Bill Remmington, Remy, as his friends called him, sped down the road in his ’67 Chevy Impala. He was heading for a remote Louisiana town in which to write his latest book, Cajun Killings. It was about a serial killer who killed his victims using the swamp itself, and, for reasons solely related to keeping strangers out. Bill was a famous horror writer, renowned for his many books on some of the most disturbing elements of the world you could think of. Bill, himself, was about 28 years old, and had black hair and goatee with glasses. He wore a skull t-shirt and jeans, along with black boots. Not only did he write about horror, he liked to live it as well.
The tunes of Black Sabbath filled the quiet southern air as he drove, grassland upon grassland passing by. He noticed a sign on the road as he tapped his left hand on the door of the car. It read: Bayou Bay, 1 mile. “Finally! If I have to watch one more bit of grass pass me by, I’m gonna hurl.” His car slowly pulled itself over the bridge into Bayou Bay. The bridge was tiny, maybe big enough to fit two cars going each way, but just barely. And, it creaked as you drove over it, giving the impression of giving way at any given moment. Trees, swamp, and water surrounded him as he drove the dirt path into town.
As he drove, he noticed something to the right of the road. An odd Scarecrow hung in front of the city limits, almost like a warning of some kind. “Weird…” Bill said,”I need to include that!” The car drove into down town, and soon Bill found out why they call it Bayou Bay. The city was located in the Bayou, deep, deep, in the Bayou, but it opened up into the Gulf of Mexico. Bill stopped the car and hopped out, viewing the spectacular sight. “It’s brilliant. Too bad it’ll now be spook city.” Bill laughed a bit and walked back to his car. Then, he realized, that he hadn’t stopped to get paper. He jumped into his car and raced off to find a store that sold paper. He passed by, rather quickly, a small shop named You name it, We got it. Bill shrugged and decided to give it a chance. Maybe the local paper was cheaper than Staples or Office Depot.
He opened the door and the bell rang, echoing through the silent shop. An old Gypsy woman came shuffling out of the back. She wore a purple and red dress, too much make-up, and a red bandana in her hair. Her many bracelets and rings clinked against each other as she trudged up to the counter. She was hunched over a bit. She looked up at him and smiled, but the kind of smile after which you know something is up. “Can I help you, my dear boy?” She said with a thick Cajun accent. Bill smiled. “Uhh, yes. I hope so. I was looking to see if you had any paper I could borrow? Preferrably lined paper? I’m not a big fan of typing my stories.” The woman nodded and smiled the same eerie smile. She shuffled off into the back room, pulling some beads away. She walked back in carrying a pile of paper, about 50 sheets, tied with a purple ribbon with meretricious jewels embedded in it.
“So, You’s a writah, huh, Shugah?” She asked. Bill smiled and nodded, wanting so much to get out of there. “Well, Maybe you’ll be interested in a lil’ story ‘round these parts. Now, ya see, ‘Couple a years ago, they was some murders. And no’ a soul could understand ‘em.” Now Bill was interested. Maybe he could use these in his story. Maybe make it an almost real-life story. “They all occurred ‘round this time o’ the year. Random people get killed off in nasty ways. They was in perfect condition, too, right before they was killed. Only thin’ missin’ was a pulse!” She laughed a bit, beginning to wheeze.
“Do you know anything about that scarecrow at the city limits?” Bill asked abruptly, wanting to know more about it. The woman suddenly became serious, like how she acted before was just a façade, now revealing what was beneath it. “Don’ know tha’ much ‘bout that nasty old thang. Jus’ always been there. Since the beginning of the town, I thank. It’s been here since our French settlas came over from Europe. But one thang’s for sure: I don’ like it.” She leaned in close to Bill, “Actually, I have my own story to them murders.” Bill leaned forward in interest. “Now, legend goes that there’s a spirit wanderin’ this Bayou. Takes the life force of those it kills, just so it can stay alive. Them murders…they was too odd to be of natural causes. Everythin’ was perfect on ‘em, ‘cept for their pulse. Just gone. And the first o’ them murders was 20 years ago today.”
Now it was just starting to sound like an urban legend used to scare people into buying things from shops. “Riiiight,” Bill began, “The ghost comes back every 20 years to seek revenge on the newest generation of victims. Believe me, lady, I’ve written a book like that. Bill turned and walked out of the store, leaving a five dollar bill at the counter. The woman slipped her hand over the five and brought it close. She looked down at it and smiled, “Oh, yes, He’ll do nicely, Yes’m.” She nodded, the same eerie smile snaking its way across her face.
Bill jiggled with the handle of his hotel room, finally jerking it open. He stumbled inside, and looked around. It looked like a normal hotel room, and it looked brand new. Almost like either no one ever slept in the bed or stayed more than a night. Bill threw his things on the bed and slumped down onto it, stressed out about both trying to find this place and on how the plot of his story will go. He grabbed his pencil and paper, and began writing down ideas. Then, he separated all of those into plot lines. Then, into a full-blown story. Bill set down his paper and rested, slinking off to sleep.
Somewhere else in Bayou Bay, a girl walked home from a club in downtown. She was walking on the side walk of a long street, deserted except for the shadows. The shadows moved around quite a bit. They seemed to follow the girl to her car. She took out her keys and beeped a button, unlocking it. She moved for the handle, but something caught her eye. It was something reflective in the window. She couldn’t make it out all that great. She turned around and immediately screamed as loud as she could, echoing across Bayou Bay.
Post Edited:2007-09-14 00:03:58
Post Edited:2007-09-14 00:05:53