Fic: The Tall Tale (4/5)
Title: The Tall Tale (4/5)
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters (this chapter): John-Boy (Narrator), Flossie Brimmer, Angela Breckinridge, Lance Bradleton, Nellie Crenshaw, Sadie Knight, Joshua Cody, Clovis Tapp, John/Olivia, Zeb/Esther (Esther does not appear in this chapter)
Fandom: The Waltons
Genres: Drama, Holiday, Suspense
Rating (this chapter): G
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
General Summary: What is stalking the shadows up on the Mountain?
Chapter Summary: The monster stories in The Blue Ridge Chronicle spark discussion.
Date Of Completion: May 28, 2021
Date Of Posting: November 16, 2021
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Lorimar Productions does, more’s the pity.
Word Count (this chapter): 1700
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Note: All chapters can be found here.
IV
POWER OF THE PRESS
In modern days,
The tales are told
With paper and print,
Hawked and sold.
William Schofield
“The Art Deco World"
1926 C.E.
I received good response from my interviews with Maudie Cleghorn and Abner Sheffield in The Blue Ridge Chronicle. People either scoffed or wanted to know more.
Mrs. Flossie Brimmer, a good family friend, stopped me as I was driving by her boardinghouse. “Got a minute, John-Boy?”
“About ten before I have to pick up Erin at Miss Fanny’s.” I parked and hopped up on the porch, taking one of the rocking chairs.
“I read those interviews you did in your paper.”
“Glad to have a faithful reader.”
Mrs. Brimmer smiled. “Never miss an issue.” She shifted her feet on the ottoman. Her feet were always painful.
“Thar warms my heart.”
“You’ve got a silver tongue.”
“Oh, I get it from Grandpa.”
“Zeb sure knows what to say.”
“Always.”
“But the people who told their stories were pretty good, too.”
“What do you think of their stories?”
“Not sure.” Mrs. Brimmer fiddled with the pin in the back of her hair. “Sounds like one of them science fiction magazines; you know, Amazing Stories.”
“You read those kinds of magazines?” I was impressed.
“A boarder left some behind when he checked out. I flipped through ‘em and started reading. Crazy stories, but fun.”
You never knew about people. “So, their stories a little crazy?”
“Yeah, don’t you think so?”
“Gotta admit I do.”
“‘Course, we’ve heard stranger stories in these mountains.”
“You mean like ghost stories?”
“Sure ‘nuff. Remember the story about Cissy Green?”
“She fell off the Jonesboro Bridge in 1901 and drowned, and people claim to still see her.”
Mrs. Brimmer leaned forward. “Her ghost.”
I nodded. “One of many stories.”
“Pretty hair-raising.”
“Boy, that’s for sure.”
“All I can say is, I’m glad I live in town.”
I laughed. “Rockfish is a pretty safe place.”
“Usually. Ep Bridges keeps it safe.”
“He’s the best.” I glanced at my watch. “Gotta go. I don’t like to be late picking up someone.”
“You go on. Next time come earlier and you’ll get my homemade oatmeal raisin cookies and freshly-squeezed lemonade.”
“Well, now, I’ll surely remember that.”
I waved goodbye to Mrs. Brimmer and got into my car.
& & & & & &
One of my courses this semester was folklore, and it fit pretty nicely with what was going on back home. Professor Angela Breckinridge was teaching the class, and she was waving a copy of The Blue Ridge Chronicle the next time I went to class.
“You, John, have been holding out on us.” She pointed at me.
Confused, I said, “Huh?”
Professor Breckinridge was a tall woman with short, brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses. She dressed in tailored suits and sensible shoes and was a woman whose movements were quick and unexpected. She was standing at my chair as she flapped my newspaper in my face.
“You’re right in the middle of folklore! The Beast of the Blue Ridge!”
“Professor, these sightings haven’t been proven.”
“But you reported them.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean there’s anything to these stories.”
“Folklore often has a grain of truth.”
“A monster?” My tone was skeptical.
“Why not?” She bustled up to her desk at the front of the classroom. “This issue of The Blue Ridge Chronicle are folklore in the here and now, in 1936, the modern era,”
Lance Bradleton asked, “Professor, do you really believe in monsters,like Frankenstein?”
“It’s doubtful that this particular creature was sewn together with dead body parts and sparked to life by an electrical storm, Mr. Bradleton.”
“I love that movie,” said Nellie Crenshaw.
“Read the novel, Miss Crenshaw.”
“Oh, I have.”
Professor Breckinridge smiled. “Yes, dear.” She looked like she wanted to say something but restrained herself. “Now, how many people have heard such tales of a strange creature in the woods?”
“Can you read the interviews, Professor?” asked Sadie Knight.
“Certainly.”
She started reading, adding a dramatic touch to the words,not that they were needed. Every person in the room hung on every word. When she finished, voices broke out in excited chatter.
“Creepy!” said Lance. His white cableknit sweater was expensive, he waved his pen around, suddenly realizing that ink was flying around.
“But compelling,” said Sadie.
“What if these stories are true?” asked the professor.
“Sounds like that creature people say is around the Pacific Northwest,” said Joshua Cody.
“Good point.” Professor Breckinridge said.
“But that creature only appears in the Northwest.” Lance agreed.
“There have been a few sightings elsewhere. Why not here?”
“I’m not sure.” Lance shrugged.
“Anybody else?”
Sadie waved her hand. “What if it’s just some new species?”
“That could be.”
Speculation continued as more classmates entered the discussion. To think my stories had started the whole thing! Now that was journalism.
& & & & & &
Clovis Tapp was tired. He had been chopping wood all afternoon. Time to quit as far as he was concerned. He had a pile stacked up. He brought the ax down onto the chopping block and shuffled inside.
He examined his lined face in a cracked mirror hanging from a nail on the wall. He not only felt tired, he looked it: bags under his eyes, his black hair needing a wash, and a two-day growth of beard shadowing his lean face. He could use a drink, but he was all out of moonshine. Luckily Boone Walton would be by soon with a delivery.
Clovis yawned. He was hungry but was running low on food. He still had a couple of loaves of bread and a little butter left, but he would have to go into Ike Godsey’s store and get some things. Maybe he could offer Maudie Cleghorn some of the wood he chopped for a freshly-baked apple pie.
Clovis buttered some bread and drank cold well water. Water was no moonshine, but at least it was clear and clean. One of the perks of living on the Mountain, for sure.
He might read a little, then go to bed early. Why struggle to stay awake? He was a bachelor. While a wife would be nice, especially if she was a good cook, he was satisfied with his status right now.
Clovis finished his light supper and said aloud, “Time to hit the hay.” His cabin was not fancy but his bed was comfortable. He pulled off his overalls after kicking off his boots. Tomorrow would be a trip to the store and there would be Boone’s moon to look forward to. He climbed into bed after a quick tooth-brushing and was ready for sleep.
& & & & & &
Clovis awoke to a howl. Still half-asleep, he wondered if he was dreaming. Another howl awakened him completely.
“What the blazes?” he mumbled.
He dragged himself out of bed and went to a window. He looked out at the surrounding woods. Tree limbs swayed in a strong wind.
“Just the wind howlin’,” he said, shaking his head. He went back to bed.
He was falling asleep again when a thump brought him back. Puzzled, he got out of bed again and went back to the window. Still pitch-dark, yet something was rooting around the woodpile. He grabbed his shotgun and opened the door.
He got the shock of his life.
& & & & & &
I was working late in the shed again, putting the paper together. I felt industrious and a little on edge. Why, I couldn’t say. Could be the time of year with Halloween approaching, or the monster stories, or a combination of both.
While I was laying out the paper, I heard a noise in the garden. Probably a nocturnal animal.
“No editorial this week about the New Deal,” I said. “Save it for Election Week.”
Talking to myself wasn’t so unusual. Spend enough time alone, and you’ll just want to hear the sound of your voice.
Something big was rustling in the garden. I paid little attention until I heard a low growl. My on-edge nerves tightened as the growl seemed to echo around outside. Strange. I went to the front door and opened it.
The night was cool, typical for October. I definitely could hear something move in the garden. Another growl sounded.
“You hear that, John-Boy?” My father’s voice from the porch.
“Yes, sir.”
“Hold on.”
I could hear the screen door creak as he went inside. Seconds later the door creaked again. My father quickly appeared at the shed, carrying his shotgun. “Let’s go,” he said. We headed for the garden.
The moon was behind the clouds so it was difficult to see. My father and I were careful as we approached the garden. A large creature could be a problem. While it was rare, a bear hungry enough might venture down off the Mountain and raid the garden. It had happened before.
While we cautiously peered into the garden, my father’s hand was ready on his shotgun. We were tense but Daddy nodded and I opened the gate.
At first we saw nothing but pumpkins from the patch we had used to decorate the house, then Daddy pointed out some broken cornstalks. A half-eaten ear of corn lay in the dirt. Leaves were scattered around.
“Nothing here,” Daddy said. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll lock up the shed.” I had no desire to stay out there tonight.
Momma was waiting on the porch. “Anything?” she asked anxiously.
Daddy shook his head. “A few ears of corn gone, nothin’ else.”
She was wearing a sweater with her arms folded. “Come in; it’s cold.”
Once inside Grandpa asked from his rocking chair by the fire, “What was it?”
“Found nothin’, Pa. Just a few broken cornstalks.”
“Hmm.” Grandpa looked contemplative. “Sounds like your monster, John-Boy.”
“It’s not ‘my’ monster, Grandpa.”
“Uh, huh.”
I was amused but also tired “‘Night, Grandpa.”
“Good night, John-Boy.”
I followed Momma and Daddy upstairs. Once in my room, I looked out the window. What had been out there?
The night wind blew..
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