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

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #72

The Dammed Thing​

An alien brain was loose in Tabor County, and it was on a killing rampage. Originally it had been inside the skull of a man from outer space. This extraterrestrial had flown from planet to planet in its flying saucer, checking out the life on other worlds. Whether it was friendly to begin with or whether it was part of an invasion, we don't know. But the men at Travis Air Base couldn't take a chance. They fired missiles at the spaceship and one hit it, bringing it hurtling down.

They all thought the alien was dead in the crash, but aliens don't die that easy. Sure, its neck was shattered. The brain was undamaged, though. No one knew that the brain could hop from body to body, and that's how it made its escape. Since that time, it had been taking over various people in the county, throwing their own brains away and assuming control inside their skulls.

The alien brain was enraged about being stranded on Earth. It wanted vengeance and was trying hard to come up with schemes for destroying Tabor County. That wouldn't be an easy task, but the brain had prepared for it by choosing a wide selection of folks and switching among them often. This plan had just one fault. The brain could only work the organs of the body it happened to be in at the time. The others would slowly fall into decay and become useless. This had happened with the corpse of a well-respected property developer in Green Valley, which was too bad because using this particular body had big advantages. The man had belonged to a secret sect called the Four Corners Coven, and they had been right on the verge of obtaining a wealth of forbidden power. This plan had fallen apart and the body had to be abandoned, but the brain was not done with the Four Corners Coven yet.

On a dark, windy midnight, a battered old tanker truck approached Monticello Dam from the west on Gordon Valley Road. It slowed to a stop right in front of the Iron Gate that allows road access to the top of the dam. A very fat man got out. He was carrying a pair of bolt cutters. Few respectable people in Fairview would have recognized this man. He owned an auto junkyard up on the northeast plains, just out of town. The crooks in Tabor County knew him well enough. Anyone with a crime car they needed to ditch could take it to his yard. For a fee, he would crush it into scrap, no questions asked. He'd grown rich dealing with the criminal element, but he had a worse character than even they knew. This guy was the northeast member of the Four Corners Coven.

Just as he was about to cut the lock off the gate, a shadowy figure stepped out of the darkness. The fat man acted startled. He raised up his bolt cutters to take a swing, but the figure pointed a sleek, wicked looking pistol right at his head.

The yard owner didn't know who this guy was, but the man called him by name. Nobody else in Tabor County would have recognized him either, even though he had been there some time. This man was one of the most important special agents in the United States. Truth be told, he was a trained psychic for the government. He could follow trails of mental energy and attack just using the power of his mind. No wonder he knew things he shouldn't. He had been in Tabor County once before to track down his telepathic renegade brother. But that had been long ago. He had come now for a very different purpose.

He sent his mind out to probe the thoughts of the fat man. What he got back was a strange, menacing jumble he couldn't make any sense of. Actually, he had been prepared for that. He had suspected that the fat man wasn't really alive anymore. The alien brain was sitting in his skull, directing every movement.

The agent had been on the brain's trail for some time. The Air Force had brought him in to track it down. The man had already foiled one of its plots when he recovered atomic material it had stolen off the air base, but this was the first time they'd actually faced each other.

It was no mystery to the agent why the brain had come here. This was part of the same scheme it had when it made off with the plutonium. The tank truck was full of chemical fertilizer. Tabor County was mostly farming community, so this was easy to get. On top of the fertilizer was a plastic container with acid. Once the acid ate its way through, there would be a massive explosion. This was the same type bomb that was used in Oklahoma City.

This huge explosion could destroy the entire dam. It would be an incredible disaster. Not only did Monticello Dam generate power for all the surrounding counties, but the flood of water would probably wipe out all the farming lands and Fairview as well.

The alien brain was too different from normal brains to be properly effected by the agent. All the same, the psychic probes were hurting it. It had to get away, but how? The oily fat man was physically no match for the well-trained agent. It only chose this body because the yard owner had easy access to the tank truck. Still, it needed to try an escape.

The brain hurled the bolt cutters at the agent and dashed for the truck door. The agent dodged this deadly missile and fired, piercing the fat man's arm and shattering a bone. The brain didn't care. It could get rid of this body as soon as it located another candidate. It slammed the truck into reverse and got back on Gordon Valley Road. The agent rushed to the passenger side and forced his way in, attacking the brain. They wrestled for control of the truck as it swerved all over the road.

The brain yanked the wheel hard and sent the truck barreling downward on a gravel maintenance road, one which looped around back toward the dam. It terminated right near the bottom of the Glory Hole. If the bomb was set off down there, the plan still might work. But the truck would never make that turn at its present speed. In desperation, the brain gave the agent a mighty shove. The man went flying out of the truck and hit the ground hard as the brain frantically pumped on the brakes.

It looked to the agent like the truck couldn't possibly slow in time. It seemed out of control. Then, mysteriously it was jerked to a stop. The agent spied what looked like some kind of weird wires all over the grill and hood. He noticed that these strands were strung thickly throughout the road at the base of the dam. They had a pulsing, organic texture, like they were alive. The truck was hopelessly tangled in these lines.

Then, as the agent examined the scene more carefully, he saw that little bundles were caught up in the membrane of the strands. They appeared to be trapped objects. Some were shaped like lizards. Some were shaped like mice. Some were shaped like birds. Down below were larger wrapped forms. These were shaped like human beings. A few twitched with spasms, while others lay completely still. All the sticky lines grew from something like a giant rubbery mud nest plastered onto the side of the cliff. A refuse of broken bone bits lay in a heap underneath on the rocks. It was all too clear that something incredibly unpleasant had invaded the maintenance road and taken over.

The man watched in fascinated horror as an entrance began to gape wide on the front of the nest. A large, rangy figure half crawled, half spilled itself toward the ground. The thing wasn't much more than an indistinct shadow on that dark night, but a tangle of angry eyes glared his way, and it sure seemed to have alot more than two arms.

The agent sent out waves of psychic power to defend himself. The shadowy thing shrank back, then skulked away. It had been spooked, but didn't otherwise seem too fazed. Evidently it didn't have much brain to effect. But its attention had now been attracted by the snared truck. There wasn't anything else the agent could do. He scrambled back up the road, praying the truck was far enough from the dam.

The dark thing lurched its way to the driver's side window of the truck. The vehicle had been damaged by the sudden stop, and the fat man's body was pinned behind the wheel. No matter how furiously it tried, the brain couldn't push the steering column back. The shadowy nightmare peered in at all this futile effort. The brain stopped dead. It met those hungry hot orange eyes with the oily man's puffy pig eyes. A sickly leer split the man's thick lips as multiple wire-haired hands groped their way in. The brain knew a terrible thing this creature didn't. The acid in the tank had almost eaten through.

Ten minutes had passed since the agent fled the crash site, although it seemed like only ten seconds. He was back on Gordon Valley Road when the bomb went off. It was a sense-shattering blast that rocked the whole region. The man picked himself back up and squinted through rising clouds of dust and smoke at the dam. It seemed okay. The exploded truck had been too far away to damage it.

Then he noticed an blazing object soaring straight up through the clear night air on the other side of the dam. It was the body of the dark monster. The blast had shot it clear down the gravel road through the mouth of the Glory Hole, and launched it out like a rocket. The thing's body was too tough to be atomized in the explosion, but as the man watched he saw that it was flying to pieces. No trace of it or its horrid killing ground would remain.

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #73

Graveyard Stew​

This is a story about graveyard stew. Don't panic. It's not a meal made out of corpses. Graveyard stew comes from leftovers, stuff that would just be thrown out otherwise. If you've had vegetables for dinner and don't finish them all, or maybe some leftover chicken or beef, that can go in the pot. At the end of the week you add brown gravy and cook it all up with pepper and spices. The result is ladled into jars and will keep for quite awhile. That's graveyard stew.

An old retired farmer up in Ross Valley used to make it all the time. He had a pretty big garden and would grow his own produce. Since he lived alone he would frequently fix more dinner than he could eat. He always had plenty of leftovers. This man was later pulled apart and killed by Quarter Vines. That was too bad because he was always real generous with the graveyard stew that he made.

In the dry summer months, Mexican laborers and hobos would sometimes camp in the empty creek behind his property. The old farmer was always good about giving them jars of stew to eat. They were pleased to get this kind of food. Farm wages usually aren't very high. Any time they got free meals, they were happy about it. They would heat it over their roaring campfire and there was always enough in the jar for a couple of meals for everybody.

One evening, the field hands had just finished their dinner of stew. There was plenty left for breakfast the next day when they went to sleep. But in the morning the jar was empty. Someone must have eaten it all during that night. This caused some hard feelings. The stew was supposed to be for everybody, but one of them had taken it all for himself. There would be no more free meals that day. The men were suspicious of each other, but there was no way to tell who was guilty. No one bothered to confess.

After a week, they received another jar of the stew. They hoped this one would last longer, but some unknown person finished it during the night, just like before. Now everyone was feeling pretty hostile. The culprit had taken food from their mouths. He would pay when he was caught.

About that time, everyone started to notice a really bad smell, like rotten garbage. It was difficult to tell where this odor came from, but after some searching they tracked it down. The stinky object was an old suitcase. Everybody recognized the thing. It belonged to a really odd guy. He was a quiet loner that the other men didn't know very well.

This fellow kept all his possessions in this suitcase. At night he would use it for a pillow. But during the day when he worked in the fields, he hid it away so no one could rob him. The awful smell had given it away, though. This man was nowhere around. None of the men wanted to pry into his business, but the stinking case was really offensive. So they found some strong sticks and forced it open. Here's what they found.

The man didn't own very much, really, just a few extra shirts. That wasn't what was taking most of the space. Underneath the clothes, the men saw a folded up human body. It was completely dried out and had obviously been dead some time. It looked like it had once been a little child about five or six years old. It was the right size, anyway.

This body wasn't what smelled so bad. It had been dead too long to have any odor. The stink came from the remainder of the graveyard stew. It had been forced into the corpse's open mouth like someone was trying to feed it. Since the food had now been sitting out for a week, it had gone all rancid.

The authorities were called at once. The man was clearly a lunatic and needed to be kept safely away from other folks. When cops located him, they didn't learn much. He never explained himself and finally had to be sent to the insane asylum. Maybe they could make him talk.

So, no one ever learned who the corpse was. Maybe it was the man's dead child. Carrying that around would certainly have driven him insane. Or maybe he was already crazy and the body was a kidnap victim. The camp members did figure out one thing, though. The lunatic had thought that feeding it graveyard stew would bring it alive again. He had heard the name "graveyard stew" and gotten the wrong idea. He must have felt an awful lot of guilt to try this.

One thing, though. The sheriff wanted to collect the corpse and do tests on it. It was possible they might determine the child's identity and how it was killed. But when he tried to find it, the suitcase was empty. He questioned all the other men. But they had no reason to remove it.

Maybe the lunatic wasn't that far off after all.

 

[Cbarton]

Two excellent tales, my friend. I wondered when our friend the brain would reappear! Interesting and well-crafted combination of some recurring characters. Now the only question lies is if the brain was truly fried by the explosion...

Graveyard stew? Sounds similar to what we used to call 'Mulligan Stew' on campouts. Everyone donates one can of something and you mix it all together. Always came out good.

 

[Low_Roads]

Two excellent tales, my friend. I wondered when our friend the brain would reappear! Interesting and well-crafted combination of some recurring characters. Now the only question lies is if the brain was truly fried by the explosion...

Thank you, Hawk! The benefit of slogging through all the early character setups is that one can indulge in interesting element mixing later on (an option one can't exercise in a shorter format). As to whether the alien brain is now an ex-menace crispy critter... without being too coy, let me say that evil is never in short supply in Tabor County. And the nastier it is, the more persistent it's apt to be!

Graveyard stew? Sounds similar to what we used to call 'Mulligan Stew' on campouts. Everyone donates one can of something and you mix it all together. Always came out good.

I've heard of Mulligan Stew, though I wasn't sure what the term referred to... it does indeed seem to be an east coast take on the same idea (though with a group dynamic). I remember an old story (a fairy tale, tall tale, Aesop fable... like that) about "Stone Soup", in which a sharpie scams his neighbors by introducing a rock as the primary ingredient, then claiming that the meat, carrots, potatoes, what-have-you (all supplied by others) are secondary spice items. Sorta like Tom Sawyer getting his fence painted for free by convincing his chums it was fun recreation... rogues manage to score plenty of goodies, 'long as they're inventive about it!

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #74

What the Filters Saw​

The Rockville Hills is a wild region in the vicinity of Green Valley Road, between Green Valley and Rockville. The soil's no good for farming, so it never has been developed. In the '70s, about three hundred acres of it got preserved as a local park, so no one ever will be able to build there now.

The park is mostly a secluded pasture up in the highlands. A road leads to the top, but it's only for official park personnel to use. It's pretty steep and twisting anyway. Only a jeep could make it. No ordinary visitors are allowed to use cars. They all have to hike. That keeps out the punk kids, who'd just hang out and litter. If you're hardy enough, all that exercise is worth it. Unlike the western hills, the Rockville land is lush and inviting. You can spend hours just staring at the scenery.

There's certainly plenty to see. The valley's most prominent feature is a wide lake right in the middle. You wouldn't expect any lake to be up that high, but it's actually big enough to hold a colony of ducks. People aren't allowed to swim there, though. The vegetation surrounding the lake is of various types. It supports all sorts of wildlife, from the lowest kind to birds and rabbits. A rocky ridge marks the western boundary. Even though the view is good, you shouldn't climb on this. It's a little dangerous. The highest ground is to the east. That's where the Indian caves are. The local tribe used these for a home at one time.

When the park initially opened, not too many people got the word. That was good news for nature lovers. They got the first chance before anyone else, before recreation visitors cluttered up the place. One of the first people to go was a photography nut. He loved to take pictures of wild settings, so this opportunity was perfect for him.

About forty minutes was needed to hike the whole distance. He had brought plenty of film in his bag and planned to spend the entire day. He wanted to get shots in different light, and had brought different lenses and filters to get different effects. The park was so big that no section looked the same. Some parts were shady and secluded. Some of it was grassy plain and was open and bright. The man took shots of everything and from every angle. He changed filters often to bring out different colors. By late afternoon, he'd used up every shot he had.

On his way back to the parking area, he met with a friend who was just entering. These two shared a passion for the outdoors. Only, this other guy didn't use a camera. He liked to capture the sounds of nature, wind and animal calls and such. He had brought a tape recorder and a sensitive microphone. He had also packed a bedroll and a little pup tent. It might have seemed a bit late in the day, but this man intended to sleep over. The park had no hours and you were allowed to camp out back then. Certain animals only came out after dark and he wanted to record their cries. So they parted company. Each man promised to share the results of his effort afterwards.

The photographer reached his car and drove straight home. That's where his darkroom was. Even though he had spent a busy day taking pictures, he was anxious to develop them and see how good they looked. He had snapped off a couple of hundred shots, so this was liable to take all night. But he didn't care about sleep. He was just that dedicated to his hobby.

It was about four in the morning. All the negatives came out okay and he was enlarging some pictures. Suddenly he stopped dead. One of the prints had just come out of the chemicals. There was an odd and disturbing image on it. The picture was a long shot of some trees and shrubs. Poking out of the bushes was something he never noticed when he was taking the shot. It was something one of his filters must have caught and made more prominent.

It appeared to be a face. You might have called it a human face, except that all the features were way too exaggerated. Anyway, it sure wasn't any kind of wild animal he knew. It looked more like a wooden mask from some primitive tribe. The face stared right out at him. It didn't appear happy. The lips were drawn back in a feral snarl. Ugly black teeth were displayed. The eyes were narrowed to flinty slits. It was so menacing it gave him a turn.

Just possibly his imagination was playing tricks. Sure, this looked like an ugly gremlin face, but maybe it was really an illusion caused by some stray shadows. He had taken several other shots of this area. Maybe a close-up would show the truth. He located a likely negative and put in some new photographic paper.

This shot was even clearer. The face was still there and it seemed to be no illusion. The man didn't know how he possibly could have missed seeing this thing. The lens filter must have made it more visible on film than in real life. This time the face was altered. The mouth was closed more and pointed incisors poked down from the lip. The eyes glared hatefully at him. He could now see some of the body. It was wiry and thin and seemed to be human, except that the skin had cracks and fissures like dry mud. One hand was showing. It only had three fingers, and they looked thick and strong and veiny.

These pictures got the man so rattled that he just sat and stared at them for some time. Then an awful thought occurred to him. His friend was camped out in the dark with this thing. The idea got him panicked and sweaty. He immediately made a call to the sheriff's department and explained things. They were polite, but I imagine they thought it was a crank call at first. Still, he must have convinced them because they agreed to meet him at the park entrance.

By the time everyone arrived, it was early morning. A park worker was there and he took them up by the access road. The deputy looked the photos over. They were disturbing, all right. That didn't mean they weren't posed, though.

They made it to the top of the hill. After a short search, they found the empty pup tent. There was no sign that the owner was anywhere around. The deputy made a thorough examination of the grounds. No signs proved what might have happened to the man. His property was completely undisturbed and there were no tracks of any sort. Eventually, more cops were called in. A wider search took place, but nothing more turned up. The man had totally vanished.

There was only one clue. The man's tape recorder was still in the tent. Mostly, the recovered tape just had normal night noises on it, like crickets and owl hoots. But towards the end were odd sounds that no one could place. It was about ten minutes worth of what seemed to be a chattering and chanting in some unknown language. Alot of it was low and indistinct. It must have come from a distance. You could hear the missing man call out from time to time, trying to find out what was causing it. How things ended, we'll never know. The tape ran out before anything dramatic happened.

So, this evidence wasn't much help. It did make the park officials nervous, though. No one else has ever been allowed to camp overnight. As far as I know, no other people have vanished. And no one else has ever reported seeing that ugly face again. But then, not too many people take pictures up there anymore.

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #75

King Skeleton​

The town of Fairview is pretty much like any medium size town. It can be pretty dull if you don't know how to make your own fun. It's no place for high culture, like San Francisco. There aren't any museums or opera. Folks in Fairview prefer more common entertainment.

I mean things like bowling or the roller skating rink. Fairview has one of each. The Sand Trap Miniature Golf does good business in the southern part of town. And then there's the movie theaters. You can find two of these. The most popular one is located in Fairview Mall. It has twelve screens and shows nothing but first run films. That's okay if you only like today's cinema, but the movie house downtown is really the more interesting one. It's what you call a "revival theater". It only handles one movie at a time, but they can be from any era, clear back to the silent days. If you ever care to see a black and white film, it's the only place to go.

The building has been around a long time. It was constructed in the late '40s after the war so returning servicemen would have some place to take their wives. It was the only theater in town for years and years.

The movies were pretty normal for awhile, until the '50s came along. That's when things got pretty wild. Before then, adults were mostly the only patrons, but in the '50s kids started to take over the aisles. The old folks would just sit at home and watch TV. As a result, movie producers had to appeal more to the youngsters.

That's about the time gimmick films started being made. These movies had to show something extra that no film had before, like 3-D or Smell-O-Rama. This was to please the kids, who liked trendy things. On the weekends, matinees and early shows would be packed with eager boys and girls.

Maybe the most notorious stunt movie to hit Fairview was called "King Skeleton". It was pretty frightening, even though the film company made it cheap. The scariest thing was the gimmick. When you watched this film, there would be a full size wooden coffin laid out onstage right below the screen. At the point in the movie where King Skeleton comes alive and attacks the stars, the coffin lid would slowly open. Then from inside, a skeleton would leap out and fly into the air above the audience. It was on wires, of course. It was worked by electricity and would shriek and wave its arms. This was always a thrill. The theater owners had trouble getting the thing back in its coffin again, but the kids didn't care. They loved the scare so much that each show was always full.

This went on for weeks until one particular performance. The place was packed, as usual. What nobody knew was that the gimmick was getting worn out from all the use. The wires weren't really all that strong and the skeleton was just a cheap plastic copy. The manager did nothing about it, though. He was making too much money to stop.

So, everyone waited for the big scene when King Skeleton would appear. The moment happened, and it jumped out as always and hung screaming above all the kids. Only this time, something went wrong with the electric motor. Some frayed lines started sparking and suddenly the skeleton was a mass of flames. This was really dangerous, but nobody left. The kids just thought that a new stunt had been added, and hollered and hooted with delight. That didn't last long, though. The weak wires snapped and the blazing skeleton plunged down into the seats.

The outstretched arms of King Skeleton wrapped themselves around one unlucky boy. Since the fiery plastic was now dripping soft, it stuck to the poor kid and he couldn't get loose. He had to stare screaming into that grinning skull face until it melted all over him. The ushers finally beat out the fire, but by that time the kid was nothing but a smoking gooey corpse.

His folks could have collected big. Part of the gimmick was that each spectator got a life insurance policy that would pay a million dollars if he died during the screening. Unfortunately, the form was in the boy's pocket and burned up with him. You might think what happened would drive folks away, but the idea that someone actually died during the show turned out to be great publicity. It made the film real notorious. The manager got a new skeleton, and the movie played for months afterwards. This may seem sick, but it's just the way people are sometimes.

Nowadays, this little theater can't compete with the big screens up at the mall. So it only shows old movies from the past. Sometimes it even runs old prints of "King Skeleton". These performances are always well attended. Even so, nobody has ever tried to set up a plastic skeleton again. Once was enough.

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #76

Belling the Cat​

There's a little red schoolhouse out in the middle of Ross Valley. It can be a little difficult to find. It's located on Oliver Road, but to get there requires a trip up Rockville Road and a right turn onto Ledgewood. After that, it's half a mile to Abernathy, which intersects with Truscott. Truscott finally leads to Oliver.

The drive is worth all the bother. The old building is quite picturesque, perched right on the bank of the eastern creek. It's exactly the type of structure you'd imagine from the Tom Sawyer days, with a high peaked roof and bell tower. All the farm kids in Tabor County attended classes at one time, but in the '40s it proved too small. The population had grown too much. So the school district built Rockville Elementary and the children went there instead. The little red building went empty, but only for a few months. The state had a new purpose in mind for the property. They turned it into a home for young girls who had been made orphans by the war.

Sleeping quarters and a basement for storage were added, and about two dozen youngsters moved right in. They were from all over northern California, not just Tabor County. The school had some grounds attached that were just going to waste. These were plowed up and changed into productive agricultural land. The girls would do chores out in the field and learn many useful skills. The old school bell would ring to call them in for meals and to sleep. When harvest time came, all the orphans received the profits to put away for their future. It might not be like having a real family, but all in all it was a pretty good life.

But it didn't stay that way for long. After a few seasons, it became clear that something unpleasant had moved in. During the night, an unknown presence would do mischief. Sometimes it would mess the place, spilling foul garbage all over the floor or leaving food out to spoil. Sometimes it would steal or break the girls' personal possessions. This was pretty mean, because these children sure didn't have alot to start with.

So, things became strained for everyone. It was about to get alot worse, though. One evening, a matron was heading down the stairs, when she tripped and fell to the bottom, breaking her neck clear through. It was an awful tragedy, but only the beginning. A second woman was up on a tall ladder cleaning the gutters. Suddenly a rung snapped, and she plummeted down to the garden, impaling herself on a fence post. The cops ruled these to be terrible accidents, but no one at the orphanage believed that.

The last straw came when one of the girls disappeared entirely. She just vanished one day and search parties couldn't find a trace of her. They looked over every inch of the fields. They even checked in the creek, but it did no good. The other orphans were distraught. The missing girl was the youngest one and a great favorite. They were desperate not to lose her. But there was nothing more authorities could do except move everyone else away. The old orphanage wasn't considered safe anymore.

Actually, the child was still in the building. No one knew it, though, because she had been hidden so subtly. A local ogre was to blame. Her name was Spinster, and she was the fiend who had caused all the harm. She had moved in when the building was vacant, and set up her nest at the top of the bell tower. For awhile she had tolerated the new residents, but the constant noise of the big bell finally drove her crazy. That's why she had started the attacks.

Spinster may seem like an awfully odd name, but really it suited her. She had never been married, but that wasn't the reason. Spinster was something like a big black spider. She had a fat spider body about the same size as a basketball. But instead of a spider head, hers had a tiny, ugly human face. It was a mean crone's face, with stringy gray hair and hard little pinpoint eyes. She had a thin pointed nose, and thin dry lips from which a nasty forked tongue would dart. She also had eight spindly spider legs, but at the end of each one was a tiny withered human hand. They were frail looking, but actually were pretty strong.

Just like a normal spider, Spinster could make sticky threads to catch her food. Now that the building was all hers, she hung them over the whole inside. Their sweet smell drew insects and small animals. The creatures came for a meal, but got tangled by the glue and caught tight. Once a day, Spinster would slide down the bell rope and suck out all the juice from these victims, leaving only their dried out shells.

Before long, the threads were full of dead animal bodies. That's where the kidnapped girl came in. Spinster would force her to clean out these little corpses. It wasn't an easy task. The glue was very tough. It took all day long before she was finished. Her fingers would grow tired and achy, but Spinster never let her take a break until the job was done.

This poor girl was terrified of Spinster. It was no wonder. The ogre treated her like a slave. She was incredibly cruel. There were fresh clean clothes left in the closets, but she forced the child to wear a scratchy old burlap sack with holes cut for her arms and head. Even though the place had pleasant warm beds, she made her spend the night on the rough basement floor, with threads binding her arms and legs so she couldn't run away. The miserable orphan didn't even find any comfort in sleep. Frequently Spinster ruined her peace by grabbing her small cheeks with clammy hands and shaking her awake, screaming right into her face. This was done for no rational reason, just sadistic fun. Small surprise the girl cried herself into exhaustion most nights.

But ironically, this proved to be her salvation. That's because one night Demona heard her sobs. You must know about Demona. I've mentioned that name before. Demona was a sorcerer's cat. It was her duty to patrol his property each evening. She had very sharp senses, and always kept her eyes and ears open for any threat.

As soon as she heard the anguished crying, she sped straight toward the old school. Human cops might not have been able to locate the girl, but they didn't have Demona's talents. The building was boarded up tight. She found a way in, though. There was one low, loose window. She used it to enter the basement. The orphan girl was still awake. The sight of the massive, menacing cat frightened her all the more. Demona was an awesome sight to behold. She was a huge, low-eared Manx, with one dead eye and one that blazed with red-orange fire. Enemies had great cause for fear, but not this helpless, innocent child. Demona bit through the threads that held her. Then she rumbled with a soothing purr. The girl lost all her fear. She clutched Demona in a desperate hug, until her sniffles had stopped and she was completely calm again. Then she timidly kissed the cat right on the head. She went to the open window and made her escape to freedom. Demona turned and padded silently up the stairs to confront the child's wicked tormentor.

Demona followed Spinster's scent throughout the house, from room to room beneath all the threads, until she had traced it to the base of the bell tower. The thick bell rope hung above her head. It was the only way up. So, she crouched low, then sprang, sinking her claws into the hemp. Her weight yanked it down, sending a clear peal out of the big iron bell. Spinster was alerted now, but there was no help for it.

The fiend was shaken right out of her evil dreams. She was hot with anger. Who had dared to disturb her rest? She peered down through the tower shaft and was stunned to see an ominous feline form clawing its way up the rope. Demona's orange eye blazed right into her. Her feral cat teeth were bared in naked hatred. If she ever reached the top, murder would be done without a doubt.

Spinster had one desperate chance. She grabbed at the bolts that held the bell onto the pivoting wooden crosspiece. A man would have to use tools to loosen them, but the strength of her hands was all she needed. She sweated and strained, and finally the bolts came free. The big bell shot right off down the shaft.

Demona saw the bell hurtling toward her. An ordinary cat would have been killed for sure, but Demona knew just what she had to do. She made a frantic leap into the air and clutched right onto the clapper. She rode inside the bell all the way down to the floor, where it smashed the wood into splinters with a deafening clang.

The bell struck so hard it was split right down the center. Demona pushed the halves apart and staggered out. She was slightly stunned and her hearing had gone. Spinster was dismayed to see she was still alive, and even more so when the cat started up the rope again. If Demona's eye had blazed before, it shot out waves of fire now. Spinster knew she was doomed. She could not bear the thought of waiting to die. She hurled herself out of the tower window and straight down to the rocky creek bed sixty feet below.

I don't know if Spinster's suicide try was successful. No stain from her body was ever found. But it really doesn't matter. Neither she or any other evil thing has ever haunted that building again. The orphanage finally did open its doors once more. The young girl that Demona rescued has grown into a lovely young woman. She's the one who runs the place now. She's just as kind to all the new orphans as her matrons had been to her. And every night before she goes to bed, she follows a little ritual. She fills a bowl with rich cream and places it outside the front door. That's her thank-you to Demona. She has never seen the cat since that frantic night years ago, but each morning the bowl is drained dry. So she knows for sure that Demona still thinks of her and watches after her.

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #77

Marionette​

The Putah River flows from Lake Tabor. It's the major moving waterway through Tabor County. It has always existed because the lake has always been in place. But once Monticello Dam went in, the lake became four times bigger. That made the Putah larger too. The water now comes from the bottom of the dam and is always icy cold. It never warms, even on the hottest days. You'd think this change would kill off most of the fish, but river fish are hardy. They got used to it quickly, and are as plentiful now as they ever have been.

Once the river widened up, folks became anxious to build homes along its banks. These were mainly people who liked recreation. Older retired guys added boathouses so they could go out to fish every day. Not everyone liked that kind of sport, though. There was a growing trend on the river. Some people preferred water skiing to fishing. They tended to be younger, to stand the shock of the cold water. This caused a bit of a controversy. The two activities didn't blend very well. The loud, fast motorboats towing the skiers were sure to scare away any fish. On the other hand, the hooks the fishermen used were a menace to anyone out in the water. This division caused some really bad feelings. The two groups were separated by age, so they didn't get on well to start with.

Things became so tense that the factions finally decided to divide the river in two. The Gordon Valley Bridge served as a cut-off point. The fishermen used the upper half of it to sink their lines, while the skiers were supposed to stay in the lower half. No one was too happy with the deal, though. They all wanted the whole river for themselves. Each side would take every opportunity to provoke the other. The older guys would gather on the bridge to do their fishing, just so they could jeer at the people in the speedboats. As for the skiers, they would come as close to the bridge as possible and make really sharp turns, sending big waves of water sweeping up the river. When you think about it, all of them were behaving just like a bunch of spoiled kids.

One hot summer day, everyone was out in full force. The top of the bridge was crowded with fishermen. They all had lines in the water, on their own side, of course. As for the skiers, they had drunk plenty of beer and were feeling pretty reckless. They would buzz the bridge on almost every turn, coming closer and closer each time.

One speedboat was towing an attractive young woman behind it. She wasn't too expert yet and was spending alot of time on the water, trying to get as much practice as she could. Her boyfriend was the one at the wheel. He was pretty drunk and really disliked the fishermen anyway. So he would steer nearer and nearer to the bridge with each turn. This made the girl mighty nervous, but she didn't dare to question the actions of her stubborn boyfriend.

He had been lucky so far, but finally made a disastrous mistake. He came into his turn too fast and didn't allow for enough space. The boat shot right out of the water and slammed into a good-sized tree on the bank. It was smashed into pieces by the collision and the spilled fuel caught on fire. Even if the boy had survived the crash, he would have burned to death.

That was nothing compared to what happened to his girlfriend, though. When she saw an accident was unavoidable, she let go of the towrope. But at that speed she couldn't stop. Her momentum carried her straight down the river and directly underneath the Gordon Valley Bridge. That's where all the fishing lines were. She went right into them, catching maybe twenty with her body and outstretched arms. The hooks were all yanked out of the water and embedded themselves into her flesh. The men gaped over the rail in horror. She was floundering around, unable to swim because of the lines. It was clear she would soon drown. So they did the only thing they could. They got together and reeled her in like she was a tough fighting fish, pulling her body right out of the water.

Now she could breathe, but the situation still wasn't much better. With all that weight, the hooks bit clear to the bone. The poor girl jerked around on the lines in agony. She looked just like a puppet dancing on strings. The men saw this and quickly lowered their poles again. But as soon as they did, she started to drown once more. The men alternated between their two choices, but neither one was any good. The girl was dying either way. By the time a boat reached her, it was too late. Either the swallowed water or the blood loss had killed her.

There was a big investigation over this incident. The two deaths were eventually ruled to be accidental. No charges ever got filed. But at the next election period, two ballot measures came up. The two factions were responsible. One wanted to forbid fishing on the Putah River. The other proposed to outlaw motorboats. There was much bitter debate, but the fishermen won in the end. Motor craft are prohibited on the Putah to this day. The skiers should have known better. Old folks always have gotten out to vote in better numbers.

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #78

The Smother People​

The area of Tabor County northeast of Fairview is known as the Flats. It's sort of a plain, although it's not absolutely level like I guess Kansas is. The Flats is a long, long stretch of very gently rolling hills. Compared to the craggy mountains to the west, it is a flat plain. No one tries to plant crops there. The soil isn't good enough for that. It will only support grass, but that makes it okay for grazing animals. You'll see all sorts of small flocks and herds up that way. The smaller plots hold sheep or goats. The larger fields can handle dairy and beef cattle.

The homes are few and far between. These days, the kids are bussed into Fairview to get an education, but back in the '50s there was actually a good-sized local school building. It was meant to handle about three hundred students. It's still standing, lonely and overgrown with weeds and trees, but nobody uses it anymore.

About ten years after it opened its doors, there was a terrible tragedy, the worst one ever to occur in Tabor County. This happened in the winter. When parents came by to pick up their children at the end of the day, they found that everyone was dead. Every student and every teacher just lay lifeless in their classrooms. There wasn't a single mark on any of them. Later it was determined that they all had asphyxiated to death.

Safety engineers from all over showed up to examine the scene. Why all these people died proved to be something of a mystery. The building was heated from a big natural gas tank out back and the most likely answer was that fumes from a gas leak had poisoned them all. The engineers never found one, though. It was known that subterranean vapors could seep out of the ground and kill whole communities. Maybe that had happened, but there was no way to check for it back then.

So the experts had no choice but to find that the school was safe. This didn't help much, because there was no one left to attend classes. The school district tried to ship in kids from other regions, but none could be found who wanted to use the building. It had developed a really bad reputation. So the place just sat empty.

A weird story was going around. It was said that all the dead kids and teachers had turned into ghosts. They now haunted the school building and would suffocate any intruders, killing in just the same way they had died themselves. Others disagreed. They said that there was indeed something evil in the building, but that the kids and faculty had been the first victims. Either way, it was deadly to go inside. This sounds like crazy talk, but some people actually have been killed in there. They were smothered, just like the legend says.

So why would anyone want to enter this musty old structure to begin with? A later part of the legend says that the Red Devil Gang used it to hide a big cache of stolen jewelry. This wasn't all that hard to believe. If anyone was tough enough to get out of the place alive, it was the Red Devils. The gems were supposedly worth millions, and that was enough to lure trespassers. Even though every entrance was locked and chained, they would find a way in. But at least a dozen of them have been found dead over the years.

I only know of one person who survived to tell of what he saw. He was a young teenager, and he and some friends decided to try their luck. They were all from well-off families and none of them had to worry about money. Even so, they wanted to find the jewels really bad. Maybe they just wanted some adventure.

It wasn't easy to enter the place, but they had a plan. They waited until sundown, then climbed up on the roof. They traveled over various classrooms and hallways until they were right above the cafeteria. This big room had a skylight. The vandals broke out the glass and used a rope to slide down onto the dusty tables. This seems like a pretty bad plan to me. If there was any trouble, it would be hard to escape.

The night was still and painfully quiet. Every shuffle the boys made seemed like it would give them away. But they were determined. A full moon shone through the windows and they didn't even need a flashlight. So, off they went. They left the big empty cafeteria and entered a hall.

The place was pretty spooky even without the stories, with long pale shadows everywhere. The boys' plan was for one of them to keep an eye on the floor for loose tiles. That was the most likely place the treasure might be. Others would check through all the desks and behind the fire extinguishers. They had planned to stay stark silent, but the creepy atmosphere forced them into furtive whispering.

They searched several classrooms without any success. Some of the kids had had enough and wanted to leave. But the leader of the expedition was insistent. So, on they went, deeper and deeper through the twisting corridors. It was plain that some of these guys had no idea where they were anymore and could never find their way out alone.

One of the boys noticed something strange. As they went further and further in, a gauzy, cob-webby dust seemed to cover the walls and the furniture. Only it didn't look that much like dust. It had a milky, tissue quality and it seemed to stir and ripple even though there was no breeze at all.

The party had just entered the 5th grade classroom, when they all stopped dead in their tracks. On the bare teacher's desk, a little pinch of the dust puckered and started to raise itself. It drew slowly up, right in front of them, pulling the rest of the gauze on the desk after it. The kids all stared unbelieving at this weird scene. The gauze rose higher and higher until it almost hit the ceiling. Finally it came completely off the desk and hovered above them like a filmy bed sheet. The pinch at the top swelled up like an inflating balloon. A depression in this swell sucked in and out as though a mouth was gasping for breath.

All this time, the boys were too scared to move. But at last one of them couldn't take any more. He saw more gauze begin to separate from the wall, and screamed and ran off. That was the start of the panic. Everyone began scrambling over everyone else to get away. The sheet of gauze began to undulate and wave. It drifted toward one of the boys. Then it flared out and settled right over his body. The kid's face showed in outline through the white sheet. He was struggling for air but couldn't get any. It was clear he was going to die.

The other kids should have tried to help but they were way too panicked. More of the sheets had risen up and were heading after them. They bobbed along like big bulbous jellyfish being towed by strings. There was a mad dash down the corridors. The kids were so crazy to get out they never even kept an eye on each other. Soon they were all separated.

It was an insane, frantic night. Some of the kids threw themselves desperately against the double doors that led outside, but these had been locked tight and chained and wouldn't give. They chased up the stairs or hid under desks or in the bathroom stalls. The floating sheets followed, alone or in little clusters. They could slide easily under the doors, so no place was safe. Each boy heard his friends screaming for help at a different part of the school. I'm sure every one of them had lost his way. It's a certain thing that none of them got back to the escape rope in the cafeteria.

The next morning, anxious parents made the sheriff search the old building for their sons. He found them all. Every one was smothered to death, except a single unconscious lad. He was taken to the hospital, where he revived just long enough to relate the horrible story. Lack of oxygen had ruined alot of his brain cells, though, and no one could be sure that what he was saying was true. He died himself some time later.

I don't know if the boy's story was accurate or not. But I am sure that this place is a menace. Since no one will use it, it's not good for much anyway. It ought to be demolished. Then the property could be put to a useful purpose. It might be the surest way to locate that missing jewelry, too.

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #79

Bloody Harvest​

None of the farm workers in Tabor County will ever make their camp in the western creek. Few of them will even venture there at all. But it does happen sometimes. Like once, a small crew of men headed out that way on a rescue mission. There were only five of them, so you can bet they were pretty scared. It shows you how concerned they were that they would do this with so few numbers. And it was the middle of the night, too.

The fact was, one of these guys had come to California from back east with two of his brothers. But both of them were missing now. Everyone suspected that a strange fellow who haunted the western creek had done it. He had pretended to be normal, but the rumor was he sucked out the blood of humans to live. No one had ever seen him eat solid food. And who else would choose to live out west, away from prying eyes? No, he certainly couldn't be trusted. It was time to check out his camp and, if he was guilty, deal with him.

The crew of men had brought knives and sticks to do the job. Still, most of them were shaking. You could hardly blame them. No one knows how many people have died in the western creek. The victims' bodies are usually never found. But close friends had been abducted. They had to try.

The party had been gone for an hour. They made slow time because they huddled close together and moved furtively. You had to watch out for a wrong step. There were ominous noises in the dark. Finally, though, they located the campsite. A full moon was in the sky, and they could see everything all too well. Things were as bad and even more weird than they expected. The stranger kept no fire, the way ordinary men do. Evidently he didn't like to be warm. He sure didn't need the heat to cook his food.

The two brothers were there, just like everyone was afraid they would be. They hung upside-down from a tree by their heels. Each one had his throat slit by a sharp blade. All the blood from their bodies had leaked out. But instead of just lying there on the ground, it had been channeled into a furrow that the strange man had made. This furrow fed a small plot of tilled earth with some spindly plants in it. The blood had been used just like it was irrigation water.

Even in these horrible surroundings, the men were curious about the plants. What kind could possibly require human blood to grow? A couple of the guys thought they knew. These must be Bloodweed. No one had ever seen it before, but they all had heard stories. They closed in for a better look, and that's when they found the blood-drinking man. He had been there the whole time, right at the edge of the furrow. The man was dead. Probably, he had run into one of the other horrors lurking in the creek bed. There were things down there alot worse than he was. Anyhow, his head had been torn away. The stump of his neck had fallen into the ditch and his blood had drained out too. So the plants had received more nourishment then even he had intended. They should be really healthy now.

The stranger sure wasn't going to need the Bloodweed anymore. That gave the men an idea. They could harvest it themselves. No one knew much about this plant, but one man had heard that eating it would give you supernatural power. Another thought that it was a strong drug that would allow you to see bizarre psychic dreams. Whatever the truth was, these guys were eager to try some. They grabbed hold of the leaves and yanked.

The Bloodweed didn't come out easily. It was mostly tuber, like a carrot or potato, and held onto the soil. When it did break loose, it was an eerie sight to behold. The root was a deep purple color, as though it was full of blood itself. Each one had a shape resembling a crude, curled up human fetus. The men shuddered at this. But it could be an illusion. Roots grow in a random way and can look like many different things.

When every plant had been pulled out, the party hurried away from the camp. The man was sorry to leave his brothers that way, but it was too dangerous to stay and bury them. No one thought that any of the bodies would still be there by dawn. So, they left for the safety of their own campfire in the central creek.

Everyone was anxious to try out the Bloodweed. They put every plant into a big iron pot. Then they found themselves several rounded stones that the winter waters had washed smooth. The men pounded the roots with the stones. They beat them over and over until nothing remained but a pulpy soup. It was difficult to see in the dark, but the liquid appeared to be a deep red, just like blood. You'd think that sight would put them off, but the men still wanted a taste. So they put the soup over the flames to heat. Nobody cared to try it cold.

Here's what the men didn't know: the uprooted plants had looked like babies because they were actually the evil stranger's children. Such people can't have offspring in the normal fashion. They have to grow them in the ground. The blood-drinking man was so afraid of the western creek that he wanted the protection of his own kind. He had fed the Bloodweed babies human juice right from the vein, the only food they could digest. But something had gotten to him first. After that, the rescue party came along and destroyed all of the Bloodweed. It was a noble deed, even if they didn't intend it that way. The fewer monsters like that around, the better.

But then they had drunk up all the babies' fluids. That was a terrible mistake. These creatures had enzymes in their bodies to break down human blood so it could be absorbed. The men's blood was now being attacked and made useless. It could no longer carry nutrients to different parts of their bodies, which is the only way that human tissue stays alive and healthy.

When those five men were found in the morning, they were stone dead. All their skin and meat had a transparent, jelly quality to it. None of the cells had any nutrition in them at all. Even though they had stopped a terrible invasion, these guys had paid with their own lives. That's the moral to the story. Never go too far.

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #80

The Sure Shot​

It was 4:00 on a dark, damp, cold night. The man stayed in the shadows of an alley. He had to if he didn't want to be seen. This was the corner of Bryant and North Merchant Streets, in the heart of downtown Fairview. Even this late, the streetlights were on and quite bright.

The man was feeling pretty savage. He wasn’t out there because he wanted to be. This was some distance from his home turf, where he felt secure. All the same, he was no lily. He was a big guy, thick with muscles. Truth be known, he was the town’s major drug dealer and was used to pounding on others to get respect. The kid he was supposed to meet was just one of his underlings, a snot-nosed addict. This punk had no business arranging meetings, especially not one out here. If what he had to say wasn’t really important, the drug lord decided he would probably kill the little creep just as a lesson to others.

The man didn’t like this part of town. It was too respectable. He was like some bug under a rock who gets blinded in sunlight. Just across the street was the public library, a place he had never been in and had no use for. He hated the idea of people becoming too smart. He preferred them dumb and unimaginative. They had more need for his product that way.

Most everyone else in Fairview visited the library quite often. It was always one of my favorite places to go as a kid. They always had a great selection of fairy tales and Dr. Seuss books and suchlike. Even if I couldn’t read them, I would sneak a look at the textbooks full of dinosaur paintings. I always liked the Brontosaurus and the Tyrannosaurus Rex. I don’t read so much as when I was younger, but I think all kids should lay their hands on as many books as they can. They’d be a lot less apt to cause trouble.

You could always recognize Tabor County Library because of the big bronze statue out front. It’s the figure of an Indian, the chief of the last tribe to live in Tabor County. He has his arm raised up in a friendly peace salute. In life, I guess that didn’t do him much good, since his tribe went extinct about a hundred and fifty years back. His other hand holds a bow and he’s got a quiver full of arrows at his side. Me and the other kids were really impressed with those arrows. We thought we understood the whole story about them, even though we probably just made it all up. None of us knew the Indian’s real name, so we referred to him as “Chief Sure-Shot”. Because he was an Indian, he was a very noble man. He was also a master with the bow and arrow. Anything he took aim at, he would hit. It didn’t matter how far away the target was, he would score a bull’s-eye every time. But he only ever shot evil men, those who were a menace to the community. There were seven bronze arrows sticking out of his quiver. We called them his “Seven Arrows of Justice”. You’ve got to remember, this was at the time of Superman and the Lone Ranger. I know it all sounds like alot of dumb kid stuff, but it seemed pretty important at the time.

Actually, it was pretty odd that the drug lord, with his revulsion of book learning, should be out there in front of the library that night. That’s because his meeting concerned a large collection of books he had just acquired. This man may not have liked to read, but he did want knowledge awfully bad.

He was part of a secret organization that called itself the Four Corners Coven. A coven is a group of witches, people with magic power. That’s the way it’s supposed to be, but this coven didn’t have any real supernatural ability. They were just a lot of pretenders. But for some time they had been trying get ahold of those books I mentioned, steal them from their rightful owner. Some of the volumes contained potent, ungodly information. Recently, obtaining them had become more urgent than ever. The coven needed their protection. That’s because some awful thing had been murdering off its members one by one.

The coven had started with four persons, one for each corner of Tabor County. Now, two of them were dead. Unless he and the other coven member, a weird woman from the wild western hills, gained some real occult power soon, one of them could be next to go. So, the brutal drug lord had made his move. He hired the junkie to break in and steal every one of those books. It had cost five hundred dollars to do the job, but the expense was worth it. His coven partner was now busily unearthing a wealth forbidden information out in her miserable shack. At least, at the time it had seemed worth it.

The woman had studied several of the volumes and now was starting to become a real witch. That was her claim, anyway. She had used her new insight to discover who it was striking at them. But her crazy talk made no sense at all. She rambled on and on about a brain from outer space that rode around inside of people’s bodies. This brain wanted to destroy all of Fairview and had attacked the coven before the knowledge from the magic books made them too strong. To the dealer, this just sounded like alot of cheap science fiction stories. He had heard too many babbling dope addicts in his time to be impressed with weird tales.

And then to top off everything, the stupid junkie kid called in to insist on this meeting. That could mean only one thing: he wanted more money and would threaten to expose the theft if he didn’t get it. Well, if that was the case, the kid had made a serious mistake. He would never leave Bryant Street alive.

A lone figure was making its way up North Merchant. It was the kid, all right. Now the man would see if he had to do a murder tonight or not.

He strode out to meet the advancing junkie. It actually wasn’t that easy. One of his legs was a false one, made from a wooden plank. That was just one more reason he hated being out in this cold and damp, away from the comforts of home. It made him that much more savage. He cast a hate-filled scowl down at the approaching kid. But something was wrong. He knew this guy, but it was like he was gazing at a complete stranger. The boy’s hollow, haunted eyes showed no fear at all. The drug lord’s mind slowly filled with a sick apprehension. He grabbed the kid by the shoulders and sharply spun him all the way around.

It was like he was staring the devil straight in the face. The kid had no back to his skull. A gallon of dried, day-old blood stained the rear of his shirt. Out of the hole in his head pulsed and throbbed a mass of multi-colored brain tissue which resembled nothing that had ever existed on Earth.

So, it was all true. A killer alien brain was on the loose and now he was right in its grasp.

The empty eyes of the dead junkie snapped back to face him. A humorless, dead smile tugged at his lips. A dead hand shot up and took the drug dealer’s wrist in a crushing vise. The kid was unnaturally strong. The brain must have been pumping him up far above normal. Then the man went for the boy’s throat and started laying on his own vise. The brain wouldn’t kill him without a fight. The two figures wrestled against one another, locked nose to nose in grimacing hatred.

The next morning presented a pretty weird scene to the early risers along Bryant Street. Two dead men lay on the asphalt. They were still locked nose to nose, but literally this time. The small man’s empty skull was pinned to the large man’s full one. A three foot long bronze arrow had pierced them both with one shot.

The alien brain wasn’t killed, not outright anyway. A trail of tarry sludge led toward one of the sewer storm drains. I guess this type of brain isn’t that easy to kill. It had already somehow escaped an almost certain death by explosion at Monticello Dam. But this new wound couldn’t have done it any good. Its war against Tabor County was costing it dearly.

I’m almost through here. But I do want to relate one more thing. Remember how I described the Seven Arrows of Justice? Well, after I heard this tale for the first time, I went back to the statue of Chief Sure-Shot and counted the number of arrows in his quiver. There were only six. One of them really was missing. I guess my faith in the Chief had been justified after all. Of course, you only have my word that there were seven bronze arrows to start with. I might have been wrong. Believe me or not. It’s your choice.

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #81

The Great Canal Eel​

This is the story of the great canal eel. It was the eel that was great, not the canal. The canal was a pretty standard one. Tabor County built it in the late '30s, along with Monticello Dam. That was so farm irrigation could be done more easily.

You see this type of canal all over California. Engineers tend to locate them close to roads so the ditch tenders have easy access. The Tabor County canal is forty miles long. It wanders throughout the farmland of Gordon Valley and Ross Valley. It's thirty feet wide and fifteen feet deep, with tapered sides to minimize silt. The whole thing's lined with concrete. Concrete makes for less leakage than a regular earth canal. High storm fences keep folks from getting too close. That's because the water is so placid looking it seems just like a swimming pool. Hardly any farm families have pools. On hot days, the canal water is almost irresistible. What you don't see is the strong undertow. The canal supply is in constant motion so it won't go stagnant. Once you're in, it's really hard to get out again due to the sloping concrete. Everybody knows this fact. Still, people can be pretty foolish. Even with the fences, a few drown in the canal every year.

There's no excuse even to try this. The water is for agriculture, not for fun. It is needed by thirsty plants. The canal doesn't touch every farm in Tabor County, of course. The water is delivered by underground cement tunnels called Pierce lines. I don't know who "Pierce" was. Maybe the name just means the lines have pierced into the farmland. At any rate, you'd never know they were there at all if not for the Pierce points. These are hollow, open concrete towers about ten feet square and maybe twelve feet tall. During the growing season, each one is filled to the brim with canal water so the pressure can force it into private systems. The Pierce lines are three feet wide. They have to be big to supply every customer in Ross and Gordon Valleys.

The trouble started in the year of 1972. A dead body was found in the canal. Like I said, this wasn't too odd. Trespassers regularly drown. But the corpse was far from normal. Most of its flesh was gone. It looked like it had been dead for months, but when the teeth were checked it was found to belong to a local rancher who had disappeared only three days before.

This strange discovery was a difficult mystery to solve, but soon there were reports of other missing men. It was spring planting time, so they all had been out working hard on their land. But at some point during the day, each one had vanished. What could possibly cause people to disappear from their own property right in broad daylight? All the men had been alone, so no witness could be of any help.

That was about to change, though. A farmer had just planted five acres of crookneck squash. His son was with him, helping to set up the rainbird sprinklers for irrigation. The boy headed for the Pierce point so he could open the valve for their pump, when a huge head shot right up from the water at the top of the tower. A long flexible neck, like a dinosaur's neck, arched clear over the side. A broad mouth shot open and slammed right down over the boy, engulfing him completely. Before there was even a chance to react, the head slid back into the water again and was gone.

The farmer acted so hysterical that when the sheriff arrived he thought the man might be drunk. But then he found a strange layer of slime along the top edge of the tower. This was from the skin of the attacking thing. So the man was sober after all. Something lurking in the Pierce lines had eaten all the missing men.

This notion was confirmed by the coroner. He ruled that all the meat had been dissolved off the dead canal body by strong stomach acid. Local people were dismayed. Pierce lines went to every farm in Tabor County. That meant no one was safe. Still, it was the start of crop season. If they weren't able to use canal water, it would mean financial ruin. The sheriff was being pressured to destroy the menace, but he didn't even know how to start.

By this time, a marine biologist from the coast had heard the stories and showed up to investigate. The sheriff hadn't sent for him, but was glad for anyone's help. The scientist was very interested in sea serpents. He had studied them for some time. He believed that they were actually gigantic eels from the deep ocean. This wasn't a popular idea, since no specimen had ever been found. But maybe they started small in shallow water. If the animal haunting the irrigation system turned out to be a trapped example of such an eel, his theory would be proved beyond question.

He got a sample of the slime left at the Pierce point and studied it. It was the very same kind that eels secrete from their skin. That's what makes an eel so slippery. This explained how the giant could slide down the pipes as easily as it did. The sheriff didn't care much what sort of animal it was. He only wanted to stop it. But the oceanographer had thought up a plan. He suggested that large quantities of Drano be pumped down the lines. That would irritate the eel and drive it back into the canal. The sheriff wasn't sure. Putting that much Drano in the water would poison it for growing vegetables. But as things stood, it wasn't being used anyway. The caustic fluid could always be flushed out afterwards. So he okayed the scheme.

The entire sheriff's department was present at the canal when the ditch tenders started the operation. Each deputy was armed with a shotgun. The scientist might want this specimen alive, but really it was too dangerous. The monster was a proven killer. They couldn't take the chance. The men were pretty nervous. They were anxious for a sight of the bizarre beast. They wouldn't have to wait long.

There was a flurry of rippling water. The giant eel had escaped from a Pierce line and was streaking off at ferocious speed. The lawmen didn't even have time to take aim. The animal broke the surface then ducked down as it swam along, just the way sea serpents do in pictures. It looked like the marine biologist was right about that. But the monster was getting away. The cops piled into their cars and followed along the gravel access road.

They paced the eel and fired at it with shotguns and pistols. The creature wasn't easy to hit, but finally one of the deputies got lucky. This made the eel mad. It had been burned by the Drano and was already agitated. It reared clear up out of the water and struck at the cars. The men got out and took cover. They shot dozens of bullets, hitting the monster at every point of its body. No living thing could survive such a barrage. At last it tottered and fell over, crushing the hood of a sheriff's car. The men kept their guns trained. They needn't have bothered, though. The eel was completely dead.

The scientist brought in a team of interested researchers. They hauled the giant body out of the canal. It really was huge, one hundred and twenty feet long. The head alone was as big as a man, and the mouth was lined all over with spiny teeth that pointed straight down its throat. When surgeons cut open the belly, they located the remains of the missing men. Almost all the meat had been digested. The bodies could only be identified through their teeth.

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #82

Tired Out​

Kids in the country don't have all the distractions that town kids do. No roller rinks or movie houses or parks. They can go to all these places, of course, but not as easy. None of them are within walking distance. So most country kids have to make their own entertainment.

Out in Tabor County, the farm boys always look forward to the late spring months. That's when it's possible to swim in the creeks. Why late spring? Any earlier and it's too cold. Any later and creek water is diverted into the canals and the creeks go dry. The water isn't usually very deep, only six feet at most, and it's slow moving as long as there have been no floods. You can either wear cut-offs or, since the creeks are so secluded, swim naked. It's your choice.

You might think creek water isn't all that safe. Well, water in a swimming pool sure is cleaner. You won't find many snakes or leeches in a pool. If there are some, they're easy to see, anyway. On the other hand, the country has biting animals and ticks on land. So you're probably not that much worse off in the water. Then there are exposed roots that swimmers can get caught under. That happens sometimes, but not too often. From what I've read, alot more kids wind up dead in swimming pools than in creeks.

If the water's deep, you can jump into it from the bank. That's about a twenty-foot drop. Kids do this because there are no diving boards. It really can be dangerous, though. If you dive in and get stuck in the mud, you can drown easy. What most kids do instead is to fix up a rope swing. That's a pretty simple task. Plenty of trees hang over the water. You can have alot of fun if you set one up. A kid on a rope can get out over the water a long way. If he lets go at the right instant, he can be maybe seven or eight feet in the air. Most kids tie knots in the rope so it's easier to grab, but you can also fix an old car tire to the end. That way you can sit on top of it and swing away for hours.

One group of boys liked to do this. They had a sturdy old tire they had been using for years. But none of them were good climbers. They didn't care to venture out on any tree limbs. Instead, they'd tie the rope onto a bridge rail. That was easier. But it was also risky. The bridges in Tabor County have always been narrow. Sometimes a car or truck will come too close and scrape the rail. The rope could get frayed or break clear through. It had happened a couple of times. Still, these guys wanted their recreation so they always took the chance.

One afternoon they had set up their tire swing and were enjoying themselves, when a bunch of other kids came along. This was a crew of local thugs. They were bigger than the rest and would victimize them whenever they could. This day, the swing must have looked pretty attractive. So they chased the youngsters off and used it for themselves. They would dangle lazily on the tire while they cussed and smoked their cigarettes.

The ringleader was a tall, heavy-set kid. He was really too old to be hanging out with the others, but preferred it when everyone else was smaller than him. He hogged most of the swing time for himself, showing off and talking tough. At one point, he tried to see if he could fit through the tire. That was a mistake. He was too fat to make it all the way. He got stuck and his partners couldn't free him no matter what they did. They needed grease or butter, but didn't have any. So the kid just hung there, getting more and more pissed-off.

At that moment, a big truck came tearing over the bridge. It was towing a motorboat on a trailer. The truck was weaving pretty badly. The men inside had been having some fun at Lake Tabor and each one had drunk a few too many beers. Well, the boat trailer scraped the rail and snagged hold of the swing rope. The kids below watched in amazement as the tire was yanked straight up out of the creek and onto the road behind the truck. The stuck boy went with it, naturally. When the kids had clambered up onto the bank, the drunk drivers were more than a mile away.

These guys got stopped by a highway patrolman five miles later. He examined the bizarre scene. The tire was still attached to the trailer. It was lying flat on the pavement. Sticking straight up out of the hole was the stomach and legs of the boy. It looked just like he was trying to dive through the tire and into the road. Only, his stomach and legs were all that was left of him. The rest had been ground away by the asphalt. He had been sanded right in half.

The drunks all received stiff sentences for being so careless. If they had made it only a few miles more, they might have done no prison time at all. The evidence of the killing would have been ground away to nothing.

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #83

Bridge Partners​

There once was a man who read too much. You might not think that was possible. You might think that no harm ever came from reading a book, but it was true in his case. That’s because every piece of knowledge he got gave him the wrong idea.

When he heard his fairy tales as a kid, he didn’t care for the three pigs or the handsome prince. His favorites were the dragon and the hungry wolf. Later, he never liked the super-heroes in the comics, only the villains. When he read James Bond stories, the only thing he could think of was the evil tortures he would do on 007 if he ever caught him.

You see, he really craved to be a powerful villain himself. But people don’t get too far in life with that ambition. So, he had to hide his true feelings. He studied hard and got a respectable profession. He became a dentist. On second thought, maybe that was just a legitimate way to realize his dream. As a dentist, he was allowed to hurt as many people as he liked and they couldn’t even complain.

For any reasonable person, that would be enough. But he would never be satisfied with just doing ordinary harm. He developed some pretty unethical practices. He used dangerous horse tranquilizer instead of the costly Novocain he should have. He did unnecessary molar extractions just so he could harvest valuable gold fillings. Because of these activities, he was never able to stay in one community for too long. He was always on the run.

Then the evil dentist moved into the town of Fairview. As it happened, this was not long after the Red Devil Gang had been destroyed by Blacky and his crew. The Red Devils were the worst badmen ever to threaten Tabor County. They were so powerful, no other criminals could compete. Anyone who tried would be wiped out instantly.

So, after the Red Devils were all executed for their crimes, the way was completely clear for a new crook to take over. A seemingly honest businessman in Fairview thought he had the stuff to do it. He owned a big storage warehouse downtown, but providing good services for fellow citizens really didn’t appeal to him all that much. He was sort of like the dentist, only not as imaginative. It was just a matter of time before the two of them got together.

Sure enough, they finally met when the warehouse owner needed a cavity filled. As usual, the dentist put him through as much pain as he could, but the would-be crime kingpin was tough. He never made a single complaint. Then, because of all the sloppy work, he insisted on not being charged. He threatened terrible things if he should ever receive a bill. The dentist was really impressed. He knew immediately that this guy thought exactly the same way he did. In a weird way, it was the start of a real friendship. Soon, they were planning the best way to take over Fairview together.

There was only one obstacle. It was a fact well known by local criminals that the Red Devils had been defeated by Blacky and his gang. This knowledge did them no good, though. Blacky had destroyed the Burn Ward and Little Big Head and the Red Devils, but still nobody knew a thing about him. They all assumed that these scoundrels had lost out to some kind of special government team. No one could ever have guessed that Blacky and the boys were really super-smart experimental lab rats. The gang had a secret hidden base in the southern part of town. They roamed the streets every night, searching out evil in their miniature black racers. Because of the cars’ dim color, no one was ever able to see them. Only the mysterious hum of their electric motors would warn that Blacky was on patrol.

Still, the dentist thought he had a plan. If Blacky could be lured to the businessman’s warehouse, he might fall for a clever trap. This was the sort of thing he had wanted to do all his life, something a James Bond super-villain might do. The warehouse owner wasn’t too sure, but the dentist was awfully persuasive. So they put their sinister plan into operation.

First, they committed a bold jewel robbery at the mall, the first really big crime to happen since the Red Devils went down. Several clerks were shot and killed, so you know the police chief wanted to solve it. But all the clues were too subtle for him. The two crooks had planted some deliberately, just for Blacky to find.

In the meantime, the warehouse was cleared of all its inventory. The dentist needed plenty of open space to spring his snare. Actually, the scheme really was pretty fiendish. Since he had access to all the dental supplies of his trade, he had bought up hundreds and hundreds of false teeth. These were old used dentures whose owners had died, so they weren’t very expensive at all. What he did next was to fit each pair with strong metal hydraulic jaws. The teeth could now snap like bear traps and exert a huge force. Anyone caught in those jaws would be bitten to pieces. And once the devices were removed, the mystery of what happened to the victim would be impossible to solve.

By late afternoon, it was all set up. Every warehouse door but one was securely locked, and this one would lock itself too, once it was entered. The victim would be stranded inside. Every pair of the terrible false teeth was laid out on the cement floor, just waiting to be activated by remote control. The two conspirators watched impatiently from a raised platform, safely out of harm’s way.

Night came on. It got quite dark inside, but the crooks didn’t dare put on any lights. Then, they heard the creak of the rusty old door. Their careful plan was about to pay off.

As soon as he heard the door lock itself, the mad dentist hit the power switch. The lights blazed and the hundreds of false teeth awoke with a furious, insane chattering. I can’t even imagine his surprise. He had expected to see a man. Instead, there were twelve motionless, evil looking rats. A white one, their leader, was wearing a tight fitting black leather jacket.

The force of the snapping jaws made the teeth jump and bounce all over the place. Any person down there would have been killed instantly. Even an ordinary rat would be doomed, but Blacky and the boys were way too disciplined. Blacky took the lead and the rest bounded after him in a perfectly ordered line. He used his genius brain to choose the best path through all the tangled chaos. Sometimes a lunging jaw would come close, just missing a tail or an ear, but not one of the gang panicked. They gingerly threaded their course among all that racket and confusion until they arrived at the stairway which led up to the two men.

The businessman might have been tough, but he also had a secret phobia about rats. When he saw a whole line of them hopping up the steps, he went wild with terror. There was a metal ladder bolted to the wall that was used to get up on the roof. Right now, it was the only possible escape. The dentist had no special fear of rats, but it was obvious he had to get away too. So, both men scrambled desperately up the ladder, heading for the hatch in the ceiling.

When they got there, though, they found that they were stuck. The hatch was secured with a heavy padlock. It shouldn’t have been. The warehouse owner never kept it locked. It was clear that the two men had been trapped, just like they had intended to trap Blacky.

The rat chief stared up in disgust at the two helpless criminals. Then he signaled to four of his lieutenants. Traveler, Whisper, Buttermilk, and Brown Boy all had small gas tanks strapped to their backs. They swarmed easily up the metal ladder until they had surrounded the men, two above and two below. The businessman was so terrified that all he could do was babble mindlessly and cling to the rail. The dentist was left to watch in horrified fascination as the four rats fixed tiny dark goggles over their eyes and fired up their miniature oxyacetylene cutters. Slowly and deliberately, the flames burned right through the bolts that held the ladder in place.

No one could ever say that Blacky was a fool. He’d never go into any situation unprepared. He had been too well trained for that. The crime scene clues at the jewelry store had not proved all that hard to solve. He had worked them out far quicker than the two conspirators had counted on. Therefore, he had been able to track the men down and spy on them well ahead of time, learning all about their rotten scheme. He had known just what he needed to do to foil them. When cops arrived at the warehouse the next morning, every one of the dangerous metal jaws had been deactivated and removed. The roof ladder had been put back in place with new bolts. The only thing to be found was two human bodies on the cold cement floor. They would be impossible to identify, though. Each one had been completely mangled into a fine sludge.

So, the dentist’s clever scheme came off just like he intended. Well, almost. As it happened, the unsolvable killing turned out to be his own.

 

[Cbarton]

Ah, the return of Blacky and the gang! You'd think people would think before trying to outsmart hyper-intelligent rats...

Great tale, now I just gotta get caught up with the rest of them...

 

[Low_Roads]

Hi Hawk! Haven't seen you around the forum for quite some time... hope everything's okay with you (that you've been well, not overwhelmed with work, etc.). Sorry... I know I'm at least one chapter behind on Androcon. I'll make a point of getting back up to speed this week.

You're too right... Blacky doesn't give anybody any second chances! The perils of pitting yourself against a perfectionist... not to mention a guy who can squeeze underneath doors! Thank you! Your observations and compliments are always appreciated!

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #84

Foul Ball​

I imagine everyone in America enjoys a good baseball game. It's the nation's pastime, right? Well, the town of Fairview is no different. The residents really turn out to show their support. Fairview is too small to have a national team, of course, but folks are just as enthusiastic about Little League contests. Maybe more so, since local kids are involved.

These games are played in a nice facility right in the center of town. It's got everything you would want in a ball park, like bleacher seating, a snack stand and restrooms, and tall chain fences to keep a home run from hitting cars out on the street. Big banks of floodlights allow games to go on in the evening as well as during daylight. In warm summer months, this place is constantly full of people having a good time.

One of the popular local teams is called the Orioles. That's just like the professional baseball organization. There was once a young boy who wanted to pitch on this team more than anything else. He had dreams of being the MVP. This wasn't likely to happen, because he didn't really have much natural talent and didn't work very hard to develop any. Still, he got his big chance. That's because his dad was mayor of the town.

The first few games the Orioles played were disasters. Like I told you, this kid couldn't pitch worth beans. Opposing batters were hitting everything. The fans out in the bleachers jeered each time he took the mound. These were mostly parents, who should have been better behaved. Part of this was the boy's own fault, though, for not practicing harder and for bending the rules.

The kid felt awful because of all the cruel taunts. He had to do something about it. There were several choices he could have made. He might have buckled down and learned how to play better. He might have given up and let someone more talented take his place. But he didn't pick either route. Instead, he decided to take a little trip into the Low Roads.

In summertime, the Tabor County creek beds always go dry. That's when farm laborers and bums move in to set up their camps. Kids refer to these creeks as the Low Roads. It's a great place to go if you want to purchase illicit items.

The boy wanted some merchandise that was impossible to get anyplace else. He went to visit a man who had recently traveled up from Mexico. The Mexican had some vials of amber liquid with him. He claimed it was a special medicine that was illegal in our country. This drug would make you stronger and faster than normal folks. If you were an athlete, it gave you a powerful competitive edge. This was just what the boy wanted to hear. The vials were expensive, but he gladly paid the money.

He tried out the medicine at his very next game. You had to use a needle to put it directly into your vein, but he was so anxious to win that the idea didn't scare him. Well, the amber fluid did the trick. He was pitching balls so fast you couldn't even see them. It actually hurt the catcher's hand to receive these throws. The opposing team didn't get a single hit. It was the best victory the Orioles ever had.

Everybody in town was talking about the young player who had gone from loser to superstar overnight. The talk got hotter and hotter as the Orioles won more and more games. Those people in the stands who had booed before were all ashamed of themselves. Now they cheered wildly each time the young pitcher went out on the field. The Orioles seemed unbeatable. Soon they were tied with the very best Little League team in the whole region.

This team was named the Giants, just the same as the professional club. That's the way all Little League teams are named, after the major leagues. Anyway, the Giants had been in first place before the Orioles made their run. Now the two were neck and neck. Neither one could afford to lose another game, but neither one did. Before long, they would play each other. The winner would determine which of them was best.

The boy had taken alot of the amber liquid, but there was still enough left for the big game. No one knew he was using this cheater. If they had, they would have stopped him. That would have been a good move, because the drug was actually pretty dangerous. It wasn't designed for humans at all. In Mexico, it was used in cock fighting contests. It was given to the birds to make them strong and aggressive. That was okay for cockfights. Roosters naturally battle with each other anyway. But it was a very bad idea for a person to take any.

Even if the boy had known, he might have taken the injection. By this time he was way too addicted to success. The big game turned out to be a night game. The strong floodlights blazed down on him like he was a movie star. He felt confident and cocky as he marched out to the mound. All the fans were applauding and calling his name.

His pitching was just as good as it had ever been. None of the Giants could hit a thing. But their pitcher was good too. The Orioles hadn't scored any runs either. It stayed a 0 - 0 game throughout eight innings. Then the Giants' best slugger stepped up to the plate. He had already struck out twice and was determined not to do it again.

The Oriole pitcher unleashed another devastating fastball. Like before, you could barely even see it. Only this time, the batter took a chance. He swung early and connected with a mighty crack. The bat shattered from the impact, but the ball was smacked so hard it went clear out to the fence. Everyone was stunned. The batter desperately rounded the bases. It looked like a certain home run.

The boy on the mound watched in dismay. The outfielders would never get the ball in time. If the base runner reached home, the whole season would be ruined. So he started off across the infield toward the running Giant. There were murmurs of confusion from everybody. But these soon turned to shouts of alarm. The pitcher kicked his opponent to the ground and started stomping him. He kicked and kicked with his cleats just like he was a blood-mad fighting cock. Even his own teammates were horrified at the act. They crowded around to stop him, but he just turned and kicked at them too. Players were going down with broken bones and bloody faces. The drug made the boy too strong and fast for anyone to deal with. Even the adult coaches stood no chance. The boy had totally lost his mind. He ran all over the field, lashing out at anyone that was near. Soon someone would be kicked to death. The boys on the field had no choice. Both teams grabbed up baseball bats and swung on him. They pounded his body until all movement had stopped.

I don't want anyone to think that this story means sports are unhealthy. That's not the point at all. Everybody knows sports provide good exercise and fun. But you have to play fair. The poor boy might still be alive if he'd remembered that. No good ever came from cheating.

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #85

Artificial Blood​

The Four Corners Coven was a group of evil people who represented four points in Tabor County. Only one of them remained now. The three others had all been killed off. That left the most dangerous of them alive, though.

She was a hard faced, flinty hearted woman who lived in a miserable old shack up in the northern part of the western hills. The coven had been more like a social club, since none of them knew any real occult secrets, but she was the one who had taken it the most seriously. She believed in palm reading and the zodiac. She had practiced hard to become a spirit medium. And more than that.

She lived in her crummy, dilapidated hovel by choice. That was because it was so remote from any neighbors. It was important that no one could spy on her secret activities. She would have been run out of town or arrested if they had.

It was her habit to buy old mangy dogs and cats from the pound in Fairview. She sure didn't do this because she was kindly. Far from it. Her shack was jammed with cages to contain these animals. She always needed a large supply on hand. Every night, she would strap one down to a wooden worktable and dissect it with surgical knives and scissors. Her aim was to see how long she could keep each one on the point of death. She wanted to discover the bridge between living and dead things. Her research didn't come to much, but she kept it up for years. And rumors were she didn't just dissect animals. People would be better for these experiments, since they could talk to her and tell her what they went through. If she really did cut apart live humans, she deserved the death sentence. I don't doubt it might have happened. She was just that evil. All in all, it was a pretty good thing she didn't possess any forbidden abilities.

Except toward the end, the coven had come into some real supernatural knowledge. It had obtained a bunch of obscure books that explained how certain magical practices worked. The other members of the group were dead and she had them all to herself now.

These volumes showed you how to do things like create magic rings of power, how to transform valueless ores into precious gold and platinum, how to control people with certain secret words, how to avoid human detection, and suchlike. She wanted to know all these things, but the book that interested her most was one that demonstrated the way to create powerful controlling fluids. One of these was called The Blood Of Life. That was the secret she desired more than any other.

Bringing dead people alive was hard to do because of embalming fluid. It kept bodies from rotting, but couldn't deliver oxygen to the tissues. Ordinarily, a person's blood does this, but after death it goes all stale and useless. The Blood Of Life was an artificial plasma that couldn't go stale. If you fed it to a corpse, the dead person could come to its senses, or at least it would move and do what it was told. Dead bodies that had been revived this way were alot tougher to kill than before. They were perfect slaves, because their brain cells were gone and they couldn't think for themselves. They only knew how to take orders.

The woman needed assistance with this undertaking. Before, she could have counted on the other coven members, but it was too late for them to help now. So she recruited three new ones. That way, she could still keep calling it the Four Corners Coven. But these new folks were hardly her equals. They were only dissatisfied, lazy thugs and ne'er-do-wells that she knew she could rule and dominate easily. For her purposes, that was just fine. She mainly needed them for performing rituals or to gather materials and ingredients.

The first thing to obtain was a supply of dead bodies. Rockville Cemetery was the most obvious place to look, and the coven made a few midnight visits. This provided some useable material, although a few of the corpses were so decrepit they fell into pieces before they could be brought back. Raiding the graveyard was risky though, so the woman decided on a safer plan. The book also showed how to concoct a mixture to control living humans. It was fairly simple to make, and she fed some of the fluid to the local mortician. She did this by having it slipped into one of his morning milk bottles. After that, several weighted coffins were buried, with the real loved ones joining the ever-increasing unholy army in the western hills.

Next, it was necessary to gather the ingredients that made up The Blood Of Life. Some of these were easy to obtain. They could be found right in the local hills and caves. But some were more obscure and had to come from foreign lands. A couple were really expensive, but that wasn't a problem. By this time she had learned the trick of transforming metals, and had all the gold she would ever require. So she placed her orders. An anxious period of waiting followed, until U.P.S. delivered all the needed items. Then it was time for the most important stage.

The coven had to be taught the proper chants to recite as the fluid was prepared. It could only be done outside on certain nights of the year. That was tough, since every delay just allowed the corpses to grow moldier and worse smelling. But finally the time was right.

It was a cold February. The weather was clear, and that was fortunate because a roaring fire was needed to cook up the broth. Each time an ingredient went in the pot, the fluid would shimmer and jump around like it was trying to escape. Each one of the grasses and powders and syrups melted away as they were added, and the liquid took on a glowing, sickly-yellow tinge. That meant the substitute blood was all ready to be administered.

The bodies were laid out in a line. There were twenty-three in all. The coven had started with twenty-five, but a couple had gone too bad to use before the moment came. Each one was sat up in turn. Their jaws were pried apart, and a gallon each of glowing fluid was funneled down their throats. Then they were laid down again to let The Blood Of Life do its work.

The woman watched, as the artificial blood pushed its way through shriveled veins. Since it glowed yellow, it was easy to keep track. Sometimes there was still embalming fluid in the body. The Blood Of Life forced this out through the pours in the skin. A few of the corpses had broken-off fingers or holes where rats had eaten flesh away. The luminous blood would spurt through these breaks at first, but they soon closed up and healed. When it looked like the glow had reached every part of the body, she told it to stand up. The corpses' movements were pretty shaky, but each one obeyed. Before long, they all were lined up in a row, ready for inspection.

The woman was proud and happy with her accomplishment. The others were aghast though. They must have expected the bodies to become fresh again, but that didn't happen. The Blood Of Life made them move, that was about all. Each one was just as dried out and horrible as it had been before. Their hair was unkempt or sloughing off. The eyes were gone, or dried out and filmy. The lips were shrunk back and teeth poked out in nasty gapes. The limbs were all wasted away and the desiccated figures barely looked strong enough to keep standing.

The woman could see their contempt and revulsion. It was time to teach the coven a lesson. She challenged each one of them. She pulled out a heavy pistol and fired shot after shot into one of the revived corpses. It bled yellow fluid for a few minutes, then healed up. Would any of the coven members care to try that on themselves? Then she commanded three of the bodies to tear over a solid looking young tree she pointed out. They strained and heaved and finally uprooted it. The three coven members were welcome to attempt that too, if they thought they could. Not one of them said a thing. They had been cowed into blind obedience. They weren't much better off than the corpses.

So the woman finally had the soldiers she had wanted. She pondered who she should use them against. There were two powerful enemies that ought to be destroyed.

The first one was an alien brain that had escaped from Travis Air Base. When I say brain, I mean just that. It had no body except the ones it stole. This abomination had been confined in a top secret holding facility, but was now loose and causing havoc in Tabor County. It seemed to have declared special war on the Four Corners Coven, since it had killed off all the other original members. This brain should be dealt with immediately, but the woman had no idea how to locate it.

Her other target was an old Mexican farmer who owned a peach ranch in Ross Valley. He was the only one who might challenge her campaign of domination. That was because he was actually a powerful wizard himself. Unlike her, he had been one for years and was well practiced. The stolen occult books had originally been in his possession. But he was too responsible a man to act the way she had. Even though he was a sorcerer, he was also a good Christian and knew that raising up the dead was the most wicked thing a person could do. Therefore, he would stop her if he could.

The woman actually did know the location of his home, so that made the choice clear. The man would have to die first. It shouldn't be too difficult. After all, unlike her, he had no army and couldn't protect himself.

At least, that was what she thought.

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #86

The Prune Men​

Ross Valley was about to be the scene of an invasion, but the residents there didn't know it. The invading general was a grim, driven woman whose home was a squalid shack in the midst of the western hills. She was the last surviving original member of the Four Corners Coven. Her army was twenty-three stinking rotten corpses, which she had reanimated using the worst brand of forbidden magic. If she was successful on this night, all of Tabor County could be in peril.

Only one person stood a chance of stopping her. His neighbors thought he was just a Mexican immigrant and a peach farmer. There was more to him than that, though. Back in Mexico, he was a well-respected sorcerer and people would come to him to solve their problems. But up here we don't understand such things quite as well. We tend to think badly of wizards, so he was forced to hide his abilities. That didn't mean he wouldn't use them. He just had to be careful about it.

The evil woman knew all about this man. He'd had run-ins with the Four Corners Coven before. Because of that, he was first on the list to be killed. Her forces were ready to march right down to his ranch and murder him. All they had to do was come out of the western hills and cross Rockville Road. At that point, the only thing standing between them and him was a small fifty-acre prune orchard.

Things might have looked black for this fellow, but he was better prepared than you think. He did have safeguards in place. Demona patrolled his property every night, and could sniff out any suspicious activity in the wilds of Tabor County. Demona was his Manx cat, although to look at her you'd think she was actually some small breed of tiger. She did have a similar coat, tawny colored with startling orange stripes. She had lost one of her eyes long ago, but the other, a wild, vivid red-orange one, would burn into anything she saw. Not much that happened in the farmland was missed by that eye, and certainly nothing got past her uncanny nose. So, months back when the woman began collecting all those smelly bodies, the farmer learned about it in plenty of time.

I told you that a prune orchard stood between his ranch and any invading menace. Those trees were owned by a rather poor man and his family. Fifty acres of prunes doesn't really bring in much money, and he only ever made enough at the end of the year to get by. This man had a wife and a little son. The boy never had enough cash to spend on toys. As a result, he would make his own. During the harvest, there are plenty of prunes all over the ground. They are perfectly all right that way. You could never get away with treating peaches or apples like that, but the prune is a very hardy fruit.

So what this boy did was to make his own toy soldiers out of prunes. This may sound pretty silly, but here's how he did it. You take a short length of stick, about an inch and a half, and use it to hold two prunes together. That makes the head and the body. Then you shove in two more sticks a couple of inches long for the arms, and two more for the legs. That's all there is to it. What you get actually does look pretty much like a little man.

The old Mexican saw the boy doing this and got a sly idea. He offered a dollar apiece for as many prune men as the kid could turn out. He had plenty of money himself, so the cost didn't matter. Well, the thought of making a big profit really energized the boy. He went right to work. Each day, he would build prune men. It was like he thought of it as his profession. He would deliver grocery bags full every evening and collect his wages. This went on for weeks until harvest was over. I'm not sure what the total finally was, but I understand that that year the boy was able to afford a brand new bike and tons of other real toys as well. He may still be spending the money today for all I know.

The woman didn't know anything about this. She didn't have good spies the way he did. She was way too concerned with her other preparations. And she would have thought the idea was ridiculous anyway. These toys would have seemed like a complete waste of time to her.

The night she chose to attack was a totally dark and moonless one. The darkness would cover her activities better. She had three living helpers. They were all young toughs, but she dominated them completely. Each one was armed with a long wooden pole. It was necessary to prod and herd the corpses so they went in the right direction. That was because some of them were missing eyes.

Even though they had to cross some difficult terrain, they made pretty good time. Soon they were standing right at the edge of Rockville Road. Usually you have to look both ways before crossing a road, but this horrible crew didn't bother. Any car that came along would be the one in trouble.

So they made their way into the prune trees. Have you ever been in an orchard at night? It can actually be pretty spooky. The trees are so uniform you can quickly lose your sense of direction. The further in they got, the more uneasy the woman became. She didn't know why, but it seemed they were walking right into a trap. When they had gotten to about the middle of the orchard, she began to notice something unsettling. This time of the year, the leaves are all gone from the fruit trees. They become what you call "dormant" and the limbs go bare. But these trees still pretty clearly had something on the limbs. It was tough to see in the gloom, but every branch appeared to be swarming with little figures, like they were full of insects. She flipped on a flashlight so she could tell what was going on.

It was a stunning scene. Her party of invaders was completely surrounded. The prune men filled every tree, but they weren't toys anymore. Each one moved, and they looked really pissed-off and menacing. They clutched little spears made of twigs or held dirt clods or rocks. As she watched, hundreds more came charging along on the ground. The captain of the prune men was a mounted rider. It sat on the thick shoulders of Demona, whose hot orange eye blazed like a living fire of hate.

The skills that the old wizard used to bring his army to life were pretty simple for him. He was well familiar with the purple powder that was needed. Years before, he had dealt with a murderous straw doll that was animated in the very same way. This kind of magic had its limitations. His prune men would only be able to move during the nighttime. They could never go far from the prune orchard or they would die completely. But the old farmer was not like the woman. He was not bent on conquest. For his purposes, this force was just perfect.

The battle that took place that night was a tangle of confusing terror. The darkness made it hard for the invaders to coordinate any defense. Of course, the prune men didn't have it all their own way. Those living corpses were a formidable menace. They caught and tore up their enemies by the dozen. But they had no minds of their own. They could only follow the directions they were given, so the prune army fired on their controllers instead. They launched volley after volley of the little spears. These were pointed sharp and every one stuck. Even if they didn't kill, they were distractions. Demona bounded among the living men, dodging their long poles and mauling them with her teeth and her slashing claws. Then the prune men began to light up torches. These were only box matches, but they were plenty good enough to set the corpses on fire. That mummified skin burned easily and the prune men gave them no chance to put the flames out. They dashed here and there and covered the landscape like a carpet of torch-bearing ants. It soon became clear to the woman that she could not win. She abandoned her army and ran for her life into the darkness.

The next morning, it would have been hard to believe any struggle had ever taken place. The prune men had cleared away the traces. All the corpses were burnt into ash, and the prune men dug a deep pit to bury it in. It wouldn't be fair to leave this mess for the prune farmer to clean up. They put all the dead street toughs in the same hole. These men had been pierced by so many tiny spears that each one looked like a porcupine. At least one had lost his life at Demona's jaws. Once everything was completely buried, the prune men made a burrow where they could hide out themselves. Who knows? They might be needed again some day.

The evil woman who had started it all was discovered some time later. She had made it back to Rockville Road, all right, but she found no safety there. Something happened that none of them could have foreseen. It seems she had stumbled right into another of the terrors of Tabor County, one every local knows he might encounter if he's alone on Rockville Road on a moonless night. She had been scorched by red-hot fingers that melted clear through her throat and eyes.

So, that was the end. The Four Corners Coven was finally finished for good.

 

[Journia]

Oh, now who will fight the brain? Blacky and friends?

 

[Low_Roads]

The brain may prove too much for any single faction to handle, even if one had any luck locating it… expect lots of them to do their bit in this final handful of chapters!

Thanks for the commentary, J!

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #87

Power Lunch​

Monticello Dam is a really impressive structure. If you saw it for the first time, it would take your breath away. It's four hundred feet tall from bottom to top and is surrounded by high granite hills and cliffs. Down at the bottom of its base is a wide pipe mouth. This thing is huge. It has to be, since all the water for Putah River comes out of it.

Thousands of tourists see the dam every year, but not one of them can get inside. A heavy iron gate keeps everybody out. When I say inside, I mean right into the interior of the dam. You enter through a small building on top, about midway across. This houses a flight of stairs that leads straight down. From this, you enter a network of narrow tunnels, and then more stairs. They pass by offices and facilities and storerooms until you come to the lowest level. That's where the power plant is. Behind big iron doors is a huge chamber where turbines are run by the powerful pressure of lake water. These generators supply electricity for all of Tabor County and the surrounding areas.

Those are the things you would see. But you can't get past the gate. Only dam technicians and maintenance people are allowed in. Crews have to be on hand day and night to insure that nothing ever goes wrong.

For that reason, it's something of a surprise and shock to learn that a few years back electrical power was disappearing without cause. This only happened in the hot summer months. Personnel would check the dials and see that electrical production was way down even though nothing else had changed. Why the power vanished proved to be a real mystery.

Then the mystery turned into a tragedy. A worker was found dead in one of the tunnels. It was a horrible death. A large smoking hole had been burned right through the man's chest. It was such a powerful burn that his insides had been turned to charcoal. When an autopsy was done later, the coroner discovered that all the bones in his skeleton had been fused together. The joints had been melted by the terrific heat. Only a really powerful blast of electricity could have done it. You might expect such an occurrence in a power plant, but this man was nowhere near the generators.

All the dam employees were spooked, of course. They put the death together with the mysterious power drain and came up with a crazy nonsense idea about thieves who stole electricity and used it to burn down anyone who got in their way. Since the power loss only happened in summer, it was an edgy joke around the plant that the crooks wanted energy to make it through the lean winter months.

The plant director didn't see anything funny about the situation. His job was on the line. Not only was the company losing revenue due to the missing electricity, but the death had given the dam a bad name. If he didn't come up with results soon, he was sure to be replaced.

So after everything settled down again, he had a completely new security system installed. Video cameras covered the whole maze of tunnels, from top to bottom. Watchmen would view the televised images from a special new guard post. These weren't just ordinary security personnel. They had been specially trained to track down their target and use heavy weapons. The director was confident now. If the power thefts started again, he would be ready.

The guards proved to be efficient, competent men. They were expensive, but worth the cost. By the next summer, they had established regular patrols and nothing ever got past them.

It was a late July night. A guard was monitoring the bank of TV screens, when something really odd took place. The picture at the dam entrance suddenly began to flicker and roll. Then it went completely blank, like all the power had been sucked from the camera. The man immediately informed the director, then warned all the other guards about the problem. When he got back, another monitor had gone out. The images disappeared one by one, just as though an intruder was wrecking them as he made his way along. The trail was leading directly to the power plant.

The director got on the intercom. He warned all technicians and maintenance workers to hunker down and stay out of the tunnels as he and the guards handled the situation. Word came too late for one man. He must have gotten in the way of the intruding thing. They found his smoking body on a stairway. It had been jolted so hard, the head had exploded clean off. It didn't even bleed. All the liquid inside had been turned to powder.

The team hurried on to the generator room. Even though this was sealed with iron doors, something had forced its way in. A huge breech had been melted right through the metal. The men drew out their weapons and entered. I don't know what they expected to find inside. It probably wasn't what they actually saw.

The whole chamber flickered with a pale blue light. This was from raw electricity being drawn directly out of the turbine. The thing that did it was plastered right to the machine wall. It was a twelve-foot wide, shapeless sheet of organic matter. As much as anything else, it resembled some species of ocean going ray. The thing's milky-white form flushed with light as it sucked out the power. Weird organs and structures stood out inside its body. It was a ghastly, unearthly sight.

The thing must have noticed their presence, because it detached from the generator like some awful parasite abandoning its host. It flopped to the cement floor and faced them. A sucking, lamprey-mouth disk pointed out toward the men. Then without warning, a gigantic arc of lightning shot from it, just missing them and vaporizing part of the wall behind. Everyone was blinded by the dazzling blast. When their vision cleared again, the thing was gone.

The men rushed off in hot pursuit. They followed it up stairway after stairway until finally they exited the dam. The thing had clambered to the top of the entrance building. It had unfurled two great sail-like flaps of material from its body. A stiff breeze caught them and it soared right up into the night air.

The guards did not plan to let it get away. They carried high-powered rifles and opened up with a rapid fire. Several rounds tore through the creature's tissue wings, and it plummeted out of the dark sky toward the lake below. When it hit, there was a massive discharge. The water and the sky lit up completely, like a power transformer had exploded.

The next morning, the project director saw that thousands of lake fish were floating dead on the surface. The slaughtered creature must have had an incredible capacity to hold electrical energy. It must have fed on it the way we do on food. When the thing was threatened, it could unleash a devastating shock, the way that electric eels and rays can. Since it had only fed in the summer, it must have needed a store of power to survive the cold winter, just the way that bears live off their fat.

The director would liked to have retrieved the creature's dead body, but it was never found. Perhaps it had sunk to the bottom of the lake. More probably, though, it had disintegrated during that final discharge. Either way, it was too bad. It would have been a valuable specimen for scientists to study. Especially if more of the monsters were out there, lurking in the granite hills around Tabor Lake.

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #88

The Man Who Lost the Race​

Rockville Road is the main route folks use to travel through the farmland in Tabor County. It goes right down the center of Ross Valley and Gordon Valley, and finally ends thirty miles later when it intersects with Gordon Valley Road. It can really twist and turn, especially in the wilder, more remote spots.

Since so little of the road is straight, you'd think everyone would drive at a safe, normal speed. It should be obvious that going too fast will result in an accident. Most folks actually do choose to behave responsibly. But not everyone sees it that way. Some think of Rockville Road as their own personal racetrack. They prefer kicks, not safety. These guys would never think to drive through the town of Fairview at seventy miles an hour, but once they get in the country they become speed demons. That's because so few cops are around. Deputies do patrol the area, but have too many other duties to be present all the time.

Some speed-crazed nuts will tear along all by themselves, just to see if they can beat their own record. They are lone wolves. But others race head to head, the way that professionals do. These people are even more dangerous, since when two cars are involved the chance of a crash is greater. They don't much care about the welfare of the public. Getting a thrill is their only concern. This is a pretty selfish attitude, but unfortunately alot of guys have it.

Two such men had been pushing their luck for years. Each one had been arrested several times for reckless driving. That didn't slow them down, though. They were too addicted to racing. So, they would satisfy their craving late at night, when there was less chance of being caught. These two were considered the fastest, most foolhardy speedsters around. Strange as it may seem, they had never challenged each other before, so it was difficult to say who was best. But they planned to change all that.

The night they finally chose was a dark and totally moonless one. They didn't even arrive until four in the morning. That was so there would be as little law around as possible. The starting point was the Green Valley Road stop sign. They would head north, toward Lake Tabor. Whoever reached Gordon Valley Road first would be the champion.

The race began with a squeal of tires and flying gravel that woke local residents out of their sound sleep. Rockville Road had plenty of straight stretches at first, and the cars blazed along pretty evenly for several miles. But as they got past the farmland and into the wild woods of Gordon Valley, it became more twisty and harder to navigate. The men had to apply their breaks often to avoid wrecking, and the lead changed several times. Still, they stayed close.

The younger of the two was the less cautious. He as the one taking the most crazy chances, cutting off his opponent and coming into turns way too fast. As a result, he was in front more often. It looked like he would probably be the winner.

Finally he decided to make his big move. There was half a mile of fairly straight asphalt ahead, so he raised his speed up to one hundred and twenty miles an hour. The other man refused keep up with him. He wasn't nearly that bold and thought that something might go wrong. Before long, his rival was clear out of sight.

As it turned out, the older man was right. A tree limb had fallen into the road that evening. The reckless driver saw it, but it was too late to stop. He hit the obstacle so hard that his left front tire broke completely off. The car didn't flip, but it skidded totally out of control. It tore right into an open field of clover where it came to a stop.

The man was badly shaken up. Considering his speed, it could have been alot worse. He might have snapped his neck and been killed instantly. Actually, that might have been the kindest thing.

When the car plowed into the field, it had knocked over several white wooden boxes. Any local person would recognize them instantly. These were beehives. The owner moved them around often to many different locations. He would place them in various orchards to get honey that was flavored by fruit pollen. Farmers were happy to let him do it because bees help with pollination. But this year he had located the hives in the clover field to get clover honey.

Since it was nighttime, the bees had all been asleep. They were awake now, though, and angry. These bees had mated with ferocious African bees and were more vicious than normal. Every one of them was buzzing through the air to attack. The man in the car was terrified. This many stings would be enough to kill anyone, but he was allergic to bee venom. Even one would prove fatal. He checked his windows to make sure they were all up, then stared in horror. The glass on the driver's side had been broken in the wreck. There was no way to keep the swarm out now.

In the morning, the beekeeper found all his smashed hives. Every bee had crowded inside the stalled car, so he contacted the sheriff, then used smoke to remove them. The driver's body was so swollen with poison that rescuers couldn't even pull it free. The car had to be cut apart first.

Therefore, the older guy won the race after all. He became the champion of Rockville Road. It gave him some satisfaction, but only for a little while. Later on, the man was himself run off the road and killed by the Burn Ward. I guess that just goes to prove that no one can claim he's the fastest driver in Tabor County for long.

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #89

Lightning Bug​

Are you familiar with the phrase “riding the fly”? It’s pretty popular with the young folks in the town of Fairview. What it refers to is any really big mistake that seemed like a cool idea at the time. Here’s how the term got started.

When Fairview Mall was first built back in the ‘70s, it had a big, beautiful fountain full of sparkling water in the rotunda. This decoration really was something. Shoppers traveled from all over just to have a look. The theme was that it resembled a gentle evening stream. It was about thirty feet across and lined with over-sized wrought iron reeds and cattails. Hidden pumps kept the water in rippling motion, while submerged mood lights supplied a restful play of shadows. In the center of it all was a raised concrete sculpture which supplied a jolly little waterfall. The display had cost fifty thousand dollars, but everyone agreed it was well worth it.

This was the perfect place to take a break and rest your legs. The fountain was circled by a double row of comfortable seats, and they were never empty. Old folks would come just to relax by the soothing water. Kids would chase each other around the edge and toss in coins for good luck.

Ten years passed, and the display was just as popular as it ever had been. Even so, the mall manager felt the need for something more novel. There was a great deal of open space above the fountain and this gave him an inspiration. He talked to a contractor about making the new addition.

This is what he came up with: five giant fireflies, built from plastic and hung from the ceiling, right above the water. Some of them were placed high, almost at the very top. Some were low, only a few feet from the surface, as though they were hovering. These things really were huge, about five feet long, with electrical cables to light up their behinds in a most realistic way.

The effect made the fountain even more awesome. Prior to this, you could only appreciate its beauty from down below. Now, folks on the upper level had something to look at, too. Everyone was very pleased with the decision.

When I say “pleased”, I’ve got to be careful, because not everyone was pleased in the same way. Most people were satisfied just looking at the lovely sight. That wasn’t enough for one man, though.

This guy had to be the center of attention all the time. If it was someone else’s birthday, he was sure to blow out the cake candles. If he was at a wedding, he would object to the union, just to be funny. You could always count on him jabbering in the back row of the movie theater when you were trying to hear the dialogue. I don’t know why he acted this way. I guess he just couldn’t stand the idea of folks not thinking about him.

When he first saw those fireflies, the thought of praising the fine models never occurred to him. Instead, he came up with a real wild way to upstage them. If he pulled this off, he would be famous throughout the town. He might even make the evening news.

He gathered a bunch of his rowdy pals and made sure each of them had a flash camera. One of the plastic fireflies was really near the second floor railing. That was crucial to his scheme. As soon as his friends were ready, he stepped over the railing and climbed right onto the bug’s back, just like he was mounting a horse.

His buddies all hooted and snapped off shot after shot. Everyone else was pretty aghast, though. They all warned him and yelled for him to get off. You’d think that would make him ashamed, but instead he became more and more reckless. It was like he thought the shouts and hisses were applause for him. So he rocked the firefly to make it swing. He thrashed around like he was on a bucking bronco. It was clear he was having the time of his life.

Before too long, security officers were seen pushing through the crowd. The man was going to be arrested, that was certain. Well, he didn’t care. He had expected it. What difference would it make? He hadn’t done any real harm. What was the worst punishment he could get? A small fine? A few days in jail? It was worth it for this thrill. The guards were welcome to place him in custody.

But they never got the chance. Those fireflies had been made of light plastic for a reason. The bolts attaching them to the ceiling weren’t very strong. They couldn’t possibly hold the man’s added weight. With an awful pop, they snapped loose and the surprised man rode the giant firefly twenty-five feet straight down into the fountain.

Even so, he might have survived. The water was only a couple of feet deep. He might have gotten off with only a broken leg, except for one thing: the power cable that lit up the bug’s butt came down too. When it hit the water, that surge of juice turned the entire fountain into an enormous electric chair. The guy jumped and jerked like a puppet, with his hair on fire and sparks shooting out his fingers. A maintenance worker finally cut the power, but it was far too late. The man lay face down in the pool, sizzled black and smoking.

So, that’s where the term “riding the fly” comes from. I have a better definition for it, though. You see, after this awful event, the mall was forced to remove the lovely fountain. No one wanted them to, but I guess for liability’s sake they had no choice. So here’s what I think “riding the fly” means: messing up everyone else’s good time for your own.

 

[Low_Roads]

Low Roads Story #90

Merger​

There was once a boy from Rockville who would visit the Low Roads in Tabor County pretty often. He had once had a really bad experience down there. It seems he had fallen through a sinkhole and ended up underneath Rockville Cemetery. You'd think a scare like that would keep someone at home for good, but he had a powerful smut habit and wasn't old enough to buy pornography in the regular stores. So, off he would go, down into the dry creek beds.

As you may know, the creeks aren't always the safest places to roam, even though kids venture there all the time in the summer months. The little camps of Mexicans and drifters are usually pretty friendly, but that can be deceptive. Who knows what goes through the minds of some of these guys? A few of them have sunk pretty low and have nothing to lose.

That was the case with a seedy old Mexican that the boy visited one night. This guy was rumored to have a stash of real hardcore magazines, filth that they wouldn't ever publish in the United States. You know, stuff with dogs and torture machines. The kid was so far gone he just had to check these out.

The fact that the old guy would even carry such material and that he camped alone should have been a warning. But the kid's habit was just too strong. That was unfortunate for him, for truth was this degenerate always had an eye out for fresh young company. He liked a warm bed and he didn’t care much if it was a boy or a girl as long as they were cute and could be made to squeak at the right moments. It’s amazing how long he got away with this.

So, the kid showed up and this old creep dragged out some really nasty photos. Just to get him interested, you know? He was pretty subtle at first, but then started to close in. He put his arm around the boy, like he was some kind of chum, but the kid was getting wise. He got real uncomfortable and edged away. The Mexican tried to lure him back with other tempting porno, but the kid was clearly exiting. That's when the old guy turned ugly.

The boy ran away from the campfire and into the night. He could hear the man cursing at him and threatening him. Then he would turn soft and offer more dirty pictures, like that was really going to work now. Since his ploy failed, the old lecher started off in pursuit. The kid got really scared and scampered down the creek into the darkness.

He stayed well ahead, but the man was pretty desperate and it didn't look like he would give up. So the boy had to keep moving. Soon he had covered about a mile, without crossing any other campfires where he might find help.

There's a branch of the central creek that extends for a couple of miles, then finally joins up with the western creek. Everyone avoids it. The western creek has an evil reputation, even more so than the other creeks. Nobody ever goes there unless there's no choice. For that reason, folks steer clear of the junction, too.

The boy found that he was now close to this branch. Ordinarily, he would never think to enter. He would walk past, just like everyone else. But this time he had to try it. Maybe he could ditch the Mexican that way.

This stretch of creek was ominously still and shadowy. The kid was really nervous to be there. He was afraid that something horrible could be waiting around every bend. Off to his left was a little area with some trees and tall brush. It looked like an ideal hiding spot. He was exhausted from the chase anyway and decided that his best chance was concealment.

He hid himself in a position so he could still see the middle of the creek. If the Mexican tried to sneak in, he would at least have some warning. His eyes got used to the dark and he noticed the landscape that surrounded him. Across the way was a decrepit old tree. It was still standing, but had no leaves. The boy could now see that it was dead and that the trunk was hollowed out. As he stared into the hollow, it seemed like there was a figure inside. The idea gave him a start. He was just considering that it might be the old pervert, when its eyes winked open. They glowed with a soft green light.

The boy was petrified with fright, but whatever the thing was, it evidently hadn't seen him. It had woken up for a different reason. There was another intruder very close by.

Creeping around the other side of the tree trunk, the boy saw something about the same size as a football. It crept and crept, and finally entered the hollow, just above the sinister figure. For a few moments, all was calm. Then, inside the tree, he could just make out some kind of violent movement. Clearly, a struggle was taking place.

The boy had just witnessed the coming together of two longtime evils. But even if he had seen them clearly, he wouldn't have recognized either one. Few living people could. Those who met up with them usually died.

The tall figure with the glowing green eyes had been human once, but it had never been a person. This is what happened. A woodworker up in Gordon Valley had lost his arm to a violent infection. Doctors had to cut it off to save his life. But the arm lived on. The mutated disease germs had taken it over and kept it from dying. In order to survive, they could alter its flesh into any form and absorb nutrients right through the membrane of its skin. The doctors had tried to keep the thing captive, but it managed to escape. At first, it ate only small animals. Each time it did this, the arm increased its material. Soon it was too big to be just an arm anymore. The germs went on to form other limbs with its flesh. It was soon able to walk, and that helped it get around better. It was now capable of catching bigger animals. Eventually there was enough tissue that it took on a form sort of like a human. It stood upright and had two arms and a head. The figure was green all over because of the disease germs. The head had the two glowing eyes to see with, but no mouth. Instead, it absorbed food right through the palms of its webbed hands. That was more efficient. It's hard to say how many humans died by those hands, since the thing ingested its prey totally. No trace was left behind more than a stain.

This creature was a horror, but it was also being stalked. That object the kid had thought was a football turned out to be nothing of the sort. It was really an abominable menace which had plagued Tabor County for some time. Law officers had been mystified by a rash of corpses with empty skulls. These were the unlucky victims of the alien brain. Once, it had been in the head of a spaceman and had journeyed from world to world in its flying saucer. But now it had become marooned on Earth, and vented its hatred by tearing out people's own brains and using their bodies to do evil. Recently, it had been badly wounded and was recovering its strength. It desperately needed a new home, and the germ-ridden form looked like the perfect one.

The brain started the way it always did. It bored through the back of the head and entered the skull. This was actually pretty easy. Since the germs were in charge, the body had no mind to speak of. Then, the brain connected to the spine and nerves and attempted to take over. But this was a big mistake. As soon as it did, the germs fought back. First, they healed over the back of the skull. Now the brain was trapped. Then they attempted an invasion through the bloodstream. This might have worked on a human, but the brain matter was so alien that no Earth life could assume any control.

So the boy watched, perplexed, as both forces warred for supremacy. The body shuddered and spun and thrashed around. The old tree rocked and splintered. This made quite a bit of noise. In turn, the sounds attracted somebody else's attention.

The old perverted Mexican finally showed up at the scene. He must have thought that the kid was causing all this tumult, although if he did he was pretty stupid. He noticed movement in the empty tree and closed in. With a wicked leer, he groped inside, but clutching webbed hands shot out and took him by the head.

The man's unexpected arrival must have united the brain and the germs for one purpose they could both agree on: devouring flesh. The man was caught up and engulfed by the huge figure. A kicking and spasming ensued, which soon grew less and less. Before long, the monstrous body unfolded again. No trace of the Mexican remained. It didn't seem all that calmed by the meal, though. Still battling internally, it staggered jerkily off in the dark direction of the western creek.

The boy didn't understand any of what he had just seen, but he didn't care that much. He just wanted to get home. His smut fixation had been cured for life.