Tales From the Swollen Corpse (5 page)

BOOK: Tales From the Swollen Corpse
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Back home, Ma had set out some jugs and a wash bowl for me to fill. That way the canteens would be ready for my next trip. The rest of the day Pa kept me busy. In fact I didn’t think at all about how the day had started. Not until on the way in, I saw
Shep’s
pile of rags in the corner of the porch. I took his bedding out to the work shed. The twins didn’t need a reminder and neither did I.

The next day we got so busy working on the new fence, I had forgotten about my trip to the McCray’s. Ma came down the long dusty road to tell us we were down to one jug and asked when I was going. Things weren’t going so well with the fence, we had lost track of time. Wiping the sweat from his brow and looking frustrated, Pa said he could finish by himself and I better get.

After I had Greta saddled and the canteens strapped on I headed out. Down at the end of the dirt road I could see Pa. He had stopped working on the fence and was talking to two fellers on horses. We didn’t get many visitors out here. The last one was a preacher; Pa wasn’t too nice to him; of course Pa had been carrying around his boot that day.

As I got closer, I could tell Pa was angry and he was pointing for them to go away. One of the men pointed back at Pa. I heard a bang. There was a spray from the back of Pa’s head and he dropped straight down to the dirt. I yelled and the men started towards me. I turned quick and got Greta going as fast as she could back to the house.

Their horses were a lot faster than poor old Greta. I didn’t beat them by much. As soon as I was close enough to the porch, I jumped down and ran inside. I saw in a blur
Grands
in her rocker with the twins playing by her feet. I yelled at
Ma
to come and help while I tried to hold the door. The plank we used to latch it was missing again; Billy was always playing with it. Ma came running around the stove to ask what all the fuss was about. Before I could say, the door flung open sending me to the ground.

Two of the biggest ugliest sons of bitches I had ever seen came in. Both were dusty and their faces were dark and leathery from the sun. One had what Ma called that “different look” to him. It’s what she called a man in town. She told us that man was like a baby, even though he was taller than me. That guy from town had a weird look to his face and this one had it too. The other had a face full of beard, it was black as night. His eyes and the bit you could see just looked mean.

After looking around the room the bearded one looked at
Ma
and said, “Well
ain’t
you a pretty thing?”

I jumped up and yelled for them to get out of here. The “different looking” one walked over and hit me so fast and hard I didn’t see his hand move. I saw a flash and then things went dark and quiet.

I woke up by
Grands’
feet. My head hurt real
bad
and I felt dizzy. Using all my strength, I lifted myself up onto my knees.
Grands
was
in her chair and the little ones were on her lap. She had her arms around them and they
had
their faces buried in each side of her neck.
Grands
was
staring at something, she looked angry and I could tell she had been crying. I started to ask what was going on then I saw what she was looking at. Standing over by the table was the one that hit me. As soon as I saw him, everything came back. He stood there pointing a gun at us with a dumb smile on his face.

I didn’t know where the other one was until I heard Pa and Ma’s door open and the bearded one walked over to his friend. I could hear Ma whimpering from the room behind him.

“Well, she’s all yours Junior.”

He turned and looked at the empty jugs on the table, “Damn it, that whore done wore me out and you
ain’t
got a drop in here.”

He picked up a jug and slammed it down at his feet. The jug exploded, sending ceramic shards everywhere. Picking up another he pointed at me and said, “Damn it boy! You go out to that well and get me and Junior here a drink.”

I started to protest,
then
Grands
broke her silence and cut me off. “You heard ‘
em
Jim, go get these men some water from the well.” Her voice was cold; I had never heard her speak like that.

I took the jug from the man and headed off to the well. I heard him tell Junior to go with me and make sure I didn’t try to run.

When I got back I handed the full jug to the bearded man. He brought the jug to his sun blistered lips and drank like he hadn’t had a drop of water in days. After spilling a good amount on his shirt and letting loose a disgusting belch, he handed the jug to Junior, who drank the same way.

I didn’t think that a man could have squealed like that old hog had before she died. But that’s just what he did before he dropped to his knees. Junior lost his dumb grin and looked very confused. I almost felt sorry for him,
then
he started screaming.

First they scraped at themselves with their own nails, clawing away at the skin on their faces and arms. Then the bearded man got a piece of the broken jug and started on himself with it. I picked up Junior’s gun which had been lying on the floor.

Without turning away, I shot each of ‘
em
in the head.

 

 

Paul’s desk was on the second floor of the Brown and Johnson building. It was large, a dated brown color from decades past, and covered in paper. It gave the impression Paul had more work than he could handle. Truth was, things had been slow and every day Paul felt he was treading water. He knew he was running out of projects anyone gave a crap about. He also knew if he didn’t come up with some new ideas, he was screwed.

He gazed out the window down to the street below. Paul had been excited about getting the window seat until he discovered the tinted glass made the brightest afternoon sky a dismal gray. The view wasn’t too stimulating either; just a parking lot and another office building across the way.

Paul pinched the corner of a cardboard envelope poking out of a stack of papers. Wiggling it free, he held it and contemplated mailing it. Then, smacking it against the palm of his hand he thought; now or never. He also thought it was time for the first of the day’s many cigarette breaks. As he stood, he looked to make sure the address was right then tucked the envelope under his arm. He walked from his desk towards the hall, as he did, he didn’t notice the loud crash or sound of car alarms from the parking lot below.

He liked taking the back stairs over the elevator. With luck, he would only have to walk past the receptionist, Harriet, who took the mail anyhow. He felt like today just might be okay because when he turned the corner to the lobby, he could see it was empty except for Harriet. Walking towards her, he could see she seemed to be smiling at something.

Oh Lord, what does she think is so funny? She’s smiling like an idiot,
Paul thought as he approached the reception desk. Harriet was smiling but as Paul got closer he noticed something was wrong. Her smile was distorted and strained. The smile and empty stare were unyielding even when Paul was directly in front of her.

“Are you, eh, okay there Harriet?”

She moved her mouth just enough to respond “eh
iehhh
hooo
.” Her voice was not forced; other than being incoherent gibberish it didn’t seem to dictate the duress her face showed. Paul wondered if she might be having a stroke.

He hurried to find help. He remembered Miranda, one of the HR ladies, sat around the corner. Remembering she was the head of the office safety committee, he figured she surely would know what to do. Hurrying around the corner to the hall, he bumped into Randal the national account manager, a man Paul thought of as a slime ball in a Brook Brother’s suit.

“Listen, I think something’s wrong with Harriet. We might need to call an ambulance or something.” While Paul spoke he watched Randal slowly lose his balance and slide down the wall to a sitting position on the floor. He looked at Randal’s face; it was adorned with that same horrible grin.


ahieeee
jeeee
,” Randal repeated, sitting on the floor looking disturbing.

The sight of Randal was a bit more than Paul could take. He rushed to find someone else. Heading through the office, at every desk he found one incoherent coworker after another, every face grinning and babbling. His hurried walk turned into a run, slowing only when he remembered he had left his heart medication in his lower desk drawer.

He ducked into the lunch room and found it empty. Short of breath, his face flush, Paul held the back of a chair. He tried to calm himself by telling himself to: “get a grip” and “take deep breaths”. His efforts were short lived. Up on the wall was the TV and like always at this time of day, The Sally Jones show was on (which Paul loathed). But instead of talking about the next miracle diet or celebrity break up, she sat in her plush chair with that by now all too familiar smile, jabbering nonsense.

Paul felt his only salvation might be fresh air and rushed out the back door. Outside he was greeted by the sound of car alarms and the smell of smoke. He avoided the parking lot, taking the route he took every day to his bus stop; a quick cut through the courtyard of the adjacent building to the main street. Swiftly, he followed the sidewalk towards downtown. He hoped to find someone of sound mind to help. The street was filled with stalled cars and collisions. He passed one car engulfed in flames; the driver sat smiling and still while being burned alive.

He was about to give up, with no idea what to do next, when he saw two policemen standing by each other at the end of the block. Their backs to Paul, they seemed to be conversing. Paul moved towards them cautiously. Relief swept over him when he realized he could hear them and understood what they were saying.

“I hate it when a transmitter goes, what a mess,” said the taller officer.

“It’ll all be cleaned up in a day or so. Besides, it weeds out the ones that aren’t taking the signal anymore,” replied the other.

“Please, can you guys help me?” Paul asked from a few feet behind the men.

“Like this guy.” The man said to his friend as he turned, pulled his gun, and shot Paul dead.

“What’s this?” the other officer said. Reaching down, he picked up the envelope lying next to Paul.

Looking at it, his friend shrugged.
“Looks like it has postage.
Mail it.”

 

 

There are truly beautiful places in this world; the hill is one of them. Down here in the funk and grime and shadows and fear, you forget that fact sometimes. Today I am going up there; I am going to find the top. It’s not easy you know. The twisting roads which lead up are lined with mansions of incredible size and structure, creating what seems an impenetrable maze of canyons.

I have never been told to leave in my past attempts, nor felt welcome. I have yet to encounter anyone while traversing the hill’s intimidating slopes. I am not sure how many times I have attempted. I am only sure that each time something sent me back, something scared me.

I swerve my bike into the middle of the road and veer the corner fast to maintain speed as I begin my ascent. The first part of the hill is darker, shadier. The houses here are brick, vine and moss covered. I feel more at home here. It’s not as stunning as further up, but beautiful in its own lingering fog way.

As I pass through the mist I am enveloped in a warm yellow light that becomes almost blinding. Here are the big houses. They seem like beautiful vacant monstrosities to me. Each house is a monument to opulence with architecture that seems to defy gravity. The road here turns sharper at the corners and begins to climb at an unreasonable grade.

I feel now as though I might lose my grip. What keeps my tires on the pavement is outside my understanding. With each downward press of my foot I expect to feel the tires lift off into the air. With each house-lined plateau I feel the relief of stable ground. At one plateau I find an empty lot. It gives way to a view of everything below that thrills me to the point of panic, a weird mix of dread and awe.

Farther still the houseless lots outnumber the houses. I come to a large flat area with a monolithic arch and what looks like gigantic turn of the century structures behind it. These building are at least a hundred years older than the homes below. Somehow I know this to be a campus of some sort. Looking out from here I feel like I can touch the sun.

Beyond the campus I find the beginning of the summit. Here it becomes gray again like an overcast October day. It’s the point of my journey that feels farther than I have ever been before. Turning, I see it, the estate. The front looks like a Victorian mansion, but it is big beyond reason. The entrance stands like a sentry tower, its windows seem to look down at me, filling me with a dread.

A wrought iron fence surrounds its boundary. My essence tells me to leave but something else calls me to it. I follow the fence inland and far past the face of the hill. The back of the immense and forbidding house gives way to a vast field of mausoleums and grave stones. I try but can’t imagine what kind of residents could live in such a structure or leave behind so many dead.

When I finally feel I cannot go on, I stop and peer through the fence. It fills me with wonder and fright. Beautiful marble angels and various stone sculptures adorn its vast expanse. But it’s the mausoleums that cause the fear. They seem to lead into the ground like portals into an abyss. I think I see a shadow move among the granite. I watch closer. Something is moving. The fear builds to a point I feel frozen. My only solace is to close my eyes. When I open them I am on the other side of the fence. What was moving is now behind me. I want to run but my legs are paralyzed.
Waiting for it, my heart races then skips as I feel pure coldness grasp me.
It drags me to the entryway of one of the mausoleums and into darkness beyond comprehension.

BOOK: Tales From the Swollen Corpse
11.02Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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