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The Haunting of Bowen Corners (standard:humor, 33995 words)
Author: JosprelAdded: Mar 01 2006Views/Reads: 2131/2277Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
An only child, Swanna was tutored at home by the best teachers her parent's millions could hire. And, knowing mostly the company of snobbish adults, she acquired the demeanor of one who viewed those outside her social standing as one views a cockroach in
 



Given to three-piece, pinstriped suits, and always one to assume a
posture of hauteur superiority toward others, multi-millionaire Mr. 
Wendler was putty in the hands of his sixteen-year-old daughter Swanna. 
 He doted on her.  So her mother didn't stand a chance when Swanna 
decided that patriotism decreed that she and her mother spend the 
summer on a truck farm in Collins, New York, picking crops for the 
World War II war effort.  An only child, Swanna was tutored at home by 
the best teachers her parent's millions could hire. And, knowing mostly 
the company of snobbish adults, she acquired the demeanor of one who 
viewed those outside her social standing as one views a cockroach in 
need extermination. Manure-smelling boots had a better chance of 
acceptance by Swanna, than someone her quirks led her to dislike.  Then 
she encountered the easy going, Supreme High Sheriff of Collins County, 
Loren Kregs, and the fireworks began! 

THE HAUNTING OF BOWEN CORNERS by Josprel 

CHAPTER ONE 

"We saw a ghost in the cemetery."  Swanna Wendler's calm demeanor belied
her incredible announcement, but her friends were terrified. Moments 
before, the bevy of teen-age girls had stampeded into the kitchen of 
Sheriff  Loren Kregs' farmhouse.  Verony, his wife, almost dropped the 
cake she was icing.  Its loss would have been felt by Loren. Because of 
the World War II  sugar shortage, the cake had condemned him to weeks 
of bitter coffee substitute. Tomorrow, the first Sunday of June, 1944, 
decked in thick vanilla frosting, it would grace a dessert table at the 
annual church dinner.  What a time for an intrusion. Just when Verony 
was finished with the icing bowel! 

Summer workers from the Jarvan farm, the intruders walked past Loren's
home most Saturday nights, hiking the two miles to Collins for a movie 
and soda.  Always returning in darkness, they used his veranda as a 
halfway rest stop. Some ten minutes earlier, after walking home in 
company with the boys from the farm, the couple's only child - 
sixteen-year-old Marty "Butch" Kregs - had announced his arrival with 
his customary slam of the screen door.  He then scaled the steps to his 
bedroom two at a time.  Drawn back down by the excited voices, he now 
stood on the bottom landing observing the girls mob his father's 
strapping frame. 

Retaining vestiges of the blithe, college, football hero he once was,
fortyish Loren was informal to a fault. A stickler that his deputies be 
fully uniformed and armed, he hardly ever conformed to his own code. He 
went without a tie and sidearm, wore various combinations of official 
and civilian garb, kept his sleeves rolled to above the elbows, and 
almost never observed protocol; nevertheless, his badge always was 
prominently displayed, the only visible proof of his office. 

Despite these quirks, he held the deep respect of his constituency,
especially that of his deputies. Now, however, the brawny, 
six-foot-three sheriff seemed like a befuddled giant besieged by 
Lilliputians. His perplexity at being pressed by the girls was decoded 
by his sonsy wife, who noticed his long fingers combing through his 
receding ash blond hair. Removing her apron, she sauntered to the 
group. 

"Quiet!" she shouted.  The girls turned in amazement. Even Loren's baby
blue eyes expressed shock. 

"Wait in the parlor," she commanded.   Meekly, the visitors filed from
the kitchen, followed by Butch. 

Amused, Verony teased, "You're rescued, sheriff. Grab some glasses. 
I'll get some refreshments." 

The girls flopped on an enormous oriental rug that centered the spacious
parlor.  Delegating the glasses to Butch, Loren eased himself into the 
flowery patterns of a deeply cushioned sofa.  When Verony was settled 
next to him, he asked, "What happened?" 

The response exploded from Swanna.  "Are you deaf, Mr. Kregs?  I told
you.  There's a ghost in the cemetery." 

"Whoa, there; watch your tongue." 


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