A Tall Tale

© 1999 Larry Letemplier
All rights reserved.

I sat in Sid's Bar in a town called Blue Ridge. It was a modest bar, just like those you find in other small towns. Its cedarwood surroundings consisted of a couple of dart boards, a pool table, and a juke box.

It was a very quiet Monday evening. Besides Josh the bartender and myself, there were only three other people there. Sitting at the table behind me were three lifelong residents of Blue Ridge, whom I had the pleasure of meeting earlier.

The skinny fellow puffing on his pipe and dressed sloppily in a faded gray sweater and baggy pants, possibly as old as the gray hair on his head, was Sam Pike, the postmaster. Sitting next to him, parading a smile as ostentatious as his green golf jacket, was Leonard Singer, a local grocer. The other fellow, with the black cap bearing the logo O'TOOLE'S THE FIX IT EXPERTS and pouring himself a glass of beer with grease-stained hands, was the town's only mechanic, Harry O'Toole.

Those fellows anxiously awaited the arrival of an old trapper named Willy. I did, too, though I'm sure my reason was different from theirs. The news was that Willy had returned from a three-week trapping expedition earlier today. You see, Willy would spend weeks alone in the woods, and on returning from his trapping expeditions would come in to town, drop in at Sid's, and relate some extraordinary adventure he'd encountered in the woods. To quote Mr.Singer, "Willy's stories get nuttier with every returning trip."

On his most recent expedition, the one before his return trip we were waiting for, Willy had sworn by the name of his God that he'd been abducted by creatures from another planet. I cannot understand why people utter the name of God the moment their honesty is questioned. Why can't they use their own power of persuasion and keep their God out of it? Anyway, Willy claimed he'd been beamed aboard this flying saucer, like in those "Star Trek" TV shows, and been confronted by hairless creatures. He also swore he'd been forced to have sex with the ugliest female creature he had ever laid eyes on. However, if you can believe Mr. Singer, whom I now perceived as the leader of this little comedy troupe that I will refer to as the Naughty Three, Willy had added that the sex had been great. At that Singer had let out the loudest laugh most people have ever heard, I'm sure. Then again, most people haven't heard my booming laugh.

Singer and his friends typified Willy as the "crazy old fart" who likes to draw attention to himself. Now Josh said that it was Willy's way in coping without human companionship. Hell, I cope without human companionship all the time, but no one has dared to call me a crazy old fart.

I gulped the last of my whiskey.

"Hey, Josh." The bartender was at the far end of the bar watching the Blue Jays and the Red Sox bat it out on a 14-inch TV. I raised my empty glass. "Another double, straight up."

"Mister," Josh said, obviously irritated with me for taking him away from the ball game. "If you keep tossin' down those doubles the way you've been doing, you're goin' to be one drunken son-of-a-gun."

"Do I look drunk?" I asked, not feeling any of the half dozen or so double whiskeys I'd drunk in the last half-hour.

"You look as sober as you did when you came in," Josh answered. "Another double comin' right up."

"Willy should be comin' through that door any minute now," Harry O'Toole announced. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag, creating a cloud of smoke in front of his face.

"On this trip," Singer said, "Willy met Satan himself. But he wrestled that fiendish Devil to the ground and held him down until he cried Uncle Willy." A roar of laughter erupted from the Naughty Three. Josh shook his head and smiled as he put my drink on the bar before me.

The bar-room door opened and a hush fell over the Naughty Three as Willy's tall, lanky frame captivated the room. Willy sauntered up to the bar, glanced at me, then chose a stool at the opposite end. His long bone-white hair was tied back in a ponytail with a rawhide string. His beard was unevenly trimmed, and his weather-beaten face was taut like tanned leather.

"Give me a gin, Josh," Willy ordered. "Make it a triple."

Josh raised his eyebrows.

"Everyone is determined to tie one on tonight."

When Josh put Willy's drink on the bar, Willy grasped his glass, raised it to his lips and slurped, spilling a little gin over his wrinkled woolen shirt.

"You seem mighty nervous, Willy," Pike remarked. "Anything happened to you out there in the woods?"

Willy gave the ball game a casual glance, then turned on his stool and faced the three men. He gripped his glass powerfully, the veins in his hands protruding like squirming worms. "You won't believe what happened to me," Willy declared.

"Oh, Willy," Singer groaned, glancing slyly at his friends. "Why would you think that?"

"Tell us about it, Willy," O'Toole prodded.

Willy looked my way and our eyes locked for a moment. Then he turned to the Naughty Three and nodded.

Singer jabbed his friends lightly with his elbows. The sly little imps, I thought gleefully. They are going to get it out of him.

Willy's story came out bit by bit (he often paused and slurped his gin). He said even from the very first day that trip had a different outlook from his other numerous expeditions.

He'd paddled up Blue Ridge River to his favorite hunting ground. But for the first time ever Willy didn't have any luck there. Never before had he returned home empty-handed, and not wanting to do so this time, as his trapping yielded his only source of income, he decided to push on farther toward a wild and lonely pass. He'd learned of this place from an old Indian trapper.

According to the Indian trapper, there was a small stream there that contained many beaver. But the Indian had warned Willy never to go there, for it was a vile and evil place. "Creatures of the Devil lurk there," the Indian had said. Willy had taken this as mere Indian superstition.

So, afraid of nothing, Willy ventured many miles into the wild pass. It seemed that an unearthly silence crept over the place, and Willy was reminded of, but undaunted by, the Indian trapper's warning.

After making camp in a clearing, Willy went upstream to set his traps. He returned to camp just as darkness was settling in.

Wanting to be up at the break of dawn, Willy retired to his tent. He wasn't sure how long he had fallen asleep, but he was awakened by a harsh growling sound. Thinking it was a hungry bear, Willy picked up his rifle and fired through the tent entrance, hoping to scare it away.

Suddenly, the growling turned into a savage roar, and that was followed by the violent ripping of his tent material. Willy began shooting through the roof where the "thing," whatever it was, seemed to be ripping through his tent. Despite Willy's continuous rifle blasts, the ripping of his tent material continued until a wide hole exposed the starless sky. The sky, Willy said, looked like a black blanket, as if God (can people keep His name out of their conversation at all?) had turned out His heavenly lights on that dark, evil land. Willy paused and looked at me, with uncertainty in his eyes. I smiled, encouraging him to continue.

"Then I saw it!" Willy announced. His wide eyes darted around the bar, first resting on the window nearest him, then the door, as if he thought that something was lurking out there and might come through it at any second.

A beer commercial interrupted the ball game on the TV, and Josh took advantage of the moment and leaned toward Willy.

Singer pushed his chair away from the table and the sudden scraping noise startled Willy.

"What did you see, Willy?" Singer asked.

"The Devil's creature," Willy blurted.

Singer turned to his friends and winked an eye. For them, I'm sure, this was more fun than a Saturday night out on the town with their fat wives.

"What did it look like?" Pike said, putting his pipe on an ashtray.

Willy drained the last of his gin and belched.

"It—it must have been about six feet tall," he began. "It had a long thick neck, and its back legs had cloven hooves." Willy closed his eyes and shook his head as if he were suddenly attacked by a terrible migraine. "It had short front legs with paws. And a long scrawny tail. Its head...." His eyes darted from one listener to another. "It was the head of a snake, only no snake I've ever seen had a head as large as this thing."

"A drink for everyone, Josh," I shouted.

"I take it you want another double, mister?" Josh asked. He seemed more interested in getting back to the ball game than in anything else Willy had to say.

"Of course," I replied. "And give Willy another triple. I'm sure he can use it."

While Josh served everyone his drink, the Naughty Three absorbed Willy's story. I knew they were thinking that this was the trapper's nuttiest story yet.

Then Singer leaned across the table in my direction.

"Didn't I tell you Willy was one hell of a yarn spinner?" he asked. "He's Blue Ridge's version of Stephen King, you might say."

His smile stretched from ear to ear.

"Do you believe Willy's story, stranger?" Pike asked.

"I most certainly do," I answered, feeling a burning sensation course through my body.

"You believe in the Devil?" Pike marveled.

"Hell, I've seen him," I said. "And I can assure you that he would be proud to be associated with people such as yourselves."

"Mister," O'Toole said, "you and Willy should be locked up in the same looney bin."

"Tell me, grease monkey," I said, turning to the mechanic, "among the many other underhanded things you've done, are you still repairing used auto parts and selling them as new ones to your unsuspecting customers?"

O'Toole straightened on his chair and gripped his beer glass tightly.

"What the hell are you talkin' about, mister?"

"Oh, Mr. O'Toole," I smiled. "No need to be bashful."

"How dare you, a stranger," Pike roared, "make those kind of accusations?"

"And you, Mr. Pike," I grinned. "How would the good people of Blue Ridge react if they knew that their dedicated postmaster was peeking in their mail? I'm sure you know just about everything about everybody in your naive little town."

"You go to hell!" Pike blurted.

"I don't know why you're trying to smear the good names of my friends," Singer began, "but—"

"Oh, I haven't forgotten you, Mr. Singer," I interrupted. "Surely, you are the naughtiest of the Three." I smiled proudly. "Your cashier, Mrs. Norton, is very alluring, isn't she?"

Singer blushed.

"I don't have to sit here and listen to any of this, " Singer raved.

"But you know your friends' darkest secrets, Mr. Singer; surely you don't object to their knowing yours?" Moments like this are precious to me. They help me tolerate people a little more, I think.

"You're a very lucky man, Mr. Singer," I taunted. "I know for a fact that every man in Blue Ridge would like to straddle Mrs. Norton, but you're the only one who actually is, not counting Mr. Norton, of course."

"That's enough, mister," Josh ordered. "Who gave you the God-given right to judge—"

"I judge as I please," I retorted. "And I certainly don't consider it a God-given right."

"I think it's time I closed for the night," Josh declared.

"But wait. No one has asked Willy how he managed to escape his terrible ordeal in the woods," I protested.

"Okay, Willy," Josh obliged. "How did you escape from the creature that you claimed attacked you?"

"Escape!" Willy bellowed. His eyes lit up like balls of fire. "I didn't escape. My soul is damned forever." He looked as if he was actually going to cry. "If you don't believe me just ask that son-of-a-whore." Willy pointed an accusing finger at me.

I let out a hoarse laugh. When I want to, I can release the loudest, damnedest laugh any human has ever heard. I believe I hinted at that a little earlier. Well, here goes. My booming laugh raised to an amazing pitch—I say amazing because of the shocked looks on my listeners' faces. The poor bastards had their hands over their ears and their faces contorted as if they were freaking out. Glasses and bottles smashed to the floor as the whole bar trembled. The TV toppled over the shelf and crashed onto the floor. The bar mirror crumbled as if someone had hurled a bottle at it. Even the window panes shattered. Now, time to really get down.

The darts that had been stuck in the dart boards on the wall withdrew, as I wished, and flew around the room, seeking targets. Two of the darts flew past Willy's head and plunged into Josh's eyes. Josh fell back onto the floor, clawing at the darts, his screams muffled by my thunderous roar.

The Naughty Three ran for the door, but, of course I had already ensured that it would not open. At my wish, the pool balls ascended above the pool table and were hurled at the three men as if they were thrown by a whole team of major league pitchers. O'Toole was hit in the head and crumbled to the floor like an empty sack. Pike received a hard blow in the chest and was knocked backward over a chair. I wanted Singer to see what he had coming. I cut off my laughter and the pool balls dropped to the floor and rolled in all directions.

I concentrated on the juke box and instantly Elvis Presley's "You're the Devil in Disguise" swept over the room. By now Singer had dropped to his knees and was weeping like a child who had just broken his favorite toy.

Elvis's voice ended abruptly in a loud groan as the juke box began to swell. It swelled like a balloon does with every puff of air. When it reached a gigantic proportion, it burst open and 45-rpm records flew across the room, crashing into the wall.

Suddenly, a creature began to materialize from the depths of the split juke box and hovered over a dark pit—home sweet home to me. It was the thing Willy had described earlier, a very dear creature, my faithful servant. You should have seen Singer's face. It held the shocked amazement of a lost soul's first gaze into hell.

My servant trotted over to Singer, who was now pulling at his hair while he whimpered peevishly like a lonely drunkard. My servant leaned over Singer, baring its large, serrated teeth, and picked him up with its paws. Singer twisted and squirmed, but no words were audible from his wide open mouth. My servant trotted back to the pit below the juke box and stepped right in, carrying Singer along with it. A gush of flames erupted as it disappeared into the hole in the floor. Then two more of my servants appeared and carried away Singer's friends. Friends for eternity. I'm sure that would have been the naughty Three's last request.

I had to leave Josh's body behind for the residents of Blue Ridge to mull over. You see, his soul was protected by a white halo, a blinding light that I find so painfully unbearable. Well, even I can't win them all.

I turned to Willy and said, "time to go."

"No," Willy moaned, gripping the edge of the bar. "I did what you asked. I killed the man whose body you now possess. You promised me a position on earth."

"Oh, Willy," I crooned. "You naive, irritable freak. Don't you know that I never tell the truth? Deceit is my profession. I'll do anything to get what I want."

Damn, I truly enjoy watching humans squirm.

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