Nobody Filed a Report, Which Made It Highly Suspicious

By Tom Seest

At Sequatchie Crossing, we tell the stories of Sequatchie Crossing.

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🎤 Audio Overview

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Act I – The Leak That Belonged to Nobody

It began, as most things in Sequatchie Crossing do, with something small enough to ignore and inconvenient enough to discuss.

The drip was located just outside the side entrance of the Town Hall, beneath a crooked downspout that had been threatening to detach itself from public service for at least three administrations. It dripped with a steady, confident rhythm—like it had tenure.

“Y’all hear that?” said Clovis Strickland, standing with one foot on the warped wooden step and one eye squinted toward the sky.

Drip.

“I hear it,” said Mabel Dean Ashcroft, holding a folded church bulletin she had no intention of reading. “Sounds like government inefficiency.”

Drip.

Sheriff Peeler leaned against the railing, arms crossed. “Ain’t a crime unless it’s intentional.”

Drip.

Officer Kenny Joe Teeter crouched near the base of the downspout and tapped the wet ground with his finger. “It’s water.”

“Well, we’ve ruled out oil,” said Clovis.

Inside Town Hall, Tiffany Annette Roark was already making a note about it, though she wasn’t sure under which category it belonged. She considered “infrastructure concern,” “ongoing moisture situation,” and briefly, “mysterious civic dampness.”

Meanwhile, Daisy the hound sat near the drip, head tilted, as if the water might confess something if given time.

Drip.

“Well,” said Sheriff Peeler finally, “somebody ought to look into it.”

Everyone nodded.

No one moved.

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Act II – The Committee of Observers

By mid-morning, the matter had escalated to a formal discussion at the diner.

At Maggie Sue Dillard’s place, the coffee was strong and the opinions stronger.

“It’s been leaking all week,” said Trixie Jo Bartlett, stirring sugar into her cup like she was dissolving a problem.

“All week?” asked Shelley Fawn Wexler, eyes widening as though time itself had betrayed them.

“That’s what I said.”

Dr. Neil Cowgill adjusted his glasses. “A persistent leak suggests structural fatigue or neglect.”

“Or sabotage,” said Clovis.

“Clovis,” said Maggie Sue, “nobody’s sabotaging a downspout.”

“You don’t know that,” he replied. “Water’s strategic.”

Across the table, Santiago “Sonny” Morales tapped his fork against his plate. “Why don’t somebody just fix it?”

The table went quiet.

“That’s not how this works,” said Tiffany, who had followed the conversation from Town Hall to breakfast. “We have to determine responsibility.”

“Responsibility?” said RT Mullins. “It’s a pipe.”

“It’s not just a pipe,” said Tiffany. “It’s a municipal pipe.”

“Still a pipe,” RT said.

Mabel leaned back in her chair. “If it belongs to the town, then it belongs to all of us.”

“Which means it belongs to none of us,” said Clovis.

Everyone nodded again.

Even Daisy, who had wandered in and laid down beneath the table, seemed to agree.

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Act III – The Survey of Ownership

That afternoon, a group assembled outside Town Hall with the seriousness of people determined not to act prematurely.

Mister Wade Langston arrived with a clipboard.

“I’ve drawn up a preliminary assessment form,” he announced. “We’ll need to evaluate jurisdiction before any intervention occurs.”

“Intervention?” said Boot Barnes, who had been standing quietly off to the side, hands in his pockets.

“Fixing,” said Wade.

“Oh,” said Boot.

Doug “Doughboy” Teeter leaned against the railing. “Looks like it’s coming from that joint there.”

“Don’t point,” said Tiffany. “We’re still in the evaluation phase.”

Coach Freddie Stubblefield stood nearby, arms crossed like he was waiting for a whistle. “In football, we’d call that a broken play.”

“This ain’t football,” said Clovis.

“Everything’s football,” Coach replied.

Brett and Alyssa Crenshaw stood together, observing like tourists who had accidentally wandered into a town ritual.

“Does this happen often?” Alyssa asked.

“Every time,” said Lurleen Davenport, who had arrived with Evelyn Grace Tipton, both of them already resigned to the outcome.

Boot crouched near the downspout and examined it quietly.

No one noticed.

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Act IV – The Blame Rotation

By evening, the conversation had moved to the church porch, where Pastor Arnold Peeler presided over a gathering that had nothing to do with scripture and everything to do with delegation.

“If it’s attached to Town Hall,” said Pastor Peeler, “then it falls under municipal oversight.”

“But the water comes from the sky,” said Clovis. “That’s federal.”

“Clovis,” said Sister Lila Mae “Hallelujah” Pruitt, “the Lord provides rain, not plumbing.”

“Still,” Clovis insisted, “it’s a shared resource.”

“Shared problems are the hardest to solve,” said Dr. Cowgill.

“They’re also the easiest to ignore,” said Mabel.

Daisy wandered up onto the porch and lay down beside Boot, who had taken a seat on the steps.

“You got anything to say about it?” Sheriff Peeler asked him.

Boot shrugged. “Seems like it’s leaking.”

“That’s what we’ve established,” said Tiffany.

Boot nodded.

“And?” she pressed.

“And it could be fixed,” he said.

There was a pause.

“Well,” said Wade, “we’ll need a plan.”

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Act V – The Expansion of the Problem

By the next morning, the leak had grown—not in size, but in significance.

Chester Ray Blevins printed flyers.

“NOTICE OF ONGOING WATER SITUATION,” they read in bold, slightly crooked letters.

“These ain’t necessary,” said Sheriff Peeler.

“Documentation is key,” Chester Ray replied.

Shelley Fawn Wexler suggested a social media post.

“We could raise awareness,” she said.

“Awareness of what?” asked RT.

“That there’s a leak.”

“People already know,” he said.

“Not digitally,” she replied.

Meanwhile, Clovis had begun measuring the drip rate with a borrowed stopwatch.

“It’s consistent,” he reported. “That’s what worries me.”

“What worries you?” asked Sonny.

“Consistency suggests intention.”

Mabel rolled her eyes. “Or gravity.”

Boot passed by with a wrench tucked into his back pocket.

No one noticed.

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Act VI – The Near Solution That Wasn’t

By midday, a ladder had been brought out.

It leaned against the side of Town Hall like a suggestion no one wanted to accept.

“Well,” said Coach Freddie, “there it is.”

“There what is?” asked Tiffany.

“The solution.”

“No,” she said. “That’s a tool.”

“Same difference,” he replied.

Wade consulted his clipboard. “We haven’t approved any action yet.”

“Do we need approval to climb a ladder?” asked RT.

“In this context, yes,” said Tiffany.

Boot stood near the ladder, looking up at the downspout.

Daisy sat beside him.

The drip continued.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

“Someone ought to do something,” said Clovis.

“Agreed,” said everyone.

No one moved.

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Act VII – The Quiet Fix

It happened sometime between lunch and the second round of opinions.

Boot Barnes walked over to the ladder.

No announcement.

No meeting.

No form.

He set the ladder straight, climbed up, and reached into the joint where the downspout had loosened.

He tightened a bracket.

Adjusted the angle.

Cleared a small clog of leaves and something that might have once been a receipt.

The drip slowed.

Paused.

Stopped.

Boot climbed down.

Wiped his hands on his jeans.

Walked away.

Daisy followed him for a few steps, then returned to the base of the downspout and sat down.

The ground began to dry.

No one noticed.

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Act VIII – The Discovery

It was Mabel Dean Ashcroft who noticed first.

She always did.

“Well, I’ll be,” she said, standing outside Town Hall with her arms folded.

“What?” asked Tiffany.

“It’s not dripping.”

Everyone looked.

It wasn’t.

Clovis approached cautiously, as if the absence of water might be a trick.

He tapped the pipe.

Nothing.

“Well,” he said slowly, “that’s new.”

Sheriff Peeler frowned. “Who authorized this?”

“No one,” said Mabel.

“That’s concerning,” he said.

Wade flipped through his clipboard. “There’s no record of intervention.”

“Then how did it get fixed?” asked Shelley.

They all looked at each other.

Daisy sat beside the dry spot, calm and content.

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Act IX – The Realization

Boot was sitting on the porch when they found him.

“You know anything about this?” Sheriff Peeler asked.

Boot looked up. “About what?”

“The leak,” said Tiffany. “It’s gone.”

“Oh,” said Boot. “That.”

“Well?” she pressed.

Boot shrugged. “I fixed it.”

There was a long silence.

“You fixed it?” repeated Wade.

“Yeah.”

“Without authorization?”

“Didn’t think I needed it.”

“You didn’t file anything,” said Tiffany.

“No ma’am.”

“You didn’t notify anyone.”

“No ma’am.”

“You just… fixed it?”

Boot nodded.

Clovis shook his head slowly. “That’s not how we do things.”

Boot looked at him. “Seemed like it ought to be.”

Mabel smiled.

Daisy lay down at Boot’s feet.

The ground was dry.

The drip was gone.

And for the first time all week, there was nothing left to discuss.

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Epilogue – The Return of Calm

By the following morning, the Town Hall porch had returned to its natural state of mild disrepair and conversational opportunity.

The flyers were gone.

The ladder had been put away.

The clipboard had been filed under “Resolved Without Process,” a category that made Tiffany uncomfortable.

People still gathered.

They still talked.

But the urgency had evaporated, along with the water.

Daisy continued to sit beside the repaired downspout, as if guarding the solution from further analysis.

Boot passed by occasionally.

No one stopped him.

And no one asked him to fix anything else.

Not yet.

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Disclaimer

No official records were created during the resolution of this matter.

No permits were issued.

No committees were formed.

No jurisdiction was formally assigned.

The problem was resolved through direct action by an individual who recognized ownership without requiring consensus.

Any resemblance to efficient governance is purely coincidental and should not be interpreted as precedent.

Residents are advised that future issues may still require multiple meetings, printed materials, and prolonged observation before similar outcomes are considered.

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At Sequatchie Crossing, we tell the stories of Sequatchie Crossing.

Please share this post with your friends, family, or business associates who may want follow the news from Sequatchie Crossing.