Horn of Plenty
Horn of Plenty
Horn of Plenty
Copyright (c) 2010 by Melrick (Tabooccaneer@gmx.com)
Rated: Contains No sex.
Codes: Suspense, No Sex.
Synopsis: Cornucopia, Oregon, is a ghost town. Richard loves ghost towns, and this one proves to be… interesting!
Distribution: Please ask permission BEFORE you distribute this story to other sites. You do NOT have permission to distribute this to pay sites. If distributed, you must leave everything intact, including this header.
Author’s Note: This is a FlashFic (less than 1000 words) written in response to a word prompt – “Cornucopia” – posted on the forum here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/17229-week-6-11-14-10/
Cornucopia, Oregon, had been just one of numerous towns that had almost sprouted from the ground overnight at the discovery of precious ore. 1880 was its hasty year of birth, gold being its catalyst, the name of Cornucopia following a few years later. It was by no means the only ghost town in Oregon; dozens of them littered the state in varying degrees of completeness. What set it apart, though, was the high altitude and rugged mountain valleys that necessitated the use of high tramways that linked the numerous mines.
As with many isolated boomtowns, as soon as the ore dried up, or mining it became prohibitively expensive, the reason for the town being there in the first place dried up along with it. Since there was little reason for people to be there anymore, selling their homes was usually out of the question; as mines shut down, people simply walked away. That’s what had happened to Cornucopia in Oregon, sometime in the early 1940’s. The result was a ghost town, with a number of buildings still standing. Some were no more than piles of timbers, others were beginning to take on an alarming lean, while a plucky few stood straight and tall.
Richard took a deep breath, drawing the crisp, clean mountain air deep into his lungs. There was something about ghost towns that fascinated him. The history interested him, but it was a certain eeriness about them that captured his imagination. He’d visited many such ghost towns, but this had been his first trip to Cornucopia.
Setting off again up the mountainside, Richard spied what looked to be a small house poking through the trees. As he got closer, he could see that it appeared pretty intact, apart from the usual missing windows. Reaching the partially collapsed front steps, a trail of blood became obvious, leading into the house. Richard avoided the steps and stepped directly onto the small porch. The door was missing, so he stepped straight inside.
Flowery wallpaper clung in strips to the walls; pieces of the ceiling hung down from the roof; holes in the wooden floor allowed wisps of grass and weeds to poke through. But it was the blood trail that held his attention. A bloody handprint on a wall left no doubt that he was going the right way. The trail led to a back room, where Richard found what he had been looking for.
“So there you are! Your boyfriend – or was he your husband? – gave me a bit of a run for my money, but I caught up to him. A bullet in the back tends to slow most people down. And, in your case, a bullet in the belly leaves a nice little trail for me to follow.”
Whimpered sobs were her only reply, resignation to her fate clear on her face. Blood dripped from his hand as he placed the butt of the gun on the floor and lent it up against a wall. A large hunting knife was then drawn from a scabbard at his waist. Richard saw her terrified eyes swivel down to the bloodied blade, causing her to sob harder.
“Did you know that ‘cornucopia’ means ‘horn of plenty’?” Richard casually asked, as he stepped towards her.
The End.