Once again, it's Halloween, so I thought I'd throw you a trick -it's definitely not a treat. It's a bit longer than Last year's little fable, but I hope this doesn't dissuade you from checking it out.

This one is inspired by all those anthology shows like "Tales From The Crypt" or "Tales From The Darkside" or "Tales From The Darkside Of The Crypt" and so on. Enjoy!


"Appeasing The Tans"
by Taco Sangriento


"No offense, Ma'am, but you look a little pale to be an Indian."

The cherubic woman who had introduced herself to Lucas as "Fluttering Little Wing" set the plate down in front of him and began to blush.

"Actually, my given name is Dorothy, but that's rather plain. Don't you think?"

Lucas chuckled and split the pie with the side of his fork. Gravy and chunks of meat oozed from the cut he had made. Did he really want to eat this? He had never tried meat pie before; it seemed almost sacrilegious to put anything inside a crust other than fruit. He looked up at her and saw that she was watching him with hopeful expectation, like a grandmother serving up a warm batch of chocolate chip cookies. What the heck, it was free; he'd make her happy. He took a bite and was relieved to find he wouldn't have to lie to her.

"This is delicious," he said and she beamed, clutching her chubby hands together at her chest.

"Terrific. So it's settled then? For free meals and board?"

"Ma'am, if all your meals are as good as this, you've got yourself a deal. But only until my car is fixed. I need to be in California by next Friday," Lucas said around a mouthful of meat. He felt gravy dribbling down his chin and pulled his head back in surprise when Dorothy leaned over with a napkin and wiped it off.

"I'm sorry," she said, and leaned back to watch him eat. "Its just that my grandchildren don't live near here and I don't get many chances to make a home cooked meal for a growing boy like you." Her cheeks filled with color again and she added quickly, "A man like you, I mean."

Lucas grinned. "Its okay, Dorothy. In case you're wondering, I'm eighteen. I guess that means I still have some boy left in me."

She smiled and nodded. "I guess it does. Okay, hows this? You pump gas for me and clean up after closing time. During dinner hours, I'll need you to wait on the customers while I cook. You work on your car on your own time."

He looked around the small diner. Can't be that big of a rush hour in here, he thought.

"No problem," he said. "Do you have someone running the souvenir shop?"

"I take care of that," she sighed. "Business here is pretty sparse most of the time, so it's not too difficult to go back and forth between there and the diner." Her eyes lit up. "Would you like to see it? It's not just a souvenir shop; it's filled with authentic Indian antiques!" She grew excited and ran around the counter grabbing his wrist to pull him with her.

She dragged Lucas through the connecting doorway and into a surreal world. All around him were gruesome remnants of another, more savage time. Tomahawks, not children's plastic models but blunt, deadly instruments made of stone and wood, were mounted on a far wall. Gaudy beaded jewelry sat under a glass counter top, waiting for some middle-aged suburbanite to snatch them up. A hand painted bow and a full quiver of arrows sat in a corner. Black, dead pelts hung limply from wire hangers, while the heads of various animals watched over the whole room from the four walls. Lucas whistled under his breath as he pushed his way through the center of the cluttered room. A fur brushed stiffly up against his bare arm, and he jerked back as if it were broken glass. "Where did you get all of this stuff, Dorothy?" he asked.

"Fluttering Little Wing," she corrected. "I pick it up here and there. Some of it I've made myself. Oh, but just the jewelry and Dream Catchers," she added quickly, as if Lucas might mistakenly think her capable of killing, gutting and skinning a Black Bear.

His smile at the image quickly turned into a frown of disgust as he came across a pair of disembodied hooves. "Ugh. Who would want these?"

Dorothy-Fluttering-Little-Wing came up behind him and peered over his shoulder. She had to get on her tiptoes to do so, but even this was impressive to Lucas. He stood at six foot two. "Those are deer feet," she announced. "Probably belong to him." She pointed above them.

Lucas looked up and saw a large buck with bulging glass eyes staring out from the wall. His stomach flipped. He had never hunted and didn't understand anyone who could kill something for sport. "Isn't that a little sick?" he asked. "I mean, why would anyone buy deer hooves?"

"Well, they make nice door stoppers," she considered. "Maybe you could hollow one out and use it as a pencil holder."

Lucas looked to see if she was joking with him, but couldn't tell.

"It's not as sick as you might think, Lucas. A more disturbing thought would be to kill the poor creature and just leave it where it lay to rot. The Indians had the right idea."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Indians felt that they should use the whole animal if they killed it. Some of them, anyway. In fact, there were these Indians in California - where you're going," she said, pointing to him as if he'd forgotten his destination. "They were called the Hupa Indians." She stopped talking and looked directly at him. "I'm an expert on Indians, you know," she said. "I know more about them than anybody."

Lucas suppressed a laugh. When he didn't reply she added, "don't you believe me?"

"Oh, yes," he nodded, not sure at all.

"They believed in deities called Tans that supposedly watched over the deer. To waste any part of a deer after it was slaughtered," she said, melodramatically, "was to face the wrath of the Tans." She paused for a moment, then smiled. "They used everything. In fact, I think I even have a tooth necklace around here somewhere. I'm not sure if it's from the Hupas though." She walked over to the glass jewelry case and left Lucas alone with the buck. He looked up at it, wondering what its last image had been before it had died. Had it prayed to a deity of its own as its blood seeped into the ground?

A sudden horn blast from outside nearly made him cry out loud. "Would you get that, Lucas?" Dorothy asked. "Someone's at the pump."

"Sure," he said, feeling a little foolish. Lucas walked back into the diner and out the front door, the Arizona sun hitting him like a blast furnace. An old, red Ford pickup was waiting for gas, its engine rattling as loudly as his own Chevette's had before it had overheated and died on him earlier in the day. He walked up to the driver's side as the man inside, wearing a grease stained tee shirt and two day's growth of beard, leaned out of the window.

"Could ya fill it please? Sign said 'Last Chance For Gas', so I figured I'd take it at its word." He eyeballed Lucas up and down as he talked.

"Sure thing." Lucas walked around to the tank and set the pump so he wouldn't have to hold it while it filled. The heat was tremendous and he was already starting to sweat. He peeled off his own, cleaner, shirt and set it on top of the pump. He normally didn't remove his shirt in public; he had a pale, mushroom shaped birthmark on his side that he was embarrassed about, but there was no one around now to care.

"Ya got eats in there?" the driver called.

"Sure do. Great food, too. Ask for the meat pie special. Just had a piece myself and it's terrific."

The driver got out and Lucas watched him head inside. The nozzle snapped off and Lucas screwed the gas cap back on, grabbed his shirt and the "Help Wanted" sign that was taped to the pump, and followed him in.

Dorothy was on him as soon as he opened the door. "Uh-uh. Put your shirt back on please. Can't have chest hair dropping onto the food, now can we?" She backed up through the door leading into the kitchen.

He smiled and pulled it over his head, taking a seat next to Mr. Pickup Truck. "You're all set. She drank twelve dollars' worth."

"Thanks. I'll pay it all at once after I eat."

Dorothy came back through and set a steaming slab of meat pie and a side of cole slaw in front of Mr. Pickup. "Here you go, hon. The last piece. You're gonna save room for dessert, right?"

He looked at the glass-enclosed carousel on the counter. Bowls heaped with gelatin cubes of every color rotated silently inside. No pies, no cake, no pudding, no pastries.

"Not much of a choice, is there?" he asked.

She giggled like an adolescent. "Jell-O's all you need after a big, home cooked meal. It's light, and I keep it handy 'cause the children love it. You don't want to go back into that heat with a heavy belly, do you?"

He was leaning over his plate, shoveling in the food. "If it was heavy from a slice of apple pie, I just might," he said.

She leaned over the counter between them, propping her chin up on two thick arms, looking as interested as if he had just asked her to marry him. Mr. Pickup didn't look up.

"Well, I pity your digestive system then. Jell-O's delicious, and it settles easy in your belly. There's any kind of flavor you could want. And," she said, standing back up, "it's all natural!" She crossed her arms proudly.

Mr. Pickup and Lucas shared an awkward glance and he decided to humor her. "All right, I'll have a bowl when I'm done, okay?"

"Dorothy," Lucas interjected, "I think the man just wants to eat."

She shot him a sideways look. "My name is Fluttering Little Wing." She leaned over to him and whispered in his ear so only he could hear, "and this is my fucking diner."

Lucas recoiled as if she had shot him. He tried to make eye contact , but she was hovering back over Mr. Pickup, bubbly and grandmotherly again. "Do you know why Jell-O settles so easy in your belly?" she asked.

Mr. Pickup shook his head slightly, still trying to push more food in.

"Well?" she asked again, her eyes bright, apparently missing his gesture. He looked up at her in frustration, without raising his head. "Lady, I'm not trying to be rude, but I just want to get a quick bite and get going."

She bolted upright, stunned and offended. Lucas watched, fascinated, as she struggled for something to say. Her face turned ruddy, and her fat, little fingers began to close into fists, then open again. Close. Open. Close. "Um," he started, not sure if he wanted to actually talk to this woman or just call her a nut and leave, "I'd like to know."

She looked at him blankly.

"About the Jell-O, I mean."

The hurt left her eyes and she began to focus on him.
"Fluttering Little Wing. Please?" he asked, trying to sound as sincere as he could.

She stared at him a moment longer, then suddenly broke out in a broad smile, clutching her hands together at her chest in excitement.

"Well," she said breathlessly, "I told you it was all natural, right?"

Lucas nodded.

Her eyes danced with glee. "That's because it's made from ground animal bones!"

Mr. Pickup dropped his fork on his plate. "Bullshit," he said.

"No, really!" she said, now a little girl on Christmas morning. "They use everything at a slaughterhouse. They sell the bones to the Jell-O company, and then they grind them up and turn them into Jell-O!"

"That's it," Mr. Pickup said, rising, "I'm done. Gimme my check so I can get outta here."

"I'm not sure who actually cleans the bones though...the slaughterhouse or the Jell-O company," she added, thoughtfully.

"Lady!" Mr. Pickup demanded. "My check?"

Lucas looked at her and realized she wasn't hearing the guy. He got up and walked into the souvenir shop, not wanting to be near her anymore. This woman was a fruitcake, and he wanted to leave. Now. He shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to figure out what was wrong with his car. As he replicated the failing engine's noise in his mind, he realized he was standing in front of the hooves again. He looked up into the buck's glassy eyes, and his brain shifted gears to the Tans she had mentioned earlier. He remembered how she had had respect and admiration in her voice as she spoke of the Hupas and how they had used the entire
animal. He looked around him now at all the pieces of the deer. Hooves for doorstops. Pelt for a rug. Head as a trophy. What about the insides?

Meat Pie.

His stomach hitched and he tried to stop thinking, but everything was clicking too quickly.

Bones...as?

Jell-O.

Oh God, this woman was her own supplier. I know what she's doing! he thought. But was she killing the animals herself? She seemed strong enough, but were there even any deer in Arizona? He didn't know. He decided he didn't care. He was leaving, car or no car. Everything around this place was weird, from all those animal heads staring down, to...

The sound of the pickup's door being slammed shut tore him out of his thoughts and back to reality.

Mr. Pickup. He could leave with Mr. Pickup!

Lucas ran out into the diner as the truck's engine turned over with a growl. He got to the door as the wheels started to roll. He threw his weight into it, expecting it to give, but it was stuck. Head leaning against the glass, he watched as the truck pulled out onto the desolate highway and faded, leaving him there. He gripped the door handle and push-pulled it frantically in a futile effort to get it to open. Why wouldn't it open? It wouldn't be locked in the middle of the day, would it? He struggled to focus. All right, if it was locked that meant he was here alone.

Well, not quite alone. With her.

"Do you always think out loud?" she asked.

The sudden noise from behind made him whip around. She was standing not more than ten feet away, bow raised and aimed at his throat.

"Jesus, Dorothy," he started.

"MY NAME IS FLUTTERING LITTLE WING!" she screamed, and pulled the arrow back farther.

He dropped to the floor and she matched his movement with the bow.

" 'I know what she's doing!' " she said, mocking his tone. "You said it loud enough, Lucas. The poor man practically ran out of here. He didn't even pay."

He looked up at her. She was standing far enough away that he couldn't even kick at her. Her eyes had turned black. "Doro...Fluttering Little Wing," he stammered, not knowing what he could say to her that would pull her back from her mania.

"Don't worry, Lucas," she said calmly while readjusting her aim, "your death won't be a waste. The Tans are watching me."

She released the arrow.


* * *



"Is this rawhide?" Tracy Lowe ran a finger down over the lampshade, feeling its delicate roughness.

The cherubic woman who had introduced herself as "Fluttering Little Wing" touched it herself and said, "I'm not sure, but it gives off a beautiful glow when it's turned on."

"It is pretty," Tracy agreed. She looked at the hand written price tag stuck on the base of the lamp, decided it was fair and brought it to the register.

"Just pay for it with your meal," Fluttering Little Wing said as she walked by Tracy on her way back into the diner. The woman was a bit odd, Tracy thought, but she seemed pleasant enough. She continued walking through the shop, feeling the pelts and stopping now and then to pick up a trinket. She was examining a curious small boned necklace when her little girl came running in, blonde pigtails bouncing.

"Mommy, Mommy! Daddy said our food is ready."

"Look what I bought, Sheila," Tracy said, producing the lamp for the six year old's inspection. "Isn't it pretty?"

Sheila looked at the shade with awe, wondering how the sticks it was framed from had been made to curve. "Did Indians make it, Mommy?" she asked.

"I think so."

The little girl pointed to a pale, silver dollar sized mark on the shade. "What's that?"

Tracy studied it. "I think it's just a defect, honey. That's what makes it unique."

"It looks like a mushroom," Sheila decided.

Tracy looked more closely. Something hesitated in her for just a brief moment, then was gone. "I think you're right," she said.

They walked back into the diner together, passing the 'Help Wanted' sign on the door. Tracy sat down next to her husband, while Sheila climbed onto a stool on the other side of her brother.

"Daddy, where's my cherry Jell-O?" she whined.

"After you eat, Sugarpop." He turned to his wife. "The kids each got a burger and fries, but I ordered the special for us. Is that okay?"

Tracy looked at her plate. "That's fine." She split the meat pie with the side of her fork and began to eat.


Happy Halloween, Everyone!