UGR - A Walk In The Park (808 hits)
Category: Quotes & StoriesLabels: Contests
Rating: 2 on 25 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by kaos-king (antius777) (View user info) at 2006-06-27 06:46:10 EDT
"Yup, I tell ya this Milton," said Scraggs as he cocked back the trigger. "Ain't no fun killin' a man, ain't he don't beg."
Scraggs fired point blank into the old farmer head, catching him right between the eyes.
"A'yup," agreed Milton, spitting tobacco on the corpse of the dead negro farm hand.
"Too bad 'bout the misses," mused Scraggs. "Ya think Bronson's done wit the gal yet?"
"Think Bronson wishes it t'was a boy," chuckled Tomslin.
"Heard 'dat," said Bronson strolling up tucking his shirt back into his britches.
"Ya done her in?" asked Scraggs.
Bronson shot him a dirty look in response.
"A'yup," said Milton.
"The ol' codger tell ya where the gold was done buried?" asked Bronson.
"Place by the name o' 'Morty Park.' Down thar by that lil' village on yonder," replied Scraggs.
"Well," mused Bronson with a grin, "We best be headin' out then."
"A'yup," said Milton.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
The four rode into the small town, dust and dirt kicked up behind them. All of them had their weapons at the ready. That Wells-Fargo train had been hit almost a decade ago, and nobody had ever caught the culprits. It wasn't until Scraggs had spent some time up in the Valley Prison for horse wranglin' that he had heard from the ol' boy in the cell next to him about a few clues.
Seems it a been a real well planned out job. The gang had an inside man, who of course, they had killed at the first opportunity. Story went, after the heist, the gang leader had done gone and had a religious awakening of sorts. Gunned down the rest of his cohorts as they ate breakfast one morning and disappeared. Supposedly, he had kept enough money to buy a house, build a church and then buried the rest. Thought that was the proper thing to do with stolen money from rich bankers out East. Scraggs had to agree to an extent.
When Peter William Scraggs had got out of prison after doing his short stint, he rounded up his best men. Milton didn't say much, but the ol' boy was damn loyal. He knew he could trust Milty with his back if things got ugly. Tomslin was a bit of a woman, always concerning himself with cleanliness and hygiene. However, there wasn't a better shot in all the territory. And as for Bronson, well... Bronson was a frighten' bastard. Had himself a thing for little girls and slittin' throats. Best to have Bronson on your side.
So this was the crew that rode with Scraggs into the village. It was so small, it may not even of had a name. If it did, Scraggs certainly didn't know it. Nor did he care. All he knew was at the far end was something called "Morty Park," and there his fortune laid. The clues he had followed had lead him to the old farmer who had helped build the church ten years back. Turned out, he knew all about the money and thought the bank robber was righteous man. Being that there was no bank in town, he didn't find it peculiar that the former criminal had done buried all that money in this here park.
"Damn quiet," mumbled Tomslin as they trotted into the village outskirts.
"Bein' God-Fearin' folk, maybe they all in church," said Scraggs.
"Shit, if that's the case, I says we burn it down with 'em all inside so thar's no witnesses," spat Bronson.
"You one cold sum' bitch, you know that?" asked Tomslin with a grin.
"We ain't killin' nobody we ain't got to," said Scraggs. "If'n possible, I wants to go through this and outta here with as lil' muckin' around as we can."
"That may not be much a problem," said Tomslin as they rode past a few house and then the town general store. "Thar don't seem to be nobody here."
"Place is clean, too rightly fixed up to be abandoned," whistled Bronson while shielding his eyes.
"Hiddin'," stated Milton.
"Could be," said Scraggs leaning forward on his horse, peering into some windows. "Saw strangers a'coming and feared the worse."
Right then, just a spit of a girl came skipping out around one of the buildings. Her little dress was old, but lovingly hand sewn to repair. Her blond pigtails swayed back and forth as she danced out into the path of the gang, singing to herself, oblivious to their presence.
"Well," chuckled Bronson, "lookee here. Hi thar, darling!"
"Ah, Hells," murmured Tomslin.
The little girl stopped and smiled up at the four men on horseback. "Hullo!"
Before Bronson could get his manhood all fired up, Scraggs spoke. "Honey, we be lookin' to rest a spell. Is Morty Park just on yonder?"
"Sure'n it is, Sir! Jus' round the end o' the town, up in the lil' hill," she replied her gap tooth smile wide.
"Out o' curiosity lil' one, where be yer Pa at?" asked Scraggs, surpressing a sly grin.
"My Pa done gone ta Heaven," she said with the same exuberance. "Lotta folk 'round here done gone ta be with the Lord."
Scraggs stole a glance at his crew, his grin breaking through. "I see chile, I see."
They made their way forward around the little girl, who waived a hearty goodbye. Bronson twiddled his fingers at her with a promise they would return. Once the four were a good bit down the road, the child turned to one of the house, the same smile still on her face, and nodded once.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Stab the Devil in his eyes," swore Tomslin.
All for of them sat on the back of their horses starring at the small hill. It was littered with broken tombstones and other less appealing grave markers. A thin iron fence ran the perimeter, coming to a halt in front of them with a swinging gate. High above them, a wrought iron sign read simply, "Morte Park."
"Yes, I do believe that thar word is the Latin fer Death," mused Bronson.
"How tha hell you know that?" asked Tomslin.
"I ain't totally uneducated," laughed Bronson.
"Enough," barked Scraggs. "Wa'nt expectin' this."
"It matter?" asked Milton.
"Nah, it jus'... Hells, tie the horses to the fence and let's go."
The four roped off their animals and fought with the iron fence until it swung open. A well worn dirt path lead up the hill and branched off in several directions. Scraggs had the follow him to the top. Not much of a hike really, not really much of a hill. As they crested, they saw two trees, one much larger than the other. Both appeared dead.
"Well, so far the ol' bastard done told us right," huffed Scraggs. "Said thar be two trees, and the money done be buried under the bigger o' the two. Right 'neath the holy symbol."
"Hmmm..." frowned Tomslin. "We might gots ourselves a problem or two."
"Shit, whatta you talkin' about?" asked Bronson walking up.
"One, thar only be one markin' on this tree and it no holy symbol likes I ever done seen. Two, it be right above the grave of o' blessed reverend."
"What!" exclaimed Scraggs coming around the dead tree to meet the other two.
Sure enough, there was a gravesite right under the far side of the tree. The broken marker was Olde Stone and he could barely make out the words, "Rev. Killian McCarthy" etched into them. Directly above, carved deep into the bark, was some kind of circular symbol with a star in it among various other scrolled lines.
"Eh..." came Milton from behind him.
"Shit, well now what?" asked Tomslin.
"Now what, my ass!" swore Bronson. "This prolly ain't nuthin' but one o' them Catholic symbols or some shit. See the man's name - that be straight Irish. Hell, 'sides it could even be one o' them thar Mormon things. Looks holy ta me."
"Bronson, thar's a god damn grave under thar!" stated Tomslin.
"Yer point? What, you still in short pants, scared o' the sk'leton gonna rise up anda grab you?" laughed Bronson.
"Scraggs, you can't seriously be thinking..." tried Tomslin.
Scraggs held up his hand. "Milton, go n' fetch the shovels."
"Shee-yit," swore Tomslin.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
They had been digging for hours. The dry, flaky soil had proven packed down hard and resistant to their efforts. The sun was drifting further and further down in the West and soon they would be forced to fetch the lanterns. Scraggs hoped that wouldn't have to happen for multiple reasons. Mostly, they hadn't been disturbed once since they started, but it was possible that no one other than the girl knew they were here. A couple shinning beacons of light, however, would definitely give away their presence. He also knew if they didn't hit something soon, he was going to have three relatively angry men on his hands.
And then, honestly, he didn't think he wanted to be in this graveyard after the sun disappeared.
He would never say a word to his crew about it, but he was feeling a mite jumpy. Maybe it was the fact that they were vandalizing this minister's final resting place for some loot, but he was pretty sure that it was just the location. The village below just wa'nt right and this here cemetery...
"Hot Damn!" exclaimed Bronson, his shovel hitting wood.
"Bout fuckin' time," wheezed Tomslin.
The four of them scrambled to uncover more of the dirt, desperate to get to their prize. In their haste, a shovel broke through the lid of the coffin. A wretched, putrid odor escaped and assaulted the crew.
"Jaysis By God! What in the Hell..." swore Tomslin stepping back.
"Says the Padre died years ago. He still be rottin' away?" asked Scraggs.
"Who gives a flying fuck," swore Bronson, poising his shovel to take a swing at the lid.
"Bronson, hold on you damned..." yelled Scraggs, but the metal came down.
The foul stench grew overpowering and Scraggs had to turn away to vomit. He continued retching until it was just dry heaves, and by that point the smell had wavered away. That's when he heard Tomslin.
"... good Lord Jesus Christ, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy.."
Scraggs turned back to see his crew standing wide eyed over the broken coffin. Tomslin was praying, Milton looked ready to bolt and Bronson actually looked terrified. Scraggs knew he didn't want to, but he craned his neck and peered over into the coffin.
It was a monstrosity, a mistake, some kind of crime against nature. It had extra limbs that protruded out from the shoulder sockets, the hands filled with numerous long digits. The chest cavity looked pried open, the ribs splayed out to accommodate a host of shriveled organs that looked like decaying fruits. Orbital sockets sat wide and spaced out on the side of a flat, sloping skull. At first glance, the head seemed to lack a bottom jaw, then Scraggs realized that it had rows of jagged teeth coming in from the sides. A thin slick membrane, akin to snot, coated all of the thing,
"What in the name o' God..." whispered Scraggs.
"Nuthin' ta do wit God," murmured Milton.
Scraggs looked down at the thing in the coffin and regretted ever hearing the story of the train robbery. Then a reflection from the last rays of sunlight caught his eyes. It was a gold coin. Down by the feet of this dead creature, a bulky bag rested. Scraggs spied another coin lying right near the the tied off top.
"Well, fuck me," whistled Scraggs. "Look thar, gentlemen," he said pointing.
"Whadda ya know," smiled Bronson, reaching down to retrieve their fortune.
That was when one of the appendages from the supposed "dead thing" lashed out and wrapped around Bronson's upper arm.
All four men screamed, Bronson the loudest, but it still wasn't as loud as the sound that escaped the throat of the thing in the coffin. It started out as a high pitched wail, then gurgled away in viscous fluid at the end. It started to pull Bronson closer into the coffin. The crew scrambled to yank onto their cohort, to save him from the unspeakable. They all grabbed onto him, anywhere they could to free him from the hole they had dug.
They all fell back, as a sickening lurching sound came upon them. Bronson was half out of the grave. The monster still had his arm, blood spraying about the dry soil.
Bronson cried out in pain and shock, slapping at the shoulder stump that was spilling red liquid liberally down his side. He stumbled and lost his footing. He fell face first back into the grave. His scream was cut short by a deep crunching sound.
As Bronson's cries ended, Tomslin's began. Scraggs spun to see his gang member hovering a few feet in the air, seized by convulsions. Scraggs blinked and realized that some kind of long arm from another gravesite that Tomslin had been standing on had shot up and entered him. It had impaled him right through the anus, lifted him inches off the ground and was working its way through him. Suddenly, what looked like a dozen little horse whips burst out of his mouth, wiggling and splashing the snot-like substance all over his marksman's dying face.
Without even looking around for Milton, Scraggs turned tail and ran as fast as he could down the hill. All around him, he saw graves rumble, weird long arms sprouting from the ground. The whole god forsaken cemetery was home to these creatures, it seemed, as he tumbled down the dirt path. He dodged a few attacks that came in his direction, and he saw the gate closing in the distance. The little girl stood there at the fence with a small group of people.
"Run!" he screamed, hoping he could make it to gate and...
He watched hopelessly from too far away as a frumpy middle aged woman shut the iron gate and locked it with a key.
He heard himself scream 'No' just as he heard the wail of Milton somewhere behind him. Within moments, he finished the remaining distance and grabbed a hold of the gate, shaking it furiously.
"You think this is gonna hold them thar monsters?" he bellowed. "Let me the fuck out!"
"The Old Ones don't leave tha park, Sirrah," said a wizened old man. "This be tha way o' things."
Scraggs pulled out his revolver and pointed it at the little girl. "If yall don't let me out o' this here..."
The little girl started laughing. Laughing so hard, her chin split open revealing rows and rows of jagged teeth. The few gathered townsfolk all followed suit, their maws creaking open to allow their long black tongues to flick around their triple jaws.
"Jesus Christ!" swore Scraggs stumbling backwards.
"Yer god o' tha wooden cross don't mean nuthin' here?" giggled a teenage girl.
"Ol' Reverend McCarthy done brung us the money, built us a church and shown tha true faith o' tha old ways," said the elderly fellow. "Then you n' yer likes come ta try and steal from him. Well, we all don't rightly 'preciate that."
"Dun's we Reverend?" asked the little girl in delight.
Scraggs spun in place and brought up his guns. He did it just in time to have his face bite entirely through by Rev. Killian McCarthy, former train robber who had found the Faith. The body of Scraggs flopped to the ground as scores of other creatures surrounded it and began to tear away at his flesh.
"Praise Cthulhu!" squealed the little girl, clapping her hands.
User Reviews
Submitted by hour_man (user info) at 2006-07-05 11:43:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
you know it
Submitted by Moose_in_Heat (user info) at 2006-07-04 13:44:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This story actually made me a little sick to my stomach.
Ewwwww.
Really though, loved it.
Submitted by supadupapupa (user info) at 2006-07-04 03:03:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
nice story
Submitted by sparkle_pink (user info) at 2006-06-29 17:49:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Last night I was trying to fall asleep, pondering my day, when I realized that I never finished reading this. Normally I wouldn't bother going back to find a post, especially when I can't remember the title, but it was that good and I really wanted to know what happened.
Nice work.
Submitted by konohasaiyajin (user info) at 2006-06-28 18:12:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
interesting read. clean story. definately didn't see Cthulhu comming into it at the end there.
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-06-28 15:23:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
at least now it looks like you got more reviews. there.
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-06-28 15:23:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
*sigh*
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-06-28 15:23:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
whiney bitch
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-06-28 15:22:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by livEvil (user info) at 2006-06-28 09:37:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
not bad for a vagina with appendages
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-06-28 08:13:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
this was a really smooth read.
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2006-06-28 05:45:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Damn n' tarnation boy, you is good.
-Dave
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-06-27 19:21:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Y'all been a readin' yer Lovecraft, I see. . .
Submitted by gravitas (user info) at 2006-06-27 18:10:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
congrats, heh.
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-06-27 16:10:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by hour_man (user info) at 2006-06-27 09:05:19 (#)
Ranking: 2
I did read it. It was long. It hurt. Still v good though. NOW STOP CRYING
-----
you're a dumbass, this is NOT too long - just because you are a retard with ADD doesn't make it long.
Submitted by Coleslaw_Murphy (user info) at 2006-06-27 14:41:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This made me look up Cthulhu, so now I'm interested.
Submitted by goferforhire (user info) at 2006-06-27 14:20:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Nice dialectic dialogue there.
Submitted by inion_de_trua (user info) at 2006-06-27 11:13:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
i <3 kaos.
man there's no way i could -2 anything involving little girls and lovecraft. also i like the way you kept in the hick talk. i think that's a nice touch.
i saw a book called taters and maters down in ky and that's what it made me think of.
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2006-06-27 11:02:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
very nice.
Submitted by WildcatMcGee (user info) at 2006-06-27 09:54:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
So gay.
Submitted by Webered (user info) at 2006-06-27 09:46:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Ok, M Night Shyamalan. What's next? A comic book film?
Submitted by hour_man (user info) at 2006-06-27 09:05:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I did read it. It was long. It hurt. Still v good though. NOW STOP CRYING
Submitted by hour_man (user info) at 2006-06-27 09:04:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Stop Crying
Submitted by Bigmike (user info) at 2006-06-27 09:03:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Nicely done.
Submitted by tarnation (user info) at 2006-06-27 07:35:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
fuck!