by Jeff Chapman
Marzby and Orville twisted around to eye me hesitating. Orville frowned, his brows knitted. Marzby’s lips struck a straight, hard line.
“Are you master or cajoler?” said Marzby.
“Jimmy!” snarled Orville.
I levered myself in. If I hadn’t already made up my mind, Orville’s snarl would’ve sent me packing in the opposite direction. Marzby flicked the reins and the wagon lurched past the telegraph and then a bank. The spring-cushioned bench moved with the ruts and bumps, but every jolt rattled up my spine from tailbone to neck, like a hammer driving a nail.
As we left town and entered open countryside, Orville attempted some conversation. Marzby responded with a few grunts, peppered with a yes or no when a grunt didn’t suffice. Orville had told me time and again the greatest tool of a huckster is friendly chatter. Frustrated, Orville cut to the matter at hand.
“So how long has this knocker been troubling you?”
“Years.”
“Is that a fact? Hmm.”
Now why would someone put up with wall-knocking for years and then pay a heap of gold to rid themselves of it in a hurry? Orville’s mind was clicking like mine, I hoped.
“Got a notion of where it came from?”
“Old country.”
“And that is?”
“My birthplace.”
Orville pushed up his hat to scratch the back of his head. I imagined his face was screwed up with consternation searching for a new path into the briar patch of Marzby’s thoughts.
“Manessah,” said Orville. “Never heard that one. What sort of name is it?”
“Bible.”
The wagon ascended a hill. A desolate stretch of country we were rolling through. Nothing but switchgrass, and nary a house or hovel in sight. We stopped when we reached the hill’s level top where an old live oak spread its branches nigh the path.
Marzby set the brake, and the wagon shifted as he dismounted.
“What we stoppin’ here for?” said Orville.
I got on my knees to peer over the bench. Marzby was bent over the harness.
“Reckon that ranch yonder is his?” I pointed to a cluster of buildings a couple miles distant down the track we were following.
“We can hope,” Orville whispered. “Hey,” he called to Marzby, “is that your ranch we’re seein’ down the road?”
Marzby stood tall and lifted his head, bringing his eyes into full view. Bright red rings burned in the shadows of his hat. Orville gasped and stiffened. We were at his mercy, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, with nary a soul to help in our hour of need.
I lunged for the brake, fighting over the bench, figuring our only hope was the horses and distance. Marzby raised an arm, two long fingers extended, staring right at us. His fingers flashed white as a blast of pressure hit my shoulder, like a gust of wind, but there wasn’t no wind. My fingers slipped from the brake as I fell backward into the wagon bed. I rolled on my shoulder to protect my head. Orville took the brunt of Marzby’s magical blast. He tipped to his side and lay motionless on the bench. I swallowed hard as my gut tightened into a fist. Was Orville dead? Dirt crunched under Marzby’s boots. There was nothing to do for Orville while Marzby was loose.
I scrambled out the back of the wagon faster than a hare that’s spied a fox. I dropped to the dirt on my hands and knees. Snakeskin boots tromped around the side of the wagon, grinding dirt underfoot. What unnerved me more than anything else was his pace. He wasn’t in no more hurry than a cat closing in on a cornered mouse, the kill a bygone conclusion.
Keeping something between me and Marzby was my only option until I thought up something better. I edged toward the opposite side of the wagon. My heart thumped like a terrified bullfrog threatening to leap out of my chest. Sweat dripped off my lips. For all I knew, Orville was dead and I didn’t have long to live. Marzby plunged around the tail of the buckboard, his fingers pointed at me. I leapt behind the rear wheel as he belched something guttural. A flash of white lit my vision. The wagon wheel exploded into flying spokes tumbling end over end. Two of them bounced off my back. I stumbled toward the front of the wagon, bent low to keep my head down. Marzby cursed, and the wagon groaned as the rear corner hit the ground with a splintering crash.
I expected a hammer-like blow on my back to send me sprawling into the afterlife, but none came, and I didn’t chance a backward glance. I rounded the heads of the horses, wondering why I was still alive and upright. Maybe he feared blasting the legs off the horses or maybe his magic was akin to a gun and he had to reload.
A thud and more cursing came from the rear of the wagon. I edged my way around the horses. Through a web of legs and spokes, I saw Marzby on his belly in the dirt, moving his arms to raise himself. The toe of his boot was hooked in the blasted wheel rim lying on the ground. Orville hadn’t stirred from the bench. I hated to leave him, but now was my chance, if I ever had one.
I sprinted across the top of the hill, stretching my legs to eat ground like a racehorse down the final stretch. My mind held no thoughts but running. My heart pounded, raising the pressure at my temples. Fear banished the pain in my shoulder. I scanned the prairie for a place to hide and there I found my salvation, a ribbon of trees hugging a creek. If I could make the trees, a quarter mile as the crow flies, I might lose him in the cover. I leapt at the edge of the hill and flew several yards down the slope, my arms and legs pumping through the air. I landed in motion and kept running, faster and faster, always on the verge of tumbling over, my head thrust forward to catch up with my momentum. Knee-high grass slapped at my legs.
“Stop!” The shout packed enough anger to carry it down the hill and past me. “Stop, you mongrel.”
At the base of the hill I stumbled, thought I was done for when the earth rose up to meet me, clumps of switchgrass and sun-baked soil. With both hands on the ground I stopped my tumble and my legs never quit running. I bobbed forward three steps until I was upright and then struck a course for the trees. I’d lost ground. I heard his boots kicking pebbles down the hill.
“I’ll hunt you like a rabbit.”
My shoulder jerked like someone had slapped it. I yowled more out of surprise than pain. A lesser blow stung my back, knocking me off my stride. Neither packed the punch to kick me over. Had he weakened or was it the distance? The answer might have changed my strategy, but to find out risked more than not knowing. More shouts chased me. The trees appeared in reach. A narrow strip of grass separated us. I planned to dodge from one tree to another, follow the creek back to town, and rustle up help for Orville if he wasn’t beyond it.
All came to nothing when my foot caught the lip of some varmint hole and my headlong pace carried me forward into a half-somersault. I landed on my back. A shudder ran up my spine and to the tip of every limb like being whacked on my tailbone with a hammer. No time for lamenting. Escape was mere strides away. Leaves whispered in the breeze and water chortled in the creek, calling me. Marzby laughed, closing in.
My grandma claimed bad luck walked in twos and threes. I certainly got my share that day. When I rolled onto my hands and knees, I slapped my palm onto a thistle. I yelped, jerking my hand free of the spines. One moment’s hesitation gave Marzby all he needed.
Long fingers gripped my shirt collar, lifting me like a puppy. With his other hand, Marzby got hold of a shank of hair at the back of my head and yanked, like he planned to scalp me without a knife. I grasped wildly for his legs, thinking to buckle his knees and topple him, but the moment my hands touched his legs, his knee shot up and caught me in the forehead. I’d never been kicked by a horse, but I reckoned Marzby’s knee was close enough to the real deal to satisfy any curiosity. I felt a hollow clop when his knee met its target. A flash of white stars lit my vision before a black curtain fell across my eyes.
Chapter Three
I woke to a headache that started at the front of my head and followed jagged paths of pain to the back. There was a lump swelling my forehead as sure as day follows night
, but I couldn’t reach to explore it. A rough rope secured my hands behind my back. My ankles ached under the strain of what felt like a wide leather strap. I said felt because I couldn’t see nothing but a square patch of light on the stone floor and a few stalks of yellow hay. Grit shifted beneath me as I moved my legs in a vain effort to ease some stiffness. Whoever took care of this place hadn’t swept it for a year or two of Sundays. My gaze followed the shaft of light from floor to ceiling where a dusty haze swirled slowly round a square hole. Smoke was the only pleasant odor. The others called to mind a privy pit but for the sickly sweet stench of rotting meat. Was I in the wrong end of a privy?
As my eyes adjusted, the corners of a door across the room and lumpy bundles leaning against the wall to my left and right came into focus. The one closest me was snoring, and the harder I listened, the louder it became. I’d know the rhythm and pitch of Orville’s snore anywhere. Thank the good Lord he wasn’t dead. Who would have believed such an awful groaning racket could lift your spirits, but lift my spirits his snoring did. Like my grandma said, A spot of company makes any desperate situation a few smidgens less desperate.
“Orville. Orville!” I hissed. “Wake up.” I suspected he couldn’t hear me over his snoring, which was growing louder with every breath. My instincts told me not to shout, not to let Marzby know we were awake, not until Orville and I concocted a plan.
I wriggled my legs and shoulders to scoot across the grit. Leaning as close to his ear as possible without toppling into him, I hissed his name. Nothing but snoring. I sighed, as much from frustration as the pain pounding my head. When Orville was sound asleep, nothing but shaking or cold water would do the trick.
A piggish snuffling snapped my attention to the wall opposite, where the vague outline of a doorframe interrupted the wall. Goose flesh spread up my arms and face. The floor looked blacker opposite me, and the corners disappeared into shadows. I piqued my ears to every drip and scuttle, whatever noise slipped between Orville’s snoring. Whatever made that snuffling was big, and I didn’t reckon it was human. Nothing there. Nothing that I could see in the blackness. Maybe it was scenting us around the door. Had Marzby left us in here as feed for some monstrous boar, some tusked razorback slobbering for blood?
I scooted closer to Orville. My grandma didn’t raise me to end my days as pig slop. We needed a plan and quick. I rocked side to side and then flung myself at Orville. My shoulder slammed into his upper arm. We both toppled over with my head coming to rest on his generously thick and thankfully soft middle.
“Aaah! Damnation. Hell.”
That clop I’d heard must have been Orville’s head. Hoped he was wearing his hat to cushion the blow. “Orville. It’s me, Jimmy.”
“What?! Get off me, boy.”
“I’m tryin’.” Righting myself proved far more difficult than falling. Once I was upright, I had to sit, frustrated, and watch Orville attempt the same. He peppered his efforts with a lot of cursing. I couldn’t help with my hands and legs bound. We must have looked like a couple beetles stuck on our backs.
“Damn my head, boy. What’d you do that for?”
“I’s tryin’ to wake you up.”
“And knock the sleep out of my cracked skull? Cruelty knows no bounds.”
“Where are we?”
“Marzby’s dungeon,” said Orville. “Hell, if we’re lucky.”
Our situation appeared as bad as I’d thought.
“Those two over there are Wilbur and Nellie,” Orville said. “I was playin’ opossum when Marzby brought ’em in.”
“The couple you told the fortune to?”
“That’s what I said, ain’t it, boy? How else would I know ’em?”
At least Orville hadn’t lost his cantankerousness. I counted that a good sign.
“Did he get you when he hexed me? Last I knew, I was sittin’ on the wagon bench, and then I came to in this stinkin’ hole.”
I related the story of my near escape.
“Hmm,” said Orville when I’d finished. “Marzby seems to have gotten his powers back by the time he brought them in.” He tilted his head toward the farmer and his wife, who had yet to stir.
“I heard some snufflin’ a bit ago,” I said, "like a pig. Have you heard that too?”
“Must be what’s livin’ in that pit yonder.”
“Pit?”
“Glory be my head hurts.”
“Mine ain’t much better.”
Orville groaned. “Whatcha think that blackness in front of the door is? There’s a pit that goes all the way across the room. Marzby conjured up some sort of bridge to cross it. Strangest lookin’ thing, like a bunch of bleached bones, but glittery like stars. Hard to discern the finer details as I was squintin’, but I could see that pit. Must be two or three yards across. And it don’t surprise me one bit there’s somethin’ foul inhabitin’ it. No, boy, we’re good and stuck here.”
“If we turned back to back, you think you could untie me?”
“There ain’t no way to get past that pit, boy. Ain’t you listenin’?”
I was withholding judgement until I’d seen it for myself. There’s not a potato can’t be peeled and a problem can’t be mended, my grandma was fond of saying. “I expect you’re right, but I’d rather face Marzby with free hands that haven’t lost all their feelin’.”
Orville grunted his assent. We leaned and twisted like a couple barrels trying to walk until our hands met. I let Orville work on my knot first. I’d seen him do some rope and knot tricks, so I figured he’d have more luck doing this blind than me.
After an eternity of tugging and pushing and a heap of muttered curses from Orville, the rope fell slack. I pulled my arms free. The strap around my legs succumbed without much resistance. Temptation tugged me toward the pit. I wanted a quick peek to temper my curiosity and reconnoiter our situation.
“For heaven’s sakes, boy. Quit gawkin’ at what you can’t see and untie me.”
I scrambled to Orville’s side to work on the knots.
“If we tie these ropes and straps together, we might fashion a whip to surprise old Marzby at the door.”
“Not a bad idea. If you were skinnier you could shimmy up that hole and out of here.” Orville hemmed and hawed while I struggled with the binding. “What in tarnation are you doin’, boy? Makin’ ’em tighter? I loosened knots faster blind. Your rope skills are powerfully deficient. Remind me if we ever get outa here to learn you somethin’ about ropes.”
Something snorted, like a pig with a bad head cold. “Did you hear that?”
“Huh?”
“The snufflin’. Listen.”
A deep-throated slobbering and snorting, much louder this time, echoed about the chamber. Visions of a massive boar with tusks ready to gore me filled my head. Scratching followed the pig sounds. Not what you’d expect from hooves, more akin to claws.
“What the hell? Hurry up, boy.”
I attacked the last knot with a vengeance. After pushing one loop through and pulling out another, Orville pulled himself free, without a moment to spare.
A hand emerged from the pit and slapped the floor in the patch of light from the ceiling. I said hand, but the word didn’t do it justice. Fingers with gnarled joints akin the worst case of rheumatism I’d ever seen and clusters of dagger-like claws sprouting from the fingertips at all angles. I might have been there—my head bent over the edge, peering into the blackness—if Orville hadn’t shouted. All the breath eased out of my lungs, and my blood drained to my feet. One moment’s hesitation might have found me in the bottom of that pit with who knew what. Was this how a cat felt when it used one of its lives?
A second hand rose from the pit and slapped the floor, knocking me out my reverie.
“Quit gawpin’, boy! It’s climbin’ out!”
I lunged toward the pit, reaching for the leather strap that had bound my ankles. I didn’t intend to grapple hand-to-hand with this fiend. I needed something to swing at it. I got my fingers around one e
nd. The other disappeared into the darkness around the pit’s edge. I yanked. The leather stretched taut and slipped clean out of my hand. I hadn’t expected resistance and stared after the strap in mute surprise. One of the beast’s hands pinned the strap to the floor.
A head emerged from the shadows, not a human head, but a boar’s with four yellowish tusks. Its deep-set eyes seemed to sink into its skull and glowed red like fires at a tunnel’s end. Rows of tawny bristles stood between its pointed ears. As the massive pig head rose—and it was twice the size of any normal creature—I caught sight of its shoulders, which were those of a man with heavy muscles rippling as the thing climbed. My heart froze when its gaze met mine. The monster grunted, sounding excited, like a pig scenting its slop. A long tongue wiped the end of its snout and then hung out its mouth, wriggling.
I grabbed at the leather strap, fumbling to get a tight grip to pull it from the Pig-man. This time I yanked with determination. The strap snapped free, and when it passed through the shaft of light from the ceiling, I saw the last few inches were split, cut by the Pig-man’s claws. What those talons would do to our flesh, I dared not consider.
I backed toward the wall, partly out of fear and partly to give myself room to wield my belt. Orville swung his strap in the creature’s face. The leather snapped with the crisp report of a gunshot. The Pig-man staggered, bellowed and shook its head with a violence that would’ve broken even a stout man’s neck. I got a good look at its yellowed teeth and a whiff of its fetid breath. The rotten meat stench burned my nose. Bile scorched the back of my throat. The Pig-man’s roar bounced off the walls, and as soon as the creature’s cry subsided, Nellie burst my ears with a blood-chilling scream of absolute terror.
The Pig-man lowered its head. He looked ready to charge and gore our guts onto the floor. Orville swung his belt but missed. I whipped my strap at its face and luck was with me, snapping a blow across its snout.