Beyond (7)

The ‘No Trespassing’ sign was dangling from the fence like a bloodied tooth before the final pull. The quarterback and the wide receiver were daring each other to jump over the fence, the other boys were egging them on.

Beyond the sign and the remains of a fence was rumored to be the property of Mr. Clay, the damned English teacher that was failing the quarterback. It was said that Mr. Clay practiced Satanic masses in the old cemetery in the backwoods of his Louisiana home, that he ate newborn children for dinner and had a pet alligator named “Elvis” that kept trespassers at bay like some old junkyard dog. There were also rumors of missing children and orgies and a ghost that haunted the property from the days of the civil war.

Ashley rolled her eyes at her girlfriends while their boyfriends were trying to work up the nerve to cross into this wasteland. In unison, all of the girls crawled under the barbed wire, if the boys were trying to find their manhood they could be here for years and Ashley had a curfew she couldn’t violate again, not after the last time.

Giggling, the girls marched through the bogs and swampland, the water only came up to their knees at the highest, the full moon lit up their journey like it was noon so they had no problems seeing the first of the broken down marble mausoleums. “Oh my God look at this!” one of the girls exclaimed.

The alligator wasn’t named Elvis, the alligator didn’t know the name of the man that owned the property, the alligator didn’t know that there was a sign. He had lived in this swamp for over a hundred years, and as alligators go he never gave a second thought to mankind. He was, very unsimply, a reptile and reptiles are the Keepers of Time.

His race existed long before man ever came into being, and would exist long after they ceased to be, and in between his race records Earth’s very history, it is written in their DNA and rewritten every generation, a generation that spans eternity.

Beyond the sign the boys hear the girls’ screams and they volley over the fence and hit the ground running.

The alligator glides through the bog, as quiet as death.

.

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