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    Before The Seven 2: Scary Peter
    Before The Seven 2: Scary Peter
    Before The Seven 2: Scary Peter
    Ebook492 pages8 hours

    Before The Seven 2: Scary Peter

    By Raymond Towers

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    About this ebook

    Some people don’t ask to become heroes. All they want is to live a nice peaceful life, and to get laid every once in a while. Destiny, however, might have other plans for a few of us, evil plans including witches, Satanists, demons, zombies and even possessed babies. One man, Scary Peter, can’t hide from his destiny anymore. Destiny is coming, and it wants to kill him. Rating: HIGH controversy.

    Scary Peter’s Introduction

    (Sighs heavily.)
    Where do I begin?
    I mean, so much heavy shit has gone down, I don’t even know where to start. You probably won’t even believe most of it. I know I wouldn’t, if I hadn’t gone through it myself. Heck, I’d be standing right there next to you calling ‘bullshit’ on the whole thing. But it really happened, man. It happened to me.
    To hell and back, that’s where I’ve gone, and probably where I’m headed to as well. It’s like something bad got a hold of me, and it’s dragging me all over the place like I’m a chunk of meat stuck in the teeth of some big-ass dinosaur. And it’s not just a bad thing that has me clamped in its jaws, either, but the most evil and corrupt thing in the universe. I’m watching this thing trampling down on innocents and chomping them up like so many dried twigs. It’s like a roller coaster ride that I can’t get off of. And I’m on this ride all the time, man, even right now that I’m sitting here talking to you.
    I know what you’re thinking; that I’m some big and stupid biker that fried up one too many brain cells using speed. I’ve got to tell you, I ain’t never used hard drugs in my life. And as for the jeans and jacket, well, what can I say? The chicks dig it. I’m not talking about the ugly ones with all the scars and the tats, but about the pretty office girls at work. You could say that I’m playing the part of a hardcore biker, but let’s get one thing straight. I ain’t no pussy and I ain’t no bitch. I’m not really a troublemaker either. But if push comes to shove, I’m not the type to run away with my tail between my legs, like some others guys I’ve known.
    Except when it comes to the supernatural. Call me a chicken-shit if you want. Let’s see how you react when you have some horned demon gnashing its fangs and dripping saliva right in front of your face, and you’re using all of your strength to keep yourself from becoming its lunch.
    That’s part of how I got nicknamed Scary Peter. I run into some scary shit, and when I tell other people about it, they think it is scary, too. People who don’t know my past assume I’m called Scary Peter because I can look intimidating when I’m not even trying, but I don’t know, that’s just my ‘look.’ I’ve heard that a couple of guys call me ‘Scary Peter’ because they claim I get so scared I wet my pants sometimes, although none of these clowns has the balls to say that to my face.
    I’ll tell you my stories, but I’m not going all the way back to my early childhood or anything, because there isn’t much to tell from back then. Besides, it’s none of your business. Matter of fact, let me start over a bit, but this time I’ll use what I like to call my ‘friendly approach,’ like when I’m training a new employee or giving a revenue rundown to one of my bosses. You just have to pretend that I’m wearing a long sleeve button shirt and a semi-psychedelic tie, instead of the leather jacket and jeans you see me in now.
    (Pauses to snort, and hawks a loogie into a nearby planter.)

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRaymond Towers
    Release dateApr 17, 2013
    ISBN9781301141678
    Before The Seven 2: Scary Peter
    Author

    Raymond Towers

    Raymond Towers is an author of fantasy, horror and science fiction that strays away from the mainstream, plus a little in the way of true paranormal and other genres. He has written and independently published over forty titles, most of them full-length novels and collections, with several more on the way. The author has been a lifelong resident of warm and sunny southern California, a location that pops up frequently in his writing. At the moment, the author is looking for ways to reach new readers all over the world, in addition to pursuing his great love of writing and taking it to the next level.

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      Book preview

      Before The Seven 2 - Raymond Towers

      About the cover: The inset image is simply titled Face Of The Man. It was uploaded by George Hodan, and acquired through the image website Public Domain Pictures.

      About this title: Some people don’t ask to become heroes. All they want is to live a nice peaceful life, and to get laid every once in a while. Destiny, however, might have other plans for a few of us, evil plans including witches, Satanists, demons, zombies and even possessed babies. One man, Scary Peter, can’t hide from his destiny anymore. Destiny is coming, and it wants to kill him. Rating: HIGH controversy.

      #####

      Other e-books by Raymond Towers:

      A Terrible Thing To Waste

      Apocalypse Now! Collection

      Before The Seven 1 – Don Diego Meets Lucky Luis

      Demonic Murmurs Collection

      Dobrynia’s Path 1 – Dark Harbinger

      Dobrynia’s Path 2 – Ragnarok

      Monster Mayhem Collection

      Roaches In The Attic 0 – Non-Retrieval

      Roaches In The Attic 1 – First Contact

      The Black Cellar

      The Throwback

      The Two Sides Of Humburg

      Thorns 1 – True Tales Of The Weird

      Two Bedroom Cottage

      Variant Worlds 1 Collection

      Varriano 1 – The Case Of The Missing Q-Drives

      Before The Seven 2

      Scary Peter

      By Raymond Towers

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2013 Raymond Towers

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      All of the characters in this e-book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, whether living or dead, is purely coincidental.

      This e-book contains a HIGH amount of controversial subject matter.

      Foreword: This novel is a complete and separate work. However, it is set in the Chaos Rift Universe, which is an ongoing and far reaching series. As such, some of the characters and / or events described here may pop up in unexpected places elsewhere in the series.

      #####

      Table Of Contents

      Scary Peter’s Introduction

      Road Trip

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Rumble In La Jolla - The Hellhound

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Eva And Loli

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      The Possession Of Audrie Meadows

      Rumble In La Jolla - The Voodoo Queen

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Graves Come Undone

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Stargazer

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Wrap Up

      About The Author

      Author Website

      #####

      Scary Peter’s Introduction

      (Sighs heavily.)

      Where do I begin?

      I mean, so much heavy shit has gone down, I don’t even know where to start. You probably won’t even believe most of it. I know I wouldn’t, if I hadn’t gone through it myself. Heck, I’d be standing right there next to you calling ‘bullshit’ on the whole thing. But it really happened, man. It happened to me.

      To hell and back, that’s where I’ve gone, and probably where I’m headed to as well, when this is all over. It’s like something bad got a hold of me, and it’s dragging me all over the place like I’m a chunk of meat stuck in the teeth of some big-ass dinosaur. And it’s not just a bad thing that has me clamped in its jaws, either, but the most evil and corrupt thing in the universe. I’m watching this thing trampling down innocents and chomping them up like so many dried twigs. It’s like a roller coaster ride that I can’t get off of. And I’m on this ride all the time, man, even right now that I’m sitting here talking to you.

      I know what you’re thinking; that I’m some big and stupid biker that fried up one too many brain cells using speed. I’ve got to tell you, I ain’t never used hard drugs in my life. And as for the jeans and jacket, well, what can I say? The chicks dig it. I’m not talking about the ugly ones with all the scars and the tats, but about the pretty office girls in the business district. You could say that I’m playing the part of a hardcore biker, but let’s get one thing straight. I ain’t no pussy and I ain’t no bitch. I’m not really a troublemaker either. But if push comes to shove, I’m not the type to run away with my tail between my legs, like some others guys I’ve known.

      Except when it comes to the supernatural. Call me a chicken-shit if you want. Let’s see how you react when you have some horned demon gnashing its fangs and dripping saliva right in front of your face, and you’re using all of your strength to keep yourself from becoming its next bowel movement.

      That’s part of how I got nicknamed Scary Peter. I run into some scary shit, and when I tell other people about it, they think it is scary, too. People who don’t know my past assume I’m called Scary Peter because I can look intimidating when I’m not even trying, but I don’t know, that’s just my ‘look.’ I’ve heard that a couple of guys call me ‘Scary Peter’ because, according to them, I get so scared I wet my pants. None of these clowns has the balls to say that to my face.

      I’ll tell you my stories, but I’m not going all the way back to my early childhood or anything, because there isn’t much to tell from back then. Besides, it’s none of your business. Matter of fact, let me start over a bit, but this time I’ll use what I like to call my ‘friendly approach,’ like when I’m training a new employee or giving a revenue rundown to one of my bosses. You just have to pretend that I’m wearing a long sleeve button shirt and a semi-psychedelic tie, instead of the leather jacket and jeans you see me in now.

      (Pauses to snort, and hawks a loogie into a nearby planter.)

      #####

      Road Trip

      1

      Hi.

      My name is Peter Martinez. I was born in San Diego, California, some thirty-odd years ago, and I’ve stayed in that same area all my life. I lived in East County for a bit, back before my parents split up. My mom moved into an apartment in South Bay when I was little. I guess I might have been twelve or so when this happened.

      Somehow, I made it through high school and graduated. Once I was out in the real world, I realized I had no practical plan for what I wanted to do with my life. City College seemed like a good start, at least while I was sorting things together. My next move was to look for a stable job.

      That’s how I landed in Southside Parking. It’s this little parking management company that handles a small number of valet and surface lot accounts. This guy who used to acquire locations for one of the bigger parking companies founded it. Like a true entrepreneur, this guy, by name of Warren Williams, broke off from the main artery and created his own little vein in the parking industry.

      Originally, my gig was a valet post at a restaurant. I worked three days a week, and those happened to always fall on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Talk about suck-ass days. Tips were okay, between twenty and thirty bucks a shift. I wasn’t getting rich off that, but at least I was taking care of my food and gas. The bulk of my salary went to help my mom with the bills.

      Every once in a while, my boss would have me cover a second location whenever the regular employee that worked it called off sick, or was otherwise unaccounted for. Usually, this was a small bank’s busy parking lot. All I basically did there was take a car count once an hour and scare off people who were using the bank’s parking stalls but heading into the neighboring businesses instead. I did man a couple of other locations, working inside parking booths and directing traffic and whatnot, but this bank’s small parking lot was usually the one I ended up at. Except for being out in the sun all day with very little shade, it wasn’t too horrible.

      Thanks to my size and general demeanor, most of the time I only had to ask people once to park elsewhere. Occasionally, I would get an uppity bitch that would scold me and insult me in ways that would make truck drivers blush. A couple of the rich older women I wanted to slam on the hood of their cars and screw the crap out of, just so I could remind them of who I thought was really in charge. I never acted out on my impulses. Well, maybe I did once, but that’s another story.

      Eventually, my boss landed an account in downtown San Diego. It was this tiny garage in a building full of lawyers. I guess the property manager already had enough trouble with the two major parking companies that monopolized the area. They were now willing to take a chance on Southside. The first person the boss thought of to run this new location was yours truly.

      What wasn’t to like? The garage was only open during business hours, from Monday through Friday. Most of the vehicles belonged to tenants from the suites upstairs. I’d have a bunch of cars entering in the morning, briefly departing for lunch, and leaving for good in the evening. That left me plenty of time to hit the books. Best of all, this building was only open weekdays so I had my weekends off.

      I stayed at that location for five years. About halfway through was when my mom got sick. I quit school and got a second job, taking her to her doctors’ appointments whenever I could and trying to keep up with her medical bills. At the end of it, she passed away. I don’t know, maybe I should have gone back to college full-time back then, because my mom was always urging me to get some kind of degree. Once she was gone college no longer seemed to matter that much.

      My company grew, slowly but steadily. My boss landed an account to run a high traffic, high revenue parking lot adjacent to the Mexican border. By this time, my boss had hired a regional manager to run the day-to-day operations, while he concentrated on the acquisition of more parking lots.

      I didn’t like this new guy from the start. His name was Slocumb Davis. To tell you the truth, I didn’t even like this guy’s name. From what I’d gathered through the grapevine, he’d had some issues with his previous employer, which was one of our competitors, and this was right before he started working for us. He was a highly suspicious type, always switching cars and spying on parking attendants and valets from a spot where we couldn’t see him. He was always trying to find fault somewhere, ready to fire people in an instant, and he seemed to hold a particularly bad grudge against me. Oh, one other thing. Slocumb Davis is a major league wimp.

      Davis was originally put in charge of our new border location in San Ysidro. This was a twenty-four hour operation where he oversaw eight employees and revenue approaching ninety thousand dollars a month. He realized he’d stepped into a bear claw soon after he took up office in the back part of the two-room parking booth. Davis had to maintain revenue levels and engage in aggressive marketing with the local business owners. These Hispanics were naturally leery of Anglos with ugly ties and smug little briefcases. Davis also had to deal with underhanded tactics from nearby competitors, vehicle break-ins, Border Patrol and even illegal alien issues. Davis especially hated dealing with the belligerent drunks frequently wanting to punch his lights out each and every weekend night.

      Good old Davis lasted all of two and a half weeks before he started whining to the owner about how much pressure he was under. As a result, I was asked if I’d like a promotion to a supervisor post at the border location. At that time, I was offered a salary of twelve hundred dollars a month. Since this was more than I was making as a parking attendant, I agreed to take over. Davis managed to write himself almost completely out of the schedule, save for two slow mornings where he counted up the week’s revenues.

      Thanks to that, I pretty much became the unspoken manager of the parking lot within the space of the next month. I was responsible for training new hands, ordering supplies, maintaining competitiveness, implementing new marketing strategies, sorting and turning in revenues, all in addition to surviving the more dangerous aspects of the position. Mr. Davis came in two days a week, flopped his flabby legs up on the counter, shot the shit with whatever attendant happened to be working that shift, and that was pretty much it.

      There had been upwards of thirty people fighting in the lot late one Saturday night. Davis’ usual reaction upon being informed of such perils was; I’m glad I wasn’t there! Not, I hope none of the workers were threatened, or, I hope nobody was seriously injured, but just selfish concern over his own worthless hide. He would be this worried even though the altercation might have occurred two or three days earlier.

      Still, the position was challenging and entertaining, and tailor made for someone like myself. Otherwise I wouldn’t still be working there seven years later.

      I know, I know. So far, this doesn’t read like the horrific life I described in my intro, but I’m getting there. Think of it as an eventual landslide of death and destruction that began life as a couple of pebbles going out for a bounce or two. The first of these pebbles started making its move when Davis drove to the parking lot on a day he wasn’t scheduled to make an appearance.

      Slocumb Davis, Manager of Regional Operations. The pudgy white man told me, relishing the sound of his title. Do you think it’ll ever be, Slocumb Davis, Co-Owner of Southside Parking?

      I refrained from answering. The only time that Davis drove all the way down to San Ysidro was when he was about to spring some bad news on me. This was on a lazy Sunday evening, mind you, and just a few hours from when I typically started my weekend. Seen from any angle, this wasn’t looking good.

      I’ve been saving up some money, you know. Davis confided in me. Pretty soon I’ll have enough cash to make the owner an offer for a fifty percent share of the company. He paused to allow the words to sink in, as well as to ogle a handful of teenage girls heading for the border. Think he’ll go for it?

      After all the years the owner had spent building the company from the ground up, and the comparatively short time in which a fuck-up like Davis would sent the company down the toilet, my first impression was a resounding Fuck No!

      Tactfully, however, I shrugged my shoulders and answered, Sure, why not? You’ve been with the company almost as long as I have.

      Davis glanced in my direction, as if I’d just reminded him that I might one day usurp him out of his post. In fact, I was setting up to do that very thing.

      I’d been sitting on a stool and going over some revenue projections when Davis had come in. Now, I took a moment to stand up in front of him. At five-nine and with a muscular frame, compared to this man’s five-six pudginess, you might say I dwarfed him. Normally, the timid man would back up and step outside, but he was after something today. That overrode his usual state of anxiety. I wondered if growling would provoke a quicker exit from him.

      Behind Davis, and unseen by him, stood the daytime parking attendant. This was the chubby and usually preposterous Edgar. The Mexican attendant was busy flapping his hands by his ears and making a raspberry with his tongue. You’d guess correctly if you thought Edgar didn’t like Davis either.

      I’ve been sitting at this desk too long, I announced. I think I’ll go outside and stretch my legs a little.

      Nothing made Davis more agitated than the thought of exercise. He dropped his theatrics and finally got to the point. I need you to do something for me.

      Of course, that had been his intent all along. It didn’t deter me from going outside though, despite that I had to brush by him to exit the parking booth. Davis caught up with me once I’d crossed the driveway and we both stood on the sidewalk opposite the attendant station.

      He had committed himself to some task, I theorized, and was now looking to pass the buck in my direction. Instead of asking nicely, however, Davis was trying to impose his ill will on me like a tyrant. Hadn’t he learned in all the years we’d worked together that I wasn’t the type to be threatened by his meaningless credentials?

      What would you like me to do? I asked.

      Well, we’ve got this problem, you see. The manager started shuffling around."

      Yeah, okay, what kind of problem do ‘we’ have?

      Davis took a deep breath. There’s this Indian reservation that runs a popular bingo hall. Just this last election they were approved to start adding slot machines. You can guess how this goes. They’re already doing a fair amount of business from bingo and raffles, but converting the place into a casino means they’ll have to step up to a whole new level. If they want to attract the high rollers and the big money, they have to look like they’re serious about it. That means they’ll have to start providing some amenities for their guests. They’ve announced that they’re taking bids on starting up a valet operation.

      Okay, so what does this have to do with me?

      It was at this point that Davis could no longer look me directly in the eye. He turned his back to me and stepped a few feet away. We’ve already done some preliminary work scouting the area during the past few weekends, but we don’t have any idea what the traffic is like during the week.

      Good thing this jackass wasn’t facing me, or he would have seen me rolling my eyes. As usual, he was trying to pass his shit work off on me. Let me get this straight. You want me to drive out to this place and do nothing but count how many cars are sitting the parking lot every couple of hours?

      Davis bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. That’s about right.

      It’s not like you to turn down getting paid to go to a casino.

      Finally, he faced me. I’ve already gone up there twice. I mean, what’s the point of me doing it all over again?

      So, you’re asking me to do you a favor?

      Well, something like that.

      When?

      Uh, tomorrow, Tuesday, Wednesday.

      Leave it to this dummy to try and punk me out of my days off. It was my turn to give my back, as I calculated how I could turn this to my advantage. Where is this place, exactly?

      Angelfire, Arizona.

      Now, I’d been thinking that this place might have been a couple hours drive. Maybe in Riverside County where so many casinos had been springing up before the economy took a big dump on us. What I hadn’t expected was for the location to be in a whole other state. That’s a good drive from here, isn’t it?

      Yeah. Davis said, and I caught his guarded tone.

      In the past, I had done some special errands for the company owner. To give credit to Mr. Williams, he did take decent care of his employees. Usually, the owner paid an adequate stipend for transportation, food and lodging, but that was the owner. Making an agreement with Davis was like making a deal with an electric eel. So, I’ll be using a rental?

      Ah, actually, I was hoping to reimburse you for mileage.

      Right, I thought. Davis was planning on driving around in a fancy new rental car for the next three days, while he excused himself from the task the rental car had been assigned to in the first place.

      I said, You know, my car’s been acting up over the last couple of days. I was planning on taking it into the shop tomorrow morning. I guess I’m going to have to turn you down.

      Like the petulant child that he was, Davis crossed his arms and relented. I think we can get you a rental.

      Since I’d been screwed over by Davis before, I knew well enough to be wary of him. Will I be using the company credit card for food and lodging, or are you going to pay me directly out of the petty cash?

      I must have been getting on the guy’s nerves by then, because he made a pouting face right after I said that. Guess he thought he could go on a shopping spree with the owner’s credit card and not get caught, while I was spending my own personal money to cover his job. Later, he would be collecting my receipts and turning them in as his own. Yes, he had gotten away with doing crap like this before.

      I’ll see what I can do. He said.

      Oh, I thought you might have brought the card with you. I loved tightening the screws on him, as I glanced down at my watch. Look, I’ve only got about an hour before I’m officially on my weekend, so if you want me to do this huge favor for you, you’re going to have to do a couple of things for me. For one, you’re going to have to hand over the credit card. After that, we’re going to call the credit card company and get me the authorization to use it. You’re going to write down the balance on a sheet of paper and we’re both going to put our signatures right below it.

      The normally pale Davis actually reddened when he heard this.

      What really burned me up, though, was when someone tried to take advantage of my days off because I was on salary. And then we’re going to discuss me having next Saturday and Sunday off, along with my regular days, so I can take a four day weekend.

      And that, ladies and germs, is how the ball got rolling.

      The change of pace would be good for me, I figured. I’d been working at the same stinking location for the better part of seven years, and I hardly took any time off. Besides, I wasn’t seeing anybody at the time. I didn’t have anything better to do on my days off than to hang around on a lonely bar stool and wait for some unwitting chick to come by and get snared by me.

      I’d made a few phone calls before I found a car rental place open on a Sunday afternoon. I’d have to drive all the way to the airport and I didn’t have much time to spare. After I dismissed myself from Edgar at work, I went to my apartment and packed a sports tote. Finally, I got a neighbor to trade me a ride to the airport for a twenty-dollar bill.

      Since the Charger in toxic orange looked a little too flashy for me, I settled for the metallic blue Impala. The rental clerk was kind enough to print out a map for me. After signing some paperwork and sliding over the company credit card, I was on the road.

      Man, let me tell you, I guess I’d been cooped up inside that little parking booth too long. Once I left the city behind, I felt as if I was driving on a different planet. I had all the windows down and blasted the Eagles greatest hits on the CD player. I drove past miles and miles of nothing but desert, and I loved every minute of it.

      After about three hours into the road trip, my stomach started complaining that it was empty. It was getting late, too, as it was just past seven. Since I’d already covered about half the distance to Angelfire, I figured I could stop for part of the night and cover the rest of the route after a long nap. Plenty of time, I reasoned, since I didn’t really have to be at the budding bingo hall until the following evening.

      The next town on the map, and the only town for a good distance, was Gila Bend. It wasn’t much to look at, but I didn’t really need much. Just a place to grub down, up-end a couple of beer bottles, and rest my head for a little while.

      I pulled into the badly paved parking lot of the C’mon Inn. As I made my way into the office, I was holding out my company credit card like a winning lottery ticket.

      Come on in to the C’mon Inn! The front desk clerk greeted me. He was an older guy, amiable, big cheeked and bearded. He looked like Kenny Rogers did before his disastrous plastic surgery. What can I do for you?

      I’d like a room for the evening. I answered, calculating how long before I got back on the road. I figured the nightlife in Gila Bend was probably non-existent. I don’t suppose you could give me a discount if I didn’t spend the full night?

      You mean for a few hours? The clerk’s face soured immediately. Maybe you’d better take your business down the road, if you’re inquiring about doing anything against the law.

      I chuckled back. Nothing illegal, buddy. I just figured I might grab me a bite to eat, maybe take a shower and a nap, and hit the road again. Especially if there’s nothing to do in town.

      I’d probably sport an extra large cup of coffee in my grip when I left, as I could already envision myself dozing off and colliding into a clump of cactus out in the boonies somewhere. Call me impatient, but I wanted to get to Angelfire before I gave myself a real chance to unwind.

      My reply seemed to relax the bearded clerk a little, as he sank back into the old chair he’d been sitting in when I came in. Well, unfortunately, our rates are fixed.

      I plunked the credit card on the counter. I had to give it a shot. I’m sure my boss will be going over all the charges with a magnifying glass as soon as he gets the bill. Hell, he probably already called the credit card company and asked them to reduce the credit limit on account of me.

      It was Kenny Roger’s turn to laugh. Ain’t that the truth. I can’t even go out and buy a pack of toilet paper without getting permission from the owner first. I mean, seriously, what is the world coming to these days? You looking for a single bed, right?

      Yeah, that’d be fine. I nodded. I recalled some of the bigger trucks I’d seen rumbling on the road, and how I was a light sleeper when it came to new places. Maybe something a little further back and away from the road, where it’s nice and quiet.

      Got the perfect spot for you, partner. Kenny spun around in his chair and pulled a key ring from a rack holding about a dozen. He slid this on the counter next to the credit card. He even motioned the directions with his head. Drive straight back, hang a right. Might be something for you to do in town, after all.

      Oh, yeah? What’s that?

      Well, it looks like there’s quite a few people over at Nellie’s Diner tonight. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there was some kind of convention somewhere close. Don’t rightly know where these people are spending the night though, ‘cause it sure ain’t here.

      And what direction would the diner be in?

      Just a couple of blocks down the road here. Kenny motioned with his head again, as he briefly confiscated the credit card to swipe it. Don’t usually see that many cars around at any time of year, but they’re here tonight. Yes, sir, they sure are.

      I signed the slip and pocketed the credit card. Maybe it’s the excellent food.

      Could be. Kenny nodded. Nellie makes a heck of a hamburger, complete with all the trimmings. Best burger in town.

      I’ll try one. I nodded back, making my way to the door. Thanks.

      Oh, one more thing. Kenny called out. This time of year, we get sidewinders all over the place.

      This didn’t quite register. The confusion must have shown on my face.

      Yeah, they start coming out at night, because it’s too damn hot for them to move around in the daytime.

      What starts coming out at night?

      Rattlesnakes. Keep an eye out for them.

      If there was a punch-line to that joke, it never showed up. I told Kenny I’d be extra careful as I stepped out, and believe me, I was. The last thing I wanted was to accidentally step on top of a poisonous snake and become acquainted on a first name basis with its fangs.

      The accommodations were basically what you’d expect for thirty-four ninety-five a night. The room had a full size bed that dominated the main room, a toilet, a shower, and a tiny kitchen with a table for two set beside the pair of medium-size windows. The wallpaper and curtains were bearable once the lights were off, and it took me the time equivalent of three yawns to doze off.

      I was awakened two and a half hours later by the excited voices of small children. Peering past the curtains, I discovered that a small family was taking refuge next door. Since I was now up anyhow, I decided it was as good a time as any to find a place to grub down before I hit the road again. My black leather jacket made the walk outside into something I could tolerate, but I will admit that the cold was working overtime to edge in past my defenses. I got into my car as fast as I could.

      Nellie’s Diner, as well as Big Willie’s Bar next door to it, was fairly crowded for being half past nine at night in such a remote part of California. Several huge semi-trucks adorned the unpaved parking area beside the two establishments. With growing trepidation I parked between a pair of these resting bulls. There were quite a few other cars spread out among the trucks, mini-vans and wagons and the like, I noticed during my walk over to the diner’s porch.

      A pair of bulky, denim-clad bikers casually loitered at the foot of the porch, reminding me of two resting Saint Bernards.

      Hey, guys. I greeted. I heard this is the best spot to party on this side of the state. That sound about right?

      Only if you’re buyin’! One of the bikers replied, which brought two full rounds of guffaws from the inebriated pair.

      They were already drunk as skunks, I deduced from their sluggish movements.

      You can’t have a party if ya ain’t got no beer! The second biker, fully bearded and heavy shouldered, pointed erratically in my direction. And you ain’t got no beer!

      They started laughing again.

      Not yet, I don’t. I replied with a smile. But that’s a problem I’m going to take care of as soon as I get me a bite to eat. I might pitch in for a round or two later for the three of us, if you guys are interested.

      Hey, if this guy’s gonna be buyin’ then I’m gonna be drinkin’! The first biker burped. He started to waver to his feet, presumably to head back towards the bar.

      The second man halted him by grabbing on to his thigh, and pressured him back down on his butt.

      He said he’s gonna eat something first. The other reminded him, which caused them both to erupt into girlish giggles.

      Plenty to eat around here! The first biker guffawed. Well, friend, we’ll be a-waitin’ for you at the front of the bar. Once we get our land legs under us again.

      See, my buddy here, The second biker addressed me. Is one of them guys that thinks he can gulp ‘em down like water. He was doin’ fine at it, too, up until he starts spewin’ all over the bar and upsettin’ all the other patrons.

      The bearded biker chuckled, Funniest thing ya ever saw, too.

      I’ll bet. I grinned.

      So, since half of Mike’s dinner is back on the bar, and the other half is on the ground behind this building, The second biker went on. We’re just gonna wait it out a little while longer before we go back inside. Right, Mike?

      Ya think I can’t walk straight, huh? Mike asked, pushing the other’s arm away. Watch this. The biker turned, stumbled on the porch’s single step, and flopped down heavily on the wooden boards.

      Aww, haww, haww, haww! His companion bellowed, almost doubling over.

      Shut up, Earl! Mike fumed, from his new resting place sprawled on the porch.

      You all right there? I asked. Mike didn’t appear to be injured, save maybe for his ego. ’All right, after a quick stop at the diner, I’ll head into the bar. If you guys see me inside, come on by. My treat.

      Friend, you have yourself a deal. The second biker agreed, holding out a hand to seal the contract. I’m Earl.

      I’m Peter. We shook hands.

      And I’m drunk as shit. Mike snickered.

      See you guys later. I waved, avoiding the bulky obstacle lying before me and stepping onto the building’s porch.

      It’s the Devil’s Night. Mike muttered as I passed him.

      What’s that? I paused.

      Tonight’s the Devil’s Night. He repeated. It’s the thirteenth of the month.

      I recalled the date. So it is.

      Aw, don’t you worry about Mike. He’s loonier than hell. Earl dismissed, prodding his friend with a heavy boot. He’s always raving about some superstitious crap or other. You shoulda heard him ramblin’ on about the Easter Bunny and the conspiracy behind that!

      There is a conspiracy! Mike defended himself. The government always makes a set number of them yella and pink marshmallow bunnies for Easter! Ever since Nixon and Watergate! Look that shit up if you don’t believe me!

      Earl rolled his eyes upward. We’ll catch up with you later, man. He said, briefly glancing down at his fallen friend. Maybe.

      I soon left the two behind and kept on strolling over to the diner’s wide doors. As I entered, I noticed an older, heavyset cook standing just inside, brandishing a baseball bat. Those guys giving you any trouble?

      Not at all. I admitted. They’re just a little drunk.

      These bikers, sometimes they rouse my customers. The cook grumbled, leading me through the crowded aisle. You sure they weren’t giving you any trouble? I can have Sheriff Lampkin over here in ten minutes.

      No trouble at all. I answered, passing a few handfuls of families, small packs of leering but reasonably dressed men, and a large number of loud truck drivers. The place was swollen with people. Looks like a busy night.

      Yeah, it is. The cook surveyed the diner. All the tables are taken, but I think I can squeeze you in on the front counter. Go ahead and take a seat, right over there. The man pointed with the bat. I’ll have one of my girls take care of you in a minute.

      Thanks. I said, finding and taking the last remaining seat. On the table to my left, a group of truckers were engaged in a deep philosophical conversation, centering on the authenticity of some movie star’s boobs. Plastic or not, was the overriding question. To my direct right sat a gnarled old man, a shrunken fossil with protruding, chameleon-like eyes.

      How you doing, old timer?

      The old man stared at me a bit, his eyeballs stretching out from his sockets so much I thought they might fall out and onto his lap. You know, almost every time Big Willie goes out there with his meat-beater stick, he cracks somebody’s skull open. That’s ironic how he tends to keep the peace now, since he used to be such a hell-raiser himself back in his younger days.

      Big Willie? I asked. He owns the diner, and the bar too?

      Yup, him and his wife Nellie. The fossil nodded. Owned it some twenty years now, the both of ‘em. They each take turns running a place, until they get fed up with it and trade places to run the place next door. That’s why Big Willie is running Nellie’s Diner right now, and why Big Nellie is running Willie’s Bar. Willie-Nellie, willie-nillie. Get it?

      I wasn’t sure I did.

      Yeah, sure. I managed anyway. Lot of people here tonight. Is something going on in town?

      People are here from all over tonight. The old man agreed. All over the place. California, Arizona, Nevada, even some from as far as Texas.

      I noticed that when I came in, from reading all the license plates. I said. It’s a habit I picked up after working in so many parking lots. Are all of these people just passing through?

      The old man leaned closer. There will be some strange goings-on tonight, believe you me. Won’t be safe to walk the streets. Best to stay indoors. That’s what I’m aiming to do. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be doing the same thing.

      Unsure of exactly how I should respond to that, an uneasy silence ensued between the two of us. Luckily, I was soon rescued from the awkward situation when a cute brunette in a light blue uniform appeared on the other side of the bar.

      Howdy there! She said perkily, pulling a pen out from behind an ear and a notepad from an apron pocket. What can I get for you?

      While talking to the old man, I’d been studying the item display just behind the counter. Give me a medium burger and fries. I said, when the old man muttered something under his breath. I glanced over, but he simply stared back with his big, buggy eyes. After a few moments, I turned back towards the waitress. Uh, everything on the burger, except for tomatoes. And a small soda, please.

      The young lady finished jotting down the order, then gave the old man the iciest stare and grimace I had ever seen. Don’t you be scaring off our customers, Randolph, or I’m gonna tell my dad to kick you out like he did the last time. She turned back to me and smiled prettily. Be about ten minutes, sir.

      As soon as she was out of earshot, old man Randolph whispered. She’s one of them, but her father doesn’t believe it. He’s too busy running this place to know what’s really going on. On nights like tonight, she’d probably be out with the rest of them. Since she’s on duty, I bet you she won’t go. If she did, she might give herself away.

      Are you serious? I asked, in disbelief.

      Dead serious. My best advice is for you to stay indoors tonight, like I told you before.

      Here I was, sitting next to a guy older than dirt, listening to what amounted to be a campfire ghost story, and a crappy one at that. Okay, tell me why I should stay indoors, and what all these out-of-town people have to do with it.

      There will be strange goings-on tonight. The old man repeated, glancing behind us and towards the diner’s over-sized windows. You mark my words.

      "Buddy, it is

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