The Manamal Mystery of Cobb County: a True Story

By Bert Marshall

Every word of this tale is true. It was told to me in sacred confidence, as the good people of Cobb County have locked-up the truth and until now, their dark and heinous secret has been hidden. For the record, they want their story told and I let them tell it in their own words.

I am a reporter for the Marietta Journal and I’ve taken the liberty to bring this bizarre and horror-filled incredible tale to life, based on the interviews of twenty-seven residents who still reside peacefully in Cobb County, Georgia. Here it is as best as I can relate it. As preposterous as it seems, every word is true - although their actual names have been changed to protect their identities.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bert Marshall
• Release date: Jan 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301053469

Bert Marshall

Bert Marshall lives in Baytown, Texas and is a Baytown Sun Columnist, Blogger, martial artist, geocacher, PC repair specialist, Jeeper, hiker, indoor cycling instructor, past Texas State Emergency Care Attendant, Hunter education instructor, and a USAF Vietnam Veteran with two tours (651 days in-country).

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The Manamal Mystery of Cobb County – A True Story

Bert Marshall

Copyright Bert Marshall 2013

Published at Smashwords

The Manamal Mystery of Cobb County – A True Story by Bert Marshall

Every word of this tale is true. It was told to me in confidence, as the good people of Cobb County have locked-up the truth and until now, their secret has been hidden. For the record, they want their story told.

I am a reporter for the Marietta Journal and I’ve taken the liberty to bring this incredible tale to life, based on the interviews of twenty-seven residents who still reside peacefully in Cobb County, Georgia. Here it is as best as I can relate and in their own words. As preposterous as it seems, every word is true - although their actual names have been changed to protect their identity.

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Tanner yer so fulla crap yer eyes are brown! the big man with narrow hips and wide shoulders stands slowly to his feet, re-tucks his flannel shirt to cover his washboard stomach and grabbing a pine knot, tosses it into the campfire. Watch how real men stokes a fire. The way he pronounces the word fire, sounds more like far due to his north Georgia accent.

I ain’t lyin’ Ferrell. I seed it maself. Me an Lefty Hooks was grabbin’ peanuts from the Acheson’s field and it came outta tha woods all stankin’ and stuff. On tops of that, it was wearing a shirt and nuthin’ else! Heckfire, we dropped the bags and runt oft!

Speakin’ of stank, is that you I smell, or what? You smell like burnt peanut brittle and vinegar!

Tain’t me, I bathed two day ago.

Ferrell looks at his lanky cousin and continues, No one steals peanuts ya goober, they’s too danged cheap. Ferrell Parmalee has been inseparable from his cousin Tanner since they were six years old; when he moved here from Holly Springs and never knew him to stretch the truth this far, but monsters and aliens is a sure sign he’s had one too many shots of Wild Turkey. Heck, he’s having trouble focusing on the fire, his own durned self. And I told you afore, that Lefty Hooks ain’t worth a durn. You oughta stay away from him, Ferrell says as the pine knot flares up, kinda sudden like.

Well, I would, but then I’d never see Becky and my gawd, Ferrell, have you seen her lately? Whoowee! Boy howdy, I’d like to stick my hands in her back pockets and pull her up tight agin me, if you get my meanin’ Tanner says and squirms around uncomfortably.

Ferrell hears him alright and he’s not about to tell his cousin, he’s been doing that very thing to the fifteen year old girl beginning about three weeks ago. The thought of Becky’s budding full figure in his hands is too much for Ferrell and he stands a bit too quickly, loses his balance and to keep from falling into the fire, launches himself backwards, trips over the log he was sitting on and slides backwards down the side of the hill. Before he can right himself, he begins to flip end over end down through the kudzu until he is suspended in the vines about six feet off the ground over a hollow place in the earth.

The motion, the odd powerful smell in the air, loss of light, mixed with the liquor is all it takes and his head begins to spin… and then his stomach.

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When did you last see cousin Tanner, Ferrell? The lanky Cobb County deputy sheriff asks him for the fifth time. On his hip is a Smith and Wesson .44 Magnum Model 29 with an 8 inch barrel. The firearm is so heavy; it hangs down low on his hip like an old west cowboy’s single action revolver and is a constant source of sciatica for the young deputy. He won’t part with it though as he truly believes it makes him look danged cool, like Billy Jack with a hogleg.

Durn it, Vince, I done told you four times already. We was sittin’ around the campfire drinkin’ and I stood up an lost my balance. The next thing I knowed, I was flippin’ dog over teakettle about four or five rods from the camp. By the time I made it back up heyah, he was no wheres ta be seen and that’s the God’s truth, so help me Jesus, Peter, Paul, and Mary.

Cobb County deputy sheriff Vince Trainor Junior is only eight months older than Ferrell Parmalee, but dadburnit, he’s the law and even though they played football together for two years, Ferrell better recognize he is the chief suspect in the disappearance of his cousin, the idiot