Billy: A Tale Of Unrelenting Terror

by Clayton Spriggs

“It ain’t an it; it’s a he. And he gettin’ a name or I’s namin’ him after you,” Dorcelia looked directly at her husband.

  “Beck moi tchew, kiss my ass, woman! You ain’t givin’ it my name. You must be bracque!”

  “Baaaaa aaaa aaaa!”

  “Sounds like a goat ta me. We should name dat t’ing Billy,” said T-Roy.

  “Ga-lee! Billy it ‘tis,” Poppie laughed, pleased with the joke.

  Dorcelia fumed, but kept quiet. Even a name given in jest was better than no name at all. Billy wasn’t so bad. She could accept that. A name meant recognition. With a name, the child was no longer a thing, but a person.

  Dorcelia knew that the child would never be accepted into the family. He was a symbol of their shame, an unwelcome entity to be hidden from the world. That part would be easy. No one outside of the immediate family knew of the child’s existence, and as much as they all could help it, no one ever would.

  There was no certificate of birth for the child, just as there was no acknowledgment of death for his mother. The sad, little, unwanted creature would be banished from the outside world and forced to grow up surrounded by those who despised him. But, if Dorcelia had anything to do with it, he would at least have a chance to live. It was a chance denied to her own daughter by her father’s perversion and her own apathy. Dorcelia believed it to be their only chance at redemption and salvation, and she was determined to see it through.

  “Bwaaaa aaaaa aaaa!”

  “It’s okay, p’tit boug. It gonna be alright,” Dorcelia whispered to the distraught child in her arms. “You be strong little one. Celia’s gonna make sure Billy gets his chance one day.”

  She rocked the sobbing infant until his cries faded, and he drifted off to sleep. The little boy was disgusting to look at, she conceded, but he needed her more than ever. Dorcelia’s resolve to protect the child from the abuse he was sure to be subjected to would never waver, even if deep inside she wondered if her good-for-nothing husband’s dire predictions might have merit.

  As if Poppie could read his wife’s thoughts, he muttered once more, just loud enough for her to hear, “You let dat t’ing grow up, we all gonna regret it one day.”

  Chapter Three

  Caimon Grand Papere

  The St. Pierres played their cards close to their chests. They only ran into their scarce neighbors on occasion and almost never at their own home. The cabin in which they lived sat on wooden pilings long driven into the murky waters that surrounded them. They lived without a telephone and without electricity. A small hand-cranked pump supplied them with the only water supply not teaming with vermin, both seen and unseen. There was some muddy ground scattered about their property, though even this was generally only accessible when the water level was cooperating.

  Privacy was assured by the sheer remoteness of the location, the camouflage of moss-covered cypress trees surrounding them, and the large population of dangerous predators lurking about. The family possessed two pirogues, which are best described as small, wooden, canoe-like boats popular with the Cajuns who inhabit the vast wetlands of southern Louisiana. An old, rusted airboat was at their disposal – at least when it was working. More often than not it wasn’t. An automobile was a luxury the family couldn’t afford and had no real use for, since the only way to get anywhere near their home was with both a boat and a keen sense of direction.

  Any potential visitors to the St. Pierre home better have an invitation if they valued their lives. The entire family was heavily armed and had no qualms about using their weapons under any circumstances. There were reasons they lived apart from the world around them, reasons they preferred to keep to themselves. The Landry family was the closest thing they had to neighbors, and even they were skittish about encroaching on the St. Pierre clan unnecessarily.

  Jean and Earline Landry had three children – Luann, the eldest and only girl, and Robert and Tre, her younger brothers. By comparison to their reclusive neighbors, the Landrys were a little better off and considerably more sociable. They lived on a patch of solid land, enjoyed the benefits of electricity and telecommunications, and possessed an automobile along with the obligatory watercraft.

  Earline was the closest thing that Dorcelia had to a friend and the only access the St. Pierres had to the outside world. It was Earline that ensured that Jean would ferry them over to St. Gabriel’s for Sunday Mass and assist in acquiring whatever supplies they could manage to pick up in town.

  It was common for the Landrys to quietly contribute toward their neighbor’s necessities since what little Dorcelia brought with her was never quite enough to acquire even the most basic of supplies. The St. Pierres had no knowledge of the costs of things in the world around them, but would have baulked at the very thought of charity. The entire clan, Dorcelia included, would have preferred starvation over charity, and the Landry family kept to themselves what assistance they provided.

  Years had passed since Lillian died and little Billy entered their lives. His father remained cruel and hostile toward him, berating him at every opportunity and kicking him as a habit when he was underfoot. His brothers taunted him unmercifully and terrorized him for their own sadistic amusement, much to the approval of their heartless father. It was only his grandmother who showed him any kindness at all, and even this was lacking in enthusiasm.

  Billy was a cross for her to bear, a penance that she was burdened with for her family’s wicked ways. Billy was a reminder of the family’s shame. Billy was told over and over again who and what he was. He was told by his father and he was told by his brothers. Even the only person in the world that showed him any kindness told him without using any words at all just what he was. Billy was a monster.

  His unsettling appearance increased in severity as he grew. His malformed face gave him a menacing look. Dark red eyes gazed out at the world from the shadows of prominent brows, glowing with an internal fire as if from the pit of Hell itself. The rest of his face was relatively flat, the bottom half dominated by a wide mouth that bore jagged, pointed teeth reminiscent of the nocturnal predators that lurked under the swamp waters that surrounded them.

  Billy’s arms were muscular and, even at a young age, his upper torso gained an almost unnatural strength. His chest was wide and his lungs were able to hold enough air to allow him to stay underwater and undetected for endless minutes. Each of his hands had six long, thick fingers with nails ending in sharp points, making his grasp nearly impossible to escape.

  Although his legs were almost frog-like in form and curved so much that they often appeared folded underneath him, they were powerful. His wide feet looked even wider because each had six webbed toes that ended in claw-like points, enabling him to both swim and climb through the soft marshlands at an alarming speed. His unkempt hair and skin looked almost like scales; dried mud and Spanish moss clung to his matted hair, camouflaging his presence in the dense foliage of his environment.

  Shunned by his father and siblings, Billy was often forced to fend for himself. When he was six years old, T-Roy pushed him head-first into the murky water of the bayou in an attempt to drown him. Billy quickly learned how to swim. When he was eight years old, his father and two brothers left him behind on a small patch of ground just before sunset. The water rose around him and Billy taught himself how to use his claw-like hands and feet to scramble up into the trees.

  He found that his beady red eyes that gave him so much trouble seeing through the blinding glare of the sunlight endowed him with superior vision in the dark. By sunrise, he was sitting on the front porch of the family home, much to the dismay of Poppie and the boys.

  When Billy reached the age of twelve, his family began to grow frightened of him. His awkward movements developed into a cat-like agility that enabled him to move silently with a speed that even the hardiest of swamp predators would envy. Eventually, even Dorcelia relented to her husband’s wishes and looked the other way once again as Poppie sought to inflict unspeakable evil upon his own blood.

&nb
sp; "T-Roy, Justin, y’all come on now. We got gator huntin’ to do," Poppie shouted to his two boys as he loaded up the airboat for the upcoming trip. "Billy, you wanna come wit us? Might learn a t’ing or two ‘bout catchin’ a real monster."

  Poppie laughed at his own cleverness, while the two boys grinned. Billy peered at the three indecisively for a few moments, sensing another round of abuse that was sure to come his way.

  "Come on now; no trick dis time. We goin’ down da bayou after Caimon Grand Papere."

  The legendary Caimon Grand Papere was the biggest, baddest alligator anyone had ever seen. He lived in a notoriously dangerous patch of marshland amongst a sizable congregation of gators that anyone without a death wish avoided at all costs.

  The very mention of their destination almost made Billy’s brothers abandon the venture, but they were as afraid of their malevolent father as they were of the beast they were going to hunt.

  Billy sensed his brothers’ fear and relished it. Fear was a sensation he had long since abandoned, and he forgot what it felt like to be scared. He did, however, learn to smell fear on his prey, usually right before the kill. The enjoyment of filling his empty belly followed when he was victorious in the hunt, and he unconscientiously trained himself to associate the terror of his quarry at the prospect of its imminent death with the enjoyment of extending his own life. Billy scampered over toward the three and climbed silently into the boat.

  He watched with curiosity as the others gathered the materials necessary for the expedition. He recognized his father’s shotgun and T-Roy’s handgun, though these instruments held little interest for him. Billy preferred to hunt his prey up close. The giant metal hook fascinated him. It was fastened to steel cable that was coiled up on the deck. He surmised that some bait would be attached to the line to lure the gators up close, then the guns utilized for the kill. Alligator skin was notoriously thick, and a beast the size of old Caimon Grand Papere would not go down easily.

  Even at Billy’s young age, he had become a master of the hunt. His inability to feel fear, coupled with a lack of nutrition, motivated him to great lengths in search of food. He watched the creatures around him and learned their secrets. Billy’s hands were big and strong for his size; the extra fingers and sharp claw-like nails allowed him to seize prey and exert his will upon it. Every kind of animal became his quarry – fish, turtles, snakes, birds, rabbits, nutria, and the like – met their fate as Billy’s meals. It was only the alligator and the bear that he had avoided. He longed to conquer the challenge that these ferocious predators presented. Then, there would be only one remaining foe left for him to vanquish.

  Poppie fired up the engine, and the giant fan behind them began to spin. The noise was incredibly loud, but the sheer euphoria Billy felt when they took off temporarily distracted him from any other sensation. The wind pushed against his face, and he beamed with the unexpected delight inherent with his first experience of speed. He grinned with pleasure and his teeth that he had filed into sharp points gleamed in the bright sunlight. Justin and T-Roy shivered at the sight of their deformed brother’s appearance. To them, Billy looked more like one of the alligators they were hunting than a member of their own family. Poppie felt disgust at the repugnant image of the thing in his boat. He longed for the ride back later in the day without the hideous ogre at their side.

  "We gettin’ close now, boys," Poppie shouted out as he cut the motor and the boat drifted up to a quiet spot amongst the reeds and cypress knees jutting up from the water’s surface. "Justin, you watch for dem boscoyo. We don’t want a hole in da boat."

  Poppie didn’t have to repeat himself; Justin and T-Roy quickly scanned the water for the scattered cypress knots. The thought of being stranded without their boat terrified the two boys, particularly in the vicinity of Caimon Grand Papere’s lair. Billy shrugged indifferently to the possibility. His red eyes squinted in the daylight, and he searched for any sight of the legendary beast.

  Poppie opened a box filled with rotten fish and began to bait the giant metal hook in preparation for the hunt. The stench of the rotting bait caused Billy’s older brothers to gag, a sensation that was unknown to him. He smiled at the displeasure the putrid smell caused his siblings. Justin wretched at the sight of Billy’s grotesque grin, fighting with all of his might to keep from spilling what was left of his breakfast at their feet. His badly deformed brother made him fremeers, grossed out. Billy grunted in recognition of his brother’s attention, a sound that disgusted Justin as much as the display of jagged teeth frightened him.

  "Dat over dere is da gator pond," Poppie whispered, pointing to a green pool of stagnant water on the other side of a small patch of ground. "Y’all be quiet now, and we’ll tie off to dat cypress tree over dere."

  They drifted up and T-Roy tossed a rope around the moss-laden tree, then the four sat quietly awhile and waited. The boys occasionally swatted at the swarm of mosquitoes that harassed them while Billy ignored them completely, transfixed by the beauty of the deadly reptiles in the brackish water nearby. Poppie crept up to the front of the boat and swung the giant hook, letting it go in an attempt to land it in the pond across the embankment. His motion proved strangely awkward, and the hook landed in the mud and out of range of the waiting alligators.

  "Maudit! Goddamn it, missed by a long shot," he cried out in frustration as he tried in vain to retrieve the hook. "It’s stuck on da boscoyo on dat other side. T-Roy, go unhook it, boy."

  "No way, Poppie. You bracque if you ‘t’ink I’m goin’ over dere."

  "Don’t you sass me, boy. You do as I say."

  "Justin, you do it. I ain’t ‘bout to climb out of dis boat," T-Roy suggested.

  "Embrasse mon tcheue! Kiss my ass! No way I’s goin’ out dere," Justin replied.

  Without a word, Billy climbed out of the boat and scampered through the mud to unloosen the hook. He watched with fascination as the gators pretended not to see him and slyly drifted up closer to his position in preparation to attack. He freed the hook just in time and turned back toward the boat as the motor roared to life. He stared in disbelief as the men in his family smiled and mockingly waved goodbye, then Poppie kicked the fan up full blast, and it shot out of sight within minutes.

  Billy turned back to the approaching predators just in time to see the legendary Caimon Grand Papere bearing down on him, mouth agape. The ferocity of the beast amazed the boy, and he could smell the foul odor of death from the creature’s gaping jaws before his reflexes kicked in and he swung sideways, causing the gator to miss. The reptile’s powerful jaws snapped shut with a loud pop and, before the giant beast could recover, Billy thrust the sharp end of the metal hook through the animal’s eye and straight down into his skull. The alligator thrashed wildly about, but Billy was already safely out of reach in one of the nearby cypress trees.

  Caimon Grand Papere pushed his enormous body back into the pond and rolled, trying desperately to free himself from the vile hook embedded in his skull. He became entangled in the steel cable attached to the hook and quickly found that he was terminally trapped in the metal web. The multitude of hungry alligators he shared the pond with pounced on the helpless prey, tearing into its flesh with reckless abandon.

  Billy watched from above with glee as the reptiles fought for the tasty morsels of raw meat. He knew that a new pecking order emerged that day in the alligator pond. At the top, safely perched in the branches overhead, a new king reigned supreme – a boy with a hungry stomach and no fear. Below, his minions fought their own battles for their place in the cruel hierarchy. Caimon Grand Papere was no more. The king was dead; long live the king.

  Chapter Four

  Possede’

  Poppie and the boys were pleased with themselves upon arrival back at the house that evening. Though they had found little in the way of food, their mission had been accomplished when they left the beast behind. Dorcelia grumbled underneath her breath, feigning outrage at the men’s actions, but they knew even she was relieved at Bil
ly’s absence. No one said a word about the missing child through their sparse meal. None of them had any intention of ever mentioning his name again if they could help it.

  By nightfall, the boys readied themselves for bed as their mother quietly performed her daily devotions to Jesus. Poppie lazily rocked in his chair, occasionally drawing a puff of low-grade tobacco smoke from his pipe.

  "Eeeeeeeaaaaaaaggghhhh!"

  The ghastly howl of an unknown predator echoed through the darkness of the swamp, causing the hair on the back of Poppie’s neck to stand at attention. Dorcelia paused in her prayers and looked at Poppie, who had stopped rocking in his chair.

  "What da hell was dat?" T-Roy asked with fear.

  "You watch dat language, T," Dorcelia chastised her eldest son out of habit, wondering the same thing.

  "Shhhh! Y’all hush now. I’m tryin’ to listen," Poppie said. He put his pipe down on the table beside his chair, then stood up and slowly walked over toward the window.

  The swamp was quiet outside their cabin. Whatever made that horrific noise temporarily silenced the creatures of the marsh.

  "I don’t hear nothin’ now," Justin whispered.

  Poppie held a finger to his lips and glanced around the room. They remained silent and strained their ears to discern the source of their fear. The wind occasionally blew against the netting and fishing gear outside, creating a melodic chime-like jingling, accompanied by the soothing rhythm of the tide against the pilings on which their house stood.

  "Well, whatever it be, it’s gone now," Poppie proclaimed.

  They let out a collective sigh of relief and tried to resume their previous state of comfort, without much success. Dorcelia briefly resumed her mantra before her eyes popped open with panic once again.

  "Shhhhhh!" she whispered. "I hear a scratchin’ out front."

  The family held their breath and listened intently. Dorcelia was right. The unmistakable sound of claws against wood made its way across their porch and directly to their front door. Poppie reached for his shotgun and slowly crept toward the door, preparing to greet their uninvited guest. He motioned for T-Roy, who positioned himself to the side, and reached over to open the door. A knock shot out of the silence and startled the clan, causing Dorcelia to shriek and Poppie to almost fire off a round.