Southern Fried Rat and Other Gruesome Tales by Daniel Cohen Read Free Book Online

or what was left of them, were in tatters. He barely seemed able to speak; he just cried and groaned. He could say only one word, Wendango .
    John and Ross rushed to help the guide. They half dragged, half carried, poor DaFago to the fire. In the flickering light he looked even worse than he had in the shadows—he looked barely human. Then, remembering the footprints he had seen in the snow, John glanced down—and screamed.
    "Oh, my God! Look at his feet!"
     
    "The Wendango," in one version or another, is one of the most popular of campfire tales. It is based only very loosely on genuine Indian lore, but it has been making the rounds of summer camps since at least the 1920s.
    The most effective way to end the story is to lower your voice progressively until you get to the last line, and then scream it out and point at the feet of someone in the group. Everyone will automatically look at the feet of the person you have pointed out.

The Missing Bride
    Just outside of town there is a very large old house. Most people can't see it too well anymore, because it's pretty far back from the road. The bushes around it have grown very high and haven't been trimmed for ages. It's abandoned, and it has been for a long time. But in its heyday it was the finest house in town. Everybody admired and envied the people who lived there.
    The house was owned by the Sanderson family, maybe it still is. But there are no Sandersons around to live in it. They all moved away a long time ago, and when they left they closed the house up. They never came back, and never will. They'll never be able to sell that house, either, not after what happened there on the day that young Bruce Sanderson was married.
    Young Bruce was one of those fellows upon whom one could say fortune had smiled. He was handsome, intelligent, rich, and above all he was happy. His enthusiasm and the sheer joy he got out of life were almost childlike. They were also infectious. People in town used to say that there was no such thing as a good party if Bruce wasn't there, and no possibility of a bad one if he was. Everybody liked Bruce, and Bruce liked everybody. He particularly liked Mary Burnham. In fact, he loved her. He had loved her since they were children.
    At first glance you might think that they were the perfect couple. She was as beautiful as he was handsome. Everyone said they looked wonderful together. She was also rich. The Burnhams weren't quite as rich as the Sandersons, but quite rich enough. Both families certainly encouraged the relationship.
    In temperament, however, Mary and Bruce were as different as two people could possibly be. While he was always talking and laughing, she rarely said more than two words to anyone. People who wanted to be kind said that she was reserved, but most people described her as depressed and gloomy. She was so morose that people used to wonder if there were something that had happened to her, or something that she knew but couldn't talk about, that made her so unhappy. There was lots of speculation and gossip, but no one really knew anything for sure. Still, it had to be admitted, even by those who didn't like Mary very much, that walking around with a frown all day didn't hurt her looks one bit. In fact, it made her look more beautiful and appealing than ever, sort of like an enigmatic tragic heroine.
    That must have been the way Bruce felt about Mary. He had pursued her with a single-minded devotion for years. Finally she agreed to marry him. No one thought she really wanted to marry him. She was just worn down by his energy, his persistence, and by the entreaties of her own family.
    So the big day was finally set, and half the town was invited up to the Sanderson place for the wedding and
    reception. The other half of the town stood around gnashing their teeth in envy.
    It was, of course, the most lavish wedding this town had ever seen. There were tons of orange blossoms and hundreds of Chinese lanterns, and not one but two