Southern Fried Rat and Other Gruesome Tales (6 page)

His moccasin prints were easy to see in the fresh snow. After a short while they were joined by another set of prints. These seemed to have been made by a creature with gigantic bearlike feet. The two sets of prints ran side by side, and it looked as if the guide and the creature had been walking together.

As they followed the trail, John and Ross noticed that the human prints began to change. They began to resemble more and more those of the creature. Finally they were exactly the same shape as those of the creature, only smaller.

Then suddenly and mysteriously, both sets of prints vanished.

The two men now realized that they were in great danger. They decided that nothing could be gained by searching for their missing guide. They had better try to get back to civilization as quickly as possible, before DaFago's terrible fate overtook them.

It was to be a hard trip back, for without a guide the men could not find the trails.

Three days later John and Ross were sitting by their campfire when they heard a noise in the woods. Out from among the trees staggered a figure. It took a moment for them to recognize that the figure was the missing DaFago. He had been greatly changed in so short a period of time. His face was cut and scarred, and his clothes, or what was left of them, were in tatters. He barely seemed able to speak; he just cried and groaned. He could say only one word,
Wendango
.

John and Ross rushed to help the guide. They half dragged, half carried, poor DaFago to the fire. In the flickering light he looked even worse than he had in the shadows—he looked barely human. Then, remembering the footprints he had seen in the snow, John glanced down—and screamed.

"Oh, my God! Look at his feet!"

"The Wendango," in one version or another, is one of the most popular of campfire tales. It is based only very loosely on genuine Indian lore, but it has been making the rounds of summer camps since at least the 1920s.

The most effective way to end the story is to lower your voice progressively until you get to the last line, and then scream it out and point at the feet of someone in the group. Everyone will automatically look at the feet of the person you have pointed out.

Just outside of town there is a very large old house. Most people can't see it too well anymore, because it's pretty far back from the road. The bushes around it have grown very high and haven't been trimmed for ages. It's abandoned, and it has been for a long time. But in its heyday it was the finest house in town. Everybody admired and envied the people who lived there.

The house was owned by the Sanderson family, maybe it still is. But there are no Sandersons around to live in it. They all moved away a long time ago, and when they left they closed the house up. They never came back, and never will. They'll never be able to sell that house, either, not after what happened there on the day that young Bruce Sanderson was married.

Young Bruce was one of those fellows upon whom one could say fortune had smiled. He was handsome, intelligent, rich, and above all he was happy. His enthusiasm and the sheer joy he got out of life were almost childlike. They were also infectious. People in town used to say that there was no such thing as a good party if Bruce wasn't there, and no possibility of a bad one if he was. Everybody liked Bruce, and Bruce liked everybody. He particularly liked Mary Burnham. In fact, he loved her. He had loved her since they were children.

At first glance you might think that they were the perfect couple. She was as beautiful as he was handsome. Everyone said they looked wonderful together. She was also rich. The Burnhams weren't quite as rich as the Sandersons, but quite rich enough. Both families certainly encouraged the relationship.

In temperament, however, Mary and Bruce were as different as two people could possibly be. While he was always talking and laughing, she rarely said more than two words to anyone. People who wanted to be kind said that she was reserved, but most people described her as depressed and gloomy. She was so morose that people used to wonder if there were something that had happened to her, or something that she knew but couldn't talk about, that made her so unhappy. There was lots of speculation and gossip, but no one really knew anything for sure. Still, it had to be admitted, even by those who didn't like Mary very much, that walking around with a frown all day didn't hurt her looks one bit. In fact, it made her look more beautiful and appealing than ever, sort of like an enigmatic tragic heroine.

That must have been the way Bruce felt about Mary. He had pursued her with a single-minded devotion for years. Finally she agreed to marry him. No one thought she really wanted to marry him. She was just worn down by his energy, his persistence, and by the entreaties of her own family.

So the big day was finally set, and half the town was invited up to the Sanderson place for the wedding and

reception. The other half of the town stood around gnashing their teeth in envy.

It was, of course, the most lavish wedding this town had ever seen. There were tons of orange blossoms and hundreds of Chinese lanterns, and not one but two orchestras. And enough food to feed two towns this size, and so much drink that several men were heard to remark that they felt as if they had died and gone to heaven.

In the middle of all of this celebration were the bride and groom. Mary in her white satin gown, looking more beautiful and more tragic than ever. And Bruce, whose usual high spirits now soared beyond all bounds.

It was undoubtedly Bruce who had the idea of playing hide-and-seek. Party games were very unusual for a wedding celebration, but Bruce was passionately devoted to them, and everybody, at least all of the young people, were ready to follow him.

The Sanderson house with its many rooms and extensive grounds was a perfect setting for a game of hide-and-seek. Bruce and his friends had played the game at the house many times. Bruce said that Mary should have the honor of hiding first. She shook her head and said no in her soft voice. Bruce insisted, and as usual he overwhelmed all opposition by his sheer enthusiasm. Reluctantly Mary agreed that she would hide.

All of the guests covered their eyes and started counting, as Mary, still in her long white wedding dress, walked from the room. They gave her to the count of one hundred, and then everyone fanned out for the

search. Practically everyone thought the game would not take more than a few moments, because Mary didn't really ever put her heart into a game. She would just pick an obvious hiding place and be found easily. At least that's what people thought at first.

All of the obvious hiding places were searched and Mary could not be found. Some of the less obvious places were checked, and then the places that no one would ever think of. Still she remained hidden. Bruce was very pleased. Mary had gotten into the spirit of the game for the first time in her life—and she had won.

He called for her to come out, come cut, wherever she was. There was no answer. Others began calling. Still no answer. People went all through the house and the grounds calling for Mary to come out, with an increasing sense of puzzlement shading into anxiety and even panic.

After an hour of searching and calling, everyone in the wedding party realized that the new bride very definitely was missing. The police chief and several members of the force were already at the wedding, and they began an official investigation immediately. Nothing turned up.

Bruce maintained a veneer of optimism, but as the days, weeks, and finally months dragged on, even his heroically cheerful spirit cracked. And he finally began to realize that Mary wasn't coming back.

The town speculated—gossiped would be a better word—endlessly over what might have happened. The general consensus was that whatever the secret sorrow was that Mary suffered from, it had driven her to run away from her own wedding. The more ghoulish thought she ran off and killed herself at some lonely spot, while the more worldly insisted that she had a boyfriend somewhere and just took off with him.

Bruce was broken by the ordeal, as were his parents. They determined to close up the house and go away, at least for a while. They wanted to put some distance between themselves and the scene of the disastrous wedding and the town gossip.

All the furniture in the house was to be covered with sheets to prevent it from becoming dusty while they were away. But there was a shortage of sheets. One of the maids was told to look in the attic to see if any sheets had been stored there.

She found an old trunk. It was locked, but with the aid of a hairpin she easily picked the lock. Inside was what first appeared to be a pile of white satin sheets. But when she reached in to pull out the sheets, she realized that there was something else in the trunk, and her scream brought everyone rushing to the attic.

The maid had found Mary, or what was left of Mary after having been locked in a trunk for six months. Actually, she was remarkably well preserved for someone who had been dead so long. The trunk was practically airtight, so the body had not so much rotted as it had dried out and mummified. Mary was still recognizable, though most of her flesh was gone and her skin was now stretched tightly over her highly visible bones. No one would have called her beautiful now, but she did finally look as if she was smiling—or grinning as skeletons do.

No one knows for sure what happened, but the police guessed that poor Mary really had tried to throw herself into the spirit of the game for the first and last time in her life. She had run all the way up to the attic and hidden herself inside the old trunk. It was a good hiding place; no one would ever think of looking there. Too good, for the trunk locked when she closed it, and no one was able to hear her screams for help. Suffocation is a horrible way to die.

That's why the Sanderson house is abandoned, and why no one wants to buy it—ever.

"There's no such thing as a free lunch."

"You get what you pay for."

These two hoary old sayings had been guiding principles of Alexander MacLaran's life. So when he saw an ad in the paper offering an "almost new" Porsche for fifty dollars, he was suspicious, highly suspicious. Must be a misprint, he thought. Five hundred dollars for such a car would have been ridiculous, even five thousand would be an unbelievable price. Still, he came up with a couple of other hoary old sayings to fit the situation.

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

Fortified with this ancient wisdom, he went down to the address in the ad to look at the car. He had expected to see potential buyers lined up around the block. But there was no one else. All of the others had figured, as had Alex. that the ad must be a typographical error. Unlike Alex, they had not bothered to check it out.

The door was answered by a nice looking young lady, and Alex, not one to waste time, got right to the point. "Are you the one who advertised a Porsche for fifty dollars?"

"Yes," she said

"Then the ad was no typographical error."

"No, of course not. The car's in the garage. Do you want to see it?"

Alex certainly did want to see it. It was beautiful. He could just imagine himself riding around in it. But he was essentially a cautious and realistic fellow, not one to be carried away by wishful thinking and imagination. There has to be something wrong with this deal, he thought.

"Can I drive it?" he said.

"Certainly. You can't buy a car without giving it a test drive. I'll go with you."

Alex drove the car around the block and around the neighborhood. It was a marvelous car. While there was obviously something fishy about the whole deal, Alex no longer cared. He reached into his pocket, pulled out fifty dollars, and handed it to the woman. She in turn gave him all the necessary papers. He looked them over and found everything was in order. The deal was legal, the Porsche was his for a measly fifty bucks.

"All right," he said when all the papers had been signed. "What's the catch? Why did you just sell this car to me for fifty dollars?"

The woman smiled, and then she began to laugh. It was not a pleasant laugh. When she finally stopped laughing, she explained to Alex what had happened.

"A couple of weeks ago my husband ran off with his secretary. Just the other day I got a telegram from him saying that he is never coming back, and that i should sell the car and the house and send him the money.

"You don't know anybody who wants to buy a house for a hundred dollars, do you?

—————

Today all of the auto companies are advertising the "new" fuel-efficient cars. Well, it's nothing but a big ripoff, a fraud. Years ago engineers in Detroit discovered how to make a car that gets nearly one thousand miles per gallon of gas.

Naturally, if a car like that ever got on the market, it would just about bankrupt all the big oil companies. The oil companies and the car companies are all tied up together, and they decided that the car had to be kept secret.