The Haunted Traveler December 2017 Edition

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conjured of kicking it in the face flew out the window. Turning tail, he fled, yelling vile
curses. Old Jerry chortled in contempt and went looking for another Sprite.
Sweat stinging his eyes, lungs broken for all the air they sucked in, James stumbled into
the cornfield’s vicinity. It was out in the middle of nowhere, like Old Jerry’s mind. Tall
pine trees surrounded the area as far as the eye could see, as if civilization didn’t exist a
few miles away. Not even the sound of the highway reached this secluded spot.
A grimacing scarecrow with stitched mouth stood guard in the middle of the field
with a host of crows roosting on its thin arms. A cowboy cabin languished in the
shade of a gnarled Ponderosa. Its small window faced the field. Beside the cabin, plastic
covered a pile of wood.
Staggering onto the gray porch, James sat down, ready to give himself up for dead.
To his surprise, the miniscule fiend had vanished. As the sky merged into orange and
yellow, the last rays of light touched the dirt road. What time had it been when he had
left the house that the sun was setting? He hadn’t witnessed such a sunset in eons, but he
didn’t care. His fingers itched for a grimy controller and the blue rays of a video game.
Twilight fell, chilling his skin, though he wore a thick black sweater. Going inside, he
looked around for a thermostat. The cowboy cabin had all the amenities one needed: a
hard bed, fireplace, one candle, a rusty stove, buggy blankets, a rickety chair and a keg of
gasoline because the crazy old man used it as a fire-starter. Not a single zap of electricity
had ever graced that cabin. James would have to make his own fire if he wanted to be
warm. What a travesty to chop one’s own wood! For one thing, James was afraid of
axes. They clove toes AND video games. Plus, he couldn’t make a fire.
Cursing like a madman, he sat on the hard bed and stared into space. What was he
supposed to do now? To bring a book was out of the question for he despised reading.
Why hadn’t he brought his 3DS? He rolled his eyes and flung himself back on the bed
in annoyance. KLOCK! His stink head smacked the hard wall instead of the mattress.
“ARGH!” He sat up and punched the wall as if it had done it on purpose. He just
hurt himself and he kicked it instead. He paced like a lunatic around the room, bored
out of his mind. “What am I supposed to do?” Nothing bothered to answer him.
As the evening grew colder he realized that he had better learn to make a fire or
they’d surely find his reeking butt frozen in the morning. It wasn’t like he cared how
anyone would feel about losing him, if they cared at all. Some weirdo doctor might do
an autopsy. That meant he’d be laying butt naked on an operating table. He wasn’t sexy
enough for that. What would they say at his funeral? His horrid grandpa’s woody voice
croaked in his head: “I knew diabetes in that BIG coffin. He was tall for nothing!”
Tobias’s voice chimed in, “Dr. Man, did you see where I shot him in the butt?”
“Cheap old man,” James snarled. “Eff Tobias!” Picking up the ax, he marched to
the logs piled against the side of the cabin. Glancing in trepidation at this place where
Bigfoot hung out, he placed a log on the dusty ground and swung. CRACK! The log
was the only one with a knot in it. James threw back his head and howled in frustration.