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Going Ape Shit Press 028
going ape shit press #28 by snakelady
wow, a story...
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THE HUNT
Burning through the vaporous mist of the night fog, the hazy sunlight
revealed a network of white sandy crossroads interwoven amongst the dense scrub
pine, oak, and thick woody pine underbrush of the flatland wilderness. The
sandy roads, abandoned to nature, weaved by the ruins of forgotten settlements
and then dissipated into nothingness.
A crackling rustle of the branches and a deafening shot was fired with
a sonic echo that shattered the apparent tranquility. A grey haired old man,
with deer and gun in tow, emerged from the brush, and ambled down the white
sand road. He removed his orange cap and wiped his shaggy brow. Then, with a
few quick swats, chased twig debris and greenhead flies from his plaid red
jacket. By the time he got to town the crowd was gathering at the local
firehouse.
"Took my anger out on this here deer" said old man Jones. "Gardens
all dug up, garbage everywhere", he continued, with a look of frustration
on his face.
"Not good to keep things in", shouted a middle aged man in worn denim
overalls, as he waved a rusty old pitchfork into the air in a gesture of
defiance and futility. "Ate nine chickens the other night, and didn't even
leave enough on the bones for the rats to gnaw on. I would have had him, too,
if I didnt leave this here pitchfork so close to the barn" he yelled, in a
voice that started to crack from the rage that came bellowing forth, as he
pounded his fist repeatedly on the side of a fire truck.
"Yeah, me too" a virile looking young clammer in a dirty white
sailors cap, said loudly, with a tone of apprehension in his voice, as
his younger brother stood quivering at his side. "Took us three years to
rig up those nets, and he outsmarted us again. Can't figure how he gets
those things opened" he continued, with a look of unbelief emanating from
his face.
"Now simmer down" shouted Mr. Smith, a short stocky man from
within the group, who tried to show composure with a belly full of beer and
a cigar in his mouth. "We'll all meet at the Tavern at five. Bring your gear."
The crowd, with a general feeling of anxious expectation, wearily
began to disperse.
Mr. Green pulled the suspenders on his worn out coveralls back over his
shoulder, as he picked up his rusty pitchfork and crossed the tar and gravel
street. Old Man Jones, who had grabbed his deer and began to drag the animal
toward his home, waved his fists at him in a gesture of solidarity against
their mutual nemesis.
The weakened steps of the old grocery store creaked as Mr. Green
positioned himslf down on a splintered wooden swing on the porch. Reaching
for his gun, he began to clean the sooty barrel with vigor.
"The shelves need restocking" said Mrs. Green with a look of concern,
and worry over what the townspeople were up to. Her graying hair had fallen
from her curlers, as her stained apron blew in a breeze from an old box fan
behind her. She waited for an answer, peering through the patched screen
door.
"Chickens are more important" he said and continued to polish the gun,
now in a raging fury.
As he skinned and cut up his deer, Old Man Jones refused to look up at
his garbage strewn yard and uprooted yard. He knew that the sight would only
aggravate those chest pains that he'd been getting over the past few years.
Especially when he got upset.
"THIS is what I'm gonna do to HIM" he mumbled as he buried the smelly
entrails far from the house. Fixating his eyes on his lovely old Victorian
home, he walked a steady pace to the back door, which slammed behind him
when he entered.
"How are we going to keep a roadside stand with no vegetables?",
Mrs. Jones asked in a voice that was part questioning and part accusatory.
When she finally looked at him closely, and noticed the shape that he was
in, she uttered, with a look of disgust "Heavens, go get cleaned up!"
"No time" he scowled with a look of anxiety on his face, " Just
enough time to wash up a little, and then gotta get my gun", as he
bolted out the door. He could hear, from within the house the old
grandfather clock chime five times, as he hurried into town. It was always
a little fast.
A red sun was starting to set over the barren woodlands with a
stillness in the air that foretold impending nightfall, As Old Man Jones
walked into the tavern. A seething rage was in the air, but was at present
on a low simmer. Guns, ropes, nets, axes, knives, flashlites, and even a
pitchfork were lined up along the bar and pool table.
Mr. Smith motioned to the assemblage, and after a few moments the
low uproar began to subside.
"You all know why we are gathered" he said in a low, stern voice,
somewhat resembling a preacher. "For two hundred years he has returned
every seven years to wreak havoc on our fair town. We must stop him tonight.
The Jersey Devil will not prevail THIS time", he concluded with an air of
finality in his voice.
Without much ado the band of townsmen gathered their weapons and
gear, and broke up into smaller groups as they set out to scour the
surrounding pineland forest. They did not speak amongst themselves as
they were concerned that their voices would give them away to their intended
prey, who was notorious for his keen hearing. They didn't have very much time
before total darkness, but they knew that the Devil was nocturnal and would
have to be caught at dusk to darkness for their plan to succeed. It was
useless to try to follow tracks, since everyone knew that the beast, with
its leathery wings, could fly, though no one had ever seen it do so. In
reality, no one within living memory had ever seen it at all.
After about an hour and a half, with darkness almost total, a sound
was heard in some thickets by a distant clearing. Mr. Green, the town
grocer was the first to notice it, and sent his two sons in opposite
directions to let the rest of the posse know of its location.
The rustling sound continued as the group surrounded the area.
Without warning, Old Man Jones, always a little jumpy, fired his double
barreled ten gauge shotgun into the thicket, whereupon everyone joined
in the melee of gunfire. After about a minute, realizing that nothing
inside that area could possible be alive, they began to enter it, nervously,
fearfully. It was Jason Folback, the older clammer, who found it. Within the
briars, and nearly pulverized with buckshot was the remains of a faun,
who had somehow got himself trapped within the briars.
Almost to a man they shouted, "Oh hell", for now they knew that the
hunt was over. The Devil would KNOW that they were here, and what their
intentions were. A stupid faun had turned their resolutions to dust.
Disappointed to the degree that it seemed that a dark cloud had descended
upon them, they slowly began to shuffle back to town.
Behind their backs, piercing through the woods came the low, piercing
howl that everyone knew was the Jersey Devil scorning them.
Not a single one even turned his head.
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we don't release for a while, then you get hit with 3 new files...
will the wonders ever cease?
