Black Raspberries and Other Tales

When they reached the gravel down-grade just above the makeshift trench, the tires on their bikes sank into the loose terrain rendering forward progress extremely difficult.  They had to get off of the bikes and walk them.

“Why did they dump all these pebbles right here in the middle of the road," asked Jan.

"I'm guessing it’s a washout trench so the water doesn’t run straight down the road and wash it into the river.  Even with a new clutch in my truck, the old girl is going to have a hell of a time yanking that camper back up through this. We'll probably have to stop in town and have George put another one in when we get it out of this carnival," he smiled; she didn't.

Looking up at the four campers parked above their site, Jan said, "Who in their right mind would drive by one of these campers and think of purchasing it?  On this road in this campground, mind you.  I mean, they don't look worthy of dump storage." She looked at Brett who was pressing an erect forefinger vertically to his puckering lips telling her to be quiet. He pointed down the road to the entrance of their campsite. William was on the side of the road on his knees with a bright aluminum bucket in front of him, facing a bunch of bushes bearing fruit.

"Finally! A berry picker!" Jan smiled.

They continued down the road, past the trench, toward the entrance before William finally heard their footsteps crunching on the loose gravel. He stood immediately, at least attempted to, but a bit of arthritic stiffness stifled his effort.  He had to rest his hand on his right knee and regain his composure in order to stand all the way up. He looked a little nervous, as if he'd just been caught with his zipper of his trousers down, peeking in the girl’s locker room with his weenie out.

"Hi William," Brett said suspiciously.

"Howdy. I’z jess pickin’ some berries," he said picking up the bucket and tilting it to show them. Less then a dozen berries lay on the bottom of the bucket.

"Well... it looks like you got a long way to go or you're eating what you're picking," said Jan smiling.

This time it was Brett who didn't smile. For that matter, neither did William. Jan's smiled faded quickly as she saw Brett looking at William's hands. They were all scratched and swollen from the thorny branches of the berry bushes. The wounds were mostly superficial, but the scratches were fresh and blood made them redder and more noticeable. There were more wounds on his hands then berries in his bucket.

"What's with all these bushes anyways, William?" asked Brett. "Why don't you people clean some of them up?"

"They were heah 'fore we was, Mr. Websta. Every summer more and more grow wild and show up in all kinds of places. Most the townfolk love 'em, so no one bothas to get rid of ‘em.”

"But there are so many," added Jan. William merely shrugged as if embarrassed.

"Where are all the townfolk anyways, William?" Brett mused.

"Most stay inside in this kinda heat. It's too much for most of 'em. They'll be comin’ out shotly." He looked at his watch and added, "Nights get real cool up heah in the foothills."

The way he said “they’ll be comin’ out shotly” sent a chill down Brett's spine. Were they in a town of night dwelling vampires?

"Well, happy picking, William. And watch those thorns," he said this looking into William's eyes, not at his hands. William’s left eye stared back as if lifeless in a yellow pool of pus. It was an evil, lying, lifeless eye, Brett thought suddenly.  William smiled, this time full-blown embarrassed, saying nothing as Bret and Jan turned their bikes and walked into the long entrance of their campsite.