The Girl Named Mud
A Gripping Suspense Novel
By Ditter Kellen
www.ditterkellen.com
Copyright © Ditter Kellen
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Ditter Kellen. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.
Published in the United States of America.
Ditter Kellen
P.O Box 124
Highland Home, AL. 36041
This book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Warning
This book contains graphic scenes that may be considered offensive to some readers.
Dedication
For my beautiful friend, Cathe Green. Thank you for always being there for me. And thank you for encouraging me to write from my heart. I love you so much.
Acknowledgment
I would like to acknowledge my incredible editor Kierstin Cherry. She never ceases to amaze me. Thank you for being so easy to work with, and for always fitting me in on short notice. (Which is every time.) Grin.
You’re the best, lady. Simply the best.
Prologue
The Swamps near Jena Village, Shipper Parish, Louisiana
“Mud?” Flora Ramer called out, her matted blonde hair covering one eye.
“I’m right here, Mama.” Ten-year-old Mud dropped the stick she’d been holding and hurried to her mama’s side.
“They’re coming soon, Mud! We have to be ready.”
Mud swallowed her fear. This wasn’t the first time her mama had warned her of what was to come. And lately, those warnings had grown more frequent. As had Flora’s outbursts.
Growing up in the swamps, Mud had been isolated from the outside world. Sure, she’d seen people in the village a few miles to the north, but she’d never been allowed to approach them. Flora had occasionally taken her daughter to gather what they could from the dumpsters in Jena, but she’d always forced Mud to stay in the shadows, citing that the folks in the small town were deceived by the Devil.
Flora suddenly grabbed her daughter by the arm, jerking her out of her scattered thoughts. She pushed the girl into the small shack they’d been squatting in for as long as Mud could remember. “We have to get ready.”
Mud wasn’t sure what that meant, but she didn’t question it. She simply hurried inside and waited for Flora to enter behind her.
Pacing the small shack, Flora wrung her hands, her gaze continuously going to the door. “The Devil wants you, Mud. We can’t let him get you.”
Mud adjusted the tattered and far-too-big pair of pants she wore and sat cross-legged on the floor. It terrified her to think someone wanted to hurt her. “Is that why we live out here, away from the others, Mama? ’Cause of the Devil?”
Flora stopped her pacing, the eye not covered by her hair growing hauntingly distant. She began to mutter something Mud couldn’t understand, and then her gaze grew clear and sharp, slicing in her daughter’s direction.
Mud couldn’t seem to move. She sat completely still, listening as the words began to spill from her mama’s mouth.
“Happy and fortunate are ye who cast your seed upon all waters, when the river overflows its banks; for the seed will sink into the mud, and when the waters subside, the plant will spring up; you will find it after many days and reap an abundant harvest, ye who safely send forth the ox and the donkey to range freely.”
Still, Mud didn’t move. Though she had no idea what any of Flora’s words meant, she was held captive by the seriousness of her mama’s voice—her stare.
“Don’t you see, girl? That verse was told to me before you was born. I knew it was a sign of what was to come.”
“Is that why you named me Mud, Mama? ‘Cause of the verse?”
Flora nodded sharply. “Yes. The Devil might come for you, but he won’t get you. I made sure of it.”
And just as quickly as it had come, Flora’s urgent and desperate demeanor changed. She spun toward the door, shifting from foot to foot. Her worn and faded dress hung well below her knees, and her bare feet were nearly black from fishing on the banks of the swamp. “Go check them traps afore it gets too dark. I’d like to have something besides fish for supper. If I never see another fish, it’ll be too soon.”
Mud blinked, the fear of her mama’s words still swirling through her young mind. She got to her feet. “Yes, Mama.”
“Here, better take this,” Flora insisted, handing Mud the only weapon they possessed: a weapon she’d stolen a few years ago on one of her trips to the village.
Mud accepted the old wooden-handled knife and jumped from the shack door to the ground.
“Watch out for snakes,” Flora instructed as Mud struck out toward the tree line. “Specially, them copperheads. They’re poisonous.”
“I know, Mama.”
Mud had walked the trails of the swamp more times than she cared to remember. She could travel them with her eyes closed.
At ten years old, she knew just about everything there was to know about baiting traps, fishing, and killing and skinning her food. She also knew the dangers that lurked in the swamps. There were far worse things than gators and snakes slinking about. There were poachers.
Poachers sometimes traveled the swamps in search of alligators. They killed, took what they wanted, and then left the carcasses on the banks to rot.
Mud had never seen a poacher up close, and she hoped she never did. But she’d spotted them in their boats.
Though Mud and her mama lived far enough away from the village to not worry about strangers wandering too close to their home, Mud knew it was possible. And for that reason, she never let her guard down.
Mud arrived at her destination approximately twenty minutes later to find two of the traps empty. The third one, however, held a large tan rabbit, thanks to the meager vegetables she’d managed to save from Flora’s small garden.
Opening the makeshift door on the top of the trap, she reached in and wrapped her fingers around the animal’s ears.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, hating to do what she knew she had to. She quickly dragged the knife across the rabbit’s throat, understanding it to be the most humane ending for the beautiful creature.
She picked up her soon-to-be meal and turned toward home.
Her mama would be proud when Mud returned with enough meat to ensure they could eat for a couple of days.
* * * *
Mud felt as if she’d walked for miles, the rabbit growing heavier in her hand with each step she took.
She wiped the sweat from her forehead and shifted the rabbit to her other hand. At least she would be home soon and could turn her kill over to her mama to prepare for dinner.
The small garden Flora worked on a daily basis had already yielded a few vegetables this year. And for that, Mud was grateful. She loved potatoes more than anything.
A strange sound suddenly reached Mud’s ears the closer she drew to home.
She slowed her steps, her gaze scanning the surrou
nding area for signs of life.
The sound came again, followed by a gurgling noise.
Stepping from the tree line, Mud slowly approached the shack she shared with her mama, the sickening noises growing stronger with every step she took.
Mama! her mind screamed in denial. Something had happened to her mama.
Mud dropped the rabbit she held and broke into a run. She slid to a stop at the open door to the shack, her mouth trembling in horror. There, on the floor, was her mama, on her back with blood oozing from her neck. A man lay between her legs, holding her arms above her head.
The sounds he made overrode the horrific gurgling noises coming from Flora’s cut throat.
Mud’s entire body began to shake uncontrollably. Terror unlike anything she’d ever known consumed her, taking her breath as well as her mind.
Something snapped inside her. Reality gave way to panic amidst the nightmare playing out in front of her.
Her mama had been right. The Devil had come for her… And he was there now, in the form of the man on that floor.
Mud’s vision tunneled. She pulled the knife from her pants pocket, gripped it tightly in her palm, and jumped through the door of that shack.
She landed on the back of that Devil and brought that blade down as hard as she could.
His head jerked up, and his body froze beneath her. Still, Mud didn’t stop.
A scream exploded from somewhere inside her, filling that shack with its bloodcurdling intensity.
Mud yanked that blade free only to impale him with it again and again. She stabbed him so long and hard her arms eventually gave out, leaving her no choice but to fall to her side in an exhausted heap on the floor.
Her mama’s face came into view. Her sightless eyes were wide open, housing a look of frozen terror unlike anything Mud could have imagined in her deepest nightmares.
“M-ama?” Mud whispered, scrambling as close to Flora’s head as she could get. But no answer came.
She grabbed on to her mama’s face, tugging her head in her direction, pleading with her, begging her to wake up. But Flora’s sightless eyes remained unmoving.
“Mamaaaaaaaaa!”
Chapter One
Two years later
Jena Village, population 213
“Jasper?” Grace Holloway called out, attempting to juggle the bags she held in her arms. “Will you please grab the door for me?”
Jasper, better known as Reverend Holloway to the townsfolk of Jena, hurried into the room, a playful smile on his face. “Oh, I don’t know. What’ll you give me if I do?”
Grace laughed. She couldn’t help it. “I’ll tell you what I won’t give you if you don’t hurry it up, preacher man.”
Opening the door, Jasper kissed his wife on the lips. “You always did know how to play hardball.”
He followed her out to the car and opened the back door for her. “Where are you going anyway?”
“To the children’s home over in Calhoun.”
A look of concern passed through Jasper’s eyes. “That’s the third time you’ve been there this week. Besides, I thought you were going to help me with tonight’s sermon.”
Grace wanted to point out that those kids needed her more than he did at the moment, but she refrained. “I won’t be gone but about an hour. I’ll be back before you know it.”
He suddenly looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, Grace. You take your time at the children’s home. I can handle the sermon. Besides, if I’m not feeling it tonight, I can always sing.”
“No singing.” Grace chuckled, intentionally shuddering. Jasper couldn’t sing his way through an elementary school solo. “I’ll be back in time to help you.”
With a wink, Jasper plucked two of the bags from her arms and placed them on the back seat of the car.
Grace handed him the one she still held, opened her door, and then slid behind the wheel. “Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll bring something home.”
“Sounds good.” He shut her car door.
Grace waited for him to stroll back up the drive before putting the vehicle in reverse and backing out.
She loved living in the small village of Jena, Louisiana. She and Jasper had moved to Calhoun nearly fifteen year ago, before the village of Jena had been established and the casino had been built.
Once the village had begun to flourish, Grace had instantly fallen in love with it. She had talked Jasper into selling their place in Calhoun and moving to Jena shortly thereafter.
The two of them had agonized over leaving their large church behind to start over in the tiny village of Jena. Especially one with only two hundred and thirteen souls.
The Jena Band of Choctaw Indians happened to own the large casino on the outskirts of the village, which brought in a lot of revenue for Jena. They also owned pretty much all the lands to the east, and many of them attended Jasper’s church.
In fact, had it not been for the Choctaw’s generous donations, Grace had no doubt that she and Jasper would have never been able to rebuild their church after the fire that destroyed it nearly thirteen years ago.
The Jena Band of Choctaws happened to be one of three federally recognized Choctaw groups in the United States and were sometimes referred to as Eastern Choctaw. They were good people, and Grace loved them dearly.
But it was the children’s home in Calhoun that owned her heart. Especially since she and Jasper could never have kids of their own.
Grace had begged Jasper countless times to go with her to a fertility specialist and find out the problem, but he’d refused.
“I would rather leave it in the hands of God,” he would say over and over. “If it’s meant for us to have a child, then God will see to it that it happens.”
Disappointed and more than a little defeated, Grace had given in and canceled any and all appointments.
Chapter Two
Mud stood on the outskirts of the local village, listening for sounds of movement.
Her stomach had been growling for so long she’d begun to develop the shakes around midnight the night before.
With her mama gone, the gardens had died out long ago. Tending the vegetables Mud could do but finding the seeds to grow fresh ones had been impossible. Besides, she had no idea where to get such seeds, even if she could spell them.
Mud had been left with no choice but to survive on fish and what she could occasionally catch in the traps, which wasn’t much recently.
She tightened the rope around her waist, which held her pants up, and crept on bare feet toward the darkened eatery on the corner. Her mama had told her it was called Smith’s Barbeque.
Mud rarely went to the village where the Devil resided. And she wouldn’t be there now if hunger hadn’t driven her to it.
Flora had taught Mud such things as cooking, fishing, tracking, and hunting. She’d also taught her to steal.
Though Flora had forced her daughter to remain in the trees when she’d gone into the village to steal the things they’d needed, Mud had paid close attention. She’d watched from the shadows, taking it all in… Learning.
Mud arrived at the back of the barbeque shack, pausing to check her surroundings. Satisfied that no one lurked nearby, she tried the doorknob. It was locked, exactly as she knew it would be.
Flora had informed her on more than one occasion of how the village people locked up their possessions at night before they went to sleep. Not that Mud blamed them. She herself had fashioned a lock of sorts for her own home. Especially after what had happened to her mama.
Memories of that fateful day abruptly exploded through Mud’s mind. Her mama lying helpless on that floor, blood oozing from her throat. Her terrified eyes, moments before they turned sightless.
Mud had killed the Devil who’d taken her mama’s life. She could still recall the feel of her blade sinking into the monster’s back. Again and again.
She wondered how much time had passed since she’d been forced to bury their bloodied bodies. Not that she could tell time.
Flora had been teaching her daughter to read and write. She had also helped her learn some numbers. Because of her mama, Mud could write her name and count to twenty. She could read and write other words as well, though not many.
Tugging her knife from the pocket of her pants, Mud gripped the wooden handle tightly in her fist and tapped it against the glass of the back door to the barbeque shack.
She cringed at the sound of the glass breaking, her gaze scanning the surrounding buildings for signs of life. At least the Devil wouldn’t be lurking about. Mud had made sure of that. No, he couldn’t hurt her anymore. Not from his shallow grave near the swamp.
When nothing or no one stirred, she reached through the busted window and opened the door.
Her mouth watered immediately upon entering. The smell of food caused her stomach to cramp from hunger but didn’t deter her from her mission. And that was to grab her items quickly and run from that place as fast as her legs would carry her.
The streetlight shining through a window helped to guide Mud through the small kitchen without mishap.
She snatched up two bags from beneath a counter and began filling them with her bounty. Everything from bread to ketchup went into the bags, and anything else she figured she would need, such as a box of matches and a few towels.
Yanking open a glass door, she then grabbed a bowl containing some kind of meat. The smell of that meat nearly took Mud to her knees.
Some papers caught her eye on her way back to the exit. She snatched them up, along with an ink pen, and stuffed them into one of her bags. She recognized the pen as something to write with; her mama had stolen one a few years back, but it had long ago stopped working.
Her gaze then landed on a beautiful, shiny knife. She plucked that up as well, since the one she had was worn down to nearly nothing, and she’d buried alongside the Devil the one he had used on her mama.
Slipping the blade into her pants pocket, Mud left the barbeque shack. She stood behind the building for long moments to be sure she wasn’t seen, and then ran, not stopping until she’d made it a safe distance away.
The Girl Named Mud: A Gripping Suspense Novel Page 1