The Legend Unleashed. L.S. Strange
is never over, so beware!”
He stopped. No one said a word. They all stared wide-eyed at John. He slowly looked at each of them and seemed to return to his normal self. Scott trembled uncontrollably. John had described the exact grave they had visited in the cemetery. Could the weird thing with the van’s alternator be connected?
The boys were huddled together, and the others sat there dumbfounded. Bob exploded.
“You’re freaking weird! What kind of shit is that? You scared the hell out of the boys, you nerdy little bastard!” He stood up and was stomping and kicking the ground. Shouting seemed to be Bob’s self-defense mechanism for all situations. It was quite obvious that he had been petrified because there was a damp area in the crotch of his pants.
John stared blankly back at Bob with a quizzical expression on his face. Scott, however, would not stand for this assault on his brother.
“Hey, Bob! Assert your fifth amendment right and shut the fuck up!”
Bob yelled, “He started it! He started it!” He accused with a disgusted look on his face and gave a leering look back over at John.
Scott spun into action and got directly in Bob’s face, fists clenched at his sides.
Ron jumped up and held out his hands. “Okay, everyone just calm down.”
John seemed to be unaware of what had just happened. He sat there looking confused.
“That’s enough for tonight! Everyone to bed!” Scott ordered. He tossed a bucket of water on the campfire extinguishing it’s flame while also trying to extinguish the atmosphere that had developed.
Without any objections, all except Bob followed Scott into the trailer. Bob was still cursing under his breath and pacing around the firepit. Once he realized everyone else had gone in, and that he was alone, his anger dissipated immediately. He scrambled for the trailer, not wanting to be left isolated out in the darkness. After he was inside, he fastened each lock on the door, securing the trailer. No one bothered to change or brush their teeth. They just crawled into bed in their clothes with their minds preoccupied from the last campfire story.
The boys huddled together on one bunk. Each was chewing on the edge of the sleeping blanket that was pulled up to their chins. Their eyes darted around the room at each little sound of the wilderness at night.
Ron lay staring at the ceiling, trying to block out the horrific images conjured up by that awful story. He was also contemplating escape routes should anything happen. John lay in his bed, his eyes shut tight attempting to force out the flashes of the tale that kept shooting into his mind. Bob, finally realizing he had wet himself, was too embarrassed to change now. He plopped down on the sofa that had been converted into a bed. His mind raced with evil pictures of Stickman.
Scott, tired though he was, could only think of the unholy grave, and that he and the boys had been right next to it. A shiver ran down his spine at these thoughts, and his body began to tremble.
Each of them lay awake in their beds, totally alert, listening intently for any sound or suggestion that something was right outside. Tonight, the soft rustling of the leaves from the cool night breeze provided no solace, only terror. The moon shined brightly overhead and cast eerie shadows on the trailer. Silhouettes from the branches on the trees appeared to be skeletal hands reaching out for them. Occasionally a limb would brush against the trailer causing a scraping sound, fueling their fears.
Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, all of them fell into a troubled slumber.
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