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Rated: E · Short Story · Contest · #1270987
Double-Dog Dare ya to stop in for a read
It’s a mystery to them all ‘round here--’ceptin’ Bad Buck and me.  And we ain’t never gonna tell.

It happened back in Halloween of ‘59.  Buck and me, we was too old for treatin’ so’s we decided to do us some trickin’.  And the brat had it comin’--least that’s what we was thinking at the time.

Yellafella’s what we called him ‘cause he rode a little yella Schwinn bike and ‘cause he was the biggest scardy cat in Hollow’s End.  He was wearin’ a crummy ol’ home made Tin Man costume.  Seemed to us he should of been a straw man ‘cause it shore took a guy with no brain to go ‘round on Halloween night with tin foil ashinin’ so bright even the skeletons could of seen him--and crinklin’ so loud haints five feet under could of heard him comin’.

Now, Bad Buck and me, we didn’t want no crinklin', shinin’ ol’ scardy cat taggin’ along whilst we was up to some serious Halloween trickin'.  So’s we set out to dump him.

It took some mighty fierce pumpin’ but we managed to get to the top of  Haint’s Hill where the ol’ Quonset Hut hospital was all empty and boarded up.  We was ‘spectin’ Yellafella to give up ‘fore we reached it.  But dang if he didn’t keep them scrawny legs apumpin’ with that tin foil just ashinin’ and crinklin' like some confounded countrified Robby the Robot.

‘Course there was a big ol’ Off Limits sign hangin’ from the entrance and ‘course Bad Buck and me didn’t pay it no never mind.  Them plywood tunnels connectin’ one section to another was great for bikin‘.  Buck and me, we knowed them squirrelly routes like the back of our hands.  So’s we took Yellafella straight on down to the morgue. 

We double-dog dared him to lay in one of them empty drawers--the ones they put the dead folks in.

And danged if he didn’t take the dare.  As soon as Yellafella clumb on in, Bad Buck, he shut the drawer.

Then Buck and me high-tailed it outta there quicker than hounds on possum.


We was jest gonna scare him.  Honest we was.  How was we to know the drawer wouldn’t open.  Somethin’ ‘bout  vacuum locks.

Yellafella weren’t never seen ‘round these parts agin--’cept in me and Buck’s imaginins.

‘Till tonight.  Now I knows a little ol’ yella bike cain’t kill a growed-up man--specially a 300 pounder like Bad Buck.  But they found his runned-over body this evening and dang if them weren’t Schwinn tire marks crost his guts.

Now I cain’t close my eyes without seein’ something’ ashinin’ ‘neath my lids.  And I cain’t hear no silence ‘cause of that crinklin’ that jest keeps growin’ closer and gettin’ louder.

I’s got all my doors locked and windows nailed shut.  But my hounds have run away.  Not that they could do much good anyway ‘gainst a mad ol' Tin Man comin’ back to claim his heart.






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