Purple Haze

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky.

It was a phenomenon the small town of Laurel, Mississippi looked forward to every night. People of all ages would saunter to their front doors to be a part of the "purple haze" that formed nightly for the past week.

Then, one day, like clockwork, the purple clouds appeared, but a peculiar man by the name of Mr. Fiddles appeared as well. He was an older gentleman. He wore glasses, a white dress shirt, slacks, and a brown trench coat for his first meeting with his newfound neighbors.

Mr. Fiddles was moving into a home that hadn't been lived in years. Though the townsfolk were curious, it was hard to break their attention from the sky.

However, when they came to their doors to witness the color of the clouds once more, they saw him there; standing motionless in the middle of the tight knit Cul-de-sac they resided it; including 6 homes.

He watched them and their excitement from the clouds a moment before casually walking to his new home and opening and closing the front door.

The next morning, Mr. Fiddles arrived to the local hardware store to make some purchases for his home. It was there, he met Mr. Smith.

Mr. Smith had lived in the town for several years with his wife, son, and daughter, and dog Sparky. He watched anxiously as Mr. Fiddles strolled around the store.

Mr. Smith approached Mr. Fiddles with a nervous smile, "See you are looking to purchase a few items." Mr. Smith said. "Indeed, I just moved here from the North, and will be fixing up the house I purchased at Laurel Manor." Mr. Fiddles said eerily.

"Laurel Manor?" Mr. Smith said as he raised his eyebrows.

"Yes. Have you heard of it?" Mr. Fiddles said as his eyes flickered a deep purple.

"Yeah, a few years ago, something real bad happened there."

Mr. Smith held out his hand to greet Mr. Fiddles with a handshake.

"I'm Thomas Smith. Nice to meet you."

Mr. Fiddles stared at his hand for a moment, confused by the gesture.

He then raised his hand to shake it back; exposing his long, sharp nails. He was in awe at what this "shake of the hand" had meant. Mr. Smith and taken note of his claw like hands, but still shook back.

"I'm Samuel Fiddles. Likewise." he replied in an English accent.

"So, what brings you to our little town Fiddles?"

Mr. Fiddles smiled; exposing sharp, pointy, plague- ridden teeth.

" A little bit of this, and a little bit of that. I was called here to fix something." he said cheerfully.

Mr. Smith walked along side Mr. Fiddles, curious as to what "a little bit of this and that" meant. He then remembered seeing Mr. Fiddles the night before; seemingly appearing in the street out of nowhere, right when those purple clouds appeared.

"Hey, I remember you now. Saw you last night when the haze came through." Mr. Smith said.

"The Haze?" Mr. Fiddles asked curiously.

"Yeah, The Purple Haze that comes out at midnight. Right around the time you showed up."

"Oh." Mr. Fiddles laughed "The haze. That's what you all call it?" He laughed again.

Mr. Smith proceeded to escort Mr. Fiddles to the counter to ring up his items; tape, a shovel, a flashlight, electrical wires, a hammer, and nails.

Mr. Smith rang him up and decided to extend an olive branch to Mr. Fiddles.

"Say, Fiddles." Mr. Smith said as Mr. Fiddles was on his way out the door.

Mr. Fiddles turned around slowly and smiled again, as if he knew what Mr. Smith was going to ask.

"Would you like to have dinner with us this evening? I'm sure my kids and wife won't mind having a guest." Mr. Smith replied.

Mr. Fiddles approached the counter quickly. " I would absolutely love to have dinner with you, little Michael, and Josie. I would be honored. And the dog. Yes, Sparky right?" he questioned with a wicked smile.

Mr. Smith took a step back. "Who the hell is this man?", he thought.

Mr. Fiddles stared down Mr. Smith as if he were in a trance.

"Who am I? Well, I am Mr. Fiddles. I know more than most think."

"But how did you know what I was thinking? How did you know my kid's name?" Mr. Smith loudly whispered.

"Hush Mr. Smith. I will explain my presence here with you tonight. I look forward to meeting your family in person."

Mr. Fiddles walked out of the store. Mr. Smith turned his back for a brief moment, and when he looked up, old man Fiddles was gone.

Mr. Smith began to feel a feeling of anxiety. No one, in the town could explain why the sky and the clouds had been turning purple for the last few weeks. He could not put his finger on it, but somehow he knew Mr. Fiddles had everything to do with what was happening. He knew that Mr. Fiddles and the Purple Haze were connected somehow. What did it mean?

And more importantly, what was in the town of Laurel, that needed to be fixed? -AK