The Drought of Souls

A Horror story like none other you have ever read. This will keep you on the edge of your seats and it is a short story

I was passing through a small town. The sun was setting and I was going 75 mph. I wanted to get to the hotel before late night, get a few hours of sleep, and with luck, tomorrow I would arrive on time at my families reunion party. Was I really eager to get to my family reunion? Absolutely not. I detested my family and they detested me. I supposed it is only fair. However, I did have a good reason to go. My aunt Mary had just passed away and I was told she left a substantial amount of money in the will for me. Mary had married an oil tycoon that died at an early age. She was already swimming in luxurious clothes and gaudy jewelry when she met her second husband and he too was well off- although his specifics, I am not sure of. She remarried around the time I separated from my family and traveled away from Louisiana and its nightmarish hell bent weather. Nevertheless, her second husband died and now, well- now she was dead- and I was going to collect my part of the family fortune.

My eyes were getting heavy, and I see a sign for a small cafe. I was just going to stop in for a little bit of coffee. I was driving in the middle of nowhere, and I knew it was the last opportunity I had to get some caffeine. The stretch of road I was coming to was one lonely soul, and I needed to keep my weary eyes alert. 

I stepped out of my car and grimace. The days I had spent growing up in Louisiana were returning at an excessive pace. I pulled out a cigarette and leaned against my car for a moment as I took a drag. I had been driving all day, and my whole body ached.

I took another drag of the cigarette and place it out as I entered the cafe. There was one person seated in the dimly lite room that wreaked of coffee and cigarettes.

There was a cash register but nobody around. “Hello?” I cry out as I look around me. The gentlemen seated in the corner continued to read his paper and was either too engulfed in an article or too uninterested to even glance at me. Suddenly a bulletin board caught my eyes. There was tac’s bearing newspaper articles that had been ripped from their pages. There must have been three dozen articles of missing people and animals. 

“Well, that is Louisiana for you. Southern Charm,” I said with a certain sarcasm.

“May I help you?” I was startled by a bonny man who came from the back  He looked at me with curiosity, and I swayed my attention from the bulletin board to his aged face. You could tell he was a smoker by his leathered skin and rotten teeth. Looking into his eyes made me consider letting go of my cigarette habits, but the keyword was- consider. I would certainly die as a  rebellious smoker. 

“Coffee, sir,” I say to the man. He is silent as he fetches a cup and walks over to the coffee pot. I sit down on the stool and tap my fingers anxiously. 

“Where are you going?” The man asked, and once more, I  noticed his deep sense of curiosity about me. 

“Down highway 34 and to the Holiday Inn.”

“I reckon you shouldn’t,” says the man as he pours the coffee. He places the top on it.

“Why do you say that?” I asked inquisitively.

“You saw the bulletin board,” He said as he handed me my coffee, but he did not look up into my curious blue eyes. 

“People disappear when that sun goes down past the sugar cane fields. At first, it was just animals from nearby farms, but then people started to disappear. There used to be a community of farmers not far down the road, but almost all of them have vanished or moved away. Gone- Like they were never there,” he says in a wretched crackling voice. I frown as he pulls out a cigarette. I did not particularly want to watch him smoke- it was hard enough watching him as he was.

“Well, I use to live in Louisiana. I am heading towards the hotel about- three- four hours away. I am sure I can handle myself.”

“I would not do it,” repeats the man but this time he shook his head and took a drag from his cigarette. “They call Highway 34 the drought of Souls. Did not pick the name- just the name it kinda got.”

“That is quite imaginative,” I say. 

“You're an arrogant fellow- not the first of your type I have seen come through this cafe. You city educated- book learnings and all. I warned them just like I warned you. Some of them get through okay, but some of them are never heard from again.”

I was beginning to get uncomfortable and began to understand why his cafe was in habituated by one man who showed absolutely no interest in socializing. I paid for the coffee, thanked the man for his advice, and got back in my car. 

This is what I could not stand about Louisiana. Aside from the smell of chemical plants, the swamps that harbored nothing but rodents, and the weather that was normally humid and hot- I hated how close minded everybody was. As I thought about this I arrived at the conclusion that the man was as close-minded as he was crazy. “The people of Louisiana love Republicans, crazy stories, and good food. Yet, returning to the car I realized that just about summed up most of the population here. It was as if time had moved on, while the rest of America was moving on swiftly. I sipped my coffee and turned on the radio. There were no radio towers nearby and so I plugged my iPhone in and turned up the speakers.

“God I did not want to see my family,” I think to myself, and this sorrow has me reaching for my cigarettes.  In fact, I inquired if a lawyer could interact on my behalf and have the money delivered to me through him, but everybody insisted that I come. I was a writer for a small newspaper in North Carolina. Yes, I thought about flying, but I never took to the skies like my family did. My family loved traveling over seas and going on new adventures when I found ample amounts of excitement right here in America. Something about flying left me moderately unsettled. No, 9/11 did not help, and the whole process was so elaborate that I was quite comfortable driving my Toyota Camry down the road. It would be worthwhile. The sum of money I was going to receive would be in the millions- or at least- that was the rumor.

I was sailing down the highway and I had pushed the car to its limit at 85 mph when a loud pop could be heard and my car began to spin. Although it happened in a matter of seconds, it felt like time stood still as the car finally came to a stop. I let out a nervous gasp, until that moment- as the car came to a halt. I had popped a tire. “Great,” I say out loud. “Just f*****g great!” I get out of the car as I fumbled for a cigarette. I walked around to the back end of the car and shake my head in frustration as I glare down at an entirely flat tire. I stood there for only seconds when a blunt object hit the back of my head.

I awoke slowly as my eyes lifted to a man who was gazing back at me. He spits his dip into a can. I have always hated when people dip. I thought it to be a sickly habit, and I realize there is some irony from this because I smoke. The man looked into my eyes as I regained continuousness. I was light headed and it took me several minutes before I noticed I was tied down to a wheel chair.

“What the f**k happened to me- my car- the tire,” I remembered it all, and I looked back into the green eyes of the country hick bum. He smiled at me.

“Ya always takes folks a few minutes to remember,” he says with a grin that displayed several rotten teeth.

“What is going on?” I asked, and you could hear the fear in my every word as it drained out of me like a slow oil leak.

“I have never had one at your age. You have excellent skin, and those eyes of yours are so blue,” he said smiling. “You will make a spectacular specimen. Lucky your smoking hasn’t messed up that beautiful face of yours.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked with arched eyebrows and with the growing realization that I was in deep trouble. 

The man rubbed his hands through my hair, and then spit into a can. “Open that mouth.”

“Nice teeth- nice hair- wearing good clothes- you ain't the normal types in this part,” says he. He had a droopy chin that complimented his equally droopy eyes, and a straw hat sat upon what was a balding head. He was not a big man, and although I did not know where I was, I knew I could not be far from the highway. There was no way this man could have carried me very far. Then again, I had no idea how long I had been passed out.

“Help!” I start screaming. “Help me! Somebody! Help!” I yelled at the top of my lungs while the man stood up and just shook his head, and gave an eerie grin.

“Boy nobody can hear you- nobody will hear your screams- not even God himself.”

“I have money,” I say as I begin to cry. “I am- I am - going -to - I am going to my aunt's house for a lot of money. I will pay you whatever you want. Just let me go!” I was still screaming but you could hear the horror in my voice and tears trickled down my face like never before.

“Well, boy- let me show you what I got in store for you?” He said more than he asked- and I looked at his tooth rot as he smiled.

He got behind the wheel chair and pushed me into another room. 

“I swear, I will pay you- whatever you want- I come from money.” It was true, I did come from money, and I would have paid anything to be released. I never did like horror movies, I did not like to be scared, but right now- I was living inside of one- a horror movie- a nightmare of grand proportion.

“Look around the room,” he said, and my mouth just hung as I looked around a huge room filled with- …. I looked at I was shocked. “You're  a-“

“That is right boy, I am a taxidermist, and this is where I display my finest pieces. You will go in here. Already picked out a spot for you.” He pointed over in the corner of the room.

I finished my statement a moment later, “No- I was gone say- you're a monster.” My lucid comment was brief, and he did not like it.

The man slapped me across the face and grunted. “you're lucky you're so pretty- don’t want to mess up your figure but if you were not such a perfect specimen, I’d beat the s**t out of ya- kid. This is my work. This is my life. These animals and people are immortal. You should be happy.

I looked around the room at what I saw. There were stuffed cats, dogs, animals of all types, but most of the room was filled with stuffed humans. It was a chilling sight, to say the least. It almost looked like the set on a stage. Two stuffed women sat on a couch, and both had a cup of tea in their hands. There was a piano where a stuffed man rested his fingers on the keys. It looked so real- but it was not. It was all fake. He had murdered all of these people. They were dead, despite his attempt to humanize them with lipstick and paint on their faces.

“Please, sir- I will give you money and all you got to do, is let me go. I won’t tell anybody about this.”

“I just cannot do that.” He said.

“You know people are looking for me,” I say as I try to pull myself together.

“Save your breath boy,” he says as he eyes me with curiosity and takes some dip out of a can and places it beneath his lip. “I have heard it all- you're not my first- won’t be my last. Just think about it boy, I am making you immortal. That is the finest of all compliments a man can ever receive. You're lucky I ain't chargin’ you!”

“I do not want to be immortal,” I say in a hushed sob.

“Now before I can properly work on you I got you into a freezer. I want to preserve your features. So let's take you to the freezer.” He pushed the wheelchair and the only sound was the squeak of the chair at first. I was silent and listened as he erupted in conversation again,  got some work to do, and your blood will solidify and you be,” he pauses and says with a smile, “immortal.” As he neared me to the freezer he began to reminisce, “Nothing more fitting than immortality. Although I must admit, I do enjoy the whole process. Now some people would say removing the organs and guts is nasty, but I just love it, boy. I truly do. It’s a God given gift.” We came to a stop and unlatched the freezer with a key.

I cried as he wheeled me into a giant meat locker. There were other people frozen and body parts that he had obviously severed from other humans. For what reason- I would never know- and nor did I want to know.

“Sweat dreams boy,” He says, and he turned the freezer light off, leaving me tied hopelessly in the wheelchair. I heard a lock fasten and the lights went black. It was a blackness that no human could ever feel unless they were in my skin. It was hell’s darkness. The odor was toxic, and I was beginning to get cold. 

“Nobody could help me now,” I repeated, “Not even God himself.” Those were my last words.

Author's Note

This is a story that heavily differs from the current horror genre. It is extremely unique and I intentionally place cliche topics in the beginning, but as it continues- it is unlike a story you have ever read!

Reviews

[Bobbob]

So...
"A Horror story like none other you have ever read. This will keep you on the edge of your seats and it is a short story"

And you're an english major? Hmm... You said you placed cliches in the beginning, and so I'll avoid comments on that for the first paragraph or two.

I will comment on one thing about the first paragraph: block o' exposition. You could have had the main character driving through a town, seeing a motel, sliding on in and then reading a note telling him about his situation with his own personal thoughts on it. Reading a letter would have provided a reasonable excuse to chug out expos, and personal thoughts as a reaction would seem fluid. You know this.

"My eyes were getting heavy, and I see a sign for a small cafe."
Eyes getting heavy on the road to a location cliche. This is the second paragraph and so I'm gonna start digging.

"I was just going to stop in for a little bit of coffee. I was driving in the middle of nowhere, and I knew it was the last opportunity I had to get some caffeine."
Why not have the character think this. "Just need to rest my eyes for a second, etc, etc."

"The stretch of road I was coming to was one lonely soul, and I needed to keep my weary eyes alert. "
Was driving in the middle of nowhere but this particular stretch of road is lonely? And you need to be alert when you are in the a*s end of buttfuck nowhere? Why does the character think this? Without an excuse I'm in the dark here.

"I stepped out of my car and grimace."
Show not tell, good.

"The days I had spent growing up in Louisiana were returning at an excessive pace."
Need context.

"I pulled out a cigarette and leaned against my car for a moment as I took a drag."
Good, now we know a trait about the main character and how they cope. And all done in a natural way.

"I had been driving all day, and my whole body ached."
Could have had the character think this to himself; his speech patterns would reflect his character more than this and give the same info, all in the same amount of time.

"I took another drag of the cigarette and place it out as I entered the cafe. There was one person seated in the dimly lite room that wreaked of coffee and cigarettes."
Nice set up for a scene.

"The gentlemen seated in the corner continued to read his paper..."
Okay, simple enough.

"and was either too engulfed in an article or too uninterested to even glance at me."
Now, I still don't understand why you don't speak through the mind of the character. Unless the character has this bland diction. Perhaps they merely observe without commentary?


"Suddenly a bulletin board caught my eyes."
Suddenly. You know this is a dangerous word. It's always odd when I see this word. To emphasize suddenness someone delays an observation or action by putting the word suddenly.
"He punched me in the face" or "Suddenly, he punched me in the face." Which do you prefer?

"...Gone- Like they were never there,” he says in a wretched crackling voice. "
In a wretched cackling voice eyy? I believe

"As I thought about this I arrived at the conclusion that the man was as close-minded as he was crazy."
Why not just have the character state, "He must be as closed minded as he is crazy."
Active rather than passive voice and all.

" “God I did not want to see my family,” I think to myself, and this sorrow has me reaching for my cigarettes. "
I think I could garner why our protag would grab cigs after thinking how "well off" they are.

"I was a writer... for a rumor...."
Look at all that exposition.

" I stood there for only seconds when a blunt object hit the back of my head."
Now, the rising action: lights out unexpectedly. I have no problem with this, but out of the blue, with no warning of another car, in the middle of the open highway? Better be a ghost with a tire iron.

"I awoke slowly ... wheel chair."
Not a better time to mention how the character hates people who dip rather than analyzing surroundings in active voice, or setting up a tone of some sort.

"... and you could hear the fear in my every word as it drained out of me like a slow oil leak."
Using a metaphor to describe how a character sounds? Meh....


"“I swear, I will pay you- whatever you want- I come from money..." You want to know how to shock someone out of a horror story? Remind them they are in a horror story.

"The man slapped me across the face and .... You should be happy."
Aside from being a person who stuffs people, I also love monologues. Seriously, a villain who once again can't help themselves from trying to imprint their world view on someone? Even when that someone is going to be dead in probably less than 1 hour? It's like if I was a child kidnapper, and murderer, that explained how awesome I was before I took the life from them. That does nothing to help me as the villain and always appears kinda ridiculous.

Also, you have the opportunity to describe stuffed people in a creepy room somwehere, and instead of doing that you just say that stuff is there; with no extra detail.

"“Nobody could help me now,” I repeated, “Not even God himself.” Those were my last words."
So is he narrating this from beyond the grave or...

[Bobbob]

Summary: crazy taxidermist with no setup materializes out of nowhere to kidnap a man on an open freeway.

instead of just knocking him out, and putting the protag on anesthetic to make his work quicker, he instead dedicates a period of time, several minutes for the main character to gain his senses, in a room our villain to gloat.

Why does the villain wait a few minutes? How does the character know his last words(no explanation is given)? How was he knocked out in the first place (a beanbag sniper rifle)?

Almost the whole thing seems to be in passive voice. The entire piece has no suspense. No tone is set beyond the coffee diner, the road, and the room our character wakes up in. There are no motiffs that I can ogle along the way that could forshadow this, like stuffed birds in the diner.

No nuance, no plot, no characterization, and no reasoning behind character actions. Why does the villain explain why he's putting his victim in the locker? Why explain anything?

If someone beats me up, just grins when I ask what's they are going to do to me, and then I see bodies, I'll be more scared then hearing them monologue.

This piece is an attempt at a horror short story. But with no character unique character traits or hooks, and all brought to me via exposition, I just don't care about anyone here. The horror itself, the plot, is a classic southern gorefest.

You promised me some story I had not seen the likes of: you failed. I'm now going to get some popcorn and look up leatherface (where I can see traditional southern horror antagonist actually do something).