NN2021 Bright

“Are you gonna hurt my Dad, Sherrif?” he asked.

“No, Little Bud, not if I can help it. Yer Dad done some
things that he might have to answer for, and we jes’
want to talk to him and see if’n he’ll come down. I surely hope
he will come down.”

“He ain’t a bad man, Sheriff. He ain’t done nothin’ wrong.
He doan hit me,” Little Bud said, thinking of his friend Bill, who sometimes showed up with a mouse under his eye.
“Why can’t I jus take ‘im home and talk about It tomorrow?”

“I’m sorry Little Bud, but he has assaulted a man, and he has
to stand trial for that”.
Sheriff Baker said “trahl”, tracing his Texan roots, as if by a stubby, chewed pencil.
“The man done pressed charges. I can’t do
nothin about it, but he’ll get an attorney from Boise. ” he said.

“He was stickin’ up for Mary Carol,” Little Bud said, “He found out
Mr. Gunderson was beating on her; least that’s what he said. He tole
me they was sweethearts in school. Everybody knows it Sheriff.”

“I’m sorry Bud,” Sheriff Baker said, “I have to take him in. You
shouldn’t be here, except I have a feelin’ you might be useful gettin’
yer Dad in, God help me, if’n I’m wrong.”

Sheriff Baker looked at Bud to make sure he wasn’t watching, and thumbed the leather catch from the hammer of his revolver. He’d given word for his posse … well let’s be frank -- Milt Gott, Terry Haveman, Eddie Copeland and Joe Schulenberger hardly constituted a proper “posse”, but they’d do better than none at all -- to meet him.

They walked on the wooden walk next to the stepped façade of the hardware store. The general flow of the towners moved in the same direction, to the east, along the boardwalk, and then onto the graveled lower end of town. There was already a crowd gathered. People weren’t eating or drinking yet, but that would come, if the event wore on. It was almost certain to wear on. From where Sheriff Baker stood right in the middle of town, he could see the faint dot of Bud Wiswell floating about 200 feet or so above the Deheya River Diner, right there close to the scenic and roiling Deheya River, in the Weda Range. The Diner was still doing a bang-up business, but most of it was to-go orders of portable foods.

“What’s he doing up there?” Sheriff Baker said, his eyes wild
and twitching, “What else can they make him do?”

Little Bud didn’t answer him. He knew there was a hell of a lot more that the rings could make him do. Or maybe it was just that they let him do it, or helped him to do it. Little Bud hadn’t told anyone that he could lay flat on the floor of his room and lift ¼ of an inch above it. It took every bit of will he had. Like father like son. Little Bud was eight years old.

“Now Buuuud,” Sheriff Baker yelled, craning his neck to look up as he shielded the sun with his hand,
“yew know yew shouldn’t be up there, causing a ruckus, disrupting
the whole good nature of the town. Whyn’t you come down, and
we’ll talk about this? The rings has got us all upset, Bud, an’ I
realize they’ve taken a shine to you, but whyn’t you jes’ stop all this
nonsense an’ let’s see what we can work out?”

Bud Senior answered by rotating his back to Sheriff Baker. Above Bud’s left shoulder and about two miles away, three of the rings hovered, their surfaces impervious to reflection, in spite of the clear skies.

“You’re not gonna get him down by makin’ him mad, Sheriff,” said Little Bud.
“Buuuud,” screamed Sheriff Baker as he saw the boys finally dismounting and hitching their horses,
“if’n you won’t come down before sundown, we’ll have no choice
but to shoot you down, for the safety of the town. You know that
Terry Haveman can shoot, doncha? Yes, he surely can. I hope you
won’t make me prove it.”

“Sheriff,” Little Bud said, “you gotah get yer posse out after
Mr. Gunderson. Pa don’t like the idea of anybody beating on
Mary Carol Bevan. She has had bruises before, but this time
her nose was bloody also. Pa just gave him back what he gave
to her. You gotah get the posse after him Sheriff. Ain’t no other
way it’s gonna work!.”

Alvin Baker could see the sense of that. After all, who could properly deal with a levitating man who declined to come down? Those rings and their creatures were strange enough, thank you very much. Sheriff Baker jerked his head at the part-time deputies, and said,
“Find Gunderson. Get his ass back here and put him in the can.”

“Pa, can you come down here and talk to us? I’m scared Pa. I don’t
want them to hurt you. They’re talkin’ about shooting you down.”

“You gotta be strong, Bud,” Big Bud said, “you gotta stand up for
what is right, son, no matter who is doing the wrong. Your Ma
would’ve been proud of you, and she would have wanted you to
stand up for those that most needed it, like Mary Carol.”
Big Bud rotated around to see and talk to his son, and slowly drifted down to about 75 feet.
“I want you to stay here, Bud, “ Bid Bud said,
“you have to be a witness. You are my witness.”
The sun was four fingers from the horizon. Two of the Sheriff’s deputies had returned, one of them being Terry Haveman. “We can’t find him yet, “ said Terry,
“whatcha want to do about him?” pointing up at Big Bud.
“Wal, we’re going to have to get him down, one way or
another,” Al Baker said, “I don’t look forward to it.”

“Now Buuuuud,” Sheriff Baker yelled with a drawl, “we’s gonna
have to shoot you down if yew won’t come down. Be reasonable.
We’re lookin’ fer Gunderson. We’ve talked with Mary Carol. You
come on down now Bud, or bad things are going to happen.

The rings settled down low in the valley, almost out of site. The hundred or so of the residents of Oxbank that had seen the amorphous flowing beings of the rings were glad to not have to see their craft hovering over the valley. Most of the town tried to work with the new normal, there being no real alternative, but it was hard. Life was unknown, and frightening. It was not known if the rings were outside of the area. Nobody knew. Some had left and never come back.

“Now Buuud, if’n you don’t come down right now,
Terry Haveman here is going to shoot you with his
Winchester rifle. Please! Just come down for the
love of your son and all that is holy.”

“Little Bud,” Big Bud said, “remember this day.
Never forget.”

Sheriff Baker shrugged and Terry Haveman looked at him. Just then the rest of the deputies showed up. They shook their head at Sheriff Baker. Terry looked again at the Sheriff. He gave a sad nod.

Little Bud closed his eyes. He saw a shell around his Pa, one like a chicken eggshell, but purple, with little rings of gold. He pushed his arms outward, and Terry Haveman flew away from the site as though catapulted.

“He let me down easy somehow Alvin,” Terry Haveman said,
“I landed in Blackadar’s field like it was 50 feet deep of
Wool. I don’t want you to prosecute either of them.
They done me allright.”

Axel Gunderson was found in Gunderson, Colorado of all places, and extradited back to Deyeha County.

The rings are still there. I don’t see them all the time. They’re not so bad. They help me cross Carbon Canyon without having to walk it. That’s very handy.

a reply to: argentus

Felt like I was there excellent story.

a reply to: argentus

Me thinks a similarity to a Carlos Castaneda episode/tale

...and I enjoyed it very much

And please check your PM's


Johnny

a reply to: argentus

What I liked about this one wasn't the obvious.

It was the rings.

HP Lovecraft is one of my favorite writers.

What HE did (and some of the other greats did as well) was that he miminalized certain things.

He never described the monster... he described everything around it and let the reader's imagination take it from there.

Which to me is a MUCH more effective way to get the reader involved in the story if the reader has an active imagination.

The holes you left in the story were to me more interesting than the characters themselves.

Because I've read it a few times now and have a need to know the backstory.

Which there is no need to provide because my imagination is working on it...

Well written and I enjoyed it.

Thank you.

a reply to: argentus

Excellent short story, my friend.