The young man eagerly nodded his interest and sat back down.
The old man turned his head and spit once more into the can. “Ya see…rabbits was as thick as grass round these parts at one time, and the boy found himself up on that ridge just after sundown still a’huntin them rabbits. Well sir, he knew not to be there after dark but he was needin’ to get just one more for the pot back home and he musta lost track of time. The darkness crept up on him and before he knew it, it was black as pitch outside. He finally decided it best to start back toward the main road but all of a sudden, he heard the bark of some old hound dogs in the distance and what looked like lights a’dancin through the trees and comin’ closer.”
“He had the idea that the whole thing was some kinda searchin’ party that his folks had sent out to find him, so he stayed put and hollered out to get their attention. Well sir, it was a searchin’ party alright but not what he was expectin‘! A group of men broke into the clearing carryin’ torches and leading them was a bunch of snarling dogs at the end of long chains. One of the men hollered out in an angry voice, ‘There he is!’ and proceeded to surround that poor frightened boy. A tall feller dressed in strange clothing came over to the boy and struck him square in the face with the end of what looked to be an old musket type rifle, the blow caused the boy to lose his senses and the next thing he knew he woke up some where’s else after bein’ doused head to toe with a bucket of cold water.
“He laid fer awhile on his back a’chokin out that water til two other mean lookin’ fellers yanked him off the ground and held him firm on either side. He could see a number of black folks standin’ round him, some holdin’ torches whilst others were weepin’ away as if someone had just died. The tall feller came up to him again, only this time he was holdin’ a large wood cutting axe in one of his hands. An old woman latched ahold of this feller’s legs and begged mercy for the boy, but he just threw her to the ground and shot her an evil look, then turned to the boy again and said, ‘Boy! This is the last time yer ever gonna be able to run from us!’ and with one mighty swing, he chopped off the end of that boy’s foot!”
“There came at once blood curdlin’ screams from the black folk and a few of ‘em fainted dead away. The old woman and some others started right off bandaging the boy’s foot as he laid there on the ground. This was the last thing he remembered before he passed out from the pain. He woke up next morning midst them grave markers all by himself. He thought for a moment that it was all just a bad dream till he felt a sharp pain comin’ from his foot. When he looked down, he saw the bloody bandages. That morning, he crawled his way back down that hill and swore that he would never return to those woods again after dark!”
The young man was smiling from ear to ear and frantically trying to get what he had just heard down on paper. “Fantastic stuff, Mr. Olsen!” he said with a wry smile. It was obvious that the old man had just spun one doozy of a yarn, but still, he would have no qualms about including such a flavorful tale in his book. He looked at his watch. “You know Mr. Olsen, I’ve only got an hour or so left of daylight and it just occurred to me that I should get some pictures taken of the remnants up there.” He got up and shook the old man’s hand once again. “I’d really like to stop back tomorrow sometime if you don’t mind so we can finish our talk. I’d certainly be interested in knowing where I can find the boy whose story you just told, that is, if he’s still around.”
“Oh, he’s still around, alright,” replied the old man. “You just remember what I said about getting out of them woods by dark.” There was a steely seriousness now to the old man’s voice.
“I’ll remember. Mr. Olsen, and I’ll make it a point to see you tomorrow.”
The young man hopped onto his motorcycle and started up the old dirt road, kicking up a blanket of dust. The old man watched as the cloud disappeared into the thicket of trees at the base of the hill.
Sometime that night, the old man was awakened by the hauntingly familiar sound of dogs barking in the distance. He lifted himself up on one arm and peered out the corner of the window beside his bed. He could see small points of light between the trees on the hill where the old cemetery would be. He realized that he had not heard the roar of the young man’s motorcycle coming down the hill all evening long. A moment later, a distant shot rang out and echoed its way down to his shack; a second one soon followed. The old man felt an icy shiver go through him as he eased himself back down onto his bed and stared blankly into the darkness.
“Poor young fool,” he said to himself and immediately the memory of his childhood trauma came flooding back to him as if it had just occurred; his foot responded by throbbing with a pain he had spent a lifetime desperately trying to forget.
REVENGE IS VERY SWEET
His name is Sal Berringer, aka “Sal the Bug Man.” In fact, that very title is boldly stated in faded burgundy letters on the side of a rusty heap of a van, one that groaningly transports his ponderous frame one infestation to the next. You see, Sal had found his life’s calling more than thirty years ago as a result of a … well… an unexpected event.
As it was, the enchantment of a nine-year-olds birthday was forever ruined as an army of voracious black ants milled about in a playground of Marzipan that was intended to be a special birthday cake… for a special boy… on his special day.
He can still remember looking on with utter dejection as his mother scraped the ravaged remnants into the trash with the empty consolation, “Don’t you worry Sal, there will be other birthdays.”
Most of us would be hard pressed to ascribe one instance in our lives that was the impetus for a true life changing event, especially one so seemingly insignificant, but for Sal this was it.
It can honestly be said that two life-long obsessions were formed that day as a result of his birthday trauma, for one, he would forever associate himself with sugary concoctions… pies, cakes, candies, virtually anything sweet. For this unhealthy indulgence psychologists would use the phrase “over compensating” and Sal certainly did that, in fact, he would eventually overcompensate himself past the three hundred pound mark.
As for the other obsession, simply put, he hated bugs! Hate was even too mild a word to describe how he felt, he actually despised them, all of them, not just the black ants that ruined his day many years ago, he developed a deep loathing and aversion for any and all of God’s creepy crawlers. But of course, as sometimes happens, an obsession can be transformed into something useful and maybe even profitable. This is what ultimately happened to Sal.
Out of his bug hatred was born a very prosperous exterminating business. For years he enjoyed all the work he could handle and received high praise from his clients for his bug killing prowess. He once even received a plaque from the mayor’s office thanking him for his efforts in eliminating the Great Cockroach Infestation of ‘89 at the courthouse.
Yes, Sal was on top of his game for many years but unfortunately over time, the constant snacking and exposure to the toxic fumes he worked with took its toll on the old boy and now a’days he found himself working less and less. In his progressive lethargy, he became exceedingly careless and on this particular day he arrived home not feeling well. As it turns out, it totally slipped his mind to change the filters in his gas mask and that old familiar tingly feeling was coursing through his body once again. Only this time the effects were much more pronounced. He had become somewhat disoriented and increasingly unsteady upon his feet. His solution for feeling better however had always been the same… PANCAKES!
He got to work whipping up his favorite dish and in no time was holding a fluffy stack of “mouthwatering magic,” as he liked to call it. He poured close to a whole bottle of syrup upon the dish as he smacked his meaty lips in anticipation. He made his way to the table but after a few steps a faintness suddenly overtook him and he began to swoon. He grabbed for something to steady his house size frame but it was too late. Sal the bug man hit the floor with an Earth shattering explosion.
He li
e there upon the floor among a scattering of cakes and broken plate, his left foot and leg covered in a sticky syrupy mess. After a few moments of regaining his senses, he took inventory of his person. “Nothing feels broken,” he thought to himself. “As a matter of fact…” An unsettling realization suddenly crossed his mind. “I can’t feel a thing… I can’t even move!” He broke into a cold sweat. “I think… I must have broken my neck!”
The thunderous vibration from his fall caught the attention of the tiny inhabitants of the house and they came running to see what had caused the sizable earthquake. Sal looked on with horror as a stream of red ants made their way across the kitchen floor. The golden brown nectar seemed to send them into a wild frenzy and soon there were thousands of tiny eating machines pouring out from every crack and crevice imaginable. In no time his leg was fully engulfed by the swarming mass and he let out a scream in desperation.
“Oh, that’s just great!” came a tiny voice, seemingly out of nowhere. “Sal the bug man, the great Sal… King of the Exterminators cries out like a little girl!”
“What? Who’s there?” asked Sal, rolling his eyes trying to see who was talking, “Please go get some help,” he implored the voice. “I think I broke my neck!”
“Is that so, fat boy!” came a sarcastic reply.
Sal frantically rolled his eyes once more.
“No Shamu, down here! Look down, you big bag of cookie dough!”
Sitting upon his chest was a large black ant intently staring him in the face. “That’s right, I’m talking to you, bug killer!”
Sal focused his attention on the little creature. “No!” he said to himself, “this can’t be… I must be dreaming!”
“You think so, do you tubby? What do you guys think?” the ant cried out as it looked around the room. “Is this a dream my friends?”
A clamor of small voices immediately broke out and soon fell into a steady chant of “BUG KILLER! BUG KILLER! BUG KILLER!”
The entire room was awash with ants, grasshoppers, crickets, cockroaches, spiders and every type of insect imaginable, their families all having felt the merciless sting of Sal’s vile methods. The ant raised one of its legs and the crowed soon quieted.
“Damn all of you creepy slinkers!” Sal screamed in protest, his face reddening, “If I could move I would squash each and every one of you into oblivion!”
They all laughed mockingly at the impotent bug killer.
The ant moved a little closer to Sal’s face. “Kind of plucky for a motionless fat man, don’t you think? How horrible it must be for you to be at the mercy of the tiniest of creatures!”
Sal responded by attempting to blow the ant from his chest, only he was soon panting from his efforts.
The ant laughed out loud. “How truly pathetic you are, old boy!” It turned to the crowed once again. “What do you guys think we should do with this beached whale of a bug killer?”
“EAT HIM!” came a singular shout from the kitchen counter. The rest of them picked up on the words and a resounding chant was intoned once again. “EAT HIM! EAT HIM! EAT HIM!”
The ant again turned to Sal, “We hold all the cards now, Sal! How does it feel, old boy? The shoe’s on the other foot now, isn’t it? Oh, that’s right!” said the ant, followed by a maniacal laugh, “My mistake… you don’t have a foot!”
It then looked back at Sal’s foot and Sal followed its gaze. A grizzled look of horror suddenly flashed on Sal’s face. The ants had thoroughly picked his flesh clean and only a skeletal foot remained. He then let forth the mother of all screams… “AHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
“Calm down Mr. Berringer,” said a soft and soothing voice floating on the periphery of his senses. “Please, just relax sir, you’re in the hospital and we’re taking good care of you.”
Sal groggily awoke to a figure standing over him wearing a cap, mask and gown. “What… what happened? I can hardly see a thing!”
“Are you having difficulty focusing, Mr. Berringer?” asked the nurse bending closer.
“Yeah… you’re all blurry, what’s going on here?”
“Well sir, your neighbor spotted you lying on your kitchen floor in a pool of blood and fortunately for you called an ambulance.”
Sal tentatively wriggled his fingers and lifted his arms, a look of relief passed over his face.
“The doctor is pulling pieces of a plate from your foot right now.”
Sal glanced down and a second later saw a masked face pop up from behind a tented apparatus at his feet.
“Good to have you back with us, Mr. Berringer! I’m Doctor Tapinoma, I’m just taking out some plate slivers from your foot… it’s quite a mess down here. I’ve given you a local anesthetic so you shouldn’t feel a thing. You’ve lost quite a bit of blood, but you’ll be fine. As for your impaired vision and any paralysis you may have experienced…well… it’s the result of an overexposure of the chemicals you use in your work. Perhaps you should consider another line of work, sir!” The doctor’s voice had suddenly changed, sounding quite serious and judgmental.
“Ha! Yeah right!” Sal replied. “As soon as I’m able I have a score to settle at home!”
Just then he felt a little foolish; had it not all been a wild hallucination as a result of his exposure to the chemicals? He laughed out loud at his own silliness.
“I suppose it’s all just a big game to you, huh Mr. Berringer?” the doctor held a long cold stare over the top of the tent, his eyes were oddly shaped, dark and menacing. “Well then!” he blurted out, “In that case… I’ll need your assistance here, nurse!”
Sal looked perplexed. “Did I say something wrong?” but there was no response, he only heard the doctor say to the nurse, “Now for a generous amount right there… now some on this area…fine, that should do it.” An arm appeared momentarily from the side of the tent and placed a bottle on a tray at the foot of the bed. Sal’s vision was starting to clear, he looked at the bottle, it was somehow familiar. Two objects that looked like masks were suddenly tossed to the side then what appeared as four black spikes could be seen bobbing up and down behind the tent. Despite the anesthetic, an aggressive tugging on his foot could be felt, as well as an increase in pain.
“What the hell is going on down there!” Sal screamed. His vision was almost back to normal now and he finally recognized the bottle on the tray as sweat poured down his puffy cheeks.
“That’s… that’s Log Cabin Syrup!”
He then remembered something that literally stopped his breath… the doctor… his name… Doctor Tapinoma… Tapinoma…TAPINOMA!
“MY GOD!” he screamed out loud. “THAT’S A SPECIES OF ANT!”
IT’S WHAT’S FOR DINNER
“Star Command, this is Starship X-1. Do you copy?”
“Go ahead X-1.”
“Star Command, I’ve been fighting this damn thing for the past hour and it looks like I’m going have to set X-1 down on one of these small planets to get a look at her thrusters. She’s been responding like a drunken sailor and I don’t want to take any chances once I’m back out in deep space. Copy?”
There was a long pause as static filled the transmission, then...
“Ah… Starship X-1, you have permission to land, just send back you’re coordinates once you’re firmly on the ground.”
“Ten four Command.”
The pilot turned his attention to the observation window. He was entering a very unusual sector of space, one filled with the most bizarre and unexplainable sights imaginable. Fortunately, he spotted a small planetoid directly below that looked decent enough to risk a landing. “This will have to do.” he said to himself, and proceeded with the twisting of dials and the throwing of levers. Reverse thrusters shot out long jets of gas as the lumbering spacecraft started to make its descent. The controls felt extremely sluggish in his hands as though trying to steer an elephant through a tight maze but the spacecraft dutifully inched its way toward the planet’s surface, making what he would consider one of the all-time ug
liest landings. The pilot immediately shut down the engine and a cruel shudder reverberated throughout the ship, finally settling into quietness. He took a deep draught of air into his lungs and sighed
with relief.
“Star Command, Starship X-1 has landed successfully.”
“Roger, X-1.”
The pilot glanced down at one of the glowing green screens on his control panel. “I’m now punching in my coordinates. I’ll be suiting up and exiting the ship momentarily to survey any damage.”
“Copy that, X-1. Just keep us updated.”
Within a short time, the pilot was fully suited and stepped through the ship’s air lock. The outer door opened, accompanied by a swish of air and he cautiously stepped onto the planet’s surface. Once outside, he was temporarily blinded by an ultra-white brilliance being reflected back at him. He reached up and pulled down his visor.
“Star Command, I’ve just stepped outside the spacecraft.” He tapped his foot against the planet’s surface. “This planet appears to be completely frozen.” He bent to the ground and raked one of his heavy gloves across it’s hard milkyness.
“From the observation window on the ship, I could have swore that the planet was covered in snow but now that I have a closer look, it sort of reminds me of something akin to frozen custard.”
He stepped a few yards out from the spacecraft and slowly turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees to survey the rest of his surroundings.
“Command, this is very strange! It almost looks as though I’ve landed in a huge crater. There appears to be an enormous rim around the planet made up of some kind of dark material rising a hundred feet or so into the air and the frozen white surface seems to go on for miles. I can also see an enormous, brown slab of what I assume to be rock, not more than a quarter mile away.”
At that moment, Star command broke in. “Be advised X-1. You still have to rendezvous with the X-5 in a few hours at sector SG-4.”
Weirder Than Weird Page 6