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Short Horror Stories Vol. 17: Scary Ghosts, Monsters, Demons, and Hauntings (Supernatural Suspense Collection) by [Scare Street, Ron Ripley, David Longhorn, Kathryn St. John-Shin, Michelle Reeves]
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Short Horror Stories Vol. 17: Scary Ghosts, Monsters, Demons, and Hauntings (Supernatural Suspense Collection) Kindle Edition

4.7 out of 5 stars 16 ratings
Book 17 of 24 in Supernatural Suspense Collection

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Length: 36 pages Word Wise: Enabled Enhanced Typesetting: Enabled
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Editorial Reviews

From the Inside Flap

Excerpt from Dueling Frogs by David Longhorn:
"What do you mean, saved your life?" Dixon asked.
"Well, I can tell you the story, if you like," said Jed. "But I was thinkin', maybe you boys would like some coffee and vittles?"
Hayward realized that he was intensely hungry. The others made enthusiastic noises as Jed got up and started puttering around the one-room cabin. Soon the aroma of coffee filled the air, and it was joined not long after by the smell of frying bacon. The coffee was handed out in tin mugs to Hayward and Clancy, but Dixon declined his. He also refused any whiskey but ate some bacon and homemade biscuits.
Hayward's eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and he could make out more of the dioramas around the cabin. They were all as crazy as the dueling scene. There were stuffed frogs riding rats in a rodeo. There was a coronation, complete with a frog bishop placing a crown on the head of an amphibian in ermine robes. There was a recreation of the assassination of Lincoln, and in the biggest tank, the old man had created a baseball game. To Hayward, it was nightmarish and yet ridiculous at the same time.
Crazy as a loon and then some, he thought, taking a mouthful of coffee, frowning at a bitter aftertaste. But what else do you expect, living out here alone?
"So how did they save your life, old man?" Hayward asked. "These here examples of--what's it called? Taxidermy?"
"Correct, that's what they call it," Jed said, smiling benignly. "And as for how they saved my life, well, it's a strange tale and no mistake. Meanwhile, though, how are you boys feelin'? Nice and comfortable?"
"Yeah," said Clancy, taking another pull at the whiskey jug. "Just fine, grandpa."
Then the youth fell sideways off his chair, giggling.
"Get up, you idiot!" hissed Dixon, awkwardly shifting his plate, letting the shotgun barrel droop.
In that moment, Jed produced a pistol from inside his baggy dungarees and shot Dixon square in the face at a range of three feet. The back of Dixon's head erupted, spattering the glass of a tank containing a frog-based recreation of Lindbergh climbing out of the Spirit of St Louis in Paris. Dixon slumped to the floor like a sack of potatoes while Clancy howled in rage and panic, clawing for the pistol in his waistband.
"Don't do that son," said Jed, pointing his gun unerringly at the youth's forehead. "I've already spoiled an excellent subject. The Boss will not be pleased if I ruin two."

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