I still remember a short story by some yarn-spinner from yesteryear about some batty old woman with an old sled of a car from the 50's. In the story, because she's a drunk and a regular impaired driver... she always drives the back roads and some of them pass through other worlds and dimensions. Because she's an alcoholic nobody believes her about her travels until strange things start happening to her car. One day she'll come back with the fender drenched in green blood. Another day the gas station attendant notices the torn off head of a three eyed tomcat lodged in the grill. On yet another day, bum headed aliens are seen riding in the back seat as the spinny old dits roars through town at warp 9. Finally she goes down some obscure road... and never comes back.
I wonder if I didn't manage that one today on a long meandering ride through Alberta's back country. Somewhere east of Toefield:
Who would buy horses from these creeps? The Four Horsemen Of The Apocalypse? And what would those nags look like? Red eyed steel shod demons?Trees were inverted and spudded into the ground with the roots up in the air - and festooned with bleached skulls and bones and vertebrates! I half expected some creeps and beardos to come chase me down and sacrifice me to the snoose gods! Gah!
Call me chicken, this is close as I'm gonna get.
What kind a sicko does stuff like this?
I took a few crappy cell pics and skedaddled. Even in broad daylight, at the end of summer - this place has bad juju. If you are a serial axe murderer... I know a place where you can probly score some horses. Won't be surprised to find your noggin hanging on a peg for your troubles though.
I don't care if I come back this way again, this isn't art... it's something else and not a little disturbing.