Billy: A Tale Of Unrelenting Terror

by Clayton Spriggs

  The boys lumbered slowly as they carried their sleeping brother to the spot under the hole in the ceiling. They sat him down as gently as they could, trying desperately not to awaken the beast.

  "How we gonna git him up dere?" asked T-Roy.

  "Justin, go fetch da ladder," Poppie said.

  "Ain’t no way we gonna be able to carry him up no ladder…" T-Roy began before he felt the sharp slap of his father’s hand across his cheek.

  "Enough of dat back talk, couyon. I ain’t no bioque!" Poppie snarled. "Go get da rope and dat pulley from ‘round da back. And tell Justin to get dose chains when he finished wit dat ladder."

  T-Roy and Justin did as they were told. Before long, they had the rope and pulley in place. T-Roy carefully threaded the rope around Billy’s chest and tied it off, then the two boys scampered up the ladder to haul their heavy load up into the dark confines of the hot attic.

  Poppie stood below, with one hand on his firearm, and carefully guided their quarry into the small opening as the boys pulled on the rope. Once Billy was in the attic, T-Roy and Justin lowered him to the dank wooden floor and tried to catch their breaths as Poppie climbed up to help secure the beast with the heavy iron chains.

  "What you two jus’ sittin’ ‘round for? Dere’s work to do," Poppie admonished the boys.

  "We jus’ catching our breaths. Dat boy be heavy as merde," Justin answered.

  "Dat’s ‘cause I was doin’ all da work, paresse, lazy son of a bitch," T-Roy muttered.

  The boys began to push and shove on one another before an unexpected sound made them stop dead in their tracks.

  "Aaaa aaa aaa," Billy moaned.

  Poppie cocked his gun and pointed it at Billy. They all stood silently for a moment, staring at the poor child who lay still on the dusty wooden floor beside them.

  "Sshhh," Poppie whispered. "We better get him chained ‘fore he wakes up. Justin, T-Roy, pull him over dere by dat post, and we’ll lock him up and get out of here."

  The three of them worked quickly and quietly to secure the sleeping boy before he came to. Billy was beginning to move a bit and groan incoherently as the tranquilizers wore off. None of them wanted to be there when he woke up and found out the predicament he was in.

  After they had their brother’s chains secured to both his legs and the heavy wooden beam, the two boys grabbed the pulley and rope and quickly climbed down the ladder. Poppie handed his gun down to T-Roy and flashed his light once more in Billy’s direction.

  The hairs on his neck stood up when he spotted the beast’s beady eyes staring back at him, burning red with hatred. Poppie shuddered, and then climbed down the ladder, pulling the square wooden door over the hole behind him, leaving his youngest son in the dark.

  Poppie and the two boys stood in the living room of the small cabin and stared at the ceiling. They could hear the occasional clinking of chains as Billy moved around the small space overhead; then silence. Several moments passed before the men looked at each other and sighed with relief.

  "See now, dat wasn’t so bad, was it?" Poppie stated, satisfied with his idea and the apparent successful results.

  "EEEEEEaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!!"

  The blood curdling scream that echoed from above shook the walls and rattled the windows of the small, wooden shack.

  "Oo ye yi! Dat give me da freesons!" T-Roy blurted, his voice shaking with fear.

  "I got da mal au couer," Justin said and ran out the door before losing the contents of his stomach into the murky water out front.

  "You two bunch of capons," Poppie stated. "Dat t’ing is chained up tight, I seen to it myself. I jus’ hope he shuts up ‘fore your momma come home. Goin’ to get enough grief ‘bout the situation as it is."

  Crash! Bang! Crash! The booming sounds came thundering down from above, increasing in intensity and fury with each successive beat.

  "He’s goin’ to tear down da whole cabin, lest he settle down," said T-Roy.

  "EEEEEEEaaaaaaaagggggghhhh!!!"

  "Don’t you worry none," answered Poppie. "He goin’ to calm down in a bit, once he sees he stuck."

  Poppie hated the beast that he imprisoned up in the attic, but he learned to respect the child’s resilience. Poppie learned all too well that the demon spawn that haunted his existence wasn’t going to wallow in despair, or be done away with so easily. No matter what cruelty or danger life threw the boy’s way, the little bebette managed not only to survive, but to master it. Poppie tried to explain this to his wife, but he lacked the vocabulary or communication skills to make his point understood.

  Poppie St. Pierre knew that the monster was a punishment for his unspeakable sins. The beast was sent from hell to exact revenge on him for his actions and deliver justice for his forgotten daughter. In the end, Poppie realized he would have to kill the creature, or it would feast on them all. Unfortunately, there seemed to be no convincing his wife of the inevitability of the situation.

  He couldn’t understand why Dorcelia was so steadfast in her demands that the monster’s life be spared. He knew she was as afraid of the thing as the rest of them. Secretly, Poppie believed that his wife recognized that Billy was going to slay them all one day, but accepted their fate, maybe even welcomed it as their only chance for eternal salvation. Poppie St. Pierre didn’t hold out much hope for eternal salvation; he knew his soul was damned.

  "EEEEEEEaaaaaaaaagggggghhhhhhh!!!"

  "Fils de putain! Son of a bitch!" Poppie muttered to himself.

  The unnatural sound of Billy’s screams sent shivers down his spine. He didn’t have to wait for eternity – Poppie was in hell already. The Devil was upstairs in his attic, for now. Every once in awhile, he knew he would have to go up there to feed and water it; Dorcelia would demand it. Poppie wasn’t about to argue with her about it. He figured that the only thing worse than having to feed the beast was risking it starving up there.

  If Billy got desperate enough, even those heavy chains weren’t going to hold him. No, Poppie thought, he would give it just enough to survive, but not enough to grow strong. If they got lucky, maybe the thing would grow weak enough that he could kill it one day when Dorcelia wasn’t around, and he’d do away with their curse once and for all. Until that time came, they would all have to wait it out.

  "EEEEEEEaaaaaaaaagggggghhhh!!!"

  T-Roy looked at Poppie, his eyes wide with fear. "I got da faiblesse, I’m gonna faint."

  "Steady, T."

  "I jus’ hope we ain’t gotta go up dere for any t’ing."

  "No reason to. No reason to ever go up dere again."

  Chapter Eight

  Wrath of God

  By the time Dorcelia got home, Billy had settled down. The only indication that he was up in the attic came from the occasional rustling of chains they heard overhead. As long as Poppie put some water and food within reach of the lonely beast, all was well.

  It was the one chore that Poppie hated beyond all else, but he resisted delegating it to others. He knew that one misstep and things could get ugly fast, and he didn’t want to risk T-Roy or Justin’s lives unnecessarily. It was his punishment to have to tend to the demon in the attic, and he performed it begrudgingly.

  Besides having to carry the food and water bowls up there, he also had to bring the empty bowls back down. Along with these came the not-so-empty buckets of filth. Billy was a nasty creature who created gut-wrenching amounts of the foulest smelling refuse one could imagine. Every time Poppie found himself hauling another bucket of waste to the outhouse, he dreamed of the day he could kill the beast once and for all.

  It wouldn’t be long now, he thought. The next chance he got when Dorcelia wasn’t around, he was determined that it would be the last time any of them would have to deal with Billy again.

  It was a hot summer that year, and the smell from the attic was rancid. By the end of August, the stench was unbearable throughout the small cabin. Flies swarmed incessantly around their house, crawling on every surface and making everyone miserable.
Poppie and the boys complained relentlessly about the situation, but Dorcelia was unsympathetic to their plight.

  "You t’ink you boys got it rough, I’m here all day and night," she replied when prompted.

  "You right," Poppie would answer. "Maybe you need to go to town and pick us up some sweet-smelling candles or some t’ing to help rid us of ‘dis stench. And get some t’ing to drive dese flies away ‘fore I lose my mind."

  Dorcelia could sense that her husband was trying to get her out of the house, and she had no problem figuring out why. She knew it was only a matter of time before she relented and allowed the man to do what was necessary, but she held out as long as she could. In her heart she understood that it would be best for everyone, including the poor, unfortunate boy chained up in the attic, but it was hard for her to let go.

  As terrifying as he was, Billy was the only thing Dorcelia had left of her long-lost Lillian. She mourned her poor baby girl and what her husband – what they all – had done to her. Once Billy was gone, there was nothing left on earth to bear witness that her child had ever existed. There was only an unmarked grave deep in the swamp by an old abandoned plantation that served as her eternal resting place.

  There was little doubt in Dorcelia’s mind that the eerie and remote location was inhabited by scores of restless souls that had suffered greatly in life and spent their eternities haunting the creepy swamp in search of their tormentors. Billy would soon take his place amongst them, and she lamented the fact that his soul was perhaps the most tormented of them all.

  Dorcelia finally relented and made plans to go to town on the last Sunday of the month. Toward the end of the week, outside events undid her plans for good.

  Poppie and the boys were out front, unloading some of their fishing gear from one of the pirogues, when they heard a boat approaching. Dorcelia stuck her head out the door at the unexpected and unwelcomed sound of uninvited guests arriving.

  "You get back inside woman, and do it quick," Poppie commanded.

  "What if Billy…," Justin began.

  "Hush, now. Let’s see what da commotion ‘bout first," Poppie answered.

  A boat came around the bend, within sight of the St. Pierre cabin. It was Jean Landry and his son, Robert. They cut the motor and drifted up slowly toward the house.

  "Hey dere, neighbor," Jean called out while waving his arms.

  The Landrys knew that their neighbors didn’t like visitors, and they tried to avoid coming this far into the swamp even when invited. This time, they weren’t invited, but the impending situation demanded that they forgo standard precautions and make an exception.

  Poppie and the boys stared silently at their uninvited guests. None of them were smiling, and Poppie unconscientiously toyed with his shotgun while watching the Landrys approach. Jean and his eldest boy looked cautiously at one another before Jean nodded for Robert to halt the boat so that they wouldn’t drift too close.

  "Sorry ‘bout the intrusion, Poppie," Jean stated. "Dere’s some news I gotta pass on. Sheriff himself goin’ ‘round gatherin’ up da folks, but figured even him not gonna come way out here. I told him me and Robert here would come out personally and see to it ourselves. Storms a comin’. S’posed to be a big one – monster, dey say. Da authorities say everyone gotta get out now whilst dey can. Me and the family gonna get out ourselves dis time, and you know we not doing dat lightly. We offerin’ to take you and yours if you want. Christian t’ing to do and all."

  T-Roy and Justin looked over at each other, not knowing what to think. Dorcelia stayed inside the cabin, unseen by Jean and his boy, afraid of what she knew her husband was going to say.

  "Appreciate dat, Jean," Poppie answered. "But we be jus’ fine. Ain’t da first storm dat come dis way, and won’t be da last. We never left before and don’t see no reason to now."

  "I figured as much," Jean replied. "But had to ask all the same. If’n you change your mind, you better do it quick. S’posed to be here by Sunday, and not much time left to get to higher ground."

  "We ain’t goin’ to change our minds," Poppie said. "Y’all be careful out on da road, and tell dat sheriff don’t waste his time comin’ out here ‘cause we ain’t leavin’."

  "Don’t let dat worry you none, Poppie," Jean answered. "No one gonna come all da way out here now. Take care of da wife and dose boys, and tell ‘Celia we sends our love. You be with us in our prayers."

  Poppie nodded and watched as Jean and Robert started up their boat and rode out of sight. No one else was coming to Bayou Noir to warn them or see if they needed any help. There was not enough time now. It was almost Friday, and within two days, the storm would be upon them. Dorcelia wasn’t going into town this weekend, and Billy was staying put. They were going to hunker down and ride out the hurricane for good or bad. Only then would they take care of the unsettled business in the attic.

  For the remainder of that day and all of the next, they hurriedly prepared for the coming onslaught. The boats were double and tripled tied off to the dock, and as much of their possessions as possible were taken in to the relative safety of the small cabin. What they couldn’t bring in, Poppie and the boys tied down as best they could. By Sunday, the rain began to fall, and they shuddered up the windows before settling down together inside the wooden shack.

  By the next morning, the wind began to howl. Strong gusts crashed against their home and shook the tiny building, only to be followed by an eerie silence uncommon so deep in the swamp. Generally, they were surrounded with a concert of the natural sounds emanating from the vast array of wildlife that lived in the marshlands. Not today. The swamp was quiet. The creatures that could leave had already left; the ones that could not were hiding from the upcoming melee, much like the St. Pierre’s. The only other times Poppie remembered the swamp being this quiet was on the days when Billy was on the prowl.

  Billy had been riding out the storm all alone in the dark attic in relative silence. The occasional sound of rattling chains drifted down from above to remind everyone that the monster was still waiting in the space above them, but no more noise than what they usually heard from him.

  From time to time, Justin claimed to hear a creepy scratching sound and wondered aloud what the beast was up to, but no one else ever claimed to hear it. In these instances, T-Roy routinely mocked him, calling him a capon, which usually resulted in the two boys coming to blows before being forcefully separated by their irate father. By the time Poppie was finished with them, the damage they had inflicted upon each other paled in comparison. By the time that Sunday afternoon reached them, no one was calling anyone else a capon.

  As darkness began to fall, the water began to rise. By this time, the wind was howling loudly – only now accompanied by Billy’s howls from above.

  "EEEEEEEEaaaaaaaaaaaagggghhhhh!"

  The waves crashed against the pilings on which their house stood, and the entire world swayed from the force of the hurricane. One of the shudders tore off from its mountings, and one of the window panes cracked from the power of the wind. A loud screech rang out as the wind and rain shot in from the small opening.

  "Go get dat board and push it against dat window," Poppie shouted to T-Roy above the din.

  "EEEEEEEeeeeeeaaaaaaaaggggghhhhh!"

  "It’s getting bad out dere, Daddy," Justin shouted. "What we gonna do?"

  "We gonna be alright, Jus. We just sit tight and hold on."

  "EEEEEeeeeeeeeaaaaaaggggghhhhhh!"

  "Maudit! Goddamn!" T-Roy yelled. "Billy’s going motier foux, half-crazy up dere."

  The heavy chains rattled above in time with the thunderous clasps of the raging storm. The family below huddled in each other’s arms at each crash of Katrina’s fury.

  "EEEEEeeeeeeaaaaaaaaagggghhhhh!"

  "Ooo eee! Dat howlin’ giving me da freesons," Justin hollered.

  "Dat boy just scared, same as us," Dorcelia exclaimed.

  "EEEeeeeeeeaaaaaaggggghhhh!"

  "He ain’t scared. Not dat one," answered Poppie.
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  He knew better. He had looked on as the beast confronted alligators and poisonous snakes raw-handed without hesitation, without fear. Hell, Poppie thought, almost with evil delight. He knew the demon he leashed into the world wasn’t human. Billy was the Devil himself. The monster didn’t feel fear, except the fear in others, and at those times, he relished it.

  "He up dere all alone, in da dark," Dorcelia pointed out. "Of course, he’s scared."

  "EEEEEeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaggggghhhh!"

  "Dat don’t sound like no fear to me," Poppie said. "Almost sound like he likin’ it."

  The family shuddered collectively at the thought. A loud crash hit the cabin and almost knocked them all down, and the front door blew open from the force of the tidal surge. Cold water rushed in at an alarming rate. In seconds, it was up to their ankles; within minutes, up to their waists.

  "Poppie," shouted Dorcelia, "what we gonna do?"

  "Get dat ladder, T," Poppie shouted. "Jus, get my shotgun."

  Dorcelia said nothing, tears running down her cheeks as she bit her tongue. Justin handed the gun to his father and helped T-Roy position the ladder under the small, square opening in the ceiling above. Poppie climbed up and pushed the wooden door open, then reached down to grab the flashlight from T-Roy. The water was climbing up toward their chests, and the entire family was beginning to panic.

  "Hurry up, Daddy," Justin shouted, his voice cracking with fear. "We all gonna drown."

  Poppie glanced at his boy, but said nothing. Justin was right. He had to do what he had to do. He took a deep breath, and then headed up the ladder.

  He pushed his way quickly into the small opening and swung his light around. The rancid smell hit him, and he promptly choked back his nausea. A blast of cold water hit him in the face, the result of a hole that the storm had torn through the aged roof. Poppie felt the cold water at his feet and knew he had little time left before the entire family drowned. He flung himself up into the attic and leveled his shotgun, aiming for the spot against the far wall where he had chained his youngest child. He shone his light in the dark and froze in terror at the sight of empty chains.