Weirdsville

I woke up face down in a ditch in the middle of nowhere.

My first thought wasn’t “Where am I?” or “How did I get here?” but “This isn’t right.”

My arms and legs were only sort of listening to me, so it took a while before I was standing. The sound of a car behind me made me turn. Off in the distance, I could make out a highway. I shambled toward it. Civilization, I figured, was better than staying in that ditch.

I should have stayed in the ditch.

Once I reached the highway, I saw another sign of civilization. Well, a sign, anyway. My legs still were only sort of listening to me so it took a while for the sign to become legible.

Welcome to Weerdesville, it read. The logo read “A Nice Place to Visit!” Population 37,073. A beat up old baby blue pickup truck drove past, kicking up dust.

“Hey!” It stopped.

I shambled faster toward the truck. Inside, there was this old guy. Crotchety would be the first, last, and only word anyone would use to describe how he looked. He was wearing a red plaid shirt, overalls, and a John Deere cap.

“Where ya headed?” he asked.

“Uh... Weirdsville, I guess.”

He takes a good long look at me, raising his eyebrow. He leans back and spits out the window over his shoulder.

“Get in, then,” he said eventually.

“Thanks.”

I climb in and he pulls back onto the highway. We drive for maybe fifteen minutes in complete silence and then he says something that sounds like “Virdsville.”

“Sorry?”

“Folks round here say it, Virds-ville.”

“Oh, sorry.”

He considered this for a couple of minutes.

“S’awright.”

Couple more miles and he said, “Name’s Hank Chatham. Folks call me Chatty.”

Yeah, I thought. I was just about to tell you to shut up.

He raised that eyebrow again.

“Fella gives you his name, it’s polite to reply in kind,” he said.

That’s when I realized I had no idea who I was.

“I... I don’t know.”

Chatty raised both eyebrows at me.

“Ayuh?” he said. He leaned over again and spit out the window.

“Best get you to the Sheriff, I guess.”

I reached into my pockets, looking for my wallet. Nothing. I had sixteen dollars and thirty cents. Chatty stayed quiet the rest of the trip into town. Finally we came to a big old colonial building. Chatty parked his pickup and we went inside.

“Deputy Horne,” Chatty said to this gorgeous, absolute knockout blonde at the reception desk. She was wearing a cop uniform, which did exactly nothing to hide her phenomenal body.

“Chatty,” she smiled, a dazzling smile that made me dizzy. Then she looked at me, and my brain turned off. “Who’s this?”

“Says he don’t rightly know,” Chatty explained.

“I woke up in a ditch.”

Deputy Horne gave me a look of such sympathy I felt like crying right there.

“Stay right here,” she said. “I’ll get the sheriff.”