Thursday, November 17, 2005

Blood Road (Part 1)

At a swim meet during high school, my friends and I were huddled together, chatting. Several of them (but not me) were commiserating about how their respective girlfriends were "really pissing them off lately." The conversation quickly became focused on devising a scheme to playfully get back at them for being so inconsiderate to otherwise extremely well behaved high school boys. As we watched heat after heat of the same race, our devious minds poured over the possibilities. Soon, we had a plan. We would take them to "Blood Road" for the scare of their lives.

I imagine that in most small towns like mine, there is an urban legend that captures the imaginations of local teenagers. In my day (somewhere in the mid-80's), Baytown teens had Blood Road. Blood Road was a narrow, one lane road in a very secluded and heavily wooded area outside of town. The story was that a reclusive farmer who lived on this road went on a murderous tirade and slaughtered his wife with ax. Afterwards (to dispose of the body), the farmer dragged her bloody corpse down the middle of the street until her last drop of blood was gone.

While heading South on Blood Road, the farmers house was visible from the road. A good storyteller would stop the car and point this out while he told the story—maybe even mention that his crazy son still lived there, or that they never caught the farmer to spice it up a bit. The storyteller would instruct the group look very closely at the road, revealing no trace of any blood or marks. Then, the driver would turn the car around and head North.

It was then that the car's headlights illuminated the legend—a dark, reddish-brown stain on the concrete that closely resembled the erratic patterns of a large object being dragged. The bravest of brave would get out of the car and inspect it up close. To be honest, it was pretty creepy to see.

When the guys invited the girls to make the trip, they cheerfully accepted, being clear about the fact that they wouldn’t be scared—at all. We’d see about that…

[To be continued]

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home