Hell Town RV Park
Where one man’s trash is another man.
From The RV Files
By Clara Bush
Episode 8, Chapter 1
(for Episode 1 click here and for Episode 2 here)
(Rated Mature for Adult content)
Spooky smacked her laptop shut. “This is creepier than Chick, the kids, Mind Control Guy, and Red Eyes all lumped together. And you want me to meet him. What the—”
“Meet Aron. You won’t be sorry,” Shayd said.
She did trust Shayd. She always had. He’d never intentionally put her in danger. Would he? She opened her computer. An email from Aron awaited her. I can meet you at the coffee shop where your husband meets his buddies. And no, he is not having another affair. Come with Brodie in the morning if you’re nervous about meeting me alone. I’ll be waiting.
She pitched a dishtowel over the screen to blot out what she could not comprehend. How does he know these things? Why is he here in Prayer Town? Her thoughts raced faster than she could keep up. As if she were running to catch the last train before it left the station. Why does Shayd want her to meet Aron? She couldn’t meet him at the coffee shop. There is no way she could tell Brodie or Dovie about this. Where could she meet him? Should she meet him?
Spooky’s head throbbed like someone inside was wielding a sledgehammer and pounding her skull to get out. Her computer dinged. A new email. She slowly undressed her computer.
Aron had written: I understand. You don’t think you can tell Brodie and you don’t know me. Pick a place you’ll feel safe. I’ll come to you. You have no reason to fear me. You will understand instantly. The minute we meet. I promise. Bring your .357 if you’re scared. You can point it at me under the table from the gun bag you tote.
What? He knew she had a gun, and a bag to carry it in? Her curiosity now overpowered the guy with a sledgehammer. How and where in the hell could she meet him and feel safe? Where?
Shayd made a throat clearing sound, which Spooky hated, because he was dead, and she knew damn good and well he had nothing to clear from his throat. Unless. “Are you buried in the ground somewhere?”
“No. Absolutely not. Wouldn’t stand for it. So. So. So barbaric. Meet him at the café, not the gas station slash coffee shop. It’s only a half mile, or so, away. You can walk. Just don’t order the Tex Mex, please. Unless you want me to gag again,” Shayd said.
She typed: Meet me in an hour at Rosa’s. How will I recognize you?
Aron replied: You will know me the minute our eyes meet.
How in the hell? she wondered. How would she know some random guy? Maybe, he’ll be waving a sign over his head that has a big arrow pointed at him and reads “Perv.” Maybe, it’s not a guy. Aron could be a girl’s name. The thought didn’t ease any misgiving Spooky had about meeting the stranger.
This random guy, girl, person…knew her inner thoughts. Knew about her family. She considered not meeting Aron. For a moment. But curiosity suppressed her inner instincts to be safe. She gulped down the last of her now-cold tea and splashed water in her face in hopes of waking. In hopes, this was only a dream. But from her past experiences with strangeness, things like this were never a dream as much as she needed them to be. And with the support of her haunts, she’d always managed to face the strangeness head on and survive. And head on, she’d face Aron too, no matter what the danger might be.
The sun beat down and drenched her in a smothering heat. The strap of her concealed handgun purse pressed heavily across her body and proved to be a sweaty attachment, but a necessary one, she believed. Not even her skimpy tank top and cargo shorts offered relief.
The purse had been a gift from Dovie last Christmas even though her daughter was not a believer in the whole right to bear arms. She was okay with her dad carrying gun.”He’s a detective.” She’d point out. “But you, Mom, really? You’re liable to shoot yourself. Or Dad. Or me. Or some innocent soul.”
The gun was Spooky’s idea. Brodie enrolled her in a gun class, told her if she passed, he’d consider getting her a gun. She demonstrated herself to be a worthy marksman and became the teacher’s pet. The teacher had been a colleague of Brodie’s, so when he said, “Get this little lady a gun. She sure can shoot.” Brodie had no recourse except to do just that. Even though the class had been three years ago, and Spooky hadn’t practiced, she felt safer carrying the gun, especially to meet some stalker guy who knew more about her than her own family. Someone who had knowledge of some of her most secret thoughts.
Sweat plastered her bangs against her forehead and trickled into her eyes. “I’ll look like a drenched rat when I finally get there. Thought you said it was only half a mile.”
“Or so. I said, ‘Or so.’ You needed to walk anyway. Cooped up inside the motorhome all day, every day, is not healthy,” Shayd said.
Spooky felt air on her. “Are you blowing on me?”
“Yes, how could you tell it was me and not Chetan?”
“He’s cooling. You’re not. You’re like a bunch of hot air, like an old fart.” She was kidding of course. “And you’re probably gonna get me killed. Or locked in basement somewhere with some serial killer who tortures his victims. Pulls out fingernails. Chops off ears. Hacks tongues from his victims.”
“I’m a ghost. I’m dead. How can I not be cooling?”
“I don’t know, but there’s a difference. Plus, I don’t sense Chetan or Singer. Were they too scared to witness what kind of a mess you got us into this time?”
“Why would this guy want your tongue anyway? Or your ears? You’re an old lady.”
“Thanks. Now I know how you really feel.”
“You were the one all upset earlier about being in the third stage of womanhood. A crone.”
“And thanks, again, for reminding me. Anyway, some guys get off on torturing older women. A hated-my- mother thing or something.”
“Think about it. This guy knows all about you. Connected with you two years ago and has never given up trying to meet you. Ask yourself why? What is so special about you?”
“I’m old,” she said, but knew Shayd had a point. Why would some guy go to all this trouble to meet her? He must want her to summon some dead person from his past, she figured. But why come all this way to Prayer Town? Out to Nowheresville? The serial killer option was becoming less realistic the more her mind questioned the why.
Spooky pulled opened the door to the café. A blast of refrigerated air welcomed her into the sunny restaurant along with its vibrant Cinco de Mayo colors—purples, yellows, pinks, reds, and oranges. Matching parrots swung from the ceiling on oversized, turquoise perches. She browsed the empty tables. A man sat in a corner booth eyeing her. He waved.
He even knows what I look like. Creepy. She shivered, but as she walked closer, and came eye to eye with him, all thoughts wavered, except for one. I know him. He is me.
If you are just now joining us, catch up here:
I’m excited to introduce an addition to the Hell Town RV Park Web Serial family. Lara Clayton, a former drama and English student of mine, is on her way to accomplishing her dream of becoming a freelance artist. The artwork my readers will be enjoying, from this point forward, will be the original works of Lara, designed specifically for Hell Town. Welcome, Lara, it will be fun working with you and seeing the monsters you create. (BTW, she was an awesome student.)
Feel free to comment on the artwork as well as the story. We both would love your feedback. And if you are looking for an artist, Lara is available.
Lara resides in the Texas hill country with her two adorable but exhausting little boys, her husband, and two male dogs. She confesses her life is dominated by male influence.
She graduated from Trinity University in 2009 with her Bachelor’s degree in art and with an art history minor. During her life, she has worn many hats—bartender, barista, massage therapist, newspaper circulation manager, wine shop manager, and the list continues. These life experiences have added a richness and depth to her artwork.
Through it all, she has quietly honed her passions for art. “The starving artist is only a half joke,” she says. “When I had my first son, I surprised myself by finding my niche as a preschool teacher.” A career choice she has embraced for the past five years. “My experience as a bartender—dealing with the drinkers—was a great prerequisite for teaching small children,” she says and giggles.
For several years, Lara put her artwork aside to teach and delve headfirst into the chaotic life of caring for a houseful of boys. “Before children, my artwork had always been calm. Abstracts and nature were relaxing,” she says. “But my older son’s love of monsters and all things grotesque, along with my muse of a husband, have led me to a new path. I now begin a different journey, creating monsters and other worlds for writers. I’m excited to bring to life some of the creepy characters and creatures of Hell Town. Please, let me know what you think by leaving a comment.”
The RV Files is fiction. Any characters and events depicted in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, extraterrestrials, demons, werewolves, or ghosts—living or dead—is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright ©: 2017 by Clara Bush
All rights reserved. Published by TURTLE TOP COVE LP.
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TURTLE TOP COVE LP.
P.O. Box 158
South Fork, Colorado 81154
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