Situation Normal. Atmosphere Breathable. Brainstem Injected. Dialogue Engaged.
stg-roadrunner-gfx
Monday, August 22, 2005

Bear Trap Beatdown Part Three



Harry returned to Dorothy's ramshackle abode at precisely four in the afternoon. He navigated his way across the dirt driveway past a rusty swingset (Harry thought it odd to put backyard recreation in front) and a ruptured tire to the rickety front porch. He walked up the steps and knocked on the front door.

"Whoizzit?" It was a man's voice. It must be Dorothy's father, Harry's potential sale.

"Harry Lipscomb, sir! I was here earlier, speaking to your daughter."

"Let yerself in! I'm sitting down and I ain't budgin'. Too damn tired. Dorothy, bring me another beer, wouldja hon?"

"Sure, Pop!"

Harry opened the door and entered the sorry dwelling. A man lay tilted back in a recliner, his eyes glued to a television show.

"So you wanna sell me some sorta magic civil war wand?"

"Not exactly, sir." Harry was standing just inside the doorway, looking lost and uncomfortable. "It's a metal detector, actually. I was telling your daughter this morning how I used it to discover antiques at the Chalk Bluff battleground, and how my wife and I have a lucrative hobby business selling used bullets and other Confederate ephemera we dug from the ground. May I ask your name?"

"Yeah. Call me Wayne." Wayne had still not looked up from the television. The corner of his mouth twitched when the laugh track sounded from the weak speaker at the base of the screen. Dorothy walked into the room, delivered a Stroh's to her father, gave Harry the thumbs up, and scampered back whence she came.

"Wayne, I'd like to sell you a metal detector. Dorothy is very enthusiastic about it. Would you like to inspect my demo unit?"

Wayne finally looked up. He took in Harry's immaculate white suit, blotchy nose, and plastic smile. He looked at the metal detector resting across Harry's skyward palms. "We don't get a lot a salesmen 'round these parts, except for assholes telling me to spray shit on my lawn. I don't give a shit in a tin cup how green my grass grows, so why should I pony up for your buzzing golf club? I don't golf. I hate golf. Rich man's sport."

"With all due respect, sir, this is a metal detector. When waved over the ground, it does indeed buzz when it passes over buried metals. As I mentioned, Dorothy is very excited to try it out."

"That so? All right. I guess I can peel myself up for a few minutes. Show me how this gizmo works. Let's go out back."

The backyard was far more decrepit than the front. Sun faded beer cans littered the bare dirt outside the back door. Sparse yellow grass and thick clumps of tall weeds sprouted in different places with no apparent pattern. A rusted 70's model Chevy sat upon cinderblocks, no evidence of labor current. Cracked tree stumps protruded in three places, lightning victims that had fed the firepit. The firepit itself was large, ranging ten feet across. Burning things was obviously a frequent hobby for Wayne.

"Find my huntin' knife, Mr. Salesman. I lost it somewhere out here when I was drunk last month. I think I was chuckin' it at squirrels. Least that's what Elmer says I was doin'. I cain't remember myself."

"Ridding oneself of pests such as squirrels is indeed a noble endeavor, sir, and I shall labor to retrieve your prized possesion presently."

"What?"

"I'll try to find it, Wayne."

"Okay, good. Go fer it."

Harry flicked the power switch on the stem of the Viking detector and stepped out into the lawn, ignoring the strident buzzing caused by the littered beer cans.

"Now wait a second, fella. That thing ain't gonna call down no aliens, izzit? I don't need no little green fuckers comin' 'round in the dark a night tryinna steal my Dorothy."

"Oh no sir, absolutely not. I stopped selling alien telephones over ten years ago."

"That supposed ta be funny?"

"I, uh, no sir. Let's see if I can find that prized blade of yours."

Harry wandered throughout the yard, sweeping the detector in wide arcs over the forlorn lawn. He ignored a few quick tentative bleeps, hoping to zero in on an item with significant metallic composition. The knife. He finally got an angry squawk from the detector when he ranged the unit over a particularly thick and tall clump of weeds at the far back edge of the yard, right at the edge of the forest.

"Wayne, I've got something! Have you got a shovel? There's something in this clump of weeds here, and it's big! Bigger than a knife, I imagine, and buried a foot or two deep!"

"Hold your horses, hoss, I'll be right there! Don't want you staining that lily white suit a yours!"

Harry was intensely curious. He'd never actually dug anything up from the ground before. His stories about civil war battlegrounds were wholly fabricated. Instead of waiting patiently for Wayne to return with the proper tools, Harry reached into the weeds and rooted around with his hand, testing to see if the discovery was above ground. His fingers brushed rusted iron, an arch of metal teeth protruding from the dirt. He grasped it firmly and yanked it loose from the dry dirt. It came up with a modest effort. Free of earthen obstruction, the dormant trap triggered, snapping its jaws shut with the vicious muscle of springloaded tension. It clamped upon Harry's wrist, cracking his bones, mashing his flesh, and tearing open his pasty skin.

"Gaaaaaaaaaahhh! Help! Help! Shit shit shit ohmyfuckinggod that hurts! Wayne! Help! I'm stuck! My arm! Oh my arm!"

Harry Lipscomb writhed and bled, screaming, waiting for Wayne to return and help him free.

This tale is not yet finished. Soon, heathens, soon.
6:00 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm

5 Comments:

August 23, 2005 2:34 AM, Blogger Latigo Flint said...

Oh fuck me... I even looked at both pictures before reading. It still sucker-stabbed me.

You are one gloriously unhinged and mighty improvisational author.

 
August 23, 2005 9:20 AM, Blogger Kerouaced said...

Excellent tale sir. What more strangeness pray tell do you have in store for us? I can't wait...

 
August 23, 2005 12:04 PM, Blogger Dave Morris said...

And how did you know of my newly awarded heathenship?

I'm not sure which is funnier, the story or imagining a squinty-eyed gunslinger saying "oh fuck me."

Hurry up and write the rest, goddamn it.

 
August 23, 2005 1:52 PM, Blogger OldHorsetailSnake said...

I swan! Somebody has sowed Wayne's back yard with leg-hold traps. I think Harry's prospects of finding the knife just went in the toilet. I wonder if the blood will wash out?

 
August 23, 2005 5:40 PM, Blogger Mishka said...

Perfect, I was wondering when you would introduce some gore...what a cliffhanger...

 

Post a Comment

left-arrow Home

stg-shark
Bear Trap Beatdown Part Two
Bear Trap Beatdown Part One
A Malady Calamity
Bright Lights Zero
Cornerpiece
Untitled & Fireplace Cool
Roadrunner & Bouquet
Moonshine Rock Zombies Part Two
Moonshine Rock Zombies Part One
Dead Letter Shrapnel - Isabel
August 2002
September 2002
October 2002
November 2002
December 2002
January 2003
February 2003
March 2003
April 2003
May 2003
September 2003
October 2003
November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
August 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
February 2008
May 2008
August 2008
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
December 2009
February 2010
March 2010
April 2010
May 2010
August 2010
August 2011
September 2011
February 2012
June 2012
July 2012
August 2012
October 2012
November 2012
May 2013
August 2013
September 2013
December 2013
May 2014
October 2014
November 2014
December 2016