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Down Florida way there's some marshaland called the Rascoe Glades. Not many people visit there, and of those that visit, even fewer return.
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It's been in local folklore for decades, the story of the Rascoe Wraith, who plunges her hand into the viscera of her victim, removing all it grasps.
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Truth is Willy got himself a squirrel gun back in '62.
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| Goddamn if this ain't gonna be the best batch of jerky yet. | |
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