by J Scaddon
The Sheriff exited out onto the back porch and took a look around. He knew Ida and her sons were nearby. He could feel it. He braced his blood soaked shotgun at the ready. He stepped down into the back yard and began to pace around towards the front of the property.
Ida, Jake and Joel were still in the house. They were stowed away safely under their beds. Ida crawled towards the bedroom window and watched the sheriff pass out of view, round to the side of the house.
“Listen to me,” she whispered. “The pair of you are going to run as fast as you can into the pine trees when I tell you. No questions, no noise. You just do as I tell you. I will be fine here. The sheriff just needs a gentle talking to with no kids around to distract him. So come with me to the back door.”
They all crawled to the back door and Ida looked out. “When I say go, I want you both to run as fast and as hard as you can. Don’t stop until you are far away from here. Don’t look back and don’t listen if the sheriff shouts anything to you. Do you understand?”
The boys stared at her.
“Do you understand me?”
Jake and Joel both nodded.
“Go!”
The boys darted out of the back door and, like they had been told, they both ran straight into the pine forest and disappeared from view. The sheriff had neither heard them nor seen them.
Sheriff Glick had wandered around to the front of the property. Ida slipped out the back door and headed round to the barn where she pressed herself against one of the wooden sides. She could see the sheriff, but he had not yet seen her. Sheriff Glick walked over to one of the horses that grazed on one of the grass patches. He stroked the horse’s mane and patted his side.
“Ida. Oh Ida. Look what I have found.” The sheriff lifted the muzzle of the gun and started to scratch away at the underside of the horse’s chin. The horse enjoyed every moment of it. He was enjoying soothing an itch. “Aint he a friendly little fella?” shouted the sheriff. “Like a lamb to the slaughter. Watch this. It’s gonna be you soon!”
The sheriff pulled the trigger. A thick plume of red vapour shot up into the sky and the horse dropped down where it had stood. “He’s off to heaven now! Come out and play, Ida. I can send you to God. Come on…this is getting tiring.”
Red came over the brow in his truck and got a glimpse of the Van de Veld property. He could see the sheriff standing in the front yard. As he approached, he saw the sheriff disappear round to the side of the house. He pulled the truck up outside the property and climbed out. In his hand he held a small, rough bunch of flowers which he had picked from the roadside. He entered the front yard and made his way up to the front porch. As he went up the steps he heard a noise behind him. He stopped and he turned.
“Good evening, Sheriff,” he said. “You haven’t by chance seen….”
Before Red had finished his sentence he dropped to the floor. The sound of the gun blast had reverberated around the silent pine trees. As he hit the ground, the stems of the flowers remained tightly grasped in his dead hands.
The sheriff stood over his body and calmly reloaded his weapon. He slammed the gun shut and lifted the butt to his shoulder. He aimed the gun at the remaining portion of Red’s head and let off another round into him. To make sure.
The sheriff then stepped down off the porch and headed off to the far end of the house. He was now out of sight of Ida. She had seen what had happened to Red and although she knew he must be dead, she wanted to get to him. She broke cover and scampered across the yard to where Red lay. As she approached, she could see that there was clearly no hope. He was dead. She dropped to her knees in grief. Her thoughts of her own morality and danger had passed and she now only focussed on her loss. First her husband had been taken from her and now Red. The one small chance she had seen for any happiness in her future. Her eyes filled with tears and her heart began to ache with sheer pain. As she kneeled there, grieving, she heard a noise from in front of her. It was a click. She looked up. The end of the sheriff’s barrel was pointed to her head. The sheriff stood with a blank expression. Neither sorrow nor aggression. Just distant and uncaring of what he was about to do.
“Good bye, Ida. You know, I loved you too.”
Once again there was a loud blast. As the pin struck the cartridge it exploded into life. The pellets were forced from the muzzle and ripped through any flesh that stood in its way. From such a close range, the chance of survival was none. The trauma caused by that shot was fatal. The sheriff’s body crumpled into a heap on the floor. His finger still poised on the trigger. He hadn’t had time to get his shot off.
Ida had been kneeling with her head bowed. She expected death, but it hadn’t come. At her knees lay the sheriff’s gun, his hand still clasping it. Ida looked up and saw his killer. It was the vagrant. He was wearing his deerstalker hat and holding Ida’s missing gun. The vagrant started to look Ida up and down. He finally came to look at her in the eyes and a wicked smile grew across his face. The gun he had was only a single shot weapon and so he snapped it open and started to fish in his pocket for another cartridge.
Sensing his intentions, Ida reached for Sheriff Glick’s gun, pulling it from his hand. She scramble from her knees to her feet and raised the gun up towards the hobo. As she did, he snapped his gun closed and raised his barrel towards Ida. They both stood there, pointing their guns at each other. Ida peered deep into his eyes and saw his evil spirit. He intended to do her harm. He cocked the hammer on his gun and so did Ida. They both placed their fingers on the trigger and steadied their aim.
The fifth and final shot echoed around the canyon and claimed the last victim in the Monroe Township murders.
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