Where one man’s trash is another man.
(a Web Serial)
From The RV Files
By Clara Bush
Episode 6, Chapter 1
(for Episode 1 click here )
(Rated Mature for Adult content)
Spooky heard feet ring the metal treads on the stairs to the motorhome. They crooned when Brodie’s heavy Birkenstocks made contact. “Spooky. You awake? Did you fall asleep on top of your computer again? You spend too much time on top of it and not enough doing something productive.”
“I’m awake. Just closed my eyes for a second.” She’d heard the more a person ages, the less they need sleep. She figured it was because the end was nearing for them, and they didn’t want to waste the little time they had left sleeping.
“If you’d sleep at night instead of spying on our neighbors, or talking to yourself, you wouldn’t be so tired,” Brodie said.
It was an old discussion. She napped. He criticized her for it. A discussion she tuned out, and one she learned best not to engage in. “Dovie came for lunch. I was hoping you’d be home.”
“Is that why the kitchen is a mess?”
Spooky squirted dish soap into the sink, and filled it with hot water and the lunch dishes. “She looks good. Prayer town seems to agree with her.” She watched the bubbles foam higher and higher.
“Uh-huh,” he said.
He was off to other thoughts. Not present. Spooky knew her lack of engagement in the argument he’d tried to instigate left him less than interested in anything she had to say. He was on the couch reading news on his iPad.
“You smell funny,” she said. “Perfume. Not mine.”
He cleared his throat. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t think that scent is a good one on you. I’m also saying don’t let me stand in the way of your happiness, if there is somewhere else you’d rather be.” She wanted to ask, what bimbo did you pick up this time? The waitress at the local diner? But she didn’t. Because it really didn’t matter to her anymore. She was convinced once Dovie had the baby and everything was okay, Brodie would ask her for a divorce.
“After all we’ve been through, how can you say such a thing?” he said.
“Just saying that’s not my perfume ’cause I don’t wear perfume.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Would it make a difference?”
Silence. The silence was common place in their relationship and had been for some time now.
“I love you, Spooky. I know you don’t ever believe me when I say it. But it’s true. Why else would I stay with a nut job like you if I didn’t.”
“Because of the sex.”
“I can get sex anywhere, even on the internet. It’d be hard to find another nut job like you though.”
She kept her back to him, at the sink, playing in the soap bubbles, but she smiled. She wanted to run into his arms. Kiss him. Make love to him. But she couldn’t. All the years of hurt prevented her from such actions. So, she asked the next most pressing thing on her mind. “Did you make up the name Hell Town for this RV park?”
“No. That’s what it says on the sign at the entry way. Didn’t you see it?”
Curious. He saw it but Dovie didn’t. Why?
Keep him talking. Shayd entered her thoughts.
“Does this RV Park look like it’s seen better days?”
“That’s a dumb question. Yes, it’s a dump, but it’s the only one with full hook-ups in Prayer Town. I told you that.”
“This trailer next to us. What kind is it?”
“Looks like a really old Holiday Rambler. Why are you asking me this stuff?”
“It’s not a new Keystone?”
“Spooky, you’re acting weirder than usual.”
“Funny you should say that. Dovie said the same thing to me today. Only she said quirky and told me I needed glasses.”
Spooky lay in bed wondering how it was possible she and Brodie saw the RV park the same way, but Dovie didn’t. She couldn’t sleep. Maybe Brodie was right. If she could clear her mind, sleep would come. But how was she going to do that with all the strangeness in the RV Park. She got up to get a glass of water. She’d read on the web getting up for a few minutes and then lying back down helped with the whole insomnia thing. Who said she wasn’t doing productive things on the internet? She’d googled, how to get a good night’s sleep, on several occasions.
She sat at the dining booth. “Shayd, you here?”
“Of course, my love, I’m always here.”
“Do you know what’s going on?”
“I think it has something to do with what Chetan and Singer said about dimensions. Imagine, for a second, we live in one dimension. And another dimension, for some reason, leaked into the one we inhabit. What would be the outcome?”
“Shayd, too heavy. You’re making my brain hurt.”
Clang. Clang. Clang. Something triggered the Sprite cans.
“What the…That’s at Chick’s. Maybe it’s her.”
“No, Rumer. Wait. Wait.” Shayd tried to stop her, but Spooky was already flipping in her flops to the door.
“I gotta see.” She eased out the door. Careful not to wake Brodie or anyone else who might be afoot. She edged close to the motorhome and stood in its shadow. There was a moon but the clouds obscured its brightness. The clanging stopped.
“Must have been the wind. Go back inside,” Shayd said.
“But it’s lovely out here.” She enjoyed rainy days and stormy nights. A light breeze absorbed the perspiration on her upper lip. She knew it was Chetan. She tiptoed to the picnic table. Midway between sitting and standing, the cans sounded again.
Spooky squinted to determine what had set off the alarm. It wasn’t the red-eyed thing she’d seen on the nineteenth day. The moon popped from behind the clouds and cascaded over a nude woman, who danced about the tumbleweeds and Sprite cans like a newly-wed princess on a ballroom floor. Her long hair swayed as she spun, covering her breasts, and then her ass, with each turn. Her lean figure and smooth skin provided a flawless canvas upon which the moon painted. She motioned toward the tin cans, and their clanging became a whimsical arrangement of musical bells mingled with the chirping of crickets. She crouched and placed a skull on each side of her.
“Skulls? Are you kidding me? It’s like some kind of ritual. And why does she hide her perfection during the day?” Spooky whispered.
“Maybe to her kind, she is not perfect,” Chetan said.
“Her kind. What’s her kind?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps a witch. Perhaps a fairy. Maybe neither. Maybe something not of this Earth.”
“A dimensional leak?” Spooky asked.
“Maybe. We don’t know yet. And to speculate is wrong with so little information,” Chetan said.
Spooky wanted to talk to Chick, but didn’t want to scare her. She stood motionless in the shadows and waited. The dancer swirled and waltzed closer. And closer.
“She knows you’re here,” Shayd whispered. “Be prepared.”
Chick spun around one more time, coming nose to nose with Spooky. The breath from Chick’s mouth was cold and sent a chill shimmying along Spooky’s spin.
Spooky gaped into the dancer’s eyes. They were completely silver, with no pupils, like a sheet of aluminum. “Are you real?”
“Yes,” the dancer said, continuing to sway, but not turning, and not disengaging from Spooky’s eyes.
“Are you alive? Or a ghost?”
“I live. But I see three supernaturals attached to you. Are they friends? Lovers? Evil?”
“Not evil. One lover. One counselor. One spirit guide.”
“You are fortunate. Be my friend?”
“Being your friend entails what exactly?” Though she was short on friends, Spooky wasn’t sure she wanted to commit to a friendship with a dimensional leak, or whatever Chick turned out to be. But on a positive note, the lady was aware of her haunts.
“Be my friend. Be my friend. Be my friend,” Chick shouted like a child throwing a tantrum.
“How do I be your friend?”
“After twenty-nine and half days, meet here,” Chick said.
“That’s the next full moon,” Singer whispered. “Question her.”
“Meet you here, at the next full moon, that’s what you’re saying?”
“Yes. Here. Here. Here.” Her voice echoed as she waltzed toward the old Holiday Rambler.
Someone held the door open for her. Spooky followed and peeked into the Rambler. She was greeted with Red Eyes. “What are you?”
“A father.” He slammed the door.
“You don’t look like a father,” she shouted, hoping he’d open the door and she could get a better look. The mesh wire on the screen door had distorted Red Eyes’ form. She waited a couple of minutes and then directed her attention to the alarm system, which she now realized wasn’t an alarm system. She tapped it with her foot a couple of times, but the cans and tumbleweeds offered no music as they had for Chick. “What do you think, is this contraption a music maker or a way to keep Red Eyes’ blind daughter fenced in?”
“Too soon to tell. Maybe when you meet next time you can ask her,” Chetan said.
Spooky surveyed her surroundings and noticed there were no street lights, no illumination of any kind other than the moon. And as she stared into the darkness she was positive things stared back.
To continue following the Hell Town Web Serial, click on the link below.
The reason I began writing a blog was to create a brand for my fiction. After almost four years of blog writing and much research, it dawned on me, I’m not doing what I love doing. Yes, blogging is a form of writing, but my love is creating characters with flaws, placing them in scary situations, and adding a little romance. Which is not the definition of a blog. My love is being so far up my imagination I’m living in a different dimension where I’m one of my characters and the other characters are leading me on a path to discovery.
As a way of keeping my blog active, and immersing myself in what I love most, I’m adding FREE FICTION to my blog posts. NOT FREE as in take for your own free, it is copyrighted, but FREE FICTION as in read and enjoy. It costs you nothing but a little time and perhaps, a supportive comment. I like supportive comments.
When I began writing, my goal was not to get rich or even make a living. My goal was to share with others my worlds. And I thought, if I had just one person read what I wrote, then my goal would be met, and I’d be the richest person ever.
Why FREE FICTION? As writers, we’re told not to give away our writing. People don’t treasure what is free. I was told. But then the light came on. I have so many story ideas rambling around in my head I’ll never get them all written. When a writer writes a book, whether it’s self-published or traditionally published, the editing and marketing takes a tremendous amount of time. No time is left to start the next book.
Free Fiction allows me to release some of those pent-up stories for others to read. No hassle. Hell Town RV Park will appear on a regular basis until the novella is complete. It is a work in progress. Feel free to comment on the discovery you hope the characters make. Hope you enjoy.
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:
TURTLE TOP COVE LP.
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.
- Lost City: Bay of Cambay — Victim of The Great Year? - January 17, 2021
- Plato’s The Great Year: An Argument for the Existence of Atlantis. - January 7, 2021
- Finding Fairies, Part III - December 10, 2020