Story Time

Summary: 

Certain urban legends are timeless campfire staples. Bloody Mary, for instance, has been keeping kids awake for ages. But what happens after the campfire is extinguished? Is there a grain of truth to these legends? This short tale examines the back story of one of the most of famous urban legends of all.

Sample:


"I didn't ask to be famous, y'know."
Jerry declared this from his front porch rocking chair to the gathering darkness.
The frogs serenading the end of the day in the pond down the road knew this story
by heart. So did the raccoons emerging from their dens for a night on the prowl and
the squirrels putting their babies to bed in the boughs of the giant pine trees that
surrounded Jerry's house.
"You don't believe me do you?"
This was directed to the woman sitting beside Jerry in a matching rocking chair. Her
eyes were fixed on the horizon where night was spreading like cancer among piles of
clouds. This was her first time hearing the story.
"Well it's true."
Jerry gripped a sweating glass with his good hand and tipped it back. Trickles of sweet
tea escaped his mouth and dribbled down a week's worth of gray stubble. A grimy shirt
added the spilled tea to its roadmap of stains. Jerry drained the glass and came up for
air with a noisy "Aaaaaaaah." He smacked his chapped lips.
“That hits the spot.” He nodded toward her full glass. “Whatsa matter? You ain’t thirsty?”
If she blinked, Jerry missed it.
“Suit yourself.”
Jerry looked back at his domain. Crickets tuned up in the weeds beside the ancient
porch. Fireflies winked on and off in the gloaming. Jerry scratched his bony chest with
thick, yellow fingernails. He glanced at the woman seated beside him, searching for an
opening.
"Want to hear the story?"
Still nothing. That was just as well. Jerry hated a chatterbox almost as much as he
hated the screamers.
“Now, lots of folks have heard this story before and they always get it wrong," he
started. "They always make me out to be the bad guy. Seems a man’s business ain’t a
man’s business no more.
“For instance. It always starts with me escaping. I can tell you that’s flat out wrong.
I was scheduled for release anyways. T’aint escapin’ if you’re already scheduled for
release. It’s just getting out a bit early is all. ‘Sides, those goldarn idjits turned their
backs on me. If you’re dumb enough to turn your back on a feller in the loony bin for
homicidal tendencies whose fault is that?”

The question floated off the porch and sank into deep pools of shadows at the base of
the pine trees. The crickets tried a different song, desperate to keep up with the frogs’
persistent chorus. A bat traced crazy lines against the purple sky.
“So anyways, I walked out. You ever smelled freedom before? No, I s’pose you haven’t.
Well, it’s a wonderful smell. I’d been locked up so long I’d forgotten all those little things
folks seem to take for granted: a night breeze tugging your hair, the tickle of grass
beneath your feet. Shoot, just walking ten paces without a wall blocking your way. Ain’t
no reason to take those things from a man. No reason to take that from me.
“Just cause my ideas of fun don’t match up with the rest of society’s makes me a
threat apparently. No, not a threat. They called me a ‘menace.’ Bunch of pinheaded
headshrinkers. I’d give anything to get my hand on that smug...”

Jerry stopped himself. Spots of red danced in his vision. He drew a deep draught of air
through his nose and let it slowly leak out. A shaky hand probed the small table for his
glass. Empty. He reached down the other side of his chair for his jug. The cork yanked
out with a small pop. Jerry took a slug, savored the burn, mellowed out.
“Sorry darlin’. Where was I?”

The woman remained mute. her face now veiled in shadow. A noisy horsefly barged
its way through the circling mosquitoes and landed lightly on her head. Jerry watched
its progress through long strands of blonde hair, then abruptly snatched it off her head.
She didn’t flinch.
“Haha, still got the magic touch,” Jerry crowed. He deftly plucked the shivering wings off
the fly and dropped the insect onto the porch. “Now where was I?”

“Oh that’s right, outside the looney bin. So I’m outside the looney bin, hoofing it down
the road. They give us these flimsy shoes inside lock-up so thin you might as well be
walking on pancakes. And remember I haven’t been outside in ages, so these rocks
and such are hurting my feet something powerful. So I’m limping along when I hear
the klaxon sound at my back, announcing my early release. And I can only guess they
found what was left of Pete and Sammy, too--those poor schmoes--so I reckon they’re
none too happy about that neither.

“So now I’m really in a jam. And I’ll admit, I’m a little scared too. For a kid that’s spent
the past nine years in a brightly lit padded cell, these dark woods are spooky. And
remember, I hadn’t really planned any of this. But my mama, God rest her tortured soul,
always told me don’t turn an opportunity away when it comes knocking.

“So I’m running through the trees, all out of breath, sweat just pouring down my face
when I come to a break in the trees. I skid to a stop. My shoes have a bunch of holes in
them now, right? So I’m breathing hard, my feet hurt, I’m scared to death out in these
woods and I got a bunch of guys on my tail. I’m thinking maybe this wasn’t the best idea
after all.

“But I look out through the trees and there’s this little clearing. A milky white moon is
hung low in the sky and it’s shining on this big empty lake. Oh, it’s so purty. It brings to
mind all those nights I would spend out tom-catting before I got locked up, all the fun
that can be had after the sun goes down. Right then and there I resolve that I’m not
going back to the sanitarium.

“But I’m not there to sight-see. I’ve got a bunch of angry guys coming after me. So I
start to re-ka-noyter, looking around for some solution. That’s when I notice there’s a
gravel road cutting through the grass. I follow the road until it ends at a spot under some
trees that offers a lookout of sorts over the lake. Under those trees is a big old black
Buick, squatting there like some giant beetle. The windows are all foggy and the car is
rocking slightly back and forth. This gives me an idea."

To read more visit: http://www.amazon.com/Story-Time-ebook/dp/B009D825G2/ref=sr_1_12?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1349557198&sr=1-12&keywords=story+time