Ash Wall, or The Grey Town

                                                                              Ash Wall, or The Grey Town


                                                                                  Christopher Alexander


            Carl invited me to go camping, along with Josh and Danny. I declined. Danny was a son of a bitch; a pain in my ass since junior high, and I would have preferred to take a closed fist uppercut to the cod sack than go anywhere with that ass hole.  I could go into the why’s and the how's, but I wont; that’s between us. Or was. Anyway, It would be accurate to say I hated the man.

         The three of them were gone for the weekend, and I still hadn’t heard from Carl by that next Tuesday. I was figuring on calling him up soon, just to see how it went, but before I could I had a visit from the police. There they were, two detectives standing on my porch, wanting to ask me some questions.

         I had no idea what they could be wanting as I hadn’t been watching the news. I hadn’t for years, by the way. Every time I tried to watch I felt like I was being manipulated or some shit; like they were trying to lead me into thinking and feeling what that they wanted to. It pissed me off.

         And fuck the paper to. It’s not a bit different.

         But as I was saying, the detectives wanted to ask me some questions. I told them to ‘shoot’, as in ‘go for it’, as in ‘ask me whatever you want, and I’ll tell you whatever you want’. It wasn’t the best choice of words, as Carl had shot his wife and two kids. All three right between the eyes, and then he shot himself. It was fucked up, and out of the blue, and I just stood there with an ignorant ass look of my face.

         Then they let me know that Josh had stabbed his wife, and then smashed his own head against a cinder block wall. Both of them were in bad shape.  Josh’s wife, her name was Kayla, was expected to live. Josh was not.

         I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, and after a moment of confused silence, I asked about Danny. That made them sit up straight. They gave me a look which I took to mean that I should shut up and wait for them to get to whatever they wanted to get to, in the good time they wanted to get to it.

         Turns out that Danny had plowed his car through a crowd of pedestrians, killing or hospitalizing over ten people. He then exited the car, gun in hand, and waited for the police. It was a classic case of suicide by cop. He had stood directly in the middle of an intersections and fired at random until they put him down.

         The detectives asked me what I knew about all this. I told them I didn't know a damn thing. Even Carl, who I still affirm as a grade A son of bitch, wouldn’t do anything this frickin’ insane. They weren’t religious nuts. Or cultist. Or any crazy shit like that. They didn’t do drugs, or at least nothing that would fry their brains to this sort of level.

         What I mean is, a little hash never hurt anyone, unless your some stupid mother fucker who gets high and drives. Nothing pisses me off like some idiot who gets drunk or high and drives. Useless bullshit. Sleep in a fuckin' ditch if you got to, but don't kill a family of four. That's what I say.

         I couldn’t tell the detectives much, and they didn’t question me long. I told them that as far as I knew all three of those guys were clean, decent guys. Nothing crazy about them. I told them about the camping trip. They asked me why I didn’t go, and I told them in no uncertain terms that I didn’t care for Danny. They accepted that, and moved on. They were done with me in only fifteen minutes. I felt empty. It was a lot to take in, and It didn’t make any sense at all.

         A week went by, and this escapade was the talk of the whole town. I fucking hate gossip, and that’s what proliferated everywhere. Everyone had some stupid ass theory. Everyone. And it was all crap. I kept my mouth shut, and walked on by. I had my thoughts, and I was keeping them to myself.

         What I was thinking, though, was that something had to have happened out in the woods. Something freakish had happened on that camping trip. The world is rational, and three normal guys don’t just come back and start killing people, whether loved ones or at random, for no reason. It was that next Friday that a thought occurred to me. Carl always took a GPS when they went camping; always, and without fail. He used it to track the journey. He liked to go cross country, leaving behind all the well worn trails. He wanted to go places people usually never went, or maybe never went at all.

         A burning urge to search the woods had began growing in my mind. I loaded up a pack, and on my way out I swung by Carl's house. I knew where a key was hidden, and I let myself in. There was a large blood stain on the living room carpet, and I ignored it as best I could. I went to garage, and found his gear that he had dropped when he had gotten home. In his backpack I found the GPS unit. I grabbed it, and left the house as quickly as possible. Even so, my eyes fell on the bloodstain as I made for the front door. It was a hard thing to see. And not to see. If you take my meaning.

         An hour later I parked my truck on a side road. According to the GPS, this was where they had started their hike. Carl liked to park at random, out of the way, places and this had his name written all over it. It was a secluded one lane dirt road. If their are any houses out that way, there can’t be many, and Carl probably knew the people who lived there anyway. That was the kind of guy he was: real friendly with everyone. He wasn’t murderer.

         it was early morning when I set out. I still don’t know what I expected to find. Nothing maybe. Nothing would have been something, I guess, and that nothing-something would have been a hell of a lot better than what I did find.

         It was cold out, and I was bundled up good. All the trees, save for the sparse number of evergreens, were naked, their grey bark looking hard and rough in the early morning half light. The wind was blowing briskly. I remember that it seems to cut through my heavy coat and underclothes, like I was as naked as the trees.

         I walked all day, following the path on the GPS, and found nothing. I wasn’t surprised. Somewhere inside I knew that if there actually was anything to find, I would find it at the farthest part of their hike. I moved as quickly as possibly, anxious to get there.

         It was dusk when I arrived. I walked out of the tree line, and into a wide open space. It was a perfect circle of knee high grass, bowed over for the winter, and lost in the massiveness of the forest. It was quiet, and eerie. It's only other feature, besides that of the brown winter grass, was a large stump directly in the centre. I made my way to it.

         I said that the stump was large, but that’s not quite right. It was massive; amazingly so. It was charred black, with splotches of grey ash clinging all over it. The wind blew wildly around the glade, and the ash was kicked up into the air. I looked around in the ever decreasing light, searching the ground around the stump for any signs as to is something, anything, had happened there. There was nothing, except footprints in the soft soil around the stump.

         I was discouraged, and I turned my back on the stump, ready to make my way back to the tree line. I figured I would make camp for the night ten or twenty yards in. No sooner had I began to leave, then a strong gust kicked up a large mass of the grey ash. It swirled through the air, and slamming into my face, made my eyes water. I bent my head down, and tried to wipe my eyes clean. When I looked up, the glade had began to look different.

         Though the light was started to fade quickly, I could make out that in places the swirling ash had come to a stop in mid air, as though clinging to an invisible wall. And the longer I watched the more it appeared to be forming the outline of some sort of structure. It was stunning to watch, and I slowly made my way towards the anomaly.

         I reached out, and with a gloved hand, touch the ash. It was as solid as a wall. I waved my hand underneath, and met no resistance. Even as i watched, more ash amassed and became solid, I began to back away slowly, for the first time realizing that whatever was going on might not be conducive to my good health. I turned, and began to jog for the trees.

         I didn’t see another mass of ash, head high and directly in front of me. My forehead slammed into it, hard, and I fell to the ground. A wave of nausea rolled over me, and I lay there clutching my head and moaning. It fucking hurt.

         When I finally got to my feet, the last rays of sunlight were being shielded by the westward tree line, and the whole glade was in shadow. The moon that night was a sickly sickle that hung low in the sky, and didn’t lend much light, but what light it did give revealed a patch of earth that was much changed.

         I’m not going to lie, I was fucking tense. I don’t really know why. Maybe it was no more complicated than ‘it wasn’t there and now it is’, or maybe deep down I assumed I was going bat shit crazy. Whatever the case, what met my eyes was not an empty field, but a small town.

         There were six buildings in all, each the colour of the same grey ash that, as far as I could tell, had formed their outlines. It was easy to see the what the functions of each of the buildings were. One was a church, it’s steeple raised up high and towered over me. It was positioned directly over where the stump had been, and was in the center of the community. The rest of the building circled the church, and four of the next five were small homes, no larger than a room or maybe two. They were one story squat things with porches that ran the length of their front. Lastly, there was a large barn looking building. It was the largest building to be seen, and its large double doors pointed in the directions of the church.

         I began to hear voices.  They spoke plainly, and loudly as though nothing was strange at all. There were conversations being had all around me, but as of yet I couldn't see anyone. All thought of returning to the trees and getting the hell away had evaporated, and I tried to focus in on some singular voice or conversation.

         The door to one of the homes burst open and I almost shit on myself when I saw the form of a woman come out, walking quickly towards the church. She held a child in her arms, and she was singing a song to it. I don’t remember the words, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Even at the time they didn’t sit well with me. They were sweet words, I do know that, but the voice that sang them sounded hollow.

         As she came closer, I looked into her arms, and there was certainly a child there, but it was bloated thing, long dead. The woman’s left hand was wrapped tightly around the infants throat, and even as she sang, she choked it. Passing me by, she raised her eyes to mine, and smiled sweetly.

         I felt a bulge in my throat, and I gagged hard. I bent over, feeling like I was going to heave up everything I've ever eaten. Nothing came out though, and I just stood there, bowed over, and breathing hard.

         I stayed that way for quite a while. I was so damned confused at what I had seen, and I simply did not want to take any more in. Sensory overload, I guess. After a few minutes a sharp breeze, even colder than what had been blowing, snapped me out of my lethargy. I screamed when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

         Scrambling away from the touch, I continued to scream. It was a deep guttural scream, totally uncontrollable. I got to my feet, and was poised to run for the woods, when I began to take in the man who had touched me. Though covered in shadow, he stood tall and broad. He wore a pale white suite, and he looked nothing like how you'd think a ghost, or devil, would look. He came towards me slowly, hands raised in a disarmin' way. His dark hair was waiving in the breeze and his black eyes eyes were shinning'.

         He apologized for startling me, and laughed in a nervous way, as though trying to save me from being embarrassed. I found his conscientious attitude shitty assed. Ghosts and devils, or whatever the fuck he was, have their own embarrassing traits, and should look to themselves before acting as though they need to spare me embarrassment. When he offered to shake my hand, I ignored it, never taking my eyes from his. After an awkward silence, he moved his hand back to his side, and told me that he was the mayor, Mayor Tom Cogburn.

         He gave me a wide toothy grin and then told me that there were plenty of sights to be seen around town, and to have a good stay. He passed me by, turned the corner of the nearest home, and was gone.

         I turned my eyes to the forest, and it was right then, in that moment, that I knew I should leave. I knew that If I didn't want see some serious shit, that should turn and run. I didn't, though. I wanted to know what happened to my buddies, so I turned and followed him. I stumbled towards the Church, wiping the residue of upchucked granola from my mouth.

         As I walked along I tried to take it all in, my eyes roving all over the place. Everything was grey, even the candle light that flickered through any uncurtained window. My footsteps on the dirt and gravel ground crunched with a dull sound. The air was completely without scent.

         As I came to the foot of the churches steps, I could hear singing inside. Some old hymn that I should know the name of, but I don't. I was just thinking about climbing the steps and peaking inside, when I caught of movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned and found an old man with a great big beard, wearing along coat, looking at me intently.

         He laughed all of a sudden, some high pitched 'hee hee hee' type laugh, and grinned wide. I took a step back, startled. He asked me if he could show me something. I was slow about it, but told him he could. I half expected him to drop trow like some pervert and try to show me his wrinkly old Johnson.

         He didn't, though. Instead he pulled his hands out from inside his coat pockets, and that made me step back again. Way back.

         His hands were gone, and in their place were two small heads. I know that sound like bullshit, but that's what they were. They were shrunken, Voodoo like. He held them out towards me and I could see that they had been sown onto his wrists.

         He took a step towards me, and I told him to back the fuck up. I pulled out a pocked knife, and old Case and Sons that had been my grandpa's, and told him that I would cut is ass if came any closer. That's when I nearly shit on myself.

         The eyes on the head-hands snapped open and looked right at me. Their jaws opened up wide too. I was so focused on the fucked up heads that I didn't notice that the old man was staring at them himself, like he was as confused and surprised as I was. He started shaking, terrified. I looked him in the face, and he made a 'shush' sound, like he wanted me to be quite. The kind of sound that when one makes it they typically raise an index finger to their lips. He didn't do that, though. Obviously.

         What followed next was the most hellacious hybrid of a hiss, a growl, and scream you could ever image. The heads began to snap their jaws, trying to bit anything that could sink their rotten teeth into. And they must of had some control over the man arms because they jerked upwards, and both heads began to tear into his face. With a scream, the old man began to jerk and thrash. He ran into the night, still screaming, and I didn't see him again.

         I watched the darkness that had swallowed 'Mr. oldman-head-for-hands' for about thirty second without twitchin' a muscle. I was wondering what they fuck I had just seen. In the end, I just shrugged. You can't make two and two make five, and you can't argue with what just saw with your own eyes. Things are what they are, and either they'll be explained or they wont. I turned, and made my way up the steps, passing by a sign that read 'Ash Wall Church of the Word'.

         I entered the church cautiously. As I moved on through I began to notice that that my footsteps didn't make any noise. I had been in old country churches before, and this one without a doubt fell into that category. Those old wooden buildings creaked and groaned as people moved about, but as I moved through the foyer and the down the isle, there wasn't a sound to be heard. Well, not from me anyway. I sat down slowly, and tried to remember if my steps had made noise when I'd been outside. I thought they had, but I couldn't remember.

         I was jerked from this completely useless train of thought and found myself being addressed by the reverend. He stood behind the pulpit, a tall gangly figure with wild eyes. His black suit clung tightly to his body, just as his taught skin clung to his cheekbones. He pointed a crooked, old man finger directly at me, and it looked to be coated in blood. He demanded to know the meaning of my disrespect for the house of God.

         I didn't know what the hell he was talkin' about. I guess my presence was an offence. When I didn't answer he quickly returned to his 'sermon', if that's what you want to call it.

          He took my entrance as an opportunity to begin an impassioned sermon about a bunch of topics, such as 'rampant hedonism', 'the damnable youth', 'wolves in sheep’s clothing', and many besides. He never stayed on one topic for long, and as such his comments were not of any depth.

         The place was lit by flickering candles that lined the walls, and at the end of each pew. I began to look around, wanting to observe the congregation. In dress and 'physical condition', if physical we can call it, they just like their pastor; gaunt, thin, and dressed in black; men, women, and children alike. They nodded frequently, but never made a sound, not even a grave 'amen'.

         The reverend abruptly quit speaking, and when I turned my eyes back in his direction, I found him standing nearly on top of me. He raised two blood red hands to the sky with dramatic passion, and shouted at his audience. He shouted things that made me shake my head. I had never had that experience, shaking my head in disbelief. He managed to bring it out of me though.

         It was crazy, rambling stuff. He told how, upon realizing that immortality was a farce, an illusion for the weak, he had become free to take the world in those same blood red hands that he was showing to us. He declared that he had cut every tie that bound him, and that the long un-excised weakness, which is human conscience, he had manged to purge. Raising his fists into the air, he spoke of the peace found in realizing our place as those who are beyond good and evil. The good book was quite right, he said, we are but dust and to dust we will return.

         He went on to explain, with a thin harsh voice, that he had shot his father for being disappointed with him, and then strangled his mother for being proud of him. Neither sentiments were beneficial, he said, both were a hindrance.

         I don't know what they expected all this bullshit was going to do to me. I think they wanted me to crack up. I didn't, though. It was just too much. Kill your mom and your pop all for some stupid ass sense of freedom. It was horse shit, and I figured I wouldn’t be hearing anything that'd help me find out what happened to my buddies.

         I stood up to leave.

         “Why are you leaving the house of God when his servant yet speaks?”

         The pastor called out behind me. I turned.

         “I didn't know there was a servant of God in this damn place, much less one speaking.”

         He raised himself up straight, and stared at me with decay in his eyes.

         “What do you want? Why did you come here?”, he asked softly, but with intensity.

         “I want to know what happened to a couple friends of mine, and also this other guy who was with them. They came here about a week ago, and when they got back home they were fucked up. They ended up doing some bad things.”

         I took a step towards him, and I point my finger at him.

         “I think your people did something to them, and I want to know what.”

         “You're friends,” he whispered, “if you wish to claim such lost souls as friends, were here with our pleasure and good will. If they took darkness away with them, it was all their doing, and non of ours.”

         I didn't know what to say, or how to even begin to argue with him, so I just shook my head kind of stupidly.

         “But if you are bound and determined to follow this to the end,” he went on, “I'd suggest talking to the sheriff. He's probably out making his rounds even as we speak.”

         I gave him a quick nod, and turned to leave. As I exited the church, and closed the door behind me, I heard him shout in his raspy rat voice, “Now! Let us give praise for the blasphemer is out of out midst.”

         Blasphemer my ass. I've never said a choice word in God's direction in all my days, and I ain't ever taken the Lord's name in vain. I respect God. My Grandma taught me that with a stout switch, and I thank her for it.

         I came down the church steps slowly, and as I did I heard a call being hollard out. Somebody was shoutin' 'Hey! You! Stranger!' in my direction. I turned, and saw a man coming towards me out of the gray, a badge glittering in the shadows.

         He was about ten yards away and he came towards me slow, casual like. He was all in black, except for his bone white dress shirt. He had one them ties like they wear in old westerns, real thin and kind of bow like. A beat up ol' Stetson was sitting on top of his head, and I could hear jinglin', but not like spurs. It was more like keys. I short cudgel was swinging from his belt.

         He stopped a couple of yards away, his features still hidden in the shadows.

         “Can I help you?” He asks me, with this accent that sounded like some damn yank.

         I said to him, “I reckon we can find out right quick,” and then I asked him what he knew about my buddies, well, my buddies along with that duche bag Danny.

         Even though I couldn't see his face, I felt a smile coming off of him, like he thought something was funny.

         “They were here,” he says, “but they left in good health about a week ago. If something's happened since then, well, we'll be sure to mourn for them.”

         “I don't want to talk about what happened when they left, and don't give me no bullshit about leaving in good health. I want know what the fuck happened. Right here! In this town! To them!”

         I was screaming at the son of a bitch before I was done, and he started to bow up on me. By this point, I was getting pretty rankled by the godforsaken place, and it's creepy ass people, so when I saw him startin' to get froggy, I thought to myself, 'jump, son of a bitch, jump for me please'. He didn't, thought. Instead, he kept his head, and kept talking.

         “We welcomed them to our little corner of paradise, and they are the ones who caused trouble. Just like you.”

         Though I couldn't see his face all that well, I could tell he was clenching his teeth, hissing out the words. He kept on.

         “You and your fucking noise! No one in this whole damn town can get any rest because of you fuckers! Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Everywhere where you go!”

         He was breathing hard, and quivering, all in a rage. I was more surprised than scared, but I still kept my guard up.
         
         “What the fuck are you talking about?”

         “I'm talking about you pieces of shit! Coming in hear all wet and dripping, the filth rushing around all inside of you.”

         He dry heaved, wrenching loudly.

         “It's enough to make me sick. God, I want to cut your fucking head off and drain you into a shit house!”

         I had no fucking idea where all that had come from, and as I stood there wondering, the sheriff began to close in on me. I caught the scent of rank ass meat, and it made me wince, a hand flying up to my nostrils. He stepped into a shaft of moonlight as he came closer. The Stetson cut shadows across his eyes, but even so I could see movement in the sockets. It was a pale white colour, and small, like maggots crawling around.

         I wasn't in the mood for no bullshit, so I cut to the chase.
         
         “You stand there raving and hollering and talking shit like you think you're the biggest swingin' dick this place has ever seen. And maybe you was; up until about a half hour ago. When I came into town, you went to runner up. Now,  back the fuck off of me.”

         That made him pull up. He stood eyeing me for a minute, and I eyed him right back. He had one hand looped into his belt and the other holding on to a club. He just stood there, like he was posing for a fucking camera.

         “You're not scared at all, are you?” He asked with a nod and this little grin that I wanted to slap off his face.

         I shook my head, and said, “Let me explain something to you, son. I got one of them real good grand-momma’s, and I know for a fact she says a prayer for me everyday. Everyday. And that old woman can pray down fire, as the sayin' goes. So from my way of thinkin', between the good Lord and my grandma, there ain’t a damn thing you can do to me. So, I'll say it again: Back the fuck up.”

         He stared at me like he thought I was simple minded or something. Like I didn't know my place in the order of things. That was one of they few looks I didn't want to slap off his face. Let him think what he wants about my intelligence. That dumb ass didn't know his place.

         He started to speak, but I cut him off.

         “I don't want no more bullshit out of you. You can either tell me what you did to my friends or you can step away. Outside of them options I ain’t got nothing for you but a good ol' ass beatin'.”

         A two hand applause came from the darkness to my right. I turned and who did I see coming out the shadows but that creepy ass son of bitch Mayor Cogburn. He walked towards us, clapping his hands slowly, a shit eatin' grin plastered on his face, like he approved of what was happening.

         “That'll do Sheriff. Go on back to your rounds.” He said.

         I looked at the sheriff, but he ignored me, and obeying the Mayor, he turned and melted back into the darkness.

         The Mayor watched him as he vaporized, nodding. When the Sheriff had disappeared entirely he turned to me.

         “He's a good man, the Sheriff.”

         “He's an ass hole.”

         I was expecting him to get snappy at my contradicting him, but he didn't. He just smiled.

         “True. But he's my ass hole. He's the town's ass hole. He does a good job.”

         “At what?” I asked.

         “By dealing with the trouble makers. He can some real... angst, when he sets his mind to it. And he doesn't suffer smart asses, like yourself, very well."

         He smiled a ridiculously big smile, like a fucking clown. It just kept getting wider, and wider, his white teeth blazing. I thought his damn head was gonna split in half.

         I shrugged, "Well, shit. I suppose we ought to call him back. Then we can find out for sure what he'd do with this smart ass here."

         Cogburn laughed, "I really don't think you want that. But let's not get into all that. Congratulations are in order! You made it to the big boss man, that being me, quicker than most. I usually let the Sheriff have his way a bit longer, but I could tell you wouldn't break, even if he fucked with you the rest of the night. I could smell it on you.”

         He began to lead me to the outskirts of town.

         “You know,” he continued, “he's right about you. The Sheriff.  You are quite a disturbance. Everything begins to shake loose when a wet-one comes into town. The noise of it all, it makes us crazy. And you're worse than most. Not that we've had many, save for you and your friends, in an awful long while.”

         For the first time I began to realize just how quiet the town was. I had noticed my footsteps not making nose, and the overall hush, but it was more than that. It was utterly silent, except for voices.

         "What the fuck are you talking about?" I asked him.
         
         "You're wet!" He screamed, his eyes were wide, and his hands shaking with rage. "The thumping! The pounding! Like a fucking blacksmiths hammer! We can hear it roaring through you! Honestly, it makes me want to tare your heart out through your throat."

         I took a step back, and eyed him for a moment.

         "Are you trying to say you can hear my blood?" I asked, unbelieving.

         “Oh, yes. And we would very much like to drain it dry, and use it to paint the town. It's forbidden, though.”

         He ended with a sad shake of his head, but then he shrugged.

         “Your blood smells to us like a boiling soup of hog shit and vomit would to you. So, oh well.”

         I didn't have any response, so I just walked with him in silence. I let him lead me towards the edge of town. I knew deep down inside that the time to go was here, and either it would work out alright, or I'd leave bat shit crazy like my buddies. I didn't know how the Mayor would try to get to me, though, and I wont lie, that worried me.

         We came to the last house before the forest, and I could see the shadowy tree line not far in the distance. He turned to me, and fixed his eyes on mine.

         “We don't just hear your blood, you know? We also smell it.

         “Good for you. The point?”

         “Our sense of smell isn't like yours. It has a way of...”, He paused for a moment, and gazed into the sky, thinking.

         “It has a way of going deeper.”

         By this point, I was just about ready to get whatever was coming out of the way. This pussy footin' around, and chit-chatting' wasn't doing anything for me. I was on the verge of punching him just to see what would happen. His cryptic bullshit was pissing me off.

         “Going deeper? What the fuck does that mean?”, I asked him.

         “It means, even as your scent drifts through out streets, we know you. Probably better than you know yourself.”

         “Horse shit.”

         He smiled. “I'll prove it.”

         He took a deep breath through his nose, and held it in. He looked like her was savouring it, kind of like my great grandpa looked when he took a long drink from his homemade wine. Blueberry, by the way, and damn good stuff.

         Mayor Cogburn exhaled, and looked at me with wide eyes.

         “Your blood smells of many thing. Lust. A short fuse. A foul mouth. But mostly, sir, you... hate. Oh, you deeply hate. And the man you hate is... Danny? Right?”

         I didn't respond, and he took another draught of air, slowly, almost like he was getting off on it.

         “Oh, yes. Very nice. You walk our streets as bold as fucking brass, but you have a nasty streak, don’t you?”

         He threw his head back and laughed, and I just looked on. I'll shoot straight with you: I was shook up a little. The Mayor had an attitude about him that was almost mesmerizing. You could feel power, and I was all tensed up wondering what he'd say next.

         “Danny”, he said after a long moment. “You hate Danny, one of those fellows who was here the other day. Why do you hate him? Oh, wait, let me.”

         He grinned, pleased with his little trick, and he sniffed again in short quick bursts.

         “I smell sex. Nasty. Pungent. Did he fuck someone you thought was yours?”

         It was right here at this point that a number of things rushed into my mind. First, this son of a bitch was good. I'll give props to those who earn it, and he just had. He nailed me good. 

         My second thought was that I was a dumb ass. Having some phantom prick point out how you're still pissed over a dude fucking your girlfriend back in junior high was pretty damn stupid.

         And my last thought went even further than that. It wasn't just stupid. It was fucking wrong. I could remember being a kid and my grandma giving me a serious talking too because I got into a fight. I had been about seven or eight, and I beat this other kid to shit 'cause he called be a butthead or some stupid ass name.

         She had told me, "you got to learn to not let nonsense like that make you act like a fool. The Lord said to turn the other cheek."

         I told her the only cheek I wanted turn was the kids who smarted off to me, so I could punch the other one. She striped my legs with a hickory switch for that one. I should have learned my lesson, but I didn't.

         And hear I was, thirty-two years old and finally gettin' the revelation she tried to teach my way back when. The Mayor watched me closely, and must have thought he had me by the short hairs, 'cause he laughed again.

         “Yes! He did, didn't he. He did it a long time ago, but he did it."

         I nodded slowly. “Yeah. You're right. He did.”

         "And your hate! That strangling and devouring and murdering hate! It got want it wanted! And you should be happy! The bastard got just what he deserved, right? You said that he left here all fucked up. As he should be. Am I right?

         His last question was asked with an intensity that stuck me as way fucking off. I didn't know what to make of it, but what I did know is that I’m not a big enough dick to answer 'yes'.

         I shrugged, “Nah. I ain't worried about it.”

         He looked at me with an unbelieving eye, as a shit ton of memories came on me in a rush. All the time I could spent chillin' with friends, but I passed on 'cause Danny was gonna be there. All the bad stuff I thought anytime his name was mentioned. That nasty feeling of hate and disgust that I let live in me, even if most of the time it was asleep. My grandma was right, it was nonsense. The Good Book was right. I should have let that shit go.

         “I don't think that's quite true." He finally said, slowly.

         “Maybe five minutes ago. It is now.”

         He started to speak, but I cut him off. I realized what he was trying o do.

         “Is this it? Is this what you do? You try to crack people up by pointing out dumb ass things they think? Or feel? Or do?”

         He laughed.

         “Your friend Carl was a thief. He stole constantly, but he'd especially steal from his employer, and it was from him he'd actually steal cash money. Josh, a loving husband, and dedicated father, was fucking a girl who showed him some cleavage while waiting on him at a restaurant. Danny liked to make his niece do really inappropriate things to his dick."

         This wasn't a curve ball, it was a fucking fast ball that I just blinked at like an idiot. I just stood there, not idea what to say. The invisible umpire in my head shouted 'Strike! That fucker got you!'.

         “Bullshit”, I finally breathed out.

         “Oh, no. It's most certainly not. Your friend's were, in all honesty, pieces of shit. We could all smell it on them. And they were so fucking argumentative about it. It took hours to wear them down so that they'd even admit the shit happened at all. And when they did finally admit, they all had fucking excuses. Carl's boss was a bastard who owed him a raise anyway. Josh's wife didn't fuck him all that much, and when she did she'd never give him more. She'd never do this or that kinky thing. She'd never blow him. And Danny! That man was honestly too much. He tried to convince me his niece really didn’t mind. Maybe she had at first, but she had learned to want it. So it was all good. That's what he said to me. He said, 'It's all good'."

         The Mayor shook his head violently and stepped closer to me. Real close. His mouth became a flat razor slit running from ear to ear. I wanted to back pedal, but I couldn't move. We were so close our noses were almost touching.
         
         “But it's not 'all good'!", he scream. "Not by a fucking long shot.  And after we got through trying to 'talk them down', as per the rules, I gave to their souls what we like to call 'last soul rights'."

         He paused for a long moment, never taking his eyes from mine, and I just stood there, unable to move or think or even breath.

         "And now it's time for you."

         He blew a quick blast into my face, a hot fetid stench, and my vision swam. Just as quickly though, it cleared, and the a Mayor backed away. He was clapping slowly, and nodding.

         "What the fuck?" I asked.

         "You win", he said.

         I didn't know what to say. I kind of figured he was trying to be cute, only to turn around and pull some shit.

         "No. Honestly. You win. When you made that astonishingly deep comment (sarcastic fucker) 'I ain't worried about it', in reference to Danny doing the nasty with your girl, I thought you were just being yet another cock sure motherfucker, trying to play it cool. The breath doesn't lie, though. The breath always does what it's supposed to. And the fact that your still standing here, and in your right mind, means--"

         I interrupted.

         "That I realized I can be a real piece of shit sometimes. Is that it? Is that what you want? All this insane shit just because you want people to say 'I fucked up?"

         He shrugged.

         "A little acknowledgement is good for the soul. But a little denial..."

         He paused savouring the moment, and then laughed, a quick short brust.

         "Is not."

         He waved a hand towards the tree line, and I followed with my eyes.

         "You're free to go."

         Without a word I took off at a fast walk. After about ten yards I turned to get one last look at the fucker, and his godforsaken town.

         They were gone.