Tall Tale Tuesday: Carnival of Souls
he story so far . . .
- Masquerade, Pt 1 — Mr. James
- Masquerade, Pt 2 — Mr. James
- The Games We Play — Mr. James
- Da Squatch Presents Robbie DelGato and Sheila Walks the Underside — Mr. James & Squatch
The House of Wax
So much for getting directions, Alice thought as she drove, windows down, taking the rutted dirt road at a leisurely pace. Her hair flapped around her face, one arm dangling out the window, cigarette between her fingers. Andy McKee’s new CD was playing softly, and Alice hummed tunelessly along, eyes narrowed, watching the road in the deepening gloom.
Ah well. Actual directions were just gravy at this point. She had Junior’s scent, now. She followed it, a dark, rusty-red tang in the magical ethers, twisting through the air like the vague stink of a long-dead skunk hidden somewhere deep under the porch. She passed a truck with its hood up and slowed, studying it, as she coasted by.
Yes. Definitely something around the truck, but not the same aura at all. This aura was colder and blacker, like a sudden freezing undertow in a warm pond. There was something about it, though. She stopped the car, swinging herself out. The gravel crunched under her boot heels as she approached the truck. She stopped, one hand on her hip, smoking, eyebrow arced. “What the hell –?” She turned, following the dark trail, flicking ashes. The trail went back into the woods. Alice went as far as the ditch, where she could see signs of someone having plunged head-long into it. Panicked tracks scraped down into the ditch, followed by scrabbling up the other side. She peered into the tree line, but couldn’t make anything out – the undergrowth was too dense.
She dragged at the cigarette, considering the trail, then looking down the road at the rusty red trail which led to her quarry. She squinted into the dark. It looked . . . like the trails crossed further down the road.
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