by C. L. Bevill
Dan winked, and it looked very odd coming from a seven-foot-tall Sasquatch-looking individual. Not at all like Harry and the Hendersons.
Bubba made a mental note to talk to his mother about the baby shower she was planning that was probably taking place Saturday at about 8:30 pm, which was way too late for Willodean to be up. However, first things first.
“Anyone else know about anyone mad at Marquita?” Bubba asked.
“The mayor thinks he should get more kickbacks,” David said. “Also, the mayor said I couldn’t build my rocket on the courthouse lawn. Imagine that. Wouldn’t you want a rocketship on the courthouse lawn? I think it would fit nicely between the cannons. It would look nice, too. Plus, what tourists don’t want to see the ship that will go to the moon?”
“Anyone else?” Bubba interrupted.
“Thou spindle-lipped harridan Hovious,” Thelda said.
“I thought Marquita rented the whole mountain from a distant cousin,” Bubba said.
“She means another cousin who dint inherit,” Dan said. “This lady threatened to sue on account that the plan was to use the Hovious name in the movie, but Marquita simply changed it to Movious. Clever, huh?”
“Just as clever as Armand LaPoo,” Bubba said in a flat tone.
Dan eyed Bubba as if he was suspicious of the statement. “You messin’ with me, Bubba?”
“And you’d smear me up and down the path, ifin I did,” Bubba said and grinned.
“That’s right,” Dan said.
“ARMAND!” someone yelled from outside the house. “ARMAND LaPOO for makeup! Simone’s pitching a primo hissy so move your assets!”
“Is that the McGeorge?” Bubba asked.
Dan nodded. “I recollect what she did last time, but she’s not allowed to have guns up here. Since the word got out about the real Boo coming out, folks have been trip-trapping through the woods looking to bag a bigfoot with their rifles and such. Mayor Leroy had to get the county to make an emergency law about hunting bigfoot or bigfoot-like critters illegal. Someone sprayed my tail with rock salt the day before yesterday. I dunno who it was because once I started cursing them, they fled through the woods like they was on fire and ain’t water nowhere to be found. Marquita gave me a bulletproof vest to wear under the costume, too. Jesus, it’s hot.”
“Not meee,” Jesus said automatically.
“You know what I mean,” Dan said.
Bubba sighed. “David, you know you cain’t burn down the back forty of the Snoddy Estate, don’t you?”
“Only ten acres,” David said promptly. “We have twenty-seven fire extinguishers, just in case. Also, I have 9-1-1 on speed dial.”
Bubba eyed David and decided that there was no way that the former postman/Purple Singapore Sling/Sherlock Holmes/Black Dog McGee/Baron Von Blackcap/Snuggles Palomino could ever build a real working rocketship in the back ten acres of the Snoddy Estate.
Chapter 7
Bubba and an Old Acquaintance
or Two or Three
The remainder of Bubba’s morning had him examining the entire area that constituted the set of The Curse of the Boogity-Boo. The Hovious house itself was a mess of wiring and special effects designed for scenes of the film. Walls had been torn down and plumbing rearranged for the purpose of each section of the story. One part of the ceiling of a top floor bedroom had been pulled down so that camera mounts could be placed. Down the hill from the actual house was a clearing that had been hijacked by the film crew for its space. There were small RVs and trailers. Electrical lines had been strung from the antique-looking poles that staggered their way up the mountain. Camp chairs were situated so that people could take breaks. There was even a fire pit with cut logs circling it in case s’mores needed to be roasted along with wienies. Several people still came and went, obviously still busy with the process of making a movie.
These were the people who hadn’t fled at the first sightings of the Boo. They had seen it and stuck it out. Some were too broke to bail. Others were more interested in the legend of the monster. All had stories about the Boo. Some had seen it clearly. Others had seen a blurred shape in the fog. (Foggy Mountain, remember?) A few others complained that the beast seemed to be conspicuously absent when the good cameras had been about and cellphones were banned from the set because they had a tendency to go off in the middle of takes. Also, the burritos from the gut truck tasted like they were made from cats, and no one wanted to eat cat burritos. (The vendor put a sign denying any use of pet-related meat, but the crew was still skeptical.)
Bubba finally snagged a bottle of water from a cooler next to the food truck and cracked the lid while he stood in the shade contemplating what he’d learned. He drank half of the bottle down before he realized someone was standing next to him. He glanced over and then did a doubletake.
The McGeorge stood there. Her actual name was Liz or Lizzie or Elizabeth or something like that. She stood about five foot three inches and was on the skinny side. Once she’d had short brown hair with blonde streaks, but the streaks had grown out. Her eyes were blue, and those same eyes regarded Bubba in a thoughtful fashion.
“Am I pissing you off by being here?” Bubba asked.
“I suppose I could ask the same question,” McGeorge said matter-of-factly.
“Marquita said you got community service,” Bubba said.
“And a whole lot of anger management classes,” McGeorge said, “which I hadn’t realized I needed so much. I mean, I think trying to control every aspect of a Hollywood pic while making a director, several producers, and the entire board of directors from the studios happy is bound to drive a girl loco. I really liked Kristoph, you know. Yeah, you know that already. His death was what tipped me over the edge. Man, I wanted to have something tangible to blame, and unfortunately that was you.”
“I reckon.” That came out as doubtful.
“Anyway, I’m glad I didn’t manage to kill you,” McGeorge said in a careful manner. The only reason she hadn’t done so was because Willodean had stopped the other woman and in a very spectacular fashion.
Willodean, Bubba thought. Need to call her. Is it too soon? No, it’s bin an hour or mebe two. She’ll be worried. Wait, I’ll be worried. No, I would have heard something. Yep, I needed to think about something else, but it shore don’t feel right to think about something other than Willodean at this time.
“I hear your wife is close to giving birth,” McGeorge said in a very careful manner. It didn’t even seem like the same anger-filled, anxious woman who had stomped around the set of The Deadly Dead and directed everyone as if she was God.
“Thirteen days,” Bubba said. “Does your therapist know you came back to Texas?”
“The doctor said it would be good to work my way through the process,” McGeorge said. “I have a twice weekly check-in, and I’m not permitted to own or use any kind of lethal weapon.”
As long as the McGeorge didn’t wander freely through the Snoddy Mansion, which is where she’d found the last weapon she’d appropriated. Miz Demetrice was in the process of locking up all the guns since a baby was imminent. Bubba had insisted, and although his mother was a diehard member of the NRA, she’d agreed. The rampant borrowing of happenstance weapons in order to frame Bubba had to stop whether his mother liked it or not. She could keep a small pistol in her garter belt or something. (I didn’t need to think about that, Bubba thought and wished he had something that would make him forget the mental image of his mother having a pearl-handled derringer inserted in a lacy cherry-red garter belt.)
“Anyway, I wanted to apologize for jumping to the conclusion that you murdered Kristoph,” McGeorge said in a rush. “It was wrong. I shouldn’t have tried to kill you and kidnapped all those people.”
“And mebe a few other things, too,” Bubba added under his breath. “Listen, what do you know about the Boo?”
“The Boo?” McGeorge repeated. “Monster who supposedly haunts the mountain. And the crew freaked out when someone started playing g
ames. It’s going to ruin this movie, but Marquita is persistent.” She nodded. “Got to give her that. She’s ready to pound nails with butter.”
“Did you see it?”
“Sure. Looked like that film from the 60s. You know the guy riding out in the middle of the wilderness who just happened to have a camera when Madam Bigfoot came wandering by.” McGeorge giggled nervously. “Who decided that the fake one needed to be a girl? How do you decide what cup size to put on the costume? I guess we should all be grateful that the melon-sized craze hadn’t been in at the time.”
Bubba frowned. “So, it’s just someone playing a trick.”
“That would be my guess,” McGeorge said. “Obviously there isn’t a real Boogity-Boo. Wouldn’t you people around here have seen it a dozen times and had the stories to tell, too? It seems more like an urban legend. You’ve lived here all of your life, right?” She didn’t wait for him to answer and went on, “Wouldn’t you have seen it? You look like the outdoors type. Fishing, hunting, hiking, and all that.”
“So who would do that?”
McGeorge’s face wrinkled. “I’ve thought about it. You’d have to have a pretty damn good costume, which might point a finger at the special effects people. You remember Simone Sheats and some of the others? People like that would have the ability, but I would think it would have to be someone who hated the whole idea of this movie. Scare enough people off and it goes belly up like the fishies after a red tide.” Her face wrinkled more. “I don’t see the point of that, though. It’s hard enough to find work in this industry without butting heads against the competition.”
“What about that guy who was the head makeup person on The Deadly Dead? The one who likes scarves. He’s an expert at all that, and he wasn’t happy with Kristoph because of his dog, right? By proxy, wouldn’t he be unhappy with Marquita, too?” Bubba glowered. “Why ain’t they using that computer stuff, what do you call it?”
“CGI or computer-generated imagery,” McGeorge said. “Sure, Marquita will use some, but it’s expensive, and this is a shoestring movie. If we’re lucky, we won’t have to beg in the street with tin cups. That’s why she went with the seven-foot guy, instead.” She looked Bubba up and down. “Taller than you for sure, although all that Buddhist stuff coming out of his mouth sounds weird.”
“You should hear some of the other stories about him,” Bubba said.
“We cool?” McGeorge asked.
“Ifin you don’t point a gun at my wife again, then yep,” Bubba rumbled.
“Oh, and you mean Schuler, right? He had a little breakdown after The Deadly Dead and decided to move to Georgia. I think he does makeup down there. They’ve got a thriving studio business. I think he was tired of all the nonsense in La La Land. The last I heard was that he was working on a television series with zombies in it.”
“I’m shore I kin imagine,” Bubba said dryly. He looked at McGeorge intently. Truly, she didn’t seem like the same antsy woman at all. It was as if she had undergone a complete transformation. How could she have changed so much?
“Meditation,” McGeorge answered as if reading his mind. “Also, yoga and affirmations about myself. I’m going to do several movies like this one and then move right back where I was. All I need is a good film. This one’s good if running cheap. Marquita’s a darling for giving me another chance, but then I’ve always been good at my job, so she’s getting value.”
“All water under the bridge,” Bubba said, “and all.”
“Bygones be bygones,” McGeorge agreed.
“Would you point a finger at anyone, then?” Bubba asked.
“I don’t know that I would,” McGeorge said. “People are super clever. You don’t even need to be an expert makeup artist. There’s probably a tutorial on making a bigfoot costume on YouTube. Someone with a little patience and a lot of creativity could do it. They’d have to know this place, but then a lot of the crew was here before for The Deadly Dead, although they weren’t exactly on this mountain. Marquita said she heard the story from some guy in a tavern and thought it would make a great grade-B horror flick.”
“Some guy in a tavern here?” Bubba repeated. That sounded like Lloyd Goshorn, and who knew what that fella had told Marquita about the Boogity-Boo.
“Yeah, but Marquita left out all the stuff about the grimoire and cannibalism and head-hunting. Also, the murders of all ten children…or were there twelve of them?...because murdering children doesn’t go down well in Hollywood.”
Grimoire? Cannibalism? Head-hunting? What stories had Lloyd been telling?
“Okay,” Bubba said, “who knows about the tunnels?”
“That would be a local.” McGeorge brightened. “You probably know him.”
Bubba probably did know him, but he wasn’t certain if he wanted to know who it was. Only God knew who it was and how that person had come to be an expert in the knowledge of the tunnels that went into Foggy Mountain. He took a deep breath and asked, “Who is it?”
The McGeorge told him, and Bubba made a face.
“That could be worse,” he mumbled.
“Try over on the south side of the house. That’s where the Hovious family had the entrance to the bomb shelter. Nice place if it didn’t have all those cobwebs in it. I would have thought more moisture would have made it down there.” McGeorge nodded at Bubba and meandered off. He saw that she was wearing a t-shirt that said “Frankie Say Relax” on the back. She said, “My high self-esteem enables me to respect myself and others in turn.” Bubba realized she was saying an affirmation as she added, “I am a very unique and special person.” As she rounded the corner of a trailer she said, “I deserve to be happy because I feel good about myself.”
Bubba finished the bottle of water. Time for the tunnels.
* * *
It looked like the double doors that might lead to a storm cellar. Bubba had seen a dozen and more of them in his rambles around the county. It was, after all, Texas, and Texas had more tornados than any other state and was prime real estate in the tornado-alley contest. Storm cellars were abundant. In fact, there was a specialty store in Pegramville that sold nothing but shelters. Bubba himself had looked in and had thought seriously about the six-foot-tall twister pod that came with a rounded shape in order to provide better protection against flying debris. (It seated four comfortably, although Bubba was skeptical that he could get himself, Willodean, the baby, and Precious in it comfortably. Then he was reminded of his mother who no self-respecting tornado would dare to come near and possibly Miz Adelia if the time of day was right. He would have to upgrade to the seven-foot-by six-foot-by-four-foot metal safety shelter if he wanted to ensure all could fit in. All he had to do was get it to his house and find a concrete pad to connect it to unless he was inclined to upgrade to an underground model.)
Bubba shook his head. He was apt to get off track quickly if he let his mind wander. He clambered down the steps just as Precious appeared at the top. She whined at him and spit a bit of fur out of her mouth.
“I was wondering where you had gotten to,” Bubba murmured. The hound panted quietly, and Bubba reversed course. He found a running spigot and made sure his pet had water. He also made certain her collar was still attached in case she got lost on him, and then he washed his hands because she’d been tromping through the poison ivy that was heavy on the mountain.
Precious followed him back to the double doors and eyed them dubiously as he descended. Bubba looked over his shoulder and said, “You don’t wanna come down?”
Clearly, Precious did not want to come down. Bubba caught a musky scent and then one of moldy air and wondered if McGeorge was mistaken about the lack of moisture. He peered inside the doors and saw that lights had been set up in the storm cellar, highlighting all the old metal shelves and various items that had been left to rot. It looked like the contents of one of the back buildings on the Snoddy Estate. (One might find a vintage Pepsi slider vending machine with a family of possums living in it or a full-sized Santa Claus
piñata dressed in attire suitable for Hawaii or possibly Miami Beach.)
I really got to clean some of that out, and I bet Willodean would like to see a full-sized Santa Claus piñata, Bubba thought. Is it too soon to call Willodean? He checked his cellphone. She hadn’t called, and it was almost lunch. She might be napping, so he resisted the urge.
“Just a quick peek down here,” Bubba said to Precious, “and then we’ll find something to et. Something real good. I hear tell Bazooka Bob’s got their buffet going again, but I cain’t remember ifin it’s Tuesday or Friday, so I don’t know ifin it’s open.” (Thursday.)
Precious sat on the top step and folded her paws in front of her. Then she rested her head on her paws as if she was saying You’re on your own, dumbass, unless there’s food down there.
Bubba didn’t think there was food down in the storm shelter. He reckoned it was once a basement, which wasn’t a popular accoutrement in this part of Texas, but once upon a time, someone had spent some considerable amount of energy and money clearing out the part underneath the house that sloped away. It might have sat on footers but the footers had been enclosed and the walls often went right up to solid rockfaces. Over the years the place had also become a catchall, and indeed, it had caught all. There wasn’t a stuffed moose head, but there was a stuffed buffalo head that had been half-gnawed away by mice. One of its glass eyes tilted outward and was in peril of falling to the gravel and rock floor. There was also a row of rusted hubcaps that looked like they could be a half-century old. A group of headless dolls sat on one natural-edge wood shelf and lorded over the shadows in its area.
Once Bubba had passed from the area nearest the stairs, he threaded his way into a series of rooms. Some were cordoned off by walls constructed of pine boards and 2X4s. Others were plaster and sheetrock. One was chicken wire and what appeared to be papier-mâché. (That one also had a mural on it with psychedelic hearts, butterflies, and peace symbols.)