by catt dahman
“It means your mama is acting like a ho-are in having a bunch of men coming in and outta the house, them never staying long, not sleeping overnight.
My preacher told us all about wanton women. He said for wives to cling to their husbands but not like grabbing them up at a scary movie or anything. Your mother don’t have a husband which is sinful and shameful, Mike. The preacher said it is better to marry than to burn. So that means ho-ares burn.”
Erby didn’t have time to also explain that the preacher made the Bible interesting for once that day and Erby hadn’t fallen asleep during the sermon and that his mother had huffed several times that morning. On the way home, she said it was unfitting for the preacher to have been so graphic about the doings between men and women, but Erby figured if the sermons were always that enlightening, more people would attend church.
Charlie sniffed, “Whore, not ho-are.”
“Did I ask you?” Erby glared. He was preparing to explain how they would burn and flesh would melt away from the sinner’s bones.
“My mom is not a …one of those, Erby. I lost my dad….”
Erby mimicked Mike’s voice, “And it was a real cluster-fuck because I really loved him, and mom was lonely, so she started ho-aring around and doing the milkman and every man she could find, and I just tried to find one to bond with so we could have a happy family again.”
“I never said that,” Mike said angrily.
“Hey, Erby, you said the F-word,” Charlie pointed out.
“So what? Mind your own business, snot-head. Now, Mikey, go back to your mom being a ho-are.”
Mike sniffled. His eyes were wet, and he was biting his lip to keep from crying, but the words hurt because maybe they were a little true or maybe they were a lie, but he didn’t like them. Erby was a big, fat bully who always picked on the smaller scouts and then sucked up to the scout leaders and pretended to be a great person who helped others and was always willing to take on extra chores. He was a big fake.
His dad was one of the leaders and thought Erby could do no wrong.
Mike shivered, knowing if he said anything more, Erby would hold him down and fart on him or pee on his toothbrush or maybe punch him; Mike felt sick.
“Who’s her new boyfriend, the garbage man?” asked Erby as laughed.
Mike thought the other boy looked piggish with his close-set eyes, up-turned nose, and fat cheeks. Erby’s lips were flabby, his body was chubby, and his hair cut was silly, but all the scouts feared him because he punched and pulled tricks, and even if they told on him, his father said for them not to tattle and then he would deny everything and say that they needed to get along.
Jerry watched Mike go pale, and the boy looked as if he might cry; Erby would tell everyone if Mike cried. Charlie was unsure of what to do but looked relieved that for once he wasn’t the one being picked on. Jerry was Erby’s height but only two-thirds of his weight. “Knock it off, Erby. Lay off him. Can’t you find better entertainment?”
“You have something to say to me, Jerry?”
Jerry could back off and be safe. He could forget this whole thing and let Mike take the bullying, but he sighed, “Yeah. I’m saying back off picking on Mike and the rest, or I am going to kick your ass so hard you’ll shit out your mouth. How is that? Wanna try me?” Jerry narrowed his eyes, thinned his lips, and made tight fists. He was likely going to be beaten to a pulp, but at least he was going to take a stand.
“Yeah, and I’m gonna help him. When we get done with that, we’re gonna strip you naked and throw you out of the tent so everyone can see,” Charlie suddenly added, his own fists by his sides.
“And I’ll…I’ll…I’ll pee on you!” Mike blurted.
Erby’s jaw dropped. He was the master of intimidation, but if all three jumped him, he would be beaten, stripped, and urinated on, and that was unthinkable; his dad would be so angry if he let that happen. Confused and angry, Erby said, “I don’t have time for you fools. I’m going to sleep. Just shut up, and go away.”
Watching the three other boys, Erby climbed into his sleeping bag, determined to keep an eye on them all night, but he fell asleep quickly.
Mike, all smiles, nodded at Charlie and Jerry and went right to bed. Charlie and Jerry got into the bags and fell deeply asleep, both pleased with themselves and determined to discuss it in the morning and relive every second of standing up for themselves and another kid.
In the camp, all was quiet as scouts and leaders fell asleep.
Not far away and using binoculars, David, Ronnie, Lucy, and Stan watched. Many times. Over the past weeks, they had crept to this spot and watched the activities. They were fascinated, and what began with casual comments became a daring game of suggesting various ways of killing the children. It was kind of a joke, said in teasing tones or as dares, but they were serious.
David only realized the other three were serious after a few nights. Lucy often suggested how she would use Das, her knife. Around the men, her English was improving, she was affecting fancier manners, but when talking about violence, she was as hard-nosed and low as any common criminal. Somehow, it was a little exciting to hear.
“That one who raked the grounds is the one. He thinks everything can be made tidy with a rake and that it will stay that way,” Stan said.
“The one in his tent, did you see? The fat one. He pushed the small kids around and punched them when no one was looking. He’s a bully.”
“All four then?” Ronnie asked.
“Don’t be silly. If we leave one, then the shock will be greater. Everyone will ask why one was spared. Confusion and chaos.”
“Chaos,” David corrected her.
“But there are four of us, Lucy.”
“I’ll share with you, David.”
It wasn’t what he meant exactly, but he didn’t want to disappoint her.
Before they could discuss it more, Ronnie vaulted down the little hill, nimble on his feet in the dark, and the others followed. He used a sharp buck knife to quietly cut the canvas of the tent, inhaling the night odors and the slight moldy-scent of the tent. The blade ‘snicked’ through the canvas and cut cleanly downwards, making a large slash from head level to the ground. Crawling inside, Ronnie crept up to the fat boy, shivering and shaking with excitement while he held the knife’s blade against the child’s throat.
A tiny bit of pressure would cut the child, and it was tempting to press, but Ronnie swallowed hard. It would be unsafe to do anything here where they might be caught, and besides, he wanted to put off the ultimate thrill as well.
“Be very quiet. This is a sharp knife, and if you make a sound, I’ll cut you. Come with me, and you’ll not be harmed.”
Erby thought maybe this was a dirty trick, but the blade nicked him and made him whimper, so he knew it was probably real. Terrified, he left his warm bed and followed the strange man out of the tent through the slit. If this were a joke, then it was a bad one, and his dad would make someone pay for scaring him and cutting his neck. He began to sweat with worry, and the salty perspiration stung.
Stan was able to steal Charlie away just as easily. Not a sound was made as the boy followed, fearful of being cut. Charlie thought that this was likely a scout initiation, albeit scary and in poor taste, but one he would pass with flying colors, and then he would be part of an elite, secret sub-group within the troop. He suppressed a nervous giggle. When he saw Erby with another man, he was surer this was a test of his fortitude.
Charlie actually grinned.
Jerry, shocked at being awakened with a blade at his throat, was immediately afraid, and his adrenaline rushed through his body in waves. Not for one second did he think this was an initiation or a trick; it was real, and he wet his bed with terror.
The woman staring at him had feral eyes. She wasn’t pretty; she had hard, cold eyes and a minty breath. Without a plan in mind, he threw his arm to the side, and the dagger flew away. He was pleased to have caught her unprepared. Before he could cry out, the women slap
ped a hand over his mouth, and the man began to choke him.
It hurt.
Make a mistake, Jerry thought. He waited for a chance to scream, but the man was choking him, and the pressure was enormous. He couldn’t think now. He needed air. He had to breathe. His eyes bulged.
Thrashing, Jerry fought David, only weakening as Lucy popped his head with a flashlight.
“He’s unconscious, not dead. We can leave him here like this and shock everyone,” David said.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m not much of a killer, Lucy. The bridge thing was kind of an accident. Let’s let him go.” David was scared of what was happening.
Lucy shrugged, “Go on. Go find the rest. I’ll be there in a few seconds. He can identify us, David, and we don’t want to go to jail.”
David slipped out of the tent, preferring not to see what would happen next.
Mike never awakened as he snored softly.
Lucy, without facial expression, found Das her dagger, which had been knocked aside, and she plunged it into Jerry’s abdomen. He jerked awake and went poker-stiff, but she kept a hand over his mouth as she repeatedly slammed the knife into his torso. That was her way of warming up and getting the feel of a blade sliding into flesh. She bashed his head again and continued stabbing until blood soaked everything.
She finally stabbed his throat, excited and pleased she had done the deed. She knew she could do it, but the first one was always the most difficult, she had thought, and now that it was done, the second should be easier. There was a learning curve, and she was on the way.
In the woods, the group of adults used rope they had brought and some handkerchiefs to subdue Erby and Charlie. Both boys were scared and worried and sure it was not trickery or an initiation. They had been angry, scared, sad, and were seemingly resigned to the situation. The ropes were tight and chafed.
“Keep walking,” Ronnie said.
“Did you do the other two?” Stan asked Lucy.
“Nah, one of them. The other kid will be shocked as hell. Imagine when he sees what I left.” Her hands were red with drying blood, and she was covered with scarlet on her shirt up to her elbows and even on her face.
David wiped a spot off her chin.
Lucy went on feeling hyperactive. “What now? I want to be creative and not have them get found right off. Or they should be found and really upset all of them and put them into craziness. I can’t decide. Which is creepier? What will be spookiest?”
Erby whined.
“I didn’t ask you, but if I did, which is scarier? Having to search for you or finding you splattered on the trail?” she asked the child.
Erby vomited, and Ronnie pulled the handkerchief down just long enough for the boy to spit so he didn’t choke.
David nodded absently at Lucy. He wasn’t enjoying this at all; it was different when he served in the war and took spoils. This wasn’t the same at all, and he felt little. Besides, these weren’t girls, and he didn’t go for little boys.
They led the boys to an unused shack that was partially falling apart and not too far from the campground. The wood was silver grey with age and wear and broken off in most places. Not a single full wall remained, and there was no roof. In the center was an old whiskey barrel, filled with holes in the wood and rusted metal, but still with a strong top.
“Hold his arm and hand tight. Don’t mess this up,” Lucy warned. Ronnie and Stan did as she ordered, and David held the boy upright. “I wanna use Das again. Das likes blood,” she cackled.
Lucy warned them to be quiet, but Erby shrieked when she lopped off two of his fingers with Das, having to saw through the joints as the knife slid on the slick blood. She grinned the whole time, not with humor, but concentrating on her task. It wasn’t easy to remove digits. Anyone finding the body would be horrified at seeing fingers removed; it was very personal.
Very reverently, she slid the fingers into a bag. “It’s okay. You’re fine. It’s a few fingers in the whole deal. It’s not like I took your freakin’ hand.”
The boy cupped his other hand protectively over his wrist as the men released him. He wept, tears sliding down his face copiously, “Can…can…we go now? I wanna go home.” Maybe that was all they would do to him and he could go back.
“Charlie, is Erby your friend?”
“He’s a…bu…bu…bu… bunk mate. We aren’t friends...ca...ca...ca
‘cause he’s a bu…bu...bu…bully.”
Stan leaned forwards. “That’s interesting. See what comes out when we dig a little? So Erby isn’t a nice person, is he?”
“Na…na…na…no, he isn’t.”
“What about your other friends? Who was in the tent? Who was the little thin kid?”
“Ma…Mike. The other was…is Jerry. Jerry is cool.”
“They are your friends?”
“I guess so. Yeah.”
Stan tapped his temple. “In your tent, who was the boss, really?”
“We listened to Je…Je…Jerry, I guess.”
“But Erby here wanted to be the boss, right? He’s like every other bully…loud mouth and bigger than the rest. He’s a real dick, isn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
“Erby, how do you feel about Charlie? Do you like him or hate him or do you bully him because you can? Do you feel bad about yourself so you bully others?”
“Huh?” Erby cried and looked as if he were about to scream.
“If you scream, I’ll take all your fingers and maybe your hand,” Lucy warned him, “and you better talk or else.”
“I hurt. I can’t talk.”
Lucy waved her dagger. ”That’s fine, but I’m a gonna take those fingers and maybe some little piggies, too. This little piggy went to market; this little piggy went slice.”
Erby blurted out the words: “He’s a follower. I don’t care about him. I wanna go home. My dad is gonna beat your asses for this.”
Stan laughed and said, “Charlie, is that true? Is his dad a bad-ass tough guy?”
Charlie shrugged, “Nah. He makes fun of people and embarrasses everyone and bullies like that, but he’s nothing really. I mean against you guys, he would turn and run.”
“He wouldn’t either,” Erby said, snot running down his upper lip.
“Shut up, ya fat ass,” Charlie said. If nothing else, he felt good having told Erby off. Charlie wasn’t crying; no matter what happened now, Erby was just a big baby.
Stan chuckled and smiled at David, “Interesting. You learn so much when someone is bleeding like a pig. David, you have any clever ideas?”
“Let me do it,” Ronnie said. He thought about the stories David told of being in Vietnam and always fearing for his life and having to do the wet work. Ronnie had prepared carefully for this and hoped to win David’s approval for valor in a fight. From his backpack, he removed a half dozen sharpened sticks, each tipped in excrement for authenticity.
David didn’t know Ronnie had sharpened them carefully and tipped them with his filth, so Ronnie was surprising everyone. He listened carefully to the stories and took in each detail and hoped like mad that he had prepared everything correctly.
“Look what I have? Just like the shit they made you deal with, David. This is for you.”
Without preamble, Ronnie plunged the first stick into Erby’s neck, causing the boy to start bleeding out. The second he stuck in the boy’s belly as Lucy covered the child’s mouth. The third slid between ribs; the fourth went into the groin; the fifth slipped into Erby’s shoulder, and the last one went easily into Erby’s mouth. By the third punji stick, Erby had stopped thrashing and simply jerked a little as each stick was inserted.
Blood covered the ground, soaking it, and Ronnie posed the child carefully to look relaxed and peaceful. “That was interesting. You saw he stopped fighting and bled out, so a neck wound is not a good plan. I do like the body placement and the look of the scene.”
“Not quite Vietnam but the sentiment is there,” David said dully, only a
little interested and growing bored. He was flattered that Ronnie went to such lengths to recreate something terrible and turn the tables, but without the girls and spoils of war, he felt let down.
Ronnie was disappointed. He decided he would find a way to make David happy somehow.
Charlie watched the action, going pale with fear and dread, knowing he was about to die. That much was given, but he sure didn’t want to go to his death in horrible pain.
“They’ll find him this way and be scared. You did fine, Ronnie,” Lucy said, Ronnie only shrugged, face dejected.
Stan ruined Charlie’s hopes as he choked the child, pressing deeply into Charlie’s neck and ignoring the flaying, vomit, and struggles as the others held the child down. Stan looked right into Charlie’s eyes and wanted to see the exact second the light left his eyes and determine if the soul did indeed leave the body and could be felt.
Charlie kept his eyes wide open with terror and pain, panicking the entire time, and Stan enjoyed it, getting and maintaining a slight erection as he choked the child to death. He felt power surging through him, and when Charlie died, he didn’t feel a soul leave the body; he did feel invincible and strong. There was a flash of anger that the child didn’t last longer, so Stan ripped and tore the boy’s pajama bottoms with his Bowie knife, and mutilated Charlie’s genitals in the process.
The body was twisted and dirtied with soil and leaves, but Stan wanted to leave it as it was.
“That went wrong, too.”
Lucy cocked her head. “Well, mine went fine, so there. Next time, we orta plan better and plan together and do something really good.”
“Yeah. Maybe so,” Ronnie admitted, “ought to. Not orta.”
The site was close to the campground, and the four, tired and unsatisfied, trekked back a half hour to David’s truck and then drove back to the house. Ronnie went to shower, and Stan chose to sit and rethink what he had felt and seen.
David yanked his shirt off. He was tired, ready to sleep, and decided he would think this over later. He liked having the visitors in the house because both men worked hard: cutting firewood, repairing the house, weeding and planting the huge garden, and caring for the trees and shrubs. Lucy was a decent cook as long as David made out a menu, and she was getting better as she went; she worked hard at being a cook.