Terry decided to start his journey to Biloxi on the back roads of Mississippi. It would help to distract him from the sadness of leaving home. The obvious route was to simply get on Highway 49 and drive south until you hit the Gulf, but that wasn’t fun and Terry wanted fun. Instead, he decided to take the Natchez Trace south and meander toward Port Gibson, trying to find his way. Not only would he be able to see the beauty of the state, but he might find people in need.
It was around 8 am when he realized that George, one of his two friends and the one who’d constructed the scooter, hadn’t actually filled the tank before Ernest had picked it up. Enchantment or not, he was going to need gas. He thought about having a long talk with George the next time he saw him but the poor guy worked at Arby’s. He probably couldn’t afford to fill a gas tank.
Somewhere between Rodney and Port Gibson Terry left the Trace and managed to find a gas station. It looked like it had been built during the Great Depression. The siding was washed out gray wood, and the two pumps out front were so old they had logos for a brand of gas that didn’t even exist any more. He rolled up to one and ran over a cable that made a “ding-ding” noise. The pump reset to zero with a lot of clicking.
As he pumped gas, his stomach grumbled. He’d left home without eating. He tried not to think about warm biscuits or waffles. He failed. Badly. He was going to have to pay inside and a lot of these little hole-in-the-wall stores would have breakfast for the locals. He got impatient as he waited for the tiny tank to fill. It seemed to take longer than it should. He finished and trotted up to the store front. The sign overhead just said “STORE” which was odd.
Terry walked in and stopped to look around. All of the store’s fixtures appeared to be made of plywood and chicken wire. The merchandise on the shelves spoke more of a grocery store than a convenience store. Canned goods everywhere with brands he'd never heard of. In the center of it all was a series of square tables with chairs around them. That was good! It meant food was served here. In the back was the counter and lining almost every flat surface and in the glass case were plastic jugs. Like the kind you'd find pickles in. In these jugs were a myriad of animal parts floating in something pink and sad.
As for occupants, behind the counter was one of the oldest men Terry had ever seen. He was bald headed and unshaven. His one good eye locked on Terry for a moment before drifting of its own accord. His other eye. . .
Terry stared at it. It was glass. It seemed like an over sized marble and there was something in it. If he had to guess he would say the collective sins of mankind. He shivered.
Pulled up to one of the tables was a mobility scooter holding a tiny, frail woman. She looked as if Jack Links had taken the mummy of Ramses II and made him into a meat sculpture. Her head lolled over to watch as Terry slowly made his way in.
He raised a hand in greeting. “Hi. Just filled up on pump, uh, that one?”
The old man’s eye continued to wander as Terry walked up to the counter. He focused on Terry again for a moment. The nightmare clouds in the glass eye seemed to swirl.
“That scooter out there? That’s $8.55.” Terry paid in a daze. He just couldn’t stop staring at that eye! As the old man printed a receipt, he noticed Terry staring.
“Something else I can do for you son?” he said with a wild look to the good eye.
“OH!” Terry snapped out of it. “Have you got any kind of breakfast food? Biscuits or something?” He looked around the store for something to take his mind off the eye. “It’s just I notice you have all these, uh, jugs?”
The old man looked around. He seemed slightly confused. Suddenly a voice like a crow screamed out and made Terry jump.
“YA DAMNED FOOL! He’s lookin’ for somethin’ to eat! Don’t act like you don’t know what he’s sayin’!” The force of a voice came from the tiny remnant of a woman in the scooter.
The old man leaned across the counter.
“YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH! YOU SHUT YOUR DUMB MOUTH RIGHT NOW! HE SAID HE WANTED A CAR!” He looked up at Terry, who found himself frozen once again by the glass eye. “You wanted a car, right?”
Terry’s jaw worked for several seconds before he could get his mind to engage with the action. He had no idea how to play this.
Finally he heard himself speak.
“Food, sir. I just want some food.”
The old man nodded at him as if finally understanding. He reached over and unscrewed the top of one of the jars. The liquid in this one was, well, it wasn’t really clear. Just pink. Something unidentifiable floated in it and the old man plunged a hand deep into the brine. He came up with something. Even seeing it in the open Terry couldn’t identify what it was. Just, meat. The old man slapped it onto a newspaper sitting on the counter and wrapped it. He put a piece of butcher’s tape over the top to hold it closed. Terry just stared at it as the man rang him up again. He didn’t even see how much he paid for the mystery chunk.
Taking it in both his hands, Terry turned and walked to the door in a daze. As he passed the tiny woman, she spoke.
“You gonna be doing some sight seeing ‘round here?”
Terry stopped and looked at her. The woman was more wrinkle than skin.
“Yes ma’am.” He said. “That had been the plan on the way back north.”
“You goin’ to Rodney?” she asked.
Terry thought about it. Rodney was a ghost town in the area that he’d always wanted to visit. He’d heard there were goblins there. He really would like to see it if his new mage, whoever it turned out to be, was agreeable to it. He smiled weakly at the woman.
“Yes ma’am. If I get the chance.”
The old woman smiled at him and nodded. That made him feel better about the whole experience so he continued to the door. Right before he could reach a moist and greasy hand to the door handle her voice rang out stopping him in his tracks.
“DON’T GO TO RODNEY AT NIGHT!!”
Terry didn’t move anything but his head. It slowly swiveled around to face the old woman, his eyes wide and his face pale.
He heard himself whisper.
“Why?” His mind was filled with Mind Eaters and the gaping maw of a Shoggoth.
She looked at him as if he were the stupidest thing in the wide world before she replied.
“IT’S DARK!! YA CAN’T SEE NOTHIN’!!”
The old man even seemed to snap out of it and stare at Terry.
Terry smacked his forehead into the door. Partly out of relief, partly to make sure this entire store wasn’t a dream.
“Yes. Of course. Thank you. Good day.”
With that he rushed outside and found the scooter, Thunder, parked by the front door. He sat on it and quickly devoured the mystery object wrapped in the newspaper before he even realized he’d done it. He looked at the soaked page and shivered. Terry was going to regret that. He knew it. He looked at the scooter’s gauges and something dawned on him. Did I move the scooter before I came in he wondered. He shook his head. He must have. He started up Thunder and sped off trying to leave the tiny shop behind.
The next two hours Terry would refer to for the rest of his life as “The Poo Gauntlet” as he became familiar with every gas station bathroom and several bushes between Port Gibson and Biloxi.
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