Darkness dwelt in the small, Southern town of Grimly, wrought by want of affection.

Providence determined change for Grimly and sent a lightning bolt to overcome the darkness. The bolt split a sugar pine deep in a hollow and cut a path along a muddy creek.

From there I emerged, charged with finding one willing to be the light …

Chapter 1

Summer 1965

Grimly, Mississippi—a town not found on any map.

Iron wheels rolled along the track. It’s steam whistle filling the afternoon air as it chugged through the crossing. Rosalie Picotee hugged her schoolbooks tight, dust curling around her saddle shoes, waiting for the train to pass. Children pressed candy-stained fingers to the glass while clutching new treasures and bags of saltwater taffy. Their mamas, worn out but smiling, content with a day well spent as the train carried their laughter into the horizon. It wasn’t much of a train, just one coach and a mail car. But in a place like Grimly, it was enough to keep the streets stirring and the shops open.

Watching the train roll away, Rosalie crossed the tracks and promised again—one day she’d climb aboard with them. But for now, she’d keep quiet, stay small, and survive Grimly until old enough to leave. That was her plan, anyway.

Grimly clung to a bend in the Big Muddy that flowed like liquid earth along the Mississippi bank, slow and swollen with centuries of silt and sin. It was as if the river tried to shake the town loose but left it there, to sink into the mud that swallowed fence posts and graves.

 If you didn’t know it was there, you’d drive right past the turnoff. Some folks called that mercy, unless you were among those tourists who thought Grimly was a real gem, carrying folks back in time to a simpler life, where the greatest pleasure was a cool breeze and a porch swing on a hot, muggy day. Visitors filled their bags with trinkets and their hearts with envy. But what they envied weren’t no blessing. Grimly’s charm? That’s just the devil wearing pearls. So, visit if you must. Just don’t miss the afternoon train home, and for goodness sake, don’t go near the hollow.

Folks ‘round here call it Ocalusa Hollow, but that ain’t its true name. The old folks said it was Oka Lusa—black water. Over time, the tongue got lazy, and the truth got lost, like it always does in Grimly. Children spoke of the hollow like they did monsters under their beds, and folks drove out of their way to avoid it. When they couldn’t, they drove a little faster as they passed.

A portion of the back road from school ran along the hollow. Rosalie’s mama, Amelie, told her never to walk home that way, but Rosalie didn’t believe in silly legends. She did, however, believe in Roux Thibadeaux … he was real. The kind that carried his fists like weapons, quick to prove himself on anyone who didn’t fit in. As long as Ty drove home from school on the main road, Rosalie took the back.

Massive kudzu vines cascaded over the tall pines along the hollow like curtains pulled to keep out the light. A gentle breeze picked up as Rosalie passed the hollow. It rustled the leaves of the kudzu as if releasing a whispered secret. Behind her, an engine sliced through the stillness on the road. She didn’t have to turn. She knew that rumble and the trouble that came with it—Roux’s pickup.

Watch for Fresh Baked Lies in early 2026

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