Little Utah 9

The kid was creepier than she had bargained for. It wasn’t so much what he told her; people were proud of those Indian mounds. Her great aunt used to own some land with one years ago. Some students from UK’s archeology department tore through it once, had a whole grid set up and were sifting dirt, looking for something special. It was like something out of National Geographic.

No, that wasn’t weird. Everybody in this town had an uncle who was half historian, half storyteller who told you about the mounds. It wasn’t even the way he told it, as if it were wisdom from some ancient book or ancient world. It didn’t really have anything to do with the fact that he just stared into the sun.

It was that smile. Confident. Devious in a I-know-something-you-don’t-know sort of way. It creeped her out.

“What are you doing with my son?”

A voice behind her. She turned.


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