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Dale Hudgins

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Devil's Kitchen (an excerpt of )
By Dale Hudgins
Thursday, May 01, 2003

Not rated by the Author.

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This story is thinly based upon a site in Bremen, Georgia. My Grandfather, William Milton Hudgins Sr. told me of part of the history of a white, very tall, 9 feet in height, perhaps, furry white thing, which, herein, I refer to as the White Beast. The rest of the story is made up from talking to nearby residents of Devil's Kitchen, whom I've given the fictional name of Willie Glin.
He and his family are from and of the Devil himself. Enjoy.

DEVILS KITCHEN


Saturday, October 13, 2001


DALE HUDGINS COPYRIGHT 2001


All rights reserved, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author.Prologue She could feel the sweat pouring down her back and chest, and her lungs were heaving for air, trying to suck in as much of it as she could, but she found this very difficult to do, because the clay-rock, headstone she was carrying and holding close to her breast was weighing her down and tiring her out, very quickly now. She tried to quicken her pace to get away from her husband, Elvin Duron, who was trying to stop her and bring her back home, but her legs felt like two slabs of stone and she could barely move them now, and as she fell to her knees, still clutching the headstone, she looked up now at the street sign and saw the words, Asbury Lane, and knew that she didn’t have far to go now, but as she looked back over her shoulder, and saw him almost upon her now, she let a long, terrifying scream and fainted and fell over, with the clay-rock headstone, clutching it still, to her bosom. Chapter 1 “They ain’t nobody home Mister, so ye can stop with all that dang honking your horn there!” The old man in overalls and a three day growth of white, scraggly beard, and wearing a hunting cap skewered to the right side of head, and was just standing there shaking his head, and spitting out a mouthful of Red Rose snuff onto the ground, and part of it when it landed, splashed into the coon dog’s left eyeball, that was laying there on the ground in front of him now, too tuckered out to make a sound when the stranger pulled up next door, which was very unusual for him because that old coon dog was usually the first to sound off, and was very loud, when prompted by the least little noise he heard, and this vile snuff juice splattering in his eye, caused the coon dog to begin to yelp and holler in pain, and the dog ran off behind the run down, tin roofed house, yelping and crying in pain, and then begin to roll around in the tall Bermuda grass and weeds, which didn’t look like it had been cut in years, and the dog now was pawing at his eye, along with rubbing his face and eye, in the grass, but it was not helping much at all. “I guess that’ll learn ye durn ye, ya outta been off chasin’ some critters, instead of layin’ round on yer berhind end all day.” The old man said, in his thick, backwoods accent, then begin to laugh and cough, choking from his emphysema kicking in and acting up. It took him a few minutes of coughing and choking and spitting up phlegm, to ever get his breath back and when he was finally over and able to see now, from wiping the tears out of his eyes from this choking, coughing fit, he saw the stranger pulling up in his driveway, and get out of his truck and walk up to him, and he said, “Are you alright, can I get you something, some water maybe?” “Yeah, a’m jest fine now mister, and no, I don’ need you to get me no water, my missus, I’m sure, heerd me coughin’ and carryin’ on, and a’m sure she will be out here in jest a minnit, with some water ‘n coughin’ med’cin fer me to drank and choke down.” The old man said to him, while giving him the once over, and spitting once again, that vile nasty snuff juice, which part of it, splashed and landed on his right tennis shoe, and sure enough, there at the door, calling out to him, was obviously his wife and she said to him, “Willie Glin, you git over here and take some a your med’cin, I brung you some water to take with it, I heerd ye coughing all the way back yonder in the kitchen, now git over here, and do lak I said now, and don’t ye sass me none, ya know what that quack docter said about ya getting excited and all, and for ye to take yer med’cin raglar lak.” Willie Glin didn’t say a word, just shook his head, and walked over to his wife, Ola Eugina and took the Mason jar glass of water out of her hand, while she poured out a tablespoon of cough medicine, and then handed him the spoon, and watched carefully, to make sure he drank it all down, and he did, and handed her the spoon back and wiped his mouth, with the back of his hand, then wiped the back of his hand on the pants leg of his dirty overalls, then turned back to the stranger and said, as the screen door slammed and Ola Eugina went back in the house, “So what ye want over et Clyde’s house, boy, and whut r ya doin’ over here, whut do ye want, honkin’ that dang horn, like ye was tryin’ wake up tha ded or sumpin’, an whut’s yer name boy?” “My name is Roy Watkins, Sir, and I’m a photojournalist, and I’m doing a story on places like Devil’s Kitchen, I used to live out here, well close to here, when I was a boy back in or around 1964, to 1968, over on Route 27, near the old store on the hill, you know where I’m talking about?” Roy asked him, as Willie Glin nodded his head yes, and spitting some more, but this time, Roy was too quick for him, “He missed me by a mile,” Roy thought to himself, as he dodged that latest stream of snuff juice that Willie Glin tried to spray his shoes with. “I haven’t been back here in over 30 years or so, and I was worried that I maybe missed it, and the road is blacktopped now, where it used to be a dirt road, and there are a lot of new houses and all, out this way now, and I was just going to stop over at your friends house there and ask for directions or see if I was or had gone too far past it, Devil’s Kitchen, is what I mean, but I didn’t want to get out and go up and knock on the door, because as you probably know, he has a big, mean looking dog over there, and I’m not too fond of being bitten, and that’s why I was honking the horn like I did, and I want to do a story on it and other places like it and take some photographs while I’m here, just to sort of get a feel of the place and or atmosphere, there.” “So, ye one of them writer fellers, huh, betcha, thought I wuz too stoopid ta know whut ye wuz a talkin’ ‘bout when ye said ye was one a them picture ‘journalist fellers, jest ‘cuz me an Ma live way out here in the country lak, and don’t dress lak ye city folk or talk like you’ns, that don’t mean we’re stoopid and don’t know much a nuthin’, but we’uns know plenty, ye jest axe me anythin’ ye want about Debil’s Kitchen, ‘n if’n I don’t know it, Ma will, ye can bet on that.” Willie Glin told him with and air of pride that he set this stranger right, and put him in his place, right off the bat. “No, no, Mister, ah, what’d you say your name was again, well I don’t believe I ever caught it or you told me, as a matter of fact, but, no, I don’t presume to ever think or that I thought for one minute, that what you said, that you thought I thought about you and your wife, just because you live in the country, if you recall, I told you that I used to live out near here, about thirty years ago, so, how could I possibly think that way of you, if I did, that would make me a hypocrite, and a snob, and I don’t think that I’m either one.” Roy told him. “Ok, Ah like ye boy, ye are right ‘bout that boy, and muh name is Willie Glin Street, and that purty lil womern thang starin’ outta here at you ‘n me, ‘n tryin’ with all her might, to hear whut we wuz a talkin’ bout, that there is muh wife of 53 year, Ola Eugina Maybelle Street, but she don’t lak fer nobody ta call her Maybelle, cuz that wuz her Gran’mammy Bertha Maybelle Jeter’s name, and she wuzn’t a good womern, she used to beat Ola Eugina, ever single day, when she lived with Maybelle an’ her husband, an’ she wuzn’t good ta her ole man, she run off on him with some feller outta Atlanter over yonder, but if you’ns ask me, Ah think she run off with that feller, cuz her husband, had a lil problem with his’n wiggle stick, he couldn’t get it up fer her no more, ‘n she, Maybelle, fount her one that could keep his’n wiggle stick up, straight ‘n hard, and a wigglin’ all night long.” Willie Glin cackled, laughing at this, as he told him that, then looked over and smiled at Ola Eugina, when he said that about her trying to listen in on their conversation, and she jerked her head back away from the screen, covering the screened-in porch, and sat up straight in her high back rocking chair, and pretended like she wasn’t listening, but still had her head cocked to one side in their direction, trying to hear. “Well, I appreciate you telling me all that Mr. Street, but it’s two o’clock almost, and I need to be going so I can take some pictures of Devil’s Kitchen and the surrounding area before I lose the light I need, so the pictures I take will come out right and all, so I guess I will be going now and I hope that you and your wife have a good day, so if you will tell me how much farther it is till I get there, I would appreciate it very much.” Roy told him. “Well now ‘jes holt on a minnit there now boy, don’t ye wanna hear a ‘lil bit ‘bout tha’ ole Debil’s Kitchin’, ‘fore ye go a traipsin’ off down yonder,” Willie Glin asked him, with a dark gleam in his eyes, which made Roy feel very uneasy, as Willie Glin continued on, “Why don’ ye jest pull up a stump o’er here there, and set yerself down an’ let me tell ye sumpin about sum thangs ‘bout that place, ye tol’ me ye was one a them writer fellers, s’ maybe ye oughta hear a few thangs ‘bout that ole Debil’s Kitchin?” “I don’t know, I really need to be going now, like I told you, I need to go on and go and take the pictures before I lose the light I need.” Roy told him, as he began to back up towards his vehicle. “Hit won’ take ‘n mor ‘n a few minnits boy, whut’s yer rush, that lightning ye need, will still be there when ‘ah get done tellin’ ye, now ‘jes come on over here and set a spell, I won’t take up much ‘a yer time, that’s the trouble wit’ ye city folk, always in a dadbern hurry.” Willie Glin, said, shaking his grizzled old head, and then spewing another stream of tobacco juice, with most of it landing right on top of a young sunflower plant, and when it did this, and begin moving back and forth from the weight and force of the tobacco juice, Roy watched the plant, almost mesmerized, as it swayed back and forth, with that vile juice dripping off it’s leaves. To read the rest of this story, please send a check or postal money order in the amount of $17.95 plus $3.00 shipping and handling to:Dale Hudgins 410 Atlantic Avenue Bremen, Georgia 30110 Please allow 2-4 weeks for delivery. Thanks.

 


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Reviewed by Nickolaus Pacione 6/8/2003
This a good start to something bigger here. I will send the cash for this sometime next month because of a gala that is going on here in Chicago. I can see a bit of a Stephen King influence here.


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