Too loud, too bright, and too bubbly. That’s what the residents of Crazy Town consider Emmalee Bishop, a young woman who walked into town looking for the one person with clues to her past—her birth mother. As bumptious as she is bodacious, she can’t seem to escape trouble no matter where she goes. When trouble follows her into Crazy Town, it just might be more than the residents can handle.
In a town full of secrets, will she find who she’s looking for or will the residents run her out before she gets a chance?
A Crazy Town novella by International Bestseller Stephanie Ayers
“I’m not getting off the highway, so if you’re okay with that, hop on.”
The dude’s Harley Davidson motorcycle was stunning—black with red pinstripes and a flaming skull on either side. Cerulean blue eyes peeked out from beneath a few stray strands of ebony hair that managed to escape his helmet. I hoped this guy ain’t a serial killer, because I ain’t had no choice but to accept his offer. He was the only one who stopped to give me a ride, and I couldn’t stay in that stupid town any longer. I had to find my family—my biological family.
“Well, what’s it gonna be?” he asked.
His foot pounded against the pavement like he was short on patience or something.
“Okay,” I said, accepting the helmet he held out for me. “I’m down for that.”
I hopped on the back of his bike and wrapped my arms around his waist. I didn’t know what this dude was into, but he had a six pack under that leather jacket, and it ain’t beer.
“I’m Jesse Hart,” he said before revving his motor.
“Emmalee Bishop. Thanks for the ride.”
“Hang on tight.”
He pulled out into traffic smoothly and rolled down the highway. The ride was exhilarating, even if he was speeding. He drove so fast, it was hard to read the signs we passed, but the Welcome signs were clear enough.
Crossing state lines at a hundred miles an hour on the back of Harley was almost better than a good romp in the hay with a cute boy. And Lord, let me tell you, I wouldn’t mind rolling around in the hay with Jesse Hart. I’m trying to be a good girl, though, and sex with strangers ain’t saintly. Not even close. Gripping his six pack like I was made it extra hard to get him out of my mind, though, but I didn’t dare let go.
Shit! He’s gone and done it now. We had a cop on our tail. Jesse never slowed down as he took the first exit ramp off the highway, and we almost crashed going around a curve. He slowed down enough then to keep us safe, but that only let the Alabama state trooper get closer. We tore down the empty two-lane road the exit ramp took us to, and the cop finally quit chasing us.
Oh, Lord, let me tell you! This guy made me quiver in my hoo-haw. I’d lay down on the side of the road and let him do me right there if he asked, good girl be damned. Who’d he tell?
When Jesse turned onto a dirt road that disappeared into the trees, I thought maybe he was just as interested in a quick lay, but he stopped between two big trees and shut his motor off without getting off his bike. He held his index finger over his lips, and I got it. Mum’s the word. I ain’t going to make a sound. Before too long, we heard a siren nearby, and he shook his head.
He whispered, “Damn Alabama cops. They don’t know when to quit.”
The siren faded away soon enough though, and we worked our way back to the road. I spied a faded green sign that said “Graceville, one mile” and underneath that “Crazy Town, three miles.” I ain’t never walked three miles in my life if you don’t count walking around school, but Crazy Town sounded like my kind of place.
“I’ll get off here,” I yelled, remembering what he said when I first got on the motorcycle.
Jesse set his feet on the road to steady the Harley as I climbed off the back.
“You sure? There’s nothing out there but a bunch of hillbillies and hicks,” Jesse said.
“Yeah. I’m okay with that. Thanks for the lift,” I said as I gave him back the helmet.
He secured it to the back of the Harley and gave me a salute. “Have a nice life, Emmalee Bishop.”
I watched him roll down the road until he disappeared. I ain’t got no idea what to expect in Crazy Town, but with a name like that, I got a feeling I’ll find a place to call home.
Okay, now that I ain’t racing down the highway, I should probably start at the beginning.
I’m Emmalee Bishop, only child to Joshua and Heather Bishop. Only that’s not quite right. I mean, I’m their only child, but they ain’t my birth parents. And that’s the main reason why I was there then. I’m on a mission to find my real parents, or at least people who might know who they are.
Now before you get to thinking Joshua and Heather Bishop were some sort of horrible people, they ain’t. It ain’t their fault I was walking along that road in Alabama. They did me as good as they knew how, and I was the better for it, but I ain’t nothing like them.
I ain’t like nobody, especially anyone in Cedarville, where I grew up. Ain’t nothing wrong with Cedarville, North Carolina, neither. It’s just boring, and it ain’t home. Ya know what I mean?
I ain’t got a clue why I was the way I was, and that’s partly why I left. Cedarville ain’t on the “Bible Belt,” but it’s plenty religious. They didn’t like me much there, saying I was too wild, too loud, and too promiscuous—whatever that meant. I couldn’t help it if boys liked me. I liked them, too. Other girls didn’t like me much, but I didn’t really care. I didn’t like them much, neither.
Now, Lord knows I ain’t no saint, for sure, but I ain’t staying nowhere that wouldn’t accept me for who I was. That’s partly why I left, too. I didn’t even say goodbye to the people who raised me, didn’t leave a note, nothing. I just took off and hauled ass out of town.
Poppa Joshua and Momma Heather, they tried. I’ll give them that, but the older I got, the more I saw how different we really were. I ain’t never gonna fit in properly in Cedarville, and they deserved to. I needed to know where all my quirks and attitude came from, whose body type I inherited, and where my blonde hair came from. Nothing about me was anything like them—with their dark hair and brown eyes, their slim builds, and quiet demeanors—and I tried hard to find any similarities. I weren’t even as kind as they were. I had no filter, took no bull hockey, and demanded attention from everyone I met. So, I hightailed it out of there on a split-second decision and ain’t had no regrets since. Not one.
And before I knew it, I was headed to some place called Crazy Town with nothing but the clothes on my back and a pack of gum in my pocket.
How could I forget about my gum? I had to spit out the old piece when I got on the back of Jesse’s bike, so I popped a fresh piece in my mouth. Lord, let me tell you! That was exactly what I needed. My mouth ain’t so dry now. I never realized how riding on the back of a motorcycle could give ya such a bad case of cottonmouth.
So anyways, on with my story…
I’d just turned twenty a couple months ago. It was like a light bulb went off in my head or something because ever since my birthday, everything got under my skin. Even Billy Crews, the boy next door I rolled around in the hay with when the urge struck, started pushing on my last nerves talking all up in my face about marriage and babies and all the stuff I ain’t got no interest in and probably never will. Me and babies just didn’t get along. I didn’t get along with most people, so there was that, too.
Anyways, Billy told me we had to get married, or we ain’t having any fun in the barn anymore, so since there ain’t nothing holding me to the place, I left. Just like with my parents, I didn’t offer no goodbyes or nothing. I bet he was still waiting in the barn for the hanky-panky he ain’t gettin’ from me no more.
I ain’t got no idea why it took me so long to leave Cedarville. I mean, I could’ve left two years ago when I turned eighteen and finished school, but I didn’t; even though I figured out when I was two that I didn’t belong there, despite my parents’ efforts to help me fit in. Bless their hearts. They tried so hard.
For one thing, I matured much faster than the other girls did. I was nine when my monthly started, and I was halfway through ten when my boobies came in. That’s when the boys started paying extra attention to me. Henry Wilkins got my first kiss, Eddie Vander touched my boobies first, and Billy got to pop my cherry. And all this happened before I turned thirteen. At thirteen, I had the biggest boobies in seventh grade, and I showed them to anyone who wanted a peek.
Hmm. Maybe that was why all the girls hated me because the boys—well, they liked to look (and touch, too, if I’m being honest), and I always let them.
Now, before you judge me too harshly, Billy was the only boy I got down and dirty with, but I liked the attention from the other boys, and Billy never was my actual boyfriend. I ain’t doing nothing wrong by letting them look. Ain’t nothing wrong with letting them touch, neither. Not in my book, anyways, but their girlfriends didn’t like it much. Maybe if they let their boyfriends touch their boobies, they wouldn’t be touching mine. I didn’t care. Boobs were just mounds of skin with tips. Why boys got so excited over them is beyond me. I ain’t got a penis, and Lord, let me tell you! Those are some ugly sonsabitches. But the boys got excited, so I let them look, and that was that.
That’s enough about my boobies and boys. They still chased me everywhere I went, but I couldn’t do nothing about that. Sorry, girls.
If I’m honest, other girls were my real issue. They didn’t like me, I didn’t like them, but we were stuck together like flies in molasses. I reckon it might’ve always been that way, but I was open for a fresh start and looking for a change of mind.
That was another reason why I left. There ain’t no second chances in Cedarville. For as much as they preach the Bible, their ability to forgive and forget needed a gigantic overhaul. How did I know? Let me tell ya about Amber Griffith.
Amber Griffith, bless her heart, owned a massage parlor right there on the main street that went through Cedarville’s downtown. Sounds all fine and dandy, right? Wrong. The good, Christian ladies of Cedarville Baptist Church didn’t like that their husbands went in there and let another woman put her hands on them—innocent reasons or not. So that was strike one for Amber, and it ain’t even her fault. Strike two came about when one of those wives decided to check the parlor out for herself and discovered there was more than massage chairs in there.
A lot more, Shew Buddy, let me tell you!
Not only did Amber have pagan books and materials in there (it was where I spent my babysitting money to get the opal necklace I’ll never take off), but she also had toys and other sex stuff in a back corner, including movies. And that was all it took. That God-fearing church hussy told the pastor, and he shut the parlor down quick. That ain’t enough for those church heifers, though. They had to run Amber out of town, and Lord, I tell you what, they most surely did. They done ran her out of town so fast, she never looked back.
That’s how I knew I ain’t never going to fit in there, and Lord knows, I didn’t want to. Maybe I just ain’t going to fit in anywhere.
That might’ve been a harsh thought but so was reality. I read somewhere once that you only get one life so make it count. I aimed to live a good life, but there ain’t nobody counting.
Purchase Link: mybook.to/BodaciousCT
A creative ninja with a dark mind and a quirky nature, Stephanie Ayers writes all the words and spins twisted tales filled with horror, fantasy, suspense, and anything in between. With a trunk full of tricks thanks to a checkered past, she haunts Irish castles and snowy mountaintops in her dreams, while living the unicorn life in Ohio disguised as a human. When she isn’t listening to the voices in her head, she spends her days as a mom, Gigi, cat lover, and Netflix binger, while avoiding housework at all costs.
Since signing with Crazy Ink Publishing, Stephanie has managed to somehow meet (most of) her deadlines and produce over a dozen solo works (with no ending in sight). With ink in her blood, an absence of fear, and a passion for telling stories, she isn’t afraid to dip her pen in the inkwell of many genres, and even has four successful series in her name—the stand-alone horror volumes of The 13 Series, the individual fairy tale retellings of the Portal to Madness series, the read-in-any-order cozy paranormal mysteries of the Coven Cozy Mysteries, and her epic five book fantasy series, Destiny Defined.
When she isn’t lost in her overactive imagination or entertaining her mini-unicorns, you can find her weaving words for Ladies of Horror fiction or playing with graphics and building her newsletter.
You can find Stephanie all over social media and find a full listing of her works on her Amazon author page. Her favorite wandering place is her readers’ group on Facebook. Join the herd now!
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Purchase Link: mybook.to/BodaciousCT
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