The Hoodoos
By G. W. Thomas
"What are those odd-looking hills?" the traveler asked of the Rainbow Man
pointing to the east.
"They are the Hoodoos."
"Why are they shaped like--" the newcomer searched for the right words.
"--giant toadstools?"
The Rainbow Man sighed, nodding agreement. "Some say it is the wind eating
away at the rock. Others say that they are carved by those that dwell there."
"What manner of men are those?"
"Not men. They are called the Hoodoos as well. An evil lot."
The traveler smirked his disbelief. "Why is that?"
"Some say--those same people--that the Hoodoos are wicked things that do
nothing but wait for unsuspecting travelers so that they might possess their
bodies."
"But what do they look like?"
"No one can say for sure, except the curve of their backs--crooked as a
Regaulian peace treaty."
The traveler laughed, slapping the wizard heartily on the back. "Thanks for
the tale. I must be going. I travel east, perhaps I will bring you back one of these Hoodoos."
"That you might, but I advise against it."
The Rainbow man saw the traveler again a fortnight later, but did not stop to talk. It was not so much the man's lack of interest as his deficiencies in
posture, his back crooked like a farmer's sickle.
© 1999 G. W. Thomas. All Rights Reserved.
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