To the people of Hickersburg, Alabama

Thank you for allowing me to

document your interesting experience

And thank you for answering my calls with the least amount

of death treats, swearing, and death threats

to my momma as humanly possible.

You really are great people.

In the small town of Hickersburg, Alabama, nothing ever happened and nothing ever would. Fact of the matter is that in Hickersburg they've got a gas station, a stop sign and 6 buildings (that's 4 houses, an outhouse and the gas station.).

In those four houses lived three families, The Robinson's, the Brown's, and the Bachnik's. Now if you're confused how three families fit in four houses you've obviously never been to Hickersburg, Alabama because in Hickersburg, houses are about the size of a normal persons shed. Now I know you're using your fingers and counting up and thinking, that just doesn't add up. That's because the Brown's have two houses because they just kept having more kids (there's not much to do in Hickersburg, Alabama)

The Robinson's are a funny couple. Marge Robinson, the matron of the Robinson domain, is a scraggly haired, smelly woman. She has the heaviest southern drawl you've ever heard and is starting to grow a beard (I do not believe there is a correlation between her drawl and the beard). Now, her husband commonly referred to as Butch, is a jerk. He has a beard like his wife and is potbellied from all of his beer drinking. His accent is basically a combination between George Bush Sr. and Bill Clinton.

Now the Brown's are in from Tennessee indefinitely. The man of the house, Gary, is a tall man maybe 6'4 depending on the weather. He likes to draw out his words and say dammit even when it doesn't make sense. For example, when most people would say, "Damn the TV's broken" Gary would say, "Dammit TV's all jaaaaacked up." He also likes to say bitch but he usually uses it correctly. His wife, Terry, is 100% Spanish, or at least that's what she'll tell you with her thick southern twang. Fact of the matter is, she heard on the TV that guys like Spanish girls and she wants to be liked. They've got three son's: (From youngest to oldest) Gary Jr. (called Junior, pronounce Jun-ya), Garret, and Garth. Junior mostly sits under trees and sleeps, Garret mostly throws stuff and shoots stuff, and Garth mostly drinks and tries to by drugs from neighboring towns. Garth also "runs" the gas station.

Then you've got the Bachnick's who no one knows why they live in little Hickersburg, Alabama. They consist of Betsy, who is a yankee and just doesn't fit in. She'll often misuse the word y'all or cuss at inappropriate times. For these reason's she is pretty much damned to hell by her neighbors, but they mean no disrespect by it. Then there's Steve who's just from the right side of the confederate lines to be considered not a Yankee. He bought a book to practice the placement of y'all and to cuss at the right times. He doesn't know it but buying a book might have damned him to hell. And then there's their daughter Theresa. She isn't ugly exactly but she isn't a piece of eye candy either. Fact of the matter is though that she's the only single girl in Hickersburg, Alabama so all the boys fight over her. Mostly she just watches the TV and studies.

Now that you've met the town of Hickersburg, Alabama, with a gas station, a stop sign, and six buildings I've got some bad news for you: Hickersburg, Alabama is not really the subject of our story. So you may be thinking, "Why on earth did you just go through all that trouble of describing the little town of Hickersburg, Alabama with the gas station, a stop sign, and six buildings where nothing ever happens and no one really cares about?" Well I have an answer: Keep Reading.

Now in the neighboring town of Rockcliff, Alabama, a slightly larger town with a stop signs a stoplight, a gas station and ten buildings something awfully terrible had just happen. And Red (that's not his real name but no one knows his name) came running up the hill to Hickersburg to give the awful news.

"I-I gots some awfly bad nooz," he said to the first person he saw which happened to be Gary Brown.

"Weeeeell, what is it dammit?"

"It's Missus Scott?"

"Now whoooo in dammit is thiiiiis Scott Bitch?" Gary said spitting tobacco at Red's feet. Red flinched slightly but didn't mind it much. After all, he was a kid growing up in Rockcliff, Alabama. (Quick history of Rockcliff: It was founded by Jimmy Cliff who thought that he was going to strike gold here. As he was mining, a large rock hit him on the head. He lost all memory of the incident. But, seeing as his followers had no place better to go they named the place after him and the rock that hit him and started a town. Rockcliff is the only town within 93.5 miles of Hickersburg.)

"Sh-She's ma teacha Mista Brown. My teacha"

"And what the daaaaaaaamit is wrong with her?"

"She's dead Mista!"

"Weeeeell," Gary said spitting out his last bit of tobacco and turning to head back into his house, "we all go eventually." Red stared at the now closed door. He couldn't imagine how someone dying wasn't important. But he knew there was one person who would always listen to him.

He ran towards the Bachnik's house. "Yankee! Yankee guess what Missus Yankee!" Betsy who of course answered to this name came out of the house.

"What's wrong Red?"

"Missus Scott is-is dead!"


"Yes'm she was found all bloody outside the school. Somebody dun up and killed her Missus Yankee!"

"Oh my goodness. Did somebody- I mean- y'all call the police?"

"Yes'm the police is on their way Yankee. My momma went up and called em herself!"

Now Betsy knew not to believe everything Red told her. Why just a few weeks ago he told her that he saw an igloo in the field. Not to mention the time he swore he was abducted by aliens. But there was something in the way Red told her about Mrs. Scott that made her wonder. She didn't have to wonder much longer.

That night there was a knock at the Brown's door. Now this knock was more of a tap but that's beside the point. There was a knock at the Robinson's door which might of resembled a tapping which was answered by Garth Brown.

On the other side of the door, the tap giving side, was Sergeant Gable, a skinny Sergeant who had only been on the force for a year. Now when Garth answered the door his first instinct was to think whether he had hid his pot deep enough in the back of the closet so the cop wouldn't find it. Luckily this wasn't about his drugs.

"Howdy. I'm Sergeant Gable. Are your parents home?" Now that's one of those stupid procedural questions that was stupid to ask at the moment because Sergeant Gable (Here after referred to as Gable) could plainly see the parents behind Garth.

"Do you mind if I talk to you?" He asked the Brown adults.

Now I'm just going to tell you the questions he asked all of Hickersburg because the answers were generally the same: Where were you between 8 and 9 last night? Did you hear what happened in Rockcliff? Do you know anything about it? Do you know anybody who might?

The answers: Here, no, no, no

Now, Gable was thoroughly confused. Where as the seven families in Rockcliff all had alibis (they all went to the movies in Chuckstown, as their bimonthly movie night), none of the people in Hickersburg had alibis. That is except Garth who can be seen on surveillance tapes smoking pot in front of the gas station.

The biggest problem Gable was having that the killer must live in Hickersburg. Unless the killer traveled 93.5 miles just to murder someone. Even worse he already had the murder weapon: The community gun that everyone would be able to reach.

One Week Earlier

In the Robinson household there was an argument a-brewing. Marge was stroking her beard, deciding how she was going to confront Butch when he came back from his plumbing business (A quick note about Hickersburg Plumbing Co.: It's Butch's business where he cleans out the waste from the outhouses in Hickersburg and Rockcliff. Seeing as that's not a full time business he came up with other ways of passing the time). Now, everyone in Hickerburg knew that Butch had slept with every woman in Rockcliff. That is, he'd slept with everyone except our soon to be deceased Mrs. Scott.

Even Marge understood that Butch was sleeping around but she hadn't confronted him until now. You see, Butch is that kind of conceded jerk who doesn't realize it when absolutely everyone else knows what he's been up to. So he came home from "work" to find Marge stroking her beard and he knew something was up.

"You been sleepin' around Butch," She said matter-of-factly. "You've done up and screwed everyone haven't you Butch?"

Now, Butch, being the jerk that he is, answered, "No I have not slept with the teacher."

Marge stopped stroking her beard and stared at him with a why-I-oughta look, that is one eye buldged out the other small and twitchy as if she was about to explode.

"Well don't be mad," Butch offered, "It's not like I love them."


"Oh so you don't love 'em do ya Butch? You sleep with them but you don't love them!? WELL!? WHAT'S THE ANSWER BUTCH?"

Butch just stood stunned by the aftershock of the bomb that just exploded.

"So Butch. What's next for Hickersburg Plumbing Co.? Going to fix the teachers pipes? Huh?"


Now in the town of Hickersburg, Alabama, no kind of argument was considered private. They were all one big strange and confused family, separated by extremely thing pieces of metal as walls that served no purpose other than to allow people to change their clothes in private.

So when one family argued, another soon followed just like when a baby cries and sets off other babies. Today the next to yell would be the damn Yankee Betsy.

"Steve," she said to her husband, "everyone looks down on me."

"Oh no. That's not tr-"

"Steve. Don't try to console me, I understand why. They think I'm fat. They don't like fat people. That's why Steve."

Steve stayed silent for a moment, trying very hard not to laugh at how very wrong his wife was. "They don't think your fat honey."

Betsy's lip quivered like a dog after a swim. "Yes they dooooooo!" Tears rolled down her cheeks. Steve was at a stand still. What could he do? He knew why people didn't like her. She wasn't southern enough. But how was he going to say it.

"Maybe it's a cultural difference," Steve offered. He nodded; proud of himself for conjuring up such a great way of explaining that she was a Yankee.

"See they do hate meeeee!" The nodding stopped.

"Well sitting around crying isn't going to change their minds honey."

The crying stopped with a few sniffles. "You're right," the nodding resumed, "I need to do something to prove myself worthy to the others."

"Exactly! Maybe you should invite them for dinner or bake them an apple pie or-"

"I'll buy them a ficus!"

The nodding changed heads. "Oooh. That's a... great idea honey."

Now it was the Brown's turn to make some noise and they had just received the perfect invitation to do it. Garret arrived home from school with a letter from Mrs. Scott that he didn't want to show his parents.

"Weeeeeell, we're gonna haaave to dammit see it," Gary Brown shouted, thrusting his hand for the envelope in Garret's hand.

"Nu uh. I aint gonna never show it to you," Garret cried, throwing an apple at his father. Garret had terrible aim, however, so instead he hit a pot, which bounced of and hit a glass, smashing the glass into four or five thousand little glasslets.

"Ven conmigo," Terry said in a comforting voice, not remembering at that particular moment what that meant. Garret decided he could trust his mother and handed her the envelope. She scanned the page. "mmmmmmmmmmm-please consider-mmmmmmmmmmmmm-Garret may do better-mmmmmmmmm- private study-mmmmmmmmmm- Learning disability!?"

"Yes'm," Garret whispered, "Mrs. Scott thinks I may be a retard. I don't feel like no retard. Look, ask me a math problem. Honest I can do it. And I can spell my name. I aint a retard mama."

Now, the next part of the conversation had a lot of cuss words, swear words, curse words, and all kinds of nasty words. Seeing as this story is not meant to be rated R, I'll substitute the bad words with more acceptable ones.

"Now what in the rootin' toot toot is this about Gary?" Terry cried. "Is our son some flee flickin, retarted, apple basket?"

"Weeeeell, of course not you son of a horse weasel. He's a fine, fire truck driving boy."

"Well what in the Sam Hill are we gonna do about it you stupid head?" Terry asked.

Gary stopped to think, a slow moving headache provoking event.

"We'll have to teeeeell the superintendent to fire her. And if he won't do it we'll have to force her out ourselves."

Garth, in the next room was upset by this idea. Not that he was particularly fond of the teacher who failed him in math, English, social studies, science, and woodshop, but he knew that once she went, so would his supply of pot.

Now, before you furrow your brow in confusion, let me explain. As you can imagine, teaching in Rockville/Hickersburg school district is not a great paying job. So it just so happens, that on the side, Mrs. Scott was selling weed to Garth. If you asked her why she did it, she'd tell you she was teaching him the economics of free trade.

Garth was depressed about the probable loss of his grass supply. So, he did what he always does when he's depressed: He smoked.

Back to the Future

At their monthly town meeting (attended by all but Garth), which was just another excuse to sit around making fun of each other and calling each other names, the issue was brought up by Mr. Mayor himself, Steve.

"Look, their going to figure out what happened, and when that happens, well..."

"Their not going to find out," Butch said, "Now if I remember correctly, and I do believe I do, we took an oath that as the town of Hickersburg we'd always be there for each other, no matter what stupid thing one of us did."

Just then their was a knock at the door that resembled a tapping.

"Open up in there. I have a warrant for you arrest!"

One Week Ago Again

Now here's the part where you as the reader get to sit there leafing through the stuff you read trying to figure out who did it just like in those little kids mystery books. Now, I'm not just gonna flat out tell you, this is a story and stories should not be delivered on silver platters (silver plated maybe...).

Now in the town of Hickersburg, with it's gas station, its stop sign, and six buildings something was about to go down.

Gary carefully tiptoed towards the back of the outhouse, looking around to make sure he was alone, to where the community gun was stored. He picked it up and began to load it. He knew what he had to do and he didn't want to think about it.

"What are you doing Gary?" Gary jumped like shampoo at Sea World (or whatever that damn fish is called).

"Wh-What are you dammit doing here Butch?" Gary said nonchalantly.

"I should ask the same thing to you."

"Weeellll, I was just going to shoot some deer. You know, hunting season."

There was a long awkward silence, filled only by the sound of chirping crickets. It didn't last long though.

"Butch? Gary?" Betsy asked into the night, walking up to the men. "What are you doing with the gun?"

"Oh," Butch said catching on, "We're just, shooting some deer. Maybe we'll shoot some rabbit too. You know, hunting season."

"Ahh yes." The three stood their nodding for a while.

"Betsy? Gary? Butch?" Marge said.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Well," said Betsy, "we're just going to shoot some deer. Maybe some rabbit if we're lucky. And I here the squirrels are mighty fied this time of year. You know, hunting season."

"Gary? Marge? Betsy? Butch?"

"Oh hey Terry. We're just, out shooting some deer. Maybe some rabbit if we're lucky. And the squirrels are all out this time of year. Maybe later we'll shoot some quail. You know, hunting season," Marge replied.

They stood there nodding awkwardly. But not for long.

"Marge? Butch? Betsy? Gary? Terry? What on earth are you guys doing here?"

Terry knew what to say, "Oh well we're just shouting at some deer. Maybe some rabbid lucky charms. And the squirrels all know the time this year. Maybe we'll shoot off their tails. You know, hunting seasonings."

They stared around the small cluster. They couldn't believe that they were all there for the same reason.

"Well," said Steve, "Should we have a town meeting right now?"

The next day, the plan being set, they all set out to kill Mrs. Scott. The children were informed of their duties and Garth had already convinced the entire neighborhood of Rockville to go out to see a movie so there would be no witnesses, just like he was told.

The day started like normal, except Junior overslept. Butch, being such a neighborly guy took Junior to school. Once there, he put a move on Mrs. Scott. Sure he had never slept with her before, but he told her he'd like to later that day. She winked and walked away. The bait had been set, and now, his wife would trust him again.

During class Garret and Theresa got into a fight over a book. Theresa punched Garret, Garret through some bad words including slut and whore, and a fight broke out. Mrs. Scott told them they would have to stay after class.

After school, Terry went in to talk to Mrs. Scott along with Steve who was mostly along to make sure his wife was happy. Terry yelled at Mrs. Scott for a good twenty minutes about how bright her son was and how he did not deserve to be in special education, followed by Steve who yelled for a good twenty minutes about how Garret had abused his daughter. Now Mrs. Scott was late for her scheduled appointment with Butch, and Terry got to yell at her for twenty minutes.

Right on schedule, Gary showed up to yell at Mrs. Scott some more. His wife couldn't have all the fun. Plus this would stall her even more. Stalling and yelling complete, Mrs. Scott left to drive off to her secret rendezvous spot with Butch. Little did she know, Marge was waiting for her with an obstacle in the form of smashing her car into Mrs. Scott's repeatedly, screaming about how she was sleeping with Butch and leaving Mrs. Scott with no car. Marge was now happy, seeing as her husband would never sleep with this woman.

Of course, the one to deliver the final blow would be the damn Yankee, who hoped that by shooting this person who she really had nothing against, would make her less of a Yankee. So she shot her, of course, hoping to goodness that everything would be alright with the rest of the community now.

A perfect plan. No witnesses thanks to the lookout of Garth, nothing that seemed to link these incidents thanks to the genius of Steve, and best of all, everyone was happy.

Back to the Knocking at the Door

"Open up in there. I have a warrant for your arrest!"

Everyone on the other side of the door was shocked. How on earth could they have been found out? Even worse, who were they going to arrest?

Gary got up and answered the door.

"Weeeeell. Whhhaaat in the dammit do you waaaant bitch?"

"I have the warrant for your arrest."

"Whooooose? Mine dammit?"

"Yes sir. And the rest of 'em too," Gable said smiling with a toothy grin.

Steve stood up. "Well as mayor of this fine town I just have one question... How on earth did you find out? I mean we planned it so perfectly. Everything worked out great. How did you possibly link it to us."

"Thanks to a kind hearted Samaritan. He's over there if you'd like to meet him." Gable gestured towards the gas station and beckoned. The figure came over and stood at attention.

"Yes sir, how may I help you?" The Samaritan asked.

"Well these people just wanted to meet you son," Gable responded.

Gary looked at the Samaritan.

"Gaaaaarth? Garth dammit what do yoooooooou mean by this biiiiiitccchhh?"

"Well," Garth said looking at his father straight in the eye, "Yous went and killed my only source of weed."

And with that the entire town of Hickersburg, Alabama, minus one pothead, was whisked away in a police van. I wish I could report that they all lived happily ever after but that's not how the story goes. You can't blame the messenger after all.

But, The next time you're in Hickersburg , Alabama with its gas station its one stop sign and six buildings where nothing ever happened and nothing ever will, slip some weed to the gas station attendant, I think he's deserved it.