1. Welcome To Weasel Squash

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I was driving in my Studebaker along a long, dusty road. After I'd been driving for – what felt like – ten billion miles, I finally came across a town. It had a small green sign at the outskirts that read “Welcome to Weasel Squash, Texas”. I pulled further into town where I could begin to see the city.

Well, maybe 'city' is the wrong word for it. This was unequivocally the smallest, dustiest town I ever did see. There was no grass growing around, just wide open space and a couple buildings.

I parked my car in the street. There was no parking lot I could see, and no meters anywhere. But I didn't care. I was hungry. Last time I ate was yesterday morning, and that was just some sausage and an apple.

I walked into what looked to be a restaurant. In fact it was, but I stood out like a Roman soldier in a town of Eskimos and penguins.

“Could I get something to drink please?” I asked to the woman at the counter.

“Honey, if'n youse thirsty, stick yo' head under yonder downspout outside,” she said “An' wait 'til it rains again.”

Another voice piped up. “Now don't be treatin' this here stranger wrong, Velma.” The body belonging to the voice stood up. It was an older man, and he walked over to where I was, and he took a seat next to me at the counter, next to where an old-looking toaster was perched “He looks to be mighty tired an' tuckered out after a long day o' travellin'.”

I asked “And who are you?”

“M'names Jimbob McClardy, but folks 'round here call me The Colonel! 'Cause I gots a Colonel hat!”

He motioned to his hat. I didn't see any resemblance to a colonel's hat.

“And what do you do here in Weasel Squash?” I asked.

“I's is a pilot.”

I was shocked. This man didn't look smart enough to work an abacus. “A... an airplane pilot?”

“Nope. Wood pilot! My brother cuts it, an' I pile it!”

He leaned back and roared with laughter. It took me a moment to get the joke.

This lasted several minutes. I was bombarded with strange jokes from the Colonel and his friends (one of which involving a pun on the word 'Deoxyriboneucleic Acid' which I will never understand as long as I live), after which I decided I'd had enough. I left the restaurant and went back to my Studebaker and gave the ignition a good crank. To my horror, there was nothing. No sound, no revs, just.... dead. I didn't know what had happened, but I certainly was not going to remain here for long.

Turned out I was wrong. I had to check into a motel for the night. It was a tiny room, with a bed juxtaposed with a television. And a lampshade on the mattress. No lamp, just the shade.

As I tried to settle into bed, I heard a voice beckoning me. I didn't understand. Who knew me? Who knew I was here?

I went to the window and opened it to see who was calling. A young boy stood outside. He gestured to me, indicating I should come. I followed him outside, and he remained silent until we were standing in a field of lavender.

“Now just how in the world do you grow lavender out in a place like....?”

“Stop!” the boy said. “Please, there isn't much time. There is something I must tell you.”

“Oh,” I responded “Uh.... what is it?”

“Well, surely you've noticed this place ain't all what it seems to be.”

“Not really. And don't call me Shirley.”

“I doesn't matter. But I must tell you. I must tell you the story of Weasel Squash....”

To be continued...