The Peculiar Account of Gary Hutchins
by P.S.Gifford
forum: The Peculiar Account of Gary Hutchins
speculative fiction for the internet generation.

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The Peculiar Account of Gary Hutchins


            Gary Hutchins sat alongside the motel pool in the lounger, at the cheap Vegas hotel drinking even cheaper bourbon. He was dressed in denim shorts and a white tank top, which exposed his tattooed arms to the best affect. Gary was celebrating, over the last four days he had held up six different liquor stores, and had accumulated more than six thousand dollars from his spree.

            'Not too shabby,' he considered as he took another sip from the high ball glass. 'And so what if I had to shoot that old man, it was his damned fault for trying to stop me. That old revolver of mine has saved my ass many a time now."

            "Come join me Gary!" He suddenly heard, and looked up and saw, Jenna, the fake blonde washed up bimbo he had met two nights ago in the motel bar.

            "I can't baby, I can't swim remember." He replied shaking his shaved head at her.

            He watched, without any sign of emotion, as her generous, well proportioned figure splashed about….It made him hark back to his least favorite memory, back to when he was about four, in their back garden pool with his mother. There had been a phone call, and she had raced to answer it, and forgot all about him. He had almost drowned; then finally she responded to his screams. He shuddered to himself.

            Looking at his watch he realized that he needed to make a move. With his lifestyle he could never stay in one place for more than a few days.

            'She will want to come with me,' he considered as he studied Jenna. 'They always do.'

            "I am going to take a shower baby; I will be back in a while." He lied as he downed his drink.

            Thirty minutes later, his suitcase was packed with his meager belongings, and he was driving out of Vegas.

            'Phoenix here I come,' he thought.

            It was one o clock on a typically scorching hot Nevada August afternoon and the four bourbons he had had for breakfast were having a marked impact on him, yet he did not care, he knew that he had to move on.

            He flashed a toothy grin as he considered what he was leaving in his wake this time: six robberies, one old security guard in intensive care, and yet another in a long string of sad lonely women in their early forties looking for one more chance at love. He snickered to himself.

            Gary knew that if he took the main roads the drive would take him in a round about way and would take at least six hours. Yet, according to the old map he had he discovered that there was a much more direct option, old abandoned mining roads.

            'That would save at least an hour…' He thought satisfied.

            One hour later he was merrily bumping along the mining roads. Despite the air conditioning Gary was beginning to get uncomfortably warm and, according to his engine light, so was his truck.

            "Come on baby! Don't give up on me now! I am miles from civilization." He yelled at his truck as it began to lose speed and steam came from the hood.

            "Fuck!" he proclaimed as the vehicle finally came to a complete stop.

            Gary sullenly climbed out of his truck and onto the dirt road and into the hot dryness of the desert. He frowned at his predicament and took out his map from the glove box. He then half smiled as he studied it. 'Heck if I am not mistaken, there is a very small town just a few miles up the road!'

            Grabbing his suitcase, his money, and his trusted old revolver, off he set with reluctance by foot along the old mining road. After the first hour he became aware that his mouth had become uncomfortably dry and was beginning to regret his decision of taking the short cut.

            'I have just got to keep on going' he thought 'That blasted town can't be too much further.'

            After almost five hours he was sure that he must be getting close. By now he was experiencing dizziness and his legs were aching unbearable. As feelings of desperation began to overtake him he suddenly noticed it, an old wooden sign, and read it out loud.

            "Welcome to Willoughby."

            A look of relief washed over his sun burnt face and he began to scurry towards it in.

            'Thank God,' he thought to himself.

            Gary ran up the dirt road and on into the small town, and looked about in disgust, everything had long since been abandoned, and not a soul was left there, as the realization of what this town is etched itself within his reasoning.

            'It's a god damn old mining town... Nothing more that a blasted ghost town these days.'

            He fell down onto his knees and screamed, and then collapsed completely on to the dry dusty ground in complete exhaustion.


            He is awakened by a deep voice; he stared up, relieved to see that the intense sun had finally gone down and saw a tall man with a narrow face, dressed in black standing over him smiling.

            "Howdy stranger," the peculiar looking man was saying.

            "Please sir… I need water." Gary mumbled trying to get his eyes to completely focus.

            "I see!" replied the stranger as he scratched his head. "Got any money?"

            Gary reached in and pulled out a wad of bills and hands it up towards the stranger.

            "Please take it all," he whimpered, "just for in the name of mercy give me water!"

            The stranger reached down, grinned, and retrieved the bundle.

            "As you so desire!" He said as he began to cackle revealing a long forked tongue…and then he vanished.


            Gary opened his eyes and all he could see was water reaching far beyond the horizon. He sat up in total disbelief and discovered to his complete horror that he was floating on a small raft in the middle of a vast ocean. Once more the sun is high in the cloudless sky burning down upon him. His thirst was now unbearable. After the realization of his fate was completely apparent Gary reached into his pocket and pulled out his revolver…


The end.




copyright 2005 P.S.Gifford.

P.S.Gifford is an incredibly handsome Englishman who is making his dream of being a published author happen in California. is the site if anyone is even the slightest bit curious about me...