First, though, I had to make a stop round the corner to the liquor store, to get some of that Mexican love juice they sold with the worm in the bottle. I figured I might need some for what I had planned for the old witch-woman, cause, well, even ol’ Red can’t charm a charmer all by his-self, if you know what I mean.
######
I didn’t take me long to find the path behind the old man’s place, especially once I found the old gypsy signs marking the way – weird-lookin’ symbols in their ancient language on rocks, nightshade plants, and, on one occasion, one of them blinking light up rent-a-signs that you can write your own messages in with them plastic letters. Soon enough I was standin’ before that old cabin, and it looked much the same as it had all those years ago when I seen it as a boy. I was fixin’ to go ahead and knock at the door when I heard a voice in my head.
“Red.”
“Uh, Wildman?” I said. It was the voice of Jerry Reed!
“Yeah, Red, it’s me. Look, I just wanted to warn you to be careful with this here Mama Yaga. She’s got the power to charm, and she can make a fool outta yah real easy. Keep your wits about you, you hear me?”
“Ok, will do Jerry. Hey Jerry?”
“Yes, Red?”
“How did you know I was here? Are you some kind of guardian angel-type deal??”
“Something like that, Red. Let’s just say I have an interest in keeping you around. Also, that ridiculous ‘Old Dogs’ concept album I came out with a few years ago totally bit me in the ass. Who knew America was tired of Mel Tillis? I sure didn’t. Ha-ha!”
With that, The Wildman’s voice trailed off, back into the heavens from whence it came or something like that. Weird.
Anyhow, I took a moment to comb my hair, straighten out my collar, and generally tidy up a bit before I knocked at the door. I needed to look my best if my plan was to succeed. See, I planned to seduce the old hag! Wouldn’t take much work anyway, since I had the rugged good looks of the Sovine clan, and we looked just as good steppin’ outta the hog pen as we did outta the bathtub, at least that’s what my mama always said.
I rapped on the door with my fist in an authoritative, highly masculine-type fashion.
“Yes?” said a young sounding female voice from behind the door. Not at all what I expected.
The door slowly pulled open, and a ravishing young lady stepped out from behind it. I’m talkin’ hot as hell! Shiny black hair, olive-type skin, eyes green as the sea and stuff like that! And a figure the likes of which would make a dead man sit up and say “damn”.
“What took you so long, Red?” she said.
How the heck did she know my name? I could barely move or speak at first, I was so surprised and she was so beautiful, but I managed to get the words out.
“I’m lookin’ for old Mama Yaga. Y-you seen her, Miss?”
“Yes, she’s here. Why don’t you come on in and we can get acquainted?”
“Why ma’am, I don’t mind if I do,” I said. I stepped inside. She led me to one of them formal parlors you see in the movies. Funny, this place looked way bigger inside than it looked from the outside.
I took a seat on a fancy sofa. It was one of them old-timey type lookin’ deals with wood legs and wood all around it. It other words, not very comfortable.
“I’m Red.” I said. Dang! I slapped my forehead all bashful-like. She already knew my name.
She giggled. “Yes, I know. Hello, Red,” she said. “I’m Mama Yaga.”
Well, it pert near threw me out of the room when I realized this fine creature was Mama Yaga. She weren’t old at all!
“Wow!” I said. “I was expectin’ somebody a might bit, uh, older. You look pure and purty as the driven snow and stuff like that!”
“Why thank you!” she purred, sliding in next to me on the coach.
It started to get a bit warm in my lap-area, if you get my drift.
Seemed like this whole seduction plan was going to be a might bit more interesting than I thought. What was that old man thinking?! This Mama Yaga was one hot young filly, not an old hag! Hell, I’d help that bitter old flower peddlin’ fool every day if it was gonna be this much fun.
I got my gumption up, and said, “Say, would ya like some tequila? I picked some up on the way over. I find it smooths the old conversational parts and settles the mind.”
“Uh, sure,” she said. “What’s tequila?”
I don’t mind saying here that I broke out in one a them Cheshire cat type grins a mile wide after she said that. This was gonna be easy!
“Why ma’am, it’s just about the greatest thing the Mexican race ever invented,” I said, as I poured her a large glass in a crystal goblet sittin’ on the side table.
I commenced to workin’ my man charms on her. After a knockin’ back a few shots, I suggested we retire to someplace a “little less stuffy”. She agreed.
“I know the perfect place!” she said. “Follow me out back!”
We headed down a long hallway and out the back door. I was starting to feel a might bit wobbly after drinkin’ that Mexican fire water so quick, but Mama Yaga seemed fine. It was almost like the tequila had no effect on her.
She took me by the hand and led me on a short path through the woods. After a couple of minutes, we came upon a clearing.
It took me a few seconds to take it all in. This weren’t no ordinary clearing.
“What tha-! Is this some kind of graveyard?” I looked around at the rows of headstones, filled with undergrowth between the plots, with a kind of creepy-type fog about and the biggest rose bush I ever did see.
“Yes, it is!” she said, all delighted-like, as she pulled me closer to her and put her arms around my neck. Man, she felt good, smelled good, and I reckoned she tasted good too.
“Uh, OK, yeah, I guess it is. Them gravestones kinda give it away. You know, we kind of got right down to business back there at the house, but I really did come around for a reason…”
“Oh, we’ll talk business later, darling. Now, we make love.”
She commenced to pull me down on top of one of the graves, and, well, I admit I weren’t fightin’ too hard. So this babe’s into weird stuff – I can handle pretty much anything havin’ to do with the ladies. Hell, I was now almost sort of a special agent to extraterrestrials working to rid the world of evil and all – this kind of stuff always happens on our James Bond-type adventures. Go with the flow, I say.
However, I doubt Mr. 007 would have missed the fact that it was Little Rosa’s grave we were doin’ the dirty deed on.
Little Rosa, Lotsa Trouble -- Part 4
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