The noonday sun was blazing hot, streaming directly down at the gallows below. The Hangman from Hell stood waiting on the plank floor of the structure. The black hat and coat absorbed the sun’s rays and added to his discomfort. Sweat beaded on the back of neck and dripped beneath his collar. His mouth was dry and his palms were sweaty. His stomach felt twisted in a tight knot and his throat felt tight and scratchy. His breathing was alternately quick and slow. His chest felt constricted. His legs trembled, though hidden by the long black coat. Anger had been welling up inside of him all day. Angry at the situation he had gotten into. Angry for his past. Angry for what he was about to do. Angry at himself for being such a coward that he would stoop to being a hangman, just to keep from being found out. Just to save his own worthless, miserable hide.
The circus parade had been over for almost an hour now and people had migrated from the streets to the courtyard behind the courthouse. The area was practically filled now. Picnic blankets had been strewn about, covering most of the available grass. Children were running about, playing and squealing with delight, totally unaware of the horrific nature of this gathering. Vendors circulated through the crowds hawking their wares of peanuts, popcorn and beer. All in all, the sight before The Hangman from Hell, reminded him more of a celebration and holiday than a day when men would die.
Gazing out across the courtyard, The Hangman’s eyes fixed on the second story of the courthouse. Framed in the window, Judge Isaiah Caine stood stoically. His entire countenance was one of supreme eminence; his thumbs tucked behind the lapels of his black suit and rocking on his heels as he gazed out.
Laredo clenched his fists and unclenched them spasmodically, burning some of the pent up energy and anger. Except for himself, this day, he loathed this man more than any other man he had ever met. His arrogance and determined self serving false sense of justice was beyond any thing he had ever seen in a man.
The judge nodded, indicating that he had noticed the hangman looking up at him He raised his hand in a half wave and then tucked his thumbs back under his lapel. Then turned and walked away from the window.
The son of a bitch, The Kid thought. Hopefully he’d meet up with him again in Hell. He’d have a lot to answer for.
The crowd kept growing larger and larger; louder and louder. The makeshift bleachers were completely full now. Older children were sitting on fence rails; their feet dangling and casting shadows much akin to that of hanged men dangling from a rope. Laughter and cheering filled the air with a rising crescendo and Laredo thought his ears were going to burst.
The stifling heat of the noonday sun was sapping The Kid’s strength and his stress level had risen to a height that his vision began to blur. The defined images of the crowd before him began to run into each other. He seemed to be moving into a trancelike state, willing himself to be removed from this terrible place. If only he could, he thought. If he could somehow just climb down from this platform and walk away from it all. But, it was impossible. Hundreds of people had their eyes on him, including Sheriff Fred Logan, who now stood a step behind him and a little to his left. He was wearing a suit coat today. The lawman’s star was still visible on his vest. His arms were folded behind his back.
A choir of elderly ladies had found a spot for themselves in front of and at the foot of the gallows. They had already sung several Christian hymns and were now rendering a vibrant rendition of “Bringing in the Sheaves” and urging the crowd to sing along.
A short, squat man in a black suit and flat brimmed black hat stood at the center front of the gallows floor. The white collar of a man of God encircled his neck. As the ladies’ choir finished the last chorus of their song, the preacher took another step closer to the edge of the platform, raising his arms as a signal for the crowd to settle down and become quiet. It took him a few minutes to achieve the desired results and his irritation and declining patience became evident in his high pitched, but piercing voice.
Laredo hardly heard the man’s words. His mind was still racing. Still confused. Still angry.
The preacher settled into a long winded speech, calling all sinners to repentance. His words seemed to have little to do with the three men, or boys, as they really were, but was more intent on using this forum to indict every member of the crowd as a sinner of the worst repute. Warning that the wages of sin would be death to each and every one of them. Repent or face certain hell and damnation.
The preacher seemed to drone on incessantly for an interminable long time. When he finally finished with his last “Amen,” he tucked his worn bible under his left arm and stepped back next to Sheriff Logan.
As if on cue, the ladies choir broke into song with “The Old Rugged Cross” followed by “There Will Be Peace In The Valley.” As they finished the chorus, the crowd roared and cheered; their gusto turning to a frenzy as Clay Shaw and two other deputies began pushing their way through the crowd. Each man had a shotgun and each shotgun was pointed at the center of a prisoner’s back.
Deke Porter was the first prisoner to be ushered through the parting crowd. Clay Shaw prodded him with the muzzle of his shotgun against the boy’s backbone. Porter’s hands were tied behind him and he shuffled along, constrained by the leg irons that were locked securely about his ankles. He tossed his head haughtily in the air; his shaggy mane flying loose about his bony face. A mocking, belligerent smirk was on his face, as if taunting the crowd with his bravado; demonstrating his lack of fear over his situation. The crowd cheered and jeered, booing and calling the young punk all sorts of names, which Porter fully deserved.
Following behind Porter were the two Jenks brothers; Tod and Bud. Both boys were stooped over at the shoulders, holding their heads down, looking at the ground beneath their, also, shackled feet, and not wanting to look up at the cheering and jeering crowd around them. Tod was the second prisoner in the procession and Bud brought up the rear.
As Porter reached the foot of the thirteen step stairs that led up to the gallows platform, Shaw stopped him, bent down and unlocked the leg irons so the prisoner would be able to climb the stairs unencumbered. This was the most critical part of the whole escort. But, with shotguns trained on each prisoner, it would still be difficult for anyone to try to make a break for it. Especially, with the large crowd milling about, escape would be next to impossible.
With today’s prisoners any attempt at escape would be very unlikely, but with tomorrow’s big hanging, there was no telling what could happen. If Ben Tolbert were to try to break his men free tomorrow, he would have to try it while the men were unshackled. Needless to say, security would be at a higher level with more deputies and guards in attendance.
As the shackles fell away from Deke Porter’s ankles, he felt a little relief from the constriction.
Clay Shaw chided, “Take a good long look boy. This is your last stop on the way to Hell.”
Deke gazed up at the gallows before him. He could see, for the first time today, the three nooses hanging from the overhead beam. The strands barely moved in the almost non existent breeze. At first it was a jolt to him. He swallowed hard and his Adam’s apple rose and fell in his skinny throat. Then, he caught himself losing his grin and forced it back. He shook his shaggy mane and shouted to the crowd. “That’s supposed to scare me? I’ll show you how a real man dies.” The crowd booed. Porter ignored it and started to climb the stairs.
The other deputies released the shackles from the Jenks brothers and prodded them up the stairs following Porter. Neither boy had stopped to look at the imposing structure before them. They kept their heads down; their long hair falling down over their faces. Both were sobbing and their legs trembled as they placed a foot on each step of the stairs.
The crowd was now going crazy. Cheers and jeers were at a fever pitch. Hand held flags waved throughout the crowd and the ladies chorus tried to sing another chorus of “Bringing in the Sheaves,” but were quickly drowned out by the roar of the crowd.
The Hangman From Hell waited expectantly as he watched the
bobbing heads ascending the gallows stairs. His stomach constricted tighter and he felt nausea waving over him. It was time. There was no way out. All he could do was to follow through. And today, he was going to send three boys to their death. Yes, it was an execution and the boys were paying the price for their mistakes. Sure, justice needed to be served, but was this the way it should be? Justice! Hell, it’s only a word. Something that man has decided on and made himself all supreme and entitled to wreak his perverted sense of justice as his own version of right and wrong. He gazed up at the courthouse second floor window. Judge Isaiah Caine once again was framed in the window, watching and waiting. A look of self satisfaction spread across his broad face. Justice! His brand of justice! God almighty and omniscient? No. A mere man of flesh and blood. His could not be justice.
And if this was not justice, then what was the hangman? A mere executioner or a deliberate murderer? If the latter, heaven help him for there was no justification for what he was about to do. “Please, God,” Laredo thought to himself, “Don’t make me do this. No. No, it’s not you. I’m making me do this. I should stop it right now, but I can’t.”
As Deke Porter’s shaggy head appeared above the platform floor followed by the rest of his body stretched to full height, Laredo tried to get a grip on himself. Tried not to show his apprehension. After all, he was supposed to be a professional and a famous one to boot. Porter paused before The Hangman. “Have fun, Croaker,” he sneered and then continued forward to stand on the third trapdoor over. Clay Shaw took his position behind him.
Neither Tod nor Bud Jenks paid any heed to The Hangman as they passed by. They were sobbing heavily and they were pleading for their lives with “Please. Please don’t kill me,” and “we didn’t mean to do anything wrong.” Their legs were buckling beneath them and the deputies were practically dragging them to their respective places; Tod on the second and center trap door and Bud on the first one. The vibration of their struggles against the plank flooring stirred the ropes slightly above the prisoners. One noose brushed close to Bud’s face. “He screamed, Nooooo!” He jerked his head away. His knees gave way and he fell almost to a squat before the deputy grabbed him under one arm, still holding his shotgun in the other hand. Sheriff Logan stepped forward and grasped the young man under the other arm. Together they pulled the boy straight. They had to brace themselves to hold him steady. Bud was babbling and sobbing uncontrollably. Logan slapped the boy in the face, trying to shock him into control, but the boy merely slumped in their arms. His frantic gyrations had ceased, however.
“Get a hold of your self, boy,” Logan urged. There was a gentleness in his voice. And if one were to look closer, one could see a hint of sadness in the old lawman’s eyes.
Once the boy was under control, Logan stepped forward to the front center of the gallows platform. He raised both arms, signaling the crowd to settle down and lifted his voice as loud as he could; calling the audience to silence. As the crowd quieted, Logan reached inside his coat and pulled out a paper. He unfolded it and began to read the execution order. The crowd started to cheer again, but Logan urged them to quiet down and refrain from further disturbance until the order could be read.
When he had finished, he nodded to the preacher who approached each prisoner, blessed them and asked the Lord for forgiveness. Bud and Tod continued to sob, obviously not hearing a word. Deke Porter merely scoffed at the man of God and shouted new obscenities to the crowd, causing another jeering round from the onlookers.
Sheriff Logan called for order once again. Again as the crowd settled down, the old lawman nodded to The Hangman. It was time to get on with it.
Laredo knew what the nod meant. It was time to step forward and get on with the task at hand. He felt like he couldn’t move and wasn’t moving, but he was. Like a sleep walker in a dream, he put one foot ahead of the other without being aware. In his trancelike state he felt like he was stepping outside of himself; as if he were someone else, leaving his body behind and as if his boots were nailed to the plank floor of the gallows. He felt nothing but icy cold even in the sweltering heat of the day.
As The Hangman stepped up to the left side of young Bud Jenks, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a black cloth. He shook it out and as Bud recognized the hangman hood that was to be place over his head he once again began to plead for his life. “No. No. Please don’t kill me. I don’t want to die.”
The boy’s head kept dodging the hood as The Hangman tried to slip it in place. The Sheriff stepped forward and grasped the boy by the shoulders. The crowd was going wild now as The Hangman and the lawman struggled with Bud.
Logan managed to hold the boy just long enough for The Hangman to slide the hood over the boy’s head and pull the drawstring tight. The boy’s labored breathing inside the hood inflated it and deflated it rhythmically in a grotesque manner. In almost the same motion, The Hangman pulled the noose down, draped it around Bud’s neck and tightened it. He would have to tighten it just enough to prevent the prisoner’s head from sliding out of the noose when he dropped through the sprung trapdoor. At the same time he knew he couldn’t tighten the rope too tight. To do so would run the risk of strangling the man to a slow, painful death, instead of snapping and breaking the neck, rendering instant death as the heavy hangman’s knot of thirteen coils pressed against the soft spot just below and behind the victim’s left ear.
The Hangman was trying to be careful to execute the hanging just right, but Bud’s constant struggling made him hurry and not quite sure that he had done everything right. Then as it appeared that the rope was in place, Logan nodded to The Hangman, released his grip on the boy and stepped back out of the way.
As if in automatic response, Laredo reached for the release lever and pulled it forward. The trapdoor snapped open with a sound almost as loud as a gun shot. Young Bud Jenks fell through the opening like a sack of grain. The rope’s slack played out and stretched tight. The boy’s body jerked to a halt. It bounced upward a bit and back down again. But, then it was clear that something had gone wrong.
The crowd gasped with surprise and then burst into a roar of laughter and cheers as Bud’s legs kicked wildly about like a puppet on a string. If the crowd hadn’t been so loud, one could probably hear the gurgling gasping sound of Bud Jenks choking to death.
Even in his self imposed trance, Laredo realized that he had botched the job. He stepped quickly forward to gaze down into the open trapdoor hole before him. He felt even sicker now than he had felt all day. In his haste and inexperience, he had sent this poor boy to a hideous death. Unbelievingly, he stared at the gyrating body at the end of the rope. The roar of the crowd was just a ghastly drone in his aching brain; almost as if it didn’t exist and the whole world was now moving in slow motion. It seemed like forever that the young man’s legs kicked through empty air. The rope swung violently about the square opening; side to side, back and forth, corner to corner. Seconds dragged by and the kicking began to lessen until there was no more. Bud Jenks had finally succumbed and he dangled limply at the end of the rope; swaying back and forth. The rope’s movement finally came to an almost halt. Just a little swaying back and forth. The rope creaking against the overhead beam.
The crowd was going wild now and Logan was trying his best to bring it under control. Occasionally, he would cast an accusatory glance at The Hangman and Laredo knew he deserved it and tried to look away, but he couldn’t avoid the truth. He kept his eyes fixed on the Sheriff , waiting for the crowd to settle, so he could get on with the rest of today’s nightmare.
The crowd was almost quieted when Logan cast another glance at The Hangman, nodding for him to continue. The old man’s eyes burned with anger and disgust.
The Hangman stepped toward Tod Jenks. Oh, how he didn’t want to look at this boy. How could he ever atone for what he had just done to his brother?
Tod was no longer crying nor begging for his life. His face was now a mask of anger and rage. He growled through clenched teeth, “Y
ou filthy, murdering bastard.” He spat in The Hangman’s face. The spittle dripped down Laredo’s left cheek. He made no move to wipe it away. He deserved it and much more.
“I’m sorry, son,” he wanted to say but he knew it would be pointless. All he could do now was to get on with it. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew another black hood.
“Put it away. I don’t want that,” Tod growled. “I want your face to be the last thing I see before I die. And I’ll be the first one to greet you when you get to Hell.”
“I don’t think I’ll see you in Hell, when I get there, son,” Laredo thought to himself.
He nodded to the boy and stuffed the black cloth back in his pocket. He then moved behind the boy, and a little to the left. He reached for the noose and dropped it over Tod’s head. The boy cringed and closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them wide, staring straight ahead standing perfectly still and waiting. The Sheriff was still glaring at The Hangman. He’d better not mess this one up, was the message.
Laredo didn’t need the warning, for he was already telling himself to do it right. He owed at least that much to Tod Jenks and his brother. This time he would take his time. Granted, Bud Jenks had not given him a chance to take his time, but that was no excuse. Bud had died horribly and it was totally Laredo’s fault, no matter what.
Carefully, he tightened the noose to just the right size. The coiled hangman’s knot was placed precisely where it should be behind the left ear. Then, with a deep sigh, he reached for the lever that would release the trap door. His fingers gripped the handle, slipping a bit in his sweaty palms. His upper arm muscles bunched. Closing his eyes momentarily, he pulled the lever toward him.
Once again the trapdoor fell open with a loud snap and Tod Jenks now plummeted through the opening. Again, the rope’s slack played out and the cord stretched taught and the young man‘s lifeless body hung limply at the end of the rope. His neck had snapped just as it should have and the boy died instantaneously. This time there had been no gasp from the crowd, but once it was obvious that the boy was dead, the crowd resumed its heartless cheering. A boy had died and this was merely entertainment for the supposedly good people of Plainview and they weren’t even aware of their own evil souls inside of them.
The Hangman didn’t bother to glance at Sheriff Logan. There was no approval to ask for and he didn’t need any nod from the lawman, telling him to continue. His anger had doubled and tripled as he had put those two young boys to death and now rage permeated his whole being. Until now his anger had been with himself, but now as he stood there, reflecting on what he had just done, his anger took on another dimension. Equally guilty as himself was the smug, arrogant Deke Porter.
Porter grinned at The Hangman. “You sure do look like you’re having fun, Croaker. I’ll bet you can’t hardly wait to get to me, can you?”
Laredo moved to within an inch of Porter’s face: his eyes burning holes into the boy’s own eyes. The crowd was still roaring, but The Hangman wasn’t waiting for it to quiet down. From his pocket, he pulled the black hood that Tod Jenks had refused.
“”I won’t need that either, Croaker. I’m gonna let the whole world see how a real man dies,” Porter sneered and tossed his shaggy mane once more.
“Yeah. We’ll see sonny boy,” The Hangman snarled. “But let’s get one thing straight here. No. I haven’t been having fun here today, and you know why? I’ll tell you why. Because two young boys have died here for nothing. Nothing! The only thing they were guilty of was drifting along with you. Now let me tell you something. I’m going to have fun now because I’m going to send you to straight to Hell.”
With that he balled his fist and drove it into the kid’s midsection. Porter let out a gasp of pain and doubled over. The Hangman viciously slapped the hood over Porter’s head and snaked the drawstring tight before the boy could stand erect again. The crowd now went wild again, reveling in the brutality The Hangman was now displaying.
The Hangman quickly pulled the noose down and draped it around Porter’s neck before the boy could recover. He pulled it tight, not caring whether he was doing it right or not. He didn’t care! He just didn’t care! In the same movement he released the trapdoor lever. Deke Porter fell through. His neck broke cleanly and the hanging had been successfully completed without mishap.
The crowd applauded and cheered, keeping it going for what seemed forever, to The Hangman. Everyone was on their feet clapping, cheering, whistling and singing out praises to The Hangman From Hell for a job well done.
Laredo’s rage was still building and he hardly heard the noise, as the roar droned on. Gradually, the crowd that had been a confused blur up to now, began to take shape and come into focus. He could now see faces of individuals. Happy faces they were. How could that be possible when three young men now hung dead at the end of a rope? It was all so ludicrous, but still happiness abounded. One glance at Sheriff Fred Logan told him there was no happiness there. The man was angry and it was clear how much he despised The Hangman.
Across the courtyard, standing at the window, was Judge Isaiah Caine. His face was stern and grave. There was no happiness there, either.
*****
Chapter Thirteen
Alias: The Hangman From Hell Page 12