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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1425993-The-Lovely-Brenna
Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Folklore · #1425993
A bar stool tall tale, or not.
The Lovely Brenna


Son, you can buy me a truckload of beer but I'll not take you up Devil's Crick. You goin' up there, boy, you goin' with some other guide. They got some beautiful trout up there, sure, but they can just keep 'em. I wouldn't want to catch one, and I wouldn't eat one no matter who caught it. Now I'm no coward, I did my stint in the army; saw some action too. Just you remember there's a heapa difference between scared and smart. Some of us have to learn smart the hard way. Life ain't nothing but learnin' to survive. I learned 'bout Devil's Crick the hard way for sure.

It happened in this very bar; she was sittin' right over there. Most beautiful thing you ever saw. Black hair halfway down her back, little tiny waist, but the rack on her. Wasn't a man in this place wasn't ready jump on her. Bobby, the bartender, he practically had to wear a bib he was droolin' so hard. When she smiled at me, well, o' course I stepped right up. I was pretty good looking back then, not that I can't charm the ladies now; but back then I had a bit more hair and a bit less belly if you know what I mean. Home on leave, I was as lean as a hound, and just as full of myself. Hadn't ever seen her around before, but like I said I just got back from the army; thought maybe she was from one of those crackerbox houses they put up by the highway.

Anyway, she smiles at me and I go over and ask if I can buy her a drink. She says her name's Brenna. Pretty name, I says. We talk for a while and I buy her a couple more beers. I don't know how many she had, but she never showed drunk or nothin'. Couldn't say the same for me. Don't know if it was the beer, her pretty face, or somethin' else, but I wasn't exactly sure where the floor was by then.

I asked if I could take her home. If she come from down the highway it was a bit of a drive. Wouldn't have wanted a pretty girl like that to hafta' go home by herself. She thanked me sweet and said she lived at Lem's Notch up by Devil's Crick. Tells you how far-gone I was. Didn't even think about it. Knew there was nothing up there but the old Ludlow cabin, and there weren't much left o' that. Maybe I thought some city folks had fixed it up. Hell, between the beer and the scent of her I wasn't thinkin' a'tall.

She wraps her arm around me and we head out. Walkin' mind you. Weren't even much of a path up along Devil's Crick back then. Sure no road, 'bout three or four hard miles, and me staggerin' so much I woulda been lucky to make it three steps. That Brenna was stronger than she looked. I swear she was half carryin' me up that hill. If I'd been half in my right mind and payin' attention, I shoulda noticed that. Shoulda noticed she stayed far as she could from the Crick itself, too.

We gets to the point where the path to Lem's Notch used to cut off. It's deep woods there. Even with a full moon, it gets so dark you can't see a tree 'til it hits you. I was just stumblin' after this girl like a drunken fool. I had to stop and throw up a few times, nothing like exercise on top of beer for that. I think that helped clear my head some. Anyway, I began to notice things. Things like her fingernails were pretty long and diggin, into my arm 'til it was bleedin'. A little pain helps clear the head too. I also noticed that something was glowin', a sick green sorta light. I could see the path. Also meant I could see her. She'd gotten a good bit taller than I remembered from the bar; and leaner and darker. Her hair was flying around even though there was no wind.

That's when I started rememberin' some of my granny's stories. Like you, boy, I didn't believe 'em, but I grew up with 'em. You kinda take that sort of thing in with your mother's milk. Rattlin' around in my brain was that Devil's Crick had got that name for a reason. There was stories 'bout what happened to Lem Ludlow too. Good thing sometimes your body does things without checkin' in with the brain. All I know is suddenly I was more scared than I ever been in my life. I just pulled away, turned, and ran. I was skidding down that path more than runnin' Surprised I didn't break an ankle or something. I could hear Brenna coming behind. She was callin' my name, but she didn't sound sweet like before. No, she didn't sound sweet at all. I ignored her and went crashin' through those trees even faster. Everyone knows haints and the like got no use for runnin' water. Only thing left in my brain was I had to get across Devil's Crick 'fore she caught up with me. Didn't know if that would work, but I didn't have a lot of time for plannin'.

I could see the Crick shinin' in the moonlight. It seemed a lot farther from me than she was. She was screechin' now. Nothin' sweet about it. Heard a wild cat a few times, this was ten times worse. I was just about flyin' down that path. Something grabbed me from behind just as I was comin' out by the Crick. I swear I could smell brimstone and it felt like I was being whupped and clawed and burned at the same time. I just tore myself away, left most of my shirt behind; a good dress-up shirt too. I think I was half way 'cross the Crick before my foot even touched down. I couldn't see anything by then, just lights in my head. That water was cold as hell when I landed in it. I stumbled but managed to keep going. Don't know how long I ran through those woods.

I do know that next morning the boys found me down alongside of River Road. I was a mess; my clothes all tore up and blood all over me. Looked like I'd been mauled by somethin. That's what the boys told me when they took me in to get me patched up. They all thought wild cat or bear, and I just let them think that. Doctors said no wild cat done that. Most of it was branches, of course. But to this day I have five deep scars that are as black as a tattoo on my back. And this, here on my arm; you ever see any scars like these? These are from the lovely Brenna, all right. No woman's hands ever left marks like this.

Thanks for the beer, son, and no thanks on fishin' up Devil's Crick. I survived it once, I'm not looking for a repeat. As for the lovely Brenna, you see her up there and you run like hell, boy; and whatever you do, you don't tell her Matt tipped you off. That's one girl I've no desire to meet.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1425993-The-Lovely-Brenna