A Penny Down the Well: A Short Story Collection of Horrifying Events (30 page)

“
You’re right I’ll put a
bullet through your head, you son of a bitch!” She shouted a curse,
which was unusual of her, but her nerves were uncontrollable. Tears
poured down her face and now she was breathing between sobs
uncontrollably, thinking about her husband laying in the dirt in
front of their cabin. As carefully as she could, she watched the
corner of the cabin where she suspected he was, waiting for
anything to come out so that she could unload the remaining five
bullets.

“
Well, seems we got
ourselves a bit of a Mexican standoff then, huh? I don’t very well
think I can let you live, Miss. It just ain’t right, you bein’ a
murderer and all. Your god. He don’t like those kinds of people, I
hear. I hear he sends ‘em straight to hell. You ready to go to
hell, Hattie?” Jasper said, provoking her further by bringing God
into it, as well as using the nickname Floyd used for
her.

“
My God’s a God of
justice. And he’ll see you get it, too.” And she slowly aimed her
weapon toward the corner of the cabin and waited.

“
Yeah?
Well, I think that’s where you’re wrong, Miss Greyson. I don’t
think you’re god’s been ‘round much at all. He ain’t here right now
and he ain’t gonna save you, either. You do have one thing right,
though. I
am
a monster. You ever heard of Dzoavits?” Jasper
asked.

There was a sudden shake
in Harriet’s hand, but she steadied herself. She remembered the
word from the raid at the camp, the word the raiders called out
when the two gunmen arrived, and the same word that struck terror
into them. She said nothing.

“
I didn’t think so.
Dzoavits is a demon, you see. A demon that the natives from these
parts believe to be pretty evil. Well, they’re right.” And Jasper
stuck a gun around the corner of the cabin and fired twice,
blindly, in the direction of the woman. One bullet struck the
table, another the body atop it, sending a piece of the corpse down
on top of Harriet.

Harriet shrieked and fired
two bullets back in instinct, but merely managed to hit the
building, leaving her with three bullets left in the cylinder. Her
praying continued, only it had now become external and
verbal.

The cocking of a weapon
was heard again, likely after Jasper reloaded, which spoke of
another lie. It seemed that Jasper and Chance wanted to get a hold
of the Greyson party’s weapons, not because they needed them, but
because they wanted the group to be helpless. At some point, Jasper
and Chance wanted the Greyson’s alive, but it seemed that time was
over.

“
You see, Dzoavits is
known for takin’ the form of a human or animal. The demon feeds on
humans, like you and Floyd over there, or your friend Mr. Vickers.”
And the head that landed near Harriet earlier came flying back
toward her, hitting the top of the chopping table before sailing
over her head. If anything was fortunate out of the situation, it
was that when the decapitated head of Grant landed, it wasn’t
staring at her this time. “It was pretty good, huh? That meal we
had? You really seemed to enjoy it, Ms. Greyson.”

Harriet slunk back
securely behind the table as she listened to the cold, sinister
words creep around the cabin’s corner. For moment she didn’t
understand, but then she eyed the back of Grant’s bloody head, then
looked up to his dismembered body, thought of Chance using the meat
cleaver to dismember his body and it all came together in a single
shot: Harriet and Floyd were fed a person.

“
N-No. No.” She shook her
head, keeling to the side as she felt bile rise in her stomach and
she vomited forcefully to her side behind the symphony of Jasper’s
laughter. As Harriet heaved and coughed, Jasper spoke
again.

“
Ain’t no point in killing
me, Ms. Greyson. Ain’t gonna make a difference. You may kill this
body and all, but I ain’t goin’ anywhere. This is where I belong
and where I’ll keep belonging. Who knows? Maybe Dzoavits could even
find a place in you.”

Harriet tried to compose
herself, breathing through a throat thoroughly raw. She peeked
around the table again to see that Jasper was doing the same and
immediately, before he did, fired two more shots in his direction,
one barely whizzing by his head, while the other was less accurate.
She then had a single bullet, as Jasper ducked away, safe
again.

Laughter rang out again,
as the man, or whatever he was, seemed unfazed by the attempt at
killing him. “What’s that now? You got one bullet in your chamber
unless you stuffed a couple extra bullets somewhere when you
wandered on out here. You still prayin’ to that god of
yours?”

Harriet quelled her
sadness and defeat. She took a deep breath and waited. She had one
bullet and she’d be damned, literally, if she didn’t put this one
on the mark. She waited and waited through what seemed like an
eternal fit of laughter from the man around the corner. When it
became silent, Jasper maneuvered quickly from behind the cabin,
running out into the open. He fired once and missed. He fired again
as she came into view from his new angle, and struck the dirt
beside Harriet’s foot. Harriet’s heart pounded nearly out of her
chest as the barrel and sight of her gun followed the sidestepping
gunman and when she felt that a twitch, right after Jasper’s second
shot, her finger inadvertently pulled the trigger, sending her very
last bullet through Jasper’s wicked heart, blasting him to the
ground in a limp roll from his gained momentum.

Slowly, with the support
of Harriet’s shaking legs, she stood without an ounce of grace. She
dropped the gun that was now useless to the ground beside Grant’s
severed head and walked around the table. From the ground, Harriet
lifted the cleaver that Chance used to dismember her friend. She
walked carefully across the bloodied dirt clumps that accumulated
around the chopping table in the direction of Jasper’s body, which
laid on the ground curled and facing away from her. Her breathing
intensified once again as she neared the body and she lifted the
cleaver high into the air. “Here’s your God-given justice, you
beast!” And she lowered herself over him and swung the cleaver down
into his skull, over and over again, sending blood and tissue into
the air around her, onto her clothes and face, to her lips and
eyes, but she did not relent. The swinging didn’t stop until she
could no longer hold the meat cleaver and then she fell over into
the dirt, crying uncontrollably into the night.

***

November 5,
1847

The most darling family
has shown up here at Fort Bleck. Seems that in those parties that
are stuck travelling in these later months have no choice but to
manage some sort of accommodation. The world out there isn’t a
forgiving one. I’ve taken a special liking to a young boy of
theirs. His name’s Floyd, which reminds me of my husband. I miss
that man. We talk and talk, Floyd and me, most evenings. Tonight, I
have a special surprise for the family. Things have been slow here
and we’re low on provisions at the Fort, but tonight we’re going to
be eating just fine. Tonight they’re going to eat the best meal
they’ve ever had. Floyd. What a darling little child, that one.
What a darling little child. A
sweet
child.

Sincerely,

Harriet

RETURN TO THE TABLE OF
CONTENTS

Preview of
Amid the Recesses: A
Short Story Collection of Fear

Humansville

“
Issat it?”

I stared over the assortment of items
I placed on the counter in front of the shopkeep. A coke, a mostly
melted candy bar, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. It was hot in
the small, deteriorating shop. The windows were glossed with a
sheen of residue from long exposure to the wind and sun. Many of
the windows were cracked or boarded up. I wondered how many
customers frequented the little shop. The desperate ones, I
bet.

I should have been wary. The gas pumps
didn’t have a slot for a credit card and the display was analog,
with flipping white numbers and small, square backgrounds in
contrasting black. The pumps were rusted to hell and took a small
eternity to fuel the SUV. For those desperate enough to step inside
of the decaying shop, there would be an opportunity to meet the
unusual old man behind the counter. The old man’s eyes were white
with cataracts, but it was apparent that he wasn’t blind. His eyes
followed me in the same suspicious way I’d seen the Asian
attendants watch black folks in the inner city corner stores. I was
an outsider.

The old man’s head was bald, but he
wore a thick beard on his face. The beard hung down to the middle
of his chest, riddled with grey and dingy black, as wild as vine.
He wore suspenders that rose over a red and white checkered shirt.
The frayed suspenders kept his pants up to the bottom of his sunken
chest, giving the impression he had a tiny torso. It was hard to
gauge his height as he sat in a splintered rocking chair that
crunched the dirt under it with each restless sway.

I noticed a shotgun hanging right
behind the old man’s head. The gun was conspicuously well kept in
comparison to the rest of the store. It gave me an uneasy feeling,
one I tried to dissipate with small talk.

“
Nice gun.” I
said.

The old man didn’t reply.
He looked at my pitiful selection of items on the counter top in
front of him, eyelevel with his rocking chair.

“
Severn niney nine. Wit gas
dats forty severn niney nine.” The old man said, in words so
thickly accented, they sounded foreign.

“
Service with a smile.” I
mumbled as I reached for my wallet. I hoped my sarcasm masked my
mumbling, because I immediately regretted saying anything. I placed
the money on the counter with exact change and gave a smile.
“Thanks for the help. Can I have a bag?”

The man stared and was unresponsive.
He may not have been full blind, but I couldn’t rule out deafness.
I gathered my items and headed out the door. I carried food cradled
in my arms like a nomadic cavewoman.  

Outside, a group of
pimply-faced teens stood around my vehicle. They looked into the
windows and rode around the new wax-job with their cheap,
hand-me-down bikes. It seemed the kids had never seen anything like
it. Nothing in the town looked like it was made after 1950. I
stopped a short distance from them, peeled open my melted candy bar
wrapper and began to eat while I waited for them to notice me. The
kids’ fascination kept me waiting for some time.
If I was a snake.

One of the kids noticed.

“
Oh,
shit. Hey Mister. Nice car.” Obscenities from a teen boy. It
was
cliché
.
I was surprised he got out the “oh” before the “shit.” When I was
their age, I spoke in curse.

After I lapped up the chocolate on the
metallic innards of the candy wrapper, I said, “It’s an SUV. Sport
utility vehicle.” I chewed pointlessly.

The kids stared at me in a way
reminiscent of the old man from the shop. Their eyes seemed fearful
and aggressive, and I could tell their hormone-riddled minds tried
to size up an enemy they couldn’t understand. They seemed perplexed
by my correction. I waited for a response and scavenged for
leftover chocolate on the film wrapper.

“
What you got in the box
there?” The pudgy one asked. He was a blobby, repulsive kid
swallowing the bike under him.

I felt inclined to answer. “I’m a
salesman.” I doubted that excuse would send them scrambling off
before they asked more questions.

“
Yeah?” The second kid to
speak up was red-haired and freckle-faced. He seemed less timid
than the fat one. “What do you sell?”

I shrugged. “Are you
buying?”

Blank eyes.

“
I didn’t think so. How
about you kids get going, huh? I’m leaving.” I walked toward the
driver’s side and popped finger after finger into my mouth to clean
them. I tossed the wrapper on the ground. It didn’t make a
difference in the neglected little town. The main road was littered
with soda cans and beer bottles. Dust blew the trash into dried,
stringy plants, barbed throughout. Hundreds of plastic bags waved
like tiny white flags that surrendered to the wind or to
Humansville’s condition. The steady wind blew a fragrance of cow
shit and sulfur.

The kids rode off and
looked back. They chattered between one another. I heard one say,
“I bet it’s a dead body!” and I laughed.
It would have stunk,
I
thought. 

I got into the car and tried to start
the engine. I heard a reeling, a squeal and a pop. The SUV’s gauges
rose then fell, like a dying person taking a last breath. Smoke
rose from my hood. I watched the stream of grey smoke wisp with the
wind, dragged along its current.

“
Fuck me.” I reached
beneath the dash and popped the hood. I left the SUV and stepped to
the front of the car. I lifted the hood and looked inside. The
hair on my neck rose as I observed the robotic maze of wiring and
tubing, all of which meant nothing to me. An uncomfortable feeling
drew me to turn around. I looked through the cracked windows of the
shop and saw the old, white-eyed man watching me from inside with a
rotten smile on his face.