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The Tale of Waylynn Wilson of Watson Wyoming

Flash Fiction Friday – October 19, 2018

When I heard the rumors about witch’s founding our town, I didn’t believe it. How could that be? Those kind of things don’t happen in our little part of the world. We’re a small town in the middle of nowhere.

The more I think about it, maybe it does make sense…

There is a woman in our town named Waylynn Wilson. She has the uncanny ability to make every man in a room drool. Even the old men too senile to remember why they are drooling, drool. Every woman in Watson Wyoming gets fighting mad if you just mentioned her name.

Oh sure, she’s beautiful. Tall, blond, blue eyes and has curves in all the right places.  But, that can’t be the only reason men rush to pull out chairs and buy her drinks. Waylynn is like a man magnet. Men are attracted to her like magic. But here’s the interesting part, no one can put their finger on exactly what makes her so appealing.

One day I asked my great-grandmother Eurlene Watson what she thought of Waylynn and her ability to have men eating out of her hand. Grannie shook her head and said, “Honey, somethings never change.” Then, Grannie didn’t want talk about it anymore. When I asked why, she shook her boney finger at me and told me she didn’t want the curse to follow us like it did those Wilson women. What? No matter how I begged, Grannie wouldn’t say another word.

I’m the curious type and I was determined to find out what my Grannie knew but wouldn’t share. Little did I realize I would be digging up a long buried secret from our little town’s sordid past.

Flash Fiction Friday - Sharon Michaels

It seems a few hundred years ago a wagon train of fifty women journeyed from Salem Massachusetts to the high plains of what is now our town of Watson Wyoming. Here, in the middle of nowhere, the women built a community. Scuttlebutt has it they’d come here looking for isolation and isolation was what they got. That was until the government started building the railroad a few miles to the east.

Well as the tale goes, the same fifty women who settled this area in the early 1700’s were the same fifty women who were here when the railroad started building in the 1850’s. Yes, you read that right. The women never aged, not one day. They were still vibrant, young and beautiful. So, these entrepreneurial women decided to use their best assets to make a little money.

Within weeks they opened their town to the hundreds of men working on the railroad. The fifty women with their own hands, and almost overnight, built a saloon and dancehall. All of them worked in the business and shared equally in the profits.

According to the men who frequented the saloon, it was like seeing double. All the women looked exactly alike. All were tall, blond, blue eyes and had curves in all the right places. And, all were named Waylynn Wilson. The Wilson women made a fortune with their little saloon and dancehall. They became wealthy and each built a big Victorian home on the outskirts of town.

Of course word spread of these wealthy look alike women living in Wyoming. Eventually a professor from Harvard had to come see for himself.  His name was Harry Watson. To make a long story short, Professor Watson was fascinated by what he saw and decided to make his home among these women. Watson was determined to build the town bigger and name it after himself. Why the women didn’t stop him, I have no idea.

He gained their trust and documented everything he could learn about these look alike women who never seemed to age. He kept a detailed journal about each woman and when he died, the journal mysteriously disappeared.

Shortly after Professor Watson passed on, the women began to disappear from Watson Wyoming – one-by-one. Today there seems to be only one woman named Waylynn Wilson left to tell the tale and she’s not talking. In fact, Waylynn Wilson never talks – ever.

Six months ago as I dug through my great-grandmother’s attic looking for something or another, I stumbled across a weathered old wooden hope chest filled with antique fancy dresses, elaborate feathery hats and a leather bound journal. I was pretty sure it was Professor Watson’s missing journal. I carried my new found treasures to my room.

My curiosity got the best of me and I opened the journal first. The ink on the pages was fading into nothingness, but I could still make out a few words. It seemed these fifty women had been cast out by the elders of Salem Massachusetts. Why? They were judged to be the wanton women of Salem. Too many men were being drawn to their magnetic charms.

The elders cursed them to live a life of boredom and isolation. The journal went on to say, the curse could only be broken if one of the women fell in love and married the man of her dreams. If this happened, the other Wilson women would slowly age and begin to die off one-by-one.

Putting two and two together, I’m pretty sure our town’s Waylynn Wilson is the last of the original witch’s. Waylynn has lived alone in the big Victorian on Winston Street for as long as I can remember and, she has never aged a day. She must be the one who broke the curse. According to the professor’s journal, once the man of her dreams dies she will always be young and beautiful, but will remain isolated and alone forever and a day.

Sounds pretty far-fetched, doesn’t it?
I keep telling myself it couldn’t possibly be true, could it?
 
 
 
© Copyright 2018 SharonMichaels.com – All Rights Reserved
 
 
This is a work of fiction.
None of it is real. All names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
 
 
I invite you to stop by and check out all the books in my Amazon Author Page:https://amazon.com/author/sharonmichaels
 
 

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{ 2 comments… add one }
  • Dawn Wooden October 24, 2018, 1:56 pm

    what a great story and a cliff hanger to boot!!

  • Dawn Wooden October 24, 2018, 1:57 pm

    Awesome! I was waiting for the “rest of the story”.

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