Slick Sarah’s Majickal Cure™

A stranger rolls into a small town with her panacea and charm. Will all those who need it be cured, or will there be harm?

Small town, population three-hundred-and-three, Slick Sarah rolled in on her vintage Harley.Long hair in braids, bangles jangled ‘round wrists, she had a potion no one could resist.

All leather and boots, determined to sell, she went door-to-door in this desolate hell. Some peeked out their doors, Sarah offered her hand, “May I come inside, if you don’t mind, ma’am?”

With her sparkling eyes and mysterious charm, the townspeople figured she would be of no harm. Once inside, Sarah popped open her case, glass bottles gleaming, smile spread ‘cross her face.

Each hand-written label promised: “Organic and Pure—Find Life-Giving Force with Sarah’s Majickal Cure™!

“Scientifically proven,” her spiel began, “to cure what ails you—each woman, each man. Jaundice, food poisoning, chicken pox and the flu, depression and gout, malaria, too.”

With trepidation, the third family bit – two bottles for Grandma who was feeble and sick.They spoon-fed the elder, desperate with care, four doses of liquid, delivered with prayer.

The very next day, Grandma danced through the streets, shouting, “Sarah’s Majickal Cure™ has healed my disease!”

News spread like fire, townsfolk cured one-by-one, even three-nippled Tommy, the preacher’s fat son.

____

Soon Sarah was summoned by perverted old Ted, middle-aged and alone, laying sick in his bed. “Help me,” he coughed, spitting up bile, “I don’t know what’s wrong, but it’s nasty and vile.”

Sarah leaned close, and sneered in his ear, “Don’t worry my dear, you have nothing to fear.” She poured her elixir, giddy inside, she’d chosen old Ted to go for a ride.

He sipped the sweet syrup, the spoon hit the floor, he gripped at his heart, stomach felt like it tore. Eyes wide with horror, croaked “What’ve you done?” Sarah hushed him gently, “Your time. It has come.”

____

Overcome with a feeling of being forsaken, Ted realized that he had been taken. Hours crept by as Ted writhed in pain, boils burst on his skin, pressure hammered his brain.

Sarah clapped with derangement, this ride was not done, “Paralysis, dear Ted, then locked-in syndrome!”

Ted’s jaw soon froze stiff, he couldn’t form words, the poison was working its way through his nerves. She positioned his hands neatly clasped at his heart, his body now hers to make death’s morbid art.

Frantic inside, Ted’s thoughts rang so loud, not able to move, just look up-and-down. Eyes darted madly, how he wanted to holler, ‘til Sarah secured them with two silver dollars.

Stuck in his mind, reality frayed, tortured by knowing he’d kept friends at bay. A lifetime of selfishness, cruelty, and shame: No one will come save me; just myself to blame.

When folks finally found him, mottled and stiff, they thought nothing of it, there was barely a sniff.

Meanwhile Slick Sarah sold all of her stash, cured some more fools, lined her pockets with cash.

‘Til one day she revved up her Harley and split, to murder more men—just for the hell of it.