Scary Rednecks & Other Inbred Horrors (5 page)

Perhaps

The voice was in his head and filled him with the fullness of love.
 
It was the same feeling as when Guinn had told him she loved him for the first time.
 
Every part of his body had been filled with the heavy electric feeling of happiness.
 
If this was death, he wanted more of it.

Love is a wonderful thing.
 
It is life.

‘Yes, it is,’ he felt himself thinking. ‘It transcends death. Makes life good living’, as his grandfather had said.
 
He realized, without panic and as if it was utterly sane, that the fish was speaking to him.

‘Am I dead?’ he asked.

Perhaps
, came the same reply.

‘How am I breathing?’

You are not.

‘Then I am dead.’
 
Although he said it, the thought held no terror for him.

Perhaps.

‘Why do you keep saying that?
 
Why do you keep saying
perhaps
?’

The choice is yours
.

The answer confused Trey.
 
Maybe the fish was mad for his attempts to catch him.
 
Even with the love pervading his body, he laughed at the insanity of the concept.
 
How could a fish be mad?
 
How could it have feelings?
 
Still…

‘Are you angry?’

No.
 
It is the way of the world.

‘To hunt you, to kill you?’

It is the way.

‘Then what is the choice you speak of?’

Would you die for me?

‘For you?’
 

Trey was sure he didn’t understand the question.
 
Die for a fish?
 
For a catfish?
 
Why should he give his life up for a… but it wasn’t just a fish.
 
Could a fish do this?
 
Trey
remembered what Greg had said about the Catfish Gods.
  
It was stupid, but he was alive and not breathing.
  
Only a God could make that happen.
 
He didn’t know what to say.
 
Trey
thought of Billy Prescott.
 
Had he been asked the question?
 
Had he answered wrong?

‘I don’t understand.’

Would you die for me
?

Trey
stared hard at the fish hovering in the water before him, tender whiskers caressing his cheeks.
 
It was easily more than a hundred pounds.
 
Maybe ten times that.
 
Its eyes were bottomless black pools, but held strange warmth.
Trey
could not deny its majesty.
 
It was magnificent.
 
It would be perfect above the mantle of any fireplace, eclipsing the largest swordfish.
 
It would make a bass of any size appear to be a pathetic minnow.

Trey
knew his answer was important, but he knew, as well, that the fish understood his every thought.

‘Why should I die for you?
 
I don’t understand.’
 
He stole himself for death, but pleaded desperately for an answer.

Because I would die for you
.

The answer surprised him.
 
A fish like this, powerful, magical… a Catfish God… would die for him?
 
Truly, he was nothing special.
 
Sure, he felt himself important, but in the greater world picture, he was nothing.
 
What would make this catfish die for him?
 
He knew his mother would die for him.
 
He knew his father would as well.
 
And his grandfather, the old man wouldn’t hesitate.
 
Till this day, as he was kneeling before the casket, Trey had never told anyone that he had begged God to take him instead; to let his grandfather live again.
 
If he died now… if he was to perish down in the depths of
Chicamaugua
Reservoir… maybe then he could see his grandfather again.
 
Maybe he could make him some more martinis as the old man lorded over the world.
 
Maybe he would see him smile.

Trey
stared deep into the eyes of the fish, alien, but mysteriously human, searching for the answer.
 
There, among the blackness, he saw the same look that Guinn, his mother, his father, his grandfather, even Greg on occasion, had given him.
 
It was the feeling that pervaded his being.
 
Instead of drowning, instead of feeling the quick burning warmth of a lungful of watery death, he felt the warmth of love.
 
Unconditional and pure, it was there for him, just for being alive.
 
Would grandfather want him to die for him?
 
He pictured the old man’s tall John Wayne features and knew the answer.

‘Yes.
 
I would die for you.’

Then you understand.
 
Go in peace and live long
.

The firm grip of the weeds suddenly released him and Trey felt himself floating towards the surface.
 
He watched the imperious figure of the Catfish God until it had became one with the shadowy depths.
 
It wasn’t until his head bobbed to the surface that his body contracted and jackknifed.
 
He automatically relented and allowed his body to breathe in the sweetness of the putrid, yet life-giving air of the dock.

“Trey.
 
Trey.
 
Trey,” came the jubilant shouts.

He glanced up and saw Greg, cheeks puffy and hair matted as if the storm had come and gone.
 
His eyes were as red as his hair and his voice held the hoarseness of a widow.

“Trey.
 
I thought you were dead,” said the boy, tears renewing their slalom through his freckles.
 
“It’s been hours.”

“Hours?” asked Trey absently as he levered himself into the boat.
 
He examined the sky and noticed the sun setting.

“I… I couldn’t leave.
 
I… I thought you were dead.
 
I didn’t know what to tell people.”

Trey
stared at his friend openly with a fondness that hadn’t been there before.
 
Greg noticed it and his eyes widened.
 
Then his face went serious and he wiped his cheeks.

“How can you be alive?”

Trey
shook his head. “I have no idea, man.
 
All I know right now is that I love you for waiting.”

“Yecch,” Greg said, poking his tongue between his lips and smiling.
 
“You gay or something?”

Trey
looked off toward the community dock and began to paddle.
 
“
Naw
.
 
Just happy to be here.”

His grandpa used to say that.

by David Whitman

“They say Judgment Day is
gonna
be here soon,” Judd said, staring at his burning marshmallow.
 
“Jesus is coming, and he’s pissed as hell.
 
He’s
gonna
stomp us out like a bunch of rats.”
 
With that final statement, he extinguished the fire from his marshmallow with a puff of exhaled air.

His friends stared at the smoking marshmallow for a moment as if it held deep and profound truths, the flames of the campfire flickering across their faces dramatically.
 
They let Judd’s words sink in and all sighed at what seemed to be the same time.

Judd sat back with a scholarly look of feigned intellect on his face, feeling that he had impressed his friends with his observation.

Max farted loudly.
 
“That is the biggest crock of shit.
 
Man, Jesus
ain’t
coming nowhere.
 
That hippie looking dude is probably up there surfing the clouds on some sort of rainbow colored surfboard.”

Kenny Joe and Bailey Butler started laughing simultaneously in redneck stereo, their impressive bellies shaking with mirth.
 
This really angered Judd who felt what Max had just done was sacrilegious.

“Go on, make fun,” Judd hissed.
 
“You’ll see when Jesus comes down and takes your ass come Judgment Day.
 
You won’t be making jokes then-you’ll be on your knees crying like a little schoolgirl.
 
You’re my best friend and all, Max, but there will be nothing I can do to save your ass.”

Max snorted up some phlegm and spit it into the campfire.
 
“It
ain’t
my fault they paint Jesus in the pictures to look like some blue eyed guitar player rock star.
 
Hell, if I see Jesus I’ll hand him a guitar and ask His Holiness to play me a couple of rock riffs or maybe a little Spanish flavored groove.”

Judd actually smiled at their laughter this time.
 
“Go on, keep digging your hole.
 
I can already feel the devil getting your room ready.”

Max spit again.
 
“Shit.
 
If Jesus don’t have no sense of humor, I don’t want no part of him.”

Kenny Joe nodded. “One only has to look at my ex-wife and see that Jesus must have a sense of humor, bro.
 
Hell, I
ain’t
never missed a day of church in my life.
 
What did that get me?
 
A big fat slut.
 
And not only was she fat, she was evil.”

Bailey nodded emphatically. “I must agree.”

Judd just shook his head and tried not to laugh.
 
Sometimes he craved a little more than these types of conversations.
 
A talk on Judgment Day had just degenerated into the disgustingly witty observation, ‘not only was she fat, she was evil.’
 
He sighed and walked towards the tent.
 
“I’m going to sleep.
 
This is tiresome.”

Max smirked at his friend.
 
“Well, you have to admit, Judd.
 
If Jesus could play the guitar, that
sumbitch
would be fantastic.”

Judd sighed again and pulled off his jeans.
 
Sometimes Max just tries to bug me on purpose,
he thought as he adjusted his boxers.
 
He heard the sound of one of the guys popping a beer can as he wiggled into his sleeping bag.

Something slid up his leg, slithered slowly around his balls, and then came to rest.
 
He knew what it was without putting his hand in his pants as he felt the cold, scaly skin against his own warm flesh.

Trying his best to remain calm, Judd tried to shout out, “Max!” but it came out as a kitten-like squeak.
 
After a few minutes, he managed to yell his friend’s name loud enough to get his attention.

Max stepped into the tent.
 
“I
ain’t
your maid, Judd.
 
If you want a damn beer get it your own goddamn self.”

“Max, go get the lantern.”

Max moved closer to Judd.

“Don’t come any closer!” Judd hissed.
 
“Just get the lantern.
 
There is a snake wrapped around my balls.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Get the lantern!” Judd exclaimed, trying hard not to upset the snake, which he felt coiling around his testicles.

“Is it a big one?
 
Can’t be that big.”

“Oh my fucking motherfucking god.”

Max exited the tent muttering, “Okay, okay, jeez.”

“Don’t tell Kenny Joe and Bailey,” Judd called out, knowing full well the brothers were already being told.