She vanished in the winter of 1990, coming to Bodie to research the history of the town. A snowfall hid Vancouver Martin’s tracks, and it was assumed that she had become lost in the ensuing blizzard.

The state park service towed her truck. Her family showed to it claim it after notified of her disappearance.

However, it wasn’t her family who showed up to claim it, but herself. She was a careworn woman, ragged, wary, and her story was plain.

She claimed that she’d heard a woman crying and had gone to help her. She never found the woman, and Vancouver Martin almost didn’t make her way out of the long-abandoned town.

She said she had walked endlessly for three years but refused to speak of what she saw, with whom she spoke, or what she had been forced to do to survive.

“But you were missing only nine-days,” the junior ranger said.

Vancouver Martin, her eyes vacant, said nothing.

“Are you going to write that book you were planning?” the senior ranger asked.

“Not that one,” she answered.

When she finished filling out the paperwork, Vancouver Martin stood up, left the office, got in an Uber, and never looked back.

It was the quaking of the ground beneath her as she tried to get some sleep. Kimie had wandered off someplace she should not have gone, and she was now lost.

There were no longer the friendly trails to lead her through this forest. Instead, Kimie found herself racing headlong through a brush that the hand of man had never touched.

Still, she could feel that rumble underfoot, and still, she ran and ran until exhausted. Finally, Kimie collapsed by a stream, ready to accept her fate, whatever it might be.

Then Kimie saw him as he lumbered ever closer to her, a cyclops wearing glasses. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“What are you running from?” the giant one-eye fellow asked.

“You,” Kimie answered.

“Then why have you stopped?”

“I’m too tired to continue.”

“I see. Are you not araid now?”

“No.”

“And why is that?”

“I have never met a so-civilized ‘monster’ in my life,” she said, air-quoting the word.

“Really? And what makes you think I’m civilized?” he questioned.

“You’re wearing glasses,” she smiled.

Laughing, he gently picked Kimie up, took her home, and placed her in a stock pen with his sheep.

My Cousin Elmo says, “Dear Jeff Dunham, please stop by Washington D.C. and take your dummy home. It ain’t funny anymore.”

You’ll probably think I’m pulling your leg or something, but here goes…

Two days ago, we had a large family gathering, the first since Grandma passed away. It did not end well, and here I am now, tasked with cleaning the barbecue grill.

The gathering fell apart shortly after my mother arrived. She was not a fan of Grandma, and every member of the family knows it.

Someone lifted a glass, as in a toast, to the old woman’s memory. That’s when Mom lost it.

“She was nothing but a witch,” she shouted. “A witch, I tell you.”

Mom does not cuss, drink, or smoke, so we all knew what she really meant.

“You’re off your meds,” some shouted back.

Chaos ensued. Now, I’m here alone with my thoughts and memories of Grandma.

Mom was right. Not only was Grandma a bitch, but she was also a real witch.

A Seventh-level Grand Boogens witch, whatever the hell that is, and to prove my point, her dentures are biting the trowel I’m using to clean her ashes from the grill.

“Why won’t she die!” I cried out before remembering that I need to check on her rump roast in the crockpot.

My Cousin Elmo says, “I’m at that age where the next day my body whispers to me, ‘Don’t do that again.’”

“All I want to do is walk in the land.”

“Be careful there is great power in the land.”

“There is great power in solitude.”

“Look at the Red-tail Hawk above us.”

“Ahh, great power.”

“I dreamed of you swimming in the lake. You were swimming against the current. We were all admiring your perfect form. Then you dived down only to come up by Stone Mother.”

“There is great power in Stone Mother.”

“Shh, they are listening.”

“I know, but they do not understand great power.”

My Cousin Elmo says, “My know-it-all neighbor claimed that only onions can make you cry, so I tossed a watermelon at him. Turns out he’s right, but his nose sure did bleed.”

“What in the hell blew through here?” he asked, though he was alone.

Manny looked at the damaged fence and shook his head. He did so in confusion as he had no more dogs, and the splintered pieces of redwood slats were shattered and strewn on both sides of the property line.

He remembered back when the new neighbors had decided to dig a new well in the corner of their property less than ten feet from the fence. They worked for two months boring into the hardpan with heavy equipment and never once touched it.

Now, this.

As he studied the damage, he noticed what looked to be claw marks in the remaining redwood slats. Upon closer examination, Manny realized they were tooth marks — as if something had bit into the wood.

While kneeling to get a better look at the odd damage, Manny didn’t see the long tendril-like creature slip from the rocky lip of the well. By the time he did, it was too late, and it took him without a sound.

Hours later, and after his wife had called the sheriff, two deputies and an investigator were searching around the still busted-up fence. They would solve Manny’s disappearance, but first, one of them kneeled for a better look at the marks on the remaining redwood slats.

They chased after him. The three men had seen him snatch the purse from the older woman as she finished her business at the ATM.

He had made the first corner with no problem but had tripped over the curb as he round the second corning. Now limping, the three men were quickly gaining on him.

As he came around the third, he looked back over his shoulder. He never saw the large mirror being moved by the two workmen as they crossed the sidewalk.

He hit it at full force. He heard the sound of shattering glass and then darkness.

The purse snatcher was never seen again, and the fragments of the mirror were swept up and thrown away.

Rusty believed himself to be a ladies-man. All the women in the office thought he was an ass.

His latest conquest, Ciana, had enough of his sexual innuendos and unwanted passes and had decided to put an end to his harassment. With that, she brought in 24 raw crystals and laid them end-to-end in a circle.

She was busy when Rusty entered and leaned on her desk.

“How you doing gorgeous?” Rusty asked. “Miss me?”

Ciana looked at him with a smile and cooed, “Sure, Sugar-shorts, all weekend long”

Surprised, Rusty asked, “R-R-Really?”

“Yes,” Ciana answered. “In fact, I’ve been thinking that with my help, you’ll be going places soon, and you’ll be on top in no time.”

“I love how you think,” he said.

“The only thing I ask is that you don’t do stand or even jump in that circle of cystals,” she said, pointing to the formation on the floor. “I’m experimenting.”

“Sure, Babe, whatever you say,” he responded.

“Now, excuse me, my little Pumpkin-butt, I have a load of filing to get done,” she said.

He watched her swish as she walked away. Once out of sight, Rusty went over to the rocks and studied them.

He looked to see if anyone was watching him before hopping into the center of the circle. No one was, so no one saw it when he disappeared.

Ciana returned to her desk, picked up the crystals, placed them in the plastic bag she’d used to bring them into the office, then tucked them in her desk drawer. Without a word, she returned to work.

Rusty was unsure what had happened. One moment he was at the office, and the next, he was sprawled on his back, stuck atop a 600-foot tall chimney rock formation in the middle of a desert.