Demon Hunting In Dixie

Demon Hunting In Dixie by Lexi George

Book: Demon Hunting In Dixie by Lexi George Read Free Book Online
Authors: Lexi George
had a major set. This was the funeral parlor version of a twenty-car pileup, and they were all caught in the twisted, metal wreckage. Fascinated and horrified, Addy looked over at Mrs. Farris. The widow looked like she wanted to blow groceries all over Bessie Mae Brown. Of course, being the Teletubbies’ mom, she’d probably blow marshmallows or Skittles. Addy’s stomach rumbled at the thought. Rainbow Skittles, or maybe Lucky Charms with all those little pink hearts and green clovers . . .
    â€œWhat have you done with my husband, you Jezebel?” Shirley’s shrill voice recalled Addy to the nightmare.
    â€œMe?” Bessie Mae’s heavily mascaraed eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”
    People in the hall heard the commotion and wandered into the room. A low, murmuring buzz began and grew as folks noticed the empty satin-lined box.
    Shirley pointed a fat finger toward the casket. “I’m talking about the fact that my husband is missing. I want to know what you did with him.”
    Bessie Mae teetered across the room on her four-inch heels. “Sugar Scrotum,” she cried. She flung herself on top of the metal box. “What have they done with you?”
    Sugar Scrotum? Eww.
    â€œPlease, Ms. Brown.” Addy hurried over to the wailing woman. “This is highly inappropriate, not to mention downright tacky.”
    She put her arms around Bessie Mae and tried to peel her off the casket.
    â€œNo!” Bessie Mae screeched and hung on tighter, kicking her purple heels. “I won’t go. Not until somebody tells me what happened to my sugar.”
    â€œOh, Lord have mercy, Jesus,” Shep groaned, relapsing. “What else?”
    â€œI can’t take any more.” Addy’s mother toddled over to a chair. “Somebody tell me when it’s over.”
    Shirley waved her pocketbook. “I got your sugar right here, Bessie Mae Brown,” she quavered in her Aunt Bea voice, “or at least the only part you cared about.”
    A shiver of dread shot down Addy’s spine. She let go of Bessie Mae—the damn woman was stuck like a tick to the casket, anyway—and turned to look at Mrs. Farris.
    â€œUh oh,” she said when she saw the triumphant gleam in the widow’s china-blue eyes.
    Bessie Mae must have had a premonition, too, because she unsuckered herself from the casket and turned around. “What have you done, Shirley?” she hiccupped.
    Mrs. Farris opened her pocketbook and pulled out a ziplock baggie. Some kind of watery fluid smeared the inside of the see-through plastic. Formaldehyde, maybe. Addy tried not to think about the particulars of her brother’s work. At rest in the bottom of the bag like an abandoned hotdog was Dwight Farris’s one-eyed monster. Or, at least Addy hoped it was Old Man Farris’s one-eyed monster. She’d never met this particular monster . . . until now, thank goodness. As Addy stared, she could have sworn the thing winked at her.
    â€œYour sugar’s not here, and even if we find him, he won’t be the same,” Shirley said. “What’s more, you won’t be diddling my husband in the afterlife. Nobody will, ’cause I got his winky right here. This winky is finally all mine, and it’s going to stay that a-way. I’m going to have it buried with me. I’m going to hold it in my cold dead hand. I’m taking this winky with me through the Pearly Gates. Not even Saint Peter’s prying this cold dead winky out of my hand. But maybe—if Dwight asks me real nice, mind you—I might let him have his winky back in the hereafter. But only on special occasions and only if he plays tiddley winks with me, and nobody else.”
    â€œYou crazy bitch!” Bessie Mae launched herself at Mrs. Farris.
    Growling like a pack of dogs after a meat wagon, the two women hit the floor and wallowed around. The family gathered in a circle to watch the

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