Wicked

The fire crackled and popped. Dad watched the fire as bobby roasted a marshmallow. Crickets chirped. Fireflies occasionally lit up their butts to let everyone know where they were.

“Do you believe in Wicked Frank?” Dad asked. Bobby glanced over at his dad and asked:

“Who’s Wicked Frank?”

“Grab me a bottle of pop from the cooler over there and I’ll tell you,” Dad said grinning.

“Smooth Dad,” Bobby replied,” rolling his eyes. He was only twelve, but already he was over his dad’s shit. Bobby hands his dad a bottle of pop and dad began telling the tale of Wicked Frank.

There once lived a hermit in these woods,” Dad began. He was around three hundred and fifty pounds and stood six foot five. He chopped up his wife and buried her behind his shack. Bobby’s eyes widened. His mouth hung open. He leaned in and listened intently.

He vanished until last year,” Dad said. “A couple was camping out here last year. They were found by a park Ranger the next day; they were battered by an ax.”

“Holy shit,” Bobby said before covering his mouth. His dad chuckled.

“I’ll let that one slide,” he said. “But only because it was so God damn funny.” Dad took a swig of soda before continuing his twisted tale.

“He only comes out at night. He whistles, carries a lantern, and an ax.” Bobby’s breathing became shallow. Dad burst out laughing.

“It’s only an urban legend,” Dad said.

Don’t take it so damn seriously.”

That night Bobby woke up and had to pee. He wandered out into the darkness, flashlight in hand. He found a suitable spot and did his business. He whistled as he went and soon heard someone whistle the same tune back. It was Camp Town Races. Everyone knew that one. The song had been in everything from Foghorn Leg Horn to the 1981 movie The Stepfather. He froze. Who was whistling back? He saw a racoon wobble into view and Bobby nearly leaped out of his skin. The animal hissed before scurrying off. Bobby’s heart nearly stopped when he came back to the tent. He saw a lantern next to the tent. He immediately thought of his dad’s story and a shiver ran up his spine. He thought of the whistling and hurried into the tent. He shook his dad.

“There’s a lantern outside,” Bobby insisted.

“I don’t need a lantern,” Dad said groggily. Bobby sighed.

No. I found a lantern outside.” Dad waved his son off dismissively and quickly fell back asleep. The boy curled up in his sleeping bag. He jumped at every twig snapping. The shadows became monsters, killers, and all kinds of horrible threats. He made sure to zip up the tent.

He didn’t get much sleep but he was beyond relieved when his dad woke up early and packed everything in the car. As they drove out of sight Bobby looked behind him and saw a massive man fitting Wicked Frank’s description. He was holding an ax and a lantern; he was also whistling a tune. Dad looked in the rearview mirror and saw the man. He stepped down on the gas. Dad knew one thing. A massive man holding an ax in the middle of the woods, was not good… urban legend or not!