference?”
    Stan is now laughing heartily and his already red face is getting redder and redder as he continues to laugh.
    “Hey, what’s going on here?” shouts Beth, who has just appeared from inside the house. She’s carrying a large green mug in each hand; she’s watching her footing as she makes her way across the slippery yard towards us.
    “Look at this guy’s hands.” Stan points at me, he can hardly speak.

Beth’s face lights up and she says, “Here, this will heat your hands ups.” She hands me a cup of piping hot liquid. The contents of the other mug she’s holding is spilling all over the ground as she starts to laugh on seeing my make-shift mittens close-up.

Stan grabs hold of the steaming mug before there is nothing left inside and to save Beth from burning herself. He dries his wet, gloved hands individually on his checked wool jacket and says, “I assume this is for me? Hot chocolate is just what I need.”

Beth takes off her woolen mittens, rubs her hands with a napkin from her coat pocket, and she says, “Yeah, Dad. I thought you both might welcome a warm drink.” Beth places her uncovered hands along with her wet mittens deep into her pockets. She giggles as she continues to look at my hands. “So, why on earth do you have bright red socks on your hands?”

“Can’t find my gloves,” I say.

     “Surely you could have chosen a different color. One that would have been a little more, let’s say, subtle.” Beth’s dark eyes sparkle mischievously.
    “I don’t like these ones much; so, I thought, if I lost them too, it wouldn’t matter.”
    “That sounds reasonable,” says Beth.

Stan ejects a mouthful of the chocolate into the air as he starts to laugh raucously. He lifts a handful of snow and rubs it into my face and he says, “A good enough reason, Dan. Any sensible human being will understand your explanation.”
“We better try to find you a pair before we go snowmobiling with Si tomorrow,” says Beth. She giggles uncontrollably as she leaves us to head back to the house.