Fiction Science Fiction Web Serial

Hell Town RV Park, Episode 16. A Web Serial

River of Mist World and Creeper, the Rooi, of Roz World. (Artwork by Lara Clayton)

Hell Town RV Park

For Those Who Believe in Other Worlds

(a Web Serial)

Episode 16

(for Episode 1 click here )

(Rated Mature for Adult content)

Chapter 2: On Gate World

(Last time on Hell Town: The group surveyed Spooky, Aron, and Ransome. Chick’s father stepped forward. “The Avenir sent you to help battle the Vrag? This must be a joke?”

“Yep, I’m thinking the same thing and laughing my ass off about it,” Spooky said.)

The moon—that wasn’t supposed to be—shot higher into the sky and was the only thing to move. Spooky eyed Hexer, Chick, Creeper, Guy, Kappa, and River. They eyed her. She wondered if it was up to her to speak first. She figured it ought to be them, since she was the newcomer to Hell Town strangeness. And if it was up to her, she had no clue as to what to say.

Aron nudged her. “Say something.”

Spooky stepped back. “No you.”

Aron stepped farther back. “No you. Plus…” He slapped her shoulder, shoving her forward. “You’re it.”

“Nope, growing up I didn’t miss having a sibling at all,” she mumbled as she advanced toward the outworlders. “Kappa, you said I have only one job to do. What is it?”


Stranger Earths: Piper


Once her mom peeked in on her, Piper Townsen kicked off her quilt—the soft, cozy one from all the washings—not giving a thought in the world to the person responsible for its coziness. She couldn’t stand being controlled. She was seventeen and could do anything she damn well pleased.

She stared at her image in the full-length mirror mounted behind the door to her room. She didn’t like the mousy color of her hair, or her glasses. She pulled off her specs and studied her reflection. Too short. Too much hip and too little boob. She cupped her breasts, lifted them, and then let them flop—there was nothing there to flop. She looked closer. But her eyes. They were something else. The dark blue, almost navy hue of them, she loved. Family members often referred to them as unnerving. She liked that. To be able to unnerve someone with her eyes appealed to her.

She turned to view herself from behind. “Damn, where did I get such a big butt?” Her mom was thin, malnourished looking. She wondered if the big-rear gene came from her father’s side. She wouldn’t know, because she had no idea who he was. Her mom refused to talk about him to her. And Piper doubted seriously if she was the product of an immaculate conception. 

She twisted her shoulder-length hair into a top knot, hoping it would give her some needed height. Other girls her age were allowed to highlight their hair. Hers would look awesome highlighted, but her mom wouldn’t even consider the idea.

One day soon, Piper promised herself, as she swayed her ample ass from side to side in a flirty declaration of independence. She’d leave, never look back, and do exactly what she chose to do.

And tonight. Tonight was the beginning of her soon. It was the first time in her life a boy showed interest in her, and she wasn’t about to risk losing him because her domineering mother disapproved. So what if he was a little on the wild side. He’d always treated her with respect. Never made fun of her. Like all the others.

She questioned if he was one of those guys who liked big butts. Why else would he be interested in her? Miss Freak-O from Freaksville?

She only toyed with the reason as to why a popular guy would show interest in her. Then dismissed it. Nothing was about to rain on her parade. Instead, she gave herself the talk she’d heard from numerous movie stars. Love yourself—value your true beauty not some unattainable, artificial beauty portrayed in magazines and the movies.

But…It was always the buts that got her down.

Suddenly, the self-loathing but popped like a bubble and tingles, deep in the pit of her stomach, traveled in spirals around and around until her toes curled. Leo Carson—the hottest boy in high school—wanted her to meet him. Tonight. Soon. Soon was now. Down at the old cemetery by the low water bridge. His friends would be there too. Drink a few beers. Smoke a joint or two. Be home by 1:00 AM. He’d said.

She didn’t drink or smoke, but as long as she could remember, she’d been lonely. Lonely like the only soul alive lonely. Lonely like a person strapped to a sinking plank in a vast ocean. “You’ll be a loner all your life, if you don’t start acting normal.” Her mom had yelled at her ever since the sixth grade.

“Hear me, there are stranger Earths than this.” (The Shimmer artwork by Lara Clayton)

Ever since she first touched The Shimmer. She called it this because it told her to. It came to her one night and hovered above her. The depth and sparkle of it mesmerized her. She didn’t know what it was, but she wasn’t scared. She reached into its vibrant, glistening glimmer. For a second, she felt warmth as it levitated her off the bed and began swallowing her. Then a sharp jolt kicked her back, like she’d been electrocuted. She lay paralyzed, unable to move or call out for help.

She heard voices, but in words she didn’t recognize. And strange sounds—different than anything she’d ever heard. The voices spoke to her. The sounds swirled around in her mind like swarms of multi-legged centipedes crawling inside her brain. She wanted to shout, “I don’t understand,” but couldn’t.

She woke a week later. Her mom praised God. And even though Piper didn’t know what it was, she knew for sure it wasn’t God. A god maybe, but not her mother’s god. She tried to explain to her mom what she’d seen. “Like a shimmer,” she’d said.

Her mom told the rest of the family, “Piper ran a high fever.” A bad flu bug was the culprit, she claimed. Piper knew—and knew it with her whole heart—it was no illness. But what it truly was eluded her.

She’d been someplace else. Another Earth. A stranger Earth. She didn’t know. What she did know was she was different. Way different than before. Things watched her. She could feel them. Hear them in the odd language they spoke. And always the low drone of millions moaning, and moaning, in her head, until she thought she’d go mad. Hundreds of words bombarded her, but only one phrase could she understand. “Hear me, there are stranger Earths than this,” it repeated again and again.

A year later. On the brink of insanity. At the onset of her mother’s threats to institutionalize her, she woke one morning to the softening of the voices and the moans.

She sat down at the table. Gobbled up her Pop Tart and downed her OJ—items she normally left untouched—she was ravished, and said. “Mom, I’m okay now. I’m ready to go back to school.”

Her mother, overjoyed at the seeming normalcy of her daughter, re-enrolled her the next day. Piper was behind in her school work so her teachers decided it would be best for her to repeat the sixth grade, which merely contributed to her aloneness.

She was bigger—more developed—than the other sixth grade girls, who often teased her because her butt stuck out in the tight, childish leggings her mother insisted she wear, because Piper was still her little girl. After all, her mom would remind Piper, she’d missed an entire year of her life while she existed in some kind of a trance. Or seizure from the fever, her mom would say.

Lunch was the worst. If Piper managed to find a group of girls who allowed her to sit with them, the voices flared—chattering incessantly in their unknown tongues. The moaning swelled, until she thought her mind would shatter. Relief came when she shut her eyes, visualized The Shimmer, and reached for it. Then the soothing, electric charge, shocked the voices away. She’d wake up on the floor with teachers scurrying to assist.

She was tested for epilepsy and checked for pseudoseizure disorders, but results were normal. Piper laughed at the word, “normal.” Who wanted to be normal anyway? she asked aloud of no one but herself. She had The Shimmer. Her drug of choice, she decided, the older she grew.

After the third lunchtime incident, no one wanted the weird girl to sit with them. She heard them whisper: “She freaks out all the time. She’ll embarrass us.” The reputation followed her into high school. She was always alone with her voices and moans. Until Leo.

To continue reading the Hell Town Web Serial, click on the link below.

NEXT- episode 17

Author’s Comment

Me by jeep

The WEB SERIAL, or WTH is it?

With the onset of the technology boom, authors are discovering innovative ways to get their works in front of readers. However, though the web serial relies on the internet for distribution, it is not a new idea. It’s much like how writers became known before the days of mass-produced, full-length novels. Earlier writers, such as Mark Twain, released a chapter at a time, on a regular basis, in newspapers or magazines. This is the same concept as the Web Serial. Writers publish their works in bite-sized, one-sitting reads to facilitate the hurried reader. The web helps to make it easily accessible to the writer’s fan base. 

Hell Town offers episodes of 1,000 to 2,000 words in length and is considered a tightly cohesive style of web serial. This type intertwines episodes with each other and depends on the reader being familiar with the story. It is meant to be read as one might read a book.

About the Artist

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.

Artist Lara Clayton and her son, Axton.

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.”

(Note: Lara is a new addition to the Hell Town RV Park Web Serial family. She is a former drama and English student of mine, and is on her way to accomplishing her dream of becoming a freelance artist. The illustrations are the original artwork of Lara and are created specifically for Hell Town.)

We both would love your feedback. And if you are looking for an artist, Lara is available.


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.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

For information regarding permission, write to:


Attention: Permissions
P.O. Box 158
South Fork, Colorado 81154

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any mean, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

Clara Bush
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