The Legend of the Free Souls
by Samuel Joseph Harris

Chapter 1

It was Halloween day in Myrtle Creek. Black cats, skeletons, and witches on sticks were plastered on walls and windows of houses and schools. In front of the grocery stores pumpkins were piled high. The smell of licorice and mint lingered in the air along with the familiar fragrance of fir and pine. Curly white ropes of chimney smoke rose lazily into the pale sky. The wind was perfectly still.

It was such a day as this that the Free Souls veered off Interstate 5 and roared into town like a horde of yellow jackets poured out of a Mason jar. The windows and doors of the shops clattered as the menacing parade rumbled through the streets. The whole town seemed to rattle and creak like a dilapidated old barn in a windstorm. The drone of the Harleys rang in the valley like the Devil's own chorus. The sinister procession swaggered down Main Street. Old ladies shrunk into the nearest shops. Little children clung to their mother's legs and peeked wide-eyed through windows and around corners.

A sturdy old logger sauntered out of the Crosscut Tavern to take a look. His green eyes narrowed in contempt as he put his thumbs in his belt in mock defiance of the invasion. He quickly sensed lawlessness in the parade. A quiver of fear flashed in the old logger's eyes betraying his rough and ready stance. He went back inside and had another beer.

But for two boys straddling a pair of Thunder Two motor cross bicycles, thirty scruffy fellows on powerful motorcycles was not something they wished to ignore.
"Who are these guys ask Derek?"
"They call themselves Free Souls," said Aaron. "My mom told me about them. They were here ten years ago when I was 2. She said my dad rode with them then once."
"Your dad rode with these guys? That's cool. I mean, that's weird, said Derek. "Where is your dad now? Does he still ride with these guys?"
"I don't remember my dad at all. Mom doesn't talk about him. Look at this guy, he's got a skeleton tattooed on his bald head"
Aaron and Derek backed their bicycles onto the sidewalk as the noisy precession slithered like a hungry snake through the street.
"Why are they here," said Derek.
"My mom said they promised to return. It's something about a Free Soul biker that got killed on Lookingglass road ten years ago."
He ran right into a cable stretched across the gravel road up by the landfill. It caught him right on the Adams apple- took his head right off."
"That's gross", said Derek. "Who was he?"
"I don't know for sure. They say the other Free Soul's got his body before the ambulance came. They took it away before the police could identify it. Old man Pitzer up on Mount Nebo said they never found the head but I don't know if I believe that."
"That old coot is crazy. I think he likes to make up stuff to scare people," said Derek.

The motorcycle parade screeched to a stop in front of the boys who were standing at about in the middle of the pack.
"Look at this guy", said Derek, pointing to a rider with a dagger tattooed on his neck. "Trick or treat! He doesn't even need a mask to look scary."
Aaron swallowed hard as the man revved his engine in short loud burst. He turned a scraggly bearded face to the boys and spoke behind round dark glasses.
"Hi punks", he said.
Aaron could see a large silver spider dangling from his ear. The biker revved his motor as he waited at the stoplight. Aaron noticed that his skinny front tire seemed to small for rest of the bike. The motor rumbled like an impatiently caged lion.
"Ain't you gonna answer boys? I thought this was a friendly town. Let's see some of the Myrtle Creek hospitality."
Without waiting for an answer, the biker turned his head with the slow deliberate motion of a cobra. He popped a wheelie the exact instant the light turned green and lunged into the intersection. A woman with two large packages was standing on the opposite corner. Startled by the sudden motion and the loud roar she dropped one of the sacks. Three cans of tomato soup rolled into the street. With his bike reared up like a stallion, the Free Soul biker dropped his skinny front tire directly on top of one can. Red soup spurted out with a plop spraying the sidewalk and the ladies black loafers. The biker cackled with delight. As he roared away a dozen more motorcycles followed. In their wake lay three perfectly flat tomato soup cans on the blacktop, labels intact. It looked like Andy Worhol painted them there. The sidewalk was splattered a pale red.

About three blocks ahead Aaron could see the flashing blue lights of the Douglas County police department. The parade was temporarily halted. Sheriff Ryan and two deputies were talking to a fellow with a long ponytail. He was hunched over his Harley Chopper. Aaron and Derek sped ahead on their bicycles and popped a wheelie or two themselves in their eagerness to hear what was being said.
"That's right officer, just passing through", said the fellow with the ponytail. Aaron noticed that he had a white scar over the top of one eye extending across the bridge of his nose and ending at the middle of the opposite cheek.
"Then we would be happy to escort you gentlemen back to the freeway", said the sheriff. "Which way are your going-South?"
"More or less South, I guess. Is that right boys?" He looked around at his fellow bikers. "South boys?"
Amid assorted chuckles and sneers could be heard, "Right", "Yeah boss south", "South? Is that where were headed?"
The sheriff shot a stern glance at the white scar and said, "I want you boys out of here and back on the freeway in one half hour."
"Look officer", said the rider, we're just law-abiding folks like you. All we want is something to eat. Ain't no law against that."
"How about tomato soup" jeered a skinny face beneath a dirty brown bandana. All thirty bikers broke into hoots and cackles. The sheriff winced a little with uneasiness. He looked around absently for a few seconds and then spotted Aaron and Derek.
"You boys just run along now. There's nothing here for you to see. Just get on home now. Scoot!"
Aaron nodded his head to Derek and they backed their bicycles back a few yards behind a hedge and listened.
"What do you fellows want here anyway?" said the sheriff.
When this question was asked, Aaron noticed that every biker turned his head to the only Free Soul who was wearing a helmet. His sun visor was down so they couldn't see his face. The clan looked like they were waiting for him to answer. When there was no answer, the man in the ponytail said, "Well officer, everybody has to be someplace."
"And every head to" said the skinny face.

At this the whole pack broke into such lawless laughter that Aaron noticed the sheriff tremble. A bead of sweat formed on his brow. Some unruly force was coiled inside the Free Souls and the sheriff's pale face told Aaron that he was no match for it.
"Why did they laugh so much?" said Derek. "What do they mean by 'every head'?"
"I don't know", said Arron. "Maybe it's because they are called "heads" when they shoot dope and pop pills."
"Yeah, said Derek, and maybe they're talking about a certain other head."

End chapter 1





"Imagination is more important than knowledge." - Albert Einstein