Hell Hollow

by Ronald Kelly

  “Yeah, I guess so,” said Keith. He cast one last glance at Blue Fury before following his cousin through the tangle of milkweed, honeysuckle vine, and pink-headed thistle.

  Once they were past the brush, the ground began to angle toward a shady hollow thick with weeping willow trees. Keith paused for a moment. “Do I hear water?”

  “Right as rain,” declared Rusty, unbuckling a strap of his overalls. “Goose Creek is just below us. And it’s got the coolest water this side of Hawkshaw County.”

  “But we didn’t bring any swimming trunks,” said Keith.

  Rusty snorted. “You are right citified, ain’t you? Around these parts, kids don’t need trunks. You just shuck off your clothes and jump in buck naked.”

  It wasn’t long before they were standing on a bank above the languid channel of Goose Creek. Crystal-clear spring water trickled over smooth stones thirty feet to the south, then bled into a widening pool. “This is the deepest point here,” said Rusty. He unbuttoned the other strap and let the overalls fall around his ankles. “It’s a good fifteen feet deep in one spot. But watch out for turtles and crawdads, though. They’ll latch onto your pecker quicker than lightning and it’ll take a hammer and wire pliers to get ‘em loose.”

  Keith stared at his cousin skeptically. “You’re pulling my leg, right?”

  Rusty simply laughed, shucked off his white Fruit of the Looms, and dove in, head first.

  He stayed down for a couple seconds, then bobbed to the surface. “Lordy Mercy, this feels good!” He parted his red bangs, which were plastered damply across his eyes. “Well, what’re you waiting for, cuz? Strip down and come on in. Or are you embarrassed to show yourself? Maybe the Almighty neglected to bless you with the same sized pump handle I’ve got.”

  “My pump handle’s long enough, thank you,” said Keith. He pulled off his shirt and kicked off his Nikes. “Matter of fact, Tarzan could swing through the jungle on mine, if he couldn’t find himself a grapevine.”

  Rusty unleashed a bray of laughter. “Give me a break!”

  Soon, Keith was unclothed. He took a couple of steps back, then launched himself toward the middle of the pool. He hit the water a second later and it was so cold it nearly knocked the wind plumb out of him. Goosebumps prickled his bare flesh and, with a splash, he broke the surface. “Now that’s what heaven’s like!” he yelled out.

  “I was afraid maybe you didn’t know how to swim,” said Rusty. “Expected you to end up on the bottom with the minnows.”

  “Fooled you, didn’t I?” Keith spun, head over heels, then emerged once again. “I do a lot of swimming at the health club where my dad’s a member. They have a big, Olympic-sized pool.”

  “I’ll take Goose Creek any ol’ day,” said Rusty. “Besides, you can’t do this in a swimming pool.” An expression of blissful relief crossed the boy’s face. “Ahhh!”

  Keith felt the water grow a little warmer near his knees. “That’s gross!” he bellowed, swimming away from the vicinity of his cousin.

  “When nature calls, I answer,” said Rusty with a big grin.

  They had swum the length and breadth of the swimming hole, when a voice suddenly came from the direction of the bank. “Looks like ya’ll are having fun.”

  Keith whirled in the water, startled. Startled not because someone was there, but because that someone was a girl.

  Rusty swam in closer to his cousin. “Oh, I forgot to tell you I’ve got another friend I’ve been meaning to introduce,” he said. “This here’s Margret Sutton. But we just call her Maggie.”

  Keith swallowed nervously and stared up at the girl on the bank. She was short and lean and tanned, and had long honey blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore denim cut-offs, a red top tied into a knot just above her bellybutton, and blue rubber flip-flops. It was her eyes that held Keith motionless in the water. They were emerald green, the prettiest shade that the city boy had ever seen in his life.

  “Howdy, Rusty,” she called, smiling brightly. “Who’s your friend there?”

  “This here’s Cousin Keith from Atlanta, GA,” said Rusty.

  Maggie’s smile widened a bit. “Hi, Keith.”

  Keith felt his heart quicken. “Uh, hi.”

  “I saw your bikes out by the road and figured you were down here skinny-dipping,” she said. “Mind if I join ya’ll?”

  “Help yourself,” said Rusty, seemingly unperturbed.

  A jolt of panic shot through Keith. He turned toward his cousin. “Are you nuts?” he whispered. “We’re naked!”

  Rusty shrugged, his shoulders bobbing above the water. “So? She’ll be just as raw as we are in a minute.”

  Keith looked back toward the bank. Maggie had already kicked off her sandals and was about to untie the knot of her top. “Ya’ll turn around now,” she said. “And stay that way till I’m in.”

  Both Keith and Rusty turned and faced the far side of the creek. “Don’t fret so much,” said Rusty. “Maggie’s just an ol’ tomboy. It’ll be like swimming with another guy.”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Keith doubtfully.

  They waited until they heard a huge splash. When they turned around, they saw Maggie stroking her way toward them. Keith looked toward the bank and saw the girl’s clothes dangling from the branches of a mulberry bush. Among them was a pair of frilly pink panties.

  Keith felt himself stir down under the water, but it wasn’t any crawdad tugging at him, that was for sure.

  A moment later, Maggie was no more than a few feet away from them. “Lordy Mercy, this feels good,” she said, smiling. She looked even prettier up close than she did from a distance.

  “Just what the doctor ordered,” replied Rusty. He ducked under the surface, then emerged and spit a stream of water straight at Keith’s face. Maggie and Rusty laughed, while the twelve-year-old sputtered.

  “You turd!” growled Keith, then joined in their laughter. “You know what turds do? They float. Unless they’re full of crap. Then they sink.” Without warning, he jumped on top of his cousin, dunking his head under.

  Rusty came up blowing water out his nose. “Then that oughta make you the Titanic of turds,” he told Keith.

  The three suddenly got into a splashing fight, kicking and flailing, drenching each other with creek water. When they finally stopped, Keith found Maggie right next to him. She was so close, in fact, that he could have reached out and touched her. The thought aroused him even more.

  “You know what would go good after a swim like this?” asked Maggie. “A nice, juicy slice of watermelon, that’s what.”

  “Are you ever right about that!” said Rusty with a grin.

  “Do you like watermelon, Keith?” Maggie asked him.

  Just looking at her face made a shiver run down his spine. “Uh, can’t say that I ever ate any.”

  Maggie’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re funning me, ain’t you?”

  “Afraid not, little lady,” said Rusty. “My poor cousin here is something of a virgin when it comes to the ways of the country.”

  The girl giggled. Keith turned beet red and kicked at Rusty beneath the water, but missed. “I’ve eaten cantaloupe,” he said.

  “Yeah, probably diced up into little cubes at some swanky restaurant,” said Rusty. “Anyway, cantaloupe comes in a poor second to watermelon. Watermelon’s got juice to make your fingers good and sticky, and seeds to spit out. It’s messy, but it’s pure paradise in a green rind.”

  A mischievous look sparkled in Maggie’s eyes. “Let’s go swipe us one,” she said.

  Rusty grinned. “Where from?”

  “How about Old Man Perry’s patch out back of his barn?” she suggested. “I saw some big’uns sitting out there, looking fit to bust.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Rusty. He turned to Keith. “How about it, cuz? Up for some patch-raiding tonight?”

  “Sure,” agreed Keith. “But nobody’s going to end up shooting at us, are they?”

  “Heck naw!” said Rusty
. “If the kids around here didn’t make away with a watermelon or two in a summer’s time, the folks hereabouts would think we were going to the dogs. It’s kind of a tradition.”

  After a while, they grew tired of swimming. Rusty and Keith turned their heads, while Maggie climbed from the swimming hole and dressed, putting her dry clothes on over her wet body. When she was through, she called out to the boys. “After supper we’ll meet in that pine grove just south of Old Man Perry’s watermelon patch.”

  “We’ll be there,” promised Rusty.

  Maggie smiled at the dark-haired boy. “Bye, Keith.”

  Keith felt as if he had swallowed a bullfrog. “Bye.”

  After the girl had left, Rusty and Keith swam toward the bank. “Well, what did you think of ‘ol Maggie?” asked the farm boy, reaching up and pulling himself onto dry ground.

  “She’s all right,” said Keith, distracted. “Kind of pretty, too.”

  Rusty frowned. “Really? Can’t say I ever thought of her in that way.” He was stepping into his overalls, when he noticed that his cousin was still up to his waist in the water. “You coming out?”

  Keith blushed. “Uh, just give me a minute.”

  “Well, hurry up,” urged Rusty, fastening the brass buttons of his overall straps. “It’s getting late and we have a ways to ride before we make it home to supper.”

  “Okay,” said Keith. Reluctantly, he pulled himself onto the bank and stood there.

  Rusty’s eyes widened. “Appears that she gave you quite a rise, that’s for sure. Of course, it looks more like a soda straw than a pump handle, if you ask me.”

  “Well, who’s asking you?” growled Keith as he hurriedly pulled on his underwear and tucked himself in.

  Rusty couldn’t hold out much longer. He threw back his head and brayed like a hysterical mule. Keith scowled at his cousin as he finished dressing, hoping that Maggie Sutton didn’t overhear Rusty’s laughter over his lack of control. If she did, he thought he might crawl under a rock and never come out again.

  A moment later, they were scrambling up the hill toward their bikes, Rusty still snorting and snickering. Keith ignored him, however. He thought of Maggie and realized that he was looking forward to seeing her again.

  But he didn’t tell Rusty that. Given his cousin’s current mood, he didn’t dare.

  CHAPTER TEN

  After a supper of roast beef and stewed potatoes, Keith and Rusty headed back down Sycamore Road on Cyclone and Blue Fury. It was still light when they left the McLeod farm, but by the time they reached their destination the sun had set and twilight had fallen.

  Rusty had removed the playing cards from the spokes of his wheels and tied a plastic milk crate to the front of his handle bars, to help tote the fruit of their evening raid. He held up his hand in the moonlight and silently glided to a stop at the side of the road. Keith followed. “Keep low and keep quiet,” whispered the farm boy. They left their bikes parked next to a split-rail fence, with the front wheels pointed toward home. Then, cautiously, the two boys climbed the fence and started through the dark grove of long-leafed pines that stretched to the south of Lucius Perry’s farm.

  The night was alive with the chirring of crickets and the peeping of tree frogs. Halfway through the grove, Rusty paused and let out the low hooting of an owl. After a few seconds, they were answered by the cooing of a dove fifty feet to their right.

  “That’s her,” said Rusty. “Let’s go.”

  They made their way through the grove as quietly as possible. The ground was flat and carpeted with dead needles and fallen pine cones. Rusty had slipped on a grungy pair of high-topped canvas sneakers before leaving the house. It was a good thing he had. If he had relied on his bare feet, Rusty wouldn’t have gotten ten feet without stepping on a sharp branch or spiky cone. And that was no fun at all, matter how tough the soles of his feet might be.

  They were nearing the edge of the grove, when they saw the faint shine of blond hair in the moonlight. Rusty crouched down and motioned to his cousin to do the same. “Maggie?” he whispered.

  “Over here,” she said softly.

  The two boys crept beneath some low-hanging boughs that were bristly enough to comb their hair. Soon, they were crouching next to the girl. Maggie glanced over at them with irritation. “Took ya’ll long enough.”

  “Mama had peach cobbler for dessert,” said Rusty. “And you just don’t rush peach cobbler.”

  Maggie nodded, forgiving them for being late. The three stared across the uneven ground north of the pine grove. A small, white clapboard house with a tin roof stood a hundred yards away. Two of its windows glowed with dim yellow light.

  “Old Man Perry uses forty watt bulbs in all his light sockets,” Rusty told Keith. “He’s a notorious skin-flint. He’d swim to the bottom of Willow Lake for a nickel if he knew it was there.”

  “I saw him walk by the kitchen window a couple minutes ago,” said Maggie. “I think he’s in his front parlor now. Listen.” From the direction of the house came the low melody of bluegrass music. From the scratches and pops, Keith gathered that the old farmer was listening to a record player. More than likely it was his only form of entertainment, if he was as miserly as Rusty claimed.

  “What’s the plan?” Keith asked.

  “I’ve got a big one already picked out,” said Maggie. “It’s over yonder in the very center.” She pointed across the dark patch of vegetation. “See it?”

  The boy peered into the darkness. The leafy vines and oval fruit of the watermelon patch were etched in silvery moonlight. He had to search for a moment before he finally located it. The watermelon was every bit as big as Maggie claimed. It stood out among the others, ripe and green, a good two feet in length and sixteen inches in diameter.

  “I see it,” he said. “Now what?”

  “We just sneak out there and get it, silly.” Maggie’s green eyes twinkled in the pale glow of the half moon.

  “But be careful,” warned Rusty. “Old Man Perry is right proud of his melons. Treats ‘em like the young’uns he never had.”

  “Got your pocketknife, Rusty?” Maggie asked him.

  Rusty dipped into the side pocket of his overalls and produced a multi-bladed Case with staghorn grips. “Right here.”

  “Good.” She turned to the boy in the Nikes and the Braves t-shirt. “Ready, Keith?”

  He swallowed dryly and nodded.

  “Then let’s do it.” Maggie crept out of the pine grove on her hands and knees, and began to make her way through the maze of vines toward the center of the patch.

  “Got a lot of balls to be a girl, doesn’t she?” whispered Rusty.

  “I’ll say,” said Keith.

  The two boys followed her example, keeping close to the ground. It took them a couple Minutes before they finally made it to the melon they had set their sights on. Maggie crouched next to it, grinning from ear to ear.

  “A real beaut, ain’t it?” she boasted.

  Rusty looked on the verge of salivating. “If it taste anything as good as it looks, we’re in for a treat,” he said. “Well, I reckon I’d best get to work.” He unfolded the longest and sharpest of the pocketknife’s blades, then began to saw at the thick vine at the very end of the melon.

  Keith crouched in the dark vegetation, his heart beating like a jackhammer. He had never felt such a rush when he shoplifted at the mall and he wasn’t sure that it was a very pleasurable one. He raised his head a bit and looked toward the farmhouse. Sitting in the middle of the patch, he felt a little like Linus waiting for the Great Pumpkin to arrive.

  Abruptly, a hoarse barking erupted from the direction of a lopsided barn that stood a few yards from the house. “What the hell was that?” whispered Keith, nearly jumping out of his skin.

  “Old Man Perry’s dog, Big Red,” said Maggie, her bravado swiftly fading. “He must’ve caught wind of us.” She looked over at Rusty. “Hurry up, will you?”

  “I’m doing my best,” he snapped. “This danged
vine is thicker than a mule’s ankle. I’m halfway through it, though.”

  Light suddenly splashed across the far end of the patch as the porch light of the house cam on. The screen door was flung open and they saw the silhouette of a man standing there, looking their way. “Who’s out there?” he demanded gruffly.

  “Hurry!” whispered Maggie.

  “Almost there,” replied Rusty, his hand working furiously.

  “Answer me, you hear?” yelled Old Man Perry. “Who’s there?”

  The three children remained silent. They crouched low, hoping the farmer wouldn’t see them amid the leaves and melons. Finally, the blade of the knife passed completely through. “Got it!”

  “How’re we gonna carry it?” said Keith. “Looks like it weighs a good twenty pounds.”

  “I’ll tote it, just don’t you worry,” said his cousin. He hefted the watermelon in the crook of his arm. The weight of the melon rocked Rusty back on his heels, nearly throwing him off balance.

  They were turning toward the pine grove, when an explosion boomed in their ears. It was the thunderous report of a shotgun being fired.

  Keith elbowed his cousin in the ribs. “I thought you said we weren’t gonna get shot at?”

  Rusty grinned nervously. “I reckon I lied.”

  The mournful howling of the dog grew closer. “Let’s skedaddle,” said Maggie, picking up her speed. “Big Red’s got our scent!”

  The three scrambled through the melon patch, heading back the way they had come. The pine grove was only a few yards away, but it seemed more like miles.

  “Go, boy!” urged Old Man Perry, approaching the far end of the patch. “Flush ‘em out!”

  After what seemed like an eternity, Maggie, Keith, and Rusty made it into the dense cover of the grove. They left their hands and knees, taking the rest of the distance on foot.

  “Give me your hand,” said Maggie, grabbing Keith and linking her fingers with his own. “You’ll get lost if you don’t stick close.”