Anyone have any thoughts on our recent discussion on getting a super-hero established in our city?
I prefer the idea of contacting the JSA to see if any of their members or associates would consider relocating.
I still think the idea of creating our own hero would work. A few carefully orchestrated “fights” with some “bad guys” definitely would draw in the tourist dollars. The local pro-wrestling group would be the place to get that sort of talent.
Then again, what if a real super-villain comes to town to challenge our homemade hero?
Hurricane Hazel was intensely pounding the shores of Florida, affecting the weather throughout the East Coast and making for heavy rainfalls.
For patrolmen Robert Cook and John Severn of Seminole, Florida, it was a rough night in this quiet northern Florida town. Fortunately, most people were smart enough to stay indoors, and only those required to be outside, like themselves, were outdoors. Neither of these veteran cops wanted to be out on patrol, but someone had to pull the duty, and tonight was their turn.
All was going well for them, with no signs of hurricane parties or any other such nonsense, when they received a call to go to 130 East Street just on the edge of town. Like good police officers, they responded, expecting to find someone who hadn’t done proper hurricane protection for their home and was in trouble. But the house was properly boarded up, and everything looked well, except for the hysterical woman on the porch waving a lantern for them to find her. This was Mrs. MacTavish.
“Hello! Back in my garden!” she exclaimed, waving them over. “Oh, my God! It’s horrible!”
The two blue-uniformed men shrugged and went around the house, even as the wind whipped at their rain gear, making their walk unsteady.
“This turns out to be a cat up a tree or something like that, I am gonna be one angry cop!” snarled Severn, a tall, muscular black man. His partner Cook, the smaller Native American, only shrugged instead of trying to shout above the wind. As it was, it was hard enough just to keep from falling over and becoming completed splattered by mud.
Surprisingly, the back yard was relatively calm. The rain was light, and the wind was almost nonexistent. But what they found in the garden was anything but typical, and when it registered in their minds what they were seeing, the vomit that followed was not only a normal reaction but surprisingly relieving.
Four small bodies, no more than three feet long each, were tied together to form a perfect square, each one of them devoid of any flesh. Someone had skinned these bodies. Seminole had become a community that would wake up to discover itself undergoing a horrible nightmare.
In a basement not far from the MacTavish house at 130 East Street, a lone man listened to police and ambulance workers chatter as the emergency personnel coordinated their investigation of what had been found. This lone man listened grimly and took down notes.