Tales From the Low Roads (WARNING: grisly content).

[Low_Roads]

Thanks, Hawk! Incredibly, no one has made the "Scanners" comparison before! Almost impossible to believe, the dynamic of battling psychic brothers is so similar. I have been told that the climactic fight recalls one from an early '60s Roger Corman release, "The Raven" (below). While not an intentional lift, this is more than likely true. The sorcery duel between Vincent Price and Boris Karloff contains a lot of the same whimsical back-and-forth. I've always thought the film particularly neat... it couldn't have failed to leave its imprint.

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #51

Sand Trap​

When you travel north on highway 80 and pass through Tabor County, one of the first landmarks you will see is a small miniature golf course off to the right. It sits all on its own on a frontage road, next to the southern tulle marsh. The name of the place is The Sand Trap: Miniature Golf. I always thought that was a pretty odd name for an amusement center. Calling it "The Sand Trap" almost makes it sound like they want you to fail.

It was originally built in the late '40s. The owner was a man who was only interested in money. He put the place together as cheaply as possible, and it sure looked that way. The chintzy paint job flaked soon enough, and the motorized gadgets, like the windmill blades and the castle drawbridge, all stopped working.

The course was put together so clumsily that there wasn't even a proper eighteen holes. There were twelve greens with little buildings on them: a windmill and a waterwheel mill, a castle, a haunted house, an Empire State Building with monkey, a Taj Mahal, and six others. All these were supposed to have mechanical obstacles to putt through. The buildings circled a big concrete mountain range with five more greens worked into it. That's only seventeen holes by my count. It shows you just how much the man cared about his patrons.

Such practices did not inspire much business, and he was forced to sell the golf course to a woman and her adult son. This gal was a weird one. She must have weighed three hundred pounds easy. Not all of it was fat, though. If anyone gave her trouble, some punk teenager, say, she would catch them by the shirt and by the trousers and throw them right into the parking lot. Her son had been with her so long he was completely beaten down. He would just take orders and do what he was told, and didn't even seem to think anymore.

Although the course had new ownership, it wasn't fixed up any better than before. The greens still languished in disrepair. That didn't matter, though. People would come for a whole different reason. The new folks put in some tables and started a sandwich shop. These were really delicious sandwiches. People came from all over just to try them. The woman's son was the one who put them together. He was incredibly talented in that way.

The place was open six days a week. Monday was the only time it was closed. But they soon announced a special deal. Once a week they would have a drawing. The lucky winner got to come back on Monday. He and his family would receive free sandwiches and could play miniature golf as much as they wanted. Nobody was interested in the golf, but they would always show up for the free food.

The woman usually made good on these deals. Most winners had no cause to complain. But what nobody knew was that her mind was warped. She was jealous of just about every person who drove in. If any of these folks had a really nice car or fancy clothes or just seemed to be a really happy family, she loathed them on sight. She would rig the contest so that these people won. There was no way she could do anything to them while lots of witnesses were around. But on Monday when they were there alone, she would sometimes slip cyanide into their food. Once the death spasms had stopped, she would pile them into the trunk of their car. Then she would push it off into the mire of the tulle marsh. She could only do this in the winter when the water was high. The cars would sink completely out of site. She did this maybe ten times, but the cops never suspected her.

One night she had just killed a nice little family. They had a big, beautiful automobile, so there would be plenty of room for every member. She had the car on the marsh bank and had just packed the last dead body in the trunk. As she got behind to give it a shove into the swamp water, something small and dark on the ground tripped her. She tumbled into the trunk herself and the hatch came down, trapping her. Horrified, she felt the car role down the bank into the mire. She bellowed for help, but there was no one around to hear. Soon, the dark muck leaked in, filling the trunk completely.

Blacky and his boys had had their eye on The Sand Trap for some time. They really liked the lay of the place, but would never have made their move if the woman had been honest. Now that she was gone, nothing stood in their way.

They moved in and looked the property over. Blacky was disgusted with the lousy condition of the golf course. He got a pencil and a piece of paper from the office, and made a list of all the materials he would need for proper repairs. Then he presented it to the son. You would have thought the man would freak out, receiving instructions from a white rat in a black leather jacket. But this guy was so beaten down from his life with Mom, he didn't think about it twice. He only knew how to do what he was told, and so he placed the orders. When the lumber and paint and things arrived, Blacky and the rest of the rats did all the work. They labored at night when there was no chance of being seen. They fixed up the links so everything worked perfectly, but that wasn't all. The Sand Trap was to be their new base of operations.

Each member of the gang picked one of the golf course houses and made it his own. He fixed it up inside with everything he needed for comfort. Each house was made sound proof so the mechanisms wouldn't be disturbing. Then they linked them all with underground plastic pipe so they could come and go without ever being witnessed. The big hollow concrete mountain served as a garage for their fleet of miniature racecars. A large gauge PVC pipe stretched under the mountain to the frontage road so they could drive in and out easily on their patrols. They even connected the golf course's water wheel to a generator so the car's electric motors would always be charged.

When customers saw how bright and inviting The Sand Trap looked now, everyone wanted to play a round of golf. And the woman's son still made and sold the sandwiches they all liked so well. He had been doing this all along, so it was no great strain on him. Before too much time had passed, the money started rolling in like it never had before. Blacky took charge of the finances and did the books at night. Like I've told you before, he was a genius rat and soon had the business working so smoothly it just about took care of itself.

Oh, and one more thing. Blacky and the boys finally added an eighteenth hole. It features a ten-foot tall, black fiberglass rat that rotates on a raised platform. Its eyes glow with an intense red glare as it keeps a constant watch on the town of Fairview. That's Blacky's territory, after all.

 

[His Divine Shadow]

Time for a bit of catch-up. By the numbers, then.

44
My oh my, mycologic mayhem! (ba dum kish) Some of the nastiest ailments do just that, growing like fungal colonies within the body. Look at Plasmodium falciparum for malaria or Trypanosoma brucei for sleeping sickness. A frightening angle, for once within there's nothing the host can really do. Sure, you're attacked by a lion you can at least futilely punch it in the noggin but a bug within? Can't exactly go inside and wash out your innards.

45
Those snappers can get big. Back when I lived on the Pasquotank River in NC (next to a swamp no less) we had them in the water, and they seemed big enough (a foot and a half or more, I'd guess). Not many lasted long, though; just like the snakes in the area, my father and his nigh-limitless ammunition supply cleansed the land of just about every dangerous critter imaginable. Fortunately I still have my feet (or do I?).

46
There were rumors of men cast in the concrete of Hoover Dam, although the rumors were usually disproved easily. One can't leave a body in the concrete like that, for as it decays it leaves the cavity described here, and thus is a weak point in the dam. Much more interesting (if morbid) to think it actually did happen, I suppose.

47
Aren't Jack-o-Lantern's supposed to ward off evil? There must have been something evil in the seed used during that year. A revolt against the puritanical farmer, maybe? Might just be the evil soil of the county.

48
I don't know if the escapee, boy or fly, could be considered lucky, not if left in that state upon escape. Who knows what natural or unnatural force formed that secluded glade? Maybe an old evil died there and infected the soil.

49
Words bear great power. But does the listener have to comprehend? I recall a story somewhere where a power word or phrase was used by a malcontent to great success. Yet he tried it upon one man and failed, cast down by that one. The reason? The man was deaf. Similar to the basilisk or cockatrice and their stone-turning powers: would the blind be immune? I don't know myself.

50
A real case of mind over matter, that. Seems plausible, though; the mind is the central core of the body. If the mind were made to believe it was mortally wounded perhaps it would just up and die. The brain is a mysterious organ indeed.

51
And Blacky concludes the tales I've missed! A splendid way to end my resumption of readings, what with a good 'ole gets-what-coming-to-em tale to brighten the day. Delightful, all of 'em!

 

[Low_Roads]

What a treat to hear from the HDS again! So consumed (and understandably so!) with the vital concerns of education, whilst also called upon to selflessly see that our beloved TTC remains hale and functioning, I hadn't hoped he'd find time to peruse this poor thread till many more moons had passed! My grateful thanks for your attention, and most ardent wishes for success in your studies! Knowing your active, questing mind, sharp reasoning and boundless energy, you'll hardly need any solicitudes from me on this score!

#44. Tie-Dyed Mushrooms:

... Sure, you're attacked by a lion you can at least futilely punch it in the noggin but a bug within? Can't exactly go inside and wash out your innards.

No indeed! Attacking your own gut does you more harm than it does the invader! Though those hippies have only themselves to blame. Sorta like with vampires... the nasties can't enter and do harm unless one invites them in. Dissimilar to tropical disease, but then Tabor is meant to seem less fecund than Panama or Borneo. Dissimilar to most other hazards in Tabor, in fact.

#45. Defeated by Nature: Environmental correctness notwithstanding, I tend to side with your dad... blow them bitey critters into hamburger! Poisonous snakes in particular. Can't stand serpents, the thought of fatal ones in particular (I'd make a lousy candidate for Australian colonization). The reason these creepies appear so often in my writing, probably... working out my neuroses in print.

Lord! A foot and a half really is intimidating! Doesn't seem that way when you're only holding your fingers apart to mark the length, but in the snapping flesh is another matter!

#46. The Headstone: I'd heard all sorts of similar stories about workmen disappearing into the flood of concrete when the foundations of the Golden Gate Bridge was being poured. Apocryphal tales, most likely... I never read any such thing in any authoritative source. Though the major inspiration for this story sprung from the plastered-over bodies inside the ruins of Pompeii. Undeniably creepy horror relics, not only in-and-of themselves, but due to the tragic history they reflect. That city's sad calamity inspired many a youthful nightmare. The resolution to "The Headstone" was intended to be bittersweet, tinged with unease. The concrete pilot never made a return. If I'd thought things through more thoroughly, he probably would have (living statues are prime fodder for scary literature). That's not the end of things, though... keep an eye out for story #80...

#47. Trick of Treat: This entry was #46 in the original rotation. I swapped it for "The Headstone" so it could appear closer to Halloween (the first time through, I offered it in Spring, March or thereabouts. Got plenty of gripes about that...) There certainly is plenty of tainted soil in Tabor, though the prime provocation was indeed provided by the farmer's humorless, hidebound attitude. The comeuppance, of course, is out of all proportion to the insult.

#48. The Insane Spot:

I don't know if the escapee, boy or fly, could be considered lucky, not if left in that state upon escape.

Well, I was proceeding from a "where there's life, there's hope" proposition... probably not all that valid, as you note, considering that this guy will likely never leave the nut-house. Any hint of a contaminating agent is intentionally played down, so as to exacerbate the sense of random, motiveless insanity. The setting was inspired (though in a very oblique way) by those tourist-trap "mystery" spots, where the laws of gravity seem to be suspended (the Oregon Vortex is a well-known example). Fakes based on optical illusion, from what I've read... I've never actually visited one, but I'll bet they're convincing!

#49. Say the Secret Word: Heady speculation! I hadn't before thought in terms of Basilisk or Cockatrice, but I certainly have about the Gorgon! Could her glare turn a blind man to stone? I always supposed not... Medusa is always described as unspeakably ugly, and such a consideration couldn't matter less to the sightless. Then again, Perseus is able to pinpoint her position via her reflection... would her mirror-image be any less off-putting than the primary view? I always remember the legend phrasing as being a little vague... something like "a creature so hideous that one glance could turn a man to stone". Okay, one glance... her glance? The victim's glance? You're relating for the ages, guys! Let's tack things down better, please!

#50, Duel:

If the mind were made to believe it was mortally wounded perhaps it would just up and die.

Perfectly expressed! That's the exact presumption I depend on for this plot, that the brain can be fooled into killing or maiming the body! Presumably, the inverse would inevitably have to be true as well. A pity the CIA concerned itself only in spies and manhunters instead of healers (there I go, blaming an actual institution for my fictional one's faults!)

#51. Sand Trap: Much like Blacky himself, Blacky stories pop up when least expected! The whole premise was suggested (more or less) by the scene in "Psycho" where Norman Bates disposes of Marion's car in the quicksand (yeah... a swamp full of quicksand in the middle of a mid-western desert. I never really bought that). About the only way in which my work has ever echoed Hitchcock... I don't presume to tread on the master's corns!

Thanks once again for this bounty of concise examination and compliments, HDS! Greatly appreciated during the fervor of the hectic holiday season!

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #52

The Skin Trade​

Back in the '30s, before Monticello Dam was built, Lake Tabor was much smaller than it is today. There was a little town by its banks. What's left of that town is completely submerged now. The town rested in the midst of an extensive valley surrounded by tall hills. That valley is currently filled up with reservoir water, with the hills holding it in place.

The new, bigger Lake Tabor really is good sized. You could spend all day in a motorboat exploring all its nooks and channels and still not see it all. There's a large island out in the middle of one branch that just about everyone knows, though. Back before the water level rose, the island was the top of a hill. Folks in the town never visited that hill. It had an evil reputation. They were actually pretty glad to see the water invade and separate it from the rest of the land.

When the dam was finished, the state bought out the town residents. Alot of them used the money to obtain lakeside property. Even though the town was gone, they didn't want to leave an area they'd known their whole lives. They put in businesses so they could make money off the vacationers who arrived to have fun. They built restaurants and cabins and boat rentals.

But they still kept an eye on that island. They were pretty sure that whatever menacing thing haunted the place was trapped now. Of course, that wouldn't protect anyone who decided to go ashore and explore, so they would always be firm with warnings to stay off. Surprisingly, visitors were pretty cooperative.

One day a couple drove in looking for a boat to rent. You could tell just by looking that they were trouble. The man had an oily quality. He talked smooth enough, but behind his cute phrases it was clear he thought all the locals were rubes to be humored and cheated. He dressed in sharp sports clothes, but his skin was pale and his hands were lily soft. He was obviously no outdoorsman.

The woman was taller than he was. She had plenty of body to show off, all in the right places too, but no one could miss her sour manner. This gal thought she was a queen and that no one else was good enough even to look her way. Between the two of them, they got everyone pretty irritated.

The truth was these people were pornographers. The man carried a camera and he would use it to take photographs of her obscene poses. Usually they would work in dark studios, away from prying eyes, but the man had gotten it into his mind to do some "nature" shots. You have to be outdoors for that.

Anyway, these two rented their boat, but they got the locals so upset that no one thought to inform them about the island. As things turned out, that was a bad mistake. It would be the perfect location for their smut session, but then the boat owner really didn't know what their intentions were.

So everyone was real taken aback when they saw the boat heading in that direction. When it pulled up on the island bank, some people tried to shout warnings, but it was just too far away. The man and woman probably wouldn't have listened anyhow. Soon they both disappeared behind the brush and trees to attend to their business.

Hours passed, but there was no sign of the two. Everyone got real nervous. The boat owner was afraid he might have to make the trip out there himself just to retrieve his property. But at last they saw the boat was heading back in. There only seemed to be one person in it, though.

This turned out to be the woman. Something seemed wrong with her. Her attitude had been snotty and superior before. She had refused to look anybody in the face. Now she gazed directly at everyone with frightening, furtive intensity. Before, she had stood tall and proud. Now she stooped over and clutched at her clothes like she was afraid they wouldn't stay in place. Some folks ventured a few questions about her missing companion, but she would just stare so menacingly that they backed down at once. She stalked right past her car, not even glancing at it, and soon disappeared from view. Everyone was spooked and no one dared to go after her even though she seemed ill.

The man was still missing, so the cops were called out to investigate. The whole day was gone now and it was growing dark, but the deputies insisted on checking out the island. A couple of the local men were so curious that they decided to go along. Maybe the thought of the armed deputies gave them some confidence.

Still, everyone was feeling pretty apprehensive when they landed. This piece of ground had been shunned for years. It was only about five acres worth, but the tangle of trees made it difficult to see anything or to navigate. So it was about twenty minutes before they found a thing. What they did find was pretty strange and horrible, though.

They happened upon a big tree that stood inside a clearing. The cops decided later that this open area would probably have attracted the couple for their photography. Anyway, the first thing the flashlights found was the camera, which was smashed into pieces. The film was all exposed and shredded, so it would be no good for clues.

The deputies examined the ground in front of the tree. It was soaked with what seemed to be gallons of blood. But there was another nasty, gluey fluid mixed with it. This dropped down from up above. The deputies found the source. A lumpy, organic cylinder about seven feet long was meshed into the upper branches. It had a weird structure and seemed to be made of baked mud and hardened slime and spit, just like some hornet's cocoon. The bottom of it was open and this is where the liquid came from.

Finally, human remains were located behind the tree trunk. Only a few bits of the man were left. These pieces were mixed with a strong saliva, so the cops thought they knew what had happened to him. Then there was another corpse. No one could say where it came from. Tests were later done on its teeth. It proved to be the man's woman friend. She wasn't in pieces, but was a terrifying mess all the same. She was crumpled up in a fetal position. All of the skin had been peeled off.

That tree has since been cut down and burned. The island probably isn't dangerous anymore, but still nobody goes out there. Even though they died awful deaths, everyone around the lake hates those two pornographers. Especially the woman. Nobody knows for sure what came ashore that day, wearing her skin.


Below, please find a preview page from upcoming Chapter 16 of my Low Roads comic, due possibly this weekend:

 

[Cbarton]

Interesting pair of stories. The sandwich making son almost makes one think of Arthur Dent in the last of the hitchhiker series (the village sandwich maker). And, leave it to Blacky and the gang to avenge the murders of the townspeople! Good to see him back.

Very bizarre end to the other one. Makes me think that this creature may make a return visit to our favorite, if not strange, county...

 

[Low_Roads]

Glad you enjoyed them, Hawk! I didn't realize Arthur Dent had become a sandwich maker (my familiarity with the series drops off severely after the first two seasons of the decades-old radio show)... a rather prosaic profession, considering his adventures, but I'll bet he's happier for it! That's assuming anything could cheer up Arthur... aside from Marvin, he's the most downbeat character on the show!

And I wouldn't be a bit surprised if "The Skin Trade's" island-liberated horror didn't show up again for further mayhem! Good prescience!

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #53

The Boy in the Box​

A tragic event once occurred because of a kids' hazing ritual. It wasn't even for a proper club, just a bunch of teenagers hanging out. These guys all lived with rich parents in Green Valley, so it's no surprise they had plenty of time to waste in this way.

I mean, this so-called "club" didn't even have a proper name. Their chief activity was testing the new applicants, almost all of whom they didn't even let join. The boy this time was real insecure and wanted to be liked more than anything. He would put up with most any humiliation to become a member, and the others were more than happy to lay on the tortures.

First, they tied a pillowcase over his head so the other torments would be more scary. Then they made him stumble around the room blindly bumping his shins, while the rest whacked his butt with sticks. He had to hold lighted matches until they burned down and scorched his fingers. Next, he was taken outside and soaked with a garden hose until he was shivering. The sadistic club members made him squeeze into a tight steamer trunk, which they locked. Finally, they loaded him into the back of a car, while they took off on a wild ride through the country roads and into the town of Fairview. The poor kid was left to lie freezing and cramped in that trunk while the others joined a raucous party with girls. The cruelest part was, this kind of party was the main reason the boy wanted in the club to begin with, but it was unlikely he would ever be a member. The other guys just wanted the funny story for the girls to laugh at.

So he stayed and stayed in that clammy trunk. He was in real danger of suffocating or catching pneumonia, but that's not what happened. As the party blared on 'til all hours, the car was stolen by thieves. These weren't just any thieves, but the Red Devil Gang, the most infamous crooks ever to threaten Fairview. The boy had been kidnapped, but neither he or they knew it. He just figured it was more initiation.

The gang had stolen this car to be a getaway vehicle. For what crime, I'm not sure. Either a robbery or murder, probably. That's not important to this story. The key thing is that afterwards they drove it out of town into the flat bare plains of northern Tabor County. The Red Devils were careful and liked to eliminate any possible evidence.

They had an ally up there for that very purpose. He operated a wrecking yard with a big heavy-duty car crusher. This man was very unscrupulous. He did this kind of work all the time. Most of his profits came from pay-offs from criminals.

I guess the boy in the trunk still thought this was part of the hazing. I hope we'll never have to know his final terror when the walls came closing in.

His father was an important man in Fairview and he got a big force of cops mobilized to find out what happened to him. They ultimately located the crushed car miles and miles away. It was squashed down to about a three foot by three foot cube. Jackhammers were used to split the wreck apart. When they got the trunk out, it was only about the size of a lunch box. They opened it on the spot, and the boy's compressed remains bulged out and hung there obscenely for a few minutes until the sickened crew stuffed him back in. The heartbroken dad had a lavish funeral for his son, but the burial didn't really cost very much. The coffin was tiny, and they were able to sink it into a post-hole.

I suppose the club members really had a funny story to tell the girls after that.

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #54

The Alien Brain​

The men at Travis Air Force Base once shot down a flying saucer. Someone out there must have pretty good aim, because I understand those things aren't that easy to hit. They hid it away in a certain hangar that extends deep under the ground to a secret facility. It's a bunker that's specially designed to deal with extraterrestrial artifacts.

They have a machine shop down there with the saws and drills necessary to slice through alien metal. So it wasn't too long before they'd opened up the door and got inside. I'm sure the alien designers really appreciated all this. I can only imagine how we'd feel if men from other planets treated our property this way. But the boys at Travis probably considered it a rescue mission to save the pilot, even though they had caused the crash to start with.

Well, they made it inside like I said, but they were too late. The alien life form was strapped in his chair with seat belts, but his neck was broken. Those things don't work every time. The investigators cut the body loose and carried it outside on a stretcher. It was arranged on a table to be examined by doctors.

If you've ever read a newspaper in the checkout line, you know exactly what the dead spaceman looked like. This one wasn't any different at all. The surgeons cut him open and put all his different organs in jars of formalin so they could be studied later. When they got to his head, they noticed that there was already a sizeable hole in back. They assumed it must have happened during the accident. Anyway, this made it easier to remove the brain. They settled it into a metal pan so the lead surgeon could dissect this first.

Now what none of them knew was that the hole was not caused by the crash. Alien brains are not like yours or mine. They are independent from the rest of the body. An alien brain treats its body like we treat cars. It's only there to get around with. The brain can come and go when it wants to.

So when the doctor got himself alone with the brain to do his experiments, he was making a fatal error. As soon as he turned his back, the organ raised up on four little lumpy legs. By the time the surgeon saw this, it was too late. It sprang onto the man's face and clung to his mouth and nose until he was unconscious. Then it burrowed through the back of his head. It ripped out the human brain and placed this in the dissection pan. The human gray matter didn't look all that much like the alien's, but perhaps this switch would fool the air force staff for awhile.

The alien brain climbed into the empty skull. It took over the man's whole body. As near as anyone could tell, it was the surgeon now. It used the man's comb to straighten up his hair and cover up as much of the hole as possible.

The doctor had been an important man on base. The brain was able to pass checkpoint after checkpoint without even being questioned. It got to the parking lot, but then there was a problem. It had no idea which car belonged to the surgeon. So it just broke into the first likely car it saw. It used its superior intelligence to start the ignition without a key. So far, the escape plan was going perfectly.

But suddenly there was a siren and announcements over the base loudspeakers. Personnel must have discovered the deception. The brain gunned the motor and took off. Guards at the main gate tried to halt the car, but it just ran them down. Pursuit vehicles followed right after, and there was a wild chase down Air Base Parkway.

MPs trailed the desperate fugitive all through Fairview. Soon, town cops got in on the action. The brain had no respect for traffic laws. It flew right through red lights and caused several bad accidents. The police were frantic to get this reckless driver off the road.

The pursuit led down Merchant Street, under Highway 80, and off into the farmland. The country roads were less crowded than those in town, so speeds became even faster. People always seem to think its safe to drive fast on country roads. That can be a big mistake. Roads in the countryside tend to twist and turn, whereas most pavement in urban areas goes straight. That's why most fatal crashes happen in the country.

The chase had turned right on Rockville Road and was still going strong. The brain was traveling flat out as it approached the first bridge, when a big fruit hauler appeared coming the other way. It had arrived first and there was just no room for both vehicles. The car swerved onto the gravel, but it was too late to stop. It plunged down thirty feet over the creek bank and tumbled to a crashing stop at the bottom of the dry creek bed.

Cops from all over descended on the wreck. The doctor's body was found at the wheel. It had a broken neck. They heaved the body out to a waiting meat wagon from the air base. It was soon whisked away. Where to, the town cops never found out. They never got to take a close examination. If they had, they would have seen that its head was broken and the brain was missing.

In fact, the brain wasn't very far away. It hadn't had time to do more than hide beneath some brush while the recovery took place, but that was enough. No one noticed it and soon all the men left the accident site.

The alien brain was now free from pursuers, but that didn't mean it was out of danger. Wild country in the growing dark is a pretty hostile environment for a naked brain. Not that it was completely defenseless. It could scamper around on its four formless legs. A series of spindly antennas were sensors to let it perceive the world. These would actually let it see things better than with human eyes. They could look right through objects the way X rays do. Then up front was a flexible broad tube that held a circle of cutting teeth. These allowed it to bore into flesh and bone.

All the same, it couldn't stay outside long. It didn't like the dry night air where it would shrivel and grow stiff. It required the cool and dank conditions inside a skull. That was its normal home. The bottom of a creek might seem like an unlikely place to find one, but in Tabor County many men camped out. This was part of the Low Roads, where illegal field hands and bums hid to avoid the law. It was just about time for these guys to get their sleep.

The brain would not have to go far to find what it needed.

 

[Cbarton]

Missed the boy in the box earlier...has the standard urban legend feel all over it. Leave it to the Red Devils to spoil things up.

Now you've done it! The ultimate cliffhanger now! Who knows what brains lurk in the skulls of Tabor Country? Only the LBH knows... Excellent tale here. I can see it now: Blacky vs. the Red Devils vs. The Brain....

 

[Low_Roads]

Missed the boy in the box earlier...has the standard urban legend feel all over it. Leave it to the Red Devils to spoil things up.

I know what you mean about the archetypical urban legend feel! I shoot for that much of the time in these stories, but this one succeeds more fully than many of them do. Tales involving autos always seem to be particularly grisly... the Death Car (impossible-to-remove death smell in a "for sale" suicide's vehicle); the Volkswagon bug full of motorists, buried between two head-on diesel rigs and not discovered until the wrecks are pried apart weeks later; etc. A car crusher provides the ideal mechanics for warping the laws of physics to morbid effect!

Even though deceased, we may indeed count upon the Red Devils to bollox things up in future episodes! The benefit of a quavering timeline is that no one knows when anyone is gonna pop up again!

Now you've done it! The ultimate cliffhanger now! Who knows what brains lurk in the skulls of Tabor Country? Only the LBH knows... Excellent tale here. I can see it now: Blacky vs. the Red Devils vs. The Brain....

Thank you Hawk, both for your compliments and your perceptiveness! You certainly divine my intent aright... more players means better confusion! Ordnance will be aimed in all possible directions, not simply evil vs. not-so-evil. I love Battle Royal better than any competing form of combat (... strictly as an observer, of course!)

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #55

Hair Today​

A man who lived up in Gordon Valley was once hit by a lightning bolt. This happened because he made a foolish mistake. His TV antenna had blown down during a severe storm and he was missing his favorite shows. Instead of waiting for the bad weather to pass, he went up immediately to repair it. That's when the lightning struck him. If the antenna had still been there it probably would have attracted the lightning away, but instead the electricity lit up his whole body.

The man tumbled off the roof and fell senseless into some bushes. Amazingly, he wasn't killed. After a few days in the hospital, he was ready to come back home. But the vicious burst hadn't left him totally untouched. It had acted like a giant dose of electrolysis. All his hair had fallen out and it wouldn't come back. He was completely bald now.

This guy was pretty vain. He had been really proud of his fine head of hair and was upset that it was gone forever. This was a problem all right, but any normal man could have solved it by getting a wig. They make pretty good ones these days. But that solution wasn't for him. The idea that it wouldn't be real, growing hair bothered him. So he started checking out the baldness magazines for help.

He was considering a hair transplant until an ad in one of the magazines caught his eye. It was for a process called the Hair Today System. Whatever was in the ad got him real excited, because he started making plans that day to travel to Florida.

He was gone for a full week. Everyone assumed he was going through some sort of intensive procedure, but when he returned he looked no different. He wasn't downcast, though. All that time had been spent at the Hair Today Clinic doing tests to insure that the System would work on him. Since all this had cost quite alot, some of his friends believed the Clinic was scamming him, but the man brought out two good sized plastic bottles to prove that they were wrong.

These bottles contained the Hair Today System. This was supposed to be a secret smuggled out of communist Cuba. The System was supposedly responsible for why Castro's beard always looked so full. The man opened up the bottles to show everyone. Inside the first one was a thick white cream. This had an ugly, piercing odor like it was made of strong chemicals. In the second bottle was a gritty brown paste. This paste was the most important part of the System.

The grains in this paste were supposed to be hair seeds. You would plant them by smearing the paste on your head, wherever you wanted hair to grow. After it had had a chance to set up a little, you would cover it all with the white cream. This was like covering plant seeds with loose dirt. The cream would then harden. This was important, because you had to leave the whole mess on for five days to let the seeds work themselves into the scalp and become follicles. His friends were sure it was snake oil and wouldn't work at all.

All this negative reaction didn't dissuade the man. He had faith in the System. He applied everything just like in the instructions, and five days later, after he thoroughly washed off the goop, everybody gathered to see the result. His head looked just as bare as it had before. There was great disappointment, but the man was still hopeful. Perhaps the hair just needed time to grow.

His patience paid off two days later when the first new hairs began to sprout. His friends were amazed. It looked just like real hair, and in a week you could see it was going to be fine and full. In fact, it was growing out quicker than anyone could believe. At the end of three weeks, it looked like he would actually need to visit a barber.

As beautiful as they were, though, these new locks were starting to cause a problem. The hair grew too well. The man could hardly go five days without a haircut. He had real trouble looking tidy. Still, in his mind it was better that being bald.

There was still some contents left in the bottles. The man always joked that he might use it some day if he wanted a beard, so no one thought it was too odd when he started to grow one. But the leftover paste had nothing to do with this. The hair was starting to spread on its own. Actual plants will act similarly if you're not careful. Untended weeds can take over a plot of clean ground in a matter of weeks.

This new development was more irksome. The man needed to shave several times each day. Finally he grew sick and tired of this and just let it become a beard, but then he noticed hair sprouting up in spots where it was never meant to. His cheeks and his nose and his brow flared up with beard-like hair. This was really alarming. He used hair remover, but not even this could keep it down. Soon his entire head became covered. And then it began creeping down his neck. Plainly it intended to take over the whole body.

The man called and called the Hair Today Clinic, but never got them on the line. They must have gone out of business or moved. He tried every hair removal technique he could think of, but the bristles were just too strong. Nothing worked. In desperation, he went to the doctors, but they were baffled too. The follicles had taken a really deep root and there was no way to remove them without removing all the man's facial skin.

The hair continued to spread. The man's whole chest and shoulders became covered. Then the doctors discovered something really terrifying. The man started to complain about blurred vision. They made a close examination and found small hair cover beginning to form over the lenses of his eyes. His lips became furry and hairs began to grow on his tongue and gums, and even sprouted through cracks in his teeth. It seems they were headed inside as well as out.

The man could obviously no longer care for himself. He became institutionalized, with nurses seeing to all his needs. Meanwhile, every square inch of his body became covered with the hair. He now looked more like a yak than a human being. Just how his insides were doing was anyone's guess.

The doctors took what was left of the Hair Today paste and did experiments with it. They treated a hairless breed of mouse with the seeds. It soon became completely covered. Then they put a new mouse in the same cage. A few days later, the hairs spread to that one too. This development really scared everyone. The man was immediately put in a locked room by himself, away from other human contact. His nurses had to wear full body biohazard suits from then on.

I guess the hairs finally drove the guy crazy. Maybe they finally reached his brain. The next time his nurse entered, he pushed through the open door and escaped. No one stopped him or even dared to get too near him. He made his way blindly into the night.

The entire hospital was in total panic. Calls were made and men in white vans covered the landscape. But the escapee stayed out of sight for weeks. Then a big storm started to blow. They figured this would be the perfect chance to catch him, since he would have to come indoors for shelter. The white vans stayed on a constant prowl for any signs.

He was finally spotted struggling across an open field. He had just left the cover of the woods and was heading for a barn. Hospital personnel surrounded the area in an attempt to take him in. The past weeks had not been kind. He was a bizarre sight to see. The streaming hair was so thick you could see no details of the body at all. It flurried in the stiff winds about twelve feet in all directions. Just as the men made their move to close in, a great lightning bolt crashed out of the sky and struck him in an explosion of sparks. All that hair erupted into a blazing fireball.

Later when they went through the ashes, no body parts at all remained to be discovered. I'd sure like someone to locate that Hair Today Clinic. They need to be sued and made to pay for their behavior. The System was clearly never ready for people to use. That's not the thing that really disturbs me, though.

Since the doctors did learn that the man's hair could spread to other animals, and since no trace of his body was found in the ashes, I hope it really was him that was destroyed out in that field. It's horrible to think about the state he'd be in today.

 

[Cbarton]

Great tale, LBH. At first, I had visions of the scene with Elmer Fudd in the classic cartoon "Bugs Bunny of Seville" when the flowers sprouted on his scalp. Looks like either too much fertilizer or poorly created hybrids there for the hair seeds. Great yields but hard to control! Like volunteer corn in a soybean field, but at an even higher scale.

By the time we got to the end, I was ready for you to spring some sort of semi-lycanthropy on us...'The Gordon Valley Werewolf!'

 

[Low_Roads]

Thanks a lot, Hawk! Oh yeah, I definitely remember that "Rabbit of Seville" cartoon, one of Chuck Jones' more entertaining efforts! That business with the sprouting blooms was a standout moment, too! "Hair Today" most likely found its genesis in sitcom miracle hair systems. George Costanza sent away for some wonder cream from China in a Sienfeld episode, but there are far older examples: both Dick van Dyke and Desi Arnez went through almost identical ordeals (well... the wraps, not the disastrous end-product) in instances from their classic shows. What with hair transplantation being so successful today, there's probably not much mileage left in miracle hair treatment scenarios.

"The Gordon Valley Werewolf" does have a nice ring to it! This guy ended up being a menace mostly to himself, as things turned out. Pathology stories can be gripping, but they don't offer much replay value. Oh well... still plenty of Low Roads personalities lurking around! More than enough to toy with!

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #56

Gas Attack​

I can't think of anyone who doesn't like to have tree squirrels on their property. It's almost like having pets except there is no responsibility involved. These animals sure are cute. They hop and frisk and chase each other around tree trunks and up in the limbs. They are very clean. They will not leave a mess the way some wild creatures do. I know folks who will buy nuts for them to eat just so they will stay around.

I'm afraid I can't say the same for ground squirrels, though. They are almost exactly the opposite. Sometimes it's hard to believe they're part of the same family. Ground squirrels will chew up your land and dig holes everywhere. You can always tell their nests because they will leave alot of empty walnut shells strewn around outside like a bunch of pigs. These holes can be pretty wide. If you drove over one, you'd know it. Unlike tree squirrels, these guys live in big family groups. You will always see the youngsters skulking around. That's another problem. Baby ground squirrels are the rattlesnake's favorite food. If you don't have rattlers on your land, you may get some if ground squirrels move in.

So it's always a good idea to get rid of these pests as soon as you see them. That's not always an easy task. Ground squirrels know they're not popular and try to keep a low profile. They skulk, like I said. They stay flat on the ground and can move really fast, so shooting them can be a difficult chore. They're also pretty alert. You won't ever get too close. It may seem like a better idea to try and attack their nest, but doing that can be hard as well. There are a dozen different ways to deal with squirrel holes, but none of them are very effective.

Using water won't work. The tunnel systems are just too extensive. The squirrels naturally dig water traps anyway, so it will run harmlessly off. You can leave a garden hose running all day long and get nowhere. Some farmers use M-80s. An M-80 is a quarter stick of dynamite. It fits pretty comfortably down a hole entrance. I guess this works okay if it falls right on the animal’s head. Otherwise, I don't see they have much value. A recent method is to stick in lighted road flares. The smoke is supposed to smother them. The problem here is that these dens can have several entrances. Some of them can be pretty well hidden, like underneath bins or pallets. If you don't find every one and plug it, the squirrels will make an easy escape.

One landowner up in Ross Valley thought he had the answer. He was plagued by ground squirrels and had tried everything. Then he got a sudden inspiration. The man owned a big raised fuel tank. It held about three hundred gallons of gasoline. This was to supply his tractors and other farm equipment. The tank platform was on wheels so it could be moved from ranch to ranch easily when needed.

So what this guy did was to wheel the tank up to one of the squirrel holes. He stuck in the nozzle and pumped in gallon after gallon of gas. He must have pumped in one hundred gallons at least. This was pretty expensive, but the man was desperate. Then he backed off the tank, lit up an M-80, and tossed it down the hole.

The idea was sort of a combination of all the other attacks. Some of the squirrels might be drowned by the gas. Once it turned to flames, some would be killed that way. Then he hoped the gasoline fumes would take care of any pests that remained.

Well, this approach worked, all right, but it was far more effective than he wanted it to be. There was a huge underground explosion. Fountains of fire came shooting out each hole entrance. But leading the way was a dozen little blazing missiles. These were the incinerated squirrels. They came down all over the man's ranch, setting several buildings on fire. One of them hit the gas tank, right where the hose attached. The remaining two hundred gallons went off in a tremendous fireball that completely engulfed the poor farmer, roasting him on the spot.

So the experiment was an almost complete fiasco. The man not only lost his home, but his life as well. On the other hand, he did get rid of the squirrels, a feat few people have been able to do. I guess that's worth something.

 

[Cbarton]

"Hey, everyone! Come on over, Clem's hostin' a Squirrel Roast tonight..."

Bill Murray's groundskeeper character from Caddy Shack would have been proud of this guy. A dear departed friend of mine worked for Terminex and had all sorts of stories about being the one at the hole waiting with a bat in his hands for a groundhog or badger to come out.

Maybe he should have used diesel or kerosene. Perhaps the slower combustion rate might have given him time to escape...

 

[Low_Roads]

Not only a Squirrel Roast, but the little buggers deliver themselves! By air, no less! Definite franchise potential here!

A tankful of diesel fuel really would have been more likely for farm needs (most of our tractors ran on diesel). As you state, though, it's a bit non-explosive to have served the story's purpose, so I cheated slightly. Sounds like your friend had a potential series of his own in the making! Waiting for the badger to come out... now there's a hook rife with suspense (danger too! I understand those things are holy terrors!) Pest extermination is a profession teeming with fascinating stories, I suspect! Mike Judge sure used it to good effect in "King of the Hill"... Dale Gribble is the most memorable character on the show!

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #57

The Four Corners Coven​

You may remember a man in Gordon Valley who learned how to kill just by using a secret word. This guy died from hearing the very same word, and that's just as well. Such knowledge was not good for a man like that to have. He wouldn't hesitate using it against others.

Well, the man left no heirs behind, but he did have plenty of creditors. He had been none too careful about his spending habits. He had been living off a trust, but that didn't begin to cover the bills he owed. But his home was not a bad one. It contained several rare and valuable objects, so an estate auction was held to raise the remaining cash.

Probably the most odd item up for bid was the man's library. It contained a great number of books, but every one had to do with just a single topic: gaining power through supernatural methods. Experts had appraised almost all of these volumes and determined they were junk. The authors had been phony scam artists. Either that or they were sincere but didn't know what they were talking about. The man had spent alot of money on this collection. Still, it proved to be mostly worthless.

So everyone was real surprised when an important bidder stepped up. It was a well-known property developer who had a very nice home in Green Valley. He was plenty rich and respected, and no one could figure what interest he had in all these worthless books. Still, it didn't look like anyone would go against him and he could obtain them all at a cheap price.

That wasn't going to be the case, though. As it happened, there was a competitor. He was an old Mexican peach rancher from Ross Valley. He was pretty unassuming and no one thought he would be a serious threat, but he matched the other man bid for bid. This turned out to be the biggest excitement of the day. Soon they were both offering ridiculous amounts. No one could figure how the farmer could keep going or why the land developer did. Finally, the Mexican offered two million dollars. The other man just couldn't beat that. He had to admit defeat, but wasn't too graceful about it. The farmer didn't care. He made plans to have his new possessions transported to his home.

The folks at the auction might not have known this man, but he wasn't just some nobody. He wasn't only a peach farmer. He was a Mexican wizard. That's how he could afford to beat his rival. Money meant nothing to him. He had long before learned the trick of changing scrap metal like iron or tin into gold. No matter how high the bidding had gone, he would have won. He had brought a valise containing ten million dollars in cash so he could pay any needed amount on the spot.

It was his concern that these books not come into the wrong hands. Like I said, most of them were garbage. But a few actually did have some solid information to be learned. The killer word was just part of this. So he planned to burn them all and destroy the evil knowledge.

That was probably a good idea. The dead man sure wasn't the only person who craved weird power. Not everyone was as responsible as the farmer. In fact, Tabor County had its own ominous covert group. They called themselves the Four Corners Coven. It only had four members, but they were people to be feared.

The coven member who represented the southeast part of the county operated a bar and bait business down by the slough. He supposedly made a living off the local fishermen, selling them booze and worms. Really, though, that was just a front. He was a drug pusher. Dozens of poor junkies were hooked on his product. Whether it was some dumb kid out for thrills or an old lady addicted to painkillers didn't matter to him. He sold to them all, and you sure didn't want to be anywhere around if someone couldn't pay.

The guy from the northeast was pretty disgusting to look at. He was a fat, oily slob with a leering face, like he thought all your problems were funny. His business was demolishing cars in a big wrecking yard located out in the flats, just outside of town. He was supposed to check out any vehicles before destroying them, but he wasn't too thorough about that. Back when the Red Devil Gang terrorized Fairview, they would bring in victims' cars to his crusher. He didn't much care if he was eliminating crime evidence or even if there was anybody inside.

Out in a remote northern area of the western hills could be found a dingy one-story shack. That's where the third member lived all alone. She was a rock hard woman with wild, intense eyes. Even the others were a little nervous about her. She was a palm reader, but her interest didn't end there. It was rumored that every night she dissected small animals in an attempt to discover the secrets of life and death. At least everybody hoped it was only animals. Some unsolved disappearances had occurred in years past.

The land speculator himself was the last. His home was in the southwest in Green Valley, like I said. He was the only respectable one in the group, but there were things about him his neighbors never knew. He was so successful because he was dishonest. He cheated every partner he ever had. Threats of murder were used to keep them in line. Occasionally they would not listen. Then he would have them killed. The bodies would be buried on land he was improving. Alot of residents had corpses underneath their happy homes and never suspected it.

These people were a bad collection, all right, so it was no surprise that forbidden ideas attracted them. That's as far as it went, though. Not one of them had any real supernatural ability. They did practice rituals and offered up their souls for sale. The men liked to perform what they called "Virgin Sacrifice" when they could catch one. But really they were only a bunch of crooks and outcasts. So all in all, it was a pretty lucky thing the man hadn't won the bidding contest. If they had developed any genuine power, it would be bad news for Tabor County.

On the next day, the farmer returned with a rented van to pick up his property. But the auction manager had some distressing news. That night, someone had broken into the home and stolen every volume. Whoever had done it left no clues, but the farmer had a good idea which person was responsible. He took two sheriff's deputies along with him to see the man in Green Valley.

This guy seemed the only possible suspect and the cops questioned him hard. He only made flat denials and never even offered any alibi. But for some reason, everybody was satisfied with his answers. The deputies left without even asking to search his house.

The farmer had been fooled too. It wasn't until he got home that it occurred to him what must have happened. He had noticed a very plain metal ring on the man's index finger. He had seen one like it once before. This must have been a Liar's Ring. Anyone who wore it would be believed, no matter what bald faced lie he told. Making one took a pretty deep knowledge of the occult. That man had been putting the library to good use already.

 

[Cbarton]

Ut oh...just when we thought Blackie and the gang had the county safe...

Should be interesting to see how these two parties may battle it out in the future!

 

[Low_Roads]

Thank you Hawk! It's true... the Coven does seem to be picking up the ball the Red Devils fumbled. It'll hardly be easy for 'em... Tabor's becoming mighty crowded. Lots of competition, and not simply from a mild mannered peach rancher. Just wait till next week... everybody's eager to get in on the act!

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #58

The Ring of Truth​

The Four Corners Coven was a group of would-be sorcerers from all over Tabor County. They really had no knowledge of the Dark Arts. That kind of information isn't as simple to come by as you might think. But they sure wanted some. They were probably the last people in the world to be trusted with power like that. It looked like they might be on the verge of getting some of it soon, though.

The best respected of them was a property developer from Green Valley. He would buy up old waste land from all over California and then build cheap housing for folks. That was an honorable enough profession, but this guy wasn't as trustworthy as he seemed. He was greedy mad for profits. It was his practice to put up only part of the money. Co-investors would take care of the rest. They knew his good reputation as a successful businessman and couldn't wait to be involved. Only, once the investment started paying off he would cheat them through legal means in the courts. If the poor victims complained, he would threaten them with violence. He wanted to maintain his good name, even though he didn't deserve it. He even had to kill a few of the more stubborn ones. There were always punks and thugs eager for this kind of work.

Using such practices, you might not expect the man's proud reputation to last and you'd be right. It's really hard to keep this kind of thing quiet. Potential business partners started to avoid him. A whisper campaign was threatening to ruin his livelihood, but what could he do about it?

The man thought he knew. He stole a whole library of books from a rancher in Ross Valley. The farm owner was a secret Mexican sorcerer, but the man never knew that. He only knew that the books were supposed to contain supernatural information that might help him. I guess his involvement in the coven got him thinking this way.

Most of these volumes proved to be worthless. They were just alot of nonsense by authors trying to cash in on a fad. Locating the good ones might have been hard, but fortunately for him he already had a good idea which book he wanted. It was an obscure work that showed how to make rings of power.

According to this author, wearing certain rings on certain fingers could get you anything you wanted. They couldn't be normal rings, of course. They had to be made from special material, like certain alloys or ceramics, or of certain special kinds of wood. They had to be treated with specific kinds of powders and elements, and sometimes chants had to be read. The coven was useful for all this. Soon he had created the very ring he wanted.

The book called it the Liar's Ring. You could be caught at a murder scene with the bloody knife in your hand. But if you wore this ring on your index finger and claimed you were innocent, no court would ever convict you. This was just what the man needed. Now investors would never believe the ugly stories of his wrongdoing.

The Mexican ranch owner was pretty sure that the man was guilty of stealing his property. But because of the Liar's Ring he would never be able to prove it. He knew all about these rings and understood how powerful they could be. Still, the land speculator couldn't be allowed to get away with it. If no one stopped him here, his evil practices would just grow worse.

So the wizard went up to the man's home in Green Valley. He was normally mild mannered, but now he acted outraged. He stood right outside the man's door and shouted in a loud voice the whole neighborhood could hear. He blamed him not only for the theft but for every rotten thing he'd done in his life. He challenged the man to prove it wasn't true. If he knew who the real culprit was he should point him out now.

The property developer was confident. After all, he wore the Liar's Ring and everyone would believe his word. This Mexican had walked into a trap. If he said the farmer was the responsible one, the man would probably end up in jail. He pointed out his finger to make the accusation.

But something was wrong. He tried and tried to tell his lie, but the words just wouldn't come out. There seemed to be some sort of great invisible conflict going on. Then the man's hand began to shudder and shake. There was a nasty ripping blast, and to everyone's horror the pointing index finger was blown clear off.

In all the confusion, the Liar's Ring disappeared. It had been lost in the explosion, maybe into the brush, maybe down the sewer. At any rate, it was nowhere in sight. Without this protection the man could no longer get away with his stories. The farmer claimed his books and took every one away with him.

This Mexican sorcerer hadn't been taking as big a chance as it seemed. Since he was already familiar with this kind of skill, he had created a ring himself. Only his wasn't a Liar's Ring. Far from it. The one he made was called the Ring of Truth. Anyone who wore this would have to tell the truth. He couldn't speak falsehoods no matter how hard he tried.

The ring was done, but that was only the beginning. He tied it around Demona's neck with a string and sent her on a special mission. Demona was the farmer's Manx cat. To look at her, you wouldn't think she was a pet, and actually she was more like his partner. She was a huge fiery-orange nightmare of a feline, and whenever violent action was needed that was her duty.

Demona took off into the dark night. She bounded with a flat-out pace that she could keep up for hours and hours. She was searching for a certain scent. This cat had an unbeatable sense of smell and could follow any scent anywhere it led. She skirted the boundaries of Fairview, checking every odor until she came to the right one.

Demona wasn't subtle enough to handle the job to be done, but she knew who was. Blacky and his gang were skilled saboteurs and thieves. One of them was on patrol in his small dark racecar. Demona sprang up alongside the vehicle and paced it. The driver at the wheel was a rat named Whisper. He was one of Blacky's lieutenants. He was a normal looking brown rat, not a white one like Blacky was. This was a happy choice. Whisper was the most sneaky and silent of the gang. He was the perfect one to take charge of the ring.

Whisper broke off his patrol and drove over the hills into Green Valley. This was way out of Blacky's territory, but it couldn't be helped. It was an emergency situation. He was so well trained that the job only took him a couple of minutes. Then he was back in his miniature car again, heading for Fairview.

When the land developer faced the farmer the next day, he was wearing both rings, side by side. He never realized this because Whisper had been so subtle slipping it on the night before. The Ring of Truth and the Liar's Ring were contrary forces. They couldn't be used that close together. When the man tried, there was a violent confrontation between the two and his finger was blown off in the struggle.

The man disappeared not long after that and no one knew where he'd gone off to. The rest of the Four Corners Coven was disturbed and angry with the farmer, what with it now missing one of its corners, but they weren't strong enough to move against him yet. Demona eventually went back to the house in Green Valley and located both lost rings. She brought them back to the farmer, separately of course. So now he had both powerful rings. The coven was that much less likely to be a threat to him.

But there was one more disturbing thing that none of them knew. Only Whisper had found it out that night when he had slipped the Ring of Truth on the dead man's finger. That's right. The man had been dead. His brain was gone through a hole in the back of his head. Then how could he have gotten up to confront the Mexican the next day, with an empty skull?

The men at Travis Air Base could have told, but they didn't even know this had happened.

 

[Cbarton]

ohhh, how it all links together...

Great story, LBH! Blacky's boys strike again! All these rings floating around are enough to make Tolkien dizzzzy...

 

[Low_Roads]

Thanks for the kind words, Hawk! 🙂 I'm very glad you enjoyed the story! Rings of power... yeah, rings of power... now where could that idea have sprung from! Here, it's more like one ring to fool them all, rather than rule anyone; everything in Tabor happens on a smaller scale! All parties did manage to stick at least one finger in the pie, anyway! Expect further confusion (and a few new players) in upcoming continuity tales!

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #59

The Man Who Ate Eggs​

One of the most unusual characters to visit the Low Roads was a young man who originally came from Tennessee. It must have been in that state where he learned the habit of eating eggs. Now I imagine that everyone enjoys an egg from time to time, but this guy had a regular egg fetish. He wouldn't hardly eat anything else. That's really not supposed to be good for you. Eggs add fat to the blood that will choke off your veins given time. Everyone was sure that this egg diet would kill him. They all said he would have a heart attack and die. Well, they were right, but not about the heart attack.

When he was alive, this man claimed he had eaten every sort of egg there was in the world. I seriously doubt that. I don't believe he ever had any octopus eggs, for instance. He sure never ate any dinosaur eggs. But maybe he had tried more different kinds than anyone else. He evidently traveled quite alot. He knew the identity of any kind of bird just from its eggshell. And I don't mean only American birds. He had hard-boiled penguin eggs at the South Pole. He had feasted on a mountainous ostrich omelet in Africa. He had raided nests in just about every country there was.

Not just bird nests, either. He had sucked dry the eggs from a crocodile's mound in Australia. That's a dangerous thing to do. He knew all the different brands of caviar. He'd even sampled some termite eggs and ant eggs. I wonder how many of those you have to taste before you even get a flavor! So, I can't say for sure how many different kinds he tried. Maybe I'm being too hard.

This man worked with everyone else in the fields, but he always got up a couple of hours early each morning to gather his breakfast. It took that long to find all the eggs he wanted. Wild bird eggs are pretty small, so a great many are necessary for a decent meal. As he searched through the woods, he chanced on a rotten, hollow tree. Inside was a bluish, speckled variety of egg he'd never seen before. He picked one up. It was sort of soft. This didn't put him off, though. He broke it open to see if any baby had started growing inside yet. Nothing was there except white and yolk, so he gulped it down. It proved quite tasty, so he gathered the rest into his coat pocket and headed back to camp.

He didn't know it, but these were the eggs of the California king snake. That's a big black and white striped species. They're pretty rare, as snakes go. Mostly you will see gopher snakes in Tabor County, or rattlers up in the hills. They eat mostly mice and rodents. The king snake is tougher than that. It lives completely off other snakes. It's so tough that even rattlesnake venom won't affect it.

When the man got back, he ate these eggs for his meal. He ate them all except for one. This got overlooked in one of his pockets. It stayed there for a whole week. The cloth pocket was warm, just like in the nest. Actually it was the perfect environment for an egg. Then, it got mixed in with a bunch of fresh eggs that were collected later.

The man finally got around to eating this egg. He didn't know it had been around for so long. If he had known, he sure would have avoided it. That's because a fetus had started to grow inside. It was pretty small, about the size of a small worm, so when he swallowed it he never noticed. It just felt like part of the normal egg mucous.

The baby snake ended up in his stomach. You might think he was lucky it was a king snake and not a poisonous rattlesnake, but you'd be wrong. A baby rattler would have dissolved in the acid, but the king snake was just too tough. It liked the warm stomach, and lived off bits of the egg yolk the man swallowed. That's the normal food for a snake fetus.

The snake grew and grew. It went from being a baby, to medium size, to a full-grown snake. At first it ate only a little bit of the meal in the man's stomach. But soon it was eating everything that came down. The man was getting no food value at all.

He started to become lanky and thin. His friends were worried about him. They blamed the egg diet and fed him nutritious meat instead. The snake liked that even better. The man's health declined. Even though he ate every day, he was starving to death. Soon he got too weak to move. He died of malnutrition but no one could figure out why.

This was such a mystery that the body was sent to the coroner for an autopsy. The snake was discovered at that time. Since it never had to work for a meal, it was fat and lazy. It had lived in the dark all its life and didn't like the light much. The coroner put a small gopher snake in its cage to see if it would feed. The king snake didn't know what to do. The smaller one just bossed it around. Since it had never needed to crawl, it was way out of shape. It finally died. It was the one that had the heart attack. That was a shame. But it does show what can happen to someone when life gets too soft.

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #60

Stranded​

It was a cool fall evening at Monticello Dam. Two young men were bringing a third out there to die. The doomed kid didn't know it, though. He was under the impression they were on their way to get loaded on drugs.

All three guys were in the narcotics trade. The unsuspecting boy was a minor distributor. The other two worked at the source. They were enforcers for the main drug lord in Fairview, a brutal man who ran his business from the southern boat docks around the slough. He was known to punish those who crossed him with death. And he was sure he had been robbed.

In fact, it was true. The pusher had been stealing pills every week to feed his habit. It was so few at first, he believed the boss would never notice. But his cravings had grown stronger with time. He was now using a substantial amount. Only his drug addled state made him believe he could get away with the deception.

So the crime lord had sent the assassins to make an example of him. But the kid didn't suspect a thing. He had known the two since childhood. They'd gotten him into the business to start with. He believed they were pals. Why should he fear them? They were all on their way to their favorite hangout and a free narcotics party.

The three actually had sneaked out to Monticello Dam often enough in their youth. It was for beer and girly magazines back then. This didn't occur at the top of the dam, of course. It was way too public. But a twisting access road led clear down to the bottom. Heavy bulldozers and cranes had needed the path back when the dam was being built. That was a long, long time ago. The road had been abandoned for decades. It was only ever used now by an inspector, maybe twice a year, to check out problems at the dam's base. Cracks and suchlike. Otherwise, it was a very private spot.

A locked gate separated it from Gordon Valley Road, but that had never stopped them before. They had learned to pick locks at a very early age. The path was gravel, not paved, so they had to drive slowly. One careless slip could send them plummeting straight to the bottom. A widened area near the end served for parking. That's not the spot the murderers had picked, though. They had chosen one even more private than this.

If you ever were to visit the base of Monticello Dam, you would immediately notice two huge pipe mouths. The one on the left gushes with water all the time. It has to. That's the one turning turbines to make electricity for all of Tabor County. On the other hand, the pipe mouth on the right is almost always dry. It only pours water in the very wettest years. This is the tail end of the Glory Hole.

The Glory Hole is a giant tunnel that extends right through the bottom of the dam. It angles up like an "L" and is almost as tall as the dam itself. The tube drains off excess reservoir water to ease pressure, dumping it directly into the Putah River. The need doesn't arise very often, though. Most times, the Glory Hole is perfectly empty.

This was the secret place these three pals used when they had gone off to drink their beer. On the inside, the pipe is quite impressive. It's twenty feet wide to allow for the flood. When you stand at the bend, looking up at light shining in from the open tunnel mouth, it’s just about like being in a cathedral. A lovely sight, but these guys never appreciated it much. If they did, they would never have felt the need to get loaded.

Now they had returned one last time. No one was scheduled to check the Glory Hole for months. By then, any murder evidence would be too old to trace. With luck and a wet winter, it all could be washed into the Putah anyway. It was necessary to wade through a four-foot depth of river water to get inside. The pals plunged in, the way they had dozens of times before.

One of the thugs went first. That was to show that everything was all right. The other went last. That was so there could be no escape. The marked man was in the middle. The guy in front climbed into the pipe mouth. It was plenty dark in there. Killing their friend would be an easy task. Suddenly, he heard the sound of commotion behind him. The murderer looked anxiously back. He was afraid their motive had been uncovered, but that wasn't it. His partner was in trouble. He'd gotten snagged on some submerged object.

It was probably just an old tree branch, but that was still a cause for concern. The thug didn't want to do the job alone. So he and the doomed pusher went back and took hold of the stuck boy by his arms. Then they pulled and pulled, trying to get him free. No matter how hard they strained, it wasn't working. The guy seemed welded in place. Then he started to rise out of the water. It was weird, like he was levitating. There seemed to be no reason for it.

The thug took out a flashlight and examined his partner's body. That's when he saw them. The kid was held fast by some sort of lines or cables around his middle. Actually, they didn't really look much like cables. They were uneven and lumpy. They glistened and seemed to pulsate, more like organic matter. They had been slack before, but now they were growing taut. That's why the boy was rising.

The other two grabbed hold of the lines to tear them away. That was a mistake. As soon as they did, strands broke loose and wrapped around their hands. The material was sticky like tar. It held them fast. They began rising from the water too. The thug tried to kick himself loose. That's when he saw that his feet were also trapped. More lines had attached themselves, stretching his body spread eagle. The river-bed beneath the pipe had been crossed with snares just waiting to be disturbed.

Each boy was now pinned in place, dangling above the water. They weren't alone. It was now possible to see that dozens of fish and birds were likewise caught. These bodies had been covered completely by a thin membrane from the strands. Some of the animals were still alive and struggled weakly. Some were only shrunken wrapped skeletons.

The boys hung there some time. Their joints ached because of the grinding tension. Then from the dark of the Glory Hole came slopping, soggy steps. Something was heading for them. The black in the opening took on form. Multiple writhing orange eyes glared hungrily out at them.

If you had gone back there a week later, you still would have seen the kids. You might not have recognized them, though. Each one was totally clothed in the gluey membrane. The boy nearest the dam was barely there anymore. Only his hands and feet remained, the stumps melted by strong saliva. The guy next to him was only a shell of himself. Literally, I mean. Most of his liquefied meat had been sucked away. Soon, he'd look exactly like the first young man.

The last one is still pretty intact. If you check close, you can see his open, staring eyes. They are the eyes of a completely crazy person. That's because he knows he'll be next.