The Mysteries of Fuller Park

By Chuck Keyes

'The Mysteries of Fuller Park' is a sci-fi mystery novel associated with the Devil-worshiping urban legends about Fuller Park, and the small city of Athens, Texas. Follow the two main characters as they meet, rapidly fall in love, and set off on many fantastic hair-raising adventures. Police officer Morgan Blackstone and the mysterious American Indian, half-breed woman he found on New Year's Eve in the old abandon Fuller Park. Her name is Cheyenne White Cloud, and she's gorgeous, built with a fabulous sexy body that highly surpasses a number ten. Learn what's really buried under Athens, waiting for over ninety-five thousand years to rise up out of the earth and destroy the small Texas City.
Science fiction at its best, from the author who gave you 'They!' and 'Epic Marvels', comes this imaginary captivating story filled with sizzling romance, mind-boggling mystery, and spine-tingling fear. Follow Morgan and Cheyenne's grandiose adventures to uncover the mysteries of Athen's urban legends. Learn why the Athens town folk from the mid eighteenth century worshiped the black arts, founded the town of Athens, Texas, and sacrificed hundreds of their virgin daughters upon an altar made of human bones. Experience the comedy, meet strange evil aliens, and a strange friend named Task, who's older than our universe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chuck Keyes
• Release date: Jun 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476156569

Chuck Keyes

Chuck Keyes has published six science fiction books, short stories, articles and a book of his unique poems, known worldwide for his unique, creative style. Chuck Keyes is a Medical Engineer who has always enjoyed the human creativeness of not over your head, exhilarating science fiction. Chuck currently resides in beautiful Athens, Texas, a thriving medical device-manufacturing town. Chuck enjoys his relaxing hobby as a sci-fi novelist, offering readers exciting stories filled with imagination.

Book preview

Chapter One

Morgan Blackstone pressed his stiff aching back against the police truck's high back vinyl seat. He's been sitting behind the old First Athens National Bank billboard for over three hours, looking for speeders or drunks, but tonight's New Year's Eve traffic has been slow through the small city of Athens, Texas. Morgan usually works days, but to gain promotional points with the chief; he volunteered to work New Year's Eve. He has his heart set on becoming a plain clothed detective to replace Detective Dan Spartan, who's retiring in a few months. No more wearing a stuffy shit-brown police uniform, and no more long boring days patrolling the streets, or being verbally abused by every redneck asshole he pulls over.

Two vehicles rounded the far away exit off the loop onto the three mile stretch to the town square. Morgan glanced down at his radar screen to see that the vehicles are traveling within the lawful speed limit.

Another vehicle came off the loop exit, heading towards the square, and his radar shows it traveling nearly twenty miles an hour over the posted speed limit. Morgan switched on his siren and his flashing lights. He pulled onto the road, sped up behind the speeding vehicle. The blue Ford pickup pulled over to the edge of the pavement and came to a stop. Morgan pulled up behind the truck and decided to run the plate number before talking to the driver. He let out a moan upon seeing the truck is registered to Judge John Ethan Forbes. Morgan stepped out the cab and approached the Ford truck. He shined his flashlight beam into the truck to see a young man driving and a young woman sitting in the passenger's seat. He tapped on the window and indicated to the young man to lower it.

Hey, Barney Fife, why the hell are you pulling us over? asked the teen. We have a late night New Year's dinner party reservation at the Stardust On The Square, and we're running late.

Sir, my name isn't Barney Fife! You we're speeding, so please give me your license and proof of insurance.

The young man removed the required items from his lamb's skin wallet and handed them to Officer Morgan.

Morgan casually strolled back to his police truck, climbed up into the cab, and ran the young man's license number. There are no open warrants for David Forbes, the judge's son. He printed David out a ticket for traveling nineteen miles over the posted speed limit, and then returned to the shiny new blue pickup truck. Mr. Forbes, please sign this speeding ticket, and then you can be merrily on your way.

I'll sign it so I can leave, but I will be talking to my father about this damn speed trap!

Talking to your father is fine with me, Mr. Forbes. Now you and your female friend have a safe and happy New Year. As he walked back to his police truck, the judge's son loudly screeched his tires while speeding off, heading toward the town square. Morgan shook his head, reckoning the judge will probably use his influence to void his son's speeding ticket.

A few minutes after he parked his police truck back behind the old bank billboard, a female's voice blasted over the two-way police radio. Officer Morgan, please respond.

Yeah, Miss Geny, what's up?

Are you familiar with old Fuller Park?

I know the old park is said to house one of the five entrances to the underground tunnels that reside under Athens, and supposedly these tunnels connect together in a shape of a huge pentagram, with the court house and town square being in the middle.

I need you to investigate a crying woman in Fuller Park. Supposedly, the crying was heard near the old rusted out tow truck.

Did I mention that countless people who live in Athens believe the old park is haunted?

An anonymous teen called in saying she and seven of her friends were celebrating the New Year at the park, but after hearing the echoing sound of a woman crying, they frightfully moved their party to one of their residences.

Miss Geny, it sounds like a New Year's eve prank. Did she say her seven friend's names are Sneezy, Sleepy, Dopy, Doc, Happy, Bashful, and Grumpy?

Officer Morgan Blackstone, sputtered the sixty-seven year old part-time dispatcher. I truly believe this young girl was being sincere and the teens actually heard something that frightened them, and it may be a woman in distress. This Fuller Park investigation should be right up your alley for someone wanting to become a big shot detective.

Okay, Miss Geny, I'm on my way to check out the old park.

Oh, thank you, Morgan. I'll be right here if you require any backup officers.

Miss Geny, you'll be the first one know if I find something. He sped off, travelling along the town's outskirt streets to Gibbin's Road, where the entrance of the scary park is located. He parked along the side of the road, near the park's entrance, and then he jumped out of his police truck's cab with his flashlight in hand. The night sky is clear, allowing the dim starlight to poke through the trees into the eerie overgrown park. Luckily, the night's temperature is above normal; however, forty-two degrees Fahrenheit is low enough to make him uncomfortable. To enter the creepy park, Morgan stepped over a thick iron chain connected to two entrance stone columns. Strolling through the spine-chilling woods at night is not his foremost choice of fun activity. He walked deeper into the park, passing by the large iron chain fence and virgin stone corner pillars surrounding the graves belonging to Medford Lee Fuller and his wife Virginia McClelland Fuller. Morgan recalled his memories about Fuller Park. Athens history states that Medford Fuller established the park in the mid nineteen thirties. He offered the park's acreage to the town; however, the town leaders refused to accept the land. One of the various urban legends is that Fuller Park has always been a hotspot for worshipping Satan. Supposedly, Satanists gather in the park and sacrificed animals, and possibly virgin human females. Another urban legend is that Athens, named after a town in Greece, was established in the mid eighteen hundreds by a satanic cult who wanted to hide themselves within the Bible belt. Damn, what's my ass doing out here all by myself? he said aloud to himself. Morgan stepped into an open area containing iron animal cages. Many people refer to them as monkey cages, but to him they look like normal zoo cages for any type of small animal. He shined his flashlight beam onto the roof of one the monkey cages to see a red spray-painted pentacle and a headless orange tabby cat lying in the star's center. Damn, he said aloud, maybe this urban legend bullshit is real and the devil worshipper's have been sacrificing their neighbor's cats! He shrugged it off as kids screwing around and continued his nighttime, New Year's Eve trek deeper into the park.

Morgan came upon the old tow truck. His curiosity forced him to stop and examine the truck with the beam of his flashlight. All the glass has been busted out, the outer body of the passenger's door has nearly rusted away, and there's a large crane mounted on the bed. He can see a heavy-duty cable running from the crane out past the vehicle, most likely running off along the ground, under many years of decaying vegetation.

Unexpectedly, Morgan heard a woman moan, and then she began to weep. He felt as if his rapidly beating heart dropped into his stomach to be violently attacked by his digestive fluids. He wants to run away and hide like a frightened child, but his obligation to investigate the eerie weeping is holding him there. He carefully listened to realize the crying is coming from under the old truck. Morgan pointed his flashlight beam to see a pale hand sticking from under the bed's metal framework, between the flat rear tires and the cab. The truck's rusted frame is sitting only a few inches above the ground, so how the hell could a woman fit under it? He asked himself. He stepped closer, knelt down, and bravely grabbed the woman's hand. Morgan expected the woman's ghostly hand to dissolve into nothingness, but it was warm and alive."

Please…please help me. she cried.

She must be in a hole under the truck, thought Morgan. He frantically began to dig with his hands, pulling the loose soil out from under the truck's flatbed. Maybe this is an actual entry into one of the tunnels under Athens. Many years ago, somebody may have deliberately parked this truck over the entrance. Within fifteen minutes, Morgan created a large pile of dirt as he dug an opening under the truck's frame. He reached downward into the hole, clutched the female under her arms, and gently pulled her body out. The grateful woman wrapped her arms around Morgan, pressing her large breasts against his broad muscular chest. Oh, thank you, kind sir.

Morgan held the weeping woman in his arms. He figured this creepy New Year experience of pulling this woman out of hole is as close to delivering a baby as he ever wants to be. He gently pushed the woman away while adjusting his flashlight to view her face. Are you alright?

Yes, sir.

She has long black hair, a beautiful face with big brown eyes, and she's wearing what looks like an old Western Indian outfit. A gray burlap shirt, a light brown leather vest that's laced up between her beasts with thin strips of leather, and a leather dress that looks to be tightly wrapped around her body two or three times. Oh, my God, you look like Sacagawea!

Who is Sacagawea? she asked.

She was an Indian scout who guided the Lewis and Clark Expedition. What's your name and how did you wind up in a hole under this old tow truck?

My name is Cheyenne White Cloud, and I was lost in the dark caves. Sir, if you had not come along to help me, I reckon I would've died of hunger.

Cheyenne White Cloud is an unusual name.

My Pa named me Cheyenne cause my Ma was a full blooded Cheyenne Indian. She died while birthing me. My mother's father gave me my Indian name. I'm a half-breed. He named me White Cloud cause my skin is white. Cheyenne glanced down at Morgan's flashlight. Are you a warlock?

No…no, I'm a police officer.

In your hand, you're making light without fire?

Morgan's eyebrows shot upward in surprise. This is my flashlight. Do you want to hold it?

Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. Tis witchcraft to make light without fire.

Morgan nervously chuckled while thinking this woman's brain has some serious software issues. Come on, we need to head out to Gibbin's Road. Morgan grabbed hold of her hand and backtracked along the path he followed in to find her.

Sir, I'm hungry. Do you have any sundried buffalo meat?

No, I'm sorry to say that I'm not in the habit of carrying sundried buffalo meat in my pockets. Calling me sir makes me feel older than what I am. My name is Morgan Blackstone.

Morgan is a good Texas name.

Thanks.

My Pa never journeys anywhere without his leather pouches of sundried buffalo meat and blocks of Carolina tobacco.

They stepped over the chain and walked out onto Gibbin's Road.

Cheyenne stamped her pointy leather boots on the asphalt road. I've never seen a black clay road.

This is called asphalt, voiced Morgan.

Ass fault, she thoughtfully said. There's nothing wrong with my ass!

I didn't say your ass is faulty, sputtered Morgan. From what I can see you have a very nice ass. Morgan walked over to his police truck and opened the passenger's door. Please get in.

What kind of stagecoach is this? Where's your team of horses? she asked while frightfully backing away.

Young lady, are you pulling my leg?

You can see with your own eyes that I'm not yanking on your leg?

Morgan shook his head in thought. He decided to play along with the young woman. This is my horseless carriage.

At that moment, a small compact car sped by them along Gibbin's Road. Cheyenne ran over to Morgan and wrapped her arms tightly around him. He can feel her heart rapidly beating and her body trembling. You're not faking this. You're really frightened.

'What was that big monster with bright eyes?"

It was a car. A horseless carriage!

This is witchcraft!

No…no, it's called technology.

I don't know what that word means.

Cheyenne, what's your birth date.

I was born January fifth, eighteen thirty-two. I'm twenty years old.

Holy crap! By my calculations, you're one hundred and eighty years old. Morgan glanced at his wristwatch to see it's ten minutes past midnight. The year is now two thousand and twelve.

Cheyenne's face puckered with bewilderment. This has to be witchcraft.

No…for you this is the future. One of us is either crazy or you've been somehow transported one hundred and sixty years into the future. You're like Alice stepping through the looking glass into wonderland. I've been freezing for the past two and a half hours. I want to help you, so please step up into my horseless carriage.

Cheyenne climbed up into the cab and sat down. Morgan closed her door and ran around the truck. He jumped in and started the engine, and then he switched on the overhead light to look at Cheyenne. She's a beautiful young woman. Her hair is blacker than a raven's feather, although her complexion is creamy white, and her figure is amazingly stunning. He can smell the richness of the leather making up her American Indian clothing. To figure out how she time traveled into the future may be the most exciting investigation work he'll ever do in his lifetime. The truck is warming up and the heat feels good. Morgan noticed a tear roll down Cheyenne's face. Are you okay?

I'm scared.

There's nothing here in the future that'll hurt you.

Morgan unclipped his two-way radio mike. Dispatch, I found nothing in Fuller Park.

Officer Morgan, you didn't hear a woman crying?

Miss Geny, the only think I heard was the wind whistling through the trees.

Okay, Morgan, thanks for checking out the park for me.

Your welcome.

Happy New Year.

Same to you, Miss Geny.

Your horseless carriage talks to you? asked Cheyenne.

Morgan chuckled. No. I was talking to an old spinster who works part-time as a dispatcher.

Being twenty years old, Pa says I'm nearly an old spinster.

Morgan laughed. Twenty years old is considered to be young.

My Pa don't reckon twenty is young.

Cheyenne, how long were you in the underground tunnels?

Three or maybe four days. When I woke up my reckoning was jumbled up in tight knots.

You haven't eaten anything in three or four days?

No. She shook her head. I'm very hungry. That's why I asked you for some sundried buffalo meat.

Even though its early morning on New Year's day, our local McDonalds fast food restaurant is open twenty-four hours a day except on Christmas.

Fast food, said Cheyenne along with a giggle.

Yeah, it's good tasting food that's supposedly not very good for you. Morgan pushed the gearshift lever to the drive position and compressed the gas pedal.

Cheyenne curiously stared out the window as Morgan's police truck passed by houses, street lights, and vehicles. Even though everything was strange and frightening, she couldn't help from looking at as much as she can.

Morgan pulled into the McDonalds parking lot and parked near the entrance. He jumped out the cab, circled the truck, and opened Cheyenne's door. Welcome to one of the joys of twenty-first century.

Cheyenne stepped down and grabbed Morgan's hand. He guided her into McDonalds, noticing that her bulging brown eyes are filled with curiosity, as if she's a child entering McDonalds for the first time to enjoy a Happy Meal.

The four workers behind the counter inquisitively stared at Cheyenne's Indian outfit while Morgan placed the order. Within five minutes, Morgan grabbed the tray of hot food and headed to a table. Cheyenne sat down opposite Morgan. That's when he noticed her beautiful turquoise Indian necklace with a colorful eagle pendent hanging down between her breasts. He slid her hamburger, large fries, and Coke in front of her.

Cheyenne picked up a French fry and sniffed it before popping into her mouth. Oh my, these are better tasting than pan beans cooked on an open fire. She started to throw them into her mouth, chewing and swallowing them faster than Morgan has ever seen anyone eat.

Morgan noticed an elderly couple sitting near them, both staring wide-eyed at Cheyenne. He smiled and said to them, she's a hungry Indian woman on a French fry warpath.

After smelling her hamburger, she nearly stuffed the entire burger into her mouth.

Cheyenne, you need to slow down. I'm afraid you may become sick. Figuring she doesn't know how to use a straw, he popped the lid off her Coke. Try drinking some of your soda pop.

With both hands, she picked up the large paper cup and downed her Coke in long gulps, followed with a loud burp, and a wide satisfied smile. Morgan, may I please have some more this fast food?

Sure. He stood up and return to the counter.

Young lady, why are you so hungry? asked the snooping elderly woman.

Madam, I have not eaten for three days. I was traveling through the dark caves to crawl up out of the ground into this witchcraft future of horseless carriages and bright lights without fire.

The woman blinked her eyes. Henry, it's time to go.

But, Wilma, I'm still eating.

You ate enough! We're leaving right now!

Morgan returned with another tray containing two hamburgers, one large fry, and a large Coke.

Cheyenne ate her food a little slower; however, she repeatedly overfilled her mouth and loudly burped numerous times.

Morgan showed her how to use her paper napkins. We're going to need to work on your manners.

Why? I say sir, madam, and please. My Pa taught me how to use those polite words.

I'm referring to your eating manners.

Cheyenne's face quickly saddened and tears began to roll down her cheeks.

What's wrong? asked Morgan with a concerned expression.

I may never see my Pa again. He's a good man. He's brave, smart, and fast on the draw. He taught me everything I know. I can out shoot, bronco bust, and rope a steer better than any man in the new state of Texas. My Pa also taught me to do some word understanding. After many years of learning the words, I can read the whole story book called: The Tower of London. The story was written by a man named George. I don't remember his last name.

You never went to school?

My Pa was a better teacher than wasting my time with schooling. Besides, Pa was a cattle herd drover, and we never stayed in one town long enough for me to do any schooling in a classroom.

What was your father's name?

I always called him Pa. Most everyone else called him Drover. Although many of his salon women friends called him Lover. I reckon he never told anyone his given name cause the law was looking for him. Before I was birthed, he made his way by robbing banks.

Oh, he's a reformed outlaw. Morgan nodded his head, thinking this has to be the strangest situation that anyone has ever experienced.

Chapter Two

Cheyenne reached up under the wrap of her leather dress and pulled out a leather pouch.

What do you have in there? asked Morgan.

She opened the pouch and pulled out one of three blocks of Carolina tobacco, and then she gnawed off a small chunk. I have tobacco. Would like a bite to chew on?

Of course, like your father you chew tobacco. No thanks. I don't chew tobacco; however, many men still do chew tobacco, although I've never heard of any twenty-first century women chewing tobacco. Do you want anymore fast food?

No thank you. She shook her head. My bellybutton is puckering from all that good tasting fast food. I feel like a contented hog that just ate a trough full of cattle slop innards.

Morgan laughed for a long moment. I've taken women out on dates to some of the finest five star restaurants in Dallas, and they've never articulated such wonderful satisfaction as you have.

Not too far back, my Pa and I helped to drive a herd of cattle to Dallas. I like the big town of Dallas. I got my own room in the Grand Hotel, along with a tub full of hot water for bathing my bear body, and a soft feather bed to sleep on.

In this century, people can bath everyday in their bathrooms.

I don't reckon of ever using a bathroom.

It's like having an outhouse inside your house.

Icky! I don't eat or sleep too close to where I leave my droppings. Mostly, being that Pa and I are always traveling with a herd of cattle, I leave my droppings buried under a handful of dried up leaves or pine needles.

Morgan laughed.

What are you drinking? Cheyenne asked along with an inquisitive expression.

Coffee. Would you like some?

No thank you. It'll spoil the good taste of my after meal tobacco chew. What I need is an outhouse.

Oh no, that may be a problem.

That's okay…I can go outside. I'll squat down next to your horseless carriage.

No…no, I have an outhouse for you, but before you use it, I need to teach you how it works. Morgan looked around to see there are no other guests in McDonalds. Come on, I'll take you to the woman's indoor outhouse."

Cheyenne followed Morgan into the woman's bathroom. He pulled a stall door open to show her the toilet.

I've heard stories about water flushing toilets, but I've never used one. The Grand Hotel in Dallas has some flushing toilets, but only the high-class wealthy people can use them?

Well here's your chance to use Thomas Crapper's invention. When you're finished, just push down on this silver handle and it'll flush away your droppings. Morgan walked over to the two sinks. Over here you can wash your hands in the sink and dry them with these paper towels. As a demonstration, he pulled a paper towel out the wall mounted dispenser.

Cheyenne ran over to one of the sinks. How do I get the water to come out?

Just put your hands in the sink and an electric eye will make the water flow.

She waved her hands in the sink and the warm water flowed. This has to be witchcraft?

It seems to me that you're stuck on the word witchcraft. Are you familiar with the word magic?

Oh yes, I saw a magic show in the big town of Houston. The man wearing a long black robe pulled a little white rabbit out of a tall funny shaped hat.

It was a top hat. This is good! From now on, every strange thing you see is called magic, and there's nothing to fear about magic. Magic is your friend.

Okay, she agreed while displaying a wide pretty smile.

Great…I'll be waiting outside near the door.

A half hour past by and Morgan became worried. He was about to knock on the woman's bathroom door when Cheyenne stepped out.

What took you so long? asked Morgan along with an inquisitive expression.

I used the warm water to wash my whole body. It felt good, although I had to use a lot of those little paper towels, but it was better than sun drying my naked body.

Morgan opened the women's bathroom and laughed upon seeing a three foot stack of crumpled up paper towels on the ceramic tiled floor, right next to the over flowing waste basket. Yup, you certainly did use a lot of paper towels to dry your body. Come on, I'm still on duty until seven AM. You'll have to ride shotgun.

Are you going to give me a shotgun?

No…no, I don't have a shotgun for you. What I mean is you're going to ride next to me in the passenger's seat.

They walked out to the police truck and climbed into the extended cab. Morgan showed Cheyenne how to connect her seatbelt.

I don’t like being tied to the seat. I need to be able to jump out if this horseless carriage if it rolls over.

Don't worry…I'm a good horseless carriage driver.

Morgan drove across town and again positioned his truck behind the old bank billboard.

Fifteen minutes past by and Cheyenne asked, What are you waiting for?

I'm waiting to catch a speeder.

Why?

So I can give either him or her a speeding ticket, which also includes a fine.

Is it like a Chinese laundry ticket.

Morgan chuckled. No…I don't wash their clothes. I give them a ticket for going too fast in their horseless carriages.

Why?

Because going too fast is breaking the law.

Are you like a sheriff or a deputy?

I guess I'm more like a deputy, but I have my heart set on becoming a plain clothes detective.

Oh my, I shouldn't have told you about my Pa robbing banks.

Morgan giggled. If I should happen to meet your Pa, I have no intentions of arresting him for robbing banks back in the mid eighteen hundreds.

Where's your gun?

It's under my coat. A few days ago, I bought myself a leather chest holster for when I become a detective. Tonight, being that it's volunteered duty, I decided to try out my new holster. He turned on the truck's interior light, unzipped his coat, and pulled his Dirty Harry, forty-four magnum out his new leather holster.

Cheyenne's eyes brightened. Oh my, that's a beautiful magic gun. Can I hold it?

Morgan cautiously removed the powerful bullets from the cylinder and handed the gun to Cheyenne.

It's well balanced. She spun it around in her right hand like a gunslinger performing for Buffalo Bull's Wild West Show. I must've lost my gun and holster. My mind is still a bit tied up in knots. Although I still have my knife to protect me. She returned Morgan's gun, and then she slid her leather dress up a few feet, and pulled a seven inch knife out of a leather sheath that's tightly strapped around her upper left leg. The Indian crafted knife is somewhat slender, razor sharp, and it has a slightly curved bone handle.

Morgan blinked in surprise for two reasons. One is the concealed knife, and the other is Cheyenne's delightfully shaped legs being exposed almost all the way up to her private area.

"In self defense, I've