Kenneth Tingle - Strangeville (4 page)

We stopped in front of a building with a big wooden door; the sign above read,
Mayor’s Office.
The mayor unlocked the door with a skeleton key and held the door open. He went to walk in but stopped and turned to me.

“Now where’s ma manners? After y’all, of course.”

He motioned with his hand for me to go first. I hesitated, and then stepped into the musty smelling room. They stepped in behind me and I heard the door slam hard behind us. I braced myself. What were they going to do?

The office had bare wooden floors, planks of pine, I guessed, covered with shiny polyurethane and a big throw rug in the center. There was a large wooden bookcase with a set of encyclopedias and legal manuals in the corner. The sun was rising, its first rays coming in a window on the side of the room. The mayor walked over to his large mahogany desk and sat down behind it. There were two leather chairs set up directly in front of the desk.

“Sit there,” he said pointing at one of the chairs. He looked up at the two big men, “Y’all can wait outside. Ah’ll give a holler if ah needs ya.”

I sat down across from the mayor as the door slammed when the two thugs left. He sat glaring at me for a few seconds. He was pale with green eyes. His white hair made him appear even paler. He rested his hickory cane against the edge of the desk and then leaned back in his chair. He put his thumb and index finger on his chin, like he was pondering something of great importance.

“Well, ah can’t think of a fix ta it all,” he finally spoke.

“To all what, Mr. Mayor?” I asked, trying to sound respectful.

“Ta y’all wanderin’ in here, that’s what. Yer sayin’ ya just gut lost an wound up in Strangeville?”

“Yes, sir. I was on my way to Lynchburg and I got lost. My car ran out of gas in the mountains and I walked for hours in the dark. I fell down the side of some hill and followed the path to your road.” 

He turned his head away from me as he looked out the window briefly. He turned back to me.

“Ah always been afraid of this, that someone would find Strangeville somehow. An now that time is upon us. Ah jes can’t figure a fix ta it all.”

“Well, sir, I’m not sure why it matters. I mean, me showing up here. But I guess you’ll be happy to know I’m leaving just as soon as you’re finished with me.”

The mayor sat forward and leaned towards me, saying, “Yer not goin’ anywhere anytime soon. Not till ah figures this all out.”

“Well, with all due respect, sir, my aunt is worried about me, and I intend on heading for Lynchburg today. I haven’t broken any laws.”

“Let’s git somethin’ straight—ah
am
the law around here. Ah’ll lock ya up in ma jail if ya trys ta leave.”

“But why would you even care if I stay or go?”

“Ah ain’t taken no chances on ya leavin’ here an tellin folks where we at.”

I felt a lump in my throat and anxiety swept over me. My mouth went dry.

“You’re saying that no one knows this town is here? Isn’t this a replica town they use for movies?”

“Of all the damned luck!” the mayor snapped and banged his fist on the desk. “That’s right, not a soul knows about this here town. And ah intend on keepin’ it that way. Let’s git one thang straight. Until ah figures this all out, y’all ain’t goin’ nowhere. Ya don’t ask no questions of nobody, and ya don’t tell em what thangs is like where ya come from. They won’t believe ya anyways—but ya still keep yer mouth shut! An don’t even try ta leave. Ah’ll put yer hide in a jail cell as sure as a fly lands on shit. Ya got it?”

“Doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice,” I answered half-heartedly.

“That’s right, ya don’t. As soon as ah sorts this out, y’all will be the first ta know. Ah don’t want ya here either.”

He walked across the room and opened the door for me to leave. “Best remember what ah says. We’ll be watchin’ ya,” he said as I passed him and left his office.

The two big thugs went back inside while I stood outside the door. I turned and started down the cobblestone sidewalk back towards Klemm’s Diner. About halfway there, a side street went off to the left, so I decided to take it in order to get a better look at this place—this place the mayor was guarding so carefully; this place he wouldn’t tell me much about. When I asked if it was a replica town used for movies, he just avoided the question. Why?

There were small houses lining the street on both sides. The yards were small, some with old picket fences around them, and most of the homes had tin roofs. An old woman in a summer dress was sweeping the sidewalk in front of her house. She looked up and saw me, jumped a little, put the broom to the side and hurried in the house. The screen door slammed behind her.

“There’s a stranger comin’ down the road” I heard her say, her voice traveling out an open window.

An old man’s face appeared in the window, then the old woman’s next to his, and they both watched as I walked on by.

There was a narrow dirt alley between two houses. A dog was digging in a trash can with his front paw, but then it hobbled away with a hopping sort of walk. As I watched him go, I noticed he only had three legs. I turned and continued down the street in the full sunshine that was now basking the town. I came to the end of this road, and took a right down the next one, studying all the small homes lining this street. More of the same; tin roofs, a few of those 1950s cars, a trash can here and there. When I came to the end, a little boy in faded jeans was standing on the corner bouncing a ball.

“Hello, what’s your name?” I asked him.

“Joshua,” he answered shyly.

“Where is everyone? It’s so quiet.”

“Ma Pa an all the men workin’ at the coal mines.”

A middle-aged woman in a plaid dress opened her screen door.

“Joshua, come on in here,” she said anxiously.

The boy grabbed his ball and ran up the front steps. The door closed quickly once he was inside.

I turned around and looked at the house across the street—small, tin roof, an old bathtub sitting on the side amongst tall grass. Was anything normal in this shanty town? This town with 1950s cars, people named Klemm Johnson, Clarissa Puddworthy, guys named Cleetus with missing teeth, a mayor straight out of a horror movie, and, of course, three-legged dogs digging in trash cans
. I better get the hell out of here before I wind up like this
, I thought.

I turned and headed back the same way I had come. The heat and humidity were rising quickly. In my mind, I formulated a plan.
Just leave right now
, I thought. Take what’s important from my suitcase and leave it behind. It will only slow me down. I glanced at the old movie theatre as I passed it. “Cow Town, that sounds like a real thriller,” I said under my breath.

Klemm’s Diner was visible on the next corner, with little puffs of black smoke coming out of a pipe on the roof. When I got there, I opened the door and went inside. It was mostly empty now, just Klemm behind the counter and Clarissa sitting on one of those swivel seats. I hadn’t noticed how enormous her butt was—both large cheeks hung over the sides of the seat, completely covering it, so all you saw was a shiny metal pole going between two big flaps of ass, like she was sitting on just a pole.

“John, ya set everythin’ right wit the mayor?” Klemm asked.

“Sure did, everything is just toppers,” I answered with a false optimism.

I didn’t want them to know anything. For all I knew, they would run right to the mayor and tell him I was taking off.

“Ah hope y’all stayin’ awhile,” Clarissa said blushing a little.

“I sure am! How could I leave after that breakfast?”

“Much obliged,” Klemm answered.

My suitcase was exactly where I had left it. I opened it, scanned everything quickly, grabbed the keys to my apartment, my cell phone, my wallet, and snapped it shut again.

“Klemm, the mayor wants me to go back and talk for a little while. Can you watch my suitcase until I get back?”

“Sure thang.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

I walked out of the diner and took a good look around to see if anyone was watching me—all clear as far as I could tell. Fortunately, Klemm’s Diner was on the edge of town anyways, so I just turned and headed down the road towards the woods. Soon, the old concrete ended, and I was back on the dirt road—the path I had taken to get here was visible way in the distance.

I hurried along until I saw the wooden sign that read, “Welcome to Strangeville,” Then I ran to the path and burst into a full sprint. The air was thick with humidity, the path twisting and turning as I gave it my all, the sound of birds cawing in the trees above, leaves and twigs crunching below my feet, my heart pounding, and my breathing heavy. I turned another corner, and they were standing right there with their arms crossed—the mayor’s two big thugs. They reached out and grabbed me by my shirt and thew me to the ground.

“Ya ain’t too bright, boy,” one of them said as he grabbed me by the shirt again and yanked me to my feet.

“C’mon, what the hell is going on!” I screamed in a mixture of fear, anger, and confusion.

“The mayor done told ya, no questions,” he said, sticking his face close to mine, his breath foul and his teeth rotted. With a twist of his arm, he spun me around, saying, “Git walkin.”

I started back down the path towards town in complete bewilderment. I was a hostage in a nightmare; a nightmare that wouldn’t end anytime soon.

The thugs each grabbed one of my arms and walked me all the way back into town. The mayor was standing in the street waiting for us, just in front of Klemm’s Diner. When we reached him, the thugs pushed me forward so hard we almost bumped into each other.

“We got em in the woods.”

The mayor glared at me a moment and then grabbed my shirt with his fist, hissing, “Seems ya needs some learnin’, boy. Ah done told ya jes a few minutes ago not ta go nowhere, but ya run off into the woods like a jackrabbit.”

“This is crazy! I just want to get to my aunt’s house. I won’t say anything about this town.”

The mayor laughed. “Ya sure won’t, cause ya ain’t goin’ nowhere. Any feller can make a mistake. Um givin’ ya one more chance. But if ya gets caught leavin’ again, the boys here are gonna bust ya up good. Ya hear that, boys? Ya catch him leavin’ again, and y’all make em sorry, real sorry.”

The thugs grinned. “We gives em a whoopin’ he never forgets, Mr. Mayor.”

“That’s ma boys. Remember, we’ll be watchin’ ya,” the mayor said sticking his long bony finger in my face.

I nodded and watched the three of them walk away towards his office. 

I walked back into Klemm’s Diner feeling like a hostage. It was still just Clarissa and Klemm inside. The sight of her giant ass hanging over the swivel seat made me even more depressed.

“John, the mayor didn’t look none too pleased. Everythin’ all right?” Klemm said.

Clarissa spun around a little to face me.

“No, things are pretty bad actually. The mayor won’t let me leave. My poor aunt is probably worried sick.”

“Oh, my,” Clarissa sighed.

“What do you guys do when you have to go somewhere? Is there a train or something?”

“Ain’t no train; no reason for it. Folks can’t leave Strangeville. Can’t ya call them folks ya was talkin’ ta on yer spaceship radio?”

“First of all, it’s just a cell phone. I still can’t believe you’ve never seen one. But after meeting that mayor, I guess anything is possible around here. You’re telling me you’ve never left this town?”

“Ain’t no one ever left Strangeville. Mayor says thangs is real bad out there. We needs ta stay fer our safety.” 

I kept waiting for them to burst out laughing and tell me, “Boy, we had you fooled good. We love a good joke around here. We’ll be glad to get you on a bus.” But it didn’t happen. They just looked at me like I was from another planet and just didn’t get it.

“This is great! No money, no place to stay, a dead cell phone, and no way out,” I complained, more to myself than them.

“Ah think ah can help ya a little,” Klemm said sympathetically.

“How?”

“Well, ol Jeboriah Varmint needs some help on his farm. Ah can’t say how much he pays ya, but um sure he gives ya a place ta sleep.”

“Jeboriah Varmint? Is anyone around here named Joe Smith or any other normal name?” I said sarcastically.

“Can’t says ah ever met a Joe Smith round these parts,” Klemm answered matter-of-factly, completely missing the point.

Klemm took me out to his car, and we got into a 1950-something convertible with Thunderbird on the side. He headed across town towards this farm, clicking the knob for the radio on and the sound of static filled the car. He turned the knob a little and a station broke through, “This is WCID, Strangeville. Here’s the latest by Billy Bob Jenkins.”

A strumming guitar started and a mournful voice chimed in, “Her heart t’was as cold as a broken furnace in an ice storm, oh she froze ma doggone soul…” The car smelled like old vinyl upholstery and gasoline. He turned down a dirt road, and the car rattled every time we hit a bump. Then he turned again at a wooden sign that read,
VARMINT FAMLY FARM
, then underneath that,
TRESPAZZERS WILL BE SHOT KOMPLETELY DED.

It was a long road with trees on both sides, but soon it opened up and I saw fields with cows and chickens all over the place. Beyond that corn stalks were growing in the distance. The car glided along and we stopped at an old farmhouse with a barn in the back. The door opened and an old man with dirty denim overalls stepped out into the driveway.

Klemm got out and walked over to him, shook hands and pointed to me in the car as he was talking. He waved his hand for me to come out. I opened the door and walked over to the two of them, reaching out to shake hands with the old farmer.

“John Campbell,” I said.

He reluctantly shook my hand and mumbled, “Jeboriah Varmint.”

He turned to Klemm. “He don’t look like much. Ah hope this feller knows he best earn his pay.”

“Ol John here is a good man. Smart as a whip,” Klemm reassured him.

I was insulted but kept my mouth shut. I didn’t have too many options.

Klemm pulled my suitcase from his trunk and put it at my feet.

“Give me a holler if ya needs anythin’, John,” he said, patting me on the back.

He got in his car and started back down the dirt road. The old man turned to me.

“Ya can sleep above the barn. Git yer belongins up there an git right back down. We gut work ta do.”

I walked into the barn and stepped across all the hay on the floor. There was a wooden staircase in the back so I took it up to a loft area. It was just a small room with a bunch of hay in a corner, no furniture, or anything else. I put my suitcase down in a corner and went back down the steps. The farmer was waiting anxiously in the driveway.

“Took ya long enough. Ah was fixin ta git a search party lookin’ fer ya.”

The skin on his face was wrinkled like a road map; the years of working in the hot sun were probably responsible for it looking like worn leather. His name may have been Jeboriah Varmint, but I called him Leatherface, and the bastard was on me from the start.

“Don’t jes stand there lookin’ stupid. Grab a shovel from the barn an follow me.”

I wanted to tell him to go to hell but I held back. I hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours, so even that pile of hay above the barn looked really good right now.

“Can I have a drink of water before we start?” I asked.

“Fer the love of…ya ain’t done shit an ya lookin’ fer somethin’ already! Git in the truck; ah gut me a canteen in there.”

He got in an old 1950s looking pick-up truck with a shiny silver Chevrolet emblem on the front of the hood. I jumped in the passenger’s side and he handed me the canteen.

“Ya ain’t gut rabies er nothin’, do ya?”

“No, just a case of trench mouth,” I answered a little sarcastically.

He grumbled something under his breath as we drove right into a field. The truck bounced up and down as he went over the uneven land, and he stopped right next to a large brown pile with flies circling it. I opened the door to step out. The stench was so strong, it was like a smack in the face. I gagged a little and heaved like I was going to vomit.

“Git the shovel an put that there pile into the back of the truck.”

I took the shovel and dug it into the pile. The flies scattered, the blade sliced in with a wet slushy sound, and the stench exploded into the air. I stepped back and turned away, trying hard to hold down the vomit that was working its way up my throat.

“What kind a man are ya? A little dung an yer ready ta keel over,” he barked.

I pulled my shirt up over my lower face so it covered my nose and mouth. The faint trace of my underarm deodorant was my only defense against this fecal stench. I dug the shovel back into the sloppy brown pile and heaved a chunk into the back of the truck. “Sploosh” was the sound it made as it splattered on the metal truck bed. I dug in again and kept heaving it into the back of the truck.

The farmer stood over me barking out commands, “Keep that dung a comin’, boy. I gut me a crop ta raise.” Or making comments as I slaved away, “Them flies could move the dung quicker than y’all.”

The angry grumbling continued the whole time he stood over me pouring with sweat, “Ah don’t know who ya daddy were, but if ah were ya father ah would a givin’ ya a good thumpin’ er two fer workin’ like this.”

My back was aching and calluses began forming on my hands when the sun began to set.

“Thank God,” I said under my breath.

“Damn it ta hell, we gonna have ta spread this tamarrah mornin’ when we kin see. Git in the truck.”

We drove back up to the old farmhouse, and my stomach was growling loudly. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast at Klemm’s, so I was starving even with the stench of the dung. Leatherface’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel.

“Ah guess yer lookin’ fer somethin’ ta eat,” he said with contempt.

“I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I would really appreciate it,” I said respectfully, even though I really wanted to punch him in the mouth.

I followed him up some wooden stairs and through a rickety screen door into the kitchen. There was an old white refrigerator with a big silver handle, and the name brand Philco was displayed in silver letters across the top of the door. The sink was full of dirty dishes. The pile rose well above the level of the counter, and the dishes were stacked precariously like one might slide off onto the floor at any moment. Leatherface opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the pink carcass of a plucked chicken.

“Ah ain’t gut time fer cookin’ an all that tomfoolery,” he said.

Then he opened a cabinet door and pulled out a big clunky blender.

“Ah jes gut this thang; comes in handy. Ya can have some a this, er make yaself some eggs.”

He took a cleaver and chopped off the feet, plucked the last few feathers, then stuffed the chicken into the blender. He pushed everything inside and forced it to fit. He clicked a switch—grrrrr—wheeeeee—grrrrrr. The blender grinded and churned everything blood red. I started to wretch a little. The blender stopped.

“You know what, I’ll take the eggs,” I said matter-of-factly, like the sight of the bloody blender had nothing to do with it.

“Go on, fix yer eggs. Ah knew ya weren’t man enough fer this.”

I clicked a knob on his old cast iron stove and, surprisingly, it fired up. I grabbed three eggs from the refrigerator and cracked them open into a skillet I found under the sink.  Leatherface took the top of the blender off.

“Ah reckon ah don’t even need no cup. U’m gonna drink it straight like some moonshine.”

  He lifted the blender to his mouth, tilted his head back, and poured the red slop down his throat. I couldn’t bear to watch so I turned away quickly and stirred the eggs in the skillet. I could hear Leatherface gurgling and swallowing the bloody slop, but then there was a crunching sound.

“What the, fer the love a….ah left the doggone beak on the critter. It’s betwixt ma teeth,” he yelled out painfully.

He put two fingers into his mouth and tried to pry it loose. He pulled, he pushed, he wiggled, but he couldn’t get it out.

“Ah ain’t spendin’ the night wit this critter’s beak betwixt ma teeth. Ah guts me some pliers in this here drawer.”

He got the pliers and stuck them in his mouth.

“Now grab the end an gives a good pull,” he ordered, like he was a sergeant in charge of me.

“I better not. I think the beak is wedged in really good.”

“Quit yer supposin’ an grab the pliers.”

I reached over and grabbed the handle.

“Now gives a good pull”

I yanked fairly hard and the beak snapped loose and flew out of his mouth onto the kitchen floor before bouncing across into a corner. But something else was bouncing across the floor right behind it—a big tooth.

“Now look what ya done! That there was a chewin’ tooth from the back. Yer a useless critter. Jes wait till ah sees that Klemm, I’ll give em a good piece of ma mind. Ya needs a good thumpin’, oh ya needs a good thumpin’, boy,” he said wistfully.

I quietly ate my eggs without answering. Then I placed my bowl on top of the other dirty dishes as strategically as possible so they didn’t all tumble onto the floor. I walked out of the kitchen trying to cling onto the little bit of pride I had left.

“Ya best be ready fer some hard work in the mornin’, boy,” he called out behind me.

“Sure thing,” I yelled back as I crossed through the barn carefully in the dark, slowly climbing the back stairs into the loft.

The moonlight was coming in through an open shutter. Its rays illuminated my suitcase and the pile of hay in the corner. The room had the odor of farm animals, pine planks, and a cool breeze gently blew through. I sat on the pile of hay and laid down across it. My mind and body were at a point of exhaustion that I had never reached before. My eyelids immediately felt heavy. I could feel consciousness slipping away. I was certain I was simply having an extended nightmare, the kind that is so real while you’re in it. I felt sure that when I woke up in the morning everything would be back to normal.