Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection) (90 page)

Crinkling his nose, Leo wondered what in the world that stench was. He could see a thin trail of smoke snaking up into the sky from behind the house. Behind that it looked like a bunch of pigpens. A dull, rusted sign announced “Tullock Family Farm: The best- tasting pork in the state.”

Leo doubted that very, very much.

The others got out as well, although Stacey made sure to walk to the other side of the car, as far away from Tamra as possible. He had to give the blonde credit, though. God had given that girl some amazing assets, and he wasn’t just talking about her ta-tas, and Tamra used them to her greatest advantage. How she could squish those babies together, push them up, and tilt her head invitingly at the same time was simply amazing.

But then again, how Jonathan wore a pair of chinos was pretty sublime as well.

The porch door opened, and a mousy little woman came out. She laid her hand above her eyes, shielding them from the glow of the setting sun.

“You folks lost?”

Leo grinned. She tried to act like she was surprised that they were here. Come on. How many other cars came down that godforsaken road?

“No,” Jonathan answered. “Well not originally,” he corrected.

Dear Lord, could Jonathan get any cuter?

“But now we are out of gas,” Jonathan finished.

“Ya don’t have enough to get back to the main road? There’s a station just a few miles south.”

Leo glanced over to see Stacey gritting her teeth. The words “I told you so,” were practically stamped on her forehead. She had been the sole voice to continue down the highway instead of turning down the narrow road.

“Nope,” Jonathan said. “We got here on fumes.”

Another figure emerged from the doorway. Barely taller than the woman, the man seemed hunched over, and his joints were malformed. Dark eyes peered out of thick, horn-rimmed glasses.

Seriously, all they needed was a banjo playing. Given Leo’s skin color, and if they found out his sexual preference? Oh boy, this looked to be a lynching kind of place.

“What have we got here, Bitsy?” the man asked.

Tamra stepped forward. “The sign said ‘gas,’ but I don’t see any gas.”

The man looked down on Tamra from the porch, squinting as if trying to see if a lost chick, out of gas, was really being that rude to the people who might be able to help them.

“We’ve told ‘em a thousand times to take the sign down,” the man replied. “But you know the government.”

Um, Leo was pretty sure these people didn’t have much contact with the “government.” If they paid taxes, Leo was Liberace’s son. Although, Leo did have to admit, they both looked fabulous in sequins.

Tamra stomped her little foot. “So what are we supposed to do?”

“Well,” The man looked at the setting sun, then to Bitsy, and then back to Tamra “You’ll never make the main road before nightfall. You might as well come on in for supper.”

Jonathan glanced around the yard with the half dozen cars up on blocks. “That is so generous and all, but you guys don’t have any gas lying around? We’ll pay you whatever you want for a few gallons.”

Bitsy shrugged. “Look at ‘em. Pa’s been saying he’ll fix them up for years. The only good truck is with him.”

“He took some hogs up to the market and won’t be back until the morning,” the man added.

Tamra grinned a pretty wicked grin. “I say we send Stacey to hike out and get the gas.”

“What?” Stacey stammered. “Why me?”

“I just thought you needed the exercise,” Tamra said, straight-faced, although Leo thought he caught a little spark in her eye. The one she always got when she jerked Stacey’s chain.

Stacey shook her head, as if trying to wrap her head around the blonde’s logic. “You seriously want me to head out onto that road, in the dark, by myself?”

Tamra shrugged. “Take Leo with you, then.”

“Leo, what?” he said now invested in the conversation.

Yes, that was a
great
idea. Send the virgin brunette and the black guy out onto a deserted road in the south. Brilliant, Tamra. Just brilliant.

Bitsy intervened. “There’s all manner of creature running around after dark. No, you should have some supper then spend the night.”

Right about now, Leo’s aunt Leykisha would be screaming for him to run. Forget the dark road. Forget the creatures. Forget manners. Just run. And his nine-times-a-week at-the-gym conditioned legs wanted to, but Leo did not want to give those two on the porch the satisfaction.

Besides, how bad could dinner be?

* * *

Stacey hesitated at the threshold. Leo held the door open for her. Jonathan had, of course, already disappeared into the house with Tamra. The inside was cloaked in cobwebs. People
did
live here, right?

She glanced back down the long road as the sun set, casting fingerlike shadows. There was no going back in that direction. Stacey looked up. Leo gave her a reassuring smile, although the edges of his lips seemed to quiver a bit.

Having to endure another meal with Tamra would do that to you.

“Don’t let the flies in, girl!” the man said, hobbling over.

He reached a hand out to hurry her along, but Stacey awkwardly leaned to the side to avoid his touch. Who knew where those hands had been? The man guided them through a living room where all the furniture had dusty cloths draped over it. And the wallpaper? Though it was stained and shabby, Stacey thought she could make out the faintest pattern of an old English garden.

Um, that was about the exact opposite of this dingy, sad farmhouse. Newspapers, yellowed with age, sat stacked up against the fireplace and even inside of it. Again, they
lived
here, right?

“Don’t get many
outsiders
in these parts,” he explained as he nodded toward the furniture… and not much cause to use the good furniture. Not with Ma…”

The man didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he gulped and gimped his way into the kitchen. Stacey almost felt sorry for him.
Almost
.

By the time they got into the kitchen, Jonathan and Tamra were already seated, right next to one another, probably playing footsy under the table. Great. She had to admit though that dinner, sorry,
supper,
did smell delicious. It was like the whole room was infused with its aroma. Sometimes down-home cooking was the best.

Unlike the living room, which felt stagnant and burdened with years of disuse, this kitchen seemed well traveled. And the kitchen table? It was set as if royalty were dining. Bitsy scurried about the room, getting extra place settings, aligning them perfectly on the bright, flowery place mats.

“Cliver, get some extra chairs from the porch,” Bitsy instructed the man. “Ruf is bringing Ma.”

He nodded awkwardly, like he was trying to almost bow or something.
Weirdo
.

Quickly, though, as Stacey and Leo sat down opposite their friends, Cliver came back into the kitchen with a chair in each hand. He placed them next to the chair at the head of the table.

But wait. That would make a total of ten chairs. But even with the absent Ruf and Ma, that left two chairs unaccounted for. Who were the other two people?

Tamra’s asinine giggling brought Stacey’s gaze back to the table. Already, wilted greens, buns, and fried okra were set on the table. A large bowl sat ready for what Stacey could only assume was going to be soup. Her stomach rumbled. How long ago had she eaten the pepperoni stick? Three hundred miles ago? Well before they turned down that long-abandoned road—that was for sure.

Jonathan and Tamra had their heads bent together sharing some completely titillating secret. Make that heavy on the “tit” part, as Tamra pushed them together so that they formed a shelf practically under Jonathan’s nose. How very convenient. He didn’t even have to bend over to stare at them.

“Ruf!” Cliver called down the hallway. “Supper is on, and we don’t want our guests waiting on you!”

He turned back to the group, readjusting his horn-rimmed glasses and smiling apologetically.

“I’m comin’!” a loud voice announced from out of view.

Then the house groaned under a footfall. Then another. With one hand, Stacey grabbed the edge of the table. With the other, she felt for the purse she had set down at her feet. Finding it, she brought the handbag onto her lap. She liked the weight of the pepper spray inside of it. Because right now it sounded like an elephant was coming down that hallway.

And if it turned out that they had to knock out a wildebeest, she wanted to be prepared. But what lurched around the corner was no wild animal. It was
way
freakier than that. A Clydesdale-version of a man, she could only assume it was the aforementioned, “Ruf,” lumbered into the room carrying what must have been a five- hundred-pound woman. If her girth wasn’t exaggerated enough, she was dressed in a white and yellow polka-dotted muumuu.

That couldn’t be a real person, could it?

Everyone at the table sat shocked as Ruf haltingly, one booming step at a time, crossed the room, and then set his mother down on a chair. The wood complained so loudly that Stacey feared that the legs would smash beneath the woman. Bitsy clearly held the same fears.

“Cliver! The chairs!”

The man rushed over and lifted several rolls of fat from Ma’s right side and put a chair under them, and then repeated the process on the other side.

Oh, my God.
Stacey thought. Those chairs weren’t for two extra people, but for two extra sides of Ma.

Then Ruf leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

There was something so incredibly sweet about the gesture, juxtapositioned against the absurdity of the scene, that made Stacey feel vaguely guilty about judging the poor woman and her family.

Clearly, Ma was ill. Her left eyelid drooped nearly down to the corner of her nose and that side of her mouth sagged and pooled with thick saliva.

Stroke
. Stacey had seen it in her grandfather. At least Bitsy, Cliver, and Ruf were taking care of their invalid mother. Hell, her parents had put Grandpa Ralph into a home faster than you could say “additional care needed.”

Maybe she
had
misjudged this family.

“Ruf, can you get the bowl?” Bitsy asked from the stove.

Once her brother brought over the enormous dish, the woman began ladling out the soup. Stacey could smell oregano, potatoes, parsley, and another ingredient she couldn’t identify. Whatever it was, it was mouthwatering.

Ruf brought the filled bowl over and set it into the center of the table. As their hosts took their seats, Tamra reached for the ladle, but Cliver frowned.

“Around these parts we always say grace first.”

Tamra blushed, but Stacey didn’t think it was from embarrassment. Turning her cheeks red was just one of the many weapons that Tamra had in her arsenal to disarm men.

“I am so sorry!” she said averting her eyes. “I’m just starving.”

And yes, even this crumpled, bespectacled little man softened. “Ain’t no worry. Just want to give our Lord his due.”

Damn! In under three minutes, Tamra had charmed this crusty guy. Maybe she should rethink her “no plastic surgery” stance, Stacey thought as the family took hands.

Then Stacey realized her order in this prayer procession. Panic spread over Stacey in waves of gooseflesh.

She didn’t mind going along with the show just to be polite. And holding Leo’s hand was like holding her really hot, gay, older brother’s hand. But Ma? Stacey was supposed to hold
Ma’s
hand?

How did she get in this position?

Oh, wait. Another epic-Stacey-fail. She had taken the chair to be able to sit across from Jonathan, but, of course, he hadn’t even looked up from Tamra’s boob shelf to notice. And now everyone was staring at her. Even Jonathan had taken Ma’s other hand.

As much as she felt sorry for the chick, Stacey did
not
want to hold hands with Ma. Gawd, did that make her totally a hypocrite? Even if it did, Stacey felt her stomach flop over just thinking about it.

“Stacey…” Jonathan prompted, his eyes sliding over to Cliver. “Be my good girl.”

Now, she should have been totally pissed off that Jonathan talked down to her that way, but something about how he said it tugged at her. And the way Tamra’s eyebrows knit together and her lips turned down. Oh, yeah. Stacey definitely liked it.

Gritting her teeth, she took Ma’s hand. And by took it, Stacey meant that she had to pick it up and put it in her hand. The limb was cool and felt like deadweight in her palm until it would twitch, nearly spasming. Each time it happened, Stacey nearly jumped out of her chair. She knew that it was just Ma’s brain misfiring, sending signals down her arm that forced her fingers to flex, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t creeping Stacey out.

As Cliver mumbled a prayer full of Jesus and God and something about their bountiful life, Stacey tried really hard not to flinch each time those chubby, sausage-rolled-in-a-pig’s-blanket fingers dug into her skin.

Seriously, how much prayer did this family need, as Cliver droned on and on? Was this dinner, or a church service? And would there be wafers if it was?

Trying to distract herself, Stacey scanned the table. She wished they had toasted sourdough bread instead of buns, but they seemed out of the oven, that was if they got to eat them anytime this evening. The soup looked hearty as well. Chunks of potatoes and mushrooms and carrots bobbed on the surface.

Then something bright red floated to the surface. A turnip? No it was flat and shiny. Was that a fingernail?

“What’s that?” Leo asked, his dark eyes even darker as the pupils dilated fully.

“Amen,” Cliver finished before glancing to the soup. “We had Ma stirrin’ earlier, must have chipped off.”

Stacey looked down at the hand she was holding.

Ma did
not
have nail polish on.

Suddenly, Ma seized Stacey’s wrist. There was no mere spasm. This was a full-on viselike grip.

Stacey went for her pepper spray, but it was too late.

* * *

Leo tried to push himself up and back, but Ruf’s meaty fist slammed into his face. It was like getting hit by a Costco-sized pack of Porterhouses—bone in. Still, Leo caught Stacey’s chair, righting himself as his other hand went for his knife, but another bare-fisted punch broke his nose.