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Bubba and the Curse of the Boogity-Boo
Bubba and the Curse of the Boogity-Boo
Bubba and the Curse of the Boogity-Boo
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Bubba and the Curse of the Boogity-Boo

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It’s two weeks until Bubba’s wife, Willodean, is due to have their baby, the moon may or may not be full, his mother, Miz Demetrice, is up to her old tricks, some movie people are in town making a film about an old and eerie legend of the Boogity-Boo, and Bubba can’t find the right kind of ice cream for his pernickety significant other. Bubba is plain ol’ worried sick about Willodean and the impending birth. It’s so much so that when the film director asks for help with a little mystery, Willodean makes Bubba go to get his mind off his fears. At the secluded and creepy film set on Foggy Mountain, there’s a furtive Bigfoot-like creature meandering about and scaring the crew off, so what’s a good ol’ boy to do? Why, he’s there to kick some tushie all the way to Tuscaloosa and chew bubblegum, and he’s fresh out of bubblegum.

Book Nine of the Bubba Mystery series.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherC.L. Bevill
Release dateDec 21, 2018
ISBN9780463268025
Bubba and the Curse of the Boogity-Boo
Author

C.L. Bevill

C.L. Bevill is the author of several books including Bubba and the Dead Woman, Bubba and the 12 Deadly Days of Christmas, Bubba and the Missing Woman, Bayou Moon, The Flight of the Scarlet Tanager, Veiled Eyes, Disembodied Bones, and Shadow People. She is currently at work on her latest literary masterpiece.

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    Bubba and the Curse of the Boogity-Boo - C.L. Bevill

    Dedication

    In memory of two good women.

    Avelie Boudreaux Laws

    1948 – 2018

    and

    Nancy Musgrave Routen Whitney

    1937 – 2018

    Rest in peace.

    Prologue

    The Curse of the Boogity-Boo

    Previous to the events of the novel…

    When the moon is as plum-full as a pregnant lady on her way to the hospital, and she’s ready to pop, then it’s time for the Boogity-Boo to come out a-creepin’, the man said in a voice that foretold of the tall tale to come. The man’s name was Lloyd Goshorn, and he lived in Pegramville, Texas. Sometimes he was the town drunk, but that was a title heavily disputed by Newt Durley, another local resident with many a stint in both jail and recovery center alike. (Newt’s challenge to the town drunk title was specifically related to his family’s operation of a still in Sturgis Woods and the fact that Newt attempted to drink away the profits from the illegal venture on a daily basis.) Other times Lloyd was a fairly competent handyman, which also had robust competition by various peoples in the town because steady work wasn’t falling off the trees like apples in a strong breeze. Regardless of his other titles, Lloyd was a gossip. He adored a good gossiping and gave as good as he got. Sometimes he even added details that weren’t accurate. Sometimes he even lied. On many a sultry evening at the Dew Drop Inn, he was known to tell a good story in exchange for a mug of the cheapest beer available. (Even Newt couldn’t vie with that, as he was wont to repeatedly tell the story of the time a corpse fell on top of him from the heavens. Since Pegramville was a place where corpses were liable to turn up frequently of late, no one was overly impressed, and hearing the same story for the fifth time on the same evening got tremendously boring.)

    On this precise humid evening at the very same previously mentioned inn where the dew and drop abounded, Lloyd had found himself a good mark for scoring free drinks. She was a good-looking woman in her fifties cradling a bottle of Midori in one arm and reclining halfway across the bar on the other. She sprawled drunkenly as she listened to him speak of fiends, mankind, and cadavers that had been located by Bubba Snoddy, furthermore, she was particularly intrigued by Lloyd’s latest story.

    Boogity-Boo, she repeated. I think I need to hear about that one. She turned to her companion on her left side and grumbled, Anything to get my mind off my dead freakin’ husband.

    Marquita, the man murmured warningly. He was in his fifties, too, with a receding hairline and very similar brown eyes.

    Risley, Marquita said back in very much the same tone of voice. She took a pull of the Midori and placed the bottle on the bar before her, considering its green apple color.

    Marquita, Lloyd repeated thoughtfully. I heard that name before.

    Marquita passed the bottle of Midori to Lloyd, and Lloyd looked at the green liqueur suspiciously. That be alcohol, right?

    That be alcohol, Marquita agreed. You drink some and then tell me about the Boogity-Boo.

    A man to Lloyd’s right said, Marquita is the wife of that fella, Kristoph Thaddeus, who got killed on that movie set. Think she done took over the whole kit and caboodle. Mebe she’ll hire you to play a drunken zombie. Guffaws followed in quick response to the mental image of Lloyd playing an inebriated member of the walking dead.

    Lloyd cast a quick eye upon Marquita as if to see if he could identify her for rumor’s sake. However, the lure of liquor overpowered him, and he went for the Midori instead. He simply spilled three fingers worth into an empty beer mug and didn’t notice half a dozen people visibly wincing as the green liqueur mixed with the remnants of a brown lager.

    Stabbed to death, Risley said.

    By Bubba Snoddy, someone else said.

    I don’t believe Bubba would stab no one to death, someone else said. Then another voice said, "But his mama, Miz Demetrice, would. I hear tell she once kilt her husband by stabbing a thousand ice picks into him. At the same time."

    How do you stab a thousand ice picks into someone at the same time?

    I hear Miz D filleted her husband with meat hooks that she got from the butcher shop. Old rusty ones. Took hours to cut him into pieces a sushi chef would have been jealous over.

    No, she strapped him to the end of a bazooka and fired it. Supposedly it belonged to some Snoddy who brought it back from WWII in his ruck sack.

    Weren’t piranhas imported and put into that koi pond for that very purpose?

    Have you seen the koi in that pond?

    Ifin there were piranhas, then the koi prolly ate them.

    Boogity-Boo, Marquita said in a clear effort to redirect the errant conversation then firmly grasped the bottle of Midori. She brought it up to her lips and was ready for another pull when Risley touched her arm.

    Careful, sweetie, Risley cautioned. You’re going to be barfing green stuff up for the next three days at the rate you’re going.

    Marquita very deliberately took a long drink from the bottle all while staring at Risley in a very rebellious manner. She slammed the bottle down on the bar and said again, Boogity-Boo.

    Lloyd nodded and began his torrid tale of things that go bump in the night. On the night of the full moon, the Boogity-Boo comes a-creeping. Folks ain’t for shore ifin the Boo is a fella gone wild or an animal gone spooky. He’s seven feet tall and covered with dark hair from head to toe. He’s got long claws and longer teeth that will scare the ghost out of a haunted house. He blends in with the brush and the thickets, and a fella could be standing next to him without seeing him until he wants you to see him. He ain’t really a man, you see, but a monster in the flesh…

    Does the Boo eat anyone? Marquita asked. If there’s a monster, it’s got to be the kind that eats people. Or just cuts them open for the hell of it.

    Lloyd shushed Marquita. He was in the midst of a tall tale and did not wish interruption.

    Folks have gone out to the Foggy Mountain wilderness, and they ain’t never been seen again, he said and pulled a pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket. He tapped two cigarettes out and offered one to Marquita, who took it. He used a battered Bic lighter to light both, and they smoked while everyone in the bar quietly waited.

    In fact, one night in 1996 the Hovious family was at their house on Foggy Mountain. The next day Old Man Hovious was dead and so was his wife and their six children. And no one knows what happened.

    The Boo, someone whispered. The Boo got them.

    They say the Boo comes out on the full moon and looks for folks too dumb to be inside and behind locked doors, and the good Lord knows, there be lots of dumb folks in Pegram County. His eyes wrinkled as he considered what he had just said. It’s a wonder more peoples aren’t missing.

    Marquita puffed on her cigarette and paused to take another hit off the bottle of Midori.

    Old Man Hovious was a warlock, you see. An old one from an old family that dabbled in deals with Satan hisself, and he knew what he was doin’ when he came to settle on Foggy Mountain, Lloyd said. He built that house on top in that very place and kept building on it with money no one done knew where he got it. It had ten bedrooms and a ballroom and they say there’s tunnels into the mountain, too, so he could escape from the threat of witch hunters.

    Someone made a disbelieving noise. Old Man Hovious thought a communist horde was going to invade, so he bought that place from a hippie commune and made himself some bomb shelters. It had ten bedrooms because they had twenty or thirty folks living up there. The voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. They used to run around necked. My daddy used to tell me about it. That’s why he had those binoculars in the back seat.

    No naysayers, Lloyd interrupted. Chillen disappeared the summer of ‘98. So did animals. Also, some mannequins from the department store.

    ‘96, someone corrected him, and you took the mannequins. In fact, they’re still in front of your shack.

    Not in my version, Lloyd muttered. When the chillen disappeared, a mob formed fueled by rage and heartbreak.

    What are…chillen? Risley asked.

    Children, Marquita answered. She took another tug of the Midori and wiped a green drip away from her chin.

    So, with pitchforks and torches, the mob advanced on Foggy Mountain, Lloyd went on as if no one had said a word. It was a dangerous time. Folks were angry and scared. They knew Old Man Hovious was up to no-goodnik on Foggy Mountain. Blood sacrifices and spell casting and definitely some cheating on his income taxes, too. His voice lowered to a brief whisper. He used to claim ten chillen on his taxes, don’t you know. He coughed and went on, It was frightenin’ and folks were ready to jump like a mule done kicked them on their sit-upons.

    Risley chuckled. I love this town! Marquita looked at him sharply and he frowned, adding, Except the whole dead Kristoph thing, of course.

    Knowing that death was coming for him and his own, Old Man Hovious cast a spell, a supreme terrible spell that brought the very earth to life in the form of…the Boogity-Boo, Lloyd trailed off to take a deep drink of the Midori in his beer mug and then he stuck his cigarette in the corner of his mouth as he swallowed. The old man said he would have his revenge ifin they came up the hill to threaten him and his own. They wouldn’t be happy ever again, and they would always be lookin’ over their shoulders in case something large and tall came creepin’ up behind them. He paused for a good ten seconds and then added, It was the curse of the Boogity-Boo.

    The curse of the Boogity-Boo, someone whispered and then there was an echo. Boo. Boo. Boo.

    Stop that echoing, Lloyd said shortly. You’re killing my buzz. He cleared his throat and looked at his mark. Marquita was enthralled, and that was just as Lloyd wanted her to be. Let the flow of free alcohol continue unabated.

    Old Man Hovious had an ancient witch’s grimoire, the grimmest grimoire that was ever, well, grimmed, and was passed down in his family ever since they came over from wherever it was that they came. Lloyd turned slightly and pointed with his beer mug. Greenish-brown liquid sloshed. It was a shame there wasn’t a spotlight in the inn so that he could have the proper moment in the limelight. He said the words and sacrificed his own family for it. Six chillen and two dogs. One cat. Three goldfish. Mebe a pygmy hamster. Also a chicken. I think one of the goats got away and was found three miles away with all its fur white, and it had been a black goat before that. He shook his head. Anyway, Old Man Hovious did them all in, and no one knows how the deed was done because when they was found, it was as if they had just fallen over in their tracks. No stab wounds. No choking bruises. No signs of poison. Just dead. D-E-A-D.

    Lloyd paused for effect because he couldn’t not pause for effect. A toddler would have paused for effect. A rock, even, would have gone silent, although a rock was probably already silent.

    And Old Man Hovious was torn asunder, he went on in a sonorous voice. Fifty-seven pieces of him on every corner of the property. FIFTY-SEVEN! They say the psychedelic bus that was left there will never be the same on account of all the blood that was spilled on it.

    Wait, didn’t he say Old Man Hovious built it, not the hippies? So why was there a psychedelic bus?

    Shh.

    And when the mob showed up, ready to string Old Man Hovious up by his gonads, they found the remains, and no one could say what really happened except one lone ranch hand who muttered the words the very first time. He said the Boogity-Boo had come. Old Man Hovious had created the monster from the dust of the earth and from the bones of his victims, and the monster had wreaked havoc. He came on the full moon and brought deadity-dead deadness with him. There was another dramatic pause and then came, Ain’t no one sees the Boo and lives to tell the story.

    Didn’t the ranch hand live? asked someone. Wait, was it a commune or was it a ranch?

    And if folks don’t live after seeing the Boo, then how do they keep telling the story?

    The Boo leaves one person alive to tell the story, Lloyd added quickly, so that folks will know of him. The Boo is tied to the ground where the blood was spilt, and he cain’t leave there, so he waits for people to forget about him and come exploring.

    If he wants folks to forget, then why does he leave one alive? someone asked.

    The Boo is borne of magic and black soullessness, Lloyd said, and who kin say what his intent is or isn’t. All I knows is that I won’t go up on Foggy Mountain, not for a million billion gazillion dollars, because that curse is still about, and a man would have to be a fool to try to poke a grizzly bear in the family jewels and stand there asking why no one was laughing.

    Marquita took a long drink of Midori and passed the bottle back to Lloyd who emptied it into the beer mug and shook it just to make certain it was empty.

    The curse of the Boogity-Boo, Marquita said. Sounds like a horror movie, doesn’t it?

    Sounds like a recipe for disaster, Risley said ominously.

    Maybe both, Marquita said and laughed uproariously.

    Chapter 1

    Bubba and the Curse of the

    Lack of a Certain Something

    Bubba Snoddy wasn’t happy. It was a state of being to which folks in Pegram County could relate because of its frequency of late. Bubba = unhappy = everyone is unhappy = the world might be unhappy, too. It wasn’t that Bubba was mad at people or that he was angry at anything in particular. It was that he was unhappy. His unhappiness was a black cloud that flowed over the landscape and immersed everyone in it. This is the last place on my list before I’m going to the Super Walmart, he announced with a distinctly sour tone.

    Surely not, said Herbert Longboom, owner and proprietor of the local five-and-dime store. Don’t even say that. I hate people who go to the Super Walmart. Super Walmart ain’t done us a lick of good. All these folks drive up there and skip here and I got things marked at ninety-nine cents. I’m goin’ to go out of bizness on account of folks goin’ to Super Walmart. Those people in Arkansas are all billionaires because of peoples goin’ to Super Walmart. I wish I could open a Super Walmart.

    I went to the BuyMeQuik, Bubba said prosaically, and alls they got is Blue Bell and some other kind that sounds like it’s from central Asia. He made a face. I cain’t even pronounce the name even ifin I wanted to try.

    Hmm, did you try—

    The Flying W Truck Stop and Grocery Store, but Mrs. Peabody ain’t pleased to see me on account of all those gov’ment people setting up shop in her parking lot a few months ago, Bubba said and rubbed his chin.

    Bubba glanced in the mirror that was centered on the wall behind the appliance he stood in front of and considered his appearance. He was still six four in his stocking feet, and his hair was dark brown. His eyes were blue, the same cornflower blue as his mother’s. Normally he weighed in at a solid two forty, but he was confident that weight had dropped off him like a bird depositing a smelly load on a statue’s head. Those cornflower blue eyes had some black rings around them and not in an emo teenager’s facial makeup kind of way. He was tired and he was worried and he was not happy and it all showed in his reflection. Why in the name of peaches and cream do you have a mirror behind the freezer?

    Herbert shrugged. To see happy faces when they pick out something from there? he answered weakly. Did you try—

    I went to Bufford’s Gas and Grocery, too, Bubba said. They got something that says it’s made in China. Now I ask you how do they get that from China to here without it spoiling? You also have to ask yourself where did George Bufford get it because he’s been known to dumpster dive for dairy products behind supermarkets. I don’t reckon expiration dates mean a whole lot to him.

    Herbert’s face wrinkled. "I don’t care to buy anything from George Bufford. My sister got sick from something she bought from there. She had to go to a hospital in Dallas, and that was when we learned all about T. saginata. That fella can grow up to 65 feet, although the one in my sister was only about five feet. George should be ashamed of hisself. I have a mind to take that T. saginata in a specimen jar and present it to him when he eats breakfast at the Eat ‘Em Up Café. That’ll fix his little red wagon."

    So then I went to three other grocery stores, Bubba said, plainly ignoring the story about T. saginata because he didn’t really want to know what a T. saginata was and how it came to be five feet in length inside Herbert’s sister. Frankly, Bubba was afraid that if he found out exactly what T. saginata was, then he would never again eat anything purchased at a store. "There was Braum’s, Lovin’ Scoopful, and Purity. Hell, they even had Dippin’ Dots. I ain’t never had Dippin’ Dots before, and I ate that on the way out of the store. It really was dots."

    Herbert opened his mouth to respond, but Bubba went on, There was also Strohs, Marble Slab Creamery, and something from Turkey called Mado. That’s the country Turkey, that is, and I don’t recollect ifin I ever ate Turkish food before. He sighed heavily and bent down to rest his head on the clear plastic cover. I’m in deep here, Herbert. I don’t dare go home without it. I got to find me some…Häagen-Dazs.

    Herbert started to say, But—

    And it cain’t be any kind of Häagen-Dazs, Bubba went on. It has to be Peanut Butter Salted Fudge with a scoop of Pineapple Coconut on top. I mean she’s real good about substitutions, but I just want her to be happy. Ifin Willodean ain’t happy, I ain’t happy.

    I got that, Herbert said quickly.

    "Shore, Willodean’s as big as a lady can be without exploding, and don’t no one mention the movie Alien to her, Bubba continued, but she’s been on bed rest on account of the obstetrician’s orders for two weeks, and she deserves to have a little something good." He raised his head and looked into the freezer. Herbert supplied a selection of single serving ice creams and popsicles for the people who brought children into the store. It was located right next to the cash register so that it couldn’t be avoided, and Bubba himself had seen the transparent tactic work with frightening efficiency.

    Is that too much to ask? Bubba asked. No, I don’t think so, he answered. "Her blood pressure is up, and her ankles look like an elephant’s at times, so she has to stay propped up in bed for twenty-three hours out of a day and believe me, she don’t want to stay propped up in bed for twenty-three hours out of a day. I think she’s gone through all the seasons of Game of Thrones and The Walking Dead, too. She’s also binging on episodes of Firefly. She says if she has to watch any more reality shows her head’s gonna pop. I think episodes of America’s Got Talent has got her in a lather."

    I—

    One of them girls who hangs out in front of the Flying W tole me alls Mrs. Peabody carries is Ben & Jerry’s and that’s because she likes the Cherry Garcia and Chunky Monkey flavors. Bubba rubbed his chin again. He hadn’t shaved for three days. He might not have bathed for four. He thought he might have eaten breakfast, but he wasn’t certain. Do you think Willodean might like Ben & Jerry’s? I could bribe one of them truckers to go in and buy it for me.

    You don’t need to—

    BUBBA SNODDY! someone else exclaimed happily.

    Bubba and Herbert glanced at the door in unison. Bubba frowned for a moment. All in all Pegram County had been fairly quiet for the last few months, ever since the exciting events had occurred at Bazooka Bob’s, which had been a strip-er-exotic dance club, but now was ten kinds of something else to include a place where locals could get pole-dancing lessons and where one could see a burlesque show. The brief period of tranquility had made Bubba distinctly uneasy in that it was suspiciously like the calm before the storm. Someone abruptly appearing and exclaiming BUBBA SNODDY! seemed like a precursor to the insanity that surely had to follow.

    Bubba glanced upward for his own reality check. Right, God? Am I right? You got my back, God? All I want is Willodean to be happy and healthy alongside the baby. You the God, God.

    Bubba looked back at the door and saw a woman in her fifties pausing in the opening of the five-and-dime store. She had waist-length brown hair and possessed an eternal type of beauty that would make her lovely even when she was elderly. She definitely looked familiar to him, and he realized that his befuggled brain was in dire need of caffeine or a product that had a buttload of caffeine in it that he could drink straight down without pausing for air. Finally, the answer to who she was came to him. Marquita? Marquita Thaddeus? he asked with no little amount of confusion. If George Washington himself had stepped inside the five-and-dime, Bubba would have been less surprised. Or possibly Tom Cruise or Julia Roberts.

    Marquita nodded and stepped closer. Give us an air kiss, Bubba, she said cheerfully.

    Bubba didn’t know what an air kiss was, but he moved in for a semi-connected hug that seemed awkward at best. When Marquita’s glossy lips came to a stop a full six inches away from his cheek and she made a slight kissy sound, he discovered what an air kiss was. She backed off a step and considered him.

    This is serendipitous, she said.

    You wouldn’t have any Häagen-Dazs would you? Bubba asked hopefully. Marquita having Häagen-Dazs would truly be serendipitous. It would have been the soul and core of serendipity. Serendipity would be dripping from the heavens. Serendipitacular! his mind supplied.

    Häagen-Dazs? Marquita repeated. I don’t believe I’ve ever been asked that question before, and I’ve been asked about everything. She tilted her head at him. You’re not hitting on me, are you, big guy?

    Bubba stepped back, horrified. Marquita was a lovely woman and all, but he was a truly married man, and only one woman held his heart. (That was, if he didn’t include his mother and his pet dog, a basset hound named Precious. Then it would be three women who held his heart, but Willodean was #1, and Bubba had a big heart so that was all gravy.) Willodean has a desperate need of Häagen-Dazs, he explained, and I ain’t findin’ none about.

    Marquita’s right eyebrow arched. Ah, the pregnant sheriff’s deputy. I’m sorry I missed the wedding. Tandy and Luis told me about it. She paused to giggle. Who would think a rural place like this would have so many…interesting things going on? Regardless, your lovely wife has a longing for ice cream, then?

    One brand, Bubba agreed. Ain’t much of it about.

    I— Herbert said, and Marquita cut him off. I’ll have someone go to Dallas for you, if you want. I’ve got a few best boys and extras who would kill to do me a favor.

    Bubba was surprised. Certainly, the case of Marquita’s dead husband had been solved with interesting results, but he didn’t think that it was that wonderful a deed.

    Bubba! came another voice. A blonde with a big smile grinned at him as she inched around Marquita. This woman Bubba remembered almost instantly because she’d spoken to him nonstop for about three hours at a time when he couldn’t respond or run away. When he’d been on the set of The Deadly Dead, she’d been his makeup artist, and she’d also attended his wedding, although he’d been focused on about a million other things at the time.

    Simone, Bubba said. Simone Sheats. Did you ever do that thing in Las Vegas with the crystals?

    I believe you’ve gotten taller since the wedding, Simone said and air pecked at both of his cheeks, and he had to bend a little to let her do that. Bubba didn’t know what to do with that, so he went with it. And yes, Las Vegas was my personified bitch. For sure! I’ll show you some pics later, if you want. I’m still picking off crystals.

    What y’all doin’ in Pegramville? Bubba asked. No pics of a semi-naked makeup artist adorned only in rhinestones, even if it was all purely innocent. I wouldn’t have thought it would be the kind of place to visit. Especially in August, he added. It had tipped the thermostat at 95 degrees earlier in the day, and with the humidity it felt like it was 105 degrees, inspiring all and sundry to stay next to their air conditioners and a tall pitcher of iced sweet tea.

    Another movie, Herbert said. I cain’t believe you ain’t heard about that, Bubba.

    Busy, Bubba said.

    Willodean’s about to go, Herbert said. And Bubba—

    And you look like death warmed over, Marquita said. Hmm. I’ve heard that a lack of sleep can be a problem for a lady in the third trimester. My sister told me she had to pee twenty times a night. I never had children, of course, so I wouldn’t know, but Hollywood’s got a trillion actresses with buns in their collective ovens.

    And I heard there was another murder, Simone said. Some guy at a strip club.

    Exotic dance club, Herbert corrected. Them girls work hard.

    I dint find that one, Bubba said quickly. That was Bam Bam. You remember him?

    Marquita chuckled. Of course, I remember Bam Bam. He’s the reason we came down to your lovely town and pretty much the reason we came back. Then she frowned, and it occurred to Bubba that Marquita didn’t appear as though she was sleeping all that well herself.

    Somethin’ wrong? Bubba asked.

    It’s why I said our meeting was serendipitous, Marquita said. "Perhaps we could pop into the bar down the street for a quick conversation. Simone is doubling as makeup artist

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