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The Killer Kudzu Prologue: The North Georgia Backroad---Four weeks earlier…

Raymond Camp staggered out of the juke joint totally drunk around eleven that Saturday night.

            He was headed home as he walked down Hog Mountain Road, just outside the small North Georgia town of Randolph. It was a late July night and the moon seemed brighter and fuller than normal. He only had a quarter mile to walk to Horton Street where he would take the short path to his boxcar-style house. He’d try not to wake his grandma.

             As he left the road, an occasional car passing, he wanted to relieve himself of seven bottles of beer. Something seemed amiss; he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. That darn creeping Kudzu always seemed to be moving eerily.

            While standing there, a gentle puff of air, like a baby’s breath, smelling of jasmine, grazed his cheek. Next, something touched his foot, then his leg with a seduction that almost froze his soul.

             As he staggered to make his way back to the road, he felt cornered. Its grip was becoming tighter and tighter. He screamed, but nobody could hear his cries for help.

          Clawing the ground, he was now covered in Kudzu. Its grip was tightening; his ribs were beginning to crack and now covered from head to toe, Raymond was pulled into the underbrush. He felt his last breath escaping his body.

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