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Rated: E · Novel · Drama · #1949933
roaming about in search for weak souls, so he can revenge those that cast out His own
A bitter cold wind whips at a loose BP sign near highway 79 west of Dover, Tennessee snow covering the streets, out of town travelers passing through would see it as a one-horse town, but little do they know it holds dark secrets, secrets that go beyond the graves. Dover and Erin Tennessee have dark Spirits that roam the earth in search of malign souls.
No one stops to think about the evil doings from mortals that walk upon the earth daily, stealing lives and abusing weak souls cast out among their own, left to defend their life the best they can.
Weak souls cry within the darkness for a savior to come and save them from this tiresome ole world, only be left with unanswered prayers and heartbreaks. Learning to accept the fact they must endure the pain and suffering placed before them and hope they learn whatever hidden lesson there is, but little do they know, cries from weak souls don’t go unheard, someone, somewhere hears their cries and feels their pain.
Decrepit souls will have their day.

Located in Dover, Sunset Ridge Cemetery is the most feared tomb of the dead. Its the first time in history burials banned due to unknown forces for the living walk in and never to been seen again. Vanished.
Many townspeople swear a walking legend roams that graveyard seeking a way to freedom, and many think that roaming spirit slumbers there with many fearing that one day that dark soul will rise again for vengeance against them, the living. However, some think its like other tales, someone’s imagination ran wild and that tale is passed generation to generation. Many believe that spirit searches for a certain soul. A soul that was lost along the way.
A war is coming between mortals and the immortal. Many think they know the individual the Dark Lord searches for, but wise minds know when to let the dead sleep for they saw the savage with their own eyes.
Darkness looms, snowing with church bells chiming ‘Silent Night’. A muttering humming comes from Sally Tyson known in town as Dirty Sally. A little eighty-year old woman that verily gets by on social security, and loves to find stuff in the trash, ones junk is Sally’s treasures. Many are appalled with her trash digging. It is their trash and she has no right ransacking through it, none whatsoever, the filthy varmint. Some have stooped so low as to jerk it from her buggy or hands, re-break it just to throw it away again, daring her to fish it from its doom to the landfill.
Some of the townspeople laugh, joke and make fun of her, and some have tried to get her locked up and have the key thrown away.
Her little shack sits back deep within the woods near Sunset Ridge, covered in keepsakes from thrown away treasures, Sally’s own little mansion in Sally’s own little world.
She finds things with enough value to make trades for money or something to eat. She can take old clothes and make a dress of many colors. To Sally, anything can be fixed or mended with just a little touch. She often laughs at others criticism of her. She’s quick with an answer that she has no duns due, and that she lives among them happy and free, but deep within and when alone in darkness, she often cries wondering why no one cares. Questioning what she has done to carry the burden that she does, but somehow she manages to overcome yet another painful lonely day seeking tomorrow’s challenges.
She has many stories to tell, but who cares to listen. She has seen many wonders, but who would believe her. To most in town, she’s just 'Ole Dirty Sally' who has no one and nothing.
As she rummages through the trash at 2nd Baptist church, she stops a moment, glances over her shoulder at a pure town with its blanket of snow. Its bear streets are a good sign that no one will drive by and throw cans out the window in hopes to hit her, but poor ole Sally always finds something good from the mistreatment. Those cans help to feed her. She continues pilfering when she hears laughter coming across the road. She turns around to see, and the beautiful Christmas tree catches her attention. Forget about the laughter and greetings coming from the porch, that tree takes her back down a road of many years.
She sees the people gathering inside, handing over a covered dish filled with warm hugs and smiles, and that can only mean one thing—love. Love. It’s been so long since she’s had that emotion. Not sure how a warm human touch would feel. She wipes tobacco from the corner of her mouth recalling days when she was loved. Even as a child, she didn’t have much but she did have something that money cannot buy and that is love.
She closes her eyes, raises her head to feel the snow on her face, as memories sooths her soul remembering as a child how she loved letting the snow drop on her tongue, and slowly her eyes open. Something isn’t right. It doesn’t feel right and it is time to head back home. She smiles for many fear the place she lives near, but that’s okay with her. She doesn’t bother the dead and the dead doesn’t bother her, and as it is, she has stories to tell and has seen many wonders. She could tell a thing or two but why bother. Most of the time, these dreadful people bring the dark curse among themselves. She has seen it and it is certain it is coming again. She’s seen it coming for days in tealeaves and the leaves never lie. It is coming and its arrives tonight at the stroke of midnight, but she isn’t sure if it comes from the dark place or the makings of this world, however the one thing she is sure—death is coming.
She glances at her watch. “Dab nab it,” she mutters. “The dat burn thing stopped again.” She spits, looking to the sky. “It’s time to head home. Bad times are coming.” She quickly turns her buggy around struggling to push it through the snow. The snow crunches underneath her feet along with the squeaking of her worn out ole wheels on an ancient Big K buggy.
She takes a whiff of air, shakes her head muttering, “Fools, they did it to themselves. Ole Sally here cannot help nor save them. We all have a price to pay for our wrong doings.” She takes a sip of whiskey, as she mutters, “it pays to be me. I could have told them its coming, but I owe them nothing.” She takes another sip, “nothing.”
An eerie feeling of doom cast a heavy burden with the smell of death reeking, searching for devouring souls, and death will fall tonight on those who trespassed against its own. Only Sally knows the doom that is certain to come.
© Copyright 2013 Lisa Blackheart (blackheart2 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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