My name is Vincent.I always like to think myself as a ‘Realist’ and shun everything that couldn’t be proven scientifically. I also scorn anything “Supernatural” The story you are about to read changed all that.
I was driving home late one night on a lonely highway in Memphis, Tennesee ,when I saw a thick, green luminious mist forming before me. I was a bit puzzled at it’s appearance,to say the least, however, I continued driving and heard a lot of crackling sounds as I drove through it. i must admit, I became scared.
Finally,in what seems a lifetime, I emerged from it a bit shakened but continue driving then the car shuddered to a stop. I had ran out of gas. Cursing all creation, I got out, went around to the trunk, and took out a jerry can,hoping to bum a lift to the nearest gas station.
After a short while, a small truck pulled up and the driver asked where I was heading in a slow Southern drawl. He was kind of youngish and some how looked familiar .
I told him to the nearest gas station.
‘Okay,sir,hop in.”He said politely.
I got in, resting the can between my knees.
After a short while he said,”Do you like country music ,sir?”,
“Yes,” I replied, “My favourite singer is Charlie Pride, the black singer.”
“Charlie Pride? I never heard of ‘im, ” said the young man.
“Well. I have to admit, it’s a bit unusual for a black person singing country music. We more associate blacks with rythmn and blues, jazz, etc."
“Yeah, I guess.”said the young man, “but I never heard of him.”
Eventually ,we pulled into a three pump gas station. I got out filled up the can at a pump, then we went into the little convenience store attached to the station to pay for it. Inside, the young man asked what I was having to drink. I told him a Coke would be fine. He nodded and went over to the coke machine as I looked around. The whole décor was set in the fifties.
There was a Wurlitzer juke box blaring a Hank Williams tune,”Cold, Cold Heart” it,s mournful melody filling the air. The crowd were mostly men dressed in western gears, chatting.. I went over to a vacant booth and sat down.
“Now, that there is the grand daddy singing.”said the young man smiling, returning with the Cokes in his hands. He sat down opposite me.
“Yeah, he was great artist .” I said sipping the drink.
“Was, sir,? Why, he ‘s having a show at the Grand Ole Orpy tonight.”
An eerie feeling washed over me. I couldn't explain it but I felt that something was terribly wrong.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me, son, Hank died fifty years ago!”
He looked at me straight in the eye as if I was nuts or something.
“No, sir, he ain’t, “ he got up, and went across to a stand with some news papers on it. He shuffled around a bit, and returned to the table and sat down, “Look here, ” he said ,flipping through the pages “Here , see for yourself, " He looked at me kind of odd and handed me the papers.
I took the papers from him and looked .and sure enough, there was a photograph of Hank and his Drifting Cowboys all dressed up in cowboy clothes, smiling for the camera with a caption beneath saying “Hank Wiliams and the Drifting Cowboys will be performing at the Grand Ole Orpy tonight at 8 pm sharp!’ . I couldn’t believe it!, I checked the date and it read : 2/ 8/1952 .
I almost dropped the papers in disbelief, A cold chill ran through me. .
‘Are you okay,sir ?”asked the young man, alarmed with much concern in his voice.
“Yes ," I replied weakly and wondered if I was dreaming.
”It’s just ,just, I am a bit confused.” I stammered. I looked at his face, the feeling that I knew it returned.
Nine New Novellas, Part III is a collection of nine sci-fi/paranormal stories to complement the nine in Nine New Novellas, Nine New Novellas Part II and Nine New Novellas, Part IV.
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