by Mark Deloy
I was about to shut the door when I spotted my old hunting rifle. I’d forgotten all about it. I’d used it when my father and I used to go hunting. It was a model 94 Winchester, .30-.30 lever action. It looked like Papa had kept it well oiled. It’s deeply grained stock and blued barrel made me miss my father. I pulled it out and set it on the bed. I’d have to come back for it. My hands were getting full.
When I’d brought everything back downstairs, after making two trips, I decided I wanted coffee—even though it was nine PM by then. Our family had always been any-hour-of-the-day coffee drinkers. It wasn’t uncommon for my mom to make a pot of coffee at three in the afternoon, or even nine at night, as I was doing.
I switched off the kitchen light and stared out the kitchen window while the coffee brewed. It was a smell that always reminded me of home. The moon had risen and I could see across field number one, which was closest to the house. There was an upward-sloping tree line on either side of it, which, even in the moonlight, was dark. I could see the shadowy, outlined skeletons of the farm machinery against the main barn. The tree-stand where my father and I hunted deer among the corn, when it was planted there, was still standing… although I was sure it was no longer structurally sound.
Behind the tree-stand was a stream, which fed into an even larger one farther back into the property. A dirt access road ran on the other side of the stream. It was used mostly for utility crews who came in to check the huge power lines that ran over the fields and forest. There was a rusted-out Lincoln parked on that road. Hickory had towed it up there to die in 1945. It had probably made a very good home for many generations of squirrels over the years. I couldn’t see much, even with the moon, but my memory was pretty good on what was where on the property.
The coffee maker beeped, indicating it was done, and I remembered I hadn’t gone grocery shopping yet, so I’d have to drink my coffee straight black if Granny didn’t have any sugar or creamer. Granny was a sweet and Low gal and didn’t bake often.
After a quick search, I came up with some sugar—which was rock hard and probably came from the store around the same time Nixon was in office. I also found some CoffeeMate, which was unopened and probably bought for company. I thanked Granny silently in my head and made myself a cup, chipping a rock of sugar off the block and watching it dissolve in my cup like the world’s smallest iceberg. I then regretted making the brew after the first sip. One of my favorite things to do was to get up early, make coffee, and take two Oxy while surfing the Web. I thought I had been doing ok with my cravings, but right then, I would have killed for some more Percocet. I had two more left and I wasn’t going to waste them by taking one and then going to sleep. I vowed again this was it, and that was all. I had plenty of money now, a big house that was paid for, and I could do anything I wanted. I wasn’t going to piss my life away by continuing to be a junkie.
Instead of just staying awake that night and doing some more exploring, I tried to go to sleep. I had a long, and probably very stressful day tomorrow with the funeral, and I knew I’d need the rest.
I found some clean sheets in the linen closet and decided to use the guest bedroom to bed down. There wasn’t much in the room, other than a bed and a dresser. I changed the sheets, which were probably already freshly laundered, and sat down on the edge of the bed. I’d brought my overnight bag upstairs with me. It had a change of clothes, my toothbrush, and my Kindle with the book I was currently reading, Hearts in Atlantis, by Stephen King, on it. I dug my toothbrush and toothpaste out of the side pocket, brushed my teeth and looked at myself in the mirror. I didn’t look like a millionaire. I was forty, in pretty decent shape, no serious health issues, other than slightly high cholesterol and a bad back. Or, at least, I thought I still had a bad back. I’d been taking so many pills I honestly didn’t know if my back still put me in the agony I’d felt before I got on the Oxycodene. It felt ok right now and I hadn’t had a pill in—I looked at my watch—six hours. It sounds kind of stupid, but after a while you take the pills to feed the addiction, not because you are actually hurting. That’s why opiates are one of the most addictive substances known to man.
I went to bed, laid down and switched on my Kindle. I was half-way through the first of three roughly connected stories in the book. After about ten minutes, my eyes grew heavy. I wasn’t expecting to even be able to sleep tonight, but it seemed as if I was going to get lucky and my withdrawal symptoms hadn’t fully kicked in yet.
My eyes closed on their own. I set the Kindle down on my chest and fell into a deep sleep.
3
I was a boy again, deer hunting in the deep woods. The sun hadn’t come up yet and I was making my way through the trees, using a small flashlight to navigate to where I would set up and wait for an unlucky buck to give me a clear shot. I could hear animals all around me. Most of them seemed small, like chipmunks, squirrels and rabbits moving through the forest litter, but there were also larger sounds; breaking branches, shuffling leaves. I tried to look into the lightening dawn, but I saw no movement. The sounds seemed to be all around me. I shone my flashlight where I thought the noises were coming from, but again, there was no movement. I walked on, but had the feeling of being watched, clutching my Winchester tightly. I expected at any moment, for something to grab me by the shoulder.
When it got light enough to see without the flashlight, I turned it off. Up ahead were the clearing and the utility towers. I had always liked to hunt up here because you could see in any direction and get a clear shot if you sat under the power lines. The clearing also overlooked field number two far below. The field opened up and the tower stood before me like a steel monument. There was someone standing under it. The figure had his back turned to me, but he looked impossibly tall and thin. He had to be nine feet tall. His head reached the bottom of the first steel beam, which was at least nine feet from the ground. He was wearing a blood-covered cloak, or cape. It was tattered and blew in the wind like a shredded flag on a flagpole.
Against my will, I felt my feet moving towards him. I tried to stop, turn around and run, but it was as if my body was operating independently of my mind. My eyes were transfixed on him and I was terrified he would turn around, and that I would have to see his face. As I got closer, that fear grew deeper. I wanted to scream, but at the same time I knew if I did, the tall man would turn and I’d see him. He continued to stare down into the valley below as if he didn’t know I was approaching. I was close enough and the sun had risen enough for me to see the figure’s cape clearly now. What I had mistaken for holes in the crimson fabric were actually black beetles. They crawled up the cape and disappeared into the man’s hair as if they belonged there. He seemed not to notice or to care. He was taller than any man I had ever seen. I came up to his mid-thigh and, although I was only a boy, I knew he would also tower over any normal-sized man. I prayed again he wouldn’t turn around.
I had been concentrating so completely on the tall man I had forgotten all about whatever was stalking me in the woods. I turned back to the trail. Walking slowly towards me were several figures, all about my height. They looked human, in that they had arms and legs, but their faces were blurred, as if pixelated. As they got closer, I started to whimper softly. My feet still wouldn’t do what I wanted them to. I was rooted to the spot. I counted seven figures now. They no longer shuffled through the dead leaves after me, they now rose off the forest floor and began to hover and float towards me. They were whispering something that I couldn’t make out because their voices were all overlapping into a tangled, “ shush..shush..shush” sound that only slightly resembled human speech. They were only a few yards away from me now and they all raised their hands and made clutching gestures.
I looked back toward the tall man. I feared the whispering from the floaters would cause him to turn around. He did just that. As he turned, I could see that his features were blurred as well, but I could make out black hollows where his eyes should be and a red, blurred hole of a mouth. His whole face elongate
d and that red mouth opened as he moaned, as if starving. I could see that his gigantic mouth was filled with needle-like teeth. They were black and shiny against his red mouth. He started to move towards me, leaning down to perhaps bite the top of my head off, or take a chunk out of my throat.
My feet still wouldn’t move, but my voice worked fine. I screamed until I felt like my vocal chords would rupture. I felt my bladder let go and that’s what roused me out of the dream. I woke up soaked. My piss-saturated boxers clung to me as I sat up, still trying to shake off the dream and my terror with it.
I’d never had such a vivid dream. I attributed it to a new environment and lack of my regular dosage of medication. I was surprised to see it was morning already. The sun was beginning to illuminate the eastern sky and I could hear birds outside. I could see the utility tower from the bedroom window and wondered if I had the balls to walk up there later. Right now, I didn’t think so, but later after the dream had faded a bit, it might be a good idea. As a rule, I tried to face my fears whenever possible, and a little exercise might do me some good.
But right now, I needed to get cleaned up. I was mildly disgusted with myself, and my forty-year- old bladder. I started the shower and stripped off my cooling wet underwear. I tried to laugh it off, but it was hard to have a positive attitude when you started out the day pissing on yourself.
4
After a shower and a badly needed shave, I decided to make a run into town to get some supplies before the funeral. It was eight A.M., so hopefully everything would be open. I felt like a pioneer who has to go to the general store for what I’d need to survive out here. I’d definitely have to have some food. Hayes gave me a check for what had been in Granny Ellen’s checking and savings, so I guess I needed to open a checking account and see if they would give a stranger with an out-of-state license some cash back on a deposit. I thought, considering the amount of money I was depositing and that I’d be using the same bank my grandparents had used for thirty years, I wouldn’t have a problem getting a few hundred dollars. They’d probably be happy to get the money back in their clutches. If worse came to worse, I’d get starter checks and could use those at the Piggly Wiggly I saw when I drove through Centerville.
Reverend Burnside wasn’t at the church this morning. He was probably already at the funeral home getting things set up. If I had time, I’d stop there as well, to see if there was anything I could help with. I’d laid my clothes out and already ironed them, so as long as I had a few minutes to get dressed and get back to town, I’d be okay. I’d had a twinge in my back all morning, and now the pain was starting to really ramp up. Apparently I did still have a bad back. I decided to ignore it and take a drive around town.
Centerville consisted of a three-story, brick town hall/police station, a Piggly Wiggly, and a few dozen stores that faced the main road. It was slightly smaller than Massena, and I’d always loved it. There were banners hanging from the streetlights that read “Centervillefest – July 4th, 5th and 6th. Old timers were sitting on the benches in front of the town hall building and waved at me as I went around the square. I waved back and smiled. Kids were running down the sidewalk—enjoying their summer break, I imagined. I saw a gun and archery shop called Larry’s Sporting Goods. I wanted to find out more about Papa’s guns and that might be a good place to start. It might also make me a few new friends.
I wasn’t a city boy by nature. I felt very small when I was in a big city, like all that stone and steel was going to come down on me any minute. This was much more my speed. I looked forward to meeting people at my grandmother’s funeral. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to try and make this place my home. Kim would love it. She’d grown up on a farm. I decided I would call her later this afternoon, tell her where I was, and let her know what happened to my grandmother. She had never met Granny Ellen. We’d only been married a few years, and we’d never made the trip down. I regretted that now. I’d also tell her I had stopped taking any pills and would look into having the operation to fix my herniated discs. It was something she’d been nagging me about ever since I was diagnosed. But it was a good nagging. It showed she cared.
The bank parking lot had a few cars in it, which told me it opened at eight and not nine. I only waited a few minutes in line and was able to deposit the check Hayes gave me. The teller, whose name was Brenda, gave me her condolences and the teller next to her did as well and told me how sweet my granny was. I thanked them both and introduced myself. My teller told me there would be no wait on the check and I could withdrawal any amount I liked. I took out four hundred. She also gave me some starter checks and I picked out some permanent ones. I thanked them both again and headed over to the Piggly Wiggly on foot.
The store had everything a man on his own needed to survive. Hamburger Helper, some steaks, a few frozen pizzas, and a case of beer. I wasn’t a heavy drinker. I’d found out I much prefer little oblong white pills over alcohol, but I thought the beer might take the edge off if the withdrawals got bad over the next couple of weeks.
I paid for my grub with cash, filled my gas tank up down the road, and headed home to get ready for the funeral. I had an hour to spare.
On my way out of town I saw a place that hooked up satellite TV and Internet and I wrote the number down. I didn’t see a Dish, or Direct TV box on the small television in the living room and had been too busy unpacking last night to check, but I knew I’d need both satellite and internet if I was going to live out there alone. Boredom is something I don’t handle well. If I didn’t keep my mind occupied with 300 channels and with checking Facebook every half an hour, I might be thinking of a way to get more Percocet.
I realized I forgot to go by the funeral home, and honestly felt bad for not helping with the arrangements, but Hayes told me the Reverend had taken care of everything. Besides, he knew better than I did what Granny would have liked, what flowers she would have wanted, and what her favorite hymns were. The last thing I wanted was to get in the way.
I got changed and got back to town in plenty of time. The funeral home parking lot was full with some people even parking on the grass next to the lot. As with most people who don’t like big cities, I also didn’t like crowds. I was an introvert. I’d taken my second to last Oxy and they always helped me be more outgoing, which was another plus with taking them, but it hadn’t kicked in yet. I wanted to extend the effects for as long as I could, so I waited until I was walking in to take it.
I was greeted at the door by Reverend Burnside, and I introduced myself. The reverend was thin, had black hair with no gray, even though he had to be pushing fifty. His face was a map of wrinkles and his eyes were an icy blue. When he smiled, his eyes stayed cold. He was dressed in a black coat, black pants and a white tie.
“Good morning, Reverend. I’m Hickory Grimble, Ellen’s grandson. I’m staying out at their house right now,” I said.
“Good morning, son. I’m sorry for your loss. I think I saw you drive by yesterday. I didn’t realize until later who you were. We’ve had some issues with vandals both at the church and at your grandparent’s place.”
“Oh?” I said. Anything serious? Granny never mentioned anything.”
“No, mostly some graffiti on the church and your grandparent’s barn. I just painted over it.”
“I was wondering if you had some time to come out to the house after the funeral?” I asked. “I’d like to know a little more about the home place and the area. I’m thinking about staying.”
“Oh really,” he said. His smile faded, and then disappeared. “No obligations back home?”
I thought that was a strange thing to ask. I wasn’t sure what my grandmother had told him about my situation with Kim. I couldn’t be sure if she had known, but I did know my mother was a pro at spreading family gossip.
“I’m in-between jobs right now. My wife and I might be ready for a move.”
“She wasn’t able to come to the funeral?” Burnside asked, looking over my shoulder.
“Very good. Your grandmother was a fine woman. She will be missed,” Burnside said. “I’m hoping if you and your wife decide to stay, you’ll attend services at the First Baptist.”
“Yes, I’d like that. What time on Sunday?”
“Sunday school starts at 9:30 and there is a Service at 11 and 12:30.”
I shook his hand and took a seat. Burnside went up to the podium and began the service. The white coffin with gold hardware stood beside the podium and I was surprised to see it was closed. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. I’d just heard that many funerals in the South have a viewing, where people can gawk at you for extended periods of time. It probably wasn’t something she would have wanted. I was thankful the reverend knew that.
We sang a few of my Granny’s favorite hymns as I’d expected and Burnside told a few stories about my granny and her good works around town, charity drives, meals on wheels, helping out wherever needed at church functions in spite of her old age. I gratefully didn’t get choked up as I had upon entering my grandparent’s house. I didn’t like crying in front of strangers, or at all, if I could help it.
Burnside asked if anyone else wanted to say a few words and I felt obligated. The Percocet had finally kicked in and I didn’t mind at all.
I introduced myself and began.
“When I was a boy of six or seven and had been playing in the creek near Granny’s house. I’d fallen and skinned up one knee pretty badly. It bled pretty good, but wasn’t anything too serious. I ran to the house, expecting the kind of sympathy I would have gotten from my mother. Instead, Granny cleaned me up, told me to stop crying. She explained about infection and about how I needed to keep it covered at least for that day. She also told me this world was a pretty hard place and this wouldn’t be the first time I would fall down and get hurt, but that I needed to fix myself up, and keep going. I never forgot that. It was the first time anyone had spoken to me like a real person, and not like a baby. Granny Ellen was a wonderful woman, and I wish I had known her better at the end of her life.”