There's Blood on the Moon Tonight

by Bryn Roar

  No matter what they did to him, he’d never given them the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

  There was steel in Ralph Tolson; he just wasn’t aware of it yet. Moon Island would change all that.

  Having long ago accepted his lonely lot, Tubby’s great ambition now was to become one with the daily wallpaper of life. Unfortunately, Tubby stood out like a Kick Me! sign on a freshman’s rear end. Fat kids are fair game in the eyes of most kids, even the more socially conscious ones. It isn’t cool to rag on someone for the color of their skin, or for a handicap, yet it’s deemed perfectly acceptable to look down upon the overweight. To isolate them socially from the herds. It’s just how things were done by the trim and fit, and Tubby refused to lose any sleep over their disregard of his feelings.

  His mother could call him “Husky” all she wanted, but his days of shopping at the Husky section at JC Penny’s were long gone now—somewhere between a Big Mac and a Butterfinger. Now he shopped in the Big & Tall stores with full-grown men, even though he was only sixteen-years-old. Food was both his enemy and best friend. His mother unconsciously helped to reinforce the latter notion by showering him with his favorite comfort foods—her way of keeping him close to her. She too was fat, and it’s easier to live that way when you have company.

  Tubby knew this to be so. As kids his own age go, he was wiser than most. More insightful. Fat kids, you see, have ample time for introspection.

  Tubby was actually pondering this unhappy fact, while chasing a powdered donut down with a ten-ounce Yoo-Hoo. He sighed and wiped his mouth with the back of one meaty paw. His dad had just informed him and his mother that they were moving again. And even though the school was small, it wasn’t all bad tidings. The fact that Tubby had just finished the school year, the tenth grade, made the news a bit more palatable this time. He had the whole summer ahead of him before he had to worry about being the new kid again. Even so, it didn’t stop him from complaining—something Tubby rarely did.

  “Moon Island! Gee, Dad, I’ve never even heard of the place. And you promised we’d go on vacation this year!”

  His father sighed sympathetically. He knew the kind of anguish these moves posed for his son. “I’m sorry for doing this to you again, kiddo. I just couldn’t pass on this opportunity. Anyway, there’ll still be plenty of time for you to hit the beach and have some fun. There’s a real nice one on Moon; where all the kids hang out and play. Things will be different this time, Ralph. You’ll see.”

  “How’s that, Frankie?” asked Tubby’s mother, not unkindly. She too was tired of moving but understood the necessity. Thanks to the Frank Tolson work ethic, they were close to owning their own home. So close, she could almost smell the fresh paint. “Is this job going to last longer than the others? Will we at least get a chance to unpack this time before you find a buyer?” she teased him.

  Frank Tolson looked down at his wife and son, sitting on the sofa where they gathered together every afternoon at 4:30 to watch the sitcoms together. A Tolson family ritual. Leave it to Beaver, My Three Sons, and their favorite, Andy Griffith. Ralph loved those old-school sitcoms. Simpler times and all that. He even talked like the kids on those shows. Jeepers! Golly! And Gee Whiz!

  Frank smiled. He had worked hard to get to this point in his life, and his family had suffered every step of the way: Ralph at school, and Emma through his penny-pinching ways. Emma, like his son, almost never complained. Overweight to be sure, but that never mattered to Frank. Emma was the kindest human being he’d ever known, with a work ethic that matched his own. He valued her sweet disposition and gentle soul far more than any superficial qualities she might’ve lacked—although Frank had always considered his wife pretty. They’d been married for seventeen years and poor Emma was still living out of cardboard boxes! Her only vice, other than overeating, was buying Home Improvement magazines, like House Beautiful and Home and Garden. Thus it was no mystery as to Emma’s dearest dream. Today Frank Tolson was going to make that lifelong dream a reality.

  “Actually, I’ve already found a buyer,” he grinned mysteriously. He was enjoying the moment too much, to just blurt it out. “Like I said, it’s this sweet little Drive-In theater on Moon Island, South Carolina. One of the few remaining islands off either of the Carolina coastlines that hasn’t been overdeveloped.”

  It took all of Emma’s willpower to keep from groaning; if Frank had already sold it, then that meant another quick turnaround for the Tolson family. “Moon Island? Is it one of those barrier islands, dear?” she said, putting on a happy face. At least they could spend some time at the beach; something they hadn’t done as a family since Ralph was six years old.

  “No, it’s too far from the mainland to qualify for that. Five or so nautical miles, I think. You have to take a ferry or boat to get to it. There are no connecting bridges.”

  “Ooooo! Sounds exotic,” she said.

  “It really isn’t,” Frank replied with a shrug. “Which is why I love the place”. And how I could afford it, he thought to himself. “The island is round and rather large, about twelve miles across, and from what I hear, looks like a full moon when viewed from high above. It has a small town charm to it, kinda like Mayberry out to sea.” He laughed, thinking that might help sell the idea. His wife and son returned the smile, if not his enthusiasm. “The people there make their living by the sea, one way or another. Either by fishing or selling goods and services to those who do. Although there are a few wealthy families who’ve moved there simply to get away from it all, they’re the exception to the rule. Oh, I almost forgot! Mr. Grimes, the old fellow who sold me the theater, claims the island is free of rats and mice—though I’m sure that’s probably an exaggeration. I just thought you’d like to know, dear.”

  Emma, who had a fear of rodents, brightened at this. As Frank knew she would. The theater they were finishing up had had a terrible rat infestation.

  “It has a population of about thirteen hundred. Admittedly, not so much. The only other entertainment venue on the island, though, is a wax museum, and while I’ve heard it’s pretty spectacular, as wax museums go, it can’t really be considered competition.”

  After working alongside Frank for seventeen years, Emma knew a thing or two about the movie theater biz. “It sounds like a good buy for someone. That far out to sea, they’d literally have a captive audience.”

  “Exactly!” Frank laughed. It thrilled him that Emma understood this on her own.

  “Where will we live till the job is done? It’s not like we can drive our RV there.”

  It was the one question Frank had been looking forward most to answering. “Why, Emma, we’ll live in our very own home, of course. Right there on the lot!”

  Emma still didn’t get it. “You mean there’s a rental house on the same lot as the Drive-In? How quaint!”

  “It’s not a rental, honey.” He sat down beside her and took her warm plump hand in his. “It’s a good-sized Craftsman. A fixer upper. The kind you’ve always wanted. Three bedrooms, two baths. A spacious living room with a red brick fireplace. And just wait till you see the wrap-around-porch and the full-sized kitchen, and…”

  He let it hang in the air.

  “And?” Emma blinked, her eyes growing large and wet. Ralph smiled knowingly at his father.

  “And, Emma, my dearest,” he said, handing her the house key he’d had palmed in his hand the whole time. “It’s all yours.”

  *******

  “Well, Ralphie,” his dad said later on, after Emma had stopped mauling him long enough to go cry on her own. She was happily bawling in their tiny bedroom in the Landcruiser RV they used for most of his jobs. “What do you think about all this?”

  Tubby nodded approvingly. His life may have been a living hell outside of his front door, but his home life had always been good, thanks to his parents. Especially his old man. “I think it sounds great, Dad. Mom sure sounds happy,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  Frank looked over his shoulder. The walls of the RV w
ere paper-thin. They could hear every sniffle and sob coming from the bedroom. “This day has been a long time coming, son. Those are the happiest sobs you’ll ever hear.” He turned back to Tubby. “But how about you, boy? How tough is this going to be on you?”

  Tubby looked down at his size twelve feet. He never was any good at lying. “Maybe at first,” he allowed. “Least it’s not in the middle of the school year. And best of all, this’ll be the last time when I’m the new kid in class!”

  *******

  Two weeks later the Tolson family stood together on the bow of The Moon Beam ferry. They watched the little lump of land on the ocean’s horizon grow larger as the ferry drew closer to its destination. According to a tourist brochure Frank had picked up at a filling station in Beaufort, Moon Island had once been the hilly tip of a peninsula, jutting out into the Atlantic, some two thousand years ago. A massive earthquake and the tsunami that followed had submerged the peninsula, and forevermore had altered the coastline. After the waves receded, all that was visible of the neck of land was a sandy, rocky island, some five miles off the coast (the tip of the former peninsula, which sat higher above sea level than the rest).

  Other than that, there was very little history regarding the isolated isle. Earlier maps referred to it as either Hilltop or Pine Island—the latter name coming from the dense pine forest that still grew within the interior.

  Sailing ships of old would lay anchor in the natural harbor whenever they had need of immediate repairs. The tall pines to replace their broken masts, the sappy pitch to temporarily patch their leaky hulls. Sailors would roll off the empty or foul water casks, and wash and refill them in the clear, cool spring water, bubbling up from the depths of the piney forest. Low Country Indians—the Yemassee and the Kiawah—considered Moon an evil place and only went there to harvest the oyster beds, which grew in abundance alongside its steep shores. They believed that the sinkholes, scattered about the dark woods, were the homes of evil spirits. The U.S. Army, which of course didn’t hold with such nonsense, built a base on the lonely outpost shortly before the outbreak of W.W.II. They utilized it for training drills, but mostly as a coast lookout. At some point in the ‘50’s, they abandoned the island—by this time known as Moon Island—leaving behind only a lighthouse on the treacherous east coast to mark their passing. According to the pamphlet, other than the current population, which had settled on the island in the late fifties and beyond, there was no record of any settlers. It was too far off the coast; too lonely; too sandy for farming; too spooky. Take your pick.

  Frank had read the less-than-glowing review aloud, and then shrugged apologetically to his family, promising them that it wasn’t half as bad as all that. It made no never-mind to Emma; all she knew was that their new home awaited them across Moon River—what the locals called the watery divide between the mainland and Moon—and phooey to any evil spirits that tried to get in her way!

  Tubby, on the other hand, was a little unnerved by the reading—this despite being a devotee of the supernatural. He stood by his father on the bow, enjoying the salty spray. It certainly is beautiful out here, he thought to himself. I could get used to this. No matter how bad the school is, I could get used to this real quick.

  Along with all the other vehicles traveling the choppy width of Moon River, their fully loaded station wagon awaited them below decks. To the surprise of his wife and son, Frank had recently sold the RV. It was the final confirmation that their days as Nomads had really come to an end. They had driven for over five hours from Atlanta, Georgia; where Frank had just closed the deal on his most ambitious and profitable flip to date. It was this renovation that had finally put enough in their bank account to buy the land and the theater, with the manager’s home thrown in to sweeten the pot.

  With enough left over to buy brand new furniture, carpet, and appliances, Frank would still have adequate savings enough to get them through until the Drive-In began making money in earnest. At least that was the plan.

  Frank Tolson looked nothing like his wife and son. He was a thin, balding man, unremarkable in every way, except for his work ethic and well-earned reputation of being a tightwad. And though he was thrifty and spare of hair, his heart was a generous and carefree organ. And his heart had never been fuller or happier or more eager to spread the wealth. Today was the culmination of all his hopes and dreams. Emma’s too. She had told him of her dreams long ago: of a good husband, healthy children, and a home all her own. It had taken them awhile, and he’d put Emma through the wringer every time they’d had to pick up stakes and start all over again, but today made it all worthwhile. It wasn’t all about him and his wife, though. As hard as it had been for Emma and Frank over the years, it had been twice that for their lonely son. And while Emma may have been oblivious at times, Frank knew what fresh hell his boy dwelled in, day after day.

  Ralph never talked about his difficulties at school. He didn’t have to—his body language told the sad story; the way his shoulders sagged coming home from classes, the pinched look on his face in the mornings, as he prepared to face it all over again. It broke Frank’s heart to see his son like that. Without a friend in the world to help get him through the rough spots. He remembered the taunts he’d received in high school, because of his bony build, how hard it had been to make friends, and he knew it was much worse for the fat kids.

  Moving every year certainly hadn’t helped matters! He just knew, though, that given a chance, his son couldn’t help but make friends—and given enough time in one place, the other kids couldn’t help but eventually see the wonderful human being underneath all that fat.

  Frank gazed fondly at the boy. A smattering of freckles dotted the bridge of Ralph’s nose and cheeks. The wind coming off the ocean whipped his son’s wavy brown hair straight back. Light brown hair that would bleach very nicely under the subtropical sun here.

  Maybe seeing a few of the local girls in their bikinis would even get Ralph interested in something besides his monster movies and horror books!

  Ralph felt his father’s gaze and turned to meet it. “How much longer, Dad?”

  Frank held a hand over his eyes and squinted at the landmass growing tall on the horizon. Emma, standing on the other side of him, hooked her fleshy arm through his. “I’m not sure. The one time I was out here it was rather stormy. The ferry had to take it real slow. We seem to be going much faster today.”

  “Do they get a lot of storms out here, dear?”

  Frank frowned. He realized he hadn’t given that thought the consideration it deserved. Out here, in the Atlantic, of course they had storms! He had gotten such a good deal on the whole shebang, he hadn’t thought twice about the downside. And as far as Drive-Ins were concerned, weather was even more important than location! It wasn’t at all like him to be so shortsighted. He was about to wager a guess, when a stranger came to his rescue.

  “Oh, it whips up good, all right,” said a black gentleman about Frank’s age. He was a stout fellow, deep in the chest and wide of shoulder. Six foot six, if he was an inch. His large dome had a five o’clock shadow growing up top, cut so close it barely qualified as stubble. He was wearing the uniform of the island fisherman: blue jeans and a white pocket tee shirt. He smelled of shrimp and honest sweat. Frank Tolson liked him right from the start. “Nothing out of the ordinary, though, ma’am. Most times you be safer on Moon than on the main. Our island has the highest elevation on the whole Eastern Seaboard!”

  He smiled and stuck out his huge paw. “Name’s Huggins. Ham Huggins.”