It was Easter Monday, 1952. It was a day like any other. The slat truck rolled into camp with half a dozen new convicts. I counted a couple of vagrants, one drunk, one assaulter and one assaultee.
All of that and Olan Walker.
Olan Walker was first out of the slat truck and he could have slid through one of the slats. That man was nothing but lank. He was as lean as a dog in Lent. He was as lean as hunger poured thinner than a spoon full of prison soup. He looked like he ate nothing but wind and shadow all his life. If there was a king and queen of skinny; a duke of raw bone, an earl of gaunt, and a prince of scrawny - well Olan Walker was the lord high ruler of them all.
It didn't take too long before we all found out what Olan Walker really was.
Olan Walker was a conjure man.
Fans of haunting southern gothic horror stories will want to give this one a listen.
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