Coffin Tales Season of Death Read online

  COFFIN TALES

  SEASON OF DEATH

  by MADISON JOHNS

  Copyright © 2011 by Madison Johns

  Amazon Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of Madison Johns except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Book cover by Nick Rose

  Edited by Barbara Pappan

  Second Revision Editor E.D. Trimm

  Formatted by The Mad Formatter

  www.TheMadFormatter.com

  DEDICATION

  For my muse Nick Rose who helped me open the door to my creative side, and my children, Andrea and Luke who tolerate their mother's crazy writing schedule. I love you all very much!

  Coffin Tales Season of Death includes the following short stories:

  JACK-O’-LANTERN

  HELL CROW

  JACK-O’-LANTERN

  Trevor Brown and his best friend Willie Wilcons searched for the scariest jack-o’-lantern in town two days before Halloween. Taking careful aim Willie raised his BB gun and shot a gray squirrel. Watching in delight, Willie smiled as the squirrel dropped where he once stood raiding pumpkin seeds.

  “Good shot, Willie,” Trevor said, wiping a wisp of blond hair from his eye. “Do you think he’s dead?”

  “I’m not sure. Why don’t you check, Trevor?”

  Pausing briefly, they examined the squirrel lying on the ground. He appeared dead, but when Trevor poked him with a stick, he jumped up, bared his teeth, and darted up an oak tree.

  Trevor gave Willie an angry look. “Thanks a lot Willie. He could have bitten me.”

  With a smile and twinkle in his eye, Willie turned his head. “I bet that’s one squirrel that won’t be back.”

  “Not so sure about that, but we need to try something. How we gonna find the scariest jack-o’-lantern in town if the squirrels keep tearing into ‘em.”

  “I know one place they won’t go.” Willie suggested. His dark face lit up with a knowing smile.

  “I know you’re not suggesting we go to Johnson’s Farm.”

  “Why not? That’s where we always end up going. They always have the scariest jack-o’-lanterns.”

  “Because the place gives me the creeps, that’s why not.”

  “It’s just an old house, Trevor.”

  “Just an old house? Willie, you know that was the last place those four children were seen alive fifty years ago. They were never found, disappeared into thin air. I bet old man Johnson killed them, and dumped them in the well out back after he hacked them into tiny pieces.”

  Willie shook his head. “Trevor, that’s just an old story.”

  “Have you ever seen him before?”

  “Old man Johnson looks like every other old man.”

  “No, he doesn’t. His skin is gray and his eyes are yellow!”

  “You have an overactive imagination. We won’t go there unless we have to, but you know we will. It’s a tradition.

  The boys noticed Mr. Johnson’s truck as it passed. They made their way in the direction they knew old man Johnson was heading.

  Mr. Johnson drove his rusted blue Ford pickup into Nelson as he did every month. He parked in the handicapped space as usual and, using his cane, he limped into the feed store.

  Feed Imperial had been run by the Campbell family for one hundred years. It was a simple pole barn with dirt-covered, wood-plank flooring that was swept once per shift. But it never got that clean. Stacks of feed were piled outside by the front door and inside near the far wall. Tools were to the right, clothing to the left, and in the front, cashiers would ring up the purchases, always offering bagged bulk candy for easy add-on sales.

  Mr. Johnson wore soiled, torn blue jeans and what appeared to be a once white T-shirt. His work boots squeaked with every step he took. On his head he wore a dirt-streaked cowboy hat, which he had pulled down low, nearly covering his eyes.

  Observing the feedbags stacked ten high; he quickly turned, staring directly into the eyes of a startled clerk.

  The young man, shifted nervously, and spoke with a high-pitched voice, as if he just hit puberty that day. “Can ... I help you, Mr. Johnson?” He pulled his gray work shirt slightly away from his neck and gulped.

  Mr. Johnson smiled, revealing yellow and black teeth, glancing down at the clerk’s nametag. “Why yes, Gary, I would like ten bags of corn loaded into my truck.”

  “I didn’t know you had any livestock anymore.”

  Looking up with narrowed eyes, he grinned. “Animals no, but plenty of varmints around to contend with, yes. I mix up my own batch of special feed just for them. Trick is you need to make it taste sweet enough for them to eat it, and once they do, they won’t be back.”

  “They leave?” Gary asked curiously.

  “No, boy, I’ll be cleaning up their carcasses next morning.”

  Gary’s eyes widened and he hustled, loading the grain Mr. Johnson wanted. Trevor and Willie watched as they sauntered by and ran into Mr. Johnson as he walked out of Feed Imperial. He gave the boys a malevolent smile. “Hello boys, guess I’ll be seeing you two on Halloween night like always.”

  “Well ... I dunno,” Willie started.

  “You’ll be there all right, it’s a tradition. Just like your folks have and pretty much the whole damn town has for the last fifty years.” He smiled that smile again, reeking of tobacco and foul breath. “They can’t wait to see what crazy Mr. Johnson is doing next. You know I’m a legend in this town.” He rubbed his fingernails against his coat. “Implicated in the disappearance of four children fifty years ago.”

  “I’m sorry sir, but I think you’re mistaken,” Trevor answered. “I-I-I-I d-d-d-don’t-t-t kn-kn-know anything about that.” Standing up for his friend, he began stuttering as he did when he was nervous.

  “You’re the brave one this year. Usually it’s that one over there that has always been the brave one. Why, just last year I do believe you were the one that ran away when I opened my door. He wasn’t afraid though. He stood there and continued to take his pictures.”

  Trevor grabbed Willie’s arm. “Come on, Willie.”

  “Fine by me. It’s time to get home and eradicate the varmints,” chuckled Mr. Johnson. He turned and walked to his truck. Reaching for the door handle, he turned and said, “Wouldn’t want to disappoint you boys on Halloween.”

  Trevor and Willie watched Mr. Johnson drive back out of town, leaving a dust cloud behind him.

  Willie grinned from ear to ear and Trevor could almost smell the smoke of his friend’s always active mind hatching a plot. “I have an idea. We should find out what Old Mr. Johnson is up to.”

  Trevor shook his head. “No way am I going out to his place. You saw him up close, yellow eyes and all.”

  “Don’t you want to know what he’s up to instead of just wondering?”

  “No,” Trevor said with heart-felt honesty.

  Ignoring his friend’s reluctance, Willie led the way to his house knowing Trevor would follow. When they got to Willie’s house, Willie’s mama was on the front porch carving a pumpkin, and Travis waited while Willie went inside to retrieve his camera.

  She sank a knife deep into a pumpkin. Her dark face wrinkled into a frown. “What are you boys up to today?”

  Trevor looked at his shoes, avoiding her eyes that seemed to see and know everything. “Not much.” Brushing a lock of blonde hair from his eyes, he glanced up at her and smiled. “Just messing around.”

  Willie appeared at the door carrying the camera, a pair of binoculars, and two apples, handing one to Trevor.

  “You two stay away from the Johnson farm,” Willie’s mom said.

  “We will,” the boys chorused.

  They walked to Johnson’s farm just north of town, on what was once known as Harvest Lane.

  “How come your mom always knows what we’re doing?” Trevor asked. “Does she have second sight or something?”

  “It’s a wonder we get away with anything.”

  “Maybe we should listen to her.”

  “Oh Trevor, don’t be such a sissy.”

  The Johnson farm sat a hundred feet off the road, all peeling paint and dirty windows that contributed the house’s haunted appearance. What secrets are hidden in there? Or were they buried on the grounds. Trevor wondered. Two dilapidated outbuildings stood, spared twenty years ago by a tornado that pretty much tore up the rest of the town and surrounding farms. This fact added to the rumors in the community about the Johnsons and their pagan background. The Devil watches over his own.

  Trevor and Willie lay in the grass across the road watching Mr. Johnson with binoculars. He carried the bags of grain to an outbuilding where a large metal tub sat. Pouring in the contents of the bags he added a can of rat poison, distinctive by the skull and crossbones on the side, and mixed it together with the contents of another, unmarked container. They watched as Johnson dumped the whole mess into a trough close to his garden.

  Mr. Johnson had barely closed his back door when the squirrels appeared, making short work of the grub left for them. They saw Mr. Johnson standing near the window pointing and snickering.

  “Willie, let’s go home and come back early tomorrow morning.”

  Nodding, Willie left with Trevor.

  *****

  They returned the next day to see squirrel bodies scattered all around the Johnson farm. Their little mouths were open, and they w
ere stiff with rigor mortis.

  Trevor and Willie gulped hard and they watched in horror as Mr. Johnson pushed his wheelbarrow along, scooping up the bodies with a shovel. Even from the distance, they saw Mr. Johnson’s evil grin. He dumped the dead carcasses into a woodpile which he then soaked with gasoline and set ablaze with a nonchalantly flung match.

  Willie snapped pictures, careful not to be noticed.

  Trevor couldn’t shake the sense that there was more to Mr. Johnson than killing squirrels. They were a problem for most folks around town, and pumpkins were easy pickings for the varmints. They will tear into pumpkins just for the seeds, leaving a mess behind. He even remembered seeing gourds being carried off by the pests.

  *****

  Halloween night came, and sure enough, the Johnson farm had the scariest jack-o’-lanterns in town. Carved with horrific faces of pain and anguish. Where exactly did he get the images to portray them so graphically?

  Trevor dressed as a pirate and Willie dressed as the grim reaper, his face covered with a convincing death mask. They knocked on Mr. Johnson’s door, and he answered it with a disconcertingly gentle smile.

  “Hello boys. How are you doing this fine Halloween night?”

  “Great, Mr. Johnson, I see you have outdone yourself this year,” Trevor said. Something seemed different about this year, something different from other years, or maybe it was just that Trevor knew Mr. Johnson a bit better this year. He knew what the man was capable of, and he just couldn’t let it go.

  “Mind if we come in, Mr. Johnson?” Trevor asked.

  Willie’s mouth dropped open with shock.

  “Sounds like a good idea. It’s time for us to get better acquainted,” Mr. Johnson said.

  Inside wasn’t what Trevor expected at all. There was a red sofa and love seat, oak end tables, and a bronze Tiffany lamp, dimly lit.

  “Can I fetch you boys a glass of fresh apple cider?”

  Nodding, they both looked around.

  Maybe Mr. Johnson wasn’t the monster he seemed, Trevor pondered.

  Mr. Johnson brought back a tray with a pitcher of apple cider and a plate of cinnamon apple donuts.

  “I hope you boys like cider and donuts. It has always been a Halloween tradition at our house.”

  Trevor and Willie both took huge bites of their donut and chasing the bites with big gulps of cider.

  “Can you tell us the real story about those four kids fifty years ago?” Willie asked.

  “Oh that. I don’t know why folks are still asking about that. Not really a story at all, more of an accident.”

  “An accident?” Willie took another gulp of apple cider. It dripped down his chin, and he swiped at it with the back of his hand.

  Mr. Johnson leaned his gray face close to Willie. “Yes, they were brave enough to accept my offer to come in for fresh apple cider and donuts.”

  Trevor gulped hard as he felt his throat begin to close. Gasping for air, he watched as Mr. Johnson took Willie’s camera, and began to take pictures.

  “I think these will be the best reference pictures yet.”

  Willie tried to focus as Mr. Johnson’s face began to distort.

  HELL CROW

  Her grandfather’s eyes became dim like someone had turned the light off inside him. His weathered skin turned gray, matching his clothing, and he appeared to fade into the background of the front room. For the first time in years, he stood erect, watching a dark shadow cast across the sky, turning it black. At first it resembled an approaching storm cloud, but when it moved closer, Bobby Sue saw the crows flying into Hanover.

  “If only I knew, if only I knew,” her grandfather muttered.

  He sat on his favorite rocker; the one with the blue cushion grandma had made for him. He smoothed what little hair still sat atop his head and rocked. Something he did every day, but today it wasn’t his usual casual rock, he rocked as if he planned to dig a hole to China.

  Five-year-old Bobby Sue gazed up at him with a curious look in her blue eyes, puzzled why her papa seemed so upset. It’s not that seeing a crow in town was strange, it was normal. She did think them a bit nasty though, and many were large enough to carry her off if they had a mind to.

  Her grandfather stood up. “Bobby Sue, stay here and don’t go outside for any reason, until the crows leave!” His voice sounded harsh to her tender ears. He never spoke more than soft tones to her, and her lips trembled at his booming voice.

  “But why Papa?” She blinked her tears back, and stuck her bottom lip out, pouting.

  Grabbing her by the arms, his face inches from hers. “They’ll kill you that’s why. They’ll pluck your eyes from your sockets and you’ll be dead.”

  She didn’t have time to react or think as her grandfather grabbed his shotgun and headed out the door.

  Her grandfather walked outside with his shotgun and pointed it into the air. As crows flew toward him, he popped off a shot. He jumped in delight when a crow flopped to the ground. Reaching inside his coat pocket, he pulled out another shell, reloaded and shot another crow, until he had no more shells. He then swung his shotgun wildly as the crows flew down, and plucked his eyes from his sockets just like he told her would happen.

  Bobby Sue watched in horror as her grandfather staggered off. Her screams echoed through the empty house. She hid under a table, the one with the fancy lace tablecloth her grandmother made just like all the clothes she wore.

  She didn’t go outside until the crows left, two days later.

  *****

  Hanover, Illinois, is surrounded by corn fields. Acres of drying corn stalks flank every road coming in or out. Hanover’s crops had always flourished over the years while crops from nearby communities would often fail. It was a mystery that lead to sullen and jealous speculation in those other towns.

  Bobby Sue Delanti, now sixteen, made her way through town, stopping to watch Andy decorate light posts, his ladder positioned precariously close to the street. His tan jacket flapped in the wind, displaying a fair amount of plumbers crack.

  Bales of straw were stacked in his truck, but no corn stalks. She watched as he wound light strands around a light pole, securing each in place with baling twine. Backing down the ladder, he smiled. “Hi, Bobby Sue, are you looking forward to the Equinox Festival?” His chubby cheeks like always, were rosy red and his green eyes danced.

  “I guess,” she shrugged.

  “They are going all out this year on account of the full moon.”

  “Not that big of a deal.”

  “No?” He scratched his head. “Wait ‘til you see the carnival this year, they have way more rides than last year.”

  “I’m not that much into rides plus, I have more important things to do.” She tried walking past him, but he grabbed her arm. “Yeah, like what?”

  Bobby Sue glared down at his hand as if willing it to release her arm, like Andy didn’t have control over it.

  He let her arm go, “Sorry, I’ve just never known someone your age not to like a carnival is all.

  “My grandmother is missing.”

  “Really, are you sure?”

  “I outta know if she’s missing or not. She’s been gone a couple days.”

  He scratched his head again. “Maybe she’s visiting a friend.”

  “She shook her head. “Nope, she never goes much of anywhere, and she’d tell me if she planned on going somewhere.” She exhaled more loudly than she intended. She didn’t want him to know how upset she was. Her grandmother was her rock, the one person she counted on, and now she was gone. It's so unlike her grandmother to abandon her, and Bobby Sue couldn't get it out of her mind how sinister it seemed.

  “I have to get back to work, but don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll be home soon.”

  Bobby Sue walked away and noticed Jimmy Baxter talking to her best friend, Jennifer. Jimmy was the kind of boy that could make a girl’s pulse race. He has blond hair, blue eyes and solid muscles from working on his father’s farm. He showed off his physique by wearing bib overalls all summer with no shirt underneath. Jennifer had never taken a liking to anyone before, and Bobby Sue thought it strange she’d be talking to Jimmy now. She hoped Jennifer knew what she was doing.

  Bobby Sue waved at the pair as she passed, but they didn't wave back. She didn’t have time to worry about what they were or weren’t talking about. She had to find her grandmother.