SHIELA 2

SHIELA'S MISTAKE I THINK that I KNOW where Shiela went wrong, with handling our occassional "dates". First off, when she gave me a full weekend, she made too much of a point of DENYING the fact, afterward. Simple fact was that Shiela had asked my opinion, of her breasts. When I told her "From what I can see, they seem perfect". When Shiela mentioned "I wish you would tell my boyfriend that." When I asked "Why?", Shiela would tell me "He says that if I dont get quad-"D" size, that he is going to dump me, for a "real" woman." Now, although Shiela and I were "friends", we, both, agreed that there could, NEVER, be anything, between us. I wasn't her "type", and, aside from her beauty, she was not my type. Shiela wanted "Conan the Barbarian", and she would settle for nothing less. What concerned Shiela was how many other men might want a HUGE chest. For some reason, when Shiela asked if I would accept her breasts, if she offered them, she did not stop to think. When I mentioned "If you are offering, I am accepting." Shiela considered backing out, then she remembered "I AM on birth control. What harm can he do?" Shiela found out how much "trouble" I could cause, when her boyfriend cancelled a weekend date, with her. He, actually, thought that a woman, like Shiela, could not land another man, in five minutes flat. On friday, Shiela's concern began wih the fact hat I did not drink booze, with dinner. After dinner, she did not know WHAT to think, when I brushed my teeth, before kissing her, whispering "I thought you might like a fresh mouth to kiss." After Shiela used her own toothbrush, she settled into my arms, for a few moments, of soft, classical, music. After this, our clothes found her bedroom floor, and her back found the mattress. This time, however, Shiela felt that something was "different". She figured out what it was, when I did not just "stick it in". When I took my time, seducing her, until a flame became an "inferno", by the time our bodies united, Shiela found that her only hought was "I want to make this man happy." When we spent most, of friday night, making deeply passionate, romantic, love, Shiela found hat her main concern was that the weekend was passing far too quickly. While Shiela did promise me the whole weekend, she was surprised when, on saturday, when she mentioned "I have some errands to run. If all goes right, I should be back, by five." When I agreed that I had some errands to run, as well, I took her list, compared it with my, then presented another proposal. Since her mother would be taking Shiela shopping, in the family car, I suggested that Shiela take the big orders, at the big stores, and that I would handle the small stuff. The items which would take half the time to purchase as it would take, to park the car. When Sheila asked "Dont get worn out. I want some MORE, tonight." I promised. Sure enough, the plan worked. While the ladies took four hours, shopping, for food, I spent four hours riding around town, filling my packs, with purchases. Shiela would not have believed it, if she had not been there. By three p.m., all the shopping was done, and Shiela was back in my arms, taking all the "love" I could give her. By early evening, however, we had to take a break, as my stomach was growling, from need for food. For some reason, Shiela found herself NOT suggesting that we go, for "fast food", but that she could prepare something, in the house. What Shiela called a "snack", I called a meal. A meal which, afterwards, I took her into my arms, lay her back, and kissed her, deeply. As far as regrets are concerned, the main regret, that Shiela had, was allowing me o nurse her breasts. Something which, once I began, she did not want to end. On sunday, we took a break. Shiela put on the most comfortable, lace, panties, that she could find. She topped this off with a sheer baby doll, top. With this, she went about doing some house-keeping. She KNEW what was strange, about hat sunday. It was the fact that, un-like her previous men, all of whom guzzled booze, while watching sports, I drank water, and worked at her home computer. When she looked over my shoulder, saw my writing, hen said "So, you are a writer." I kissed her hand. That evening, we got in about two hours, worh of sleep. Then came monday. On monday morning, Shiela was so obsessed, with my promise, that I would say nothing, about the weekend, that I gave in, and kissed her. After that, we cleaned up, then she saw me to her door. This is when she said "Before you go..." and I took her into my arms, and gave her another, deep, kiss. I left her, lying back, and smiling, on a table-top. Now, I am not only willing to state, for the record, that I spoke to no one, about the weekend (in fact, no one even asked me) This is why, when Shiela came to me, mid-week, asking "WHO did you tell. You promised me. WHO did you tell?" When I asked "Tell WHO, about WHAT?" This is when Shiela told me "Okay, dont want to admit it. Want to play games." She, then, whispered "So can i." Standing so close that I could inhale her scent, Shiela took out my shaft, and began carressing it, even as I whispered "Be careful. We, still, want you." As she stroked me up, with one hand, her other hand found my shoulder, and "latched on" It was so beautiful that I lost all track of time, even as I slipped my hand into her pants, and, soon, both of our pants were around our ankles. When she whispered "Baby, you wouldn't dare." I slipped it into her, as she moaned. A moment later, our tongues were dancing and, thank god, the call did not come sooner. We, actually, made deeply passionate love, right there, "in public". It was afterward, when I throbbed, inside her, that she realized that I was telling the truth. Thankfully, her friends did not call, for her, until she had the chance to "collect" herself. Over the next two weekends, Shiela invited me over, to check her mail, for "important" stuff. The kind of mail which looks official, but, normally, isnt. Each saturday, after I told her which mail was important, we spent three hours, in bed. This was her way of saying "Thank You". Three hours, of pure Heaven. Three hours, of nursing those beautiful "B" cups. Three hours, DEEP, inside her body. Three, of the best hours that any saturday could contain. Still, there was the question, of WHO was "ratting us out". Who had motive, and opportunity. While I struck out, completely, it took Shiela just three weeks, to find the snitch. Since Shiela KNEW the woman was a lesbian, Shiela made her an offer. If the woman helped Shiela find the tattler, then Shiela would give the woman what she wanted. Turns out that the lesbian WAS the tattler. When Shiela asked "Why?" The woman would say "You ARE kidding, right?" When Shiela looked at the woman, the woman would say "Okay, girlfriend, but dont say I did not warn you." While Shiela listened, the woman told her "Girl, we can, all, see it. Every time you come out your door. We can tell, by that smile, that you got laid." When Shiela mentioned other men, the woman would say "Girl, I have not seen you this happy since high school let you drop out, on disability. Dont try to tell me that boy is not giving you all that you want." When Shiela would ask "Okay, so I like him. How much will silence cost?" Her friend would say "It will cost wo things. First, get off that "high horse, and admit that you love him." When Shiela would say "Fair enough". Her friend would say "Second, I want some of what you have been giving HIM. A man does not smile, like that, just from a hug, and a kiss." Shiela then spent four, LONG, hours, trying to give her friend a "taste" of what we shared. It was just so difficult, since the woman did not have a REAL shaft. After four hours, of effort, her friend said "Forget about number two. Its obvious that yours belongs to him." When the women stood up, naked, Shiela embraced the woman, kissed her, then whispered "I DO love him." Her friend said "No way, sister. That was a cop-out. I want you to admit it to our friends." When Shiela asked "At whose place?" Hre friend would ask "Wanda's place, tomorrow afternoon. Four o-clock." When Shiela asked "Anything else?", her friend would say "Get that man over here, and get LAID, as much as you can, before tomorrow afternoon." When Shiela asked "WHY?" Her friend would say "That will make it more believable." While Shiela did invite me over, it seems we lost track of time, making love, so deeply. By the time we took a break, and I remembered to ask her, Shiela smiled as she said "Right now, I dont CARE who knows." then kissed me, deeply. When Shiela next met, with her friends, the lesbian said "Okay, ladies, pay up!" The ladies doled out the cash. The next incident involved a mans shaft. Shiela thought hat she MUST have been sick, the day when a man forced her to suck his. She took it into her mouth, alright. She, then, bit it so hard, that the man wailed in pain. When Shiela departed the group, saying "I must be sick. I haven't done that since hat creep, in high school." Her friend, who had followed her, asked "Tell me, when was the last time you "tasted" your man." Shiela said "Last night", before even thinking. When her friend asked "I dont mean your "friend", I mean your man! You remember the one." Her friend noticed that Shiela had to think on that one. When Shiela asked "What should I do." Her friend said "If you think you are sick, invite that boy over, and give him every bit that you have." When Shiela would ask "What if I get sick, on him?" Her friend would say "In that case, head to bed, and rest." Her friend turned out to be correct. While the other mans shaft made Shiela feel like vomiting, she found that, with mine, she started with a kiss, and carress, then gave me two, Heavenly, blows. After that, the night was "lost" to passionate sex, and nursing. When I mentioned her other man, Shiela would say "He will call when he needs "some". Funny thing, though. When I saw him, next, he acted like he had NO woman. He was "on the prowl", looking for some. What I did not know, until later, was that, when Shiela saw him, all he said was "(get lost) you old crow. I need something fresh." That evening, Shiela rested, in my embrace, as I comforted her, promising her that I would remain by her side, until she found a new man. That was a promise, which would outlast four mattresses, seven sheet sets, and dozens of "dates", with "wannabe's". Shiela had heard every version, in the book. Everything from "I am just getting started", to "By my 35th birthday..." Shiela stayed with me since she KNEW I was working on my goals. Both in bed, and out. Best of all, I made her feel proud/happy, to be a woman. As for her friend, I encouraged Shiela to keep the friend around. Even if just for the memories, of the "old days". After all, the woman migh be a lesbian, but even lesbians have feelings. While we continued wearing ou mattresses, and sheet sets, Shiela kept going, with her search, for the "perfect" man. Problem was, the more time that passed, the less likely that she was, to even MEET him. It was at abbout this time, when Shiela found herself talking to people, not about her "Mr. Right", but about my plans, for expanding the United States. There were those, who wanted Americans o believe that my plan was to "import" more, cheap, labor. Shiela found herself countering this, with facts, more and more often. After all, who else could say "My man is looking to the nations future." Who else could say "My man is working to help America evolve." And evolve was just what the nation was doing. The United States had gone from fifty states, to fifty-seven states. More were petitioning. While Shiela had fantasized about a life of luxury, she had felt certain that it would come from "Conan". Not from a writer. Shiela never dreamed that catillions would result from people wanting to know more about me (and, as Shiela learned, about her, as well). While Shiela never thought that it would happen, this way, she did get her wish, to see Washington D.C. We were invited, to the capital, when the sixtieth state joined the union, and a new, if temporary, flag, rose on the flag pole. Shiela was trying to conceive how a man, who was more intellectual, than physical, could accomplish such a task. (Personally, I would have been THRILLED had I known how enraged my former in-laws were, at my achievements. I think I would have LAUGHED, had I known that, when students were studying American history, that parents pulled the young out of school, anytime my achievements were being lauded) Just dont ask me which fool suggested placing my face on a variety of monuments. What for? All I was doing was writing stories, and aiding my nation. I could think of thousands, of soldiers, who deserved recognition, more than I did. In order to cover more ground, Shiela agreed to serve as my "mouth-piece", at a variety of functions. This way, she could speak, at one location, while I spoke, at another. My opponents thought that they might have "had it made", since Shiela did have some past criminal records. With a bit of "doctoring", some one made it appear that Shiela had served time, at Shawshank. The actual prison. It was a good job, and might have, even, worked, except for one thing. Since Shiela knew how important the project was, to me, she insisted upon "transparency". SHE approved the release, of her court records. It worked, too. Once the truth hit the airwaves, the public was like "Who CARES what she did, in the PAST? We want to know about NOW." Add in the fact that Shawshank denied that females were ever inmates, and he opposition died away. While Shiela had, never, seriously, considered modelling, once she went "on the road", she found herself being dressed in the latest fashions. Soon, she was wearing jewelry, which only the rich wear, and she was replacing her public side walk "walk" with an uptown vibe. All of this, she was doing, while speaking of the benefits, of adding more states to the union. One, of he benefits, which Shiela never expected, was when the party took care of our state paper-work, for us. (Why not, they knew more than we did) While Shiela would, never, go down, in history, as America's First Lady, she would find herself being mentioned, much like Betsy Ross. That, and former First Lady, Dolly Madison. Two women, who had helped shape America's destiny. As our fame grew, Shiela and I asked about private tutoring, for a high school diploma. (Shiela would be the one to mention "As long as the teacher understands that I do not operate at warp speed") Surprisingly, the party had quite a number, of such tutors. It seems that tutors were proving in-valuable, in aiding people, in a variety of situations. While I was up, for testing, inside three months, I spent the next three months reviewing what I had learned, while Shiela worked toward the test. While, for most students, taking the final test, to qualify for graduation, was covered not just by drug testing, but by that "hammering-BANG", of the testing clock, our test master used a simple, digital, timer. As the test master said "DONT focus on how much time there is left. THAT is why so many students fail. Concentrate on the questions, and answers." Using this method, both Shiela and I completed the test, ahead of the deadline. Also, thanks to our doctors, drug testing would be waived, since the prescriptions, which we took, daily, would show up as street drugs. Upon OUR graduation, when the media asked our next move, I would consult Shiela, who would agree "Let us finish with state-hood, first. After that, we will decide on our next goal." While it was no ones fault, when Shiela fell ill, with a virus, and was given an antidote, the meds did eradicate the virus. Problem was, the anidote had an un-expected side effect. It rendered Shiela sterile. (Of course, I could name a medicine which, after just two doses, had ME in the E.R., with severe, stomach, cramps) A medic

THE PLAN

THE PLAN Or, should I say the "screw up". From the time when my plan began to replace the White Houses plan, for a new Berlin Wall, there was a "call", for "image". It had been a long haul, but, after Americans learned what a disaster the first Berlin Wall had been, for the Soviets, the decision, to build a wall, was scrapped. By the time people began asking about a plan "B", my own suggestion, about offering state-hood, was gaining support. As the party committee told me "The plan is sound, but we need a fresh, young, face, for the campaign." While MY choice, of a Latina side-kick would have been the radiant, and beautiful, Maria, the committee said "Sorry. We need YOUTH." THIS is how Consuella was chosen. Eighteen years old, with an innocent body, which almost "screamed" "I have potential". Light colored skin, small chest, long, wavy, hair, and maybe 5'4". Consuella was the type who was preparing for a life of modelling. While rumor held that Consuella had atleast fifteen, past, "lovers", there was no proof of this. From the moment, when Consuella was assigned to me, she was told that, at the proper times, we would have to hold hands, and so on. When she, outright asked "NO sex, right?" The committee promised "Only suggested". While Consuella did sign, she would prove worse than useless, as the project went forward. When people wanted to set appointments, with me, or review materials, Consuella could be located either in a tanning bed, or at pool side. She only answered calls, when she chose to. At the only interview, that she was allowed to give, Consuella's knowledge, of state-hood was limited to her own neighborhood. Her mistake was in saying "We need to take care of the "little people." After this, Consuella was told "Dont say a word, without party consent." While Consuella was relaxing, by pool side, I took Maria to lunch, mostly to ask her if such congestion was part of most projects. (I could not care, less, what her boyfriend thought. This wasn't a date.) After lunch, Maria began taking me through the process, of what a real project should look like. While, for weeks, Consuella had answerred such questions as "What does the man eat?" and she said "Ask HIM. I dont know." It was Maria, who began taking the questions. After all, while "teaching" me the process, of how state-hood would work, she took the time to learn my meds, foods, and schedule. While Consuella was swimming laps, in some billionairres pool, Maria was busy, making sure my schedule was set, right, and bugging me about taking proper meals. One day, when we were working on how to allow some Latino's to vote for state-hood, while part, of their region, was under violent, drug-lord, control, when Maria suggested I take a break, for dinner, for some reason, I suggested "I would rather have YOU, for dinner?" When Maria asked "Pardon me?", and I realized my words, I corrected myself, saying "I would love to sample you body, especially for dessert. IF you offered." Maria would say "We need to work on your opening lines." What surprised Maria was how, after some good food, I told her "I dont touch you until my hands, and mouth, are clean." I THINK we worked, til about one a.m., then went to her place, for an end of day drink. (I just did not know what Maria's idea of an "end of day" drink was.) By the next days, morning, meeting, Maria had me prepared for the presentation (even as the women, in the office, saw our smiles). For the first time, since entering the project, I felt comfortable, with my position. Not long, after this, staff members began liking it, more and more, when Maria was in charge of my day. Maria was Latina, but she had a real head on her shoulders. While Consuella remained the "pulic figure", the last person, to seek her advice, in regards to me, was the tailor, who made the most un-comfortable clothes that I had, ever worn. After the tailor spoke to Consuella, he came to Maria, to verify the information. Maria just laughed at the idea that I had a size fifteen waist. Her, yes. Me? No way. When Maria corrected the figures, the tailor had asked "IF I have further questions..." Maria had said "Its fine. Bring them to me." We had just figured out how to let people, in hostile area's, to vote when, as I was asked a question, and had to stop, and THINK of an answer, Maria was "on the ball", with an answer at hand. I think that the day, when Maria and I were happiest, was the day when area's 55-60 submitted state-hood petitions. This is the day when staff members began telling us "Your husband/wife is there.", and "Mr. H., Mrs. H. wants a moment of your time." Maria and I felt flattered, even though we laughed at the media's suggestion, that Consuella was our daughter. While Maria and I DID travel, south of the border, it was with full, party, approval. In fact, it was even with Vatican approval. This is because the holy church had sent priests to the lands, to spread the word, of the promise, of state-hood. It would seem that some Catholics wanted to hear from the United States. This is why, for three months, all of Maria's VISA restrictions were waived. After all, We WERE on "national business". Back, in the United States, there was more than a little "rumor", about what Maria and I were doing, at NIGHT. Were we, REALLY, working on national business, OR were we working on "personal". While we did a bit of both, I supported Maria's goal, of becoming a full American. She wanted a position, and a career, before she started a family. This is why we just did not mention, to church members, about birth control. By the end, of three months, Maria myself, and the holy church, had provided factual information. Information, which countered the crime-lords, and their propaganda, that America would INVADE the south, as we had, the Middle East. Crushing free thought, and bringing Christianity, at gun-point. By the time negotiations were concluded, three arch-bishops, and five cardinals, had visited the south. This after verifying that America had no plans to invade. The nation only wanted to provide state-hood, for those who wanted to become Americans. The time, when Maria and I, laughed, along with most of headquaters, was the day when Consuella was detained, by I.C.E., after visiting France, with a man, whose name I cannot pronounce. When Consuella insisted "If you are going to arrest ME, for leaving America, then you MUST arrest (Maria)." When the feds asked "On what charge?" Consuella insisted "SHE (Maria), left the United States, as well, AND for THREE MONTHS! I was gone only one week." It took Congress almost three days, to convince Consuella that Maria had a waiver, and was on national business. Consuella made a comment, about the "waiver", that Maria had, being retained in my pants. While the youth was being detained, Maria and I, along with the cardinals, verified that more people wanted to vote. In order to be safe, from guerilla attacks, however, the people wanted churches to be used, for voting. This since, supposedly, not even radicals would attack the House of the Lord. The Democratic Party agreed with the Vatican. The people would vote where they felt most safe. I just wish I knew WHO was spreading the LIE, claiming that, with state-hood, Latino's would come "pouring, across the border". In truth, all that would happen was that the stars and stripes would fly over their buildings, and they would use U.S. currency. That, and obey federal law. No one was talking about moving Latino's into the United States. The plan was to allow them to add their star, to our flag. Even as a sour-faced Consuella was being herded onto a train, for deportation, Maria and I were present, when states number 59 through 63, were, formally added to the nation. Maria was happy, at this time, but, just a month, before, she had jumped into my arms, and kissed me, when her OWN land had been accepted, for state-hood. Now, Maria was American, as was her family. No more immigration forms, or special permissions, to travel home. By the time the "flames", of change, began to flicker out, the Stars and Stripes was flying over all-except for three , small, areas, of South America. As an un-expected side-effect, of this, Maria and I found ourselves being stationed, in the new states. Our task was "simple." We were to oversee the preservation of the Maya, and Inca, ruins. U.A.V.'s would be used, to map, and photograph, the original condition, of the ruins. After that came the picks, shovels, and hoses. While Maria kept alive the hope that, eventually, she would be "blessed", with motherhood, she ended up being more of a combination of supervisor, and tour guide. While Maria was occupied, with these duties, I used my time, and talent, to record, as correctly as possible, all of the stories, tales, and so on, from these ancient lands. These tasks, we undertook, even as a Democratic president took over the nation, and was busy repairing the damage done, by an "illiterate" "president". (A man with NO political background) Now, however, the job had grown even LARGER. This, since the nation had grown from fifty states, to 95 states.

THE HAUNTING PAST: MYSTERY OF THUNDER ROAD

THE HAUNTING PAST: THE MYSTERY OF THUNDER ROAD PROLOGUE: In the 1950's, groups, of teenage hot rodders, would be modifying their cars, to be the fastest thing on the road. In most, such, races, the winner, of the illegal drag races, would win the car title, of the losers car. In a "special event", however, the leaders, of the various, car, clubs, would have come up with an idea, which would win wide-spread support. The idea would be, for a single drag, set up like the Indy 500. Due to the tightness, of the course, however, only two cars could race, side by side. This is why a new rule would be adopted. The winner would NOT be the FIRST car, over the drag line, but the car, with the fastest lap. The rules were simple. The driver, of the fastest car, would be allowed to choose any car, that he wanted, and it would be his. The same, with the rest of the cars. Winners had choice. Losers would walk home. With the ladies watching, from the embankment, and timers, at both ends of the course, the engines would rev, and drivers would prepare for the drag of their lives. When the signal was given, the cars sped out, all trying for first place. Only three cars engines sputtered, and died. The drivers were declared "Dis-Qualified, due to engine trouble" Still, the timers, and the crowd, watched, as the cars tore up the "raceway", vanishing into the night, except for tail lights. Maybe five minutes after the lights vanished, the starting line would call the finish line, asking "When are you going to tell us who won?" When the finish line would respond "Win what? We are, still, waiting for the first car. Where did they go? Stop off for a beer?" After half an hour, of waiting, both ends began to investigate the "raceway", thinking that the drivers were down. Even when start and finish met in the middle, there was no sign of the dragsters. No fuel vapors. No skid marks. Cars and drivers, were gone, period. This left the un-answered question of "WHERE did they go?" Over the following years, a wide variety, of witnesses, would report witnessing the passage, of the racers, along the original route. No matter how often the local police would stake-out the passage, however, the dragsters only seemed to appear to those who had no knowledge, of the "vanishing act". Naturally, once the teens were listed as "Missing", for twenty-four hours, All Points Bulletins had gone out. The year, when the raceway should have been closed, permanently, was 1963. This was the year when an environmental activist group began collecting samples, of motor oil, and transmission fluid, from the "raceway". The environmental group had been "radical", in its demands, for good reason. When the space was not being used, as a raceway, it was used to divert rainfall from the city, running an un-obstructed line, directly to the river. A river, which fed the local water department. The environmentalists had filed a petition, demanding that the water supply be tested. No one had been more shocked, than the supervisor of the water works, when the results came in. Not only were the ratio's, of motor oil about four times higher than allowable, by law, but so was the amount of transmission fluid. What caused the city to close down the duct, until further notice, was the fact that the tests showed the presense of lead. Lead, in enough concentrations, to make adults ill, as well as damage childrens developing brains. While the city was certain that the motor oil, and transmission fluid, were being illegally dumped, just to avoid processing charges, what concerned everyone was the presense of the lead. Since lead had been declared a toxic substance, no one sold lead, anymore. This is why, in 1963, the duct had been closed down, with the entrance walled off, with a concrete barrier. Over the years, since 1963, the government had spoken of everything from toxic waste clean-up, to simply pouring a new floor, over the toxins, then, once dry, re-opening the duct. From what Tami and I were lead to understand, even as sightings continued, so did the presense, of the toxins. While there was wide-spread suspicion, in the sixties, seventies, and eighties, that modern dragsters might be cutting holes in the chain link fences, then using the duct, for more races, property inspections showed no damage. Yet, despite decades, of security, and observation, the sightings continued, as did the appearances of lead. One police officer, who was, promptly, fired, had suggested that the TYPE of lead made him wonder if the presense of lead, were the result of dragsters crowding, and bumping, one another. When asked just HOW the cars made it through the concrete barrier, the officer had said "I am just making an observation". Since the chief of police did not want such talk, around town, the officer was fired. According to the case-file, beginning in the late 1970's, locals reported the possibility that dragsters were following them, from various businesses, to their homes. One womans complaint, that a 50's dragster had sat across from her house, on four, consecutive, nights, would have been ruled a "crank/lonely", but only until a neighbor verified that atleast one of the men, in the dragster, looked just like Fonzie, from Happy Days. When the police joked "Let me guess. The other one looked like Richie Cunningham." The witness would say "Most certainly NOT! The other boy looked like James Dean!" When the police chief got the report and asked "Richie Cunningham? Fonzie? James Dean? Dragsters? You expect me to file this?" The officers would say "That is what the witnesses said." The chief of police was prepared just to shred the reports, atleast until after his shift was over, a few weeks later. The chief would report "Sighted dragster, in parking lot of local grocery store. Would not have paid it any attention, since local kids are into nostalgia, except for the fact that the two occupants seemed to be watching the store, as if on stake-out." While I was hungry, for some Hungry Man dinners, I decided that dinner could wait, just long enough to find out what the draggers were doing. For reasons I wont pretend to understand, I watched as Miss Agnes Johnson emerged from the store, with her groceries, entered her car, without a fuss yet, just as she keyed her ignition, so, to did the draggers. This is why I decided that Hungry Man could wait. As silently as possible, I slid into "line", behind Miss Johnson's car, and the dragster, and followed them to the womans home. At her home, all three of us watched the young woman enter her house. Now, my belly might have been un-settled, but I would swear, on a Bible, that the draggers did a hand-clap, inside their car. When they pulled away, from the Johnson home, I decided to have a talk, with them. Didn't turn on my lights, until we were out of the residential area. I know it will sound impossible but, after I turned on my lights, and the dragster turned a corner, I turned, preparing to stop, behind the dragster, yet found nothing but empty air, in front of me. In just two seconds, flat, car, and occupants, were gone. When a slow cruise, of the area, turned up nothing, the police chief returned to the store, then drove to his own place. While the chief might have wanted to station more cruisers, throughout town, the limited size of both the city, and his force, made this impossible. While the police force did its best, in taking reports, fom witnesses, this just didn't seem to have the desired effect. The "straw", which caused the police chief to call in the Brown Agency, was the fact that persons, unknown, were using the legend, of the missing drivers, to cause property damage. The vandals were "good", too. Using cars, similar to the dragsters (only with silenced exhaust), the dragsters had begun ripping up the lawns, of certain properties. One neighbor reported that, one evening, while a family was away, that the dragster backed onto the lawn, and someone, described as "Looking similar to James Dean", got out of the car, wound some chains around porch pillars, then the dragster "burned rubber", taking the porch out, with it. Since the chief KNEW what would happen, if the state, or federal, police got involved, the chief asked an old friend, for an introduction. This is how Tami and I got involved. In the police chiefs "official" report, the events were believed to be the work of copy-cats. Why else use 1950's clothes, cars, and so on? Since the main topic, of concern, was the duct/raceway, Mr. Black had sent a team, just to re-verify the substances, found on the floor, of the duct. Mr. Black would submit a report, asking "Why would anyone go to the trouble, of using modern ingredients to create oil, and transmission fluid, of a type, not used in decades?" Based upon the paint shavings, Mr. Black would suggest "The best alternative is that someone is, intentionally, adding high doses, of lead, to the paint the cars are using. For some reason, they want us to THINK that the paint is old." As for the list, of suspects, everyone, on the police list, had been reported missing, since the night of the big drag. Even if the drivers were no more than sixteen, on the night in question, we were looking at between 70, and 85 years ago. As for the reason why the case was listed as "un-solved", over the years, the reason was simple. Neither cars, wreckage, nor bodies, had been discovered. (Some fans, of science fiction television, suggested that the cars might have driven through a portal, to another dimension.) A local church was promising that, since the drivers were young, and without any, real, sin, on their hearts, that the Divine had called them to Heaven. The question, which this did not answer, was "Even if the Divine called the souls to Heaven, would the Divine take the cars, as well?" What use would a dragster be, in Heaven? These, and other questions, were the reason why Mr. Brown accepted the case. While Mr. Brown would tell us "Dont get your hopes up. This might be nothing more than human grand-children, trying to "play" dragster." When Tami would ask "IF it is the spirit world?" Mr. Brown would say "Normal, investigation procedure." During G.S. 2's flight, to the case location, Tami and I noted just how long the town seemed "frozen, in time". The police cruisers had no video equipment, nor laptop computers. In fact, the police cars retained Citizen Band (C.B.) Radio. There was no video monitoring, of traffic flow, and, IF the file was correct, the street lights still used incandescent bulbs. It was a good thing that our pilots had adopted the policy of landing, at night. In the day time, our plane COULD be mistaken for an attack craft. (The same concern the Soviets had, when G.S. 2 touched down, on Soviet soil, to investigate sightings, of Czar Nicholas 2.) Of course, the discretion, of "hiding" G.S.2 was only "Round One", of this case. According to the print photo's, in the case file, either the photos, of local transportation, were decades out of date, or people retained use, of 1950's, and 60's, automobiles. This would mean that our new century automobiles would "stick out", like a battleship. Only my coaster bicycle would fit in with this towns transportation. It would seem that, by the time, when we arrived, that the police chief was not only continuing his own investigation, but had arranged a meeting, between us, and the towns record keeper. The reason: While the dragsters remained under cover, of darkness (probably to avoid easy identification), more reports were coming in, of dragsters, containing only a single occupant, and asking directions, to businesses. When Tami would ask "What is so suspicious about people asking directions?" The records keeper would look at the chief of police, who would say "You have to understand. This town is very old, and it has deep roots." When Tami would ask "How deep?" The police chief would say "The dragsters ask for directions, to stores, whose owners, and names, have changed, many times, over the years." When Tami would ask "Such as?" The police chief would say "In some cases, the drivers ask where grocery stores are. In other cases, the question is "Where is the gas station?" It would be me who would say "Lets cut to the chase. WHO are these dragsters looking for?" The police chief would, hesitantly, say "Bentleys garage WAS on Sommerset Road, originally. Great garage, good gas, and a candy counter, for us kids. I only remember it when I think of days gone by." When Tami would ask "You say that Bentleys garage WAS located on Sommerset Road. Where is it, now?" The police chief would yield to the historian, who would say "As near as the records show, Bentleys garage began as a repair shop, in the horse and buggy days. Since Mr. Bentley was un-sure of if the gasoline powered transports were just a passing fad, he kept half of his stalls, for carriages, and only converted half, for the new automobiles. As more cars, then trucks, began coming to his shop, he converted all but one stall, to motor vehicles. When Mr. Bentley passed away, his son took over the business. By the time the chief, here, began visiting the garage, with his own father, the son was aging, and looking for someone to take over the garage." When Tami asked ""Why didn't his OWN son take over, for him?" the records keeper would say "The young Bentley wanted "more/different", out of life. This is why he took his savings, and enrolled in engineering school." The police chief would say "Mr. Bentley sold the garage to Carl Clank. A "shade-tree" mechanic. I think that is, still, the word for them." The police chief would add "Clank sold the original garage location, and moved it into his own garage. Maybe eight blocks from Mr. Bentley's location." Tami would suggest "Something tells me that it does not end there." The records keeper would say "You are quiet correct. Carl ran the shop right "into the ground". He thought that people would just wait, until he finished repairing cars. When they didn't, he told them to ""Go somewhere else. They did". Yeah, they went to Coyote Joe. A man who had been doing spot automotive repairs since anyone, alive, can remember. When Tami would ask "Where did Coyote Joe move the repair place to?" The Chief would say "To a warehouse. A place built, to store lead ore, back when this place was just a road-side ore processing plant. Once the lead went away, the warehouse was sold to a meat packing company. They scrubbed out all of the lead, and processed meat, until another company bought the property. Gave Coyote Joe a check, for $300,000." The chief would say "Since then, the warehouse has been used to store everything from car parts, to plumbing supplies. Anything you can name has been stored, there, from time to time." When Tami would ask "Any other locations, with such an interesting history?" The chief no-sooner said "Well..."" when the records keeper would say "The grocery store, which the dragsters reportedly ask about. It was in business from about 1945, to about 1965." When Tami would suggest "Mighty SHORT life span, for a town, of this size." The records keeper would say "Young woman, you miss understand. I said the store, that the drivers ASK about was only in business, for about twenty years. I never said it was the ONLY store." When Tami would say "Let me guess. It started out as a general store. Providing supplies for new arrivals. Over time, as the railroad came through, followed by the highways, the general store evolved into a grocery store. Maybe even a laundromat, as well." This is when the chief of police, and the records keeper, would fill in the "enormous HOLES", in Tami's tale. The store had been everything from a general store, to a Dixie Queen, Piggly Wiggy, Thompsons Food Basket, and others. Name changed about every ten, to twenty, years. While the store remained in the same location, nowdays, it was a ShopSmart. The chief even recalled his own, favorite, business. The now vastly out-of-date service center. The chief actualy smiled as he recalled "I remember being a young man, Driving into the station, while the crew checked my car. I didn't even have to leave my car, if I wanted anything. Those were the days, when service meant FULL service." When Tami would ask "Chief, if you believe that these are just high schoolers, then HOW could modern day kids know about what life was like nearly a century ago?" The records clerk would add "That is a very good question. I have even checked the records logs, to see if anyone has been doing research, on the area. Problem is, with sightings going as far back to the 1960's, we are at a loss." This is when a call came in, over the radio "Chief, unit four here." When the chief picked up the microphone, saying "Chief here. Whats up?" The caller seemed to be whispering, as he asked "Do you know if there is supposed to be a dragster, parked across the street, from the station." When the chief said "Not that I know of, why? What is it doing?" Unit four would say "Chief, it seems to be watching your office." A moment later, and unit four would report "Chief, that dragster is revving up its engine." Even as the chief yelled "Everybody DOWN!", and the entire, small, police station, fell to the floor, the place was filled with the ROAR, of a heavily-modified dragster. A moment after this, it felt like a tornado had ripped through the station. The space was tossed, like a tornado wind, even as the noise, of the dragster, ROARED. What I noticed, during the incident, was how the wind felt like what I rememberred in the days before air conditioning became standard, in cars. The feel of the wind, as the car drove by. Inside the police station, it felt like I was riding inside a dragster, with its top down. Papers, files, and office supplies, just went flying. Then, as the roar continued, I smelled a very familiar scent. That of gasoline. It was like I was standing over an engine, which was being tuned. It was not until a few moments after the engine noise died away, that the chief heard unit four calling: Base, this is unit four. If you can hear me, you wont believe what I just saw." When the chief keyed the microphone, asking "Unit four. WHAT did you see?" Unit four would say "The dragster. It began pouring out thick, dark, smoke, even as its engine revved." When the chief asked "Where is it, now?" Unit four would say "Thats what I mean. The car was sitting, in front of us, then it revved its motor, and produced a cloud of choking vapor." When the chief said "Never mind that. Where is it, now?" Unit four would say "Thats the trouble, chief. It vanished, inside the exhaust." Shortly after this, unit three would call in, saying "Suspect vehicle proceeding down Thunder Road, far in excess of speed limit." When the chief would ask "Unit three, can you intercept?" Unit three would reply "We dont even know they got down there." When the chief returned to his desk, and Tami asked "Thunder Road? Where is that?" The chief would say "Its a water diversion canal, designed to keep the city from flooding. All excess water is supposed to flow there." When Tami who, like myself, had watched many a dragster movie, asked "Are we talking about a waterway, being used as a drag-strip?" The chief would say "Maybe 75 years ago. Local history says there are, maybe, 100 demolished racers, in there." When Tami would ask "Why did unit three decline to pursue?" The chief would say "To our knowledge, all entrances, and exists, have been blocked, for decades. We dont even know HOW the cars get on Thunder Road." When Tami saw the chief looking about his small station, she told him "Relax. They are just letting us know that they know that WE are here." After the police chief all-but BEGGED us to find some answers, Tami set off, for the Hall of Records. She wanted to find any connection between the dragsters, and those they were following. While Tami did this, I would set out, to find more information on this Thunder Road, and more about the modern dragsters. It would turn out that the whole town knew about Thunder Road. The drags, winners and losers. It was when the question became "If it were you, how would you access Thunder Road?" Either people were just playing dumb, or they, truly, had no idea how to access the roadway. In fact, when asked how the environmentalists accessed the "road", a local, boom, operator would admit that he lowered the groups members over the barriers, to collect their samples. When I asked if the boom could handle a car, the operator hooked onto a nearby car, then kicked the diesel engine, of his truck, into high gear. While the boom DID lift the car, the noise was incredible. When my hearing returned, the boom operator asked "How can anyone, in town, miss that much noise?" My question, as well. Tami, it would seem, had far better luck than I did. While the young dragster owners admitted that they would LOVE access to Thunder Road, no one had a clue of how to do so, without making enough noise to wake the dead. Between visiting the Hall of Records, and her un-restricted computer access, aboard G.S.2, Tami began building a "history" of the town. A history, which even the Records Keeper had never considered. Now, sure, everyone, in town, knew which properties, that certain families had owned, since the area was founded, Tami would spend her time building a time-line, not just of "Those who Stayed", but of those, who left town, and whose families only returned when hearing of jobs, or to settle accounts. In her daily reports, to the Brown Agency, Tami began building such a comprehensive case that Mr. Blue, Mr. Black, and even Jackson, joined in the search. Mr. Brown was thrilled when Jackson agreed to join the research, since Jackson had plenty of previous knowledge, both of automobiles, and how to overcome barriers, without leaving any evidence behind. Jacksons past would prove in-valuable, in aiding the resolution of the case. While Tami, and the "gang", were working the towns past, I was left to contact local, and regional, paint manufacturers. Time after time, any company I visited. When asked about lead paint, all insisted "We would lose our license, if we sold lead paint. It is not only illegal, but deadly poisonous." When I asked "Do you know of anyone who MIGHT be willing to add lead, to paint, to make it APPEAR real?" I was reminded that a company could lose its operating license, if the feds even SUSPECTED lead tampering. While the paint companies were adamant, about the quality, and ingredients, used in making paint, the modern day draggers did admit to adding vodka, to gasoline. While some of the draggers were under legal age, they admitted that adding vodka to gasoline, gave engines more power. (One, retired, dragger, even boasted of the fact that, as a young man, he, often ran his car either on vodka, or on moon-shine, when he could get some.) When I asked the draggers about lead paint, all seemed in agreement. Lead was a heavy substance, which would weigh a car down. This is why no one used lead, anymore. Lighter base paint meant more speed. As for Tami, she got used to spending much time, either with old, dusty, journals, or sifting information, from databases. What my partner found shocked very few people, in town. Sometimes, a family left town, for three, four, even five, generations, before returning. Some of those, who came to town, did not even know that ancestors came from this city. These people included the librarian, a store clerk, garage mechanic, and dozens, of other people. In fact, it was not long before Tami could report, to Mr. Brown: "We have a connection, between the dragsters, which are following, and those they are following. IF our information is correct, the dragsters are following the grand-children, of those who turned the dragsters in, almost a century ago." It seems that the grand-father, of the garage mechanic, had turned in some draggers, after his son was run over, during an un-announced drag. Thankfully, the victim had been a sports star, and had excellent reflexes. When the cars bore down, on him, the athlete did a high jump, and the car caught his legs, instead of his torso. The athlete had suffered multiple fractures, of both legs, and been in-valided out of the schools varsity program. Since this meant no college scholarship, the students father had turned the draggers in, with each serving two years, under juvenile sentencing. Three, local, boys, had been sentenced, as adults, after they got so drunk, at a party, that they RIPPED their dates clothes off. When the girls tried to defend themselves, the boys switched from wanting sex, to wanting "revenge". NO woman was saying "NO", to these guys. Not without consequences. While it turns out that the boys were so drunk that they did not even remember the night, there were plenty of witnesses, and plenty of blood samples. The boys were convicted, as adults, and spent five years in prison. Victims had left town, to avoid being "labelled", and had not returned. Their descendants had, but the victims hadn't. Then there was the chief of police, himself. A man who had, "somehow" known that the dragster would tear into his police station. Tami learned the HOW, and WHY, from the towns history. Old newspaper headlines spoke of a time, decades ago, when a group, of bully drag racers, took up the challenge, of "raiding" public events. Church gatherings, and holidays, seemed to be the draggers favorites. They LOVED to plow through events, making people run for their lives. (This, while the draggers, reportedly, laughedd, out loud, at their prey.) The chief of police had been a young man at the time when the draggers raced through some sort of "revival" meeting. Then, a young boy, barely into his teens, he had watched, from behind a barrier, as the drag racer drove across church property, and its racers laughed, as victims ran for cover. According to the follow up reports, everyone, at the meeting, reported that, before the attack, the dragster had revved its engine, while its occupants gave church goers and "evil" smile. Based upon the pictures, that she found, with the articles, Tami understood why the chief had ordered everyone, in the station, down. The dragster had made several passes, opver the churches land, and only departed when the loone, policce cruiser, which was on duty, at the time, came "calling", lights flashing and siren blaring. The ONLY reason why the dragster got away from the police was that the police cruiser was built to be as quiet as possible, in residential area's. By contrast, the dragster was built for pure speed. While Tami checked the records, several times, she found noo evidence beyond the fact that police had chased the car as far as possible, then gave up, when they lost sight of the dragster. While a warrant was issued, the next day, Tami could find no record of the dragster EVER returning. What Tami found of great concern, was the fact that, on the night, of the "Great Drag", and in the following days, nothing, of the drivers, nor cars, had been found. Except for gasoline fumes, motor oil, and paint shavings, from where cars "bounced" off one another, there was nothing to show what became of the dragsters. In her report, to the Brown Agency, Tami would state "While test results are in-conclusive, I believe that this is due to the lack, of modern day test techniques. No one "shirked" their duty. They just did not have the resources, which we have, today." While I struck out, with the dragsters, it would be when Jackson arrived, that answers would be forth-coming. Answers, such as a hidden entrance to the duct/road. An entrance, which only a master thief, such as Jackson, would know to look for. While Jackson found the entrance, when Mr. Black asked "HOW, and WHY, would dragsters use oil, and transmission fluid, from decades ago?" Jackson would say "I did my part. I found the entrance. You can handle the rest." Jackson, however, did not depart, especially after he heard that the racers were bumping, and scratching, their cars, on the concrete sides, of the waterway. When Jackson would ask "Who would be dumb enough to bash their expensive paint jobs, by scarping the walls of the duct?" When Tami reminded us, all, of the race scene, from Grease, and about the racer, who enjoyed "chewing up" other drivers race cars, Jackson would remind my partner "That was a movie. That race was staged, for audience attention. REAL racers would never pull such stunts. The repair costs would wipe out a drivers savings." When I would point to the duct, saying "Yet, THERE is the evidence." Jackson remained to be convinced. By the time Mellissa Anderson brought her professional driving team, to town, Tami had traced even MORE of the towns history. Tami had even traced which of the dragsters had worked, as teens, at various businesses. More, importantly, she learned not only who had been hired, but who had been FIRED, as well. Most of the teens worked, for local businesses, but only until the price, of car parts, exceeded what employers were willing to pay. When workers began asking for advances, and pay increases, they had been dis-charged. Thunder Road had become the boys primary source, for car parts. When Tami submitted her daily report, to the Brown Agency, even Mr. Brown agreed with her findings. The dragsters were not just staying, to continue racing. They were staying on, for some sort oof "revenge", against those whom, the dragsters, FELT had done them wrong. The problem was that, if the dragsters were after former employers, and their families, then the dragsters were caught in an endless cycle. After all, those, who had been middle aged, in the 1950's, would be DEAD, in the modern day. As for the dragsters, which were doing the modern day damage, once Mellissa Anderson set up her teams, around town, it was easy to learn the truth. After all, as bizzarre as it sounds, even on digital pictures, camera's just did not have the visual range, of thee human eye. While three, of Mellissa's drivers WATCHED, as property was damaged, when the footage was run, through diagnostics, all that showed was a black mass, pulling close to each target, then pulling away. The torn up lawns were the result of the spirits, digging their spiritual wheels into reality, just enough to do damage. When Mr. Brown would ask Tami "Now that we know that we are dealing with spirits, what kind of time-line are we looking at, for case resolution?" While the very idea, of spirits, turned the Negro, Jackson, pale, it would be Mellissa Anderson who would suggest "Sir, first we need to find someone, who WANTS to make contact. It would be a horrible mistake just to walk onto Thunder Road and ask "Who wants to talk?"" When Mr. Brown would look at Tami, asking "Your thoughts?" Tami would say "I agree. Spirits dont make contact, on OUR terms. THEY set the terms. We wait for them." When Mr. Brown would ask "What about the full moon?" Mr. Black would say "Thirteen days to go. We are at the opposite end of the calendar, right now." When Mr. Brown would ask "Have you discovered in WHAT way that the vandalism is connected with Thunder Road?" Tami would say "I dont think that it is. Thunder Road is a place where drivers pit skills against one another. This, other, group. They seem to be involved, just for the thrill of scaring humans." Mr. Brown would say "Two groups, you say. Does that mean double the work?" Tami would say "I am afraid so." Mr. Brown would mention "I would be willing, under other conditions, to instruct you to handle the vandals, first, then go after Thunder Road. The problem, right now, however, is that a community needs its water supply. Their emergency reserve is down to 25%. If they cannot begin collecting water, again, soon, they will have to PAY to have water imported." When Mr. Black would ask "If these racers are spirits, then HOW can their cars be polluting the waterway?" Even Jackson agreed that this did not make sense. This is when Mr. Black had an idea. "What if we brought in a power wash unit, and scrubbed the waterway down, with ammonia, and bleach?" Mr. Brown would say "It would be expensive, however, let me speak to the mayor. Maybe I can recommend that a power-wash would be more cost effective, than shipping in water." Mellissa Anderson would ask "How will any of this aid us, with the phantom dragsters?" Tami would suggest "IF the cars are phantoms, as well, then the power-wash will wash away any residue." Mr. Brown would say "Let me get started on the offer. You should have an answer, by tomorrow afternoon." Still, neither Tami, nor I, could answer Mellissa Andersons question, about what to do, with the dragsters. After all, if a spirit is doing what they love, telling them to "take a hike", would be as insultive as a stripper, at a childs birthday party. Tami knew what was needed. The question was "How LONG would it take to find a spirit, which was willing to both communicate, and cooperate?" (If only Mother Superior would show herself.) While Mellissa Anderson had the idea that, if she, and one, fellow, driver, entered the Thunder Road races, Mellissa thought that she could win the dragsters acceptance. Maybe, they would talk to us, this way. Just one problem. While Mellissa Anderson joined some of the drags, she noticed how odd it was. starting with cars in front of, and behind her, and the other driver, yet, at just a short distance from the start line, the modern day drivers found themselves all alone. (WHERE had the other drivers gone?) It was not until Tami began really DIGGING into the events, of the BIG DRAG, that we began to find a solution, to the questions, at hand. While Tami could find no absolute proof, what she DID find was that, before the BIG DRAG, some semi's had been hired, for an "un-specified" load. For some reason, some extra long conveyor belts, and rigging, had been rented, by someone who paid cash. When I made the joke, asking "What did they do? Have the dragsters drive into the rear, of the semi's, then turn over the keys?" Tami would ask "Have you got a better idea?" While the chief was un-certain of HOW such trucks could be hidden, during the day, then rolled out, at night, without anyone noticing, the question the chief was stuck with was "Eveen if the cars were stolen, and re-sold, WHAT did the thieves do, with the drivers? The department had notices out, within hours." Tami would say "Correction. Under the OLD law, police were required to wait, for 24 hours, before declaring anyone missing." When the chief would ask Tami "Young lady, just how FAR do you think a 1950's semi could drive, in 24 hours?" When Tami would say "I have no idea. I was not born, then." The chief would say "Given the load, which dragsters would weigh, there was no WAY that the semi's could have missed the road-blocks. Not with fulll loads." I would suggest "Not until the drivers were dumped, alone the way." When the chief would say "Sir, explain that." I would say "Its just a thought but what would happen if the thieves DUMPED, as in killed, the draggers, and just kept the cars." The chief no-sooner growled "Impossible! All cars have keys. It would take DAYS to jack all of the starters." Tami would ask "Guys, what if the thieves did not KILL the draggers. What if they HID the drivers, instead?" The chief would ask "WHERE? We searched this whole county, from one side to the other. Never found any evidence." When Tami asked "Are you SURE that you looked every place?" This is when a deputy came to the chief, saying "We didn't check every place." When the chief asked "What do you mean?" The deputy would say "The lead ore mine." The chief would say "We did not need to check that place. Its been boarded up since the ore ran out. There has been a shield door, there, since I can remember." The deputy would mention "My father said that, when he was young, grandpa told stories, about him and his friends, playing, in the mine, as children, then making the mine seem haunted, every Halloween. When the chief asked "Just HOW did they get past that barrier door?" The deputy would say "MY grand-father says that, in those days, there was no door." It was shortly after the chief would say "I will contact the county judge, and get a search warrant." When Tami asked "How long?" The cheif would say "By morning." This is when Tami looked at thee calendar, and knew that our next, seven day, full moon, was at hand. If we wanted answers, from the dead, this was our chance. It was outside oof the police station that, after sunset, a young man, dressed, and looking, like James Dean, appearred, saying "Be careful in the old mine. That place is dangerous. Weak beams, hollow floors, falling parts." When I asked "Air quality?" "James Dean" would say If you dont stir the dust, then you should be fine. I give you this caution, though." When Tami would ask "What caution would that be?" "James Dean" would say "Br prepared for what you find. You wont like it." Even as Tami was asking "WHAT will we find?" "James Dean" would say "Heed the warning." With that, the young man would dissolve. Neither of us spoke to the police. Not until we arrived, at the mine. It seems that the reason why we were required to wait until eleven A.M. was because the current owner did not want to pay for a replacement lock. This is why the foreman spent his morning, searching for a key, no one had seen, in decades. "James Dean" was right, however. The mine was about as "safe" as a nuclear reactor. It, also, did not take long to find out the reason why the trucks were, never, stopped at the road-bocks. After the foreman opened the outer door (which sqeeked, like a siren), we had walked maybe a quarter of a mile, when "James Dean" appearred, before us, and the chief had to "SHH!" a deputy, as "James Dean" reminded us "Prepare yourselves for what you are about to see." When our group members began asking one another "Was that, really...HIM?!!" The chief would say "Only one way to find out." With that, the chief lead the way, forward. "James Dean" had been right. When we found what might have been a "lounge", we found not bodies, but body parts. Heads, arms, legs, and torso's, all looking like they had been ripped apart. Thankfully, after so many decades, anything, not eaten, by animals, had mummified. (It would take dental records to learn each victims identity.) While we pondered the reason WHY anyone would do such a thing, a deputy called out, from a side chamber. When we joined the deputy, we understood what he saw. This chamber was a "chop-shop". When the chief asked "These tunnels are to thin, for anything wider than an ore cart. HOW did they get the cars in. While most of us looked about the floor, and walls, it seems that one deputy looked UP, saw some rope, hanging from the ceiling, and asked "I wonder what this does?" Since the rope was tight, the chief had a total, of three deputies, HAUL the line loose. To everyones disbelief, what appearred was not a hatch, on a spring. It was a hand-powered elevator. Big enough for cars. (No wonder the cars had, never, been located). Based upon a review, of the mine, it was suggested that the bodies were in some kind of prison, while the cars were altered, enough, to be resold. While back, at city hall, the sheriff had hoped to learn the identity of, and arrest the owner, who had stolen the cars, and murdered the young men. Just one problem. The trucking business, which leased the trucks, was out-of-business, 25 years ago. Owner died, of heart attack. When the chief tried to locate the locals, for artrest and prosecution, all roads lead to the cemetary. Even the chief admitted attending some of the funerals. Well, after over 75 years, the criminals had escaped justice (or had they?) It was not until the police chief was ready to turn in his badge, for FAILING to serve his community, that Mother Superior would appear, saying "My son, you did the best with what you had to work with. NO one can fault you, for that." When the chief looked at the nun, saying "They got away with murder, AND car theft." Mother Superior put on her ALL-KNOWING smile, as she would say "I wouldn't say that." When the chief looked confused, the enforcer demon would appear, asking "Did I miss the fun?" Mother Superior would say "I was about to send for you. Would you do the honor of making your report, to the police chief?" The enforcer demon would say "I would be delighted, sister." (Tami and I would think "Oh, brother! HOW can good and evil, work together, so casually?") When the deputy would say "Come on, SPILL! What has become of the thieves, and murderers?" The enforcer demon would say "They are in the most capable hands, of my master. The Lord has dercreed a 3,000 year sentence, in Hell, for their actions." When Tami would look at Mother Superior, the nun would say "Quite correct. Most began serving their sentences 15 years ago. The others have joined, about 10 years ago." When Mother Sperior saw Tami's look, the nun reminded my partner "Remember that, like your worlds "super-powers", Our Lord has a direct line, to Lucifer. Just as a precaution." When Tami asked about the motor oil, transmission fluid, and the lead, on Thunder Road, Mother Superior would say "Yes, your motor vehicles do tend to leak, especially when undeer pressure." The enforcer demon would add "The lead paint you have been finding. That was my doing." When the police chief would ask "May I ask why?" The demon would say "It took you over 75 YEARS to bring justice. When your department failed bring the guilty to justice, after just five years, I received permission to begin leaving clues. Clues, which the police over-looked, in their zeal, to close the case." When Tami would ask "What about the phantom racers, at Thunder Road?" The enforcer would smile at my partner, saying "Nice touch, wasn't it? Broguht the two of you racing in, to do a job, the police gave up on, decades ago. Now the survivors can rest in peace, as will SOME the of deceased." Final case note: I find it HARD to believe that either Heaven, or Hell, would put on such a "show" just to bring us into an investigation. It would seem that, once the bodies, and the chop-shop, were located, proper funerals were held, and question marks were removed from headstones. The discoveries also meant that the enforcer demon could send the racers souls, back to their rest, as well. Even I could not believe how far the supernatural was willing to go, in order to bring closure, to the survivors. As Tami and I reported that we were available, for our next case, Mr. Brown would show us the $50,000 post, to our expense account. No names were listed, but Tami and I KNEW who sent each half, of the payment. Before signing off, Mr. Brown would ask "If you have time, I want you to check into a new case file. I need to know if the agency should devote any resources, to the case. I will expect your review, within 36 hours." With that the screen went black, and our pilot called "Lifting off". Yes, off to the next mystery...

SANDY'S PREDICAMENT

SANDYS PREDICAMENT Sandy had known that she would be in trouble, right from the beginning. All she wanted was to belong to a successful man. Someone for whom Sandy would, hopefully, always, be number one, on his "list". Thats all she wanted. No ring. No children. Just a man who considered her "special". While Reggie would not have been her "first pick", her friends had reminded her "Better than nothing at all." Sometimes, Sandy wondered, though. The way he RACED through everything. Like he could not get finished, fast enough. Sure, he had a decent size, between his legs, but she wished he would let her enjoy it, more. Sandy would have offered to TRADE, with a friend, except that her friends guys were about the same. The closest that Sandy had come, to a french kiss, at any time, in the recent past, was the time when her brother wanted a kiss. He had wanted to know how women WANTED to be kissed and thought that his sister, having kissed a few men, might have some advice. Sandy had offered him a deal. If he agreed to embrace her, carress her, and give her a LONG, DEEP, French, kiss, she would let him know what kind of kisser he was. While both siblings had TRIED their best, Sandy remembered that her brother told her "Keep the money. Its just not there." Sandy lay beside him, smiling, and saying "You are right. Nice try, anyway." Compared with Reggies "kisses", however, he brother was "Ruldolf Valentino". Sandy would have tried her father, but her mother had the man arrested. Why? When he needed a woman, and mother was not around, the man had "romanced" a couple of Sandy's friends. Never any pregnancies, but, when Sandy saw her friends "getting off", with her dad, she wished it could be her. It was not until mother had the man arrested, and sent to prison, that she was informed of the revision part, of the mans inheritance. The revision had stated that, not only did the man have to marry, and produce a family, in order to make his spouse eligible for payment, but the couple had to "make a go", of trying for happiness. It was not until she had him convicted, of Statutory Rape, that she found out that, if he was in jail, his spouse would be required to raise his family, to adulthood, alone. The woman had, so, planned to take the $20 million, that dad had coming, and set herself up, for life, only to find that she was "trapped". If she wanted the family money, she had to prove she was family. This is why she "borrowed" $1 million, got her husband out of prison, and onto probation, and the two worked to raise their young. While her siblings were having moderate "success", with relationships, Sandy just could not find what she sought. (For the recoord, Sandy, quickly, learned that nude models, in magazines, were not the same as a real man, between her legs.) Still, Sandy knew why she checked me out, so thoroughly, before getting involved. It was at a party, and Sanndy was standing by, quietly, as we watched Reggie present his to various women. When I saw Sandy's expression, I whispered, to her "You are far more beautiful than they are." When she smiled, I stayed by her side. When Reggie stuffed himself into a woman, and began, I noticed how Sandy snuggled up, to me. I put an arm around her, carressed her, and whispered "You are beautiful." It was not until she turned her head, slowly, wet her lips, and was about to kiss me when she realized that a kiss was not all that she wanted. Instead, she whispered "Lets find someplace, private". Sandy found an excellent place, then found herself regretting having made me the offer. This because, while she had hoped for a french kiss, she never counted on depth, time, carressing, and so on. Personally, I had hoped she would allow my tongue to move into her mouth. The time, when Sandy KNEW she had to call an end was when she not only found herself emjoying my necking, but when she felt her breasts, and her womanhood, all begging her to let me in. When she whispered "Baby.", I came back up, kissed her, then she thanked me, while suggesting "We should get back." Back in the party, and while trying to look nonchallant, Sandy's friend softly told her "I'm glad someone, at this party, got laid. I sure aint." When Sandy looked at her friend, her friend took out a make-up mirror, and Sandy saw her look. A few, DEEP, kisses, and some necking, and she was smiling like she had just had a full week, of sex. Sandy did not know why, but, when she heard Reggie profaning the women, for an okay (sex), Sandy did not know why but she looked at me. When her friend mentioned "You should stop smiling at him, unless you want to get LAID." Sandy did not know why, but just looking at me made her feel better. Later, when the host said that Reggie was one of three men, who were "out, for the night", Sandy found herself snuggling up to me, whispering "Walk me home." With some men, Sandy was fine, just walking near the men. For some reason, she found herself snuggling up to me. Inside her place, Sandy had hoped for just a goodnight kiss. What she got was kissing, necking, carressing, and having me feast, on her womanhood, all while she tried, desperately, NOT to fall in love. She knew she was blushing, as my attention brought her to three, powerful, climaxes. Come morning, Sandy was delighting in the fact of how WELL the night had gone. She had even kept to her promise. When she had realized that my body was on "fire", for her, Sandy had taken her time, and given me five, fantastic, blows. Now, she was snuggled, to my side, as I awakened. After she got me up, and out the door, she e-mailled a hacker friend, saying "Mayday! I THINK I have found a man. I NEED confirmation. I NEED to know if I am right." While she awaited a reply, Sandy visited her mother, whose first words, when she saw her daughter, were "My God. Tell me this new man is going to stay around." Sandy would, only, say "We will see." When Sandy went to one of the homes, bathroom, mirrors, hoping to see something different, all she saw was that "I am in LOVE" face. When Sandy returned to her place, she found the very information, which she HOPED was NOT true. While she read my stats, she just hoped the report was correct. That I was NOT a "relationship" kind of guy. Still, what could it hurt, to have a man, of her OWN. Especially with as many women as Reggie had. Now that Sandy had the information, that she wanted, her plan would move forward. She would give me all that I wanted, for as long as I stayed around. Once I got tired of her, she would "move on". What the report did NOT tell her was that I was both supportive, and tender. The report did not mention that, when Sandy was down, I did my best, to ease her pain. As for what was suposed to be, maybe, monthly, sex, this turned into twice weekly, in no time. As for the part, about our love being only "behind closed doors", it took Sandy all of three weeks, to break this part, of the deal. Sandy no-longer cared what people thought. She was just happy that, instead of having a man, who GRABBED, inside her top, that I whispered, in her ear, "I want a taste." While Reggie had the habit of, vulgarly, rubbing his, against hers, when he wanted, she came to love it when I whispered "I want you, my love.", in her ear. What thrilled her was how, un-like Reggie, who could, never, finish FAST enough, that, at times, I took all night. We DID confine the "I love you's" to inside her place. When her mother asked Sandy just kept telling the woman "We are friends. Thats all." When her mother would say "Just like your father is my friend." Sandy just rolled her eyes. While I wil be the first to admit that Sandy is an incredibly passionate, and LOVING, woman, in public we confined ourselves to "friendship kisses". This because, even after Reggie dissolved, from her life, Sandy KNEW what she wanted, and it was NOT me. While she would agree that I was good, in bed, she did, at times, remind even me "I need a Conan the Barbarian. A man, who is willing to FIGHT, or even KILL, for me." (Even her own mother doubted that such a man existed. Still, Sandy was not about to give up trying.) Not at our first, second, or even third, anniversaries. Eventually, Sandy came to enjoy accompanying me, to various functions. Functions at which she learned more about the deficit, borders, taxation, annd many, other, topics. The one thing Sandy never expected was when the wives, of politicans, began inviting Sandy to luncheon. For a woman, accustomed to value meals, and booze, the switch, to salad bars, buffets, and champaign, was an un-expected change. Of course, Sandy had been undergoing more change. While Sandy enjoyed my nursing, no one told her that nursing causes womens breasts to increase capacity. Result, soon after Sandy began providing, for me, she had to replace her bra's. While she insisted that she did not regret it, she DID decline my offer to repay her, part of the cost, of the new bra's. For Sandy, however, the most annoying part had been when she returned to her parents house, only to find that her mothers dresses were gone from her closet. Mother had laughed, openly, when Sandy held up a mini-skirt, saying "There is NO WAY that I am wearing that, in public." When her mother was able to stop smirking, long enough, she reminded Sandy "Girl, YOU chose those dresses so that you would NOT look like an old maid." Still, Sandy was FIRM. She was not about to wear dresses, which showed off her body parts. This is how mother KNEW we were serious. When mother took Sandy dress-shopping, the woman noticed how her daughter ignored the "trendy" stuff, and went "traditional." Full skirts, and tops. By the time Sandy was finished, and gave me a preview, I told her "I better get a gun permit." When she asked "Why?" I told her "A woman, as beautiful, as you. The competition will be fierce." While Sandy worked the women/wives, I had the duty, of working the men. Men who, even with five, new, states, being added, to the nation, were still un-certain of how far my plan would go. The main thing, that I told the men to remember, was that the cost, of state-hood, would be billions LESS than that Berlin Wall. A wall, which even the best minds, in the finest universities, published findings, stating that the first $10 billion would be nothing more than a "down-payment". Converting the Soviet Ruble to the American dollar, and adjusting for value, between the 1950's, and the present day, the best that economists could come up with was that the Soviets initial investment was near $9.5 billion. Add in wear, tear, damage, and upkeep, as well as endless expansions (Which were, never, completed), and the best that the professors could come up with was that the Wall would cost $25 billion, per year. When the professors asked Washington D.C. what the capital planned to do, about the Gulf of Mexico (the EAST side of the wall), and the Pacific Ocean (the WEST side of the wall), and Washington D.C.'s "best guess" was: With an additional, "small", investment, both waterways will be kept clear, of illegal traffic. When the professors predicted the necessary hardware, and personnel, to re-inforce the wall, the $25 billion, per year, "exploded", to $300 billion. This, for assigning aircraft carriers, battleships, drones, and so on just to police the border. This is why state-hood, costing only a "few" million, per year, seemed a much wiser investment. While I would be most greatful, when the Papacy became involved, in the project, what continued to concern Sandy was how often I stood, on the front lines, facing tanks, and machine guns, while meeting with leaders, of various factions. Mother got used to hearing Sandy say "If he does that, one, more, time, I will kill him, myself." Still, Sandys mother knew she supported me. No matter how many tanks I stood before, Sandy would support me. I would have supported Sandy's desires, as well, except that Sandy had yet to decide what she wanted to do, in life. (Beyond taking care of me.) It would seem that, as the nation continued to evolve, Sandy did not have much time, to THINK about her choices. She had become the "go to girl", when people wanted my support. Sandy's biggest shame came when she had to continue calling for cars, to drive her to, and from, gatherings. While the party did not complain, about this, Sandy began wondering if a drivers license might not be such a bad idea. The only reason why Sandy had no license, presently, was because of a dispute, over a ticket. While Sandy had been "nailed", for both booze, and drugs, she had gone to court, saying "If you can PROVE that I was not sober..." When the judge told Sandy that an officer entered a report, stating that Sandy was "Under the Influence", Sandy had asked "Show me the proof. Show me the test results!" When Sandy would not plead guilty, the court replaced the normal fine with an order. Sandy was to take a drug resistence course, AND Drivers Education, all over again, before her license could be re-instated. The day of the trial, Sandy had walked away from her license, cursing the judge. Since that day, Sandy received regular, quarterly, reminders, that she could qualify, to drive, once she passed the courses. Until she met me, Sandy could not have cared, less. Now, she was asking her mothers advice. All mother would say was "What is most important, to YOU. Your man, or your pride?" This would be a tough decision, for a woman as proud, and determined, as my Sandy. How much was our love worth?

THE CURSE

THE CURSE Despite the best efforts, of the combined forces of anti-bullying projects, as well as "No Child Left Behind", and "Race to the Top", the simple fact was that schools just did not WANT to address the topic, of student-on-student violence. Not even when violence was directed against students, whose only desire was to reach graduation. What the schools most violent students just could not accept was that some students wanted nothing more than an education. That, and to be left in Peace. (Something that the bullies just could NOT allow). In more recent years, schools had been increasing efforts, NOT to restrain bullies, but to try to draw attention AWAY from bullies actions. Several school districts had, successfully, drawnn attention away from student suicides, by calling two, of three, suicides, per year "isolated incidents". The REAL problem began the year, when a gang, of no less that ten bullies began openly terrorizing peaceful students, to the point where atleast six students committed suicide, within a single school year. When the parents, of peaceful students, begann filing applications, for transfer, school districts openly rejected the "Reason for Transfer: BULLYING." School districts told parents that this reason was rejected, since it would place negative attention, on schools. One, school district even went to court, to forbid parents from using bullying as a "Reason for Transfer". As for the problem, itself, schools found it much easier to cover the fact that two, or three, students, per year, committed suicide. The prooblem, which one school had, was when a gang, of bullies, drove no less than SIX students, to take own lives, in just one semester. Two, or three, per YEAR, the school could cover up, but SIX, in one semester? While the school district, and law enforcement, REFUSED to prosecute the bullies, rumor held that, after the final victim, of the semester, was buriied, that the bullies toasted their success. This, with beer, and snacks. Cause of the celebration: The only students, remaining in school, were those students who were willing to KILL, for what they wanted. Only the "Conan the Barbarian" types would remain in the school. Since the courts REFUSED to prosecute the bullies, and police would NOT secure arrest warrants, the bullies felt that their goal had been achieved, and that their future had been secured. Once the bullies left high school, and entered into employment, they took their terrorist skills, and used these, to secure promotions. If two people were up, for a promotion, and one was a school bully, the bully would take high school skills, and, simply BEAT their opponent, half to death, or until the more educated person withdrew from the promotions list. Of course, the bullies did not restrict violence to. The bullies, also, extended their bloody rampages into their personal lives. When bullies found potential mates, with gentlemen, the bullies, simply beat the gentlemen half to death, then the women, GLADLY, went with the bullies. This, because many women truly DO want "Conan the Barbarian". Not, "Love, Honor, and Cherish". When the bullies started their own families, the main thing, that these brutes taught their young was "If you want it, TAKE it!" They tauught their children how to beat other children half to death, over possession of toys, lunch money, and so on. The more violent the young became, the prouder that parents were. What the bullies never counted upon was how their actions would affect lives, in general. In fact, the very first victim, of the "curse" was a bully, who wanted a promotion, within a company. The problem was that a peace-loving worker was better educated, and more qualified. While co-workers did not place much stock into the words, when the bully said "I WILL handle him", no one was prepared for what was to come. As far as the police, and the media, could discover, the bully had dragged their victim into a secret area, then beat them half to death, all while saying "That promotion is MINE!" When the bloody victim would not give in, the bully took a length, of heavy chain, wrapped it around the victims neck, then rammed the victim out of a fourth floor office window. Watching until the body ceased all convulsions, the bully then left the scene, and went to a bar. The body, dangling in mid-air, would be found, the following morning, by the earliest workers. The reason why the bully became the prime suspect was because the man did not report in, for work. For nearly a month, police sought the bully, without success. Then something, beyond odd, happened. A month, after the bully murdered his victim, the bully was found, not just dead, but dead, and the body found in the administrative offices, of the high school, where the bully had terrorized other students. The reason why an investigative reporter got involved, in the case, was because the coroner had to use dental records to identify the body. The bullies body was found, so severely beaten, that most types, of identification, were impossible. It was not until the reporter dug into the bullies past, that a motive, for the beating/murder was found. During his high school years, the bully had imposed the same kinds, of beatings, on anyone whom the bully felt did not "measure up". Rumor has it that, when the other bullies learned of the death, they TOASTED the bully, calling him a success. It would not be until six months later, and afterr the media lost interest, in the deaths, that another incident would revive the topic. According to media sources, it woulld seem that, after a peaceful childs parents bought them a new bicycle, that the child, of a bully, having been taught to FIGHT, and even to KILL, for what they wanted, had seen the child, with the bicycle, and beaten the child half to death, before taking their prize. While the young bully BOASTED, to friends, about having taken the bike, from the "whimp", local police would inform the victims parents "There is nothing to do, about this. We cannot arrest children, for "playing rough"." Even after the peaceful child died, of the beating, inside the hospital, both the school board, and the police, did their best to cover the situation. No one wanted the publicity, of arresting an "ambitious chiild". It was not until two weeks after the childs death, and the bullies sudden disappearance, that the bullies parents demanded that the dead childs parents demanded that their childs victims parents be investigated, either for kiidnapping, or, possibly, murder. While the police investigated the family, the reporter went after background, on the child, who had stolen the victims property. While police, and the school board, would have preferred that the media assign the reporter to another story, the reporter used various sources, and created a sound, fact-filled, reason, for the theft, death, and disappearance. Once the young persons violent ways were linked to their parents violent ways, the reporter suggested "I wonder if this bullies body will be found, like the last one?" Even as the media was publishing this article, the police received a report, of domestic abuse. From what the police could find out, it seems that, when a wife was just "not in the mood", her "Conan the Barbarian" husband decided that he was going to TAKE what he wanted. It would seem that neighbors called in the police, when thew "man" was viewed, punching his wife about. According to the police report, it seemms that her "husband" gave her a black eye, broken nose, split lip, sprained arm, and leg, and some fractured ribs. It seems that the wife gave the "man" what he wanted, just to stop the pain. What "Conan" had not counted upon was the new, abuse, laws, which had been passed in the 80's, and 90's. Laws which no-longer asked victims if they wanted jail time, for abusers. If medics diagnosed severe injuries, the abuser was going to jail, period. Two days, and a $100 fine, later, the "man" left the police station, telling his friends "I am going to make that (woman) pay!". His friends would tell both the police, and the media, that the last time they saw the "man", he was headed in the general direction, of his home. It was when the young bullies body was found, covered with the same types, of marks, which the bullies had inflicted, on their victims, that the police began suspecting a vigilante. Problem was, all past, and present, victims had solid alibi's. None, even knew of the deaths, until reading the newspaper. Two days later, the abusive husbands body would be found, again on school property. This is when the reporter did the "in-depth" digging, which the school board did NOT want done. With a copy, of the "Freedom of Information Act", in hand, the reporter scoured the records, going back to when the abusive childrens parents were in school. While the reporter found the names, of the gang members, the problem became that of "WHO" was killing the bullies? When the reporter checked the names, of the students, who had been terrorized, by the bullies, the problem was that almost all had LEFT the city, if not the state, trying to leave the abuse behind. The only six, who remained in town were those whom the church verified were in the local cemetary. The funeral home had done its best, with each corpse, and church record showed that each body was buried. Even the reporter had to agree that the graves were not disturbed. In fact, were it not for the head-stones, the reporter would not have known that a grave was present. When the reporter looked to more recent incidents, for a perpetrator, the reporter came up, empty, as well. Everyone had an alibi. Both the surviving victims, and those, who were within the hospital. This left the community with a question, which no one wanted to consider. If every person, in, and around, town, was accounted for, then WHO was taking revenge? WHO was killing the terrorist bullies? The police were hoping for a friend, or relative. Maybe even a contract killer. Someone they could place behind bars. This is why, when the reporter received a U.S. Mail message, asking "If you want to know the truth, meet me at the high school, 9 p.m. I will lead you to the truth." Since the reporter was no fool, before handling the message, or the body, of the envelope, he had it dusted, for prints, by the newspapers crime department. When he took it to his editor, and asked "What do you think? Hoax? Thrill-Seeker?" The editor would only say "If it is fake, then why not ask for payment? Why not offer information, for a cash payment? Why not say "I will expose the truth, for $100,000?" When the reporter would ask "Do you think it is a victim, whom the police dont know about?" The editor would say "Doesn't sound like a victim, to me. Want to meet you, in a public place. A place, where most of the town knows everyone. It just doesn't make sense." When the reporter would ask "How do you want to write it up? Fake, forgery, crank?" The editor would say "No. Just as a precaution. Draw $5,000 from the cashier. Just in case money is the motive. Get what you can, as cheaply as you can." After signing for the cash, the reporter would visit the high school, and was astonished by the nightmare images, which the old building brought forth, from his memories. Images, of his own, teen, years, and how he had done everything, possible, to "vanish" from the sight of the bullies. Still, the images were vivid. Images, of muscular, tall, students, slamming students, half their size, into lockers, while shouting, in the students face "You are a homo because I SAID you are! We need REAL men, in this school, not HOMO's!" The reporter, also, remembered being beaten, numerous times, when the bullies growled "Admit being a homo, right NOW!" No matter which way the student tried to escape, the mob, of bullies, punched, kicked, and slammed, the student. When his parents tried to report the violence, and school officials would not even HEAR the complaint, saying "If we dont SEE it then it did not happen." All that parents could do was allow students to leave school, at minimum age. The reporter, like so many other students, did not cease his education, upon leaving school. He earned his journalism certificate from adult education. Funny thing was, it was not the heckling, or screeching, by any girls, whom gentlemen tried to ask out, which made him laugh. It was that garbage, in the school cafeteria. The so-called school lunch program. Platters, which were smaller than Swanson, or Banquet t.v. dinners, and whose "quality" was about that of the dumpsters, behind the school. That was one of the great things, about independent study. With quality meals, from the famiily kitchen, the reporter had been able to focus on his studies, and graduate, from adult education, at the top, of the journaliism class. Now, the man stood, looking at one of the very buildings, which he hated, more than anything. Rounding the property, the reporter was amazed to find no motor vehicles, except for his own. If someone wanted to meet him, he would have thought that they would have brought a car along. It was not until the reporter saw a figure, standing by a utility shed, that the reporter approached the figure, and was about to ask when he saw his old friend. When the reporter asked "Seth, what are you doing here?" The man would say "I am not Seth. I am Steven. Seth is my nephew." When the reporter would say "Amazing." The man would say "I know. It runs in the family." When the reporter would ask "You weere the one..." Steven would say "Yes, I sent you the message." When the reporter would ask "Why here? Why not in a cafe, or restaurant?" Steven would say "Last time I checked, your restauratnts, including those fast food places, do not serve spirits." When the reporter would say "If you want a drink..." Steven would say "I dont mean "spirits, as in booze. I mean..." The reporter would say "Wait a minute. Dont go telling me that you are a ghost." Steven would rebuke this, saying "We, in the after-life, are most annoyed that the living call us "ghosts". Sounds as cheap as calling an employed woman a "whore"." When the reporter would say "Well, excuse me. I had no idea that the after-life had so many rules." Steven would say "Cut the sarcasm. I have asked you here, for a reason." When the reporter would ask "What would that be? To show me some ghost magic?" Steven sent a chill through the reporter, which felt below sub-zero, as Steven would say "If you must use a title. The title is SPIRIT! Other wise, just call me Steven." When the reporter would say "Fine, Steven. WHY are we meeting on the grounds of a local high school? WHY here?" Steven would say "We are standing just a few feet from where I am buried." When the reporter would ask "Since WHEN are bodies allowed to be buried, on shool grounds?" Steven would say "I never said it was ALLOWED. I said I am buried, here." When the reporter would ask "When, Where, etc.." Steven would say "To the best of my recall, I was one of the first victims, whom the bullies murdered, over the years." When the reporter would ask "Why did the bullies kill you?" Steven would say "Because I would not let one of their girlfriends win a spelling bee." When the reporter would ask "What happened?"" Steven would say "Eight of them jumped me, at once. Didn't stop beating on me, even after I was un-conscious." When the reporter would ask "HOW can you know what they did, AFTER you were un-conscious?" Steven would say "After my heart stopped, it was like I was standing among them, as they argued over how to dispose of my body." When the reporter would ask "WHERE is your body buried?" Steven would say "Under that utility shed. That is why the floor is concrete, not dirt. It took them most of the night, but they buried my body eight feet down." When the reporter would ask "Didn't your family report you missing?" Steven would say "The bullies had a plan, for this. They threatened to KILL a member, of the schools writers club, if the student did not copy my hand-writing, and send a note, stating that I had run away." When the reporter would ask "Even IF this story is true, WHAT do you get out of it? How much money?" Steven would ask "What good is money, to a spirit?" When the reporter would ask "What is your MOTIVATION, then?" Steven would say "Too many killings, over the years. Bullies have terrorized schools, for too long. I guess that I am hoping that, even if only ONE murder is solved, the bullies will reconsider their violent ways. They might even stop terrorizing people, out of fear of exposure." The reporter would say "THAT IS a BIG ask, especially when schools dont WANT to know, about student violence." Steven would suggest "Maybe, if we had new boards. People, who look AT, not AWAY FROM, violence." When the reporter would ask "Would you happen to know anything about the recent deaths, of some bullies?" Steven would say "I KNEW that was the way to draw media attention. Force the subject into the daylight." The reporter was about to mention "But, murder is a felony, you could go to jail...", then he remembered that he was talking to a spirit. A prison sentence is use-LESS, on a persoon who is, already, dead. Steven then told the reporter where to find information, both on the bullies, who had murdered him, so many years ago, and the bullies, since that time. After that, man, and spirit, said farewell. Over the next few days, the reporter tracked those, who had murdered Steven. Of those, who remained alive, all were vegetating, in nursing homes. There was no way to place these people on trial. No prison would take them, even IF convicted. There was no question. Stevens murderers had escaped justice, and lived full lives. Everything which they had DENIED Steven. While the next generration was well-established, in careers, the reporter would provide enough information, to each, to bring an end to their tyranny. As for their own children, once the reporter reminded the older generation, that they COULD be prosecuted IF information became known, it seems that the bullies decided to scale back activities. Instead of terrorizing their friends, the bullies, now, suggested that their children cooperate, and SHARE. When their spouses asked "WHY?" the bullies would have to say "A reporter has found enough information, to send both me, and the kids, to prison, for life." When atleast one spouse would say "The answer is simple. KILL him before he destroys us!" The bully would say "Dont even suggest such things. If that is taken as a threat, YOU can go to jail, as well." When the woman would say "And, here, I THOUGHT that I had married a REAL man. Not some whimp, who is afraid of his own shadow." In the end, atleast two spouses were arrested when a patrol car spotted them trying to light a rag, which was stuffed into the reporters gas tank. The courts would on enough charges to equal three felonies The spouses were going to prison, for life. In a final, impromptu, visit, Stevens spirit would visit the reporter, saying "It seems justice is done, at last. The curse, which my family invoked, when they suspected that I had been murdered, is, now, lifted." When the reporter would ask "What now?" Steven would say "Do not worry. There are plenty of additional bullies, even in America. The worst is not over, yet. Locally, maybe. Nationally, it continues." When the reporter would ask "Do you think that any other victims families have invoked curses?" Steven would say "Most assuredly. All we can do is wait, for the deaths to continue. For now, my friend, farewell."