The Deadsong

by Brandon Hardy

  The guy with the ponytail had pinned the snake’s tail with his rod and managed to force it into his bag, but the thing didn’t go in without a fight. Alan and a few others from Critter Catchers got the snake into a large clear Tupperware container where it nosed around, fretting, pissed off. They took it into the community center which had been closed up this year for renovation. It usually showcased photos and paintings made by local artists, but this year it would be a makeshift examination room. Deputy Bryant had set up a folding table he’d gotten from the back room and had carefully placed the caged serpent up onto it.

  Alan put on his glasses and took out a tape recorder. There were about a dozen people standing around, watching, completely in awe.

  Everyone jumped when Alan switched on the recorder; the large meeting hall amplified the click.

  “It’s incredible,” he began, studying it, walking around it.

  It was studying him, too.

  “Body is approximately three and a half to four feet in length, dark brown in color with…crimson and gold alternating stripes on its underscales, diamond-pattern across its back from head to tail…appears to be a pit viper of some kind. It has very pronounced infrared pits. Demonstrated lateral progression, which is typical locomotion consistent with a pit viper. The teeth…”

  Alan bent down to his knees and eased in close, eyes locked with the snake’s own––yellow, wide, and fixed. He slowly brought a finger out and inched it towards the plastic between him and the snake. “Say ‘ahh’––”

  The snake lunged and thudded into the side of the container. It wobbled and two of the Critter Catchers ran up to hold the lid down. The serpent bared its fangs at Alan, almost in exhibition.

  “There we go.” Alan resumed recording. “I see no grooves in the fangs. They appear to be hollow and erectile.”

  “Sweet Jesus.” Sheriff Robertson walked up wiping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. “I ain’t never seen anything like that.”

  “Neither have I,” Alan said.

  Ned gathered his wits and looked around at everyone gawking at the thing squirming in the storage container. “All right, everyone out. All of you. Let’s give Mr. Blair some room to work.”

  “I caught it,” the man with the ponytail said.

  “That’s great, son,” Ned said. “Good work. But we’ll take it from here.”

  The man looked at him, puzzled. “I haven’t been paid yet.”

  “We’ll take care of that later. You and the others can go. You, too, boys.”

  Everyone filed out of the community center and left Sheriff Robertson and Alan Blair alone with the thing in the box.

  Ned took off his hat and shifted his weight to one leg. “I’m in the right mind to put a slug in that thing right now.”

  “I’m in the right mind to let you, considering how dangerous they are,” Alan said, removing his glasses. The snake had curled up like a dog in the corner of the container and became still.

  “Can it breathe in there?”

  Alan nodded. “I’ll take it back with me tomorrow morning. Can you have someone tape the lid and cover it with something?”

  “Sure,” Ned said. “What are you going to do with it in the meantime?”

  “Leave it here, if that’s okay. I don’t want it in my motel room. Besides, the people at the Bartleby might not appreciate me toting this thing in through the lobby.”

  “It can stay here, no problem, but is it safe, Mr. Blair? Can it get out?”

  Alan walked over to the corner of the room and picked through scrap pieces of wood intended to reframe the door leading out onto the pool deck. He settled on a a carton full of sixteen-penny nails, carrying them over and dropping them on top of the Tupperware container. The snake roused and skidded around, its tongue probing the air curiously.

  “Oh yeah, this’ll work just fine.” Alan gave the carton a good shake and confidently turned his back on his new discovery, wiping his hands on his khakis. “I need to use a phone. I should call Sedgewick right away.”

  “Of course. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. There’s one in the…no, it’s disconnected. Come with me. We’ll find one. There’s a phone in the park services office across the way there by the stadium.”

  The two of them walked to the side door and went out. Ned flipped off the switch by the door. Light ran out of the fixtures slowly, the caged serpent fading away into darkness.

  Alan called Dr. Sedgewick, who was delighted to hear the news. Alan let the recorder tell his mentor of his preliminary observations. Once the conversation ended, Ned gave Alan a ride back to the Bartleby and on the way, Ned called Deputy Bryant and told him to go back to the community center and tape up the container.

  A solution was coming. Ned felt a rush of relief and resolve work its way through him as he began his drive back into Hemming.

  Those warm feelings were soon chilled back to their normal frigid state when Ned picked up his radio and heard Deputy Bryant say the container was on the floor, the lid lying nearly four feet away with a bunch of nails strewn around it…

  And the snake was gone.

  7

  Carl Motley rocked in his chair, praying quietly. Margaret Oates and Perry Smith walked into his office and closed the door.

  “What is it? I’m communin with the Lord our God, prayin for a sign, prayin for––”

  “Reverend, it’s the college boy. He’s caught one of the snakes.”

  Motley stopped rocking and opened his eyes. “You sure?”

  They nodded at their reverend, who blossomed into a smile fit for a postcard.

  “That’s good. That’s real good.”

  “He’s taking it with him tomorrow.”

  “Well we can’t have that now, can we?”

  “It’s at the community center. What should we do?”

  “Well let’s go get it and carve it up. Might just make myself a wallet out of its devil-hide.”

  “What about the college boy?” Smitty asked.

  “Oh we’ll deal with him later. First thing’s first. Where’s Harley?”

  “He’s combing the woods out along Highway 7 near the Cullman County line. He says the shack should be there––piecing together where Floyd might have seen the Keeper.”

  “Ah, very good. Well then,” Motley said, getting to his feet, “who’s drivin?”

  8

  The boys watched Sheriff Robertson and that man from the college walk out of the community center and over to the park services office.

  “Come on,” one of them whispered. The rusted chain on the back door of the place snapped and fell to the ground. A hand pushed open the door that led into the darkness where the mysterious reaper snake was now kept.

  Andy Lubbock and Jack Monroe crept into the main hall and powered on the lights, stealing their breath away when they saw it staring at them from across the room.

  They would kill it. Jack had a set of garden shears and Andy had a shovel he kept in back of his pickup. They’d been at the tractor-pull when they heard about the snake sealed up in the old community center. Sure, there were probably a lot more of them out there, but these boys had buried their sisters earlier this week and they were about to exact revenge on one of these damn snakes.

  Its eyes followed them as they walked over to the container with their weapons in hand.

  Andy looked at Jack. “So, what do we do?”

  “You knock it over and I’ll snip it right in two before it gets away.”

  “What if it’s fast? What if it gets away before––”

  “We gotta be faster than it. Now go ahead. Knock it over.”

  “But Jack… I don’t wanna do it.”

  “Fine, I’ll do it. Here.” Jack handed off his clippers and heaved the carton of nails from the plastic lid. The snake hammered into the side of the container and scared Jack so bad he dropped the carton, thousands of nails tinkled across the concrete floor.

  “Hurry! We’re gonna caught!”

  “Hush
! All right, on the count of three, okay?”

  Andy nodded with the shears spread open. He held the shovel between his forearm and his potbelly so Jack could take it when the container hit the floor and the snake was loose.

  “One…”

  Andy huffed out short breaths as sweat began to bead up on his sunburned cheeks.

  “Two…” Jack reached out and put a shaky hand on the plastic lid. Better grab the shovel quick. Gotta be faster than it.

  “Th––”

  “Hello, boys.” The voice was familiar.

  Jack jerked his head around to see the shape of a man cut out in the shadows by the back door. At his feet, a pool of other shapes.

  And they were moving towards Jack and Andy.

  “Mr. Pearson?” Andy said.

  Ellis stepped out with his hands in his pockets. He was wearing a black canvas duster over a gray sweatshirt. “What’re you planning to do with those?”

  The boys looked at their weapons and then back at Mr. Pearson. They began to shake as the shadowy shapes slithered closer and into the light.

  There were about ten of them.

  Jack and Andy began to back away. Their skin prickled into mounds of gooseflesh. Urine trickled from Andy’s pant leg and puddled up on the concrete.

  “Everything’s gone to shit, boys. But I’d say this is your lucky day since I’ve had no problem with either of you.”

  “Our…our sisters were––”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” Ellis said, his eyes dark. “However, as much as I’ve liked you two…”

  The snake on the table hurled its body against the side of the container. Then a second time. Then a third. The container inched over the corner of the table. The angry snake thrusted its weight again. And again.

  Jack considered snatching the shovel from Andy and going to town on Mr. Pearson, but they were outnumbered.

  “I can’t let you kill him,” Ellis finished, and then the hall filled with a thunderclap as the container smacked into the floor, setting the snake free. It curved silently up behind the boys. Andy pulled out a St. Christopher’s medallion from beneath his shirt and began rubbing it with his thumb.

  Someone was pulling on the back door. Ellis had jammed a two-by-four in between the pull handles, but someone wanted in pretty bad. The force stopped. Whispering.

  Ellis, the boys, and the snakes were watching the door. Ellis listened closely and heard Carl Motley sneeze a snot rocket. Time was short and he had business to take care of now that he had been seen, but…

  Ellis turned a weary eye and forced a humorless smile. “I guess it’s your lucky day after all. Go.”

  Jack and Andy looked at each other then back to Ellis.

  “Go!” Ellis roared. The snakes charged at the boys until they found their strength. Jack and Andy hightailed it across the facility and burst out of the side doors.

  When Motley and his crew got in, the place was empty. He crossed over to the empty Tupperware container and kicked a spray of nails in the air.

  “It was here,” Smitty said, scratching his head. “That’s what I heard, Reverend.”

  “Well it ain’t here now, is it?!” Motley screamed. “You damn fool!”

  Margaret Oates walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “I heard him in here,” he said, looking at her. “It is Ellis.”

  The three of them stood there in silence, lost.

  Smitty stuttered “But, Reverend, what about… Well, Harley’s on his way over there to––”

  “I know he is.” Motley was fuming. Harley Robinson was heading over to the Bartleby to take care of business there. That’s okay. Let him take care of the college boy. He waltzed in here and stirred up everything anyway. We are justified and we shall be forgiven. And things were going just fine. Harley had found the shack. We were gonna kill this snake and then go burn the rest of em. Heavens-to-Betsy, could this get any worse?

  Motley returned to reality and scanned the faces of his disciples. “We leave now. We go back to the church and wait for Harley. In the morning, we get supplies, and then tomorrow night, we follow Ellis Pearson and end this once and for all.”

  Motley heard two deputies outside having a discussion about whether or not they should take some pictures of the snake for the tabloids. Their voices were getting louder as they approached the side door.

  ‘Strength for thy labor the Lord will provide.’

  Smitty pointed to the back door. Motley nodded, and the three of them sprinted for it and were out by the time Deputies Bryant and Cooley walked in with a roll of duct tape and saw only the empty plastic container and the nails sprinkled about the floor.

  CHAPTER EIGHT: GETTING OUT

  1

  The heat woke him up. Jared felt himself drenched with sweat. He cracked an eye and saw Gina resting her head on his chest.

  He watched her breathe. Her lips were parted slightly.

  They had slept through the night in the backseat and avoided all contact with everyone, but they had managed to forge a plan before passing out. It wasn’t a great one, but it was a pretty good start.

  They would leave tonight. He would take Gina home to gather her things while he went to gather his own. Jared felt Mr. Pearson’s power over the snakes weaken as his own grew stronger, and the snakes had to either be destroyed or given to the one who should naturally carry on the devil’s work. Ellis Pearson would be out of the game soon enough regardless, and the only way to keep Thade appeased and out of Jared’s hair meant somehow turning them over to…

  No, there’s no way that would work, Jared thought, but I can try.

  He tapped Gina on the arm until she opened her electric blue eyes.

  “It’s time,” he said.

  She pulled herself off him and got out of the car and stretched, her back popping in the heat.

  Jared twisted and popped his own back, fanning his shirt.

  “Do you think Duke will be okay?” Gina asked.

  “He’ll be fine. If I lived through it…” Jared pulled off his shirt and Gina gasped at the bite marks dotting his arms, chest, and back. “He will, too.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “After the incident at the McGraws’, I summoned them again and… tried to sever my connection with them.”

  “Can you even do that?”

  “Well, I had to try. I wanna get out of this mess. I got close but…well, this happened.”

  Gina considered he might be going completely bonkers, but hell, was anything going on here that didn’t seem outrageously bizarre?

  Jared put his shirt back on and added “Hurt like hell, though.”

  Gina squeezed out a sound that vaguely resembled laughter.

  He looked up at the sky. “It’s about mid-afternoon now. After I take you home, you have some time to do what you need to do. Meanwhile, I have some things of my own I have to take care of.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’d rather not say. Just be ready to go at nine o’clock tonight. If Dylan wants to come, great, but I’ll be at your house at nine o’clock sharp, so be ready. We’ll drive through the night and be in Shreveport by sun up. One of my dad’s Army friends has a house there. We can stay with him until we find our own place. There’s nothing else for us here.”

  “Everything we’ve created here is cosmically wrong.”

  “I wonder if God feels the same way about us.”

  2

  Sheriff Robertson showed up first. After laying eyes on the body, a moan crawled from his mouth, dragging over all that he saw.

  Alan Blair was strung up in the tree, hanging from his feet, ripped open right down the middle like a doe. Blood was still oozing down his forearms. It dripped quietly onto the rust-colored maple leaves below his dangling fingers.

  Plick. Plick. Plick.

  Charlie Douglas had found him about seven-thirty that morning during his usual stroll along the highway. He had wandered beyond the tree line to relieve himself when he hear
d the sound and searched for the source…

  Plick. Plick. Plick.

  and called 9-1-1 from his cell phone once he found the young man hanging there, grossly opened up, his innards swaying in the morning breeze.

  Ned had to turn away and put his head between his legs.

  The sun rose as it did the day before. But today it would set with fewer souls roaming around this cursed town, this well-oiled machine in Arlo County called Hemming.

  He stared out into the woods––those damn woods where everything evil seemed to hide and lay in wait. He wanted a cigarette more than anything. His wife made him quit once they got married, but now, that sweet nicotine fairy went buzzing around his ear and told him to ask Deputy Bryant for a cancer stick when he arrived––he smoked the cheap stuff aptly called ‘Chimneys’––and when the deputy arrived, that’s exactly what he did. Ned squatted on a fallen maple and smoked, waiting for the county medical examiner.

  He was not a particularly religious fellow, but he wished he had a little religion right now. Some real God-fearing religion with a side of faith, hope, and love––the holy meat-and-three.

  This horrifying display was enough to consider early retirement. He’d had enough, plain and simple. So far this week had been fat with death: Ashley Monroe, Susan Lubbock, Seth Willard, Brock Wilcox, Billy Lowell, Suzie Grafton, Corey Green, Rick Watts, Shirley Thompson, Wanda Phillips, Trudy Lightman, and Nick Messer all met the same fate. Duke Pearson was recovering at Durden Memorial, thank God, but Floyd Wiggins was still missing, and now Alan Blair was strung up like a deer just behind him, getting his picture made by a crime scene photographer.

  3

  Ellis Pearson kissed his wife gently, hopped down the concrete steps, and got into his wood-paneled station wagon. He adjusted the rearview then tilted it down to examine his reflection more closely. The man with graying hair on the other side of the glass spoke to him. This is going way too far, Ellis.

  He was in quite a predicament now. The danger he was in far exceeded his ability to create it. He had gotten out of bed that morning and barely had any control left. He tried to call them, but he had gotten no response. He searched with his mind, feeling out the usual channels where his reapers had forever responded promptly and with loyal obedience.