Amber by Dan-Dwayne Spencer (e book reader .TXT) 📕

“Yeah, you did,” he insisted in an insidious tone as he lolled his head from side to side. “You sitting there all slimy…slimy…slimy talking to yourself.” For an instant, I could swear he had rabbit red eyes.

“Okay, smart guy, what did I say?” I turned away and focused on the tiny bit of field I could see out the side window. I glanced back at him.

Roger was half grinning a zombie-like smirk as he stared at me, “I heard you complaining.” His eyes cut to the side. He rolled his head like his neck needed popping and pushed closer to me.

“Well, tell me what I said then.”

“You were whispering,” He snickered. “I can say it with you if it makes you feel better.” He leaned uncomfortably close and whispered, “Holy hell, holy hell, holy hell, holy hell… holy hell.”

I looked away. A chill ran over me from head to foot and a physical pain stabbed my chest. When I glanced back, Roger’s face had returned to normal, and he exclaimed, “You excited about going to the commune? I’m excited. Can’t wait to get there.”

At least he’d lost the insidious look he had been wearing. I didn’t know what to make of it all, especially after a chanting chorus of holy hell. “Roger, stop acting like a shithead. Why did you say that about hell? You’re freaking me out.”

Roger appeared sincere when he said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t said a word till I asked if you were excited as me.” He shook his head. “Man, sometimes you say the weirdest shit.”

I slumped down in the seat and tried to calm myself. Mr. Dark moved again. This time I pressed my lips together, ensuring I didn’t make an unconscious sound. The realization I was seeing and hearing things that weren’t actually happening made my nerves rocket straight to DEFCON five. I clutched at my chest.

“I can’t blame you for being upset. I mean, look at you.” Roger put his hand on my drying arm slime, and whispered, “Do you think they’ll pass out the drugs when we get there? Maybe the naked hippie chicks will pass them out.

I sat, speechless. True, it was one of my innermost thoughts, but to hear it said out loud. It sounded scandalously wicked. If Rose heard him, she didn’t react. Her thoughts were probably so tangled up with Dave’s welfare she wasn’t paying Roger any attention.

In about five minutes, we pulled up to the commune. I don’t exactly know what I expected, but it wasn’t anything like what I saw. The commune grounds could have passed for a trailer park. It was scenically nestled between trees growing in the fingerling edges of a small forest. Spruce and oak shaded the makeshift tents and trailer houses. Around the perimeter outlining the group of homes were large lights on poles illuminating an area on the open, grassy meadow. A flat black platform sat atop each pole, hardly visible in the night’s blackness. I wondered if they stationed pole sitters to watch the area, or maybe it was just a hippie thing.

The road ended where seven old model cars appeared to be abandoned. Someone had lined them up by the road. Rose pulled up alongside them. Tall posts and an overhead sign made an archway above a path leading across the meadow. The sign read: Happy Hollow.

Across the meadow, two people approached. A bare-chested guy with skin the color of chocolate milk, sporting a head full of long dreadlocks tied into a ponytail and wearing low cut bellbottom jeans, strolled with a brunette chick wearing a maxi-skirt made of scrap pieces of old denim. Her halter top dangled fringe around her belly button. They headed toward the Mustang, down a well-worn path across the illuminated meadow. In each hand, they held several beaded necklaces and some cut flowers. My heart skipped a beat. Real hippies in a real Bohemian commune, and I was there with no supervision. At the moment I felt no inhibitions, it felt like the darkness of night covered my fear in a soft black blanket.

Chapter Six

Shameless Expectations

Looking up at the two hippies approaching the car, Rose said, “They don’t like cigarette smoke.” She took a last drag on the Doral and mashed it into the Mustang’s ashtray.

Standing outside the driver’s side window, the chick wearing the fringed halter top smiled, opened her arms wide, and let the flower petals cascade over the hood. “Peace and love to you, friends.”

Rose stepped out of the car. Upon seeing her, joy beamed in their eyes as if she had been gone for days. Arms around necks and shoulders, they hugged. “Rosie, honey, you’re home early, and you’ve brought guests,” the woman exclaimed.

Rose introduced the couple as Flower and Stoney. Considering the fact he lived in a commune, I figured he wasn’t called Stoney just because he had a rock-hard six-pack under his love beads.

Stoney greeted us, “Man, be welcome. We are all family here.” Then he put a string of mismatched handmade beads around my neck and turned to Jimmy to repeat his greeting. When he got to Roger, he finished his welcome with, “Man, you look hungry.”

As for Roger, it was true, he always looked hungry. Tall, skinny, and in need of a sandwich, even though we had eaten about three hours ago. After the ordeal with the trucker, I felt hungry—tired, hungry, and nervous. I expected a parade of naked hippie chicks at any moment.

When we didn’t hurry down the path leading to the trailers, relief settled my emotions. At least for the time being, I didn’t have to worry about drugs, nudity, or any other hippie decadence.

Flower and Stoney were very interested in our recent adventures. Rose told them about the harrowing events at