It has become a bit of a tradition around Halloween, for me to re-work this story and post it at whatever venue I happen to be pimping my wares in exchange for criticism. So, with no further ado, let me present...
"The Ballad of Lucy Harper and Timmy Golightly"
Lucy Harper was drunk that night. Drivin’ her Mamma’s big black Lincoln. Hell, Lucy Harper was drunk every night. Drunk and with that Golightly boy, Timmy.
Timmy must have been pretty tore up himself. I guess he passed out in the passenger seat of the Lincoln. They were up there at Sugar Grove, around the corner from my place. Lucy got pretty ill about havin’ to drive home. She told the law her foot gets real heavy when she gets hot like that.
Boy, and her mamma’s Lincoln could flat out do it to. Once you got it rollin' anyway. They say it had the biggest engine Detroit ever put in a Lincoln. I couldn’t say. Never saw it. Timmy did though. Up close. In fact I heard a chunk of that big block was what removed his head.
Lucy t-boned that guard rail the County put up over there at Fairview Baptist, to keep folks out of their cemetery. The Lincoln’s speedometer stuck at 103 miles an hour, Law said. Not a skid mark one. That ol’ guard rail did a right smart job of keepin’ Lucy’s mamma’s Lincoln out of the Fairview cemetery, but Timmy... he made it in just fine.
Timothy Randolph Golightly, was what the paper called him. Said he left the car with the windshield draped over his shoulders like a god damn poncho. Cleared the hood, the guardrail and three plot markers. A total of 117 feet. I reckon that’s some kind of record somewhere. But that ain’t the half of it. That son of a buck landed right next to a hole, fresh dug for a great aunt of his. To top that, Timmy hadn’t even been invited to the funeral.
They say a human head is still thinking for nine seconds after it leaves the body. Can you believe that shit? Longer if it ain’t bleedin’. And Timmy’s didn’t bleed a lick. Whatever chunk of that Lincoln’s motor that took his head off was hot as hell. I guess it cauterized everything. Not a drop of blood anywhere.
They don’t know if his head was still thinkin’, but his body was sure enough busy for all of nine seconds. I saw the place where it hit. The grass was smashed down good. Landed smack on his back...hard.
I'll tell you what. I wouldn't have believed it, if I hadn't seen it my ownself. There were hand prints... knee prints too... right there in the dirt where that sumbitch rolled over and got himself up. Then four boot prints... Red Wings, same as was on Timmy's feet... walked right over to the edge of that hole. Old Timmy was after that head of his... chased it right on down into his aunt’s grave, slicker ‘n owl shit.
Lucy, she didn’t last long after that. Wasn’t much left for her to do, I guess.