Life in a Typical Texas Small Town

The picture is Phineas about whom more can be learned on my new Adoption Page

I think this post sheds light on life in a typical Texas Small Town. But, some may find this dark despite shedding light.

 People ask me all the time, “Mike, didn’t you come down a little hard on small towns in your last blog post?” No. In my defense, as if I needed a defense, I only tells it like I sees it.

 Indisputable substantiation of my last blog fortuitously appeared this week in the form of a murder mystery I am reading. I have no reason to believe this, but this novel is based on a true story. A true story set in a small town in Texas. Set anywhere but in Texas, the story would lack credibility.

 At the novel’s opening, the FBI has been called in to investigate the killing of Ashak, an 8-year-old Asian boy whose body was discovered on the grounds of Crackerville Grove’s haunted house about five miles north of Dallas. Twenty years prior to the murder of Ashak, six boys disappeared from Crackerville Grove in less than a week. All were and still are presumed dead, but only one body was found, that of Floyd “Night-Train” Lane. To this day the murders are unsolved.

 Floyd Lane was held back for five years in the fourth grade after he signed a letter of intent to play football for Texas A&M. When he’d start A&M as a freshman, he’d be 5 years older and 50 pounds heavier than any other running back in the SEC. The Texas A&M football PR folks gave him the nickname “Night-Train.” How did it come to pass that Night Train Lane did not win the SEC championship for Texas A&M? Therein lies the story.

 Floyd was not a nice kid. He followed Elan Musk and other Christian Nationalists. At 15, he towered over most kids in the 4th grade. He either stole your lunch money or charged you protection to not steal your lunch money. Initially, Floyd made a good living, but powerful people started demanding a cut. First, the elementary school principal asked for 10%. Then the coach, then the president of Texas A&M and finally Governor Abbot demanded 25%. And they all wanted their cut from the gross proceeds. Adding to Floyd’s stress, his dealer cut him off for lack of payment.

 One tragic day, young Eddy Haskins, the school’s only Jewish kid, refused to give Floyd his lunch money. Floyd shot him dead. Floyd was acquitted of all charges when the jury learned Jews don’t worship Jesus. The jury foreman explained the acquittal by noting that Texas didn’t need those kinds of people.

 A day after his acquittal, Night-Train was found dead on the front lawn of Crackerville Grove’s haunted house. Eddy’s parents quickly left town, never to be seen again. Neither were the other five boys who shared in Floyd’s protection racket.

 The haunted house was built in 1889 by Jeremiah Cracker, a real estate developer who was also the founding father of the town of Crackerville Grove. Jeremiah was named the town’s most eligible bachelor in the “Crackerville Grove Gazette,” the newspaper he owned. Soon kismet made him pay for his arrogance.

 That night, Jeremiah shot and killed two young boys who were attempting to steal eggs from his chicken coop. Before you readers got all woke on me, let me remind you that back in the day, eggs were very expensive. And this happened in Texas, so Jeremiah was exonerated. Alas, Jeremiah’s happiness endured not. Fox News pulled his real estate ads from the network because one kid he killed was White. Jeremiah started hearing voices telling him to kill himself. One voice that sounded eerily like Tucker Carlson was most persuasive. In response, Jeremiah hung himself from the 3rd floor balcony.

 In 1901, the house was purchased in foreclosure by the Wicky family: Mr. and Mrs. Wicky and their eleven children ranging from 12 to 6 months old. One month after they moved in, strange things started happening. For no apparent reason, six-month-old Pedia Wicky fell down the well and died. One week after that, the middle child, Encyclo P. Wicky fell from the third-floor balcony. Both deaths were ruled accidental by the local medical examiner, Orville Wicky, Mr. Wicky’s uncle.

 Things were quiet for one week until a Wicky child fell into the cotton gin, and no one could find the off switch in time to save him from being de-seeded. These deaths were beginning to make it onto the radar screen of the Texas Rangers.

 Thud; thud; thud; thud; and thud: five more Wicky children died horribly falling in and around the house. Insurance payments were flowing in. Finally, the Texas Rangers began to suspect foul play. They addressed this during their February 15, 1901, staff meeting.

“Cleat: What ya’ll think of that latest Wicky kid dying from a fall?

Hoss: Pay it no never mind. You can’t blame good people for bad luck.

Cleat: But eight kids falling? That don’t seem right.

Hoss: We got better things to do, Cleat. There be a farm worker up on Pecan Ridge who been making noises about forming a union. We gotta tune him up.

Cleat: You right about that, Hoss. We can’t have no commie union people on Pecan Ridge. Let’s drive over and “talk” to him. [Both laugh.]”

 The next day, Mr. Wicky woke up stressed and needed to work it out. Seeking relief, he grabbed his axe and murdered his wife and three remaining children. Although all these additional deaths were ruled accidental by the medical examiner, Mr. Wicky’s uncle, Mr. Wicky hung himself from the 3rd floor balcony. He was about to change his mind about killing himself when an invisible hand pushed him over the edge.

 Two years later, the house sold to Mr. and Mrs. Hoss. It was heavily discounted as a fixer upper as there were blood stains oozing from all the walls and the whole house smelled of rotting flesh. The real estate agent was relieved to sell the house to a couple without children.

 From day one, Mrs. Hoss started hearing children crying every night. The cries seemed to come from within the walls and the air smelled of rotting death. Three months of that and Mrs. Hoss was restrained and carted off to the local insane asylum. Mr. Hoss started hearing those same ghostly crying sounds. “I’ve had enough of this shit,” he wrote in his suicide note before jumping to his death from the 3rd floor balcony.

 Small town Texas. ‘Nuff said.