An unedited piece of writing tentatively titled, “The story of Bog Hollow.”

Bog Hollow, better known as the Cemetery of the Damned, is the eternal home of the scorned. The forgotten. Those who contributed nothing to the world but pain, sadness, and the mercurial feeling that life was nothing but a trudge through the intense flames of hell.

When these people passed from their mortal coil, they faced their eternal reward and was discarded into Bog Hollow. Here they faced the wrath of the specter known as The Whispering One.

The Whispering One, now there is a tale all unto itself. However, this is a story of love, of adventure, and of the scars that never heal. Of course, every story needs a good guy-in this case a not-so-good guy who dared to stand his ground, a bad guy, and a beautiful damsel that caused their hearts to go pudding soft.

On a whimsical day in Modern America, Joe Trappings sat on his porch minding his own business. It seemed like it would be a good day. He had his coffee, a couple of pieces of bacon, and some scrambled eggs for breakfast. The eggs had no cheese on them- Joe detested cheese on eggs- it seemed unsanitary. Joe preferred his eggs hard-boiled.

What a day it seemed to be. Joe had plucked weeds from his flowerbeds, had washed his truck, and it was only ten o’clock. “I am on top of it this morning!” A portal opened behind him, and a lone figure stepped out. Joe never saw it coming. A hand gripped his collar and dragged him into the portal.

The portal closed.

So much for being on top of it. Joe woke up to a pounding head and aching back. He was face down in a pig pen. Curious on-lookers stopped and stared at the strange man. Joe pushed himself upright with a grunt. Small children gasped and clutched their parent’s hands.

“Crap, literally, crap. Where am I?” People gasped. Joe looked at them for the first time. His eyes grew large at what his vision beheld. “What the- Where in the name of God am I?”

A figure stepped out of the shadows. It was a male, or female, Joe could not tell. It had blackish-gray skin, yellow eyes, and it appeared reptilian. It handed Joe a cup of water. Joe hesitated. It put the cup down and gestured.

Joe picked up the cup and drank. It was water. He chugged the rest of it and set the empty cup down.

“Can you understand me, gunan?”

“Yes. How is this possible? What are you and where am I?”

“You are on a planet far from your home-“

“No, crap.”

“There is no word for it in our tongue. Your world is primitive, and its language is not polished. It is not spoken on Xi-Lung. Thus, we have created a liquid that opens certain pathways in your organ that houses your thinking software. It created a heightened sense of awareness that allows us to communicate.”

“You drugged me.”

“In your spoken vernacular, yes. We drugged you.”

Joe scowled at his captor. He frowned and rubbed his head. Pig crap was stuck to his face and its rancid smell filled his nostrils.

“Why was I dropped off in this pig pen?”

“These animals are a vital part of us being able to communicate.”

“You have got to be kidding me!”

“Mm, no.”

“Why was I brought to, what did you call it, Xi-something another?”

“Xi-Lung. We have need of your help, gunan.”

“What is a gunan?”

“It’s our word for the lower classed among our society. Our society, how should I put this, you would say we do not get our hands dirty. There is a certain individual that brought shame upon our Elders, and you are here to see they are disposed of.”

Joe yawned. The alien spoke in a droning monotone. It took all Joe had to remain awake. He nodded. “I am a stranger in this land, why would I take out your trash? Wait a minute. I time-traveled here.”

“In a sense. You are still in the same spot you were when I grabbed you. You traveled 950 years into the future and never left your porch. You would be rewarded for your deed by being returned to your porch.”

“What if I turned down your ‘generous’ offer?”

“You would die. Plus, you would be discarded into Bog Hollow.”

“Apparently, you aren’t comfortable with threatening people to get your way. You have got to give me an incentive to do your deed.”

The beast smiled at Joe. Rows of glistening teeth filled its mouth. The teeth were serrated on both sides.  Joe paused.

“You required an incentive. Here is your motivation. If you do not willingly provide your assistance, the flesh will be stripped from your bones by me and my brethren. You would still be alive while we ripped the flesh from your frame.”

“Jesus, okay already. Who is the douche canoe you want rubbed out?”

“Phyllis Xander. She is the head of the council of Elders.”

“I need details, routes, anything that could make this matter simpler. What have you got to assist me?”

“Nothing. You are on your own.”

Joe said nothing else. While he considered his plight, and his task, Joe sat on a mound of dirt. Chips of bone crumbled under his feet. His eyes grew large and sweat popped out on his forehead.

“Um, what was your name?”

“Krys Xander.”

“Krys, what is with the bone?”

“You are rooted in the ashes of those who failed to kill Phyllis.”

“Wait a second. She knows I am here to kill her?”

“Of course. The Whispering One knows all.”

“How do I kill a know-it-all specter?”

Krys smiled and shrugged. He turned to leave. Joe sat on the mound of past failures and put his hands over his face. The creatures outside the pen watched the interaction silently.

“Is there a library in this apocalyptic future?”

“Yes. Do you need to go there?”

“Yes.”

“Then, think of the library. If you would like to shower-think of a shower.”

Joe shook his head. The crowd outside the pen began to chant, ‘think, think, think.’ Joe thought of a shower. He closed his eyes and could see the warm water run down his body. He thought of his favorite soap and shampoo that he favored to get clean. He opened his eyes, and he was clean.

“Hmmm.”

“Hmmm,” the crowd murmured.

Joe leaned forward and placed his hands over his face again. ‘Think, think, think,’ the crowd shouted.

It was time to visit the library.

Published by frontporchmusings694846020

I am a good ole country boy residing in North Mississippi. I love to read, fish, hunt, hike and go to garage sales. Flea markets are a passion of mine. I read anything, but some of my favorites are: Dean Koontz, Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, T.S. Eliot, Shakespeare, and I possess a fondness for the writings of William Faulkner and Mark Twain. If I am forced to choose, I prefer baseball to football. I enjoy Alabama football (Roll Tide)! My baseball teams include: The Colorado Rockies and Boston Red Sox. I am divorced, the father of two daughters and live by myself with Chunk and Roscoe (my dogs).

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