IN THE SPIRIT

In the spirit

Angie applied lip gloss and smacked her lips together with a loud kissing noise. She jerked her brush through her hair and applied mascara. Tugging her tee down and her bra up, she was ready. She crammed the rest of her weekend gear into her rucksack and flipped the light switch. At the foot of the steps waited her best friend; Carolyn. With enough beer and food in the car to last a week; they eagerly headed out; their high-pitched clamoring railed above the thumping rhythm. The others were going to meet them at the camp site. The sixth annual SLSOOY (SULL-soy” ~ Scare-the-Living-Shit-Out-of-you) competition was under way. Each year this band of five board members, seven councils and select guests met for a weekend of camping and ghost story telling in the woods of Big Hill. They had each researched their own ghost story to share and compete for the coveted trophy: a deer skull that one of the board members had found while hunting in the nearby woods. It was “honored” by the victor with the title of the wining tale scripted in crimson somewhere on the skull. Angie was SURE she was going to win this time. This year was a slim year with only the five board members, two councils and a couple of guests attending. Angie was glad the field had narrowed.

“So, where does YOUR story come from?” Caro asked with her famous big grin.

“No way.” Angie snubbed her friend.

“C’mon. Don’t be stingy. I swear I won’t say a word.”

“Rules are rules.”

“But it’s only my second year! I can’t even contribute. I only get to vote.” She pouted.

“But it will be biased when you hear it. That’s not the spirit of it.”

“Pun intended?” she laughed. “Please Ang? Just the background.”

Angie sighed dramatically but acknowledged that she was dying to tell her best friend what she had uncovered.

“Okay…” she almost squealed “Here we go. Way back in the 40's there was a family that lived out off Chase Road between Cherryvale and Mound Valley.”

“Wait…out by Griffith cemetery?”

“Yeah...”

“Nobody’s been out there for years.” Caro said quietly.

“Yeah Caro; I know and here’s WHY…”

Caro’s friend began to divulge the gruesome tale of the Paddy’s. Paddington was the name but they had been known by the shorter, friendlier derivation. They were an outsider family that came from the Washington area. No one really knew much about them except that they had enough money to buy a considerable amount of land. But as everyone soon realized, they were anything but farmers. The Paddy’s apparently needed quite a bit of help on their land to see the success necessary to keep it. So often, they went in to town to hire scabs and transients. Their eldest son Thomas was slow witted and could only accomplish limited tasks. Their daughter, Melinda, was beautiful and spoiled. Her father adored her (speculation was a little too much). She rarely felt compelled to help her mother who was a hard, rigid woman and the youngest boy Alden was wifty and silly as young boys tend to be. The Paddys had more than 150acres; about thirteen to tend with crops so a couple of good strong men were sought. The problems began with Melinda. She was a little loose in the morals and her father apparently went insane with rage and jealousy to find her “comingling” with the help. That is how the first few hands disappeared.
Then it became a profession. The Paddys discovered that by going directly to the train station in the evenings and picking up transients as help or travelers as boarders; they had an endless supply of untraceable money. They simply trotted their daughter out as bait, offered the stranger dinner with the family and once seated in the “honorable seat” in front of an old canvas partition, bludgeoned the poor man to death and destroyed the body. The belongings, jewelry and money were theirs for the keeping. The money problem was solved and the father’s rage at his daughter’s carnal weakness could be sufficiently redirected. A narrow escape by a would-be victim gave the Paddy’s up. A man had refused to sit in front of the oddly stained evil smelling canvas and upon doing so had angered the family. He was so uncomfortable he dashed from the home and went straight to town, returning in the morning with authorities. The family had moved on. They were never found. Angie stopped talking and glanced at her friend. Caro sat pale and thoughtful.

“Got rid of the bodies?”

“Yep.” Angie nodded crisply, proud of the reaction.

“How?”

“That’s the part I won’t share with you my dear.” And she smiled flicking her eyebrows suggestively.

Carolyn continued to brood for the rest of the ride; fidgeting with her tie-dyed bandana, wrapping and rewrapping it around her hand thoughtfully. Angie knew she had this year’s contest sewn up.

The camp site was about a forty minute walk from the main parking lot. The girls hoisted their gear and followed the map. They found the site but were disappointed to see that even though they were late, they were the first to arrive. A fire was built and the two waited. They drank and laughed and waited.
The call came late. The others were delayed on Highway 169 due to an accident. They still had an hour’s drive and were choosing instead to stop for the night. They planned to arrive early in the morning. Angie wasn’t pleased but didn’t say anything to Carolyn. The night descended quickly and the girls made more noise and drank most of the beer they brought. Stumbling and laughing over the underbrush, Carolyn announced to God and Country that she was going to pee in the woods.

“Watch the ivy.” Angie warned handing her friend the light.

"Nah. Hye dun need ‘at.” Carolyn slurred. “Ima beeee RIGHT back.” And she stumbled off, humming a song Angie couldn’t quite recognize. Laughing lightly, she sat and stirred the fire. She finished off the last of her beer and called out to her friend. Nothing. A little skittish, she took the lantern and shined it out into the darkness. Again; fruitless. Not wanting to venture out into the night alone, she continued to call for Carolyn. She used her cell to call the others, but they weren’t picking up. Reception could be sketchy out in the woods. She was beginning to worry.  Fear tickled her belly. She kept the fire going to give off light for her  friend, hoping that it was just huge kidney capacity that had kept her this long. The night dragged. Angie dozed sitting in front of the fire.

“Hello?” the voice was soft, cautious.

Angie jumped up, snatching a nearby stick. The fire had all but died and she realized she was buried in the stark, chilly night. A shudder raced across her skin. She bit her lip to keep her teeth from chattering or screaming.

“Yes?” Angie fumbled for the light and shown it on a woman standing demurely in the brush.

“Hello?” she said again and smiled shielding her eyes from the brightness.

Angie stared.

“Your friend? She has fallen. She got turned around and ended up in our camp. Could you come and help her?”

Angie didn’t move. “Where is your camp? I don’t see your fire. “

The woman clasped her hands in front of her. “She was a little tipsy and fell into our campfire. We put it out and wrapped her arm. She burned it pretty good trying to catch herself.”

Angie stood and clutched the lantern. “You go first.” She said

The woman shrugged and headed back quickly. She struggled but Angie managed to reasonably keep up. Disoriented and exhausted she was surprised by her own joy to see the glow of a small fire. Two men sat silently poking at the embers. They looked at her indifferently. The woman gestured and the smaller man one got up.

“Where’s Carolyn?” she asked immediately alarmed.

“She’s just lying down in the tent. She really had a fall. Are you hungry? We’re just about ready to eat some burgers. You look a little frazzled. Long night?” the older man’s voice was a little gravelly and low.

“No. Thanks. But you go ahead.” She sighed and felt her shoulders relax. “You camp here a lot? I’m Angie by the way.” She stared at the fire. A rustle came from the dingy canvas tent behind her along with a stale waft. She winced and rubbed her nose at its unpleasantness.

“Yeah. Been doing it for years.” The smaller man said. He latched on to his burger hungrily. Ketchup and condiments gushed out the sides.

“Alden…” the woman scolded.

“Messy…messy…” he said and wiped his mouth with a tie dyed bandana.

“Call me Paddy.” He grinned.


This? Well, it's simple I know, but I was doing some research and came across a harrowing tale of "The Bender Family".  They were in Kansas around the early 1870's and caused quite a ruckus with their murderous tendancies.  They were not caught.  It is believed they fled to Washington State. Who doesn't like a little campfire tale?  To study them was a little spooky so I just thought I'd share the wealth. ;) S'more anyone?

I hope you liked my spin on it. Thanks for coming over to visit. It was nice to see you.







http://www.leatherockhotel.com/BloodyBenders.htm
http://www.prairieghosts.com/bender.html
http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=F40B10FF385E137B93C2AA178AD95F428784F9
http://www.francesfarmersrevenge.com/stuff/serialkillers/bender.htm