The Curse of Cressel Creek

Prologue. [The Curse]

     It was the winter of 1965 when Pastor Dwayne shot his cheating wife and Charlie Marks in the middle of his Sunday Morning teachings. The old man, with bright silver hair, glared at his wife as he preached from Leviticus, and where the bible told that they to committeth adultery shall be put to death. He reached under the pue where pulled out his .22 pistol revolver and rang two shots within the house of worship. 

      "I believe that's when the curse fell upon the town," My father used to tell me, the whiskey on his breath hitting my nostrils as he made gunshot noises when telling the story. 

       Every town has a legend. Every town has a curse. Every town has a story. Our town's story is dark. I always heard it said that no one ever left Cressel Creek, and if they were lucky enough to do so, it was wise to never come back, and get as far away from the God Forbidden town as possible. They say this town will change a man. Make a good man steal. Make a happy man kill. Make a God Loving Pastor shoot his wife. 

       Stories. That's all I saw them as. People having a bad day, and crossing the forbidden line. Like when Sheriff James killed himself in the middle of the Piggly Wiggly back in 1997. The bullet hole from his 9MM is still implanted on the tile ceiling of the establishment. Then in 1999, When Grace Thomson, who everyone knew as being one of the sweetest old ladies in Cressel Creek, burned down her Son's house as the family slept. Some say she did it because he was going to put her in a nursing home. Others think it was because his wife would steal money from her, or maybe it was because their oldest son was the cause of her Labrador's death, the proof being the empty antifreeze bottle sitting by the water bowl. 

       However, none of the stories compared to the mass shooting of 2001, when Buddy Smith's ex-wife started dating his best friend. I still remember the day like it was yesterday, because Buddy lived just down the road from me. I saw him when he came out of the house with his AR-15 in his hands and opened fire on the neighborhood, then got in his truck and went into town, leaving nowhere untouched, with intentions to literally paint the town red. When police were finally on him, Buddy kept running. His late 80s model Toyota Pickup heading for the Tennessee state line. However, Buddy Never even made it out of Cressel Creek. He was 100 feet from the County Limits when a deer ran out into the road, and in an attempt to miss the animal, Buddy swerved off the road and into the old Texaco gas station. 

        My dad thinks it started with Pastor Dwayne. Others? They believe the town was damned the moment the land was claimed by Alfred Collin, a cruel plantation worker who treated his slaves poorly. Rumor has it that if he didn't make a good crop for the year, to feed his slaves, he would kill the oldest and make the others eat him. It wasn't long after the civil war when someone reported Collin, but no one could find proof murder. The only charge he couldn't get himself out of was that of abuse, due to the busted lips and swollen eyes found on the slaves. He spent 6 years in prison, and when he got out, Alfred sold his plantation, and founded Cressel Creek. 

        My father says this town was damned by God, but I never listened. He was a drunk after all. However, looking back, I should have listened to the old man. I should have heaved his warning and got out of this town the first chance I had, because this town has a story. This town has a legend. This town has a curse. If it will drive a pastor to kill his wife, it can drive a man to do any sin. 

       In the southern area of Alabama, there is a town like no other. A town that has the power to change a man. Much like it changed me. The town with more blood on its hands than Alcatraz. The town of Cressel Creek.