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Halloween Story (cat lovers, do not read)
MadDogMike
Grand Member (8 years)  

Joined: Mar 30, 2008
Posts: 9049
From: The Anvil of the Sun
Posted: 2008-10-27 10:18 pm   Permalink

Here's my theory - when riddle #7 leads you to the pond on old farmer Tucker's abandoned ostrich farm, the swamp-thing comes up to greet you guys. I haven't decided yet if Drew uses his feminine charms to seduce the monster into eating Richard, or if the swamp-thing eats Drew and rids you of the annoying little priss.

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Cammo
Tiki Socialite

Joined: May 18, 2006
Posts: 1994
From: San Diego
Posted: 2008-10-28 07:35 am   Permalink

"I haven't decided yet if Drew uses his feminine charms to seduce the monster into eating Richard, or if the swamp-thing eats Drew and rids you of the annoying little priss."

Actually, these are all way better ideas than what actually happned!

The whole story, by the by, is true in every detail....


 
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Cammo
Tiki Socialite

Joined: May 18, 2006
Posts: 1994
From: San Diego
Posted: 2008-10-28 10:07 am   Permalink

Race Day

Part 3


Rats. Richard was the guy who had worked there last summer. He had known where to go right away. Bad luck right off, but we pulled out and DREW grabs the paper and reads

“Peter Peter Pumpkineater,
Had a Lighthouse and couldn’t keep her!”


“Oh no.” said DREW.
“Lighthouse?” Andy looked mystified.
“It’s the lighthouse at Point Peter.” DREW told us.
“Where’s that?”
DREW rolled his eyes and drawled out “It’s at POINT PETER! At the bottom of the County. It’ll take us half an hour to get there.”

I checked the gas gauge. “I’ll do it 15 minutes,” and just as I swung the wheel six other cars burst into the lot, all around us. People were already jumping out, running to Amy and I had to turn around to the left, to another sideroad to get back to the gate. Watch the oncoming, screaming out onto the highway going west, gas it, forty, fifty sixty seventy miles an hour.

“We take Highway Ten all the way down, right?” I shouted.
Andy looked at me, shrugged his shoulders. He obviously had never been there. I had only been there once. DREW leaned forward and drawled, lazily,
“Ten all the way down to Huysmans Corners, that’s where the General Store is. Then left on the shore road right to the point.”

Seventy five eighty eighty five ninety ninety five.

“Do we have a map?” I asked.
“Dunno.” Andy said, scrounging around in the car, then “No maps, mon. Do we have any TUNES?”
“Oh, uh, I might have some tapes in the center arm rest. Just open it up here…”
Andy flipped up the armrest and skept scrounging. He finally pulled out a tape, smiling, but then his face looked worried when he read what it was.

“Burl Ives Sings Christmas Classics! Cam, this isn’t TUNES!”

One hundred. One hundred two.

“Ah, sorry, this is my mom’s car.” I tried to change the subject, “Look, we should apply some scientific method here. We have no map, right?
“Right.” Andy said.
I could feel DREW rolling his eyes in the back and adjusting himself to the seat’s contours already.
“This car has a fifth gear. That means it can cruise at one-o-five. And we have lots of gas.”
“Yeah? That’s pretty cool, mon.”
“Yeah, and that means we can get those guys on the straightaways, like right now to Point Peter. But they got a head start of like a minute of two.”

We were approaching the General Store, there it was right outside the Cherry Valley cemetery. Nobody else on the road, lots of light, the General Store was a great landmark sitting on top of a gentle rise, like something from the Waltons. I gear down, engine do the braking, and then hit the turn to the left while accelerating back up for traction, forty, fifty, sixty.

“What’s Richard driving? His dad won’t let him drive the car.”
“He’s with Tommy Lewis. Maybe Tommy is driving.” DREW piped up.
“Nah, Richard’s driving. Trust me. Maybe he’s using Tommy’s car.”
“If he’s using Tommy’s car it’s a first,” Andy said, “cause Tommy never lets anybody drive it. He rebuilt that engine by himself. Well, with his dad.”
“Then lets hope Tommy is the worst fucking garage mechanic on Earth, cause here’s the priority list:

Priority One,
We gotta win this race.”

There was a pause, then DREW asked “What’s Priority Two?”
“I don’t know.” I said.
“Priority Two is TUNES!” yelled Andy.
“Good on ya! Where we gonna get tunes? You know, I could make a pit stop if it meant tunes, but they gotta be really good.”
“What we need is some Led Zep.” DREW said from the back.
Andy and I glanced at each other.
“YEAH, MON.” Andy’s eyes started getting big, like a starving man at a banquet. “Led Zep would go down real GOOD right now.”
“Man, don’t say Led Zep. We can’t get any. It’s gonna drive us crazy.”

“Led ZEP! LED ZEP LED ZEP!” DREW yelled from the back, “Priority Two is Led ZEP!”

“Okay, Priority Two is to acquire a Led Zep tape by any means possible whatsoever. I’ll stop if you guys know where we can get one. And Priority Three is a STORY.”

“What do you mean, mon?” asked Andy, interested.
“Until we get the music happening, each one of us has to tell a story. It’s gotta be something funny or strange that’s happened to you. Andy starts.”
“Aaaaah, I don’t know any stories, mon,” but he was thinking…

Seventy eighty ninety still nobody in sight, where were the other cars?

“Alright” Andy says, “Got one. You know Sam Campbell?”
“Oh yeah, sure. We’re best friends.”
“Well, Sam lives on a farm, right?”

He sure did. Saying Sam lived on a farm was a bit of an understatement. His dad was the top feed corn producer in the County, he owned thousands of acres and rented a few thousand more each season. Endless fields of corn waving in the breeze all around their house.

“Well, they have cats, y’know? To kill the rats and mice. Can’t have rats in the corn silos.”
“Nope. Sure cain’t.” I said, imitating a hick.
“So Sam’s dad has cats. Lots of cats. Hundreds of cats all over the place.”

I knew exactly what Andy was talking about – Sam’s yard was crawling with cats, it was like a creepy cat zoo.

“There’s so many cats” Andy continued, “they don’t know how many cats they have. And they keep breeding all the time, mon. And they breed with their brothers and sisters, its disgusting, so they’re all retarded. The Campbells don’t care, cause the cats only eat mice, so who cares? But those cats are so retarded and crazy they’ll attack anything. Sam’s been brought up to think of them as vermin, like little furball mice vacuum cleaners. They’re just trash to him, like garden weeds, y’know?”

“Yeah? Where the heck is this story going, Andy?” DREW asked, leaning between the front seats now.

“I’ll tell you, mon, listen up! So I went over there when his parents were gone to some convention, I had a little half baggie and wanted to see his place, and we went out into his barn at the side.”
“I know exactly where that is.” I put in.
“Yeah, it’s that old place, y’know? And he opened the door and all these CATS came out. It freaked me out, mon, and we hadn’t even smoked anything yet. So we lit this BIG FAT JOINT, mon, a really BIG spliff, and we were about half way down it and then this little kitten crawled up to Sam’s leg and bit him, mon. Bit him right on the ankle. He dropped the joint, and I had to scramble for it to make sure we didn’t burn the place down, and then I found the joint,”
“Good,” said DREW, “this story has a happy ending.”
“…and when I stood back up Sam was holding onto the cat and he was STEAMED, mon. He was really mad. He took the cat and threw it as HARD AS HE COULD right at the wall, mon!”
“Yuck!”
Andy nodded at us, wisely.
“Yeah, it was freaky, mon, especially on that good Columbian, but remember that cats were like bugs to Sam. He didn’t think twice about killing one.”
He paused for the effect.
“That cat hit the wall, SPLAT! You could hear it crunching all up, then it sort of slid down to the floor. I couldn’t stop looking at it, that little kitten looked up right at me, then it sort or took a breath, huuuuuuh….” Andy was making a cat dying face, trying to take its last breath. “Huuuh, then it shut its eyes, it was just like those gangster movies where the bad guy gets it in the end and he’s slumped against a wall with cops all around him, that cat, little Puffy, took its last breath, and a tiny bit of blood appeared at its lips, then its little head sort of slumped down, and its whole body relaxed. Dead.”

“Whoa.” DREW said. He had really got into the story.

“Yeah, and then I looked up at Sam, mon, we were really stoned, and he was lighting another match, to fire up the doob again. He didn’t care, it was just another cat.”

“Did you smoke any more?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah. A joint’s a joint.” Andy smiled.

Ninety ninety five and we could see the lighthouse.


 
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MadDogMike
Grand Member (8 years)  

Joined: Mar 30, 2008
Posts: 9049
From: The Anvil of the Sun
Posted: 2008-10-29 11:19 am   Permalink

OK, Cammo is consummate professional writer...immaculate punctuation, grammar, spelling, etc. But Drew's name is always in upper case letters, I'm thinking there must be some significance. Maybe it's an acronym for Dorky Rascal (who) Eats Wookies or some such thing.
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Cammo
Tiki Socialite

Joined: May 18, 2006
Posts: 1994
From: San Diego
Posted: 2008-10-30 11:22 am   Permalink

Race Day

Part 4


It was built on Point Peter - the southernmost tip of the whole island; a treacherous strip of rock that jutted out into the water, the death of many ships and men and now a tourist park with ice cream stands in the summer and maybe the best seafood restaurant in the County.

We turned off the highway, bouncing onto a tree lined road that led right to the Point, potholes everywhere, and I slowed down to twenty for the first time. Then we broke out onto the gravel parking lot. It was peaceful. You could smell the water, and the feeling of casual activity that hung over all docks flooded into the car through our open windows. Maybe this was the last stop. Maybe the party was here.

We looked around, but nobody was in sight.
“Go to the lighthouse, Cam.” DREW said, but he looked as mystified as us.
I drove by the restaurant, “Admiral Dent’s”, we looked inside, vacant except for the lady at the cash register. There was a t-shirt store next to it. Closed. I picked up speed and drove to the lighthouse – the road tilted downwards, and got narrow. We stopped at it’s tiny parking lot and got out.

Nobody.

“I don’t GET IT, mon.” Andy said.
“Yeah, what? Did we do this wrong?” The directions were pretty clear, though. Then we all heard a noise, and looked down at the lighthouse, below us, built over the rocks. Somebody was scrambling over them, right at us. He slipped, then we all saw it at the same time –

He was carrying an envelope.

“It’s TOMMY!” yelled Andy.

“Hey, they’re at the lighthouse! Right at it!”
"I’ll go, mon.” and off Andy went. He ran down the little path, hit the rockls, and sort of loped across them, much more athletic than Tommy coming back the other way. They met just below us, a few hundred feet, and Andy stopped for a second to say something to Tommy. Tommy stopped too, caught his breath, said something, then turned away. Andy shrugged his shoulders, and loped on.

Then Tommy was right beside us, and I had been wondering something and yelled at him,
“Where’s your guys’ car?”
He didn’t answer, so I yelled again as he ran panting up the road away from us, “You gonna RUN the whole way back?”

There was an uncomfortable pause, then DREW and I looked at each other. The thing with DRTEW was, I was finding out, the guy was no dummy. He didn’t fall off the turnip truck last week. He had been wondering the same thing.

“Where’s their car?” I asked him.
“I don’t know. Maybe they’re hiding it.”
“Why would they do that?”
“So we wouldn’t see where they were going. Maybe Richard dropped Tommy off, then went back up the road and is hiding the car.”
“But we saw him anyway.”
“Yeah, we were lucky.”

Andy has vanished behind the lighthouse, but appeared again now, coming back at us.

“I was thinking…” DREW said slowly.
“Yeah?”
“Um, nothing. Let me think some more.”

I let him think, which I supposed meant don’t talk to him, and Andy finally came up the path. He was pooped.

“I… got …. it …. mon,” waving the envelope.

“C’mon.” We got in the car and I had to back up the road, watching for Rally cars behind, and at the top spun the car around and gunned it. This car is gonna need a good wash at the end of today, I was thinking as I drove for the exit road.

“What’s it SAY?” DREW asked.
Andy was fumbling with the paper, and read

“The road to the Town of the King
Needs a….


“HEY! WHAT the HELL IS THAT!” I yelled, and slammed the brake pedal. The car slid sideways to a stop.

I shut off the engine, and got out.

Somebody had piled all the picnic tables in the park on top of each other, right in front of the exit road.

Well, I won’t tell you what all of us said at that time, you’ll have to imagine this part all for yourself, some words are better forgotten. We realized where Richard had been while Tommy was getting the clue; arranging picnic tables with their mysterious third Rally team member, their car safely on the OTHER side of the barricade, ready to go. We couldn’t go out the way we had come in – it was a one-way, one lane road and more Rally cars were due in. Andy and I got busy tearing the tables down, we didn’t trust DREW with any heavy work and he didn’t seem too inclined to help anyway, he kept looking at the road we had come in on, we had got the first table down when DREW said

“Our names aren’t on the envelopes.”

Andy and I stopped, wiped the sweat off our faces and said

“Yeah?”

“So we’ve got two extra envelopes now. And to win the race, we have to bring in the clue slips, y’know. Not the envelopes.”

“So?” I didn’t get it.
Then Andy said, more to the point, “What do we do with the envelopes?”

“We give them to the lady at Admiral Dent’s.”

Something brilliant was happening here, Andy seemed to be catching on but …

“With slips of paper that we’ve written, see? Fake directions.” DREW looked at us like we were barely intelligent chimps in a zoo.

“Holy CRAP! Hey, she could wave them at the next cars coming in!”
“Yeah, we could tell her they’re messages to our friends and they’re expecting them!”

“Go! Fast! Drew, DO IT!” and off he pranced to Admiral Dent’s.

Andy and I went back to work on the tables, two more to go.

“Hey, what did you say to Tommy?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“When you passed Tommy, what did you say to him? On the rocks?”

“Oh.” Andy smiled. “I asked him if he had any TUNES! Any ZEP!”
“Oh.” Funny. “Did he have any?”
“Nope.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Nope.”
One more pic-a-nic table to go. We were bushed.
Andy thought for a second. “But you know what? He looked sort of worried.”
“Good.”

Then the final table was out, DREW was running back, we all jumped in and gassed it and drove as quick as the potholes would allow, back onto the backktop, thirty forty, and

“DREW, you are amazing. That was brilliant, mon.” Andy nodded his big head back at him.
“Yeah, you’re promoted to, ah, Vice President of Dirty Tricks.”
“How about just ‘Prince of Evil’?” DREW said, stretching lazily.
“That too.”
“HEY! Where are we going?”
“OH YEAH!” Andy said, pulling out the paper, reading

“The road to the Town of the King
Needs a Fairy, a River, and a Spring.”


“Oh, no.” said DREW.
“A Fairy?” Andy asked, glancing at me and looking up. “And the Town of the King?”
“Kingston. Right DREW?” I said.
“Yup.”
“Oh, no, the ferry to Kingston?”
“Yup. Kingston Springs Fisheries is right beside the Ferry. And you cross the river on the ferry.”

“It’s at the other end of the County!” DREW whined. “Oh, NO!”
“Look, DREW, we’re not such bad company, y’know, and if we had some tunes this might actually be sort of enjoyable, so…”

“HEY!” DREW shouted, I got some TUNES!”

Andy literally shook in his seat of a second, then whipped around and said
“How did you get TUNES?”
“At the restaurant, the lady looked like she knew something was fishy.”
“Well, yeah, it IS a seafood restaurant.”
“So I just bought something, you know, as a bribe.”
“The Prince of Evil.” Andy said, smiling.
“Yeah, so she had a little collection of tapes they sell. Here’s the best one.”

And DREW pulled a tape out of his shirt pocket, then handed it to Andy, who read

“Bob Denver, Back Home Again.”


 
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tiki-riviera
Tiki Socialite

Joined: May 11, 2003
Posts: 680
From: Long Beach
Posted: 2008-10-31 11:10 am   Permalink

Recently my ex told me a guy she had been dating murdered her cat with rat poison after she broke up
with him. Nice.


 
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Cammo
Tiki Socialite

Joined: May 18, 2006
Posts: 1994
From: San Diego
Posted: 2008-10-31 5:01 pm   Permalink

Race Day
Part 5


“DREW! How could you!”
“Hey, it was better than anything else they had,” he sniffed.
“This isn’t tunes, mon.” Andy held the tape like it was a rancid fish.
“Do you want to listen to Nana Mouskouri? That’s all they had, that and some AC/DC tape.”
“THEY HAD AC/DC!” Andy almost got mad there, it was the closest I’ve ever seen him to loosing his cool.

Luckily, something happened.

Over the hill in front of us burst a caravan of 6 cars, all going at rocket launcher speeds right at us. We just had a fraction of a second to see them up close as they flew by, going to the lighthouse.

“Barry! Alex! Bruce! Um… who’s… Vickie! Jordan! Wow, lookit ‘em go!” Andy called out. They were bunched up, all staying together in a pack, maybe they didn’t realize until now that people were ahead of them.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” DREW said.
“Alright,” Andy mumbled, fiddling with the tape’s wrapper, “Don’t get all sulky, we’ll play your tape. What the heck. AD/DC, jeeez, mon.”
“Really. I have to go to the bathroom.” DREW said again.
“Do we have to go to a real bathroom? I mean, is it, y’know, number one or two?”
“I’d rather not discuss the details.” Really sniffy now.
“Okay, the General Store is right up here. We should get a map.”
“Maybe they have real tunes.” Andy put in.
“Yeah, I wanna get a drink. Maybe an orange juice. We have to do this fast, though. Like we got 1 minute for this stop. Take care of everything and back in the car at a count of sixty. I’m not kidding.”
DREW didn’t saw anything.
We screamed into Huysman’s, throwing gravel everywhere, shut off the engine and dashed into the store.
‘Where’s the bathroom?” DREW asked politely.
The man behind the counter didn’t even look up, he just gestured to the left and said “Outside.”

Andy and I raided the place for maps (a badly printed tourist map was available, but it was free) drinks and a box of Bugles. Then we ran outside. DREW wasn’t in the car, so we ran to the bathroom at the back and banged on the door –

This was taking way too long, but I heard a FLUSH and yelled

“DREW! C’MON! GET THE LEAD OUT!”
“Or whatever.” Andy said.
No noise from inside.
“Hey, I was thinking,” Andy said, “what will those other cars do when there’s only two envelopes at the restaurant?”
“Oh. Don’t know. Look around?”
“Would you look around? The other guys got envelopes, but not you. Wouldn’t you be mad? Maybe try to read the other guys’ ones? Maybe start a fight?
I grinned. “That would be great.”
“DREW! You in there?” Andy yelled this time.
We heard a faint “Leave me alone.” It was DREW all right.
“GET GOING!”
Another flush.
“He’s been in there a LONG TIME, mon.” Andy said, “what did he eat for lunch, a whole turkey?”
We waited, then I yelled again “DREW, we’re leaving in like ten seconds!”
“Ten!”
“Nine!”
I paused, and said to Andy, “You think this is working?”
“Nah, but …, um, EIGHT, MON!”
“Yeah, SEVEN!”
Another flush.
“Six!”
“Five!”
"Four!”

Then the door open, the smell hit us like a two-by-four to the head, and DREW dashed out, we ran with him to the Silver Bullet, revved it up and spat gravel again swerving to the asphalt, twenty, time to really lay down some miles, thirty forty fifty, push it to seventy, eighty, Any is going over the map and yelling

“We can follow this all the way over! Past the ten turnoff and then up on that road that follows the fishing docks in Wellington, we’ll bypass town that way, mon! This map is great!” And that’s what we did, ninety ninety five, the early summer grass blurring past, rolling lime green hills like a giant roller coaster that had been pulled by eternity into long low hills, up and down postcard views of a dream Ireland, one-o-five, watch that next hill, down too one hundred, level out, keep an eye on the side roads,

“Richard is gonna beat us. He’s at least ten minutes ahead.” DREW said.

I thought about it, but didn’t slow down.
“We’re second, right? I hope we are. Then we got a chance. Even if they’re way ahead of us, if we were third we’d be losing. But we aren’t. And here’s the thing with Tommy’s car – it’s built at home. They’re gonna throw a rod, or break a fuel line, or forget to screw down the brake liner doohickey thing and kapow, they’re out.”
DREW didn’t say anything.
“I hope not,” said Andy.
“What ya mean?”
“Hope they don’t kill themselves. Maybe they’ll just get a flat tire.” Andy smiled.
I didn’t want to set Andy straight on what happens to a car going a hundred miles an hour when it blows a commercial tire.

“We got trouble!” DREW yelled out.
Now what? Was there a…
“There’s a car behind us!”
I looked in the mirror. Nobody.
“What do ya mean? There’s nothing back there.”
“It’s way back, but its going fast.” DREW said, looking outy the back window.
“It’s too far back,” I said hopefully, “and it can’t catch us. What kind of car is it?”
DREW looked for a long time, then said, “Blue.”
“No, I mean…”
“He means…” Andy was looking back now too. Then something clicked, and Andy said

“It’s Bruce Cronk.”

No.

“You sure?”
“Yeah, he drives a blue Nova. He passed us going trhe other way when we left the lighthouse, remember?”
That was bad. Bruce was regarded as the driver’s driver in the County. Leave it to Bruce to be the only one not fooled by our fakery bakery envelopes, and had somehow gotten a real one and was after us in his retooled hotter than hell Blue Nova, known all over as the ‘Sonic Broom’ because it swept aside all other cars.

Up to a hundred and five, Andy said the final turn to the north was coming up in a few miles, Sonic Broom behind maybe two miles now, flat country road, no potholes, the Bullet tops out at one-o-seven, can’t go faster, level off, gear down fast, take the turn, onto the access road, back up the seventy, turn again and we’re finall heading north, Cronk has cut the lead down to less than a mile, man he must have taken those corners fast, that guy is dangerous, don’t let him push you into making mistakes, flat road again, the needle goes up, the ferry is maybe ten miles away, that’s seven minutes, faster, the Sonic Broom is in the rearview now, driving way too fast, now it’s a real race, still back there, boith Andy and DREW looking out the back, I’m the only one watching the road, the ferry is down below us now, there it is, Cronk looks like he wants to pass, don’t do it on this road, if he tries to I’ll slow down and let him…

WHAM! The blue Nova turns in the air, an explosion of gravel all around it, clouds of brown smoke, can’t see the car anymore, DREW yelling something

“STOP THE CAR!”

Gotta slow down, don’t brake hard, keep off the shoulder, the car stops.

“What’s going…” I start to say, but
DREW yells, “Turn around! They went off the road!” So I spin it around, go back to the Nova and there it is on its side, crumpled in the ditch, clouds of dirt still swirling, and people are screaming inside. DREW pushes out of our car, runs to the Nova and tries to climb up the side to open the door, Andy and I are trying to help now too but the door won’t move, it’s all smashed in, the handles have been sheared off but the back window is open, I pull myself up and look in and there’s a girl down there in the dark, she’s lying on her back up against the front seat and she’s screaming

“The GLASS! THE GLASS! EAAAaaaah!”

and wiping her arms, all covered in blood. I look around, DREW is beside me now looking in, and the whole back seat is covered in shattered glass and big thick pools of blood, deep red splattered all over the seats, everywhere glass, the girls seems to be blinded, she can’t open her eyes, and every time she moves the crushed glass seems to cut into her more. I get a wave of nausea, but lifeguard training kicks in and I drop to the ground and tell Andy

“Call this in. See that house over there? Tell ’em to send an ambulance.”

Andy nods, then suddenly runs to the house. I turn back to the car, just in time to see DREW’s body dropping into the back of the car through the open window. Pull myself up again, and peer down through the window and DREW is pushing the door from the inside, trying to open it, putting everything he’s got into pushing that door. There’s a smell of gas, and the girl is still screaming, and I yell at DREW

“Watch out for the glass!” while trying to pull on the door from my side.
DREW takes a breath, looks right up into my face and says

“Cam, there’s no glass.”

He looks right at me, and something in his calm voice snaps in my head, and I look down at where he’s standing and the glass starts vanishing.

The whole inside of the car is covered in big shards of sharp blue auto glass, but as I looked at each shard, it just fades away like a really cheap movie effect. And then the blood on the inside starts to move. It looks exactly like it’s going down a drain, or like it was filmed in reverse, instead of flooding the car it was drying up, not leaving a mark or a stain where it had been, totally clean, just like it had never been there. One part of my brain was analyzing what was happening, saying that the panic had hypnotized you and shown you exactly what you expected to see, but the other part of my brain was busy watching the edges of the blood move over the fabric of the chair, I can still see it happening after all these years, and being horrified at what I was watching, but DREW had given up on the doors and was holding onto the inside handles, BAM, and was trying to kick, BAM, the back window out, BAM a crack started, BAM and the smell of gas was stronger now, was I imaging that too? BAM the window was cracked, and I watched as DREW actually kicked his shoe right through the back window, BAM, a big hole now, and I took my jacket off, glass was really all over the ground now, and tried to pull the auto safety glass away from the window from the outside, my hand wrapped in my jacket but DREW was yelling at me to back off as he kicked it again, and again, and now there were just shards around the edges and he was handing out the girl,

it was Christine. She was in my chemistry class,

and helped her out, the jacket laid across the glass edge, DREW inside going for the other people, I told Christine to lie down with her feet up, she’s white, in shock and needs to get some blood back in her head, and another head appears at the back window, a girl I don’t recognize, pull her out, where‘s Andy? And there’s a pause and somebody’s talking in the car, up to the window, it’s Bruce in the front seat and the smell off gas is really strong now, it’s unhealthy, where is that ambulance? DREW is talking to Bruce and he’s yelling at him to get up, Bruce is a bug guy and he looks locked into the front seat,
“Lean the seat back!” I yell, and DREW works on that, Bruce seems to be whimpering, maybe he’s got something broken, I know how that feels, you can’t breath in the car anymore the gas is almost blue in the air, but the seat leans down, Bruce doesn’t scream so no broken bones, and DREW says that if Bruce doesn’t go now he’s a dead man.

I try to distract him and say “Hi Bruce!” and gesture to him. C’mon out the back. DREW tells him to grab his arm, and pulls him to his feet, good so far, then tells him to put his knee on the stick shift and crawl up. He does it, and when Bruce reaches the back window, is it big enough? Bruce is a big guy, he puts his head out and breathes fresh air and then he’s outside, I hear an ambulance, but DREW is having a hard time getting out. I reach down and grab DREW’s arm and he’s shaking in muscle spasms, it’s happening to his whole body, and DREW’s face is mottled white and a weird purple, he’s having trouble talking and I sort of ease him out, onto the ground and tell everybody to crawl away, away from the car, then there’s an ambulance right beside us and somebody is yelling, Andy is beside us yelling too,

And I stand up and it’s Jerry Henderson driving a paramedic van.

Jerry is the the town do-it-all, he had three jobs but the main one I guess was being a paramedic, we had a few run-ins the summer before in a sailing regatta race when Jerry’s crew had actually quit at different times in the race, he had quite a few anger problems and the crew had actually just jumped over board, swum for shore and hitchhiked home, a first in a just for fun opening day regatta race. Here was Jerry now, yelling at Andy, and it seemed he thought that we had caused an accident, or had forced them off the road or something.

“We didn’t cause the accident,” I jumped in, yelling at Jerry, “ we were ahead of them and they hit the shoulder, we came back to HELP THEM!”
Jerry was one of those guys who likes to yell. “You’re in this the whole way, MacMillan, you were out joyriding, I seen you and your friends, and you just about killed these kids!”
“We saved their lives! Didn’t you see us, we were pulling them out of the car! You got worms in your brains or something!”
“Yeah, and where’s the foam, mon!” Andy looked annoyed.
“I’m calling this in a 616, that’s a head on collision caused by drunk driving! And you can’t move anybody away from a crash scene, if they have broken ribs they’ll hemorrhage!”
“We aren’t drunk! It’s for o’clock in the afternoon! And they aren’t hemorrhaging!”
“Yeah, and where’s the foam, mon!”

“What’s the foam?!” I yelled at Andy.

“The foam, you shoot it all over the engine so it doesn’t go up, you know, that white foamy fire retardant stuff,” And Andy looks at Jerry, “Where’s the foam?”
Jerry looked sheepish for a second “We don’t have any.” He said.
“You got a fire extinguisher? What about these three, they’re all in shock…”
“What you know about shock, kid?”
“Fuck man, I’ve taken five years of Red Cross Lifesaving and I know shock when I see it! You’re welcome! DREW says you’re welcome! He’s the one who pulled them out!

“Oh.” Jerry looked at DREW, who was still sitting on the ground beside us. “So,” Jerry said,

“DREW saved everybody.” His voice was arrogant, dripping with disbelief that DREW could do anything for anybody. And he looked right at me, his eyes saying, DREW is a fag. Everybody knows he's a fag.

And it caught me for a second. Maybe he was right. Maybe we shouldn’t have pulled those guys out. Maybe we were stupid, maybe we didn’t have the slightest idea what we were doing. Maybe DREW was the wrong guy to…

Then the car went up.


 
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Cammo
Tiki Socialite

Joined: May 18, 2006
Posts: 1994
From: San Diego
Posted: 2008-11-01 11:03 am   Permalink

Race Day

Part 6


We heard a WHUMP, like a giant hammer swathed in cloth hitting the car, once, then a split second later the blast. It was the loudest sound I’ve ever heard, way up there in the ear’s red line zone, louder than anything you’ve ever heard. The whole thing exploded in a giant fireball about sixty feet behind us, it wasn’t the blast, it was the HEAT of the thing that threw us all down, everything went slow-motion, and even though our backs were turned we knew what was happening and could feel the fire growing behind us, just touching our backs as we fell, like somebody had lobbed a few thousand blow-torches right at us. The car was on it’s side, the bottom facing away, so we were shielded from the worst of it, but there we were hitting the ground and trying to turn around to watch the thing, and could see the fire pushing through the car, over the seats, out the windows we had just left, the fire turning into black gushing streams of deep black smoke that smelled of rubber and burning plastic. I followed the smoke up into the sky, and there it was, mushrooming out into a flat ball for everybody in the whole damn county to see, and it would keep burning until every scrap of oil, gas and vinyl was turned to charred black carbon.

That’s what it took. Face down, watching that car gush heat, us there on the ground face down chewing dirt, the burning feeling on our necks and back, that’s what it took. We all had time for a minute there to think. It’s corny, but I guess we all grew up a bit, if growing up means aging a few years in about 50 seconds.

When we got up, slowly, careful that there wasn’t going to be another explosion, and we were quiet. Big clouds of black were still pouring out of the car, it was horrible but hard to look away from, but Andy walked right up to Jerry, stared him down, and spoke for all of us when he said

“You’re an ASSHOLE, mon.”

then just turned away. I got up, and was so mad I could hardly look at Jerry, but Drew was alright, he was getting up too, and we both went over to Bruce to see if he was okay.

“Yeah,” Bruce said, “but my dad’s gonna kill me.”

And we left them there like that, a police car was coming down the road, siren going, some fire trucks behind it, and we just got in the car real slowly and drove away, towards the ferry.
“That guy was an ASSHOLE,” Andy said, “I mean, really, you guys were great, you saved their lives! Bruce and those girls would be…”
“I didn’t do anything. Drew did it. I panicked.” I looked back at Drew, but he still looked like he was going to pass out. “Man, you should have seen what I saw, it was crazy, but Drew climbed right in. Couldn’t have done it.” Then I tried to smile. “Drew is like some kind of superhero. He pulled those guys right out of there all by himself. He punched out the back window so they could get out.”

“Can we stop?” Drew asked, weakly.

“Yeah, sure.” I was only driving about 25 miles an hour, so I stopped. Drew staggered out of the car, and threw up.

“He probably breathed a bit too much gas.” I said.
“Yeah, he’s really throwing up, mon. That’s a lot of stuff coming out.”
“Should we help him?”
“Doesn’t look like he needs any help, mon.”
“Andy, Drew pulled those guys out. I didn’t have anything to do with it. I was just helping. He did it all. Understand? And that’s what we’re going to tell people, too.”
“Yeah, I understand, Cam.”
“He still throwing up?”
Andy checked. “Yup. A lot of stuff has come out of that guy today. Still coming out. Didn’t think he had it in him, y’know!”
“He doesn't,” I tried to smile again, “anymore.”

I looked down at my hands for the first time, sitting there waiting for Drew, and they were shaking. Andy noticed but didn’t say anything. Finally Drew got back in, mumbling “Sorry.”
“No problem, mon, it’s good for you.”

I started the car, we rolled down the windows and drove slowly beside the water right to the ferry. Another friend of Maggie’s was standing there, she reached into her car as we stopped and all got out.
She handed us an envelope.
“Um, I think the race is over, Lydia.” Andy said. Then he told her what had happened. She was surprised, but just looking at us she knew we were telling the truth.

“The next clue is sort of hard, it’s the last, but I’ll tell you…” she started to say, but Andy was reading the note:

“A square and a box,
In a field with a fox.”


“It’s Fourfield Resort, it’s outside Woodrose Road.” She told us, “You’d better get over there and tell Maggie what’s happened.”

We got back in the car, drove away and then Drew said
“The road’s going to be closed. We can’t go back that way.”

And we could see the fire trucks from where we were, miles down the road ahead of us.

“We’ll go to the left, up to Lake on the Mountain, then down the other side. We’ll come out about a mile away from Fourfield.” But my heart just wasn’t in it. I drove real slowly, thirty five miles an hour the whole way, we turned left and there they were, we could see them now, a whole line of cars behind the crash site, stuck until things were cleaned up.
“See mon? Foam.” Andy pointed. Firemen were pouring foam on the car as we turned away.

It was a beautiful drive now, slow and easy, windows open, Drew was taking fluids, and when we got to the very top where the lake was I stopped the car. We all got out to look at the view, the town spreading below us, trees, a tiny church steeple over to the right. Peaceful. Then we got back into the car and drove real slowly down, winding through the turns down into the forest land, and out onto the long fields.

“In a field with a FOX?” Andy said.

“Yeah, what’s that mean?”

“It means, you know, the guy who owns Fourfield’s name is Fox.” Drew said from the back. It was the first thing he had said to us for a long time.
“Oh. OH.”
“Who knows stuff like that?”
“County kids. People who were born here.” Drew’s voice sounded sort of sad.
“Oh.” I wasn’t born in the County, we had moved there a few years before. Maybe being born there wasn’t something Drew was proud of, I’d never thought of it before. It was a small place, maybe to some kids it seemed like a jail they’d never get out of.

We came to a slow stop at a ‘T’ intersection, and just as I was about to turn right, a car blurred past us. It almost hit us, it was going so fast, and it went right through the intersection, pounding the mound of dirt that had built up there, actually launching the car a few inches in the air right in front of us. Then it was gone.

“Richard.” I whispered.

We just sat there. Because it was almost impossible, he must have been a half hour ahead of us, but Richard had had misunderstood the clues. He had been going in the wrong direction.

I turned the Silver Bullet right, we didn’t say anything, and I drove the normal speed limit right to Fourfield Resort. There were a few cars out front, and when we arrived Maggie was standing there with a few friends, and they were taking photos with little instamatic cameras, and Maggie handed me a silver beer stein.

“You WON!” she yelled.

“Yeah, thanks.” I said.
“Hey, Maggie, I don’t think they’re gonna let us hold these races anymore.” Andy said, then, "We're going to the bar," nodded at us and we all turned away.
“I think Drew should have the winner cup.” I said, and tried to hand it to him, but he wouldn’t take it.
So we just went into the Resort. My hands were still shaking, they’d spasm a bit and I’d hold them together, then they’d start shaking again.

Inside, we walked up to the bar. Nobody was there, but somebody was unpacking boxes in the back.
“Hey, you OPEN?” Andy knocked on the bartop.
“Yeah, what you guys want?” A kid not much older than us was serving, must be the owner’s son.

“I’m buying.” I said. “Jack Daniels on the rocks for me.”

“Beer.” Andy smiled.

“Johnnie Red.” Drew finally grinned too.

the end

All Contents Copyright Cam MacMillan 2008


[ This Message was edited by: Cammo 2008-11-01 17:30 ]


 
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MadDogMike
Grand Member (8 years)  

Joined: Mar 30, 2008
Posts: 9049
From: The Anvil of the Sun
Posted: 2008-11-02 12:07 pm   Permalink

Great short story Cam! I was sure DREW was an alien from a testosterone-deficient solar system who had been sent done to the Race to capture the winner and bring him back where he would be hardwired into the cosmic awareness and feed lifegiving macho-hormone back into the culture
_________________


 
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Cammo
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Joined: May 18, 2006
Posts: 1994
From: San Diego
Posted: 2008-11-02 4:13 pm   Permalink

"I was sure DREW was an alien from a testosterone-deficient solar system who had been sent down to the Race to capture the winner and bring him back where he would be hardwired into the cosmic awareness and feed lifegiving macho-hormone back into the culture."

That's exactly what happened!


 
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Cammo
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Joined: May 18, 2006
Posts: 1994
From: San Diego
Posted: 2009-10-08 11:36 am   Permalink

Angie’s Ghost Story Part 1

There are four types of people that are beloved by all Canadians.

They are; hockey players, figure skaters, blues guitarists, and people who tell ghost stories. That’s it. Everybody else on Planet Earth is second rate compared to these four.

If there was a person born in Winnepeg who could score 4 out of 5 shots on net, also do a triple twirl, play Hesitation Blues on a ’55 Fender, and follow it up with a scary story about how he was almost killed by the Red Creature of Green Lake, man, I swear that guy would be declared a national monument and encased in plastic for future Canadian generations to worship.

The hockey and skating are easy to explain - Canada is a giant ice cube for 9 months of the year. The guitar music just seems to be the best thing to drink beer by during those months. And the ghost stories are honed by countless hours of sitting around campfires with nothing to do but try to scare your friends. Later in life this turns into an impulse to scare would-be girlfriends, and still later it seems to blossom into a national obsession with the occult.

I can’t play hockey worth crap, (I’m more of a skier) and guitars are WAY too complicated, but ghost stories make up for it all. Ghost stories are fun. Real ghost stories are the best, especially if they start with the sincere words “Don’t tell anybody this, cause they’ll think I’m crazy, but this one night...”

So get a hot brandy again, turn the lights down low, and curl up next to the glowing screen.

It’s October Storytime with Uncle Cammo, and this one you don’t want to miss...


 
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MadDogMike
Grand Member (8 years)  

Joined: Mar 30, 2008
Posts: 9049
From: The Anvil of the Sun
Posted: 2009-10-08 11:11 pm   Permalink

WHOOOHOOOOO!!!!! Another Cammo Ghost Story

You tell it brother!


 
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Cammo
Tiki Socialite

Joined: May 18, 2006
Posts: 1994
From: San Diego
Posted: 2009-10-09 3:14 pm   Permalink

Thanks Mikester - here goes....

Angie's Ghost Story Part 2

We were all looking forward to Andy and Angie getting married. Andy was everybody’s best friend, still one of the coolest guys I’ve ever met, I’d known him since first year of college and as roommates and later co-workers had been through more interesting adventures than we probably deserved. Andy had run through, I think, 17 girlfriends and I mean Serious Grade-A Girlfriends, you know what I mean don’cha, so when he decided to tie the knot, ring the bells, exchange vows with Angie everybody was surprised.

Mainly because Angie was a DORK.

She was just ... a dork. She didn’t have much of a sense of humor, she looked sort of weird, she was too skinny, and she had these really really close friends who were all dorks too. When anybody said something funny, and other people started laughing, she’d look around in a panic, wondering what was so funny and - how hard should she laugh? Then she’d force a too-late smile, and her expression would glaze over. Most of the time she just sat there with her head drooping, retard-ish. In retrospect, I think she was trying to look intellectual. It didn't work. I asked another friend about her, very carefully, you have to be real sensitive these days about pending marriages, and I put it as gently as possible.

“You think Angie is a total idiot, or what?”
“Nah,” he answered, “you just have to get her drunk.”
“Oooh.”

And this was the night I was going to test the ‘drunk’ theory. We had gone out to a Greek restaurant with Andy and Angie and a big group of friends, their wedding was just a few days away and we were all getting into the spirit of it. Angie had drank only one glass of Retsina wine, so when we got back to their place I raided the cupboard and fridge for booze. It wasn’t hard, they were pretty well stocked.

Then we started telling ghost stories. I don’t know how it started, but we had a fire going in the fireplace and nothing was on TV, so it just happened. After a few good ones, I told about the time we saw a ghost at a family picnic. We had actually talked to the guy, sat around with him in full light of daytime. Only later we found out that he had died in his sleep the night before. Other people had seen him at the picnic, too, so we didn’t feel so odd about it. Then our friend Dave told us about a haunted summer camp (just one of the cabins was haunted) he had worked at.

Angie drank constantly, the scarier the story the more she gulped back. It was kind of weird. She got more reclusive as the night went on, more withdrawn. The experiment wasn’t working, she wasn’t becoming less shy, but more so. What did it take with this girl?

Then Andy told us a story about his uncle, who had some weird experiences in Holland during the war.

And suddenly Angie got all excited. Us telling true ghost stories was nothing to her, but ANDY telling one about a family member was totally different. Her eyes lit up when Andy was talking, she seemed about to interrupt him every few seconds, her arms waved around like she was going to grab him.

When he was finished she finally opened her mouth and out rushed the biggest mother of all ghost stories I’ve ever heard. It was all her pent up energy put into the scariest freaking narrative I’d heard, and man it gave me goosebumps on goosebumps. Just thinking about it now has me looking around the room at the shadows.

At the time, I believed every word she said, half of the scariness of her story was how sincere she was at the time describing it all, but later just for interest’s sake I looked up some of what she had described and found out that all the basic facts were true. What she told us was real.

And the goosebumps started all over again.

So here is her story, we asked her lots of questions but I’ve passed over all those. This is exactly what she told us, as close as I can remember to her own words.

And oh yeah; after Angie ripped this story out we all agreed she was NOT a dork.


 
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GROG
Grand Member (first year)  

Joined: Jun 21, 2006
Posts: 7200
From: Tujunga
Posted: 2009-10-09 4:31 pm   Permalink

Someone PM GROG after Cammo post whole story.

 
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Cammo
Tiki Socialite

Joined: May 18, 2006
Posts: 1994
From: San Diego
Posted: 2009-10-10 10:44 am   Permalink

Hey GROG, this gonna be LONG story. You not read it all at once, your eyes get tired and fall out.

Angie's Ghost Story part 3

My name is Angie Nettleton. This all happened at least 30 years ago, when I was in my junior year of high school in Ottawa, that’s the capital of Canada.

Summer jobs are hard to get in Ottawa and I hadn’t had a job before, so it was really hard getting something that actually paid real money. There were lots of volunteer jobs at museums and stuff, but who cares? I didn’t want one of those. I wanted to make moolah. There was a ‘temp’ agency that specialized in high school kids, it was connected with our school’s guidance department, and my guidance counsellor kept telling everybody that they had the best jobs. I put my name in with them, and Mr. Claren, our guidance guy, said he could get me a great job, a really amazing, high paying job with a government agency really fast. That’s what I wanted.

But Mr. Claren never called me. Ever. I waited and waited. And all the jobs I tried for were either messy, cheap, or not available by the time I got there. The last thing I wanted to do was babysit my sister for a dollar an hour all summer, like I had done the year before.

On the last day of school I went by Mr. Claren’s office and he looked up at me, kind of surprised. He had been trying to find me, he said. He had a perfect summer job all lined up for me at a youth hostel in downtown Ottawa. This hostel was a giant luxury hotel designed for other high school and college-age kids, and it was funded by the federal government, so it paid double minimum wage, almost 12 bucks an hour. To me that was like millions of dollars in gold bullion. And it was only 4 days a week, plus they paid overtime on weekends.

It was like winning the lottery.

Next Monday morning I went off to work, my parents lent me their old Volkswagen to boot around in and at 9:00 am I was standing there on Nicholas Street in front of the Ottawa Youth Hostel. It was huge. It was a giant, old building. It looked like a rich guy’s home from the 1800’s, only bigger. This was the place. I walked in, and there was a strange little desk in the front hall with some ladies standing around looking official. They were Mrs. Aldon, who was in charge and Cindy, who was my age, and had worked there for the last couple of weekends. Mrs. Aldon told me that I had to wear this simple blue uniform that looked sort of like an old fashioned dress. I didn’t mind. Everybody had to wear them, and it meant I wouldn’t get my regular clothes dirty. Cindy showed me where I could change, and then gave me a tour.

Nobody was in any of the rooms, because it was Monday and the first real day of summer, so Cindy and I had fun exploring the place for a while.
“Can you BELIEVE how much we’re making at this job?” Cindy kept saying as soon as Mrs. Aldon couldn’t hear us.
“What do we have to do, anyway?” I kept asking.
“I don’t know. Nobody’s told me yet!”

Cindy was SO happy.

It turns out that it wasn’t a rich guy’s house, it was an old jail. Cindy explained that they didn’t want the kids staying there to know, but the whole place was the old Carleton County Jail, and the rooms were the jail cells. There was construction work being done on almost all the floors, redoing the rooms to make them better. Some of them were in pretty bad shape still. Cindy said that our job was just to avoid cleaning up before the weekend started, and sit at the desk downstairs, listening to the radio, making sure nobody snuck in. It was easy. She said it was the best job she’d ever had. As long as we didn’t screw up, we both had it made in the shade.

She took me up to the different rooms, and the first thing I found out was - the elevator didn’t work. It was being fixed. Actually, sometimes it worked, sometimes not, but we weren’t allowed to go inside it in case it froze up between floors. So we walked up and down the stairs, and room after room looked exactly the same, beige walls, carpet on some of the floors, wood floors otherwise, double beds, huge shared bathrooms. It wasn’t very luxurious.

We tramped up and up into the hotel, all the lights were on in every hallway, but it was deserted. Sometimes we’d see some paint cans left behind, or some equipment covered in canvas, some walls were being torn down, but that was about it. It was pretty boring.

Then she took me to the 8th floor. We weren’t supposed to go up there, she said, but I had to see it, because she said it wasn’t fixed up at all. It was still exactly like the original jail. Nobody was allowed on the 8th floor. Mrs. Aldon didn’t want anybody hanging out there, because it was “dangerous”. We trudged up the stairs, and the first thing I noticed was that even the door leading off the stairs to the 8th floor was old and beat up. It was a really filthy dirty, thick wooden door with big iron hinges. I didn’t want to touch it. It looked like it was locked, but Cindy just walked right up and pulled it open.

And - it was the must disgusting, horribly dark and smelly room I’d ever seen. It wasn’t a hallway we were looking into, it was a big brick wall. A gaslight was mounted up high, next to the curved ceiling, burning and giving off the only light. I looked at it because it was the first gaslight I’d ever seen. The floor was wet. There were pools of oily water all over, the walls were almost black with dampness. The whole place reminded me of the inside of an old garbage can. It was really dark. I didn’t see any windows, but there must have been some. And it was cold. It seemed air conditioned in there.

“Wow!” I said, “They sure fixed the rest of this place up a lot! I mean. if this is what it looked like...”
“Yeah, come on in, check this out!” Cindy went inside, around the corner to the left. I followed her just to keep her in sight, I didn’t want to get lost. And it was even colder inside.

There she was - Cindy was standing in front of some other doors, they looked like a long line of old jail cells, and here they were, windows - it was a bit lighter inside now.

I stopped, because something moved way back at the far end of the hall. It was somebody working, he seemed to be wearing a big dark coat. He was crouched over something. We must have surprised him, he looked up at us and his face was angry, I could see his mouth starting to open and his eyes glared right at me.

“Hey, Cindy, we shouldn’t be up here.” I said, pretending that we had stumbled onto the floor by accident. I didn’t want the guy in the coat to think we were goofing off and disobeying the rules. The last thing I wanted was to get fired on the first day.

“Yeah, duh. Why, what’s wrong?” Cindy asked, looking back at me.

I jerked my head, looking past her over to the worker, trying to get her to notice him, but when I looked right at where he was suddenly he looked like he didn’t have any feet. Then his head sort of looked funny, like his neck was too long, and his coat didn’t seem right either. I tried to make sense of what I was looking at, and then realized that it wasn’t a person at all, it was a short ladder with a broken chair next to it. The coat was just a big stain on the wall. I kept looking at where the face had been, and the eyes were some light colored bricks on the wall behind them. The more I looked at it, the less it looked like a person.

“Hey, what do you see?” Cindy asked me. She came up beside me, paused, then walked back down the hall towards the end. There was nothing there. It was totally silent.

“C’mon, you gotta look at these.” She shrugged her shoulders and ran back to the jail cells. I went over to them, but wasn’t too interested now.

“See? This is where they kept the murderers and rapists! How cool is THAT!” she said, pointing. There were cells in the center of the room, they went down the whole building, they were all locked up, but Cindy went right up and opened one. The sound of the lock echoed in the room.

“They’d probably put them in here for years. Yuck. Let that be a lesson to you, Angie. Aldon’ll put you in here if she doesn’t like you.”

Yuck is right, these cells were hardly big enough to stand in. They were a bit bigger than my closet at home, and just as filthy as the rest of the place. What was all the black gunk on the walls and floor, anyway?

“Yeah, jeez, these are really interesting but lets get out of here, if Mrs. Aldon catches us...” I started to say.

“Aaaaah, she never walks up past the first floor,” Cindy said, “she’s too fat. But lets get back down. I just wanted you to get the full tour. You scared?”

“No.”


 
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