The Bighead (38 page)

“
Aunt Annie!”

No, it was no use.

Charity’s senses pinwheeled. So many
questions, yet no answers. And why would someone dig up those
graves?

And who?

Charity jolted at the
sudden, tremendous sound. A great, wood-splintering
CRACK!

The front door!
she realized.

Someone had just kicked in the front
door!

Annie’s mouth hung open. Drool shined.
Her fingers feebled upward.

“
It’s him,” she
whispered.

(VI)

They’d just come offa run, Tritt
“Balls” Conner an’ Dicky Caudill, that is, takin’ their yoo-sher-al
couple hunnert gallons’a Clyde Nale’s high-octane moonshine up ta
them crackers ’cross the state line. Smooth as tit-skin, the job
went. As yoo-sher-al.

And, as yoo-sher-al, upon leavin’,
they’d plucked thereselfs one’a them li’l white-trash alkie
cutie-pies who were hitchin’ down the mountain road. She screamed
like a weasel inna tredder, she did, once Balls jumped out the
’Mino an’ got on her, but she didn’t scream fer long, no sir. Just
one crack upside the head with his homemade jack an’ she were out
fer the count. Alls it took, then, were a minute’er two ta tie her
up in the tarp’n throw her cracker ass in back.

This pleased Dicky a might,
it did, ’cos Balls’d ob-ver-iss-lee forgot alls about the hot
blonde an’ the priest who’d whupped ’em the other night at the bar.
Dicky didn’t want nothin’ ta do with killin’ no priest, an’ if that
were still on Tritt Balls’ mind, then why’d he even bother jackin’
out this mountain gal?
Yeah, Balls done
forgot all about it. Good.
Thats blonde an’
the priest—doin’ a job on them were just too risky. Shee-it, goin’
ta that boardin’ house? All them people around? Naw, that were bad
news. They’d wind up fer shore gettin’ caught an’ chucked in the
clink. Dicky thanked the Good Lord, he did, fer lettin’ Balls
ferget all ’bout that scene.

“
Keeee-rist,
Dicky,” Balls commented from the shotgun seat. He
were hittin’ onna li’l flask’a shine, an’ he were rubbin’ the
crotch’a his pants too. “My dick’s so hard feels like it’s gonna
start bawlin’. Hurrys up an’ find us a place, huh?”

“
Relax, Balls,” Dicky
assured behind the wheel, sippin’ a beer. “We’se almost home now.
I’ll’se find us a good place’a right quick.”

“
Keee-rist.” Balls whooped.
“I can’ts wait ta cornhole me that Kentucky trash in back. Dick
been jumpin’ all day, dyin’ fer a nut. Hurrys up’n park!” Balls
continued rubbin’ his cock through his pants. “You don’t find us a
place soon, I’se’ll have to jerk off right here in the
’Mino!”

Dicky rolled his eyes, he did.
“Don’t’cha be doin’ that, Balls. Last tmme ya done it, ya got’cher
jizz all overs the pole-stree.”

“
Then hurrys
up!”

God, he were insister-ent tonight.
Dicky veered the El Camino off the Route then, an’ turnt uppa old
loggin’ road. Soon he were dousin’ the headlights, an’ parkin’
their rod in one’a the side dells they’d used before. Balls were
outa the ’Mino like his butt were on fire, openin’ the tailgate,
an’ haulin’ that mountain gal out the tarp. Dicky watched in the
moonlight, sippin’ his beer.

“
Keee-rist, I’se horny!”
Balls hauled her dirty shorts right off, an’ had his cock out his
pants faster’n corn-feed through a hog. Then he pushed her knees
back inner face, hocked lickety-split inner crack, ands got ta
cornholin’ hard. “Stinky bitch, ooo-eee!” Balls remarked, thrustin’
away. “I’se like that!” His arms propped hisself up over her whiles
he were humpin’. But gettin’ it so fast an’ so hard up the butt
roused the gal a right quick, it did, ands all at once she come to
an’ were screamin’ again. “Ooo-eee!” Balls repeated. “I’se
just
love
ta hear
’em scream like that! Somethin’ ’bout these Kentucky crackers,
Dicky, ain’t there? They got throats on ’em! Fiesty li’l bitches,
they is! So’s much better rapin’ a Kentucky bitch than a ’Ginia
bitch! Hows you like it, honey? Hows you like me fuckin’ yer
shit?”Balls’ hard steady thrusts rode right along with her screams,
an’ right along too with his laughin’, but then—

“
Owwwwwwww!”

He jerked up in pain, put a
hand ta his forearm. “The cracker
bit
me,
Dicky! Bit a
chunk
right outa my
arm!
”

This were not good. Nor were it good
when she started a’cussin’’n kickin’ at Balls. “Gits away from me,
ya dirty shit!” she shrieked in a voice that sounded like the time
Dicky’s ’Mino throwed a rod on the Route. An’ she were fightin’ she
were, kickin’ an’ cussin’ an’ shriekin’ away. Then she hocked
right’n Balls’ face…

Balls’ big fist ’mediately
clouted her in the jaw—SMACK!— ands she were out again. His anger
were plain on his face. “These crackers never learn, doos they?
Kickin’ me, bitin’ me, callin’ me a
shit!
” He was haulin’ her up then,
draggin’ her by the hair ta the front’a the ’Mino. “Dicky! Git the
copin’ saw!” he ordered.

Dicky’s shoulders
slumped.
Here we’se go again.
Dicky could scarsely even contermplate what
manner’a industrious dispatch Balls had on his mind. But then,
comin’ ’round the front, he saw that Balls had the gal lyin’ onner
back, on the hood. “What’cha fixin’ ta do, Balls?” he
queried.

“
Gonna hump me her neck’s
what I’se fixin’!” He snatched the coping saw from Dicky. “Hail!
Bitin’ me, spittin’ on me! I’ll’se teach this cracker cunt a
thing’r two! I’se gonna fuck her
neck,
I’se say!”

Dicky raised a brow in
puzzlement. “Fuck her
neck,
Balls? That what you said?” Dicky, a’corse, knowed
full well that Tritt Balls Conner were capable’a great feats’ a
madge-er-nay-shun, ’specially when he got his dander up.
But—
Fuck her neck?
Dicky wondered.
How’s he fixin’ ta do
that?

Then came the gritty, coarse sound’a
Balls gittin’ ta work with the saw. It were an ugly sound indeed,
causin’ Dicky ta grind his teeth. See, Balls took a might quick ta
sawwin’ that gal’s head off just at the jawline, right above her
aderms apple, an’ his shitty dick were still hard’n stickin’ out
his pants as he were doin’ it.

Didn’t take long neither,
not fer that coping saw ta do the job. The gal’s head fell right to
the dirt, whiles her body remaindered lyin’ on her hood’a ’Mino,
blood fairly
pourin’
out her neck. Then Balls stepped right up, poppin’ his peter
right inta the stump on her purdy shoulders. “See, Dicky, I’se
gonna have me a come right down her hatch inta her
breadbasket.”

“
Jeeeeesus,” Dicky
remarked. Even he was a tad appalled. “Yous shore are one sick pup,
Balls.”

“
Dag straight, Dicky.”
Balls was holdin’ the dead gal’s hooters whiles he continnered
steadily humpin’. “Feels good, it does, Dicky. Feels
reals good
ta fuck this
white-trash cracker neck. Kin even feel her tonsils!”

It were the strangest thing
Dicky ever sawwed, a fella fuckin’ a gal’s
neck.
Leave it ta Balls,
he thought.
Only Tritt
Balls Conner coulds ever thinkn’a such a thing.

“
Ah, yeah, git it!” Balls
reveled, quickenin’ up his thrusts. “Git it, git
it—
ahhhhhhhhh!
”
Balls hips slowed, then stopped, his back arched as he were smilin’
up ta the night sky. “Yes sir, that were one
dandy
nut I just had. Shot me
a
big
wad’a the
cocksnot in her, I did!”

Dicky just shook his head, cracked
open another beer. “You shore showed her, Balls,” he tried
approve.

“
Dag right, an’ I’ll’se
show her some more…”

Dicky’s face, then, pinched up in more
confusion. Balls, see, even though he’d just had his nut, he
weren’t quite finished. He pulled his peter out and leaned over,
pickin’ up the gal’s severed head. The gal’s face had turnt a kinda
queer white color, her peepers closed and her mouth’n tongue
hangin’ out. Balls hocked on his bone, strokin’ it a bit ta git
back a woody.

“
Balls? What’choo doin’
now?”

What Balls done, see, is he stick his
dick in the sawwed side’a the gal’s head so’s the end’a his peter
were stickin’ out he mouth! Ands then—

“
Ahhhhhhhhh!” Balls
moaned.

—
he began voidin’ his
bladder.

“
I’se havin’ a pee, Dicky,”
he finally got ta responderin’ ta his colleague’s query. “Been
havin’ ta take me a whizz fer a spell now, so’s I figgure I mights
as well take like this. Ahhhhhhhh, yeah! What’ch think, Dicky?
Think I’se the first fella in histree ta take a pee outa gal’s
mouth?”

“
I-I suppose ya shorely
are, Balls.”

Yeah, Tritt Balls Conner
shore were somethin’ doin’ such a thing.
Oh, well,
Dicky thought.
Least it gots his mind offa that blonde’n the
priest.

Balls’ beer’n-moonshine urine were
just a’gushin’ out the gal’s mouth, an’ Balls were hard enough that
he didn’t even need ta hold it there. Instead’ he were just
standin’ with his hands on his hips, peein’ away out her yap ands
laughin’ ta high heaven. Looked so weird, it did, not just the
end’a his peter stickin’ out ’tween the gal’s lips, but her head—
Looked like her head were growin’ out’a Tritt Balls Conner’s groin,
it did! An’ he weren’t joshin’ when he said he had ta pee bad.
Musta stood there five full minutes pissin’ out this gal’s mouth,
he musta. ’Ventually, though, he finished, then offered the head.
“Feel like takin’ a pee, Dicky?”

“
Ah, gee, no thanks,
Balls.”

“
Toos bad. I say that’s
the
best
pee I
ever had!” Balls kicked the head inta the woods, then rolled the
dead chick off the hood and made fer the ’Mino. “Let’s
roll!”

“
Shore, Balls.”

Dicky drove over the headless gal’s
corpse whens he backed up’n pulled out the dell. He could hear her
bones poppin’ under the ’Mino’s big L50 tires. A minute later, he
were back cruisin’ down the Route, headin’ home. “Gittin’ late,
ain’t it, Balls? An’ we’se shore had outselfs a big day, takin’
that big run’a hooch ’cross the line. Good time ta git home’n git
some sleep, huh?”

“
Bad time, Dicky,” Balls
countered. “It ain’t late—shee-it, it’s only past ten. We’se still
got
plenty
’a time
fer some fun.”

“
Aw, come on, Balls. We
done enough fer tonight—”

“
Who you kiddin’, Dicky?”
Balls were chucklin’. “You thinks that ’cos I just had me a nut
down that cracker whore’s neck’n then peed out her mouth that I
done fergot alls about that holy man and that blond city bitch
stayin’ up the boardin’ house. Well, I ain’t. Ands that’s where
we’se goin’ now, Dicky.”

“
Aw, come on,
Balls!”

Tritt Balls’ face shined that
bad-news-grin’a his in the moonlight. “Just shut up an’ drive,
Dicky. You drive this rod straight ta that fuckin’ boardin’
house…”

(VII)

Charity’s heart felt like a
squirming bag fit to explode. She whisked Annie up the stairs just
as footfalls akin to cinderblocks pounded through the foyer.
It’s him,
Charity
remembered her aunt’s half-conscious words.
It’s The Bighead…

But how could that be? Even if The
Bighead were more than a local legend—an inbred born into
monstrosity, a monster-child—Charity had just seen its
grave…

So what was this
mammoth
thing
suddenly walking through the house?

“
Up, up!” came Charity’s
blade-sharp whisper. “Come on, Aunt Annie, up the stairs and down
the hall!”

They were halfway down the
second-floor corridor, in fact, when Charity heard:

THUNK! THUNK!
THUNK!

Something—huge—coming up the
stairs.

She ducked into the first available
room, dragging her lethargic aunt. She took a breath, clicked shut
the door as quietly as she could. But she could still hear
it:

THUNK! THUNK!
THUNK!

The footsteps getting
closer.

“
Shhhhh!” Charity
whispered, a finger to her lips. “Don’t say a word, don’t even make
a noise…”

“
It’s him,” her aunt
groggily replied.

THUNK! THUNK!
THUNK!

Now the footsteps were
coming down the hall.
He knows we’re in
here,
Charity deduced. Now she could smell
something absolutely awful, like pork fat rotting in the bottom of
a garbage can. The thunderous footfalls continued down, then
stopped.

Right outside the door.

A quick glance showed her that this
must be Goop’s room: overalls lain over a chair, work clothes piled
on the floor, etc. But none of that mattered at all. Charity’s eyes
bugged at the doorknob.