First Fiction

                                                                 Copyright 2017 Charles McKelvy

 

THE LEGEND OF THE THREE-LEGGED DOE

A Short Story

By Charles McKelvy

Just when we think the three-legged doe is no longer with us, she appears in the fog to remind us that Mother Nature is one tough mother.

“Do you know the legend of the three-legged doe?”

“No. Do you?”

“Glad you asked. Got a minute?”

“Sure.”

“Good. So, on a dark and stormy night, our white-tailed friend caught her left hind leg on the top of a chain link fence. She was jumpin’ it so she could leave the state park and cross the highway and go feed on the flowers in all those gardens in that subdivision over there. She tore up her leg something terrible, but she kept hobbling her way across the highway until this crazy old lady stopped for her and nearly caused a ten-car pile-up. Well, she actually did cause a ten-car pile-up. And that crazy old lady—some say she had the witchin’ powers—well, that crazy old lady died as a result of her good deed. As they say: no good deed goes unpunished—

“I don’t say that.”

“No, but some do. Anyway, they say that just before she died that crazy old lady put a curse on the driver in the pick-up who piled into her little Toyota and crushed her against the steering wheel and basically killed her good and dead.”

“I don’t remember any of this. Was it in the papers?”

“Who reads the papers anymore? Besides, it happened before your time.”

“I see.”

“So, as I was a sayin’—that lady with the witchin’ powers cursed the guy in the pick-up who killed her. Just before she died, as I said. And, yes, there were plenty of eye-, or should I say ear-witnesses on accounta all them other drivers had jumped outta their cars after the pile-up. So, as I was a sayin’—she put one big HEX on that fella who rear-ended her, and them that was there say he just laughed it off until that deer that ruined her left hind quarter on that fence just up and stomped his sorry ass into pulp on the pavement. Don’t think deer can’t do that if they have a reason to, and that doe sure did. And then she run off to tend to her wounded leg, and them that trailed the blood-trail come across a bloody, chewed-off deer leg. A left, hind quarter, mind you. Poor thing musta chewed it right off and then run off into that river valley over by the railroad tracks, never to be seen again. At least not until now.”

He paused and peered into the fog. Then he pointed and said: “You a seein’ what I’m a seein’?”

She squinted into the pea soup posing as fog. “Something’s moving out there, but I can’t quite—“

“It’s that three-legged doe; I’m a tellin’ ya, and it don’t bid well for us. That is unless we keep terrible still and hope it hobbles on down yonder and puts the curse on that no-good neighbor of ours. Him and his fancy ways.”

“What if she puts the curse on us?”
The fog thinned just for a second or two, and the three-legged doe made her move.

And that was that.

###

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About charleymckelvy

Charles McKelvy lives and writes in southwest Michigan with his wife and fellow writer, Natalie McKelvy. They established the Dunery Press in 1988 in order to publish their own fiction. They continue to do so to this day. Charles McKelvy is an Eagle Scout.
This entry was posted in Charles McKelvy, deer, Flash Fiction, Michigan and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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