| Horror and Thriller Fiction posted July 28, 2016 |
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Short Story-Contest Entry
The Hillbilly Horror Hour
by michaelcahill
“Well, howdy ho, lovers of the grotesque and twisted. Me and Buckshot here gotcha a dandy for the wee hours. Get your 'ho hos' and 'who has' lined up, a bottle of white lightnin’, and you and that gal, whose name you’ve yet to learn, are in for a teat … er a treat. Whatcha think there, Buckshot?”
“Dem ders all dat whatcha gonna do with ‘em, Unk. Bet she’d wanna young un too. Sho nuff been ready Freddie down by the bandon bait shack. Well, heh, heh, heh. All dem ducks swimmin’ in the pond gots water to keep ‘em a float. Don’t say much for the Bible, iffin’ ya ask me. But that’s a Muslim for ya.”
“Yep. Couldn’t have said it myself. I ain’t seen this Eye of the Beholder before. But it’s full a stars. Abe Vigoda, John Denver … must be before he got kilt, Bo Diddly, he seems to be in everything, Donald Dubowisee … what the hell? D U B O I S E … never heard a him. Oh, Bambi Bodicker. Yeah, she’s a sight for sore … what the hell ya doin there? Get a glass, this is a family show. Announce the movie.”
“Yessir, then. Watch this here what’s a commin’ on now. How’s that, Unk?”
“Yeah, that’ll do, Buck.”
“Oh, Miss Mary, your eyes are like sunshine on the waters. You make me happy. I’ll be fried in oil with beer batter fish strips if it don’t make me cry.”
“Shucks, Ruthaford McGilicudy the Third, if you had a song you could sing to me, you could give me a day just like today and we could go crabbin’ down by the crick, or frog giggin’ up by Kelsey’s pond.”
As Mary and Ruthaford pitched woo as though they were tarrin’ a roof, the Vampawolfers came tip toen' out of the woods. There were a dozen if there was one. Well, Mary and Ruthaford was so busy a grindin’ on each other like they were makin the fixin’s for corn tortillas they didn’t even notice the droolin', snortin' howlin' visitor.
All of a sudden in a flash right that instant, in the blink of an eye, the head Vampawolf howled in Mary’s ear, “I’m a fixin to suck the blood right outta that purdy neck a yours. How’s that float your canoe?”
Mary reached up under her skirt, pulled out a paper bag full of garlic and held it up to the snout of that darn Vampawolf. She was prepared. That Vampawolf dang near pooped himself as he ran back to his fellow Vampawolf’s and told them, “That der gal is smart as a school a guppies, she’s got garlic stashed in the first place I’d look. Let’s get outta here.”
Mary and Ruthaford got faced and passed out under some kind of tree. They were still virgins, saving themselves for Friday night’s hootenanny. Joey Dee and the Starlighters would be playing. It would be a magical night.
“Now stop your ballin’, Buckshot.” Them Vampawolf’s were bound to find someone, probably that same night. Not every gal is slicker n snot like old Mary. Heck, they’re probably sucking the life out of some dumb girl in Calvin Klein tight fitting jeans right this moment. Now, say good night.”
“The true function of the thinking mind is not thought; it is the chaos of interpretation. What doesn’t it mean leaves the answer to the unasked question and the pathway to the tunnels entrance. Whether or not you enter it depends on your capacity to use geometric logic and think in abstractions as set forth in the works of George Foreman. Is it really healthy to drain the grease? Ask his wife as she makes peanut butter sandwiches for his seven sons named George. Did she marry him for his brains? The obvious answer is, yes.”
“Goodnight from Buckshot here, and from his favorite uncle, that would be me, Thelma Notaman.”
“Whew. Good job, Auntie Thelma. That gives me a headache trying to sound like an idiot. Where the hell are you finding these movies? That had to be the dumbest flick I’ve ever seen. For God’s sake, the wolf-vampire creature was wearing Air-Jordan’s. Aren’t they supposed to have paws?”
“I got it at the library. They throw out whatever doesn’t sell at their Friday remainder’s sale. I think it’s an amateur project. I don’t care. No one is watching anyway. You seemed to like that female lead quite a bit. Find her interesting did you?”
“I can’t deny it. I am a hormonally insane seventeen-year-old. Wouldn’t you worry if she didn’t raise some moderate interest from me? My question is, what the hell was Abe Vigoda doing in a movie like that? He’s a good actor with some credentials.”
“Don’t you know? Everyone thinks he’s dead. They cut off his royalties. Even Social Security cut him off. He’s broke. Why do you think I hired him to sweep up here? It’s a damn shame really. But hell, that scene in the Godfather was so convincing. I get the creeps just looking at him. It’s like looking at a ghost. I can’t believe he escaped. It isn’t like Michael to leave loose ends like that. I blame Tom. He’s adopted you know, not a real Corleone. Hey! Abe! You gonna empty dees waste baskets, or what?"
"Can't ya gimme a break here, Miss Notaman, ya know, for old times sake."
"Sorry, Abe, can't do it. This is the real world, not some movie."
Dr. Terry Fying's Crumbling Crypt 3 contest entry
“Well, howdy ho, lovers of the grotesque and twisted. Me and Buckshot here gotcha a dandy for the wee hours. Get your 'ho hos' and 'who has' lined up, a bottle of white lightnin’, and you and that gal, whose name you’ve yet to learn, are in for a teat … er a treat. Whatcha think there, Buckshot?”
“Dem ders all dat whatcha gonna do with ‘em, Unk. Bet she’d wanna young un too. Sho nuff been ready Freddie down by the bandon bait shack. Well, heh, heh, heh. All dem ducks swimmin’ in the pond gots water to keep ‘em a float. Don’t say much for the Bible, iffin’ ya ask me. But that’s a Muslim for ya.”
“Yep. Couldn’t have said it myself. I ain’t seen this Eye of the Beholder before. But it’s full a stars. Abe Vigoda, John Denver … must be before he got kilt, Bo Diddly, he seems to be in everything, Donald Dubowisee … what the hell? D U B O I S E … never heard a him. Oh, Bambi Bodicker. Yeah, she’s a sight for sore … what the hell ya doin there? Get a glass, this is a family show. Announce the movie.”
“Yessir, then. Watch this here what’s a commin’ on now. How’s that, Unk?”
“Yeah, that’ll do, Buck.”
“Oh, Miss Mary, your eyes are like sunshine on the waters. You make me happy. I’ll be fried in oil with beer batter fish strips if it don’t make me cry.”
“Shucks, Ruthaford McGilicudy the Third, if you had a song you could sing to me, you could give me a day just like today and we could go crabbin’ down by the crick, or frog giggin’ up by Kelsey’s pond.”
As Mary and Ruthaford pitched woo as though they were tarrin’ a roof, the Vampawolfers came tip toen' out of the woods. There were a dozen if there was one. Well, Mary and Ruthaford was so busy a grindin’ on each other like they were makin the fixin’s for corn tortillas they didn’t even notice the droolin', snortin' howlin' visitor.
All of a sudden in a flash right that instant, in the blink of an eye, the head Vampawolf howled in Mary’s ear, “I’m a fixin to suck the blood right outta that purdy neck a yours. How’s that float your canoe?”
Mary reached up under her skirt, pulled out a paper bag full of garlic and held it up to the snout of that darn Vampawolf. She was prepared. That Vampawolf dang near pooped himself as he ran back to his fellow Vampawolf’s and told them, “That der gal is smart as a school a guppies, she’s got garlic stashed in the first place I’d look. Let’s get outta here.”
Mary and Ruthaford got faced and passed out under some kind of tree. They were still virgins, saving themselves for Friday night’s hootenanny. Joey Dee and the Starlighters would be playing. It would be a magical night.
“Now stop your ballin’, Buckshot.” Them Vampawolf’s were bound to find someone, probably that same night. Not every gal is slicker n snot like old Mary. Heck, they’re probably sucking the life out of some dumb girl in Calvin Klein tight fitting jeans right this moment. Now, say good night.”
“The true function of the thinking mind is not thought; it is the chaos of interpretation. What doesn’t it mean leaves the answer to the unasked question and the pathway to the tunnels entrance. Whether or not you enter it depends on your capacity to use geometric logic and think in abstractions as set forth in the works of George Foreman. Is it really healthy to drain the grease? Ask his wife as she makes peanut butter sandwiches for his seven sons named George. Did she marry him for his brains? The obvious answer is, yes.”
“Goodnight from Buckshot here, and from his favorite uncle, that would be me, Thelma Notaman.”
“Whew. Good job, Auntie Thelma. That gives me a headache trying to sound like an idiot. Where the hell are you finding these movies? That had to be the dumbest flick I’ve ever seen. For God’s sake, the wolf-vampire creature was wearing Air-Jordan’s. Aren’t they supposed to have paws?”
“I got it at the library. They throw out whatever doesn’t sell at their Friday remainder’s sale. I think it’s an amateur project. I don’t care. No one is watching anyway. You seemed to like that female lead quite a bit. Find her interesting did you?”
“I can’t deny it. I am a hormonally insane seventeen-year-old. Wouldn’t you worry if she didn’t raise some moderate interest from me? My question is, what the hell was Abe Vigoda doing in a movie like that? He’s a good actor with some credentials.”
“Don’t you know? Everyone thinks he’s dead. They cut off his royalties. Even Social Security cut him off. He’s broke. Why do you think I hired him to sweep up here? It’s a damn shame really. But hell, that scene in the Godfather was so convincing. I get the creeps just looking at him. It’s like looking at a ghost. I can’t believe he escaped. It isn’t like Michael to leave loose ends like that. I blame Tom. He’s adopted you know, not a real Corleone. Hey! Abe! You gonna empty dees waste baskets, or what?"
"Can't ya gimme a break here, Miss Notaman, ya know, for old times sake."
"Sorry, Abe, can't do it. This is the real world, not some movie."
 Recognized |
There's some song lyrics from John Denver parodied within. From: "Sunshine On My Shoulders".
Humble apologies to Abe Vigoda who did indeed pass away this year. It was a running gag for years and years that he was dead based on the powerful scene in the Godfather movie when he asks for a break when he's about to be driven away to be snuffed out. They tell him, "Sorry, can't do it." The scene is so convincing, everyone considered him dead for the next several decades of his very active life. R.I.P. A very talented actor. He got a kick out of it.
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