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

[Low_Roads]

I can't wait for the final stories...113...here we come! I'm sure the club of Blackie? will be returning...you know...the super smart rats with wind up cars...

Thank you for the enthusiasm, J! Actually, the final handful of installments will build up to a climax... the loose continuity (barely perceptible at this early stage) will gradually tighten up, that's guaranteed! And, just as you suggest, Blacky's due to reappear quite soon! I don't want to be specific... that would spoil any suspense... however, expect developments within the next half-dozen or so stories!

 

[Journia]

Oh...YEAAAAH!!!

 

[Cbarton]

Excellent tale, LBH. As if worrying about MRSA, VRSA, etc. wasn't bad enough...

When you started, it almost sounded like some long-term fungal infections I saw at a presentation once. Some of those look right out of "Swamp Thing" or such.

It will be some kind of Battle Royal if some of these characters end up fighting over prey there in Tabor County. Would make King Kong vs. Godzilla look like a Sunday School picnic!

 

[Low_Roads]

Thanks Hawk! Sage words from the Forum personality best equipped to understand the subject! These germs aren't just resistant to penicillin... they don't like much of anybody!

We certainly are headed for a major slug-out at the end of the series! Only a handful of the rumblers have been introduced thus far; we will get to meet more in the next few weeks. The problem with this project (if it truly is a problem) is that, with scant exception, each tale is meant to stand alone, continuity being a sort of after-the-fact, reflective consideration. It's tricky, therefore, to guess which participants will be returning and which are only one-shots. As always seems to be the case with my stuff, absorbing the essentials would be a lot easier if the whole thing had been presented as a unit instead of several years'-worth of installments.

 

[Cbarton]

No problem, LBH. It will be worth the wait..

 

[Low_Roads]

No problem, LBH. It will be worth the wait..

Grateful thanks!:redface:

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #27

Venom Oak​

Do you remember that bad business up in the western hills a few years back? Maybe not. Only the immediate families of those involved knew about the scandal, and the Land Management Bureau went to great lengths to hush the whole thing up.

Like I said, this happened up in the western hills. That's not an official name, that's just what I call them. They're north of the Rockville Hills, on the other side of Green Valley Road. If you follow them far enough north you get to where the old Thompson's Store used to be.

Anyway, this one year the hills were badly covered with poison oak. I don't have to tell you about poison oak. Any kid who's walked in the wild can tell you what a terror it can be. It's a vine of course, not a tree in spite of the name. One brush of the leaf will create a rash that can have you scratching for days. The irritant is in the form of an oil or something. The leaf doesn't even need to touch you directly. If it brushes your clothes the oil will stay there until it is disturbed. Moms contract the rash alot just by doing laundry.

So this year the poison oak was all over. The folks in charge decided to spray the vines and kill them. They used a new, experimental spray that was really toxic. For the most part it worked. The majority of the vines were killed at once. But a hardy breed of the plant didn't die. It took the deadly spray and incorporated it into its own poison.

No one noticed this right off. It might never have been discovered if two boys exploring the hills hadn't brushed up against it in their travels. There was no problem at first. You know how it is with poison oak. You never know you've touched it until well afterward.

The way it transpired was this: the first kid had gone to bed all right but didn't get up the next morning. Mom came in all impatient to get him ready for school. The first thing she noticed was his jeans. There were holes in them that looked like they'd been doused with acid. The idea that the boy had spoiled his good pants made her even more irritated, but that turned to horror when she saw his body. It was covered with ugly creeping burns. The boy had died during the night. An autopsy determined that he had died early on, so at least he didn't suffer much. All the damage had occurred afterward.

Unfortunately, the boy's mother had handled his clothes before she knew there was a problem. She began to sicken from the poison. Doctors tended to her, but no treatment did any good. The poison spread through her whole body like a snake's venom. She was killed by just the little bit of oil that got on her fingers.

Later, they found the second kid. He must really have gotten alot of the oil on him. He didn't even make it home. They found his body on a path that led to his house. It was smoking and burned to a crisp. The people who removed it had to wear biohazard suits.

The people responsible for causing this mess to begin with went back into the hills with flamethrowers to remove the evidence. They must have done the job right this time, because I don't remember hearing about any more weird deaths like that.

But I did hear a very similar story about some puncture vine. If you stepped in a patch, it was the same as being bitten by a nest of cobras. I don't have as many details for this story. They must have covered it up better.

 

[His Divine Shadow]

Good thing it wasn't kudzu they used it on ... that stuff you can't even flamethrower down sometimes! What an experiment to try, though. I don't know if you could make a chemical that would burn clothes AND bodies but there are certainly flesh-dissolving venoms from real animals that this might be possible with. 'Course, you'd be stupid to do it. XD Yanno, you've killed lots of kids in this series. I'm amazed there are any left (Or parents daft enough to move to this part of the world with children). The places around the Low Roads are dangerous enough for adults!

 

[Low_Roads]

Good thing it wasn't kudzu they used it on ... that stuff you can't even flamethrower down sometimes! What an experiment to try, though.

Kudzu isn't something we have to endure in this part of the US... it seems confined to the East Coast, the southern states in particular. I've certainly heard what a horror it can be to get rid of, though! Another unwise import, a transplant gone bad!

The "flamethrower" business in my story was a rather flip comment... burning is definitely not indicated for poison oak eradication, as the irritant can work severe damage if inhaled with the smoke! I hope no one takes my silly recommendation seriously... the last thing I need is a law suit!

I don't know if you could make a chemical that would burn clothes AND bodies but there are certainly flesh-dissolving venoms from real animals that this might be possible with. 'Course, you'd be stupid to do it. XD

I hadn't really thought about this issue very deeply... it seems odd that toxins which destroy living tissue won't scar organic non-living material like leather or cloth. The absence of a functioning vascular system to spread the damage is responsible, I suppose.

Yanno, you've killed lots of kids in this series. I'm amazed there are any left (Or parents daft enough to move to this part of the world with children). The places around the Low Roads are dangerous enough for adults!

Guilty as charged! Kids don't fare much better in genuine urban folklore, whether pegging out from hairdo black widows or basting slowly via drugged-out baby sitters ("... I put the turkey in the oven... "), so the extension is an expected one. Since youngsters are our sole hope for species continuation, harm to them constitutes our most potent nightmare material. I get away with it (to the extent that I do get away with it at all) by spreading the loss over a full century of ugly incident... a few deaths per year might even accurately replicate genuine accident and crime statistics. Though, in Tabor County, no one (young or old) ever seems to suffer a normal, non-bizarre expiration...

 

[Journia]

Crap...I read this and I forgot to post a reply.

Wiggy...story's nice, really interesting concept. I haven't seen it before.

 

[Low_Roads]

Crap...I read this and I forgot to post a reply.

Not to worry! That's the reason I post regularly on Tuesdays, with a week's wait for new material, so there'll be no rush for those who wish to comment!

Wiggy...story's nice, really interesting concept. I haven't seen it before.

Thanks J! Glad to hear you enjoyed the story and that you found the concept novel! It's based (vaguely) on the idea of penicillin-resistant bacteria... pest life-forms that won't succumb to traditional treatment... so that this and the last story have a common link. That's the only way they're related, though.

 

[Cbarton]

::: puts calamine lotion-thrower attachment on TMSV::: "ok..I'm ready for them..."

Hey HDS, don't give him any ideas. Last thing we need down south here is kudzu that fights back...

Excellent quick tale, there, LBH. Tabor County must be some mighty pretty countryside to make everyone wanna stay amongst all these bizarre happenin's.

 

[Journia]

*blackie pops upon your shoulder* You betcha! *jumps in its car and drives away*

 

[Low_Roads]

::: puts calamine lotion-thrower attachment on TMSV::: "ok..I'm ready for them..."

That shop vac is a marvel! Is there nothing it can't accomplish!

Excellent quick tale, there, LBH. Tabor County must be some mighty pretty countryside to make everyone wanna stay amongst all these bizarre happenin's.

Much appreciated! Since Tabor County is patterned after my own west coast home turf, it looks great in the cold months: the hills choked with green and the sky lively with charcoal character, all of which burns into straw and hazy, featureless slate-blue once the summer starts. Yeah, I admit it: I hate heat! I wouldn't live anywhere else, though; I also hate traveling.

*blackie pops upon your shoulder* You betcha! *jumps in its car and drives away*

Not to be too obvious about it, but expect the furry speedster to put in an appearance very, very soon! Another tk Low Roads due sometime this week, too!

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #28

The Burn Ward​

There was once a real bad kid who lived in Green Valley. His folks were rich, and they all lived up in the hills with the rest of the rich people in Tabor County.

His name was Bernard Ward, but all the kids at school referred to him as The Burn Ward. That was his thug name. He liked to bully and terrorize his classmates. His specialty was Indian burns, which helped get him his nickname. It didn't matter how bad he was, he would never get suspended or even punished. The teachers were intimidated by his father, who was a big-deal lawyer and a bit of a bully himself. This boy could never do anything wrong as far as his parents were concerned. They would praise him and spoil him, and that gave him a pretty large opinion of himself.

He wasn't any less of a thug when he got to high school. If anything, he was worse. His parents didn't want him riding on the bus with the common kids, so they bought him a car. It was a souped up sports car painted cherry red. When he roared into view, you'd better get out of his way because he didn't stop for anything.

His school days came and went, but he had not really prepared himself for working life. All he really ever wanted to do was speed up and down the country roads in his car. He didn't care about other drivers and almost caused accidents a number of times.

When he was twenty years old, still wasting his life away, his folks were killed. They were both murdered. The young man was not a suspect, although no one would have been surprised if he had been. The result was that he inherited the house in Green Valley and all his parents' money. With no authority in the house, he became wilder and more of a menace than ever.

One night he went out on a real tear. He hit the roads and took his car up to ninety miles an hour. You couldn't even do this safely on the freeways but he was driving on the twisting country roads. He took Rockville Road all the way to the end and then turned right onto Gordon Valley Road. He pushed the red sports car hard in the direction of Putah River. When he finally got up there he raced through the darkness, not caring who might be killed. Then something went wrong. He was driving parallel to the river when suddenly he veered right off the bank. The car skipped like a flat rock over the water and plunged under at the deepest point.

The next morning he was seen crawling out of the river. That was four hours later. No one thought he had been in the car all that time. You can't live more than a couple of minutes under water. Well, he obviously wasn't dead, but he wasn't right either. He wandered around in a cold daze, trying to find someone to haul his car out of the river. No one really wanted to see him back on the road again, so he got no help. This filled him with a quiet fury. He marched back to the river's edge and straight into the water. Everyone thought this was pretty funny at the time, but got concerned when he didn't come back up.

That night, a man was run off Rockville Road. His car had slammed into a tree and his neck was broken. The cops knew Bernie's reputation and went to his house to check on him. The red car was out front. The lad had evidently fished it from the river somehow. It wasn't as pretty as before. The river water had streaked the red paint, causing angry swirl marks all over it. The paint wasn't the pleasant cherry red anymore. It was a fiery red-orange now. The whole car looked like it was engulfed in flames. It wouldn't start and the engine seemed ruined. There were no crash marks on the vehicle, so the cops didn't accuse the boy of anything. But they did give him a stern warning lecture. That really got him seething. He never did like to be criticized.

That night he and his car disappeared. They were never seen around that house ever again. In the weeks that followed, the country roads in Tabor County became haunted by a wild driver. Only a few who saw him lived to tell. He would target anyone on the road after dark, forcing them into fiery crashes that were almost always fatal. One survivor described his attacker. It was Bernie's car all right. It charged down the road spewing thick smoke and sparks. Dark smoke clouded the windows, but two red angry eyes blazed from the driver's side. The words "Burn Ward" were scrawled into the metal on either side and flames shot from them. The cops didn't believe alot of these details, but were sure the young man was to blame.

There was an intense hunt for the vehicle. During the day, there was never a sign of it anywhere. At night it was rarely seen, but when it was, no one could ever catch it. One highway patrolman challenged it once. He paced the car for awhile, but was run off the road and killed like everyone else. Soon no one took to the roads anymore after dark.

If the Burn Ward had stayed in the country, he'd probably still be menacing the roads today. But when all traffic disappeared in the farmlands, he decided to take on drivers in the town of Fairview. That was Blacky's territory. He and his cohorts would patrol the streets in their tiny racecars. They could never be seen, but the hum of the cars' electric motors would prove they were on the prowl. As soon as the Burn Ward started attacks in Fairview, they were alerted.

Neither the sheriffs or the town cops could track down the Burn Ward. But Blacky was more sly than they were. Nothing in Fairview escaped his notice. He and his rat pack trailed the faint odor of smoking paint and rubber to Bernie's car as it blazed along. Their miniature black cars caught up to him and swarmed under the raging auto in perfect formation. They paced him underneath, right below the racing engine. Then three of the crew hauled themselves up into the undercarriage. Blacky led the raid. These little fiends had been trained in every act of sabotage. What they did to the Burn Ward was child's play to them.

The Burn Ward didn't suspect a thing. His attention was distracted by hungry dreams of his next victim. Blacky and the boys finished their work and peeled off just as he spotted a likely target. He zoomed to the attack. Bernie tried to zero in, but his steering had been broken. Perplexed, he tried to slow, but the break line had been cut. He had absolutely no control. Bernie hit a parking meter and cartwheeled end over end. The gas tank burst, turning car and driver into a tumbling inferno.

Emergency forces arrived at once. They doused the fire and surveyed the wreckage. Bernie hadn't been killed by the flames, not any more than he had been killed by the river. But due to his sorry condition, he wasn't going to be much of a menace ever again. They transferred what remained of him to the hospital. I guess I don't have to tell you which ward.

 

[Journia]

Burn Ward.

Nice piece of literature Littlebighead. Nothing more i CAN SAY ABOUT IT.

 

[Cbarton]

Nice to see a pleasant switch. Blackie and the gang as the good guys! Not even 'Burn Ward' is welcome on their turf!

Nice story! Looks like the fun blend of past characters has begun. I look forward to more...

 

[His Divine Shadow]

Blacky pops up again! Convenient little deus ex machina, if he and his gang can be described as such. A bit literal here, if the car is thought of as the machine. This guy is a survivor! Sounds a bit like Deadpool, insanity included. A bit of morbid humor too boot. I like this installment a great deal!

 

[Low_Roads]

Burn Ward.

Nice piece of literature Littlebighead. Nothing more i CAN SAY ABOUT IT.

I admire precision, J! Short, sharp and very much appreciated!

Nice to see a pleasant switch. Blackie and the gang as the good guys! Not even 'Burn Ward' is welcome on their turf!

Thou hast hit it, my good Hawk! The intent from the beginning was to develop a handful of "heros" whose fearsome reps made them unacceptable to polite society no matter how much "good" they managed to do. Many of these characters have been fashioned as elemental or preternatural forces, their conflicts more akin to lava steaming in ocean water than dueling outlaws with relatable motives. Any happy outcome for the wider populous is frequently incidental.

Nice story! Looks like the fun blend of past characters has begun. I look forward to more...

Thank you! I'm afraid that the blending will proceed rather slowly: the continuity stuff tends to be sprinkled throughout a wilderness of one-shots. Fresh protagonists will be introduced as soon as April, though.

Blacky pops up again! Convenient little deus ex machina, if he and his gang can be described as such. A bit literal here, if the car is thought of as the machine.

Blacky and the gang may not aspire to divinity, but they certainly do function as a furry pack of dues ex machinas, charging out of nowhere that way! Subsequent appearances become better motivated, as I recall...

This guy is a survivor! Sounds a bit like Deadpool, insanity included. A bit of morbid humor too boot. I like this installment a great deal!

Very kind of you, HDS! I'm only peripherally familiar with Deadpool, having encountered him in PS2's "Marvel Ultimate Alliance", where he comes across as little more than an adolescent smart-aleck, and nowhere else (my current comix education is rather sketchy... I stopped collecting them after they went to 50 cents, and that was a long time back.) A little research actually bolsters that impression, though if he's nuts I guess he has an excuse. He reminds me a bit of Deathlok, who was, however, a lot more grim.

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #29

The Lime "L"​

This concerns an artist who once put up a big display on some pastureland in Gordon Valley. The guy was pretty famous at one time, although I don't remember what his name was. Something fruity as I recall. It probably wasn't his real name anyway. But if somebody mentioned it you'd recognize him.

This man used to be well known for creating big, showy productions that somehow didn't come off. He liked to build different shapes out of wide, stiff sheets of colored plastic and set them against natural landscapes. He would fix them with lights so they'd glow at night. On one occasion, he constructed a series of pyramids about twenty feet tall each. They would pivot in the wind and had a different color on each side. He set them all up along the ridge of some hills. The display looked terrific for about two nights, but then stiff breezes knocked a bunch of them over. They shattered completely and couldn't be repaired. Then there was the time he planned to string a cable across the Grand Canyon. Big glowing blue globes ten feet across were supposed to be fixed along it at regular intervals. This probably would have been impressive all right, but even though the globes got built he was never granted the proper permits.

So many things went wrong with his art projects, it was a surprise that anyone ever took him seriously. Still, he always seemed to be able to raise money. His concepts were so ambitious they always got alot of publicity. Everybody wanted to be associated with them. Like I mentioned, the last one went up on a grassy hill in Gordon Valley. The rancher volunteered his land just to be part of the scheme.

What the artist did was to build a giant letter "L" out of lime-green plastic flat on the side of the hill. This thing was really big, about two hundred yards on each side. It glowed like neon during the night. I don't know why it was a letter "L". He never bothered to explain. People thought it must stand for "Life" or "Liberty" or something. I personally believe it stood for "Loot", since he always got alot of money up front. The problem was that it didn't look like much unless you viewed it directly from above. Still, large crowds lined the road just to see for themselves. Locals were pretty amused. They took to calling it The Lime "L". This was to make fun of it, but they were actually kind of fond of it too, the way you'd be for some silly, awkward teenage kid. Sure, it was goofy, but it was also famous and it was in their own back yard.

About one week after this big structure was installed, a single engine plane flew over the site. It was piloted by a woman heading for the private airfield in Green Valley, the one that's attached to the country club. She hadn't had her license that long and really shouldn't have been up there at night. She wasn't what you call "instrument rated", which means you're experienced enough to use only the panel readings and don't need to see the landscape outside to fly safely. The woman had never traveled this route before. She was coming in from the east to attend a wedding at the club. All she knew for sure was that it was in the hills somewhere. Unfortunately, Gordon Valley and Green Valley don't seem all that different terrain-wise even in daylight.

So she looked out the window and saw this big green "L". She thought it stood for "landing strip" and that the green color meant it was okay to bring the plane in. Of course, there was no way she could safely touch down under those conditions. The plane smacked into all that plastic and broke to pieces. This caused quite a commotion among the spectators. The propeller came loose from the plane and went whirling like a Frisbee into the crowd, cutting the heads off two unlucky people.

Through some miracle, the woman survived her crash with only minor injuries. She was put on trial for murder. This may seem harsh, but it was her own fault for trying to fly beyond her ability. She actually got a seven-year sentence, three and a half years for each death. The interesting thing was that while in jail, she sued the artist for building the giant menace to begin with. No one thought she could possibly be successful, but amazingly she won five million dollars. I guess her lawyers were happy about that. This judgment ruined the artist, and he never built any art sculptures again.

These days, everybody says that the "L" stood for "Litigation". Like they really believe he could have seen all this coming. Now that I think about it, maybe "L" just stood for "Lime-green".

 

[His Divine Shadow]

Nothing supernatural about this one; just plain human follies and foibles. I've fancied getting a pilot's license myself but it is the thought of situations like that of this gal (Not to mention total lack of time for it) that keep me away. You'd have to be crazy to cast yourself into the sky in a machine you don't know how to work properly. How she would have thought the plastic was a landing strip the closer she got is a mystery. Christo's airport it ain't.

A grisly but entirely standard, if you will, pair of deaths! Who among us hasn't looked at the spinning blades of a helicopter or prop plane and wondered at the danger were it to come flying off?

And maybe "Low Roads" rather than "Lime-green", eh?

 

[Journia]

HisDivineShadow said it best.

 

[Low_Roads]

And maybe "Low Roads" rather than "Lime-green", eh?

Makes perfect sense! If Blacky counts as the Low Roads' mascot, no reason why the Lime L can't be its monogram!

This is indeed a more mundane, urban legend-ish narrative of the "bizarre accident" sort (the official UL canon is chock full of similar stories involving cars... the Volkswagon Bug crushed between two head-on diesel rigs has always been one of my favorites). I've sprinkled in a few for variety's, as well as verisimilitude's, sake. While the fatalities associated with Christo's Umbrella project (below) served as an obvious model, a lesser known local project also supplied inspiration. This display dates back to the late '70s and was faithful in almost every way to the one I describe fictionally (I have no idea what became of the artist... most likely, his 15 minutes were up soon afterward). Art imitates life (which too was art) after nearly three decades!

I had a chance to take the controls of a private plane once (under strict supervision, of course)... I think I really would have enjoyed learning how to fly! No way I could afford to, though. I'm not sure how I would have put the knowledge to practical use anyway.

HisDivineShadow said it best.

He always does! Much thanks, J!

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #30

The Clay Man​

The population in Gordon Valley is pretty much like that in any farming community in California. It changes with the seasons. In the cold months when no crops are grown, few people are around. Any work is done by the farmer and his family alone. But when planting and harvest time rolls around, you need a large crew of laborers. Great numbers of Mexicans come up into the United States to get jobs that pay better wages than they can get at home. A certain amount of these are legal. What I mean is they come here legally through Immigration Services. But there's always more work than the legal laborers can do, so many have to sneak across the border.

If these "illegal" Mexicans are caught they are sent back home. Therefore they try to keep a low profile. One way to do this is to camp out in the creek beds instead of on any of the ranches. In the summer, creek water is diverted into the canals. Usually, the water level in the creek goes down to just a trickle a couple of feet wide. The folks down there like that because it gives them a fresh supply of water. Since it's creek water, you can't drink it but it's still okay for washing up. Sometimes the flow stops and all that's left is shallow pools. That's not as good because the water goes stagnant. In the hottest seasons, the water dries up altogether and the ground turns dusty and hard. This has gone on ever since the '30s when the dam went in.

Most every migrant, legal or not, comes to work. Not all of them are Mexicans. Some are hobos and drifters from our country. They like to live in the creeks too. If these guys are caught they won't go to Mexico, of course. But the law tends to roust people with no fixed address. That's because not everybody shows up for the jobs. The ones that don't ruin it for everybody else.

The few bad apples usually are there to sell illicit merchandise. Kids buy these mostly. It can be anything as innocent as illegal fireworks or naked playing cards, to dangerous items like guns or drugs. Some really bad men don't show up even for that. I'm sure you've heard all about the cannibal in the western creek who hid his victims' bones in an old steamer trunk. That kind of person is rare, but you always have to be on the lookout.

I'm thinking of one person in particular. It was a Mexican, but not a man like you'd expect. You'd think it would be too risky for a woman to go down there with all those lonely men, but this one was pretty scary. For a start, she was big. Mexicans don't tend to be that tall, but this gal was about six/three or so. She had hands with long, strong looking fingers and big knuckles. Her eyes were rock hard, and no one could stand to hold her gaze for long. That was a problem, because if she happened to wander by she would scrutinize everyone around. She would always have a bulky, shapeless burlap sack with her. Whatever was inside gave off a musty, ugly odor. No one was sure what it was she was looking for, but they all agreed on one thing: it must be something she couldn't find in Mexico.

She made her camp somewhere in the central creek. It passes through some pretty wild country once it leaves Ross Valley, and that's where she was suspected to be. The rumor was that this woman practiced witchcraft. It was clear she held some kind of strange beliefs because she always wore an odd looking charm around her neck. It was a straw doll about a foot long with a spike shoved through its middle. Some said it was like a voodoo doll, but no one really knew how it worked. At any rate, she always smelled of weird dust and chemicals, so the thought that she was a witch wasn't all that far-fetched.

One night, one of the bums was killed. He was a drifter from Colorado. The others found him in the morning with his scalp cut clean off. He had had ash blond hair and the speculation was that the Mexican witch had done it. That was easy to believe, because blond hair wouldn't be easy to find in Mexico. Mexicans tend to have dark hair. If she wanted anything else, she would have to go to the U.S. That's what the Mexican men said, anyway, and I guess they'd know.

All the men were angry about this, but no one called the cops. None of them wanted the police invading their territory. They just buried the body and schemed about getting back at the woman. That was the talk, but nobody was really brave enough to do anything.

They should have acted, because that very day they found another fresh corpse. This guy had blown in from Nevada. His eyes had been grass green, but they weren't in his head anymore. Green eyes aren't any more common in Mexicans than blond hair, so the woman had to be the murderer.

By the time the sun had gone down, they were worked up enough to finally attend to business. Each man grabbed a burning stick from their campfire, and they all headed for where they thought she was. There were about twenty men. The whole bunch looked like some villagers out of an old horror movie. By the time they got there, none of them felt that confident anymore. A red glow was coming from up ahead. They became very quiet as they approached the spot.

The big woman was there just as they thought. Her camp looked like a little temple. The red glow came from two hot fires in stone circles. Between them was a rough seat made out of logs and branches tied together. The woman was doing a wild dance in front of this set-up. She was singing a crazy chant in Spanish. Only the Mexicans could understand it, and none of them ever told what they heard.

All this was strange enough, but the most bizarre thing of all was what sat on the log seat. The huge body was shaped like a man. Clearly though, most of it was made of clay from the creek bed. Its hands and feet were not clay. They were obviously all too human. These body parts were heavily tanned and probably had been cut from Mexicans. But the clay head had the blond hair and green eyes that had been stolen from the Americans. A variety of teeth filled the clay mouth. They could have come from anybody. A hollow had been scooped from the clay body's chest. That space was stuffed with human organs. They just lay there stinking at first, but as the witch chanted they began to pump and throb. The green eyes lit up. The figure began to stand.

The hidden men became really spooked. One of them took up a good size stone and hurled it. It smacked the woman square in the back of the head. She went down hard. Loose tissue, probably her brains, hung from the hole. The clay figure rocked like it had been struck itself. Evidently it had no mind and the woman had been controlling it. Now that she was dead, it started acting crazy. It swung around wildly and knocked the wooden seat into splinters. All the men threw their torches at the thing. It took a sudden step away, right into one of the red fires. Immediately the clay bubbled and ran. It must have been a really hot fire, probably a supernatural one. The clay man's leg dripped completely off, toppling the body into the flames. The clay started to run freely. All the human tissue flared up and turned to ash. Soon all that was left was a huge puddle of melted clay.

They buried the witch's body deep in the bed of the creek. Not even any of the guys who knew something of Mexican witchcraft had ever seen anything like the clay man before. The woman must have been collecting just the right body parts for months, treating them so they'd keep. It was a lucky thing the men had showed up when they did. Otherwise, who knows what kind of harm the thing might have caused. The witch clearly only had evil on her mind.

With all that had happened, no one thought twice about the woman's straw doll. It wasn't around her neck when she had been killed. Neglecting that doll would turn out to be a serious mistake.

But that's a story for another time.

 

[His Divine Shadow]

Glenda the Good she ain't, no no. I wonder if this does anything to the souls of those whose body parts were thieved such. Seems if they were reanimated, even in part, that it might cause difficulties in the afterlife. 😀 You'd think with all the deaths down there in the Low Roads the migrants would find a better place to live. We've had a carnivorous tree, a flood of giant worms, and now a giantess of a witch. Do they want Beelzebub himself to appear before they'll take the hint? 😛