Down by the River. (standard:mystery, 582 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jul 22 2020	Views/Reads: 1399/3	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
I live near the Mississippi. I want to tell you about what happened down by the river. I often wander from my riverside home, sometimes for miles, looking for interesting driftwood among other rubble thrown up by the tide.

I live near the Mississippi.  I want to tell you about what happened
down by the river.  I do a little amateur woodcarving and often wander 
from my riverside home, sometimes for miles, looking for interesting 
driftwood among other rubble thrown up by the tide.  When I find a 
piece, I look at it from all angles, trying to discern a shape to 
release through my carving. 

During one of those trips, I was passing an old shack.  Like many others
that are put up by the homeless, it was made from a combination of 
driftwood, used boards, clapboard, and heavy cardboard cartons.  It had 
a rusty corrugated-metal roof, one side propped up with 
partially-rotten logs.  One piece of driftwood, somehow incorporated 
into a wall, caught my attention. 

I could plainly see, through the lines of knotted fibers, a beautiful
face almost screaming to be let out.  I stopped to study the figure 
trapped inside.  Curious, I tried to twist it loose, inadvertently 
shaking the entire unsteady structure. 

“What the hell's goin' on out dere'?  Get out of ere' ya fucking dragon,
I see YOU.”  An unsteady though angry voice made me draw back.  
“Bittity Boppity Boo, I see you.  Dere' I says my spell, now get out'a 
‘ere.” 

Backing up to leave, I was confronted by an ugly old woman staggering
drunkenly around from the front. She appeared to weigh in at 
three-hundred pounds on a five-foot frame.  She stood in the doorway, 
wild uncombed hair waving like a crown as she thrust a knurled stick at 
my face.  Naturally, I retreated. 

“Bittity Boppity Boo, I see you,”  she repeated to my back as I hurried
away. “Bittity Boppity Boo, I see YOU.” 

She laughed insanely, even as I turned for a last look before running in
panic. 

I really wanted that piece of driftwood and occasionally went by her
shack -- at a distance, of course -- admiring it.  I was too frightened 
to accost her about buying the piece. 

Most of those bums, alcoholics, and mental cases eventually move on to
new locales, so I kept hoping. She was strange, but no stranger than 
some of the others. 

It kept eating at my soul, the sight of that face yearning to be free. 
Remembering the driftwood, I'd sometimes rise early in the morning, 
checking to see if the place had been vacated. 

A few months later, I noticed I hadn't seen her for a while, nor any
other sign of life from the shack.  There had normally been at least 
one cooking pot or skillet outside by a smoldering campfire. 

Edging carefully over near the entrance, I called out, with no answer. 
I carefully edged over and, from a safe distance, looked into a 
door-less cavity.   Gaining courage, I found the place empty of 
occupants or luggage. There was nothing inside but a dirt floor and a 
couple of dusty liquor bottles lying amid piles of candy-bar wrappers 
and other trash.  In one corner, among the debris, I found an artifact 
from ancient times.  A later expert identified it as part of a brass 
dragon, an antiquity from the Ming dynasty.  Broken and damaged, it was 
virtually worthless. 

I had to knock the shack down to get my piece of driftwood.  Finding a
cardboard box buried among the debris I opened it, out of curiosity, 
and found the crumbling skeletons of several newborn infants.  Since 
then, I've often wondered if the "dragon" got them.  “Bittity Boppity 
Boo.” 

The End.


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