Well, it wasn’t much of a hell, as such things go, I guess, ’cause I’ve sure heard of worse stuff happnin’ to folks. But for a few hours last week I sure did think that ole Scratch had his scaly mitts on me.
It started when Homer down at the store saw somebody stealin’ some crackers. But his eyes aren’t so good, nor his memory neither. He tole the sheriff it was me. Couldn’t a been, ’cause I was down at the county seat gettin’ my third fishin’ license. I keep droppin’ them into the river, so I was twenty miles away when them soda crackers walked outta Homer’s store.
But then the sheriff came lookin’ for me and a plank off’n the porch roof fell on his head and he went out. So I dragged him out to his cruiser and piled him in the back seat and took off for the hospital. Only the quickest way there was over the Tumbly Creek bridge and it chose that exact time I was drivin’ over it to crack up and fall.
And that’s when the sheriff woke up, with water comin’ in the car and him hollering I was tryin’ to drown him. I didn’t have no choice but to walk back to town with him. He called Momma — I’m only twelve. She left work and that’s when hell found me.