Mysterious “They” Identified As Source Of All Decisions

🎤 Audio Overview

🎤 Song For This Story

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Act I – The Porch Where It Began

The first confirmed sighting of “they” occurred, as most confirmed sightings in Sequatchie Crossing do, on Eugene “Boot” Barnes’ porch, sometime between the second cup of coffee and the third opinion about nothing in particular.

Boot leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking like it had something to say but declined out of politeness.

“They raised the water rates again,” Boot said, staring out toward the road as if it might answer him.

Clovis Strickland, who had brought a folding map of Sequatchie County for reasons not yet requested, leaned forward.

“Who did?” Clovis asked, already uncapping a pen.

Boot didn’t hesitate. “They.”

Clovis froze, pen mid-air.

“Well now,” he said slowly, “that’s not specific enough to plot.”

Mabel Dean Ashcroft, seated with her purse on her lap like she might need to leave quickly from a conversation that had nowhere to go, nodded knowingly.

“Oh, I know exactly who you mean,” she said.

Boot turned. “You do?”

Mabel smiled the kind of smile that comes from remembering something that may or may not have happened.

“I met them once,” she said.

Clovis dropped his pen.

“Met them?” he said. “Where?”

“Oh, it was years ago,” Mabel said, waving her hand like time was an accessory she could take on and off. “They were at a meeting.”

“What meeting?” Boot asked.

“Well, I don’t recall,” Mabel said. “But they were there. Quiet. Decisive. Didn’t stay long.”

Clovis unfolded the map across his knees.

“Alright,” he said. “We’re going to need to narrow this down. County, city, church annex, or the diner?”

Mabel tilted her head.

“It might’ve been the fellowship hall,” she said.

“That narrows it to four locations,” Clovis muttered, circling areas with unnecessary confidence.

From under the porch, a pig rooted in the dirt, uninterested in both geography and governance.

Boot leaned forward.

“Well I’d like to know where they are,” he said. “Seeing as they seem to be making all the decisions.”

Clovis nodded.

“Then we’re going to find them,” he said. “Or at the very least, define their boundaries.”

The pig snorted, which Clovis chose to interpret as skepticism.

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Act II – The Diner Clarifies Nothing

At Lurleen Davenport’s diner, clarity was served with a side of assumption and refilled without consent.

Trixie Jo Bartlett slapped a newspaper down on the counter.

“They’re closing the road past the overlook,” she announced.

“Who is?” Tiffany Annette Roark asked, not looking up from her phone.

Trixie Jo gave her a look.

“They are.”

Shelley Fawn Wexler, who had just entered with the posture of someone who had already judged the room, paused.

“Who exactly is ‘they’?” she asked.

Silence followed, not from lack of answers, but from too many.

Lurleen wiped the counter.

“Well it ain’t us,” she said.

Sonny Morales, stirring coffee like it owed him money, shrugged.

“Could be the county,” he said.

“Could be state,” said RT Mullins from the booth, where he had been sitting long enough to qualify as furniture.

“Could be federal,” Tiffany added.

Shelley crossed her arms.

“So nobody knows,” she said.

“Oh, we know,” Trixie Jo said. “It’s just not our place to say.”

Shelley blinked.

“That makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” Lurleen said. “They make decisions. We react to them. That’s how it’s always been.”

Shelley leaned forward.

“That’s not a system,” she said. “That’s a rumor with authority.”

From the corner, Maggie Sue Dillard nodded slowly.

“Well, rumor’s been pretty accurate lately,” she said.

Clovis entered then, map tucked under his arm.

“I’m working on it,” he announced to no one in particular.

Lurleen didn’t look up. “You find ‘they’ yet?”

Clovis laid the map flat across two stools.

“I’ve identified potential zones of influence,” he said.

Sonny raised an eyebrow. “You’re mapping people who don’t exist?”

Clovis tapped the map.

“They exist,” he said. “They’re just… non-localized.”

The pig, which had followed Clovis inside unnoticed, began sniffing at a dropped biscuit.

No one stopped it.

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Act III – Town Hall Establishes the Problem

At Town Hall, where problems were traditionally formalized before being ignored, Sheriff Peeler stood at the front with a paper he hadn’t read and a tone he intended to use.

“We’ve received multiple complaints,” he said, “regarding actions taken by… ‘they.’”

Officer Kenny Joe Teeter nodded like he had personally filed them.

“Road closures, rate increases, signage changes,” the Sheriff continued. “All attributed to ‘they.’”

Boot raised his hand.

“Where are they?” he asked.

Sheriff Peeler paused.

“That is currently under investigation,” he said.

Clovis stepped forward, map in hand.

“I have a working theory,” he said.

Pastor Arnold Peeler leaned in from the side.

“I’d like to hear that,” he said. “Preferably before Sunday.”

Clovis spread the map across the podium.

“I believe ‘they’ operate within a fluid jurisdictional model,” he said.

Mabel nodded vigorously. “Yes, that sounds like them.”

Clovis pointed to overlapping circles.

“These represent decision impact zones,” he explained. “Anywhere these overlap is where ‘they’ are most active.”

Sheriff Peeler squinted.

“That’s the whole county.”

“Exactly,” Clovis said.

Shelley stood from the back.

“This is absurd,” she said. “You’re mapping ambiguity.”

Pastor Peeler cleared his throat.

“The concern,” he said, “is not just where ‘they’ are, but how we speak about them.”

Everyone turned.

“When we say ‘they,’” Pastor Peeler continued, “we remove accountability and replace it with assumption.”

Mabel frowned.

“Well I still say I knew them,” she said.

Sheriff Peeler folded the paper.

“Until we identify ‘they,’” he said, “we will proceed with caution.”

Boot leaned back.

“I’d settle for directions,” he muttered.

The pig wandered through the room, leaving a trail of indifference.

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Act IV – The Church Questions Language

At the church, Pastor Arnold Peeler stood at the pulpit, holding a sermon that had been rewritten twice and understood not at all.

“Today,” he began, “we address the matter of ‘they.’”

Sister Lila Mae “Hallelujah” Pruitt raised both hands.

“Hallelujah,” she said, uncertain why but committed to the energy.

Pastor Peeler nodded.

“When we say ‘they,’ we refer to an undefined authority,” he said. “A presence without presence.”

Mabel leaned over to Evelyn Grace Tipton.

“That’s exactly how they were,” she whispered.

Pastor Peeler continued.

“But language shapes belief,” he said. “And belief shapes behavior.”

Boot shifted in the pew.

“So if we stop saying ‘they,’ do they stop doing things?” he asked.

Pastor Peeler paused.

“I… do not believe it works in reverse,” he admitted.

Shelley, seated near the aisle, spoke up.

“Then why keep using it?” she asked.

Sister Lila Mae stood.

“Because it explains things,” she said.

“How?” Shelley asked.

“It gives us somewhere to point,” Sister Lila Mae replied.

Dr. Neil Cowgill, who had come out of curiosity and stayed out of habit, leaned forward.

“That’s not explanation,” he said. “That’s displacement.”

Pastor Peeler nodded slowly.

“And yet,” he said, “it persists.”

From outside, the pig snorted loudly, as if to punctuate the sermon with agricultural skepticism.

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Act V – The Sheriff’s Office Investigates

Back at the sheriff’s office, Officer Kenny Joe Teeter had pinned a blank sheet of paper to the wall.

“This is where we start,” he said.

Sheriff Peeler looked at it.

“That’s nothing,” he said.

“Exactly,” Kenny Joe said. “We fill it in as we learn.”

Boot stood nearby.

“Well I can tell you one thing,” he said. “They ain’t here.”

Kenny Joe wrote: NOT HERE.

Clovis entered with a ruler.

“I’ve refined the map,” he said.

Sheriff Peeler sighed.

“Of course you have.”

Clovis laid out a new version, this one with arrows.

“These indicate probable movement patterns,” he said.

“Movement of who?” Kenny Joe asked.

“They,” Clovis said.

Sheriff Peeler rubbed his temples.

“Do we have a single confirmed sighting?” he asked.

Mabel stepped forward.

“I told you,” she said. “I met them.”

“Can you describe them?” Kenny Joe asked.

Mabel thought.

“They were… present,” she said.

Kenny Joe wrote: PRESENT.

Dr. Cowgill leaned against the wall.

“This is not an investigation,” he said. “This is a catalog of uncertainty.”

Sheriff Peeler nodded.

“And yet it’s all we’ve got.”

The pig wandered in, sniffed the blank paper, and walked away.

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Act VI – The Overlook Offers Perspective

At the overlook, Coach Freddie Stubblefield stood with Brett and Alyssa Crenshaw, watching the valley like it might reveal something if given enough time.

“They say ‘they’ are behind the new zoning,” Brett said.

Alyssa nodded.

“Everyone says that,” she said.

Coach Stubblefield crossed his arms.

“Back when I coached,” he said, “if something happened, you knew who made the call.”

“And now?” Brett asked.

Coach shrugged.

“Now it’s ‘they,’” he said.

Clovis arrived, map in hand.

“I’ve expanded the perimeter,” he announced.

Alyssa looked at him.

“Perimeter of what?”

Clovis gestured broadly.

“Their influence,” he said.

Brett squinted at the map.

“This is just arrows pointing everywhere.”

Clovis smiled.

“Exactly,” he said.

From the edge, the pig rooted in the dirt, ignoring both the view and the conversation.

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Act VII – The Print Shop Documents the Undocumented

At Chester Ray Blevins’ print shop, the air smelled like ink and quiet agreement.

“I’ve been printing notices,” Chester Ray said. “All of ‘em say ‘they.’”

Boot picked one up.

“They have decided,” he read aloud.

“Who?” Boot asked.

Chester Ray shrugged.

“I just print what they send,” he said.

“Who sends it?” Boot asked.

Chester Ray paused.

“They do,” he said.

Boot set the paper down.

“Well that clears that up,” he muttered.

Shelley entered.

“This is a loop,” she said.

Chester Ray nodded.

“Most things are,” he said.

The pig wandered past the door, uninterested in documentation.

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Act VIII – The Meeting About Them

Back at Town Hall, a meeting was called to identify “they.”

Sheriff Peeler opened the floor.

“Does anyone here know who ‘they’ are?” he asked.

Silence.

Then Mabel raised her hand.

“I still say I knew them,” she said.

Shelley stood.

“No,” she said. “You knew someone. Not ‘they.’”

Pastor Peeler stepped forward.

“Perhaps ‘they’ is not a group,” he said. “But a function.”

Clovis looked up.

“A function of what?”

“Of avoidance,” Pastor Peeler said.

Dr. Cowgill nodded.

“Vagueness protects blame,” he said.

Boot leaned forward.

“So nobody’s responsible?” he asked.

Shelley shook her head.

“Everyone is,” she said.

The room went quiet.

Outside, the pig lay down in the shade, having reached a conclusion no one else had.

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Act IX – The Realization Nobody Claimed

Later, on Boot’s porch, the group gathered again.

“They fixed the road,” Boot said.

“Who did?” Clovis asked.

Boot paused.

“…They,” he said.

Everyone nodded.

Mabel smiled.

“I knew it,” she said.

Shelley sighed.

Pastor Peeler looked out over the road.

“We may never identify them,” he said.

Dr. Cowgill added, “Because we don’t want to.”

Boot leaned back.

“Well if we ever do,” he said, “I’d like to shake their hand.”

The pig snorted.

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Epilogue – The Notice

A notice appeared the next morning:

“They thank you for your patience.”

No one questioned it.

No one signed it.

Everyone understood it.

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Disclaimer

This story is a work of fiction set in the entirely imaginary town of Sequatchie Crossing. Any resemblance to real persons, living or otherwise, is coincidental and not the responsibility of “they.” All characters, events, and institutions depicted herein are products of narrative invention, small-town observation, and the long-standing human tradition of attributing decisions to unnamed authorities. The pig remains unaffiliated.

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