Pocket Wilderness & Other Horrors

by Jason Ingolfsland

  "Look, look, please, please, don't do this. Just let me go. Let me go. Please. Please."

  Addison's eyes darted to the right as he sneered. "What did I say about the rag, Milledge?"

  "It would have killed him, Addison," replied Milledge.

  "Well, I don't wanna hear him talk. Go put it back in."

  "No! No! Listen, come on, okay, okay," he said, hyperventilating. "I just want to talk this out. Just a little harmless conversation. We can figure it out. Just give me a chance," Brandon said.

  "Hear that, Milledge? He wants a chance."

  "I did, Addison."

  "Okay then," he said, abruptly slapping his thighs and standing up. He walked over to him and sat on his belly. His stink attacked Brandon's nose with a mixture of bad breath, body odor, and feces. Brandon immediately regretted his decision.

  "What choo wanna talk about?" he asked, smiling with his black gums up close and personal.

  Brandon, calm down and beat him at his own game. "There's got to be something you want. Tell me."

  Addison leaned in a little closer. "And why would you want to know that?"

  "Because I don't want to fucking die!" he yelled, desperately trying to fight against the stench.

  Addison smacked him across the face. "You watch that dirty Yank mouth. Down her in the South we gots manners."

  Though he should have been thinking of other things, Brandon couldn’t help but notice the hypocrisy in that statement, the irony. Perhaps the anyone different than Addison, anyone who doesn’t belong, can’t swear in the South, but he sure can and that’s totally fine. Either way, Brandon bit his tongue and nodded. "Okay. I'm sorry."

  Addison inhaled through his nose. "Okay, thar, Bo-peep, I'll tell you what I want. What I want more than anythin' in this world."

  "I can't wait to hear it."

  To Brandon's revulsion, Addison leaned in. His face dark and filled with anger. "I wan't every stinkin' Yank. Every last one. To die by a lynchin'. I want Ol Dixie to fly high across this great nation. And, I want 'Merica to be how it was intended. Can you give that to me, rich boy?"

  Brandon looked away and closed his eyes.

  "Ditint think so."

  "Listen, I can try to give you something else."

  "Nothin' else I want more except maybe...well..."

  "What?"

  "Ah, not going to spoil it."

  "Look, they'll come looking for me. They'll find you. Both of you. And you'll go away for a very long time."

  "More threats. I thought you wanted harmless conversation.”

  "Potato. Patato."

  Addison burst out laughing and stood up. "I knew you was a Yank! Down har, it's patater. Oh, Milledge, this one's a keeper."

  "I agree," Milledge replied.

  "It's a damn shame, ain't it?"

  "Shame," Milledge said.

  "What?" Brandon asked.

  Addison stopped smiling and looked down with eyes Brandon hadn't ever seen before in his life. They were sharp, thirsty, and black as if he bathed with the devil.

  "We're having Yank for dinna'," he said, pushing his finger into the same spot his knife had cut before. "Ooooooohhhh, we gown eat'choo right up. Yessaa!" he exclaimed. "You said you wanted to know what we gown do? First, I'm think I'm going to have a leg." He clamped his hand down firmly against Brandon's thigh. "We're going to saw it off, see? You'll still be alive, o'course. Little by little, we'll take a piece of you and throw it in the pot. Your arms, hands, feet, and maybe an ear or an eyeball for fun." He slapped him on the cheek before leaning down and putting his chapped, course lips to his forehead. His slobbery kiss smacked before he pulled back and smiled. His gold tooth shimmered in the firelight. A stream of saliva ran down Brandon's forehead as he grimaced.

  "You're insane," Brandon said.

  "Ah, now that ain't friendly talk, rich boy."

  "I swear. I swear. You won't get away with this. Let me go. Just let me go."

  Addison looked up at Milledge, cracking a smile. He chuckled. Placing his hand against his chin, he rubbed it a few times with his tongue pushed against his cheek. "You should tell the others that when you meet them."

  "Others?"

  Addison nodded.

  "You sick-"

  Addison put his dirty finger up to Brandon's lips. "We hoping Junius come back right quick. We want your brotha here for the main course. He's a biggin', that one! First time I laid eyes on that porker, I knew, I knew, you was the ones. I can't wait to hang him upside down and drain his blood clean! And then, when we sacrifice your Yank asses and send you back to devil where you came, the south will rissseeee again!" He crowed, his head leaned back up to the sky, and his arms raised in the air. "Now," he said sharply. "Keep ya mouth shut, otherwise, we gown hafta start early. Ya her?"

  Brandon tightened his jaw and briefly nodded.

  "Good," Addison replied before walking over to the pot and stirring the beans a little more.

  #

  Junius's silhouette stood between two trees with the moon illuminating above. The storm had cleared and the sky was filled with an audience of stars watching carefully for first blood. Kenny huddled in the dark, biting down on his tongue, and breathing slowly, quietly. How did he find me so quickly?

  "I know you're here," he said. "That was smart, tearing your shirt and doubling back, but it's the oldest trick in the book. I know all the tricks. I've been trained by this here great country, and by the greatest man who ever lived. My pappy. So, don't think for a second some stupid gimmick you learned on a reality television show is going to do nothing, but piss me off!" he yelled, slowly prowling the area.

  He was close. Kenny saw his feet through the cracks up on the hill. He came down one step at a time. He's waiting for me to run. He wants to me run. His heart racing, he wanted to breathe in deep, but he was terrified Junius would hear him. He bit harder into the meat of his tongue. The taste of iron filled the back of his throat.

  "I'm going to find you. Best just stop the pain now and show yourself. The more you prolong the inevitable, the angrier I become," he said, taking a few steps closer to Kenny's hiding place. He leaned down and stared into the dark, directly at Kenny. "And I got a terrible temper," he breathed darkly.

  Oh god, can he see me? Can he? He's looking right at me.

  But he stood back up and kept moving. Kenny wanted to let out a sigh of relief, but he knew the consequences. He tightened his face and burrowed his fingers into the soil.

  "You know we got your brother. I bet he's back at our camp right now. Addison's a good cook. Yessir. He's going to make quite a meal out of your brother."

  What?

  "I can smell it now. Good ol' Humbo. That's what I call it, anyhow."

  No. Brandon...

  Junius stood in the middle of the grove next to the stone wall that stood against the hill. He walked over to where Kenny fell and kneeled down. Licking his lips, his head looked up, and then to the left and to the right, before it looked straight ahead at Kenny's hiding spot. He smiled charmingly as if to say eureka. He stood and cocked his head, waltzing over. He was feet away from Kenny, peering into the darkness, and said, "I know you're there. Come out. Come out, little bird."

  His dirty, greasy hand crawled up into the dark until it felt Kenny's leg. Like a spider, it inched its way up to his thigh and then his stomach. "I fooounnnddd youuuu," he said, his voice cooing in delight. "I won't hurt you, little bird."

  Breathing erratically, Kenny felt around and clutched a large rock in his hand.

  "I can hear you," Junius said. "It's no use fighting it. I'm going to take good care of you. Yes. I think so." His hand felt the plump cheeks of Kenny's face. Kenny flushed before snapping his teeth hard on his fingers until he reached the bone.

  Junius screeched and ripped his bloody hand out of Kenny's mouth.

  Like a viper, Kenny lunged out of the darkness and smashed the rock against Junius's right temple. His face in utter surprise, he fell like a brick.

  B
reathing deeply, Kenny stood over him, blood stained on his chin. His wide eyes looked down at the blood stained rock still firmly in his hand. Horror struck, he couldn't believe what he had just done. He hurt someone. A human being. A person. He almost dropped the rock, knowing he didn't have any right to carry it. And then he thought about his brother. His jaw clenched. His eyes infuriated. He lifted his hand up in the air, but Junius shook his hands in defense.

  "Please! Don't!" he pleased.

  "Where's my brother!" Kenny cried.

  "I'm sure he's at our camp,” he squealed, his teeth gnashing together. "Head back to your camp, then keep going down the trail until you see a small train cut off into the woods. You'll see an old wooden pole sticking out of the ground. Take a right into the woods from there and keep going straight. You'll find our camp site. Okay? Now, leave me be," he begged, clasping his wounded hand. The blood spit out of it like a geyser.

  "No," Kenny said, cold and unafraid. Without hesitation he swung the rock against Junius's face over, and over, and over again until blood, brains, and bone were all over him and the autumn leaves. With each swing of his arm, he groaned and wailed, yelling, "You bastard!"

  When he finished, the bloody rock tumbled from his hand and rolled away. His entire body was drenched in red. His chest rose and fell as he huffed and puffed.

  A gust of wind rushed by as he sobbed like a man, his tears falling down on Junius's mutilated body washing the red from his corpse.

  #

  "Junius should have been back by now," Addison said, pacing back and forth.

  "He'll be back," Milledge replied, sharpening a knife on a piece of wood.

  "Yeah," he said, looking over at Brandon. "Man, I'm hungray. I say we get started early."

  "Junius would be awful mad if you started without him," Milledge warned. "I say we wait."

  "Shit, Milledge, this ain't no democracy," Addison barked, pointing his knife toward him.

  Brandon hoped Kenny had gotten away. The last thing he wanted to see was Junius dragging his body in from the woods. The shink of Milledge's knife made it hard for Brandon to think about anything else. He tried not to panic, but the fear was real. It wouldn't let go. Closing his eyes, he took deep breaths and tried to think of better things. I'm going to get out of this alive. I'm going to figure out how to escape. He didn't want Kenny to come back for him. He knew he would have enough sense to run for the car and get the police. The police are coming. The police are coming. Nothing helped. His heart pounded loudly against his chest, begging to escape. I'm going to die. Oh shit, I'm going to die.

  He began pulling on the ropes that held him down. The tent peg to his right was weak, loosening inch by inch. It wasn't enough, though. Even if he got loose, the other tent pegs were firmly drilled into the ground. It didn't stop him from trying. He wiggled it every so often.

  "Every second we wait is every second dis little prack breathes," Addison whined. "He ain't deserve no more breaths. Not. One. More." He picked his teeth with his knife and beamed at Brandon. "I say we kill'm, skin'm, and save the scraps for Junius when he gets back. It ain't our fault Junius took too long. We'll give him the little peeg."

  "Look, you're the boss, Addison. I ain't gown tell you what to do."

  "Damn straight'"

  "You do what you want," Milledge said with a wave of his hand.

  Addison grinned from ear to ear and licked his lips. "Milledge, yer a good man. Yis, sir."

  Addison strutted over to Brandon. He stood over his body and looked down, smiling.

  "Hey boy, you ever her the tales of Andersonville?"

  Brandon shook his head.

  Addison kneeled down. "Back in dem' days, during the heinous crimes of the North, the Confederacy kept all you Yanks in a prison called Andersonville. One of the best prisons in dat time. You see," Addison broke and spat on the dirt next to Brandon's head, while scratching his crotch. The stench of tobacco and beans filled Brandon's nose causing him to grimace. "They punished your kind for your sinner's ways. No food. No clothes. No place to take a shit. Nothin'. They rotted till they were walking skeletons under that hot Georgia sun. Yissir. The Yanks, now, they called it hell on earth. But yer know what? Nothin' more than they deserved, I say."

  "Why are you telling me this?" Brandon asked, his voice trembling.

  "Welp. Because, I be one hungray sunovabitch. That's why," he replied, poking Brandon in the forehead with his index finger. He cackled and smacked Brandon on the cheek.

  "And unlike you Yankee slime, I deserve a feast. Before we get started, Milledge, would you say grace?"

  "It would by my pleasure," Milledge replied. He stood up from the log he was sitting on. His feet were inches away from Brandon's head as he towered over him. They bowed their heads.

  "Father, for too long we have been oppressed by the Yanks who ripped away our freedom and our rights. We ask you to accept this clean sacrifice and to use it for your glory. Please, we pray, bring back Dixie to its right place of power, that it will rise against the unlawful and their godlessness. May you also bless this meal to our bodies as we partake in its bounty. Lord, continue to shine your face on us as we walk with you, and never forsake us, for we are but your humble servants. Amen."

  "A-men!" Addison crowed.

  "You two are insane! You think this is God's work? Cannibalism and human sacrifice? You've lost your mind! You've twisted and contorted things for your own sick purpose!"

  Addison rolled his eyes. "Milledge, get the rag."

  "You're going to rot in hell for this!" Brandon screeched.

  "Son, you already in hell!" Addison yelled, cackling in the darkness.

  "Please," Brandon whimpered. "Don't do this. I'll do whatever you say. Just not this. Not this."

  Addison slowly slid out his buck knife. The hot campfire reflected off the blade.

  Milledge tried to shove the dirty rag down Brandon's throat, but Brandon snapped at his fingers with his teeth. Smiling, Milledge firmly grabbed hold of Brandon's jaw and forced it open. In one smooth motion, he shoved the rag inside.

  Brandon gagged and coughed. Eyes wide, shaking and jerking, he continued to yell behind the rag.

  Addison unbuttoned Brandon's pants and ripped them down to his ankles. He unfastened his own black leather belt and stripped it off in one quick motion. Brandon looked, his eyes wide as saucers, as Addison grinned. He took the belt and strapped it around Brandon's right thigh. He slipped the belt through the loop and pulled as tight as possible before fastening it. His leg began to pound as the circulation cut off.

  Addison went over to the other side of the camp, shuffling through a duffel bag before pulling out a short wood saw.

  Brandon's eyes felt like they would pop out of his skull. He shimmied and shook, writhing on the ground like a wild animal. He wasn't going to stop. There was no way in hell he would go gently. He would rage, and wail, and cry bitter tears before he went out into that infinite darkness, that great beyond. This will not be my final verse. This will not be my final breath.

  Addison came back over and placed the rusty teeth of the wood saw just below his knee. They pricked the skin of his leg gently. Everything pulsated in Brandon's body as he breathed heavily. The fear was enough to make him pass out. He desperately wanted to pass out.

  "Now, this might hurt a bit," Addison said softly.

  Brandon looked into his devilish eyes. He felt the pressure of the saw push further into his flesh before he yanked the spike out of the earth. His hand went directly toward Addison's throat and clasped hold as hard as he could, gritting his teeth, and squeezing his adam's apple and neck muscles. In surprise, Addison dropped the saw to the ground. He screamed and gagged the harder Brandon choked him. Die. You're going to die. He clamped down as tightly as he could.

  Suddenly, Milledge grabbed Brandon's wrist and slowly pried it away from Addison's throat. But Brandon yanked his arm away, grabbing the spike, and swiftly plunged it Milledge's right eye. Without thinking twice, Brandon yanked
the spike out and rammed it into Miledge's heart. The blood gushed all over his hand and face.

  Milledge, his mouth agape, his eyes cold, flopped instantly dead on the ground.

  "No! You little bastard!" Addison screamed.

  Brandon turned his attention to Addison, but before he could do anything, Addison took control. He leapt onto Brandon's body and forced him on the ground. Taking the blood spike from Brandon's hand, he rammed it into his shoulder, crucifying him into the dirt. Brandon screamed as loud as he had ever screamed in his life.

  Addison pressed his face close to his and smiled. His breath wreaked so badly Brandon almost forgot about the searing pain in his shoulder blade. He breathed in deep through his nostrils.

  "I can smell it again. The fear. You killed my friend, you Yank," he said, twisting the spike in his flesh.

  Brandon grimaced and gnashed his teeth together.

  Grabbing his knife, Addison raised it high up over his head, his black grin stretched from ear to ear, and without hesitation thrust it downward.

  Brandon forced his eyes shut and bit his lip.

  #

  Kenny hid, staring through the thicket as Addison raised the knife above his head.

  He was paralyzed. He wanted to cry out Stop! But his lips wouldn't move and his tongue was a rock cemented to his palette. Brandon turned his head and looked in Kenny's direction. Their eyes connected, and Brandon's eyes flashed the moment he noticed Kenny.

  Kenny moved a bit, as if to do something, but Brandon shook his head. He mouthed run before a knife plunged into his sternum over and over. Kenny watched. Kenny heard. The screams, the slicing, and the blood roar out of Brandon. The shink shink repeated while Addison killed his brother with a glimmer in his eye. With one final blow to the head, Addison left the knife lodged firmly in Brandon's skull. A layer of blood dripping off of his face, he fell to Brandon's side and released a satisfied sigh.

  An overwhelming flood of emotions engulfed Kenny. He plunged his fingers into the dirt, his teeth gnashing together, and shook wildly like a berserker prepping for battle. A few tears streamed down his face each time he kept thinking his brother’s name, hearing his brother’s voice, repeating in his mind what he had told him at Buzzard's Point.