Shadows of Tockland

by Jeffrey Aaron Miller

  “Fair enough,” Gooty said.

  Gooty started to say more, but the words turned into a little gasp as he spun the steering wheel. The truck swerved, the cab rocking to one side. David clamped down on his seat to keep from sliding off, as, behind them, the line of trailers swayed, and the last one nearly tipped over.

  “You see that, man?” Gooty asked. “Did you see it?”

  A dark mass in the road. David turned to follow it with his eyes but couldn’t make out what he was seeing. Long, blackened shapes like charred wood stacked in a neat pile in the middle of the lane. It was the hint of clothing that gave it away, soles of shoes and edges of cloth that had not burned. He gasped and looked away.

  A red light flashed on the dashboard, accompanied by an ear-straining burst of static.

  “What is wrong with you, Goot? What’s going on up there?” Telly’s voice, breaking through the static. In the background, David heard other voices shouting.

  Gooty pressed a button on his steering wheel and spoke. “Sorry, boss. Pile of bodies in the road. Had to avoid it. Everyone okay back there?”

  Another burst of static and then, “We’ve got a big mess, thanks to you. Broken dishes, broken lamp, bottles on the floor, makeup all over the place. Take it easy.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” Gooty said. “I’ll swerve better next time.”

  “See that you do,” Telly said, and the red light went dark.

  Gooty released the button on his steering wheel, grunted, and said, “Stupid clown. What does he want me to do? Drive right into the debris and maybe crash?”

  “Why are there dead bodies in the middle of the road?” David asked. Though Gooty had regained control of the truck and eased them back into the lane, David maintained a death grip on his seat.

  “Sick people,” Gooty said. “That’s my guess. They burn the sick people.”

  “What sick people?”

  “What do you mean what sick people? Los infermos, man, they’re everywhere. You got some of them in Mountainburg. People with scabs.” He tapped the top of his head. “Karl said he had to drag one out of the show.”

  “Yeah, I saw that guy, but we don’t burn sick people in Mountainburg.” He recalled the old man lying in the ditch, madness in his eyes. He had seen others like him over the years and heard of more, and occasionally they did cause trouble, especially in the late stages, but, in general, the sick in Mountainburg were left alone. If one became a problem, he was usually sent off into the forest.

  “If they aren’t burning the sick, then they’re not smart,” Gooty said. “Gotta kill the parasites, so they don’t crawl out of the bodies.”

  “That’s terrible,” David said. “I would never burn somebody just because they’re sick.”

  “You don’t burn them when they’re alive,” Gooty replied and, for a second, a sad look passed over his face. “You burn them after. And don’t say you’d never do it. You don’t know what you’d do. Nobody knows, until they’re faced with the choice.”

  After this, Gooty lapsed into a morose silence, scowling out the window. David thought maybe he’d offended the man somehow, but he couldn’t figure out how. He was afraid to ask, so he finally leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes. Better to sleep than worry about the look on Gooty’s face. Unfortunately, a quiver deep in his guts kept him wide awake. It was a familiar feeling, one that had kept him awake many nights over his young life. It felt like a low and continual electrical current running through his intestines. He wrapped his arms around his belly and groaned.

  “I’m worried about you,” Gooty said. “You know that?”

  David turned. Gooty wasn’t looking at him, so he wasn’t sure the words were addressed to him. He glanced at the dashboard, but the red light was dark.

  “What?”

  Gooty grimaced, baring his teeth, and David could see that one of his canine teeth was missing. “I said I’m worried about you.”

  “Why? I didn’t do anything. I’m just sitting here.”

  “Remember how I said I didn’t know if you would fit in?” Gooty jerked a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the trailers. “Well, I changed my mind. I think maybe you’ll fit in too good.”

  “What are you talking about? They don’t even like me. None of them, except maybe Telly.”

  “That’s not the point,” Gooty said. “I’m a good judge of people, and you, man, the way you’re sitting there, I can tell you’re all bottled up. You know what happens to bottled up people? One day they pop.”

  “That’s not true,” David protested. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because I see it,” Gooty replied. “You’re all curled up in your seat like a little bundle of nerves. You don’t want to talk about nothing. That’s because you’re afraid you’re gonna break wide open and go loco. I see it in your eyes.” He nodded knowingly. “Oh, yeah, there’s crazy in there.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” David said, but he could feel his hands trembling. He stuck them under his armpits. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  Gooty smiled, but it was a strange, wistful smile. “I hope I’m wrong, man, I really do, but I haven’t been wrong about anybody so far.”

  “Well, you’re wrong about me,” David muttered, turning away. His whole body was shaking now.

  “Have it your way,” Gooty said with a chuckle. “But I’m looking at you right now and thinking, Yeah, he’ll fit right it.”

  David didn’t know what to say to this, so he stumbled around for an answer for a while, and finally said, “Well, what’s so bad about fitting in? That’s sort of the point. You don’t like the others?”

  Gooty looked at him, his lips pressed together and his eyebrows raised. It was a curious look, amusement mingled with irritation and a dash of disgust. “Now, what makes you think I don’t like them?”

  David shrugged. “I don’t know. The way you talk about them...”

  “Annabelle’s okay…well, maybe a tiny bit patética if I’m gonna be honest. Karl’s sometimes bearable,” Gooty said. His grip tightened on the steering wheel. David heard the creak of flesh against plastic. “Telly’s an idiot. Cakey’s a lunatic. No, I guess I don’t really like them. You’re right.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just told you, man. This whole operation is run by a four foot tall idiot—enano tonto—and the only one he listens to is the crazy guy with the stupid face.” He shook his head. “Annabelle and Karl don’t really contribute nothing, good or bad. A lot of terrible things happen when you got an idiot making all the decisions, and a lunatic backing him up.”

  “If that’s how you feel, why do you stick around?”

  Gooty took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Sort of like you, I got no real home to go back to. People can’t always up and leave a situation, even when it stinks.”

  “Yeah, I understand that,” David said.

  “I guess you do, huh?” Gooty looked at him again, grinning, and this time there was no irritation in the smile. “But then one day the circus rolled into town, and you found your way out.”

  David nodded. “Maybe your circus will roll into town someday.”

  “The circus steamrolled right over my whole life, muchacho,” Gooty said, and a look passed over his face. David couldn’t quite read it. A hollowness in the eyes, a weakening around the corners of the mouth. It passed quickly, though, and he recovered his composure. “So they don’t like you, and I don’t like them. Sounds like you and I might ought to be amigos, what do you think?”

  “Sure, I guess so,” David said. Strangely, the thought of having an amigo only made him feel awkward.

  “Okay, amigos it is,” Gooty said. “Just, for God’s sake, if you can help it, don’t turn into one of them. I know you gotta perform and earn your keep, but don’t let them get inside.” He tapped the side of his head with one finger.

  “Alright, I’ll try not to,” David replied, though he had no idea what Gooty meant.


  “Bueno.”

  They rounded a bend in the road, and the land broke open before them, a clearing in the endless forest, wild grass dotted here and there with stone and wood houses. Gooty eased up on the gas and slowed the truck as they approached a town. A sign at the edge of the clearing declared, in bright blue paint, You are Welcome in West Fork. David saw a handful of people milling about, a couple of men in overalls digging a trench, an elderly woman stoking a fire in a big stone pit, children playing tag.

  Gooty eased off the road onto the shoulder just past the sign, put the truck in neutral and hit the button on his steering wheel.

  “We are welcome in West Fork, boss,” he said. “That’s the good news.”

  The little red light came to life, and Telly spoke through the static. “Great! Be up there in a minute. Is there a welcoming committee?”

  The two men digging the trench glanced in their direction a couple of times, and some of the children stopped running and stared at the truck. David also saw the hint of faces peering out of dingy windows.

  “Nobody coming toward us yet,” Gooty said. “Just looking.”

  “Okay, on my way,” Telly replied, and the red light went dead.

  The two men stepped up out of the trench. They had overalls and broad-brimmed hats. One of them reached up and removed the hat, fanning his face with it. Gooty grunted. The man had sparse hair on top of his head and a long purple scab running from the corner of his left temple to the crown.

  “Well, at least they’ve got the sick working,” Gooty said. “Might as well keep ‘em busy, so they’re not bothering anybody.”

  He turned and gave David an uneasy smile, then shouldered open the driver’s side door and leaned out, glancing back down the line of trailers. The two local men approached. The first one replaced his hat, screwing it down onto his head, and tucked his thumbs behind the straps of his overalls. The second one took his hat off—no scabs, but David thought he detected a hint of pinkness, the tracks of scratching fingernails. As the scratching intensified, soon he would break the skin, clawing at his own scalp in a vain attempt to get at the parasites. That was how the scabs formed, self-inflicted mutilations of desperate people.

  They came up to the driver’s door, and Gooty reached for the handle.

  “Can we he’p ye?” the sicker of the two said, revealing a mouth full of cracked and blackened teeth.

  “Campground ain’t open no more,” the second one said. He had a few more healthy teeth, but his voice sounded like marbles rising up through sludge.

  Gooty gave a polite nod but said nothing. The two locals were standing just outside his door, and the sicker one set his foot on the running board, as if he meant to climb up into the cab.

  “Name’s Hess,” he said. He extended a hand at Gooty. “Pleased to meet’cha.”

  Instead of taking the hand, Gooty offered him a little mock salute.

  “We’ll be happy to give ye directions right on up the road to Fay’t,” Hess said, lowering the hand and tucking it under his overall strap.

  “Don’t take the highway,” the second one said. “Fayette’s more guarded that way. Take the back road through Greenwood and come around t’east gate. We’ll draw ye a map.”

  Gooty reached for the button to the two-way radio, but, at that moment, Telly called out as he came walking up the row of trailers.

  “Gentlemen,” he said. “I’m the man you want to talk to.”

  The two locals exchanged a look, eyes narrowed, and turned in Telly’s direction.

  In the distance, David saw the townsfolk gathering, little clusters here and there coming together like puddles of water, and every eye was fixed on the cab of the truck. There were other sick among them, he saw. A young girl with a great bald patch on one side of her head and a speckling of scabs on the exposed flesh. An old man with a cane, stooped, one clawed hand scratching at his forehead.

  As soon as Telly had the attention of the two locals, Gooty pulled his door shut and turned to David.

  “Bad news,” he said. “This place is bad news.”

  David said nothing, his eyes drawn to the open doorway of a small rock house and the body sprawled just inside. At first, he thought it might be a corpse, but then one arm moved, a hand reaching up, fingers clenching and unclenching.

  “Most places have infermos,” Gooty continued. “But they seem to be running the show here in West Fork. If Telly has any sense, he’ll let them draw us a map, so we can get on our way.”

  Outside, Telly and the two locals were talking. The conversation was muffled, but David heard a hearty laugh, the loud crack of Telly’s walking stick tapping against the running board and his high-pitched voice proclaiming, “Gentlemen, spread the word. The circus has come to town!”

  Gooty groaned and shook his head.

  “Stupid clown,” he muttered.

  Chapter Five

  Scabs in All Directions

  The campground was an open field surrounded by a neatly-planted circle of trees, patches of grass here and there crisscrossed by the ruts of tires and speckled with the ashes of old campfires. Hess rode with them, standing on the running board, crushing his hat to his head to keep it from flying off. Gooty drove across the field, trailers thumping and swaying over the rough terrain. He pulled up close to the trees and killed the engine, and Hess hopped down, reseating the hat on his head and stepping away from the truck.

  “This is a bad idea, man,” Gooty said, giving David a troubled look before opening the door and getting out. “Muy mal!”

  David remained in his seat, watching as Gooty and Telly walked over to Hess. With the engine silenced, he caught snatches of the ensuing conversation.

  “How much a ticket gon’ cost?” Hess asked.

  “We can work it two ways,” Telly replied, ticking them off on his fingers. “One, we let people buy their own tickets, five dollars a head, national coins only. Or two, we open the floor in exchange for fuel and supplies.”

  The wind picked up, and Hess’s response was lost. Gooty said something as well, but David did not catch it.

  Then Hess came back with, “You got any guns?”

  “Nope,” Tell said.

  “Good,” Hess replied. “We don’t let no guns in West Fork. We are not friendly to guns here.”

  “Understood.”

  The conversation continued for a few more minutes, then Hess shook hands with both of them and headed out of the campground. David’s stomach was hurting again, so he opened his door and leaned out, breathing deeply in an effort to settle it. The stale air only made him feel worse, though, so he clambered down out of the truck, found a nice shady tree and leaned against it. A black birch with smooth bark, it felt cool against his cheek, and he closed his eyes. Gradually the pain in stomach eased.

  “You’re getting awfully affectionate with that tree.”

  The sound of Annabelle’s voice startled him, and he lurched backward, tripping over his own feet, and sat down hard on the running board. Annabelle, leaning against the corner of the nearest trailer, brushed a stray lock of dark, curly hair out of her face and eyed him.

  “I figured you’d bail on us before we got to West Fork,” she said.

  She had changed clothes, a tight gray blouse and black shorts, sandals on her feet. Her eyes were bright, searching and full of danger, and David withered under her gaze. He rose, fighting the urge to grab his aching buttocks, and turned away from her. It made little difference. He could feel her presence, looming just over his shoulder.

  “Oh, you’re scared of me?” she said. “Is that it? Good. You should be.”

  David froze, acid churning in his guts.

  “Look at me,” she said.

  David turned to face her but slowly, fingers fidgeting anxiously with the hem of his shirt. Truth be told, he hadn’t been around many pretty girls in his life. Girls in Mountainburg, as with all things in that town, were dull and unremarkable. But Annabelle was another class of woman altogether, with her pouty li
ps, her too-intelligent eyes, her pale, unblemished skin. She was enjoying his discomfort, that was clear, and the fact that she didn’t seem to like him made it all the worse. Her hands were nestled in the small of her back, and it wasn’t hard to envision a knife clutched in one fist, waiting, waiting until he stepped close enough. And then she would plunge it into his chest.

  “What exactly is wrong with you?” she asked. “Why do you act like that, all nervous and shaky?”

  “Startled,” was all he managed to say.

  And then, to make matters worse, Cakey stepped through the circle of trees, buttoning the oversized plastic buttons of his costume. Still in full make-up, his expression was veiled behind a mask of colors.

  “Found some charred bones out there,” he said. “You know how strange it is taking a piss on a pile of bones? Not sure if they were human or animal.” And then he noticed David, glanced at him briefly and frowned at Annabelle. “Are you picking on the kid? Looks like he’s about to cry.”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, but he was about to cry before I said anything.”

  Cakey dug into a pocket and pulled out his white gloves, neatly folded. He slipped them on, one at a time and rubbed his hands together.

  “You never shoulda got in that truck,” he said to David. A flash of teeth framed by those big comic lips, smiling on one side, frowning on the other. Which was it? A frown seemed likelier. “Worst decision you ever made. Whatever problems you had back home with that fat lout of a father were still better than what you’re gonna find on the road. You’re not prepared for what’s coming.”

  And with that, Cakey turned and walked away. Annabelle remained, but her eyes followed Cakey as he left. David caught some flash of emotion on her face—a twitch of the brow, a glint in the eye—but he couldn’t tell what it was. Longing? Regret? Anger? He wasn’t sure. He’d always found it hard to read people but especially girls.

  “He’s just being apocalyptic,” she said, turning back to him. “Nothing’s coming. Feel free to ignore most of what he says.”

  “Okay,” David replied.