The cemetery spread along the area known as Devils Abode.
The Devil’s Abode was special cemetery where only those who were particularly nasty while living could be buried.
I know what you are thinking. It isn’t just criminals that inhabit this hallowed ground.
Some criminals can be down right pleasant in comparison to these monsters.
This Cemetery is for the worst offenders of societal order.
The woman who insists on paying with a written check for a pack of gum, does nothing but infuriate the self righteous road rage maniac next to her plot.
Astral channels buzz to life at night with long debates, between organic anti-vaxxers and a pack of old ‘Right Wingers,’ who have so much passion for their political opinion, they would die twice just to see those hippies wiped from the planet.
I sit here watching it all, leaving notes on the front of their caskets.
No one knows who the passive aggressive one is here, but they ALL hate their dead guts.
Danny Machal September 4th, 2015
“Where did they go?”
“I’m not sure Sheriff,” Al said looking at the bowed head of his wife Lenora.
The three of them stood outside some old crumbling ruins in the red rock high desert. This was a popular destination for people staying at their bed and breakfast. Lenora warned against sending their guests up here but Al wasn’t having it.
Lenora heard tales from one of their more ‘eccentric’ guests. An old woman with hand made everything, down to her wicker woven sandals, told her of people going missing up here.
She claimed this was an old military outpost built during the great expansion West. One night some local natives tried to raid the camp but they were severely outmatched. The soldiers left none alive and buried the bodies under the settlement. They swore there never was any raid and so the tale of the vanishing braves was born.
Danny Machal August 12th, 2015
“The team employed the use of Nightshade to get the information they wanted from their captive.”
“Wow. Old school -all natural,” Tanya jerked at the heavy chains threaded through cemented u-bolts in the floor.
The voice spoke again, “Going somewhere?”
She didn’t respond letting her arms settle at her sides. There was no need to use up all the strength now. She could break the small glass vile under her skin at any time and become a monster, easily escaping, but there was more information to be gathered.
“The Syndicate believes in using only the methods passed down from the Masters. They can be quite effective, sometimes even better than your modern toys,” he chuckled.
The chains suddenly went taut pulling her wrists toward the floor and rolling her body to the side. She felt the small glass rod break, ‘too soon,’ she thought.
Her vision went red as men started to spill into the room with guns. She could feel their heat and smell their blood. The hunger has her now. It will have them too.
Danny Machal August 5th, 2015
The petroglyphs told the story of an unusual event.
Troy looked up from his phone, “What is it?”
This was George’s chance to finally connect with his tween Grandson. He wasn’t enjoying this outing to the Natural History Museum as much as he hoped.
Troy looked backed down to Facebook.
George began, “Long ago, ancient coming of age boys would run naked through the forest with soda cans tied around their waist.”
Still looking down -flicking that thumb.
He continued, “Goats have a natural affinity for eating aluminum so they would release hundreds of them to give chase to the boys.”
Nothing. Flick, flick.
“The first one to get a chunk bitten out of his ass became the Tribal Elder.”
With that Troy looked up to see his Grandpa’s weathered butt cheek. A piece was missing that had been used as a skin graft from an accident in his twenties.
“Ah! Grandpa that is so gross,” but he couldn’t contain his laughter. He quickly slipped his phone back into his pocket.
Connected at last.
Danny Machal July 24th, 2015