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+--- Thread: The Ghosts of North-Dixie. (Part 2) (/showthread.php?tid=39989)
The Ghosts of North-Dixie. (Part 2) - R.L. Edgar - 03-02-2021
It was the first Saturday in February. The night was the sixth. My brother-in-law Todd and me, along with his paranormal team following in a convoy of trucks, were driving through the sleeping backstreets of Nazareth. We were heading up through the knobs to Fort Hill, the old Civil War fort that suffered legends ripe with haunts and mystery. The whole geography of the hill was dark and flinty, even during the daylight.
I had been up there a few times, but not since I was very young. From what I remembered there was a walking park of trails that ran up and down either side of the hill. It all circled and wrapped around the crest where there was an earthworked fort of trenches that were likely dug out by slave labor. The site had been closed to the public for over twenty years.
I, along with Todd’s team, had been granted access to investigate the site by the head of the local historical society, Misty Waters… the woman who was more of an enigma than the hill itself.
According to my sister, and according to my late father, via posthumous letter, Misty Waters was my biological mother. Frankly, I wanted nothing to do with either the ghost hunting on the hill or the truth hunting with Misty. This whole venture was orchestrated to help Todd and his fledgling paranormal team. I was only there for moral support, and for whatever shine my pro wrestling celebrity might assist in the project.
Todd talked me into leveraging the happy news of my illegitimate existence as a means to filming a ghost-hunting documentary up in those fabled woods, and it worked. Earlier in the week, I called the number on the card left to me by Misty. She had tucked into the middle of my father's tell-all. Oddly enough she and I never spoke over the phone, or in-person since she confessed to being my mother. The number put me in touch with a young-sounding assistant named Amy. I was made to leave a message for Misty, and the correspondence back from Amy was prompt with a simple: yes.
"Okay, everyone! It's Saturday, February the sixth, two-thousand-twenty-one. We are approaching the gates of the infamous Fort Hill in Franklin County, Kentucky..."
From the driver's seat of the pickup, my brother-in-law had pulled his expensive video camera out. He began filming as the uneven concrete road, illuminated only by the headlights, was turning into gravel and leading up to a set of swinging chain link gates,
"I'm Todd Harrod, of the Midnight Wolf Pack Paranormal team, and next to me is my brother-in-law, many of you may recognize him: R.L. Edgar from the XWF!"
Bundled tight in my coveralls I gave an unsure smile and wave to the camera,
"As many of you will know, the history of Fort Hill is a sordid one of war and murder and satanic rituals. It is believed to be one of the most active paranormal hotspots in the entire state."
Todd parked the truck just far enough from the gates that I could swing them open. I got out and scurried through the cold air to unlock the gate with a key that was delivered to the house a few days prior. There was something rather freakish about winter nights that you didn't get in the summer. The atmosphere was darker and swelled with a heavy silence. There were no chirping crickets or hooting birds, and not a house anywhere within a mile- only some sudden and unnerving howls from coyotes somewhere from out in the distance.
I fumbled the key out from my pocket before undoing the double-sided padlock that bound two ends of a worn chain together.
"All good?!"
Todd hollered from out of his window,
I turned and gave him a thumbs-up before opening each side of the gate. Todd then turned back towards the two vehicles behind us and mirrored my signal.
We began driving up the gravel road, bouncing through potholes as overgrown branches reached out and scrapped the sides of the truck.
"I really appreciate you doing this, Reggie."
"Ain't no worries, brother."
I responded,
"I'm happy that it all worked out this way."
I continued, pulling a pint of Jagermeister out from my backpack on the floorboard and taking a swig,
"This is going to be the biggest night of our lives! I'm telling you, dude! I have this feeling that we're going to capture some remarkable evidence up here."
Boy was he right.
After about two miles of driving on the gravel road, we reached the top of the hill where it flattened out into an open grassy area, and just ahead was the old terraformed war fort. Only bits of this were visible from the high beams. Todd and I grabbed our backpacks and got out of the truck, and the rest of Todd's team got out from their respective vehicles and gathered around the tailgates.
"...because I can overpower that type of darkness."
Denise Pack, and her husband Bert, along with her two cousins, I can't remember their full names, everyone just called them the Shielas, were continuing a conversation they were having during their ride,
"I have to recognize and feel the evil. I have to hone in on it and concentrate the power of the light to cast those types of spirits out."
Denise said to the Shiela who was bald-headed and walked with a cane,
Denise and the Shiela's each believed themselves to some special combination of psychic mediums and witches. I believed them to be insane.
"What kind of spirits are you talking about? Demons?"
Roland Chow, an obese man who functioned as the group's renowned "skeptic" said, while walking around his truck. Roland brought along with him a lanky man with an unkempt beard known as the Squatch Man. The infamous ghost-hunting gang of six, with myself stepping away into the darkness for another chug of my liquor, all stood around exchanging banter. Each of them with a uniquely eccentric look about them was all wearing a black shirt with their group's logo overtop their winter clothes.
I spent very little of the night paying attention to what any of them were saying. There was this one hilarious instance though where Denise and both of the Shiela's began having an episode of psychic overload. The evil of the haunted woods had become too much for them. They paused and began holding their hands out with their eyes closed, tightening their bodies as if they were charging up to power or performing isometrics.
"LEAVE THIS PLACE DEMON!"
Denise shouted into the icy wind. Things were getting very intense.
After an hour or so of walking aimlessly in through the dark woods and listening to the fruitless white noise of radio station cycling through a device called the Spirit Box, I was about ready to call it quits.
"HELLO MY FREINDS!"
The Squatch Man yelled out into the dead forest,
Squatch Man believed that he had a special destiny to fulfill for the Sasquatch species. He said that they were actually aliens who had gone into hiding on earth millions of years ago.
"SHOW US YOUR BEAUTIFUL EYES!"
Everyone stopped and stared out into the nothing between the trees.
"..."
The pause was collective.
But something up ahead looked just out of place. A pale glow lon the ground in the distance,
"What's that?" I said pointing,
"ITS THE SQUATCH!"
Squatch Man said,
"No goddamnit it isn't!" I said running ahead.
It was the weathered and decaying body of a young woman. After a moment of vomiting and listening to the swirls of the team's panic, I dialed the police and properly reported what I saw. We were directed to stay put.
After almost an hour had gone by a vehicle had finally arrived, only it wasn't the police. It was a black SUV, and out from it stepped none other than Misty Waters.
-to be continued-
Well! Holy cauliflower coochie ladies and gentlemen! She did it! I didn’t think she had it in her, but by-gawd Lycana proved me wrong!
She cut, easily, the weakest wrestling promo I’ve ever witnessed, and I’ve seen some doozies!
Lycana took every single bad idea at her disposal, mixed it all together, kneaded the dough, packed it with melatonin, and then served us all an undercooked mess of cookie-cutter garbage while she blathered away.
Do you know the whole: “He said everything I said he’d say” thing?
You know?
That shit form of gotcha drivel that every unoriginal twat in wrestling pulls from the last-resort bin when they’re really bad at cutting an opening promo? (Your first was comically bad)
The thing where they look in the mirror and examine all of the ironclad reasons they should quit forever and go hang themselves in a closet? Shook. Making a parody of themselves because they know that they’re a super-duper pile of wolf-shit, but they try and appear smart by calling out all of their shortcomings before someone else does?
Well Lycana, you slow-pitched that gimmie of a homer to yourself and struck-plum-the-fuck-out.
I mean this with the utmost sincerity: you’ve got to be the dumbest bitch I’ve ever wrestled against. You took the pussiest, most mealy-mouthed form of trash-talking, and because you’re such a simple, squeaking little rodent you lubed that nasty thing up and went where no pretend metaphysical being has ever gone before… From the cunt to the shitter!
Amazing! TRULY!
Let’s start with the obvious… all of these wrestlers you claim to be better than? Well it’s impossible to differentiate you now that you’re ripping off their second-rate promo-style isn’t it? Where you once were just a boring, ten-hour wolf movie, you’ve mutated! Who didn’t see that coming?! Now you’re just Ash Quinn with rabies!
Or!
Matter of fact!
Just copy and paste any watery cum puddle of a “bad-day-having” wrestler and put them in that spot. VOILA! We have Lycana’s inspiration! Or better yet, we have Lycana’s talent level on display… but that wouldn’t be entirely fair. Most of those folks have actually won matches, you haven’t won anything except for the chance to fuck a former Universal Champion. At least you ARE making gains in that department, Thad is certainly an upgrade from Marf.
You are, in effect, by your own broken-ass measuring-stick, a terrible wrestler. Terrible in the ring, terrible on the mic, and a Unisom with arms and legs.
Honestly, I could end this right here. You’ve already talked yourself into being lower than the dirt beneath the bottom of the barrel, but the fun is only just beginning. Aren't I such a wonderful "plaything"? God that sounds stupid as fuck.
Lycana, I thought I was just Useless? Inept? Unremarkable? Forgettable? Not worth your time? Yet you said in the SAME promo that I'm your favorite new plaything along with Corey Smith.
Good god, you're dense.
Is that the same Corey Smith that you admitted you couldn't beat?
Well, I'm glad to know how highly you actually think of me!
You just can't help but bury yourself in front of the whole world, can you?
Again, let me break out the crayons:
if I'm so useless how could I be your favorite plaything?
If I'm just the "Ash Quinn" (the bumbling bitch you spent two weeks claiming was the bees-knees til' she, like every other Left-Hander, hit the eject button) like you said, then why am I up next to Corey Smith in your mind?
Hmmm, sometimes dumbbitches do be saying the quiet parts out loud.
Lycana, you called me a hypocrite, HA! You're a walking, talking, cock-biting contradiction! Fuck! You're a double-decker cheese sandwich of contradiction! Remember how in my first promo I made fun of the fact that you weren't going to stop talking about my penis?
I knew it was in the cards, just like the rest of the painfully trite nonsense you spit. But of course, I didn't do the whole boring-ass final rap-battle in 8Mile ripoff, I'm not that lame. And I don’t really have many flaws I can think of...
But YOU, on the other hand, you did that didn't you, B-Rabbit? While at the same time ignoring the fact that you were doing and saying everything everyone knew you were going to do and say. OH BOY! THE PLOT THICKENS!
I never thought I would be saying that about anything you were involved in...
I know you're an idiot, but is there something else going on? Can you just not help but talk about my dick? Are you obsessed? Are you trying to send me some hints about what "plaything" actually means?
Well, it's a hard pass.
I've seen crack whores who are more attractive than you. There's something more beautiful about the natural gutters. For one it's real, as opposed to the gunk scraped out of your snore-worthy fantasy land toilet. All of the cheap special effects in the world sold by some shifty advertiser on your promo can't fix you. A website won't make you more believable. You're a flake. A fraud of the highest fucking honor. The Teen-Wolf the reboot sucked-ass! And so do you!
Only an absolute suck-ass would talk about my position in the company, holding the third most prestigious belt in the XWF, as being a "minuscule hill" while in the same breath talking about how much it means to them to win the Hart Championship. How it'll be their "stepping stone". Your credibility is dying a slow death here, toots, but let all of this serve as a lesson on not being a hack.
You want to beat me so bad you can taste it, huh? Because even though you're a lying bitch, and will never admit it, a win over R.L. Edgar would instantly bolster your seedless claim of being "top tier". It would save your fledgling career as your light continues to dwindle away.
You ain't beating me. Maybe you've danced with a big boy, or two, but what happened? Do you wanna go back to blaming your losses on bad tag partners? You picked those people Lycana. It's not my fault that you suck just a little less than Marf and Ash. Get better, or get better help.
I mean, after all, you said Corey carried me in our tag match, why couldn't you carry Marf?
OH! I KNOW WHY!
Because you two bozos didn't belong in that match at Snow Job in the first place. Talk about dumb luck! Corey could carry me, but you couldn't carry Marf, or Ash, and Corey and I are on even-footing in the eyes of Lycana's desires.
Ain't it funny how your own words can fuck you? Like the whole thing about me beating Ned Kaye because he had a bad night? Got any proof on that? Or is it just more typical hot-air?
What gives you any indication that Ned was off from his game? Looked fine to me, and he looked even better when Shawn and I threw his ass through that glass cage.
You couldn't possibly be talking about the fact that Ned only dropped two promos instead of his usual three, right? Oh god! You are, aren't you? I know you stay constantly confused, but what else could you POSSIBLY be talking about?! HA! The stupidity and underhanded bullshit have come full circle, haven't they?
I knew you lived in a whole other universe, but goddamn, dude!
Okay, so by that rationale I only won because Ned only dropped two promos, well guess what? My third didn't even make the cut for air time, I was late to the studio!
So my two were better than Ned's two and better than Wylde's three!
And I didn't have to ramble for thirty fucking minutes, sounding like I've gobbled up a thesaurus in my shit to get over either. Because at the end of the day, who's face is on the March Madness poster? Who hasn't lost a single match since returning to the XWF? Who is the Hart Champion? And who hasn't won a single. fucking. thing?
I don't like you, Lycana. I don't like anything about you. On top of you being a fraud, you're just not a good person. You're a bad guy who makes bad guys look bad. Everything you've said in the build-up to this match has just further exposed you, and I didn't have to lift a finger.
According to you, people like myself, and Ash Quinn, and Shawn Wylde are worthless. We have no business being in the same ring as the Vixen- and yet all three of us are living in your head rent-free!
Since you said I was Ash Quinn, and I'm all of those goofy and wordy insults you used then I guess Ash is also "unremarkable". And yet her betrayal stung so deep that you can't leave her alone. Of course, I would l think that some bitch who could turn into a wolf and has the backing of a grift like the Left Hand wouldn't be SO concerned with pesky little Ash. The same goes for Shawn Wylde. And just look at you, now! You let a "waste of oxygen", your words, kidnap you!
Oh god! I could do this all night, Lycana. The paradoxes just keep stacking up with each layer of your tacky makeup I wipe off.
Let’s play twenty-one questions again!
Here are the things we've learned that Lycana enjoys:
1.Getting shook worse than Poppa Doc from 8Mile
2.Continuing to read Animorphs well into her adult years.
3.My penis
4.Obsessing over the punishment of wrestlers she sees as beneath her
5.The way Marf smells
6.Losing wrestling matches
I'm gonna hurt you tomorrow Lycana, and not just your body, but your pride too. I'm going to posterize you! So once you find yourself back at the bottom of the card, try and focus on actually winning some matches before my name enters your mouth again, dumbass Icarus-type bitch.
Sorry Thad, I didn't mean to shred this cunt wide open before you got a chance to fuck her.
But that's how you body a fake ass wolf girl rookie.
Peace.