by Bob McGough
The little boy was going along, but it was clear he was scared, and not really on board with the whole happening. He kept stopping, having to be dragged along by his older brother. One time he fell and had to be picked up, but not before he got dragged again a few feet across singed carpet. That set him to wailing, and Forrest ended up just having to pick the child up. Luckily the little girl was going along more smoothly, or they’d never have made it.
Forrest set off running as best he could, pretty much dragging the girl behind him as the heat started to grow stronger. I could feel my spell weakening, and knew in a second or two it was gonna get reeeeal hot there around them. I could see steam rising up off their towels, and was sure it had to be filling their ears with a sizzling sound.
The hallway was narrow leading into the back bedroom, but I was able to see past the trio well enough that I could see a burning hole several feet wide, an orange glowing ring of fire. It was at this they were headed, as I watched the corner of the home start to sag and the supports burn out.
At the last second Forrest stopped, and with one fluid motion he flung his sister through the hole. She probably got a dislocated shoulder for it, and I heard her scream in fright and pain, but she was clear a half second later. With a shout Forrest followed, his brother held close to his chest. It was a near thing, the hole wasn’t too tall, but the youth managed to duck low enough to not catch his head.
I damn near collapsed on the spot. Slumping into the doorway of the bathroom, I heard a crash as the end of the trailer fell in, the roof unable to support its own weight. A shower of sparks erupted, sending a torrent of flame and scorching heat down the hallway, right where I had been a moment ago.
Hey There Hot Stuff
I was tapped, totally spent. I couldn’t have summoned up a magic fart even if you’d filled me with ten bowls of magic beans. A hollowness, an aching empty, was all I had to offer just then. I felt like I had just lost a dozen pounds in sweat and sacrifice keeping that spell up long as I did, and it scooped out my insides more or less.
The smoke was getting worse, filling the air down almost to eye level as I sat there on the faux tile floor of the bathroom. My shirt had slipped down, so I pulled it back up over my mouth and nose, but even with that I started coughing. My eyes were watering up a storm as well, the smoke stinging them relentlessly.
I knew I needed to get moving, but I was also pretty sure there was nowhere for me to be moving too. Not really. There was no more water, no more towels, and I had no more magic to spend to keep the heat away. My only hope was to run towards the back door, but that would take me right through the fire, and I was pretty sure that was less than ideal.
Looking to the small, high window, I wondered if I could maybe pry it wider somehow. It was too skinny for me to crawl through now, but if I could get it a few inches wider, I could maybe squeeze through. It was hard to even see the window with all the thick black smoke, but my glance had me pretty sure that the frame was some kinda metal. And other than a grimy plunger there was nothing I could hope to even try to use to work at it.
As I looked, I heard a metallic thunk against the outside of the trailer, followed by a second then a third. It was a fairly small noise, but it was pretty clearly against the outside wall of the bathroom. I heard someone shouting my name too, Forrest, from the sounds of it. Then I got splashed in the face with water.
Someone had turned on the outside hose, the one I had helped get run that morning no doubt, and turning it on had gotten it through the window. It was way too small of a hose to do any good putting out the fire, but it would do just perfect for soaking me down.
I decided then that Forrest was a fucking genius, and wasted working in a damn chicken house.
Hose in hand, I began soaking my clothes as best I could while keeping below the smoke line. The water wasn’t exactly cold, but it was a lot colder than all the heat around me, that was for sure. I didn’t care, I just wished I had on long sleeves and jeans instead of shorts and t-shirt. I glanced at the shower curtain, but it was some sort of plastic, and the last thing I needed was a bunch of melted plastic covering me.
Thoroughly soaked, I wasted no time, and ran.
I ran blindly, through the smoke, not bothering to try and avoid it. There was no time. I was able to avoid the walls easily enough, because they were aflame, orange clear through the smoke. I could smell my hair burning, felt the scalding heat dry my clothes out, and steam rising from me. I had to jump over a burning end table. I almost tripped but managed, barely, to keep my feet and stop from falling into the roaring blaze that was the couch.
I hit the back door, ripping it open. The handle burned my hand, but I ignored it, leaping through onto the back porch. The corner of it had caught as well, but I was already jumping off it, slapping at my head and trying to put out the painful fire that was patches of my hair.
Someone tackled me, smothering me, and then I didn’t know anything anymore.
Reunion
I was awake a good five minutes before I finally opened my eyes. Wherever I was, it was bright and well lit. I usually woke up in the darkness of my storage shed, or on the floor of Jimmy’s camper, so I had to be someplace new. As vague memories began flowing through, the last thing I could remember was being on fire to some degree. And there was something wrapping my banged up hand pretty tightly. So I was likely in a hospital.
That is what finally got me to open my eyes. See just how bad a mess I was in.
Walls that had been real white maybe thirty years earlier surrounded me. Only now they were more of a dingy yellow and showing their years. A small tv sat on a little stand in the corner, on, but muted with the closed captioning running in its little black box at the bottom. Some sort of daytime talk show was on, but not one I recognized.
I groaned a little. Not because I was in any pain - because I really wasn’t - beyond an assortment of aches. No, I was definitely in the Elk Grove Memorial Hospital, which meant medical bills. It would also mean real fast that I was going to be in a world of hurt if I didn’t get out soon. Doctors tended to frown on meth use in their emergency ward I had found. I could already feel that itch crawling up my spine.
“So you’re alive,” came a familiar voice to my left.
I turned, and suddenly my heart skipped a beat. “H.D., didn’t rightly expect to see you here. Though to be fair, I don’t reckon I expected to see me here either.”
My uncle smiled and nodded. “Well seeing as I’m listed as your emergency contact, figured I may as well sit around for a bit, make sure you were gonna be alright.”
It got real silent there a second, that sorta awkward silence that probably only lasts like three seconds, but feels like an hour. I wasn’t sure what to say, which while that would usually not stop me, I felt like things were too delicate for me to go running off at the mouth just then. H.D. was one of the only two friends I had, and as of late I had been beginning to think I might forever be down to just one. To see him here, now…
“Well,” he started. “Don’t nobody want to wake up all alone in a hospital. Even if they’s mostly just faking being hurt.” That last part was said with a wink and a broad grin.
Tension bled from that pregnant, silent moment, like a balloon being popped. I laughed a little, and held up my hand, which was wrapped in a bright pink cast. “Faking? Last I remember I was on fucking fire. And this cast ain’t for show.”
He grinned. “You can thank me for the color by the way. And on fire? Maybe just a little. You’re gonna be walking around looking real surprised for a while, and you’re missing more hair up top than you got, but the doc says it should grow back in just fine. Whole lot of fuss over nothing.”
With my good hand I gingerly touched where my eyebrows had been, feeling the singed stubble that was left. I carried on up and a quick pat showed me he wasn’t lying. It was real tender in a lot of places, and there was a whole lot of hair missing. “Well damn.”
“I ain’t heard the full story,
what with being here with you, but so as you know the cops want to get your statement as soon as you’re feeling up to it.” He rose to his feet and stepped over to the open door, glancing up and down the hallway real quick. “I can read between the lines well enough though. You went down cause you overspent yourself, didn’t you?”
I nodded. He was always harping on me that I should be trying to learn more about my powers and my limits, so I braced myself for a lecture.
“Overspent yourself on those kids, getting them out, not even worrying about yourself,” he said softly. He looked at me, a warm look on his face. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been more proud of you in my life, boy.”
That caught me off guard, and I glanced down. I hadn’t really been thinking about it in those terms, I’d just been doing what needed to be done. Especially as it had been my fault Hatty had even shown up.
I looked at my broken hand and sighed. “I guess since they called you, and already done this, it’s too late to try and skip out on the bill? Blood suckers will find me and collect sooner or later.”
H.D., clearly sensing I wanted to change the subject, smiled. “I wouldn’t sweat it. Elias Richmond said he was gonna pay for everything. That it was the least he could do, all things considered.”
He grew quiet a second. “There’s a lot of questions swirling around, but at the end of the day, you saved them kids from the fire. That’s what most folks will care about. Now, how about you tell me what actually happened, and we figure out the best way to spin this to the cops, so you don’t get put into the nut house.”
Don’t Sweat It
H.D. was good enough to drive me home when they turned me loose later that day. Of course that ride home was real roundabout, with a good long layover at the County Sheriff's office. They kept me for fucking hours, but finally I was able to plead off with my cast and general hangdog look. They made it clear they had more questions, but were gonna cut me a little slack on account of how banged up I was.
Was I playing it up a bit? Maybe.
But also, they had some checking around to do first, to follow up on what my story was. They’d no idea about Inez, as I hadn’t told Forrest about that. And while the boy had been able to clue them in on the fact that someone had attacked the place, and I had helped fight them off and get them out, he hadn’t had a clue who it was.
Seems Hatty had gotten up and run off before the cops could show up. There was no doubt an APB or some such shit was out for him now, but I knew there was probably fuck all chance of them finding him in the short term. I had a suspicion this was far from his first time pulling some shit like this, and the fact that he hadn’t been caught yet probably had no small amount to do with his magic.
I mean, if it could keep me out of prison, it could keep him out of jail, prison, or both, so long as he was smarter than me. Which looking at my life was a bit of a low bar I realized, but then what can you do.
Letting a bit of the small amount of drugs I had left flow into me, I leaned back in my broken recliner, thankful that the falling night had begun to cool things down a little for me. It made shed life almost bearable for a moment, and the drugs scratched that soul-deep ache in my spine.
All in all, I knew a whole lot of nothing about how everything was playing out. The kids were alive, and supposedly with their grandaddy. Word would get out pretty quick about Inez, especially if they found her body. There was no way I was gonna be the one to break the news to Jimmy. I mean, my cellphone was out of minutes anyway, so how would I let him know?
Same for Jerm, but I was mostly afraid of what he might do when he found out. I was worried about the little cuss, but there wasn’t shit I could do about it.
I was no better off than I’d started yesterday morning. Looking at my hand, I realized I was actually worse off, though that was mitigated by the painkillers they’d sent me home with. A week’s worth...they would get me through the rest of the night probably.
Silver lining of a sort.
Smoking my last cigarette, I sighed.
Fuck it, it’ll all work out, or it won’t, I decided.
Oblivion took me then, and that was that.
Acknowledgments
There are so many people to thank, that I am certain that I am going to forget some. To those people, you also have my apology!
Thanks to my family, who have always been supportive of my dreams, especially my parents who early on cultivated my love of books!
Thanks to Jon Marie, my LadyFriend, and the indomitable Riley, for being my biggest fans! You two make me feel loved and supported, and I hope I always do the same for you.
Thanks to my ‘Crew,’ both past and present: Amanda, Anthony, Baine, Cessaly, Chelsei, Chris, Derek, Derek (Other), Dusty, Elizabeth, Jenni, Joe, Kaye, Keith, Kristy, Lindsay, Rachel, Ryan, Shae, Tonya, Trey. Without you guys to help reign in this ego I don’t know where I would be!
Thanks to my writing group, for helping hone my craft: Lacie, Brandon, and Les. Because sometimes Les is more. And a quick shout out to the RR Folks, you know who you are.
And finally I want to thank a few others who have supported me in all manner of ways: The Gump Plug Uglies, Dianne, Belles, Manda Mutiny, Stitch, Yukon, Jeff, and Beav.
About the Author
Born and raised in South Alabama, Bob has been writing as long as he can remember, though only began to take it seriously in the fall of 2012. That year he completed his first NaNoWriMo, writing a collection of short stories. This gave him the impetus to attempt to pursue a career as a writer. Since then, has written in a variety of genres: horror, southern gothic, steampunk, cyberpunk, and fantasy.
He has been published in several short story anthologies, has had several collections of his works published by Laser Blast Books, and has released a self-help book for creative people. Outside of that, he enjoys writing supplemental roleplaying material, is available to hire as a freelance writer, hosts a podcast, started a non-profit, occasionally delves into short film making, and loves puns in all forms.
Keep up with all his many projects at www.talesbybob.com or support him (and get sneak peaks and background material about the world of Jubal County) at www.patreon.com/talesbybob
You can hear his podcast, Books, Beards, Booze, wherever you get your podcasts. See more at www.booksbeardsbooze.com
The Music of Marsh
It is impossible to separate the music from the tale. Music has informed my every step, helping me set the mood as I forced this story onto paper. To see the complete Marsh Playlist you can check out my website.
For a short list of bands to check out though, start with the Builders and the Butchers. They are the largest influence, as if the title of these two novellas didn’t tell you that already. But also check out: Tyler Childers, Lost Dog Street Band, Colter Wall, The Dead South, Horse Feathers, Possessed by Paul James, and All them Witches.