Kenny Joe and Bailey stood together, their breathing held in check as they watched Max approach the sleeping bag. Max looked like a soldier entering battle, teeth clenched, his face a mask of grim determination.
Judd bit his lip as Max gently pulled the sleeping bag off his body.
A rattling sound emitted from between Judd’s legs.
“Oh my god,” Judd whispered. “You may as well just kill me now. It’s a rattler.”
Max just mouthed ‘Oh God’ over and over as he stared down at the sleeping bag. “You know I’m scared of snakes. Oh god. Should I keep pulling?”
Judd nodded, a bead of sweat running down his forehead. Max took a deep breath and cautiously pulled the sleeping bag from his friend.
The snake rattled again.
All the men stopped breathing, too scared to exhale. Max didn’t stop though, he continued his mission bravely. A half a minute later, he had the sleeping bag down just over the crotch of Judd’s undulating boxers.
“That shit wouldn’t have happened had you worn briefs like a real man,” Kenny Joe observed.
“It looks like his dick is taking on a mind of its own,” Bailey added.
Judd didn’t even hear them. Instead he looked down at his crotch in pure terror, his sweat-drenched face dripping down his neck.
The snake squirmed around in his boxers as if it was trying to get comfortable. For a brief second, the snake poked its head out of the hole and stared at the men with unblinking eyes, its forked tongue flickering around menacingly. It vanished back inside. The small rattle sack was sticking out of Judd’s boxers just so.
“I’m going to try and pull it the hell out,” Max said, as he heard both Kenny Joe and Bailey exhale in fear. “This is going to be downright scary. For one thing, what am I supposed to after I’ve pulled the damn thing out? Kenny Joe, go grab that bitch-be-quick-stick.”
The bitch-be-quick-stick was Max’s lucky walking cane. He brought it with him on every outdoor excursion he could, using it to make clearings and even sometimes kill snakes that scared the hell out of him by slithering in his path. Kenny Joe returned in seconds with the stick.
Max held it in his hands, feeling its power. “Okay, Judd. I’m going to pull this thing, but quick. We can only hope she don’t bite you.”
The only sound that could be heard was the crackling of the campfire. Max reached slowly towards the rattle that stuck out from Judd’s crotch, his fingers shaking in the air.
“God, god, god, god,” Judd chanted as Max’s fingers came dangerously close to the snake’s tail.
“Get ready, Judd,” Max said, his fingers only inches from the rattle. “I’m gonna pull this bastard away from you.”
With a flash of speed, Max wrenched the snake away.
Judd shrieked and curled up into a fetal position.
Max tossed the snake into the corner of the tent and whacked it with the bitch-be-quick-stick as his friend screamed. Within seconds, the small rattlesnake was nothing but a bleeding mass of bone and flesh.
“It bit me on my dick!” Judd shrieked as the men’s faces instantly lost all blood and went totally white. “My dick! I’m fucking dead! I can already feel it killing me.”
“Oh shit,” Max exclaimed, his knees nearly buckling out from underneath him. “What the hell we gonna do? It will take at least an hour to get you to any hospital.”
Kenny Joe knew what Max had to do. “You’re gonna have to suck the poison out, bro.”
“I must agree,” Bailey said, staring down at Judd’s shaking form.
“No…goddamn…way,” Max said, shocked to his core at the suggestion.
“Fucking bit me in the dick!” Judd shrieked. “Fucking dying! Fucking help!”
Max shook his head. “I can’t even believe I’m considering this. Sucking another man’s dick. Oh Christ, I can’t.”
“We won’t tell anyone, Max,” Kenny Joe said, as his brother nodded. “You got to save Judd, that sure as hell won’t make you no fag.”
Max nodded, his stomach wrenching. What a night this had turned out to be. “Judd, I’m going to have to suck that poison out.”
Judd stopped crying. His face seemed to drop to an even whiter shade than before. “Uh…what?”
“If I don’t suck it out, you’re gonna die.”
Judd put his hand over his by now hugely swollen penis. “No way, man. Screw that shit.”
Max looked at the enlarged member. “Look, you think I want to do this? Now don’t be an asshole and let me suck your dick.” He paused for a moment. “Uh…did I just say that? What I meant to say was I can’t just sit here and let you die.”
Judd shook his head violently. “Max, you ain’t gonna suck my dick and that’s final. I can’t even believe we are having this conversation.”
Kenny Joe coughed and pulled a buck knife from his pocket. “Well, there is one other way.”
Judd nodded, sweat dribbling down his neck and into his drenched shirt. “I’d rather have the thing cut off then have it sucked by my best friend.”
Max sighed heavily. “Man, you are insane.”
Kenny Joe opened the knife and wiped it off on his pants. “Look, after we cut it off we can just rush him to the hospital. We can put it on ice and maybe they can get the poison out and save it.”
Bailey waved his arms as if he had an idea. “Hey! Remember that Old Pete’s wife? Aren’t they camping about twenty minutes away? Maybe she’ll suck it out! She may be an old hag, but I’m sure it’s like riding a bike. She probably get the poison out, but quick. And it’s gotta be a plus that she got no teeth, right?”
There was silence in the tent as they all just stood there looking at Bailey.
Kenny Joe walked over to where Judd’s penis jutted out of his boxers. “Okay, Judd. Let’s do this quick.”
Judd screamed. “Wait! Can’t I at least get some ice on this fucker? Christ, man, what the hell do you think I’m made of? This shit’s going to hurt!”
Max ran out and came back in with a handful of ice. Judd winced and bit his lip as the ice began to take effect.
“I once knew this woman who did some amazing things with ice,” Bailey said, curling his mustache as he studied the swollen penis. “This reminds me of that.”
Once again, there was silence in the tent.
Judd held his penis out. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”
Kenny Joe put the knife against the penis as every man in the tent winced and unconsciously held their crotch.
Then he began to saw.
Judd screamed so loud that Max felt his eardrum had exploded. “What the are you doing, asshole! Don’t fucking saw it! OH MY GOD OW!”
Blood ran down Judd’s fingers and into the ice. Bailey walked out of the tent and vomited into the grass.
Judd snatched the knife from Kenny Joe’s hand. “Give me that! I’ll do it!” He put the knife to his bleeding penis and held his breath. “Oh god, I can’t do it. Fuck it, Max. Suck the poison out.”
Max grimaced. “You sure, man? I’m not so sure I can do this now that I been thinking about it. It will make me feel queer. Not just queer as in fag, but queer odd.”
“What, and you think I want you to do this?” Judd asked, rubbing his bleeding penis with a piece of ice.
Max looked like he was about to cry. “This is a nightmare.” He looked over at Kenny Joe. “Go grab me that Jack Daniels.”
Kenny Joe left the tent and returned instantly with the half-full bottle of JD. Max took it and drank hungrily, bubbles shooting up in the bottle. He handed it to Judd who also took a heavy sip.
Max got down on his knees and leaned over the swollen penis, his stomach feeling as if a little fat man was disco dancing around inside. He looked for the fang holes, gritted his teeth, and closed his eyes before bringing his mouth to Judd’s member.
Judd looked down at the top of his friend’s head and cried. The sight of his best friend’s face buried in his crotch was the most disturbing thing he had ever see
n.
Kenny Joe and Bailey peeked into the tent forty-five seconds later and watched the surreal sight of one of the most macho men they knew giving a blow job. It took Bailey two weeks to stop shuddering when he thought about it.
“That’s just wrong,” Kenny Joe said, wanting to turn away, but watching anyway. “There ain’t no way we can keep this to ourselves.”
“I must agree,” Bailey said, nodding his head up and down rapidly.
Two weeks later, the whole town had heard about the snake situation. Max and Judd never spoke of the incident again, although they would beat half to death anyone who brought it up. Some things were better off not talked about.
The Appalachian Easter Outhouse Feud
by Weston Ochse
“It’d been your Grandpa Jessup’s idea to put the outhouse on top of the Hell Hole. On account of the Easter of ‘46, of course. After the long battle, he’d gotten sorely drunk, ramblin’ on about them Nazis and them Eye-talians. You see, he’d hoped that after the Big War he’d be able to stop fightin’. He said he’d seen enough killin’ to last him two lifetimes. Why, he was so busy walkin’ from Sicily to Berlin that he’d almost forgotten about The Feud. And then he come home on Ash Wednesday and all the preparations was in gear — he was sure pissed. Grandpa Jessup had thought his fightin’ days was over, so his goal was to make the Devil eat shit.”
Jimmy Lee glanced sidelong at his Granny as she paused to take a medicinal swig from a small silver flask. Even old and shriveled with skin drawn tight against the bones, she was the toughest woman he’d ever heard of or seen. And he’d even been to the city once.
“Well, after the battle was over, even before the smoke had cleared, he ordered your uncles to go and drag the old outhouse back from behind the barn and bring it into the ravine. Them boys, your uncles, was hootin’ and hollerin’. They knew what your Grandpa was up to. Even the Whitmires joined in and they passed around jugs and jugs of their special brew, if you know what I mean. Well, when they placed the outhouse over the hole, Grandpa made sure he was the first one to take a dump. He grunted and groaned so loud that everyone on both sides was laughing until their teeth hurt. Then he up and came out and told everyone he had been so tired of taking the Devil’s shit that he felt it was only right to give a little back. It was a regular Hoot n’ Annie with everyone singing and dancing and taking their turns trying to fill up the hole. Why, in as long as I can remember, it was the first time that the Whitmires and the Wheatons had gotten together for anything but a fight.”
Jimmy Lee grinned and practiced his aim on the dozens of crosses the women had painted on the outhouse during the special ceremony they’d had on Ash Wednesday. Some of the crosses he didn’t even recognize, but he’d heard they were ancient and never really used anymore.
“... and so to this day, we always build an outhouse after every battle and the day after Easter is nothin’ but one long party. And it was all ‘cause of your Grandpa, God rest his soul.”
He remembered last year’s party when he and Annie Whitmire had snuck up the slope with their own jug and she had showed him her titties. Even let him touch them — once. He tried to spy her out on the opposite slope, but couldn’t see her anywhere. She was up there though. She had to be. Everyone was. It was the agreement. They was tellin’ the same story over there, being as this was The Tellin’ Time.
“Jimmy Lee?”
“Yeah, Granny,” said the blonde boy.
“See that sassyfras down there? It’s blockin’ your Granny’s aim a bit. Think you can scoot down there and make it go away?
“Be too easy, Granny,” said Jimmy Lee. He laid his rifle aside and readied himself for the run.
“Don’t you let them Whitmire’s get the best of you boy,” said Granny Wheaton eyeing along the blue-metal of the old .44 caliber pistol she held in a two-handed grip.
Jimmy Lee jumped up, his machete held tightly in his left hand, and leapt over the log they were hiding behind. He skipped down the embankment screeching a rebel yell, sending even the most curious squirrel back up and into its nest in fear of being the next tail on a hat. Momentum and gravity soon sent him ass-over-tea-kettle through the sapling sassafras and hip-high ferns. He finally tumbled to a stop, upside down and grinning against the side of the wooden outhouse, somehow managing not to slice off an arm or a leg or an ear with the machete he’d managed to hold onto.
On the other side of the ravine, Granny spied young Quinten Whitmire loping down to meet her grandson, a Louisville slugger swinging in great arcs over his head as he made his way to the bottom.
“Quinten,” she yelled. “You get your scrawny ass back up there and leave my grandson be or I’m gonna put a hole in you that even your Ma can’t sew up.”
“You harm my boy and I’m gonna do the same to you,” came a shriek from the other side of the ravine.
Quinten had almost reached the bottom and even Granny could see the poor boy’s too-close-together eyes dance with excitement. She knew that what he lacked in smarts, he more than made up for in size. Jimmy Lee had scrambled a third of the way back up the hill and was already hacking at the arm-sized trunk of the sassafras that was blocking his Granny’s sight-picture. It was amazing it had grown up so large in a year. Must have been all that shit that made it grow so fast.
Quinten yelled and launched himself up the hill at Jimmy Lee just as the machete separated the slender trunk. Jimmy Lee grabbed the unwieldy bush and hurled it back into the face of his onrushing cousin, then turned and began scrambling back up the slope toward Granny. Quinten was faster and surer of foot, though. He planted his boot in the center of Jimmy Lee’s back and lifted the Louisville Slugger above his head. He was preparing to bring it down when it exploded in a shower of nasty, sharp fragments. The sound of Granny’s shot caught up to it a moment later. Quinten staggered back a few steps, giving Jimmy Lee the chance to crest the hill in a rush, slipping breathlessly beside Granny.
“Quinten!” came the shriek from across the ravine.
The big boy turned and fell to his knees, his hand going first to his throat, then his chest, before his head bounced softly on the loamy earth.
“My boy. You shot my boy!”
Over two dozen men and women popped up from behind the bushes and trees on the other side of the ravine and fired. The thunderous cavalcade of buckshot, subsonic lead and high-powered bullets sliced through branches, bark and logs. Splinters and huge chunks of wood flew from the front of the large log Granny and Jimmy Lee were hunched behind. The fusillade lasted a full half a minute before it finally stopped. Echoes of the assault reverberated back and forth within the ravine until they finally slipped away, leaving only the sound of falling leaves and branches.
From behind a large boulder came a tall man dressed in a black turn-of-the-century priest’s robe, which fit tightly from shoulders to hips, flaring like a dress to the ground.
“Stop this nonsense, you fools. Look. The boy’s fine.”
All eyes went to Quinten, who was dusting the leaves off his pants and picking up the fragments of his bat. They watched as he stacked the broken segments, like pieces of kindling, in the crux of an arm and headed back up his family’s side of the ravine.
Granny chuckled and spit out a thin stream of tobacco spit. “If I was gonna shoot the boy, Gladys, I would have shot him. You know I don’t miss.”
Gladys rushed out from behind her tree and met her son as he crested the rise.
“You okay, boy?”
“Yeah,” said the boy with a wide, toothless grin.
“Don’t yeah me, boy. And don’t you scare your ma like that again.”
The smack of Gladdys’s hand on Quinten’s face sounded like another gunshot, bringing out every hidden cousin on both sides of the ravine — almost a hundred people aiming weapons and hateful grins at each other.
“Enough of this. Jacob, you over there?” said the priest, standing imperiously behind Granny.
“Sure am, David,” said an iden
tically dressed man from the Whitmire side.
“Then let’s get this started. It’s almost time anyway,” David said eyeing the outhouse fearfully. He cleared his throat and climbed onto the log. Men, women and children knelt and lowered their heads solemnly. David cleared his throat one more time and eyed the kneeling figures of the families before he began.
“Our Lord God has once again brought these two families together in his time of need. By his great wisdom and divine understanding, he selected these clans for a higher purpose. A purpose that has caused them to, for a short time, lay aside their differences and their hates. A purpose that holds the fate of the world as hostage. A purpose that has brought these two mighty tribes here this day to fight evil as one family. Let us pray... ”
Jacob continued from the other side, his voice carrying clearly in the crisp mountain air.
“Dear Lord, bless us as we, your humble servants, are about to embark on a mission of destruction.”
“Lord hear our prayer,” came the reply from every mouth.
“Dear Lord, bless us on the day of your Son’s death, for the great weakness of the human spirit that has crippled the barriers between this, your holy place and the other unnameable one.”
“Lord, hear our prayer.”
“Dear Lord, bless us on this day of rejuvenation and give us the strength to conquer the great evil.”
“May the Lord be with us.”
From both sides, everyone stood and moved to their respective priest who laid hands on each person, each weapon, until even the smallest child had received the blessing. Then as one, all trained their weapons on the lonely outhouse hunched on the empty floor of the ravine and waited.
The first indication was when the birds and the bugs and even the cicadas fell silent. Then it was ten more minutes of waiting, where the loudest sound was your own heartbeat and every trigger finger quivered in anticipation.
Suddenly, the entire outhouse began rattling for what seemed a full minute, threatening to burst the boards. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stilled.
Scary Rednecks & Other Inbred Horrors Page 4