thenorphletpaperboy: I Will Drink Your Blood---excerpt

thenorphletpaperboy: I Will Drink Your Blood---excerpt: Richard, John Clayton, and their Catholic friend Herbert Ray have just been to the Catholic Church in El Dorado to get Holy Water---Part...

I Will Drink Your Blood---excerpt

Richard, John Clayton, and their Catholic friend Herbert Ray have just been to the Catholic Church in El Dorado to get Holy Water---Part of a plan to ward off the Vampire Werewolf of Flat Creek Swamp

.......Well, after the Communion and more prayers, Father Gregory let us fill up our jars with Holy Water, and then we headed back up the street to the Ritz Theater. Well, I didn’t think that much about John Clayton downing all that wine, but Herbert Ray was sure upset.

“I can’t believe you drank the whole goblet of wine. I’ve never been so embarrassed. I just hope Father Gregory can get the wine out of his robe.”

John Clayton smiled, looked kinda funny, and said, “Might just become a Catholic, Herbert Ray.”

“What? Are you nuts? After what you did, they probably wouldn’t let you even come back in the church.”

Well, John Clayton didn’t seemed bothered one little bit about drinking the whole goblet of wine. In fact, he started whistling as we were walking along. Now, I’ve heard John Clayton whistle, but it’s usually to call dogs. Heck, he weren’t calling dogs now. It was some song that I couldn’t figure out, at least I couldn’t until he started singing it. ’Course, John Clayton really can sing. In fact he’s usually picked to be the singer in all the school plays, but he has never, never sang “Chattanooga Choo Choo” while walking down Main Street. Naw, wait a minute, he wasn't just walking, he was doing a choo-choo-like little dance, moving like a train as pumped his hands.

“What are you doing? What’s wrong with you?” I said. John Clayton looked at me and said, “Choo-choo, baby, choo-choo!” Shoot, his eyes had a glassy look like he’d been slapped alongside his head, and he was popping his lips up and down between the singing of “Chattanooga Choo Choo.”

Heck, people were starting to stare at John Clayton, who now had begun to roar down the street like a runaway train. Then I thought about the big goblet of wine. Yeah, the little idiot is drunk! I thought. Shoot, trying to get a 13-year-old drunk down Main Street without people thinking he needed to be committed, was really hard to do.

What was really embarrassing was when we met some adult, and if it was a woman, John Clayton would bow and say, “My dear, you look loverly.” Or if it was a man he’d say something like, “Good morning, sir. Nice to see you again.” And then he’d stick out his hand, and then when the man stuck out his hand, John Clayton would switch hands. And if one of us didn’t grab him, he’d keep doing it until the man stomped off.

Listen, the way folks were looking at him, I figured somebody was gonna send for a net and wagon to haul him off. We finally made it to the Ritz Theater, and I ran up and bought three tickets, and pulled John Clayton into the lobby. I figured he’d sober up by the time the double feature was over.

As we were about to go into the theater, I saw Old Man Slater, the theater manager, heading our way. Well, I knew why he was coming over to talk with us. It was gonna be another warning about playing some of our tricks in the theater. You know like having an owl-hooting contest—stuff like that.

“Listen up, you Norphlet boys: I don’t want any trouble out of you.” He was still shaking his bony finger at us when John Clayton saluted, got down on his knees, and started wailing, “Yas, sur, yas, sur, but please don’t beat me again! I promise we won’t sneak in no more. Looky here, we done bought tickets today.”

Well, it was really funny, and then John Clayton started to kiss his shoes. Gosh, kids were all around us laughing like crazy, and I was trying to pull John Clayton up off the floor. Old Man Slater was so shocked he just stood there until I finally pulled John Clayton up, and with Herbert Ray on one side and me on the other, we dragged our friend into the theater, while he started singing “Chattanooga Choo Choo” again, waving his arms like he was some famous singer.

That part was really, really embarrassing for us—having to walk with John Clayton skipping down a dark theater aisle, bouncing off both sides while crooning. Heck, he stopped about halfway down the aisle and announced,  “I can out-sing anybody in the theater.” Shoot, he’d just got that out of his mouth, when a half-bag of popcorn hit him alongside his head.

“Who did that?” he yelled.

“Me, and if you don’t sit down, that ain’t all that's gonna hit you.”

Wow, it was a kid about twice the size of John Clayton, and I grabbed John Clayton’s arm and started to pull him down the aisle.

“You and what army? We’ll stomp you sorry ass if you say another word!” John Clayton shouted.

We? I thought.

Oh my gosh, the big kid was trying to get out to the aisle. Heck, Herbert Ray got on one side of John Clayton and I got on the other, and we dragged John Clayton down front. After he sat down and the picture show started, I figured everything was gonna be okay, but I was wrong. About half-way through the Lash LaRue serial, John Clayton leaned over and whispered to me, “I’m gonna throw up.”

Gosh, I had been leaning back really enjoying Lash LaRue, until I heard those words.

“Come on, Herbert Ray! Let’s get out of here. Hurry! Hurry!”

“What? Why?”

Well, I didn’t have to tell Herbert Ray what was about to happen ’cause just then John Clayton vomited like a fire hose all over two rows of seats, and you could have heard kids scream halfway to Norphlet. Heck, I was running up the aisle like the place was on fire, and I didn’t stop until I got to the back row. Me and Herbert Ray slipped in there and hunkered down, while all the kids down front gagged and yelled.

Shoot, when Old Man Slater heard all the racket, he hightailed

Panic in Langley Bottom---overview

“Panic…” is the twelfth of the Richard The Norphlet Paperboy novels.  This series has been favorable compared to Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. The reviews have been excellent with almost 50 five star reviews. The novels have been featured in a number of schools as required reading, and the comments from teachers and students alike have been extremely positive.

The novels are set in the mid 1940s during the Second World War, and are based on the author’s experiences during that time period. A number of adult reviewers have commented that these novels are for all ages, and the nostalgic setting always brings back positive comments from senior adults as the boys and their families huddle around the radio listing to the famous newscaster, Walter Winchell….”Good evening Mr. and Mrs. North and South America and all the ships at sea…..this just in….General Patton army is on the move…”

A note from the author: “Writing this novel brought back more memories than any of the others I have written. The two boys, Richard and John Clayton get into quiet a bit of trouble as they usually do, but in this novel the settings are more authentic, and anyone growing up in South Arkansas during the 40s and 50s will recognize many of the places mentioned.

During the time frame covered by this novel, the most popular swimming hole for the boys in the Norphlet and Smackover area was a large, long abandoned oil storage pit called Blue Hole. One of the funniest situations I have penned occurs around a series of events that are kicked off by four boys going swimming in Blue Hole.

Just released today!Southern Historical fiction set in 1945 during the Second World War. Previous novels of this series have been favorably compared to Mark Twain's Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. The 13 book series has garnered numerous five star Amazon reviews. The series is a nostalgic look at a time when families huddled by the radio, with young boys listening to The Lone Ranger and The Green Hornet. Later the adults would tune in famous newscaster Walter Winchell; "Good evening Mr. and Mrs. North and South America and all the ships at sea....this just in...General Patton's army continues to march across Germany..." The numerous Amazon Five Star Reviews have all been from adults, but the readers of these books have ranged from teens to senior adults. The series is truly a book for all ages. Several reviewers have called Richard Mason "Americas' New Mark Twain."

Panic in Langley Bottom, an excerpt

.......As I washed it off I realized it was a nail, but when I looked at it closer I shook my head. It's a danged nail; a bent nail, but how did it get in the ground under a little willow tree?

Gosh, as I sat there and looked at that really unusual bent nail, I noticed something. The nail was square with a sharp point, and, like I said, it was bent. Well, I knew a couple of things from hunting arrowheads; Indians didn't have nails or for that matter anything made out of steel. Yeah, that hit me like a lead balloon, and I yelled to John Clayton, “Come here, quick! You are not gonna believe this!”

And then I had another thought. Must have been an old home-place here, and this is a nail from when they were building their house. Then it hit me! It was the wildest thing I could ever think. Naw, Mr. Joe told us that nobody had ever lived anywhere around here—-Could this nail be a Spanish nail— a nail from de Soto’s expedition?

John Clayton walked up about that time, and I handed him the nail. “Take a look at what I found.”

“Humm, it looks like a nail, but it’s bent.”

“Well, yeah, it is a nail. Look at how it’s shaped and look at the sharp point. What you make of that?”

“Heck, it I know. Maybe there’s an old house-place ’round here.”

“Naw, Mr. Joe said that he has the only house in these parts and as far as he knows no one has ever lived back here in the woods.”

“Well, we know several thousand Indians lived right around here.”

“You bet we do, but Indians didn’t have steel knives or anything else. This couldn’t have come from the Indians.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. But who?”

“Just think about it. Somebody was building something, and they bent a nail and threw it away. I found the nail that they threw away.”

“Okay, Shearwood Homes, what else?”

“Well, since the Indians didn’t have nails, then someone staying with the Indians were using nails to build something. Right?”

“That’s right, Shearwood.”

“Okay, we know one thing for durn sure, nobody but Indians has ever lived anywhere around here, right?”

“You’re a hundred percent Shearwood.”

“All right then if it can’t be the Indians and it can’t be somebody’s old house-place, who does that leave it to be?”

“You tell me, Shearwood.”

“Hernando de Soto…”

“You have got to be kidding…”

“No, I’m not, and there’s more.”

“What?”

“Yeah, just guess what the Spanish were building when the man bent the nail?”

“I’ll never guess in a million years, so you tell me Shearwood.”

“A coffin.”

“What? What makes you think the man who bent this nail was building a coffin?”

“Well, Mr. Smartass, you tell me what else could he have been building?”

“Uh, well, maybe. Uh, well I can’t think of anything right now.”

“No you can’t because that’s the logical thing, and who do we know was buried at the winter camp of de Soto?

“El Canto?”......

Panic in Langley Bottom---excerpt

.....As I washed it off I realized it was a nail, but when I looked at it closer I shook my head. It's a danged nail; a bent nail, but how did it get in the ground under a little willow tree?

Gosh, as I sat there and looked at that really unusual bent nail, I noticed something. The nail was square with a sharp point, and, like I said, it was bent. Well, I knew a couple of things from hunting arrowheads; Indians didn't have nails or for that matter anything made out of steel. Yeah, that hit me like a lead balloon, and I yelled to John Clayton, “Come here, quick! You are not gonna believe this!”

And then I had another thought. Must have been an old home-place here, and this is a nail from when they were building their house. Then it hit me! It was the wildest thing I could ever think. Naw, Mr. Joe told us that nobody had ever lived anywhere around here—-Could this nail be a Spanish nail— a nail from de Soto’s expedition?

John Clayton walked up about that time, and I handed him the nail. “Take a look at what I found.”

“Humm, it looks like a nail, but it’s bent.”

“Well, yeah, it is a nail. Look at how it’s shaped and look at the sharp point. What you make of that?”

“Heck, it I know. Maybe there’s an old house-place ’round here.”

“Naw, Mr. Joe said that he has the only house in these parts and as far as he knows no one has ever lived back here in the woods.”

“Well, we know several thousand Indians lived right around here.”

“You bet we do, but Indians didn’t have steel knives or anything else. This couldn’t have come from the Indians.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. But who?”

“Just think about it. Somebody was building something, and they bent a nail and threw it away. I found the nail that they threw away.”

“Okay, Shearwood Homes, what else?”

“Well, since the Indians didn’t have nails, then someone staying with the Indians were using nails to build something. Right?”

“That’s right, Shearwood.”

“Okay, we know one thing for durn sure, nobody but Indians has ever lived anywhere around here, right?”

“You’re a hundred percent Shearwood.”

“All right then if it can’t be the Indians and it can’t be somebody’s old house-place, who does that leave it to be?”

“You tell me, Shearwood.”

“Hernando de Soto…”

“You have got to be kidding…”

“No, I’m not, and there’s more.”

“What?”

“Yeah, just guess what the Spanish were building when the man bent the nail?”

“I’ll never guess in a million years, so you tell me Shearwood.”

“A coffin.”

“What? What makes you think the man who bent this nail was building a coffin?”

“Well, Mr. Smartass, you tell me what else could he have been building?”

“Uh, well, maybe. Uh, well I can’t think of anything right now.”

“No you can’t because that’s the logical thing, and who do we know was buried at the winter camp of de Soto?

“El Canto?”.....

Panic In Langley Bottom---excerpt

......I looked back toward the bottom of the bridge, and the overloaded log truck was just barely moving. As we watched, it slowly inched up the bridge until it was almost to us, and then the driver nearly stopped as he shifted the gears into double low. Heck, I reached out and touched the logs as they inched by, and then I had a thought.

“John Clayton, hop on the back of this danged truck and crawl up on top of the logs.”

“Wait a minute, Richard. Where’s this truck going?”

“Just across the bridge to the Calion Lumber Company. We’ll save a little time, and we won’t have to run down the other side of this narrow bridge.”

We hopped on the back of the truck, and nestled down between a couple of big logs, but that turned out to be  a mistake because the logs were just stacked up between side-rails and every time that durn truck hit a bump the logs shifted.

“Ahaaa! Get out from between the danged logs before we’re squished like a bug!” I yelled.

We finally made it to the top of the pile of logs, and we straddled the top log like a couple of cowboys. Shoot, I figured the ride would just be down the bridge to where the sawmill was, but I was wrong. Gosh, that log truck might have been real slow going up the steep side of the bridge, but it sure wasn’t slow going down on the other side. Heck, in about three seconds we were flying down that bridge like a turpentined cat, and as John Clayton yelled and pointed, we flew right past the Calion Lumber Company. Oh my God, What on earth have I gotten us into?

Yeah, and I was thinking about what Momma would say or do if she knew we were riding on top of a load of logs just roaring down the Calion Highway. Heck, I didn’t have a clue where that load of logs was headed after the truck passed the sawmill at Calion. What if the truck was taking a load of log down to Louisiana?

I thought. My gosh, we might be days getting back home, and they’ll  be dragging the river for our bodies. Talk about getting in trouble! Shoot, with half the country dragging the river and Cook’s Lake we’d be in so much trouble when we showed back up you wouldn’t believe it. We had to get off that danged log truck somehow.

We were just whizzing along heading toward El Dorado where I figured we’d be able to jump off when the truck stopped for a stoplight. Then, I figured we’d probably be able to hitchhike home, but at best we’d be way after 10 getting home, and we’d be in big trouble.      As it turned out, however, we never made it to El Dorado. About a half-mile from the Norphlet cutoff, I noticed a car coming up real fast behind us, and then—oh my gosh—red lights came on. There were police car lights, and then the siren, which just sounded so loud my ears rang, and I nearly barfed Heck, of course the log truck pulled over, and I figured when the policeman went up to talk with the truck driver, we’d sneak off.

It didn’t work out that way.

“Boys, come down off those logs!”