Ravencroft Springs: The Feast of '69

By Logan L. Masterson

From Logan L. Masterson, author of Ravencroft Springs, comes a tale of lost souls and dark discovery, set in Masterson's strange Appalachian locale, Pro Se Productions presents as a Pro Se Single Shot Masterson's Ravencroft Springs: The Feast of '69.

No one believed the summer of love could last forever, not really. Hippies danced in the streets, slept in the parks, hit the road on a whim, but when two star-crossed lovers find themselves in the forgotten hill country town known as Ravencroft Springs, winter has come. What fate awaits the American folk band Feast of Love? Come on down the foggy, forgotten road and learn for yourself in Ravencroft Springs: The Feast of ‘69, a Pro Se Single Shot by Logan L. Masterson.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro Se Press
• Release date: Mar 19, 2015

Book preview

Ravencroft Springs:

THE FEAST OF ‘69

by Logan L. Masterson

Published by Pro Se Press

This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters in this publication are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. No part or whole of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing of the publisher.

Copyright © 2015 Logan L. Masterson

All rights reserved

Table of Contents

ACT I

ACT II

ACT III

ACT I

We don’t have to go home, baby, Brad said.

I don’t know, I answered slowly. Maybe we should go back. We could get our feet under us, you know? Autumn made for a cold night in the Nevada desert, though the sky was alive with stars.

I remember asking Brad to repeat what he said next. The wind had picked up, and whipped sagebrush past our camp.

More loudly, But I love you.

I gave him a tired kind of smile. I know. I love you too, but what does that have to do with going home?

I just know that if we do, I’ll lose you.

I must have laughed a little; he turned away, fiddling with his guitar.

There’s no reason to think that!

He turned back, head low. Maybe.

Listen, I shouted over another gust, I want to go into town tomorrow. This ukulele and guitar stuff is boring me. I’d like to trade mine in for a cello. We don’t need this trailer anymore, either.

He nodded and went to bed. Though his fears were insensible to me at the time, I’d learn soon enough how right he was to be afraid.

*****

It began in tenth grade. I was fifteen, and cute as a button, if I do say so myself. My strawberry red hair was full and thick, and I had grown it as long as I could, in keeping with the fashion. I scented it with lavender or patchouli. It’s lost its luster now, gone stark white. There were no crow’s feet around my gray sky eyes then, and my frame bore enough flesh to curve, instead of jutting and caving the way it does now.

I had been a nerd up ‘til then, all elbows and eyeglasses, but when I received a role in Grove Park High’s winter production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, my world was forever altered. It was 1966, and Asheville was changing. People were changing, and our drama teacher wanted to touch on that, to update The Bard’s work to suit our times. The Athenians became The Establishment. The Faeries were Hippies; the Mechanicals, Beatniks.

Thom, our Theseus, looked like Frankie Avalon. Puck was Bradley, a Morrisonesque