Chapter 8  Climbing the Corners From Haints and Hickory Switches

by Miranda Brumbaugh in , ,


“You can be anything you want to be.” He stood there in the summer sun, working under the hood of a heavy duty truck, smell of diesel and dirt and dust from absorbent for oil, the same stuff we used in school to soak up throw up. Sounds of the air compressor kicking on loud and roaring, a baby bird trying to get some sleep up in the sunny corner, across from the tractor-trailer attached to the side and full of fun-filled shelves to climb around in.

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Chapter 6 Winter Tans, Snakes, Silent Night and Mental Hospitals

by Miranda Brumbaugh in , , ,


The crowds in the pew sang back to him. The more the Pew Running Preacher hotfooted, the more the hum of the audience took off. First one black dress shoe, then the other. Then his socks! 

The barefoot preacher hoofed it across the carpet, never missing a beat, stomping in praise to lead these bacchanalian believers.

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Chapter 5 Jezebels and Dingleberries! Staying Out of Hell and Loving Halloween

by Miranda Brumbaugh in ,


In the Deep South, Halloween is as divisive a day as the whole of college football season. You can celebrate, but not too much because this is the Devil’s Day after all. Those who partook in the pagan ritual, well, they would be sucking the teats of Satan come Rapture, which would most likely happen on November 1 at 3 am right when you fall into a candy coma at the Devil’s Hour.

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Chapter 4 An Anonymous God and a Dragon-Dog Named Nabu

by Miranda Brumbaugh in , , ,


Bel stood in front of me, the white fire all gone out. An ash-gray cloak, hood covering his blue crystal curls. He had a Grandfather Gandalf grizzle to him. Cerulean pools for eyes, sharp beak of a nose. Missing a few teeth. Constantly chewed on the end of a stogie. But it was the beard that got me, a greasy lapis lazuli beard grown long. Made from actual clusters of this lustrous blue stone. 

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Chapter 3 Crank Calls and KKK Crosses

by Miranda Brumbaugh in , ,


When the white hoods walked in, the overhanging fluorescent bulbs buzzed flamboyant. Cocksure in their coverings. Concealed completely, no one could make out enough to identify these community members outright. 

Whispers, nudges, grins, and nods coursed through the crowd like salt sinking in white rice. Even if someone knew someone was a clansmen for certain, they would never tell it.

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