The Vagrant

by J Scaddon

As the sun rose the next morning, Ida awoke to find herself still on the porch. She had slept right through the night and was now damp with the dew. At first she studied her surroundings, confused as to why she was there. Her back and joints were stiff from being in the hard chair all night and so it took her a while to get moving. The grassy area leading up to the pines was glistening in the morning hue and a gentle chill wisped around the house. Ida stretched and tried to walk off her aches. As she gathered herself, her thoughts turned to her boys. She should check on them. Ida slipped in through the front door and down the corridor to the boy’s room. Poking her head through, she could see them fast asleep. They were safe and peaceful. She watched them for a while and then went through to the kitchen to fix herself a hot drink. She needed it. Although it was a hot time of the year, it still could get very cold in the middle of the night. She put the pan on the stove and waited for it to boil. All the while she gazed out through the window and marvelled at how beautiful it was outside.

  The shotgun, she thought. Where did I put the shotgun? She went out to where she had set a place for it by the door. It was gone. Thinking hard she remembered that she had been holding it when she got into the chair on the porch. Stepping out onto the porch, she could see that it was no longer there. It had been taken from her during the night. She double checked everywhere in the house. The house was always kept immaculate and so the gun had no-where to hide. No, it had definitely been taken whilst she had slept on the porch.

  As Ida was searching for her missing gun, the sheriff and Deputy Jeb were gathering for the start of their working day. Dana’s was open early and so Jeb had been there on his way into work and collected a few items to bolster their resolve. After finishing their breakfasts, Sheriff Glick and Deputy Jeb climbed into a patrol car and headed off up through the canyon, to go and check on Whelan. The beautiful morning was not lost on them as they bounced along the dust track that took them through the pines, past the Van de Veld property and down into the far reaches of the canyon. They had each made this trip many times before when taking Whelan home from a night on the tiles. In fact it was a rite of passage to have struggled with a paralytic Whelan on a Friday night. That being said, Whelan was a harmless drunk and many just accepted his ways and felt sorry for him. That included Sheriff Glick and Deputy Jeb.

  “You’re awful quiet this morning, Sheriff!” said Jeb.

  “Sorry, Jeb. I have a lot on my mind and I aint sleeping too good.”

  “Anything I can do, Sheriff?”

  “No thanks. Well, you could catch this son of a gun for me. That would help.”

  “You not sleeping over the murders?”

  “Of course not, Jeb. Are you? This is a big, big deal and the whole town is in fear. They are looking up to me to do something and, well let’s just say that all these killings is making me feel real guilty. You know, it’s eating me up inside. I so want to be able to stop it all, but I keep feeling useless. I keep feeling that if someone else was here that this would have all been solved ages ago.”

  “You can’t beat yourself up over this. Heaven knows you’re doing all you can.”

  “Am I, Jeb? Am I?” The sheriff wiped the sweat from his brow, although the air was still cool. “I can’t sleep until we get this guy. I think we need some sort of town meeting. Get everyone out looking for this hobo and bring him in dead or alive.”

  “Sounds good. So you still think it’s the vagrant doing this?”

  The sheriff glared out of the window. He paused in thought. “I’m sure of it, Jeb. Absolutely sure of it.”

  They came out of the pines and into the open canyon base. They were still a good mile from the shack, but they could see it sat on the canyon slopes. There was no outward sign that anyone was home. Whelan didn’t own a car and wouldn’t be burning a stove at this time of year. The most likely place for him would be crashed out on the single mattress on his bedroom floor. The shack itself was only two rooms big. It was made of raw wooden boards nailed to a frame. Not one single board matched another and the shack would drop to the ground should a strong gust hit it. Long grass and dust patches surrounded it, with a shed and a wash house on the grounds. The police vehicle climbed the last steep rise and the two officers pulled up onto one of the dust patches. Jeb honked the horn and they both got out of the car.

  The sheriff and Deputy Jeb called out for Whelan. More often than not, he would dart out of the house at any sign of visitors. If he was in a stupor then they knew they would have to go in and get him.

  “Did you go in last night?” asked Jeb.

  “No boy, I didn’t. Just poked my head in and called out for him. Got no answer and so headed down to see you. I aint planning on chasing him around. Not with that hobo hanging around the Van de Veld’s. In fact, that aint too far away when you look at it.”

  The two men looked back down towards the pines. They couldn’t see Ida’s house, but they knew roughly where it was within the trees. It was a clear walk up from the bunching of pine trees to Whelan’s shack.

  Jeb approached the shack door and pulled it open slightly. He called out for Whelan and they both stood waiting for a response. There was no response.

  “Not here again.” said the sheriff. “I shall not be coming up and down here all day looking for him. This is it. We’ll give him a couple of days to see if he turns up before we get concerned.”

  “Wait up, Sheriff!” Jeb had spotted something on the floor and crouched down to examine it. “Is that blood?”

  “Could be, knowing Whelan. He bangs himself up all the time.”

  “I guess. But if we see blood then that could give us concern, which gives us a reason to go inside and have a look for him.”

  “Good thinking, Jeb. Let’s go and see if there is any sign of life in there. A bottle of soda says he’s asleep on that mattress.”

  “Deal,” said Jeb, putting his hand out to shake on it. “That mattress is so bad it may well have taken him prisoner. It damned nearly walked out on its own the last time I was here.”

  Jeb opened the front door and stepped to the side in order to let the sheriff go first. The sheriff gave him a frown and then stepped in across the threshold. The shack was in a dismal state. It was dirty and possibly flea-ridden. Vomit and excrement were often smeared on surfaces after a heavy drinking session and Whelan only saw fit to clean up on occasions. Rare occasions. A small stand in the first room took Jeb’s attention. He noticed some watches piled upon each other. Four in total. Not something Whelan would ordinarily have. Even though he could more than afford them. The sheriff wandered through to the back room where he expected to find Whelan. He was not there and so the sheriff had a look around as well.

  There were only two windows in the shack. One in each room. For some reason, the windows both looked out onto the side of the canyon rise and not the valley. This was probably done as a drunken mistake, or maybe Whelan just didn’t care. Either way, very little natural light got into the rooms and so it was dark and very dismal within the property. So much so that Deputy Jeb pulled out his flashlight in order to see properly. He backed up and bumped into the gathering of coats that hung on a row of hooks on the wall. Jeb turned round. There was a good collection of coats as Whelan was a fanatic. He would wear coats in all weathers. Even under sweltering conditions, he could be found dressed in a heavy leather jacket. Jeb admired one of these coats. It was leather with long leather tassels hanging from the sleeves. The next one that he saw on the overcrowded hook was a thin velvet jacket. Jeb had never seen one of these before and ran his hand along it to feel the texture. Moving his torch light across the coats he saw another which grabbed his attention. It had a strange texture to it. It was cold and soft. Very soft, like faux leather. He ran his hands along it, admiring the strange feel. It seemed old as it was mottled and blotchy in parts. As he looked down he started to see what looked like hairs attached to it. He tried to brush them away, but couldn’t. He peered in close with his torch light, lifting the fabric up
in his hands. Jeb moved his flashlight back up the length of this strange garment. When he got to the top he noticed something just on the edge of his beam. He moved the light up a bit higher. The torch dropped to the ground and Jeb stumbled backwards, knocking various things over.

  “Shit! Fuck!”

  “What are you cussing about?” called the sheriff. “Aint no need for cussing. Not on duty, boy!”

  “Sheriff!” screamed Jeb. “Sheriff! Come quick!”

  The sheriff waddled back into the first room and up to Jeb. He raised his flashlight up to the hooks.

  The sheriff’s eyes bulged and his jaw dropped at the sight. “Well blow me a raspberry...Is it just his head?”

  “No Sheriff. The skin for the rest of him is still dangling off. He’s been skinned. That’s his head and pelt.”

  Whelan’s head had been rammed onto one of the hooks. The face stared out at the two officers. His eyes were open and his mouth gaped in a pose of shear horror. The cleaned skin, from the rest of his body, hung down like a cape, attached only by the back of his neck. The skin had been shaved but for the odd hair that had been missed. The two officers stared at the remains for several minutes. They were beyond shock and could barely draw themselves away from the grisly sight that beheld them. Finally, Jeb broke the silence.

  “There aint no sign of a struggle in here. Where’d they skin him?”

  The sheriff remained speechless.

  “There were blood drops outside and there is one there just inside the front door. But I don’t see any more within the shack. He must have been killed outside and then his pelt brought in here to dry.”

  “So where is he?” said the sheriff, finally finding his voice.

  “Don’t know. The only thing I can think of is the shed or the washhouse. That’s if it was done round here anyway. He could have been brought from anywhere.”

  “Well, I think you should check the washhouse.” said the sheriff, meekly. Great beads of sweat were now pouring from the sheriff’s brow.

  “Will you come with me, Sheriff? Damned killer might still be about.”

  The sheriff nodded and drew his revolver from his belt. Deputy Jeb also pulled his weapon out and they stepped out into the yard. The two men moved towards the washhouse. They stayed close together, breathing heavily under the stress. They had a good idea what they might find, but their hearts thumped at the thought of it. As slow as they went, it took a fair while before they arrived at the small-scale building. There was one door and no windows. Jeb stepped to one side and Sheriff Glick braced himself at the door, his firearm drawn and pointing out in front of him. He clicked the hammer back and braced himself. His hands shaking and his pulse throbbing. Jeb mouthed a silent count. 1……2……3! He swung the door open and the sheriff paused, staring into the near empty room. He looked down at the floor and saw areas of heavy blood staining. Blood spray covered one side of the room and smears of blood smothered the top edges of the steel bath that occupied the centre of the floor. They both replaced their guns and stepped in through the doorway. There, lying in the bath, was Whelan. Or so they assumed. Within the bath was a mass of carved flesh. Bloodied and raw, with yellowing fat lining the edges. Sheriff Glick recoiled and exited the washhouse, retching.

  “Sheriff. I know you don’t want to see this, but I think you should.”

  Wiping his mouth with his handkerchief, the sheriff returned next to his colleague’s side. He did his best to avoid looking at the mess in the bath.

  “Sir, look down there!”

  The sheriff looked down at the side of the bath. Just poking out from the far leg was a piece of bundled fabric. Or that’s how it first appeared. The sheriff stepped in a couple of yards and looked again.

  “Well blow my socks off. A hat with flaps.”