Ancient Exhumations +2
Page 24
“Judging from the glimpse of moonlight I caught through the thickness of the branches above our heads, I’d guess it was about midnight when something woke me up. The highest limbs of the trees surrounding us commenced to creaking and crackling something awful. But there wasn’t a hint of a breeze, which meant wind wasn’t the cause. Still, the ruckus continued incessantly for what seemed like at least an hour. All that rustling and moaning in the branches was awful queer, even to a country feller like me; I’d never heard such carrying on before. Tuck sat bolt upright and took notice after a bit, but neither one of us dared speak a word. After a while, I got the feeling the trees were sharing secrets among themselves, things we humans could never understand.”
The man fidgeted in his chair, a gesture that added odd emphasis to his words. His audience remained silent, anxious to hear what happened next.
“After a bit,” Camden mumbled, “Roscoe started groaning in his sleep, almost like he was reacting to the clamor in the trees above. He talked a bit, but I couldn’t make out much. I’m pretty sure he cried either “Get out” or “Get away” a couple times, and Tuck whispered that it sounded to him like Roscoe was gibbering something about getting out before it was too late. I’m not ashamed to admit we were both so spooked by all this that all we could do was scoot closer together and try to stop shivering.
“Then it all stopped at once. The sound of the trees and Roscoe’s moans cut off at exactly the same instant. If that wasn’t eerie enough, all the chirping, buzzing and croaking of the night halted right then as well. It was as if every ounce of life had suddenly dissipated from the world around us. I could hear only Tuck’s rapid breathing over the pounding of my racing heart. The two of us lay there, clutching at each other like terrified kids. I guess we nodded off after a while, but we sure didn’t sleep soundly.
“Come dawn, I was still nodding when Tuck let out a yell to end all yells. Seems he woke up before me and decided to check on Roscoe’s leg before disturbing me. By the time I rushed to his side, he was swatting like the devil at a cloud of big fat blowflies that rose up from Roscoe’s leg in a black swarm. They were all over Tuck, buzzing around his head like hundreds of angry bees. We’d cut Roscoe’s jeans the night before, slitting the leg from the bottom to just above the knee, so when Tuck’d flipped the loose flap of pant leg aside to check on the wound, the flies that were feeding on the wound came at him. By the time I got to him, I’m not sure whether he was screaming more because of the flies or because of what they’d left behind.”
The elderly gent looked much older as he swallowed hard and continued. “You’ll recall me telling you earlier about what lay beneath the of bark when I stripped it off the oak tree. Well, once the flies disbursed, I could see that Roscoe’s leg looked pretty much the gawdawful same; the flesh had turned all soft, yellow and putty-like, and every inch was crawling with maggots, ants and grubs gobbling up the pus that was leaking from the wound. They’d drilled a honeycomb of tunnels into the skin and the muscles so’s it looked more like Swiss cheese than a man’s leg. I tried to brush some of the bugs off, but I stopped when a chunk of Roscoe’s calf muscle tore right off in my hand like meat falling off the bone of a well-done roast.”
Camden’s eyes closed as he spoke and his body convulsed as the painful memory sent a shiver the length of his body.
The two representatives of religion experienced a wave of nausea as they pictured the scene in their minds. The rather large lunch they had eaten earlier suddenly did not sit so well in their stomachs.
“Roscoe’d been lying on his side. I guess I must have been whimpering like a baby when I rolled him over and called to him by name. I thought at first he might be in a coma, but one glimpse at that blank, bluish face told me he was a goner. He wasn’t breathing, his tongue lolled out one side of his mouth all gray and black, and when I lifted an eyelid, the pupil had rolled back in his head. It was a shock more horrible than I can describe.
“You can’t imagine how Tuck and I felt,” the farmer exerted, “Roscoe, our best friend, gets his leg all messed up, yes, but not bad enough to kill him, and certainly not to change him into a corpse that looked for all the world like it had been laying there dead for days! None of it made sense to us, no sense at all! Tuck, well, he got sick as a dog, but I just stood still for a while, not really feeling anything but numb. When I finally snapped out of it, I tried to make sense of what was going on as we couldn’t just stay there like that; we had to get the hell out of there as fast as possible.”
He sighed heavily. “I finally was able to speak, though for the life of me I can’t recall what it was that came out of my mouth. Next thing I knew, Tuck was pulling at me and screaming that we had to escape that accursed place before we ended up like Roscoe. He rambled through a plan he’d been mulling over, a way we might be able to reach the fence. He’d once read something about space being curved or something like that, and that’s what he thought was going on around us in some distorted way. That’s why, he said, he’d ended up back in the same place when he walked in a straight line earlier. If we walked toward the rising sun, he said, and used it as a guide, we should be able to stay on course and make it to the fence. I didn’t know anything about curved space, so I didn’t understand what he was talking about, but as I had no better idea, I went along his idea.
“We didn’t waste any time covering Roscoe’s body with a coat before high-tailing it out of there. The body reeked of compost and there wasn’t no point in trying to take him with us. We daren’t run, since the leaf-covered ground was damp and mushy soft in places. We were scared we might trip or fall and end up not being able to walk, so we took it slow and easy.”
“You must have been frightened out of your wits!” cried the sympathetic Mike, noting how very frail their host suddenly appeared.
In confirmation, Camden yelped, “More than words can relate! And if it wasn’t bad enough already, Tuck accidentally kicked up the remains of one of them fool Johnny Rebs who’d hid in the Wood during the Civil War, the bones still wrapped in a tattered uniform. We feared we were going to end up the same way.”
Sighing, Camden rested further back in his seat.
“Tuck must of been right about the curve thing ‘cos before long we spotted the fence. We couldn’t help but start grinning, whooping and hugging like idiots, we were so relieved.”
His voice dropped to a hush as he confessed, “It was then I knew Roscoe’d been right about the feelings Tuck and I shared for each other.” Shaking his head sadly, he added, “It’s a crying shame how folks tend to refuse to admit their true feelings for one another until it’s too late.” He shot a challenging glance at his audience. “There ain’t no finer bond than what we had, and it didn’t make a lick of difference that we both were fellers. You youngings’ll be damn lucky if you ever have a relationship that even approaches what Tuck and I had, regardless of whether it’s with a woman or another feller.”
Mike detected tears glittering at the corners of the old man’s eyes. He turned to his frowning companion and was relieved to see he wasn’t going to comment.
“Please, go on, sir,” Mike urged, “we’re listening.”
The wary speaker nodded, acknowledging his gratitude.
In calmer tones, Camden complied with the request. “We lit out for the fence at top speed, but when we were less than three or four yards of reaching it, the ground beneath our feet began to heave and drop down and away. It sucked at our feet like quicksand, trying to drag us down into the rotten leaves and soil. We could barely pull our shoes free long enough to keep moving. Before long, we were sinking all the way to our knees in the muck.
“I heard once it’s best to stretch out flat over quicksand, so I called out to Tuck as I sprawled out onto the surface as best I could, telling him he should do the same. He was too panicked to pay attention to what I was saying though, and before long he’d sunk darn near up to his waist.”
Camden’s listeners trembled with anticipation.
As he struggled to continue, the older man’s voice betrayed an even greater solemnity. “Tuck’d been swallowed up beyond his waist, nearly to his armpits, but he still managed to get a grip on the nodding limb. I held my breath and commenced to retreat back toward the trunk.”
The old man suddenly stopped, as if he were incapable of going on with the story. To the relief of his listeners, however, he continued after a moment. “He started rising up, just like I’d hoped, but he didn’t respond when I called out to encourage him to hang on. Something about his silence gave me the willies and I feared he was about to lose hold. I thought about inching out to catch his hand, but every time I moved forward at all, Tuck’s weight drew the branch back down toward the muck.
I couldn’t see much in the dim light and the damn foliage kept slapping me in the face, but his body started to twirl around in a circle at one point. He managed to get his belt off using one hand and whipped it around the branch, securing his wrists so he could slide a little at a time without fear of losing his grip. That belt was probably the only thing that kept him from tumbling back into the grasping earth below. He slid a couple times, but I could see he was gradually rising up and pulling free, which gave me cause to take heart. I’ll never forget the terrified, pleading look on his face when the shadows parted just long enough for me to make out his features. I called out softly, encouraging him by telling him he was doing fine and we’d soon both be safely out of that hellhole.”
Camden suddenly choked with passion to the extent that he was forced to stop until he could regain his composure.
Finding himself confronted by a much older stranger completely overcome with emotion, Mike leaned forward compassionately to whisper, “It’s okay, sir. Take a deep breath and then just take your time; there’s no need to rush. It must be very painful for you to relive such a horrendous experience.” He then glanced at his companion, noting the irritated impatience apparent not only in his cross-armed position but in his expression as well.
Camden again nodded to silently acknowledge his gratitude for Mike’s sympathetic words. After a weighty silence, he managed to resume his narrative in agonized tones, “Tuck’s head popped through the greenery so I could finally see his face clearly; I almost didn’t recognize him. He began crawling toward me, but then he turned to peer behind momentarily before crying out as if in agony.
“When he looked back at me, his face was even more contorted, like he was in unspeakable pain. He uttered something I couldn’t make out. I asked if there was something more I could do to help him as I reached out with one hand, ready to grab him at the first opportunity. All he did was groan and scream at me to leave him behind and not look back.”
Wiping the tears from his eyes as inconspicuously as possible, Camden sat upright in his chair, declaring loudly, “To this day I can’t recall exactly what happened next. All I know is that I must have scrambled up to the higher limb and run like a jackrabbit. Hank Danner stumbled across me toward sundown on his way home from hunting pheasant. He said I was sitting on the ground crying and jabbering like an idiot just a few yards from the fence. When he tried to get me to my feet, I started screaming and shrieking like a madman to the point he finally had to knock me out. Right before he’d spotted me, he’d passed Roscoe’s truck, which was parked right where we’d left it. He dragged me to it, tossed me in the back and drove straight to the Sheriff’s office. When I came to, the doc gave me a shot to calm me down enough to allow me to describe what had happened as best I could, but there wasn’t anything they could do until the next day since nobody’s fool enough to set foot in Famine Wood after dark.
“The following afternoon, the Sheriff and a couple others came back with Roscoe’s and Tuck’s bodies. I was kept locked up for nearly a year after, but not for any crime; the Sheriff declared that, after what they’d found in the Wood, there was no way I could be held accountable for either death. Still, they kept me under wraps until they felt confident I wasn’t going to do myself any harm.
“I’ve never been able to remember what possessed me to turn tail and abandon poor Tuck there to die, though I’ve tried ‘til it hurts. No matter what the Sheriff says, ‘til I actually can recall what happened, I can’t forgive myself. I can’t believe I’m such a coward that I could just up and leave my best friend to die,” he choked, “but maybe I am.”
Contrary to everything the church taught about how to present himself as a missionary, Jim could contain himself no longer. He jumped up abruptly and shouted, “Mike, we’re leaving, right now! I don’t believe a word of the swill this old bastard’s been spitting out.” Turning to address Camden, he yelled, “You’re mad as a hatter, you know! You’d have to be crazy to believe the story you just told, and the worst part is, I think you actually do believe it’s true! But it’s not, it’s garbage, all of it. There’s no such thing as a man-eating wood, and if you’re convinced what you’re saying is true, then you know what that makes you, don’t you? Not just a coward but a murderer as well. I don’t care either way, I just know I’m getting out of here right now. Come on, Mike, let’s go.”
Mike made a feeble attempt to calm his friend, despite the reeling confusion Camden’s confession had set off in his own brain, but Jim was determined.
Camden simply sat and stared at his accuser, unable and/or unwilling to even try and defend himself.
Jim pulled Mike to his feet and all but dragged him to the door. He turned as they exited to shout one further remark. “If there’s even a shred of truth to that black fantasy of yours, Camden, then you better hope God can find it in his heart to forgive you because I sure as hell couldn’t.”
Pulling his friend roughly along, Jim marched to the car. He jumped inside, slammed the door and started the engine immediately. Fearing he’d be left behind, Mike hopped into the passenger seat.
Jim prattled on incessantly about how Camden had suckered them into wasting an entire afternoon listening to a load of absolute drivel. The old codger, he declared again and again, was obviously insane and probably should be put away.
Mike, on the other hand, felt troubled and downtrodden over the entire experience. He was certain they had abandoned an extremely lonely man in desperate need of counseling and comfort of some kind. What was the purpose of their missionary work if it not to help troubled people like Camden find some sort of inner peace. Mike found his companion’s attitude contemptible, and he was ashamed that he had allowed Jim to rail so caustically at a man unable to defend himself. The disillusionment he felt toward his partner had reached its zenith by the time they reached town.
Immediately after Jim dropped him off, Mike phoned Reverend Pauly, explaining the events of the afternoon and Jim’s tantrum-like reaction. When the Reverend sided with Jim, Mike immediately proffered his resignation, not only from the missionary work but from membership in the church as well, explaining that he now realized his personal goals radically conflicted with those of Yahweh’s Children.
Three days passed before Mike found an opportunity to return to Madland County. The pain he had seen in Camden’s face haunted him continuously during those days, and he was determined to
apologize and do whatever he could to undo at least some of the damage he and Jim had inflicted upon the old man. Mike had taken a few psychology classes in college and was convinced Camden was an extremely disturbed man, despite the fact that Mike could not bring himself to accept Camden’s tale of horror at face value. Obviously something dramatic had happened to the man that had left him grievously traumatized and in dire need of help. Mike hoped that, given further opportunity to speak with Camden, he might be able to discover the underlying cause of the man’s guilt and, with any luck, help him find a way to deal with it. It is impossible to predict how any particular person will react in an emergency, and surely the authorities would have pressed charges had they deemed Camden guilty of any wrongdoing.
It was only when he pulled up to Camden’s farmhouse that Mike’s determination began to fail him. The front door and windows had been boarded-over and the walkway leading to the front porch was cordoned off with yellow police tape. After staring dumbly for a few moments, Mike spun the car around in the dirt driveway and returned to the main road. Unable to just let the matter drop, he headed directly for the small police station he recalled having passed a mile or so down the road. He prayed he and Jim were not responsible any sort of tragedy.
Mike parked in front of the small, rundown building labeled Madland County Sheriff’s Office, got out of the car and nervously approached the door. His knock elicited an immediate response from somewhere inside as a voice called out, “It’s open!” He entered, suddenly unsure of what he would say to the capable-looking officer seated behind a cluttered desk.