Billy: A Tale Of Unrelenting Terror (21 page)

“EMBRASSE MOI TCHEUE!”
“Kiss my ass!”

EN D’OEUILLE
to be in mourning

FAIBLESSE
faint

“FAIT PAS UNE ESQUANDAL!”
    
“Don’t make so much noise!”

“FEET PUE TAN!”
    
“You goddamn son of a bitch!”

“FILS DE PUTAIN”
or “
FILS DE PUTE”
“Son of a bitch.”

FREESONS
goose bumps

FREMEERS
grossed out

“GA-LEE!”
    
term of excitement

GRAND
big

GRAND BEEDE
big, clumsy man

GUMBO
a thick highly seasoned soup

JE VAS TE PASSE UNE CALOTTE
    
to threaten to slap someone

“MAIS, JAMAIS D’ LA VIE!”
    
“Well, never in my life!”

MAKE THE MISERE’
    
to cause trouble or misery

MAL AU COUER
    
need to throw up

MAL PRIS
    
stuck in a bad way

“MAUDIT”
    
“Goddamn!”

“MERCI BEAUCOUP” “
Thank you very much”

MERDE’
slang for human excrement

MOTIER FOUX
half crazy

“OO YE YI!”
 
“That hurts!” or “I am sad!”

PAPA NOEL
Santa Clause

PAPERE
grandpa

PARRAN
godfather

PARESSE
    
lazy

PAUVRE
poor

PEESHWANK
    
 
little girl

“PIC KEE MOI!”
    
“Fuck me!”

“PIC KEE TOI!”
“Fuck you!”

PIROGUE
    
small, flat bottomed boat

PODNA
partner

POSSEDE’
 
possessed; term for a bad, mischievous child

P’TIT BOUG
little boy

“QUE C’EST Q’ CA?”
“What is that?”

RACONTEUR
    
a storyteller

SKINNY MULLET
    
a skinny person

“TUAT T’EN GROSSE BUECHE!”
    
“You have a big mouth!”

VIEUX
    
elderly man

“VOILA MERDE’”
    
“Go to shit.”

ZEERAHB
    
disgusting

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I wish to thank everyone who encouraged and assisted me in making this book come to life: My mother and editor, Dr. Louaine L. Spriggs, my father and publisher, Jesse Spriggs, my children, Matthew, Arielle, and Destiny. I also wish to thank my brother, Charles, and sister, Lisa Jo, for their input and suggestions, and all of my friends in the Bayou Writer’s Club. Most of all, I wish to thank my wife for her endless patience in putting up with my nonsense and for her appreciation of my disturbingly twisted mind. I would also like to thank anyone who has read my novels.  I thank you for investing your time in reading this book and hope that it scares the living shit out of you.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CLAYTON E. SPRIGGS works as a health care professional in Southeast Louisiana. Married with a son and two stepdaughters, he is an active participant in the Bayou Writer’s Club and a dedicated member of the Who Dat Nation. His first novel,
Johnson Road
, is available in ebook and paperback editions at Amazon. This is his second novel.

Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to post a review at your favorite retailer.

Clayton E. Spriggs can be contacted at:

[email protected]

www.pennmillpub.com

For updates about Clayton E. Spriggs' projects, new releases, and exclusive VIP promotions sign up on the Penn Mill VIP Mailing List.

EXCERPTS

On the following pages we have included excerpts from two of Penn Mill Publishing novels;
Johnson Road
by Clayton E. Spriggs and
The Dissector
by L.L. Spriggs.

Another Great Mystery Novel from

Penn Mill Publishing.
 
Available in

eBook and Paperback at Amazon.

Hiding in plain sight, a

predator stalks its prey
.

When Purvis Johnson fell on hard times, he agreed to sell most of his land to a real estate developer. Before long, the dirt road that once served as his makeshift driveway became a paved street. Newly constructed houses sprung up on both sides. Families moved in. The quiet neighborhood became the perfect place to raise a family. Meet Jake and Mary Bickman and their two sons, the first to move into their new home. Soon, Thomas and Gladys Jenkins buy the house across the street and introduce a beautiful baby girl to the world. The wealthy Peterson couple and their two children build the big house near the end of the block, right next door to the tiny shack where the Johnsons still reside. One by one, tragedy will strike them all. Welcome to Peterson County, Alabama, mid-twentieth century Americana; a quaint, rural community on its journey to becoming the suburban utopia promised by the American Dream. By the time the dreamers realize they are trapped inside a nightmare, it’s too late. Something has gone terribly wrong inside the dream – something evil – something on Johnson Road.

Johnson Road
Prologue

April 24, 1963: 4:17 pm

S
omething was wrong. He couldn't explain it. He couldn't point it out, but he could feel it in his gut. The local authorities were gathered near their haphazardly-parked squad cars, looking official and concerned, but Robert knew this was all for show. The detective realized that none of the local deputies or state troopers suspected foul play. He was doubtful that any of them would know what to do about it if they were wrong. Sure, they all wanted to do their job, but they just weren't equipped or trained to do it effectively. All the same, the men needed their positions and their paychecks. Robert understood how they felt. He'd been there once himself.

There wasn't much difference between the deputies and the state troopers. On the outside, you could tell them apart. The troopers had that air of experience and 'gravitas' that they'd worked hard to acquire and even harder to exhibit, and, of course, those hats. Their presence that day ensured the sheriff's deputies maintained a degree of professional decorum. Monkey see, monkey do, Robert mused.

Detective Robert Stallworth had worked hard to get where he was, but it wasn't just hard work that had made him successful - it was instinct. He didn't know why he had those gut feelings that served him so well, but he knew not to ignore them. His gut was screaming at him now, and he wasn't about to let it go.

Poking around in the dirt on the ground with his boot, Robert detected what he thought was a slight difference in texture in the shaded spot under the big oak halfway down the ravine. When his men saw him crouching down, they knew what was coming next.

"Get the shovels. We'll dig here," Robert shouted.

The troopers were already on their way, knowing the detective's MO and reputation for finding dead things. The local deputies' initial reaction was familiar to Robert - something between incomprehension and disbelief; like a herd of cows seeing a running tractor for the first time. Taking their cue from the state troopers, the deputies quickly followed suit, trying to assume a show of competency, despite the obvious reluctance of the local sheriff.

"Now, now, Detective, just what do you expect to find?" bellowed Sheriff Clifford Gaskin, a good ole boy who wasn't about to let these outsiders disrespect his position.

Robert ignored the sheriff's question as he stared at the ground beneath his feet, trying to mentally size up the exact parameters of the imminent dig. The troopers returned with the shovels, and started to dig.

Sheriff Gaskin started to repeat his question, but thought twice about it. He didn't want to be shown up in front of his boys in the event something important was unearthed, so he decided it wasn't in his best interest to voice any more opposition at this point. After a couple of seconds, the sheriff climbed down to where the men were gathering to get a closer look.

"Don't just stand there, boys, dig in," he instructed his two closest deputies, with a grandiose show of authority.

Clifford hadn't become sheriff by accident, nor by hard work, but by the hard work of others and enough sense to tag along. He was hedging his bets. If there was success - he would share in the praise. If there wasn't - he'd already stated his doubts. No one could claim he wasn't a team player.

As the shovels tore deeper and deeper into the mud, with nothing coming up but dirt and roots, it appeared as though Sheriff Gaskin had been right all along. As each scoop was torn from the ground with no results, the men began to hesitate, but Detective Stallworth's gaze never wavered. Given his Zen-like focus, there was no misunderstanding. The digging wasn't over.

When it seemed that even the detective might abandon the quest, a slight discoloration appeared in the deeper soil. It looked as if some sort of white powder had been mixed in with the dark, moist earth. Observing the sudden find, everyone present thought the same thing - quicklime.

Minutes later, a white rounded object became visible against the black muck. The men set their shovels aside and brushed gently through the soil until the object was unearthed. A hush enveloped the group as they gazed down into the dank hole and its grisly contents.

The deputies looked at the state troopers, who looked toward the detective. Robert's eyes met the sheriff's for a moment, and the two men let out a faint sigh in unison before returning their attention to the sight at their feet.

The men silently stared at the macabre item. Each man present would feel the sting of guilt as the terrible vision disturbed his slumber in the years that followed - the haunting image of a human skull, gazing unseeing into the empty sky, seeking justice long denied

To Order Johnson Road

Click Here To Order Paperback Edition

Click Here To Order eBook Edition

.

Another Great Mystery Novel from

Penn Mill Publishing. Available in

eBook and Paperback at Amazon.