“Just the same,” said Brother John. “If someone is murdered, it’s part of God’s plan. The murderer is merely a tool of the Lord used to carry out the plan.”
“Isn’t that kind of unreasonable,” I asked. I really wanted to say, are you fucking out of your mind? But my momma raised me to a modicum of politeness.
“You must realize, friend,” he said, “human freedom has nothing to do with reason. Reason is an invention of man, therefore it cannot apply to God.”
Morty studied Brother John with veiled eyes. I finished my bowl and set it down. All this talk about religion was making my skin crawl. I was about to stand up, proclaim our thanks and bid everyone good-bye, when Morty continued.
“Sounds okay to me,” he finally said, voice tight and reasonable. “Why don’t those fuckers in the mainstream like you, then?”
It sounds okay? What the hell was he thinking? It sounds okay?
“They’re afraid, rightfully so, I might add, that our beliefs would lead to universal anarchy. If everyone believed in our truths there would be no problem. It is those few who would try and take advantage of these beliefs that make it a problem.”
Morty placed his wooden bowl on the ground like it was the finest porcelain. He stood up slowly and dusted off his pants. His eyes gleamed as he gave me The Look. I groaned inwardly. I knew The Look. He was going to do something stupid. I wanted to scream out and tell him to stop. Tell him to leave it alone. Tell him we needed to be on our way.
“What do you mean take advantage?” I asked, trying to get the Brother’s attention and dissuade Morty from doing something stupid at the same time.
On cue, Morty stepped casually over to Brother John, pulled out his Magnum Baby and placed it snug against the Brother’s forehead. The Brother merely stared gently back at his would be murderer.
“Follow thy path,” said the Brother.
The thundering blast startled everyone. As the Brother toppled backward, Morty spun around and began tracking the smoking barrel back and forth across the crowd.
“Okay you sicko hippie dumbfucks, who else wants to dance with Magnum Baby? She’ll set you upon God’s path just fine.” He yelled. His mad eyes glittered in the firelight. The eerie green luminescence basked the side of his face with an unearthly glow.
Several people jumped up in confusion and stared at the prone figure of the Brother. After a few tense moments, however, they sat down and resumed eating.
Morty winked gleefully at me and shoved the gun back into his pants. He swaggered, kicked the dead Brother’s legs out of the way and sat down.
“Just as I thought,” he said getting himself another bowl of stew.
He was certifiable. I couldn’t believe this psychopath was my best friend.
“Morty,” I asked slowly, struggling to control my voice. “What the Hell did you just do, Morty? Are you on crack?” I knew that my eyes were about as wide as they could get.
He smiled like a patient parent. “You don’t get it. You don’t fucking get it, do you, Dan?” He gestured at the people around the fire with his spoon. “I’m the wolf and they’re the sheep. Their only shepherd is a God that doesn’t exist. This place is a freaking amusement park. You can do whatever you want. Murder, rape, whatever. You know why? Cause it’s God’s will. And cause it’s God’s will, none of these religious motherfuckers will do anything to stop me!”
“Morty,” I said trying to reason with him. I wanted to reach out and grab him by his thin neck and shake him until he either understood or it snapped. “Not everyone wants to murder and rape.”
He shook his head. “Don’t give me that holier than thou crap. You’re as big a criminal as me. The only difference is that I’m a doer. You’re not a doer, Daniel. You never have been. You’re a watcher. You’re just along for the ride.” Morty paused and stood up. He held his arms wide as if to embrace the world. “And here at Morty’s Appalachian Amusement Park, we got many kinds of rides.”
He jumped up and stalked over to a scrawny young man, barely out of his teens. Morty reached down and picked him up, one hand on the legs and one balancing the chest. The young man went slack, refusing to struggle. He lay at the mercy of my psychotic friend.
“We got the Oh My God I’m On Fire Ride,” Morty said as he threw the young man into the fire. The young man’s screams shook me and I felt myself jump. I watched as hair and the clothes caught fire. Almost too soon, the skin began to sizzle and pop. With wide happy eyes, Morty watched the man burn from the other side of the fire.
I sprang forward to see if I could help the boy, but I was too late. His clothes were already engulfed in flames. I grabbed a smoking ankle and heaved him free. The sickly sweet odor of burned flesh invaded my senses and I felt the stew begin an upward climb. I bit it back and rushed toward the communal pot. His clothes were still on fire. His face was a charred and blistered mass. Scorched bone protruded in several places. I reached out with my bare hands and grabbed the scalding pot. I bit back a scream, but somehow held on and poured the remains of the stew over the still burning body of the young man. It was only when I smelled the burns on my own hands, that my stomach turned traitor. Then the stench of burned flesh mixed with the vegetable stew reached into my gut and jerked out my dinner.
Morty cackled, shook his head and moved to his next victim. He began kicking a middle-aged woman in the mouth. The people sitting next to her watched like it was only a made-for-TV movie instead of their friend being kicked to death in bright Technicolor reality. Whenever Morty’s blood-smeared boot connected with the poor woman’s face, a squishy thud echoed in the now silent cave.
“Or if you’re afraid of fire, Dan,” continued Morty, “You can try the Watch Them Get Kicked In The Face Ride.”
His laugh was shrill and rising to an impossibly high pitch.
I had to stop him. My hands were beginning to ache as the adrenaline left my blood and the pain from my burns set in. I glanced down and saw that the skin had begun to peel back in places and felt woozy. I needed medical attention badly.
Morty stepped over to the next person and screamed, “Hey Old Man, you can’t stop me, can you? It’s God’s will isn’t it?”
The man returned Morty’s stare with a look of calm compassion, ignoring the strings of Morty’s spittle that dripped from his nose. Morty lunged twice, trying to get a reaction. He grunted and barked and laughed, but his target remained impassive.
It was at that moment that I knew Morty had to be stopped. These people didn’t deserve him. No one deserved him. My mother’s words returned to me from the many years and miles where I stood on the deck of our house overlooking the beautiful blue and green waters of Chicamauga Reservoir: One day, that boy is gonna snap. When that day comes, you make sure you’re a thousand miles away, ya hear?’
Morty howled in anger at the old man’s resolute immobility. “You feel sorry for me, Old Man? How come you feel sorry for me? I’ve been chosen by God. Don’t feel sorry for me, feel sorry for yourself.” Morty reached around and snapped the old man’s brittle neck in one swift movement.
“Hey, Dan,” Morty said, making sure I was watching, “you missed the ride. Pay attention, boy. Queue up and have another one.” Morty craned his head to the ceiling and howled, “Tickets please. Keep your arms inside the vehicle at all times.”
I couldn’t take it any longer. He had to be stopped. I launched myself across the small space separating us. He must have seen the intentions in my eyes and drew his gun. I sped up as the gun came level with my body. Morty raised it a few inches higher and crashed it down on my head. I felt an intense brief pain before I sank into darkness.
When I cracked my eyelids and let a little light in, I discovered I wasn’t dead. It hurt too fucking much to be dead. My skull pounded. My hands felt like they were still burning. I opened my eyes a little wider and saw the fire in front of me. Through the swirling smoke I could just make out glittering stars.
“How ya doing, sleepy head?” asked a voice from
behind me. “I didn’t think you were going to wake up. Thought I might have hit you a little too hard. Sorry about that.”
I rolled over, grunting at the pain. Morty reclined on a log, drinking from an earthenware jug.
“When I was looking for bandages, I found the Brother’s stash. Must keep it for communion. And you know what? These folks made some pretty good stuff.” He breathed heavily and smiled at me as he took a long deep draught. Green liquid seeped from the imperfect seal of his mouth and slid down his chin.
“Looks like they make it from this green stuff on the walls. Never heard of Moss Brandy before, but it sure hits the spot.”
I peeked at my hands and saw that they’d been bandaged. Morty reached over and grabbed an overturned cup. He shook the dirt out and, holding the jug in the crook of an arm, poured it half full. He knelt down beside me and gently cradled my head in his left arm.
“Here, try some of this. It’ll make you feel better.” He put the cup to my lips and poured liquid fire down my throat.
The cobwebs disappeared in a storm of electric agony. I remembered the mayhem. I remembered the madness. I remembered the murders.
Or had I?
I shook off his hand and peered around, afraid of what I might see. And there they were— bodies piled against the back wall of the cave like so much cordwood. I struggled to my feet, but before I could make it, dizziness grabbed me and threw me back to the ground where I embraced the darkness.
I felt someone gently stroking my hands. I opened my eyes and squinted at the brightness. I was surprised to find the aching in my hands had all but disappeared. The old woman, who had given me the apple, applied some kind of greasy substance to my burns. It felt cool and soothing. When she saw that I was awake, she smiled gently.
“There, there, young man. Just hold still and let old Grandma take care of these nasty burns.” Her voice was soft and sweet, belying her age.
When she finished, I glanced towards the back wall where the bodies had been piled. Every one of them was gone. I tried to picture the old woman moving them, but couldn’t.
Perhaps it had all been a dream.
Perhaps it had never happened.
Out past the entrance to the cave, people were going about their business—acting as if nothing had happened. A few of them I recognized. I’d seen them murdered.
“Good Morning, Daniel. Want some coffee?”
I spun around violently and stared. I scooted back on my hands and heels until my back touched the rough wall of the cave. I pushed myself up to a standing position and stared at Brother John holding a steaming metal cup out to me.
“Come on, take a drink before it gets cold,” he said.
It must have been a nightmare.
No one comes back from the dead.
I calmed myself and argued with my feet until they agreed to move me over to the Brother. I reached out with a tentative hand and grabbed the handle of the cup. I could see a neat little scab in the center of his forehead. Funny I didn’t notice it before. It couldn’t possibly be from the gunshot wound.
I chuckled to myself a little more crazily than I wished and sat down beside the Brother.
The coffee tasted excellent. I already felt better. The bandages on my hands had been expertly done.
The bandages!
If what I thought happened last night didn’t happen, then why are my hands burned? I glanced over at Brother John and there was a twinkle in his eye.
“It seems that God saw fit to let us live another day. Perhaps our work is not yet done, no?”
I threw down the coffee cup and jumped to my feet. I searched for something to defend myself with. Anything to keep me from the vengeance these people were only right in unleashing.
“Have no fear, friend Daniel, we have no ill will against you... or even your friend there.” The Brother gestured over by the cold dead fire where Morty lay, curled around the jug, sleeping soundly. I could see the rise and fall of his stomach.
“Why— I mean how are you— not dead?”
“As I said, Friend Daniel. God must have a greater purpose for us. It’s just as you think. We were truly dead. But come morning, we awoke as if from a sound sleep.” The Brother rubbed the center of his forehead. “A little worse for wear, mind you, but alive none the less. It is truly a miracle.”
I reached out a trembling hand and felt his forehead. It was true. The wound had almost entirely healed. I didn’t know what to make of it. I wasn’t a very religious person. I’d been to church a few times, but only to meet girls. This manifestation of power, though, was a little too much.
“You must be hungry. You slept right through breakfast, but give me a second and I’ll get some fruit.”
He walked to the back of the cave and reached inside a large light blue drum. He brought back two large ruby red apples. After brushing off a couple pieces of the insidious green moss, I mumbled my thanks and started to devour them. I had finished one and started on the other when I saw the end of the gun protruding from Morty’s pants.
I took it.
Morty woke about dusk.
I’d considered leaving him, but quickly rejected the idea. One thing was for sure, I needed to get him as far away from these people as I could. To Morty’s credit, he was appropriately shocked when he noticed Brother John and the rest of the village walking and talking as if last night’s Amusement Park had never happened. One by one, each walked over and spoke with him. I wasn’t close enough to hear, but it appeared they were consoling him. Trying to make him feel better or some similarly insane thing. They left him trembling all over.
It took some convincing, but Morty finally came around to the realization that they were still alive. But like a kid denied dessert, he sat there silent and sullen for over an hour, staring out from beneath a roiling cloud of anger. All the way through dinner, he refused to speak. A young man approached me. I recognized him as the one who’d been burned. He thanked me for trying to help him. And in these people’s inimical manner, proceeded to scold me for interfering with God’s will. I was mad enough to hit him, but his injuries were so extensive that they hadn’t quite healed yet. Whatever mystical force controlled these people was healing the poor kid slowly.
Morty finally spoke as the last of the people went off to bed. There was a strangeness in his voice that I had never heard before.
“Better get a good sleep, Dan. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
I couldn’t tell what was running through his mind, but I was glad we were leaving. This whole scene was too spooky. My friend had become an uncontrollable mass murderer. But then again, he wasn’t. All of his victims were alive. I had no doubt that it happened, but couldn’t explain the resurrections. All I knew was that God had somehow given us a second chance. I promised myself that as soon as we arrived in Raleigh, I was going my separate way.
I woke up sometime around midnight after a bad dream of flesh-eating religious-groupie zombies. My mouth was as dry as a Grandma’s ass and when I reached over for some water, I noticed Morty was missing. With a curse, I jumped up and went searching for the asshole.
Off to the left of the cave’s entrance was a row of huts. I tip-toed to the first one and peeked inside. There were two beds, each containing a softly snoring figure.
I nudged the door silently closed and slipped to the next hut. Morty stood three huts down. He’d just exited a hut, the knife in his hand dripping the blood of his efforts. He must have started at the other end.
He saw me at the same time I saw him.
He smiled weakly. “I don’t know what these people are, but I’m not leaving them behind to chase me down,” he whispered. “Jesus, talk about born again Christians. These folks bring new meaning to the word.”
“That’s not even funny.”
“I don’t give a damn. These folks have screwed with my head. I don’t know anything anymore. All I know is with them dead, we’re safer.”
“They’re just going to come back in the morning. Lea
ve the poor folks alone. Don’t you think you’ve caused them enough pain?”
I said it and it made sense, but it was so ridiculous.
Morty smiled. “I’m one step ahead of you, pal. Once they’re all dead, I’m gonna burn them. Burn them until nothing’s left. If need be, I’ll spread the ashes from here to Raleigh. Let them try and come back from that.”
“Don’t do it Morty,” I pleaded. “We don’t know anything about these people. We’re lucky they didn’t kill us. We don’t know what they’re capable of.”
“Exactly,” he said. “We don’t know what they’re capable of. So I’m gonna make sure there is nothing left.”
I shook my head slowly. There seemed to be no way that I could keep being a watcher. It was time to be a doer.
I pulled out the gun and pointed it at Morty’s chest.
“No, you’re not, Morty. Let’s get in the car and leave now,” I said as forcefully as I knew how.
He looked at me sadly, “What are you gonna do, Dan. Shoot your best friend?”
“If I have to,” I replied. I pulled the hammer back like I had seen him do with Brother John. It was harder than I expected and I had to use both my thumbs. His eyes widened appreciably. His smile turned into a malicious sneer. He began walking toward me.
“You better put that down, before you hurt yourself.”
I saw the tip of the knife pointed at my heart. I looked into his eyes and saw nothing there I recognized. He was a complete stranger to me. I pulled the trigger and felt the gun buck in my hands. The bullet hit him in the center of the chest and I watched mutely as he was hurled backwards. He stared down at the blood pumping from the impossibly large fist-sized hole and died.
I pulled his body over to the fire. I was exhausted—spiritually and emotionally. I didn’t need any more crap. If I wanted to survive the road, however, I needed to get some sleep before I started out in the morning. Also, I didn’t want to leave like a thief in the night.
I didn’t want these people to think that I was the one who killed them.
Again.
The next morning, I explained to Brother John what had happened. He shook his head sadly when he looked over at Morty. I wasn’t sure if it was because Morty was a psychopath or if it was because I had interfered with God’s will.
Scary Rednecks & Other Inbred Horrors Page 15