|The Haunting of Bowen Corners (standard:humor, 33995 words)|
|Author: Josprel||Added: Mar 01 2006||Views/Reads: 2168/2300||Story 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." Click here to read the rest of this story (4536 more lines)
Authors appreciate feedback!
Please vote, and write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
Josprel has 5 active stories on this site.
Profile for Josprel, incl. all stories
For a quick, anonymous response to the author of this story, type
a message below. It will be sent to the author by email.