passing through a strange town, a quick stop turns into a supernatural nightmare
When entering the town of Sagging Springs Nevada there’s this HUGE billboard that reads: “Welcome to Sagging Springs Nevada, home of the World’s Biggest BILLBOARD!!!” It was twelve-forty-five when I passed that billboard and one-thirty when I entered the town proper which consisted of a gas station/grocery/ video store, a diner/bar/souvenir shop, a town hall/ police/ fire station, and several non-important/possibly empty/boarded up business along one side of the deserted main/only paved street. On the other side of that deserted main/only paved street were several long dirt road driveways several with boarded up houses that could be seen from the main road and some without. The only other cars I saw (two to be exact) were at a drive-in single story motel called the Sagging Springs travel lodge and RV resort directly across from the town hall. I’d been driving for ten hours, the hot dry unconditioned dessert air having overtaken my need to push onward; I decided to stop at the town diner for a pop and a pee. There was a sign on the door that read “lunch served all day from 11am to 3pm” and another with plastic clock hands that read “be back at”.
The hands of the “be back at’ clock were set to four-thirty-five; and although the diner looked deserted, the door was open, so I went in.
The decor was nondescript, even so I felt time suspended. The over head fans eerily turned; so slowly that they felt redundantly retro. There was a counter bell by the cash resister which in itself was of aged and well used condition. I rang the bell. It echoed through the seemingly empty diner like the long last note of a forgotten song.
I turned to watch what appeared to be a young herd of demon children run dog-like across the dusty road. Then back to the counter to ring the bell again. A cold yet soft and gentle hand stopped me. It was the pale white flesh of the waitress Avo De Corpeia her auburn curls, and pleasant features distracted me from her dark dead, yet inviting eyes.
“Best not to draw attention to yourself,” she smiled
“What?”
“The children; like moths to a flame, the bell draws them out.”
I later learned I was saved by the scent of the half eaten carcass of Domingo Zapata-Jones an unemployed pharmacist from Ohio. He too was passing by and had stopped for a pop and a pee, but had the misfortune of arriving during normal feeding hours.
“Are you sure those were children? Looked more like a pack of wolfs.”
“They get so hungry,” she smiled thinking of the feasting on Mr. Zapata-Jones.
Having forgotten my need to pee and the range of my thirst; I found myself instinctively backing away. Turning toward the door; I was stopped in my tracks by the imposing figure of town sheriff, Cal Sonorveria ………to be continued
Chris has been fostered at the Crowley boot camp since he turned seven. At sixteen, he is finally ready to run away because his foster father is an abusive person who works Chris and the other children to the point of exhaustion. All he has left of h
Chris has been fostered at the Crowley boot camp since he turned seven. At sixteen, he is finally ready to run away because his foster father is an abusive person who works Chris and the other children to the point of exhaustion. All he has left of h
