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Chuck Ouija

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brotheroddkins View Drop Down
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    Posted: January/10/2010 at 11:51pm
This is a story I worked on for a magazine but they passed on it. It's based on an urban legend around where I live. Enjoy! Warning: Adult Themes.    
Reading: The Shadow Rising by Robert Jordan & Urban Gothic by Brian Keene


That is not dead which can eternal lie.
And with strange aeons even death may die.
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“Don’t ya be going over this bridge late at night.” Said the old man with the missing teeth. The ones he had were sick looking and yellow. Years of tobacco had caused it. The three boys looked at him. The one called Scooter asked:
     “Why?”
     “Because of him.”
     “Who?” Another boy, Gringo asked.
     “Chuck Ouija.”
     “Chuck We-gee.” The third and last boy, Jock, said.
     “No Ouija, like the board.” The old man’s eyes bugged out of his head. They were milky white around the edges and green as grass. Scooter smiled his big toothy grin and started to laugh.
     “Okay, old timer. I know the story. It’s horse s**t.”
     “Ya watch your mouth young man. That story ya think you know isn’t a story.” The old man used his hands to make quotation marks when he said story.
     “Cut the crap old man and let us through.” Scooter said. The old man wouldn’t move. Scooter moved his two hundred pound frame up to the man. He could smell booze on the old man’s breath. S**t, the old timer probably smelt booze on his breath.
     “Move the hell out of the way.” Gringo said from behind him. The old man looked at them and then sighed.
     “I warned ya.” He stepped out of the way and grimaced.
     “Whatever old timer.” Scooter replied and walked across the bridge. His two friends followed him. The old man shook his head and frowned. They are dead, he thought to himself, dead, dead, and dead. He watched them cross the bridge and then turned and walked back to his house.

     The early night sky was the color of a bruise. Scooter passed the beers out, as the other guys sat around the fire. The woods were strange looking with no leaves. Late October had a grip on the town of Wood River.
     “What about that crazy old man?” Jock asked.
     “What about him?” Scooter replied.
     “What the hell was he talking about?” Jock took a swig of the beer and peered at his buddy.
     “It’s just an old legend.”
     “Well, dumbass, I’m not from around here.” Jock replied.
     “It’s stupid.”
     “Tell him.” Gringo said and laughed.
     “No, you tell him.”
     “Someone tell me, I’m really interested.” Jock pulled his letter jacket closed against the coolness of the night.
     “I’m not really sure how it started. Probably, just to scare the kids. But supposedly, there was a man that lived in these woods. This was way back in the fifties or sixties. When he lived out here, children started going missing. Eventually, they figured out that it was this guy, Charles Greggson, who lived in the woods. Well, the sheriff couldn’t prove it, so the townspeople took it into there own hands.” Scooter paused and swigged his beer.
     “What did they do?” Jock asked.
     “They dragged him out of his house and hanged him. I guess his house was filled with children toys and such. Also, he had children’s scalps. They questioned him before hand but he wouldn’t tell them where the children’s bodies were.
     “So, the townspeople took him to the bridge and tied a rope to the underneath. Now, the legend says that before he died he cursed everyone. Before he could say anything more, though, the people threw him over the bridge and he hung.” Scooter looked at the fire and downed the rest of the beer.
     “Why is he called Chuck Ouija?” Jock replied.
     “That’s part of the legend. It goes that when they found him, he was communicating with a demon on a Ouija board or more accurately, a witchboard.” Gringo answered. Jock turned around, as a rustling in the woods filled the night air.
     “Probably a squirrel.” Scooter said.
     “Yeah, a squirrel. So, what exactly happens to you, if you meet up with this guy?” Jock was worried about the rustling but put on a brave face.
     “He takes your scalp, obviously and kills you.”
     “Great fun.” Gringo replied and laughed.
     “You’re sick.” Jock said.
     “Yup”
     “It’s just a legend. Don’t be scared.”
     “I ain’t frickin’ scared.”
     “Ooh, frickin.’ You can’t even swear. You are such a baby.” Scooter replied.
     “F**k you.” Gringo and Scooter started to laugh. Jock glared at them and then started to laugh also. Behind him the rustling became louder and then he was grabbed. For a moment, Jock couldn’t breath. He was scared, really scared. But as his mind cleared he could still hear Scooter and Gringo laughing, which made him look up. That put him face-to-face with his attacker.
     “French, you bitch.” He said. She looked at him and started to laugh. Scooter grinned and Gringo looked like he would pass out.
     “Ooh, I’m Chuck Ouija.” French replied, waving her hands in front of her.
     “You guys suck! F**k all of you.” Jock stood up and walked away from the fire.
     “Hey, don’t leave man. It was just a joke.” Scooter said.
     “Go to hell!”
     “Come on.”
     “I’m taking a leak. Is that okay with you.”
     “Don’t walk too far, these woods can get you turned around, if you’re not careful.”
     “Yes, dad.” Jock replied and heard them laughing. He really did have to water but also gather his bearings. F**king French, he thought.
                         * * *
     Cold, hungry eyes watched Jock walk into the woods. The fire had kept him away. But now, he would have his reward. Grimy hands with decades old dried blood on them, ran over the knives that were embedded in his skin. His beautiful knives. His babies. They cried out for blood. They cried out for release.
                        *   *   *
     Jock was well away from the fire but could still see it flickering. He found a nice enough tree, unzipped and let the stream flow. They had been drinking beer all night. He giggled to himself as he sprayed the tree, moving it around in circles, like a two-year-old. He heard a rustling behind him. He turned his head a little and grimaced.
     “Cut the s**t, French.” He said into the night. No one answered. F**k them, he thought. He focused on urinating. When he finished, he shook and redid his pants. He turned around. A monstrous man stood in front of him. He felt his palms instantly go sweaty. He backed up against the tree. He could smell his own pee.
     “Look man, I have money.” He replied and tried to reach for his wallet. A hand grabbed his throat. He couldn’t breath. The person dragged him closer to their face. Fetid breath filled Jock’s nostrils.
     “Oh, f**k.” He said, as another hand drove a knife into his stomach. He lurched from the impact. They dropped him. He grabbed his belly, feeling warm blood ooze from the wound and other slippery things. He started to convulse. He needed to get help. Turning over he started to crawl. He hadn’t got very far when he felt a weight on his back. He heard a snap and pain shot through him. He couldn’t even scream, just make a whiny noise. He felt his hair being pulled back and the knife at his forehead. He heard a sickening tearing sound, as his scalp was cut from his head.
                        *   *   *
     “Maybe, we should go check on him.” French said as she sat on Scooter’s lap. He looked at her like she was crazy.
     “It was just a joke.”
     “He’s been gone a long time.”
     “Good, maybe, the baby went home.” Gringo said from behind a tree. He walked back to the fire, adjusting his jeans.
     “We just can’t leave him out there. The woods are hard to find your way around in the dark.” French replied.
     “Who gives a s**t?” Scooter said.
     “Yeah, f**k that, idiot.” Gringo commented.
     “You guys are complete a**holes.”
     “He’ll come back. Stop being a girl.” Scooter nuzzled her neck. French giggled.
     “Stop being a girl. Is that what you really want, for me stop being a girl.” She grabbed his face and kissed him long and strong. She hopped off his lap and took his hand.
     “Got a flashlight?” She asked.
     “Yeah”
     “Let’s go. There’s something I got to show you.” French replied lasciviously. She pulled him to his feet and pulled him along behind her, as she went into the woods.
     “Yeah, just leave me here, while you guys go off and do carnal things.” Gringo yelled to them.
     “Go f**k yourself.” Scooter replied.
     “Maybe, I will.” Gringo grabbed another beer and sat down next to the fire. He popped the top and swigged some down. It was a twelfth or thirteenth of the night. He was so drunk he couldn’t even taste the crap anymore. The fire crackled nicely, shapes and shadows played off the light. One shadow that Gringo saw was moving quite fast. Into the woods, following his friends.
     “What the f**k?” He mumbled. He stood up, almost fell but caught his balance. He stumbled after the shadow, dropping the beer and forgetting his own flashlight. He needed to at least warn his friends. Somebody was after them.
     He ran blindly through the woods, not knowing where French had lead Scooter. He came to a clearing and slipped on something on the ground. He fell on his a** and felt a spasm of pain shoot up his spine. He felt around for what ever it was that he had slipped on. He could feel that it was everywhere. Gringo rubbed the slick material between his thumb and pointer finger. He held it up in the dim moonlight. It was a reddish-amber color. Like blood. But it can’t be blood, he thought. He tried to raise himself up but slid and fell in the mess, again. Catching himself, his hand bumped up against something solid. He felt around and could feel with hands that it was arm, leading to a hand. He started to shake and felt a pressure in his bladder.
     He heard something crash through the trees behind him. Someone grabbed him and slammed him into the ground. His head hurt from the pain and he held it. It tried to get up but was grabbed again and his foot was twisted until he could here it break. He cried out in pain.
     His attacker ripped his shirt open and drove something sharp into his chest. They dragged the knife in a pattern. Gringo screamed. He felt blood slide down his stomach and puddle around him. His bladder gave out and he mad all over himself. Warmness spread over the front of his jeans. He sighed with its release. The knife wielder cut down his stomach and down one leg and then the other. This left his jeans in tatters. The attacker ripped them down exposing him. It grabbed him, tugging at it, which disturbed him. Then the pressure of his hard-on was gone and replaced with searing pain. They cut off my d**k, he thought, right before he screamed. His scream was cut off by something firm and fleshy stuck in his mouth. He thought maybe it was a finger but realization came and he knew it was his missing appendage. He gagged because it was being driven down his throat but also because it was his c**k. His own c**k in his mouth. How f**ked up? He felt the attacker pull his head back keeping the thing in his throat. A knife was put to his forehead and pulled backward, taking his scalp with it. He wanted to scream but they drove his c**k right down his throat.
                        *   *   *
     Scooter made pleasant noises in his throat and moved his hand to the rythmn of French’s head moving on him. He cried with pleasure when she rolled her tongue around on him. He couldn’t believe how sexually adventurous she was. She pulled away from him and looked up at him.
     “You got a condom?”
     “Of course.” He replied and pointed to the pocket of his pants. French took it out and unwrapped it. She slipped the latex on his hardness. She got up and turned around, bending herself over. She took him in her hand and guided him into her. He slid in and she moaned a little.
     “You’re tight. Why are you always so tight?”
     “I’m not ready for something so large.” Scooter laughed and pressed further. He got in as far as he could go and then slid out. He kept this up in a rythmn. He took his hand and found the part in her that made her really screech. French moaned and moved her hips with him. He rubbed his hand over her and went in and out of her, together. F**king her was easier now that she was wet and he heard the sucking sound his dick made when he pulled out. He cried with pleasure. The cry became strangled as a knife went through his throat. French moaned as she felt warm liquid on her back.
     “Why didn’t you warn me you were going to cum?” She looked back and screamed. In the aura of the flashlight, she saw the knife blade sticking out of his neck. She crawled away from her boyfriend’s dying body. She could here the blood in his throat gurggling. She screamed and it echoed through the forest. She wanted to get up and run but she was weak-kneed. She crawled on her hands and knees, trying in vain to get as far away as she could from Scooter. The gurggling stopped. French looked behind her and saw a hulking shadow drop Scooter’s body to the Forrest floor. French felt herself panic, it was like pain welling up in her.
     The hulk walked toward her. She turned and crawled, trying to get up to her feet. Her legs were like rubber when she made it up. She walked naked through the forrest. She wasn’t sure where she was going or where anything was. The bridge, this was what she kept thinking as she moved along slowly. The bridge was the entrance to the forrest trail. The cold of the night made her shiver and it hurt when the wind blew through the trees. Suddenly, she tripped on something on the ground. She fell in something slick and sticky. She screamed. She smelt the coppery scent of blood.
     Someone grabbed her from behind. She saw a light from a large flashlight. The old man that hung out near the bridge was standing there.
     “I warned you kids.” He got out just as a knife shot through his gut. Warm blood sprayed on her face. She squeeled and threw herself to her feet. She ran and ran. The woods closed in on her, making her feel like the trees were menacing sentinels. Through a thick copse of oaks, she spotted the bridge. She ambled to the bridge. She could see the lights from the parking lot. The bridge loomed in front of her. It was over a small creek. The legend said that Chuck Oujia couldn’t touch you after you crossed it.
     French made it to the bridge and walked across. The wood creaked and squeaked as she walked across. Half way over, she heard the woods make a loud cracking sound and the planks started pushing upward. Arms came through and then the shadow she saw.
     “No, no, no. Please.” She said. Her pleading fell on deaf ears. The shadow came forward and in the dim moonlight she saw its face. It was burned and scarred, with skull showing in places. French screamed as an arm shot out and grabbed her. They threw her to the bridge, knocking her out.
                         *   *   *
     He dragged her through the woods. Taking her to the house that had been his when he was alive. It was a burned out shell now. He knew she wouldn’t wake up anytime soon. Time enough to prepare her.
     A trap door in the floor of the house lead to an underground lair. He dragged her body down stairs that lead to a damp room. He hoisted her up onto a table and strapped her down. Her naked body welled up feelings that he had not had time to feel in a long time. He walked over to the table. He caressed her breasts, running his fingers over her nipples, surprising himself with their hardness. Straddling her unconcious body he pressed himself against her body. He moved himself up and down her body He went faster and faster, until he felt a rush through his loins. He spilled his seed onto her.
                        *   *   *
     French awoke when she felt the hot liquid on her thighs. She opened her eyes and screamed. She saw the man who had attacker her jumping off her body. She coughed and sputtered trying not to throw-up. The man grabbed her face with a large hand and pressed her head into the table. He stuck his two middle fingers down her throat cutting off a building scream. She couldn’t breath and this made her panic. She flopped around on the table like a freshly caught fish. His fingers went deeper into her throat as his other hand explored her neither regions. Trying desperately to breath just through her nose, she felt him explore her. He parted her thighs and pressed his hand inside her, pressing against her. She moaned. She couldn’t help it, her body betrayed her.
     She couldn’t believe she was being violated in this way. She wanted to scream but felt herself relaxing from his hands. She felt him hardening against her stomach. He was large, larger than anyone she had ever been with before. She looked at him. His eyes were closed, into the movement of his hand exploring her. She took him in her hand and tugged on it. French pulled him toward her face and he followed her, removing his fingers from her mouth. She set her lips around him and with a savage bite, she clamped down on his c**k and tore away, spitting out what she bit off. Her attacker made a squeeling sound and she pressed hard against him rolling him off of her. She heard him hit the floor with a thud.
     She hopped off the table and ran out of the room but she only saw a wall. She could hear the attacker moving around. She wanted the yell her frustration, then she found a door in the ceiling, she pulled at it and it fell down with a thud. She jumped and missed the edge. She screamed frustratingly. She tried it again and was able to grab ahold of the edge. She pulled with everything she had left and up into the night air. She clawed her way into a burned out house. On her feet, she didn’t wait to see if he was coming after her, but set out into the night. She wasn’t sure how far away she was from the bridge. She was sure that she couldn’t stay where she was now.
     She heard a crashing sound as another trap door flew open and the attacker was there next to her. She screamed and ran through the house and into the woods. She could hear him behind her, right on her heels. She blindly ran, not sure which direction was which. She could see the light of the parking lot, like the Promised Land. She cautiously and quickly walked over the bridge, careful of the hole that the hulk had come out of earlier. She eased around the hole. She made it to the other side and ran toward the parking lot. Almost to the edge where the bridge and parking lot met, she was grabbed from behind. A knife was at her throat and slashed across. She put her hands to the wound and felt blood pour through her fingers. She felt a tongue run up her neck, licking the blood. Before she lost concious, she felt the knife on her forehead and it pulled backward, tearing the top of her head from her skull. The attacker threw her body to the bridge and turned and walked back into the woods.

THE END



Joshua Fowler (2009)
Reading: The Shadow Rising by Robert Jordan & Urban Gothic by Brian Keene


That is not dead which can eternal lie.
And with strange aeons even death may die.
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dnurse64 View Drop Down
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote dnurse64 Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: January/12/2010 at 10:14pm
Gross! I woke up with insomnia, now I for sure won't go back to sleep for a while.

That was one "horrorful" story. I've never heard of that legend but it would've made me afraid of bridges in my area if we had it around here.

I would recommend removing that line about "her body betrayed her" during French's rape scene. Maybe the magazines found that part a bit too much in the controversial department.


I'm inclined to believe in parallel worlds filled with dark bound Snow and Odd adventures.

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote brotheroddkins Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: January/12/2010 at 11:18pm
Good, that was my diabolical intention

I never thought of that (removing the body betrayed line). Actually, I borrowed that line from another story I read (bad me).

I think the reason they passed on the story is that this version is a edited down a little bit from the real story I wrote. I sent the magazine a more brutal version (yes, more brutal). I edited it down to try and send it to another publication.
Reading: The Shadow Rising by Robert Jordan & Urban Gothic by Brian Keene


That is not dead which can eternal lie.
And with strange aeons even death may die.
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote brotheroddkins Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: January/12/2010 at 11:22pm
Oh, forgot to mention that the urban legend that this was based on was told to me by uncle, who in turn was told the story of Chuck by his childhood babysitter.

By the way dnurse, I live not even two miles from the bridge in question.

(Side note: I'm working on a follow-up story right now)
Reading: The Shadow Rising by Robert Jordan & Urban Gothic by Brian Keene


That is not dead which can eternal lie.
And with strange aeons even death may die.
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