by Stephen Hand
There were sloping roofs, rusty iron sheets, broken windows, coils of degraded barbed wire, bits of broken furniture, more discarded auto parts, lashed partitions, collapsing screens, old empty oil drums and junk. The whole place was overgrown with greenery.
The main building used to be a cotton mill; a classic two-level gin house. The cotton gin was a revolutionary piece of engineering in its day, but now its wheels and gears were a symbol of a long-dead past. In just the same way, this mill was also long dead.
Contrary to what the five of them had expected to find, the old mill was abandoned—how long ago, it was impossible to tell. There was no way that someone could still be living here. And yet, the area wasn’t completely free from signs of recent human activity. Far from it.
The entrance to the mill had been “decorated” with damned weird ornaments. At first glance, the objects resembled Native American art but when the kids got out of the van, they could see that this was no display of folk culture. No, what they were looking at was a form of bastard mechanical surgery.
Animal skulls nailed on the walls and on tall wooden posts, the white bones disfigured with mutated auto parts. A plastic baby doll grafted onto the skull of a cow, the sharp curved horns taking the place of her smiling arms. Her little dress was pulled up to reveal faux genitalia as if to grind her distorted abusive sexuality into your face. There seemed to be no clear point where the broken machinery ended and the decomposed animal remains began. It was a blurring of dark possibilities.
And someone had spent time doing all this. Someone had deliberately sat down, broken stuff, then stuck it together again in all the wrong ways—making these foul ornaments, fusing the known into new and revolting forms of the unknown. This was art as pain, art as dismemberment and art as abomination. And the mind that got pleasure from creating this barbaric junk was either a tortured artist or a deranged lunatic.
“No wonder there’s a law against relatives marrying each other.” It was Morgan who’d finally broken the silence.
He had reached the outside of the mill and could now see that the walls were covered in crude, obscene drawings. And somebody had scribbled vile writing on the splintered boards—wrong words jammed together to produce the same disturbing effect as the doll’s plastic cunt bolted tightly in between the horns of the dead cow’s skull.
Morgan couldn’t believe this place; it was way too scary. But then their whole journey had been like this. First they met the girl and she killed herself. Then Luda May, the beef and their fight with her. And now the old woman had sent them on this journey, deeper and deeper into the countryside until finally . . .
Now Morgan knew how Charlie Marlow must have felt. He’d read Heart of Darkness in class, but he’d never really understood it before. This was the first time he’d considered Africa and Texas in the same breath, but then Marlow was a fictional character. Whatever was going on here was real.
Most of the other kids were just as freaked out. It was one thing to drive out to an old abandoned mill, but totally another to discover a shit load of stuff that looked like it had been put together by a tribe of automotive cannibals.
Slowly they spread out, each taking a closer look at whichever artifacts were most disturbing to them. If this wasn’t art of some kind, then what—
“Ain’t no sheriff here,” said Kemper.
He’d taken in all the weird trash in no time at all and, frankly, it didn’t bother him. What did bother him was that they’d come all the way out here, like Luda May said and there was no patrol car and no damn sheriff. Only a bunch of retarded junk.
Morgan was quick to agree and he was prepared to go one forbidden step further. “I say we dump her and get the hell out of here.”
The mill was freaking him out. All the weird stuff written on the walls, the skulls, nails hammered all over the place, barbed wire, a broken lantern, chains welded together, the animal bones. He’d even found a pair of women’s shoes. And there were just too many damned shadows.
None of them told Morgan to shut up, but then none of them made a move to enter the mill either. The doorway was open—heck, there was no door—and they could see an old armchair just inside. But no one went in. No one called out, “Hey! Mister Crawford! We’re here to see the sheriff!” Everyone stayed clear of the dark open rectangle leading into the building and they couldn’t see a thing through the broken windows.
Kemper looked across at Erin. Fact is, Kemper liked Morgan’s idea. He liked it a lot. Sure, he knew it was wrong, but they’d really gone out on a limb for the dead girl and it was getting them nowhere. And now they were in redneck hell. Ol’ Sawney was probably gonna show any second with a shotgun.
Seriously, Kemper was ready to ditch the body and run. But he knew how popular that would be with Erin—goddamn why did she come on this trip? She hadn’t joined in. All she did was put a damper on things. He couldn’t do anything as long as she was around. Yeah, he looked and he could see that she was already waiting for him to say something. Suddenly he got an idea.
“Maybe we should vote on it.”
Erin was straight in his face, “Kemper. No.”
“Why not, Erin?” whined Morgan, taking a step back towards the van. “It’s a damn democracy.”
She turned on him. “How would you like it if we dumped your body out here?”
“Hey!” he replied. “Nobody asked her to blow her brains out in our van.”
“My van,” Kemper corrected, which really helped things.
Erin needed support, but with that “van” comment, Kemper had made it clear he was gonna sit on the fence. Fine. She looked round at Pepper, Andy.
“I say we dump her,” said Andy.
It was the highway all over again. Erin and Pepper had wanted to pick the girl up, Andy and Morgan had wanted to leave her and Kemper had sat on the fence thinking about his goddamn van. But, Erin admitted, that’s when everything had gone straight down the pan; the girl had shot herself. So would Pepper—even though the suicide had really got to her—back Erin up a second time or would she take the easy way out?
Erin needn’t have worried. As soon as Pepper heard Andy’s decision, she called him out. “Pig!”
But Morgan wasn’t finished yet. In fact, he was far from finished. He walked into the center of the group, rubbing a stressed hand through his thick black hair and sang out, “Cool. That’s two votes. One more and we’re out of this cow town. Kemper?”
Oh great.
Kemper the man. Kemper the chauffeur. Kemper, always in the driving seat, caught between the guys and the deep blue girlfriend.
Everybody watched him, waiting for him to say something. He kept a poker face. The swing vote was his. Two wanted to stay, two wanted to go. He looked at Erin—stern, resolute, hopeful. He looked at Morgan—scared, resolute, hopeful.
“Baby,” he said finally, looking towards Erin. “She’s dead. It won’t matter to her where we leave her.”
Morgan could have leapt up and punched the flaming sky.
When he saw Kemper look at Erin like that he’d thought it was game over—Kemper would look at her, clock the drippy expression on her face and give in. Screw logic, screw common sense, just let his woman tell him what to do like he always did. But not this time. No way, man. Kemper had just shown his girl who’s boss. They were going! They were outta here!
But Erin hadn’t given up. What the hell was Kemper thinking? It didn’t matter where they dumped the body.
“Well, it matters to me,” she complained, then softly, “if that still means anything.”
Bitch!
Morgan could have killed her. She was playing the emotional blackmail card: agree with everything I say or the relationship’s screwed.
What a bitch.
“Erin . . .” Kemper sighed.
“That girl’s got parents out there that might want her back—not dumped like some piece of trash.”
Kemper shook his head. He didn’t want to say “no” to Erin but he couldn�
�t agree. There was nothing about this situation he liked. The girl, the van, this weird old cotton place, nothing. He had to go with the guys on this one. He’d take the consequences when they got to Dallas—if she ever spoke to him again.
And she would. They’d been going steady for over five years now and you don’t go that long without breaking a few eggs. She’d be pissed, she’d leave his calls a few weeks and then they’d make up again. Goddamn it, they were in love. She couldn’t break up over something as crazy as this. It wasn’t as if it was any of them who shot the girl. No, Kemper had made up his mind. He’d cast his vote and they were leaving.
Straightening his baseball cap, Kemper turned and was about to make for the Dodge when Pepper said, “What if that old lady got our plates? We could get in a lot of trouble.”
“The old lady couldn’t care less,” said Andy scornfully. “You heard her: ‘What you do is your own business.’ Man, that’s like gospel to these prairie billies.”
They both had a point. Luda May might have got their plates, or she might not. Likewise, Luda May might actually give a damn, or she might not.
Kemper shrugged and continued on his way to the wagon.
Discussion over.
Morgan felt a surge of excitement. At long damned last they were doing something positive. He didn’t want to be stuck out here all day, waiting at the Norman Bates Mill for some inbred cop to show and go all psycho on their ass. And the heat and the humidity among these trees was unbearable. Well screw everything because finally, finally they were leaving!
YES!
Unnoticed by the others, Erin was going through a tough internal battle. The decision Kemper had just made to leave was nothing compared to the decision Erin was trying to make now.
The whole business about the dead girl was important. The other guys were behaving as if the whole thing somehow wasn’t real. But it was. They all had a major responsibility to do the right thing. Unfortunately, in ninety-four degrees everyone seemed to be having trouble remembering what the right thing was.
Erin ran over to Kemper and grabbed him by his open denim shirt. She saw him pull that same old face. Fine. He didn’t want any crap from her. Okay. He could sigh as much as he wanted just as long as he came round the other side of the van with her, out of earshot of the others.
Finally, she let him go.
“Why do you think I didn’t get high once on the entire trip?” she said quietly.
Kemper looked any which way except her face. “I can’t read your mind, Erin.”
This was it. She’d made her decision and was going to see it through. This wasn’t quite how she’d imagined the scene in her mind but the stakes were just too high. If Kemper dumped that dead girl’s body and quit the scene, he’d be making the biggest mistake of his entire life.
“I’m pregnant,” she said. He looked up. “You’re gonna be a dad, Kemper.”
And suddenly it all made sense to him. The way she felt sick. The way she didn’t drink any booze down in Mexico or smoke any dope coming back. The way she got so angry over the piñata. Why she was so worried about him being busted for bringing dope over the border. Kemper couldn’t believe it—he was gonna be a daddy.
“I’m not having our baby in prison,” she said. And this time, the discussion was over.
She turned to rejoin the others to let them know of “Kemper’s” change of mind, but found Andy standing right behind her. He had a great big smile on his face. And the rest of them were peering round the corner of the van. They’d heard everything.
“So, congratulations are in order,” beamed Andy. But he then saw the sour expression on Erin’s face. “I guess?”
They followed Erin back round to the entrance of the mill. She sat down on some beat up old wooden thing and Morgan stood beside her, while Andy grabbed a chair next to the doorway. Kemper sat down on the porch steps—they looked charred, blackened as if they’d been on fire.
Pepper paced in between all four of them. She couldn’t relax. The doorway was just an empty open frame leading to the dark shadowy insides of the gin and Pepper couldn’t keep her eyes off it.
Their conversation was mostly spent. They’d heard what Erin had said; Kemper was gonna be a dad and that changed everything. Except for Morgan who saw no reason why they couldn’t just dump the dead girl and then worry about Erin’s child. The chances of any of them being arrested for this were practically nil.
Pepper carried on pacing backwards and forwards, watching the entrance just in case—what was that?
She saw something move—there, inside the mill. It was too dark to make out what it was but someone or something definitely walked across the room just through the open doorway. It looked like a shadow walking in front of a black wall, a silhouette flickering briefly in front of a crack of light that was shining beyond the door.
Pepper started and stepped up to the open doorway. Her smooth tender face was scrunched with concern and more than a little amount of fear.
Everybody jumped. It was clear Pepper thought she’d seen something and now she was straining to see inside. But—
“What?” asked Andy.
“I just saw something,” she said, pointing into the darkness.
Morgan thought he’d seen it too. “Someone’s in that fucking place!”
“Bullshit,” said Erin. She knew Morgan would grab at the first chance to come up with some reason why they’d have to leave the place. And Pepper had probably just imagined it. Either way, nobody was leaving.
“I swear to God!” said Morgan again. “Something moved!”
Erin was unimpressed. She realized she’d left her Stetson back in the van, but it would have to stay there. She didn’t want anyone to get the wrong impression if she suddenly got up and walked away.
The others were now standing bunched around the doorway, looking into the abandoned mill, trying to see what Pepper had seen. Only Erin remained seated.
“You’re just trying to scare me into leaving,” she said, unimpressed.
“Erin,” cut in Kemper, his voice pleading for her to be reasonable.
“Go to hell,” she replied, then she got up and walked straight inside the mill. She moved before Kemper even had time to guess what she planned to do.
“Erin! Don’t!” he shouted, but it was no good.
Erin would show them there was nothing to be scared of. They just had to sit and wait for the sheriff to show.
The ground floor of the mill was mired in shadow. A few rays of light poked through a scattering of small holes in the ceiling, but all they did was cast just enough brilliance to show that the inside of the mill was a sewer of broken clutter and decay.
Erin took a cautious sniff: the air was damp and smelled of grave dust. As her eyes got used to the darkness, she began making sense of where she was.
It was a large room, a hall of some kind. The walls seemed to be patched with torn sheets of paper. There was garbage all over the floor. There was dirt, chairs, and what looked like an old lamp-stand with a dead bird entangled around it. There was more of that crazy skull stuff like outside. The shadows seemed full of details Erin really didn’t want to see.
Outside, Kemper waited for her to show. None of them were in any rush to follow her inside—not until they heard her scream.
Immediately Kemper grabbed hold of something from the ground—a rusted iron bar—then ran in through the open doorway. Andy was right alongside him with Pepper and Morgan following up back.
“Erin!” shouted Kemper. “Where are you?”
Hell, she was his girl. And she had his baby. Where the heck was she? His eyes hadn’t yet got used to the dark—he was practically blind.
Kemper waited but there was no response. Where was she?
Suddenly something moved, passing through a shaft of light over in the corner of the room. It was Erin.
She grinned slyly, “Thought I saw a mouse.”
God damn it, Erin!
Kemper breathed out again and
relaxed. She was just playing tricks on them. Despite everything, Morgan had to laugh. All the same, he was sure he’d seen something. He wasn’t trying to scare Erin the way she’d just reeled in all of them. And Pepper had definitely seen something, no matter what Erin—
A noise came over from a corner of the large open room.
Pepper gasped.
It couldn’t be Erin this time; she was nowhere near the noise. None of them were. It was a shuffling sound, almost as if someone was crawling or stumbling around beneath the cover of the impenetrable shadow.
“Alright, that’s it,” shouted Kemper, feeling just about ready to add another body to the van. “If somebody’s out there, JUST COME ON OUT!”
He raised the iron bar and held it tight.
They took a guarded step over in the direction of the sound and now they began to see something.
The noise appeared to be coming from an old closet standing on the debris strewn floor—only the closet was partially sunken where the rotted wooden floorboards had given way.
The five of them shuffled slowly toward the closet, Kemper in front with the iron bar. Even Erin had to admit there was something going on, something she didn’t like.
The sound again . . . It was definitely coming from the sloping closet.
Kemper gestured the others to stand back, then took the last couple of paces on his own. Slowly, weapon ready, he reached out and tentatively touched the handle of the closet door.
The sound stopped.
Kemper paused, then he gently turned the handle and yanked the door wide open—just as a shrieking opossum leapt out of the closet and bolted hissing across the floor, straight out of the room.
They almost had cardiac arrests there and then—especially Kemper—but the moment they realized it was just a dumb animal, the whole gang heaved a sigh of relief and started to laugh.
Kemper was feeling dumb. He’d been caught out by the oldest trick in the book. Lowering his makeshift weapon, he rubbed the back of his neck—and suddenly realized he was staring face-to-face with someone in the darkness.
Christ!
Kemper jumped out of his skin, causing the other kids to scream out loud with him. This wasn’t funny any more—their nerves were shot.