Scary Rednecks & Other Inbred Horrors Page 3

  “Naw. It’s okay. The fish is gone. I know that. I’m just going to get the pole. My father would kill me if I lost the whole rig. Anyway, if he finds out it’s missing my parents will know what we did today. And my parents will tell your parents and then we’ll be grounded from the lake all summer.”

  At the threat of grounding, Greg brought his head up sharply. The lake was their life. Trey watched as the emotions moved through his friend’s face. Finally, his friend sighed and nodded his head slowly.

  “Okay, but hurry up,” said Greg in sotto voice. “And be careful.”

  ‘Hurry up and be careful,’ thought Trey. Those were two things that shouldn’t go together. He wasn’t going to hurry, but he would certainly be careful.

  Trey paddled the canoe back up to the piling, the shadow of the dock placing them in darkness. The smell of decay was strongest here. He noticed the eddies of black oil and multicolored gasoline slick mixed with trash and the brown bubbles of pollution. If the lake was Heaven, this was Hell. Trey leaned past Greg and used the short length of rope attached to the front of the boat to tie it firmly into place. He removed his tennis shoes and folded them, placing them on the seat. He stood up and stared at the disgusting water, not wanting to enter, but needing the big catch.

  “Alright. Watch me, man. Everything is gonna be okay. I’m just going to get the rod and I’ll be right back up.” Trey placed a hand on Greg’s shoulder. “Stay cool.”

  With that, he placed a foot on the metal edge of the canoe and pushed off. The water embraced him as he, feet first, sliced deeply from hot to cool water. He pushed himself back to the surface and side-armed his way over to the piling. Counting to three by thousands, hyperventilating, until his lungs were full, he descended pulling himself down using the slippery spikes. The rod was deeper than he though, probably fifteen feet, but it was only seconds before he reached it. Through the murky water, he saw the rod and the line wrapped around the piling six or seven times. It was the heaviness of the line that had saved his reel.

  The tugging had stopped, but he doubted the fish was entirely gone. Maybe he still had a chance to catch it. He really didn’t need to cut the line. He could deceive the fish. After all, he was human and he had superior brains. Trey depressed the reel and let out about five feet of slack. Careful, as not to tug on the line still attached to the fish, he began to unwind the rod from the piling. He was almost finished when he paused and returned to the surface.

  “What the hell are you doing, Trey? I thought you were gonna cut the line.”

  Trey breathed heavily across the water and grinned. “I got everything under control. When I come back up, I’m gonna hand you the rod. Hold onto it tight until I get back into the boat.”

  “Don’t do it, Trey,” begged Greg, his eyes beginning to tear up again. “It’s too big. It’s gonna eat you.”

  Trey watched his friend and almost called him a crybaby, but then he laughed. “It’s not gonna eat me, Greg. Don’t get your panties in a wad. I got everything under control.” He reached up and punched his friend in the shoulder. “Hey. Trust me.”

  By the look in the smaller boy’s eyes, he could tell that any sense of trust was being smothered by fear. Trey cocked his head, winked hard, then, after another count of three, descended back down the piling.

  In no time, he had the rod and line unattached from the piling. He was about to ascend to the surface when he was jerked impossibly hard. Trey flew through the water plunging deeper and deeper. He had gone fifty feet by the time he thought to let go of the rod. Even after he released it, the incredible momentum continued his propulsion towards the bottom. The pressure on his head was becoming incredible, feeling like a knife being thrust into the center of his brain. Something within his mind, however, kept him from screaming and releasing the precious air he needed to survive.

  Finally, his descent slowed. Trey glanced upwards and like a lighter darkness, could glimpse the faraway surface. Or what he thought was the surface. He was too deep, deeper than he had ever been before. Trying hard not to panic, he began to ascend, as slowly as possible because of the immense pressure being exerted upon his body. He achieved only a few feet before he felt his ascent halt as something gripped each ankle painfully.

  Trey stared down and watched in horror as the viney weeds wrapped around his ankle. In the almost darkness, he watched as two more moved for him like tentacles from some great beast, encircling his wrists and pulling his arms out hard. Many more waved below, as if beckoning him deeper. The decaying corpses of a hundred fish stared back at him, as did the skulls, picked clean and gleaming.

  Trey thrashed, attempting to free himself from the living weed, realizing he was quickly running out of air. Yet as his air depleted, instead of his vision dimming, he saw the water brightening. Although he was very deep, he could now see through the water like it was near the surface and clear. A figure came into his vision, rising gradually from the depths beneath him. The only movement was the minute openings and closings of the mouth and the almost intelligent wavings of its long whiskers. When the catfish was even with his head and staring straight into his eyes, it opened its mouth wide revealing a mouthful of smallish teeth and rows of pulsating gills. Trey slammed his eyes shut, jerking at his bonds. He refused to see what was about to eat him and felt the warmth of urine seep from his water-shriveled penis. When the first of the whiskers brushed against his face, he screamed, releasing all of his air, condemning him to death.

  He finally even lost enough strength to scream and his body reflexively went to suck in the brackish water of the lake, filling his lungs with what he could never breathe… but it didn’t happen that way. Trey felt a warmth along his face and neck, flowing into his chest. A calmness filled him, stilling his panic and his need to breathe. Slowly, Trey opened his eyes to stare into the bottomless eyes of the catfish. His fear had left him and he watched as the whiskers, dozens of them, caressed his skin. The mouth opened and closed and he couldn’t help but admire the synchronicity of the gills.

  Trey hung in the water, held fast by the weeds, staring into the huge maw of a fish that he had wanted to catch. The need to breathe had departed him and he wondered if he had drowned. He wondered if he was dead.

  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 Pr
escott. 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.

  Some Things Were Better Off Not Talked About

  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.

  Five minutes later, they were standing around Judd’s sleeping bag looking at him the way men looked at their dying comrade in those old war movies. There were tears going down Judd’s face.
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  “Oh now, don’t cry,” Max said. “We’ll figure something out.”

  “If that snake is poisonous, you’re screwed, bro,” Kenny Joe said, looking down his friend as if he was already dead.

  “I must agree,” Bailey said.

  “You two aren’t helping any!” Judd hissed, cringing as the snake tightened around his testicles, squeezing them.

  “It’s probably not even poisonous,” Max suggested, watching his friend’s ashen face in the lantern light. “Probably just some garden snake. Did it rattle?”

  “I don’t think so,” Judd said. “But you know my hearing has been screwed all day since Kenny Joe blew off that shotgun too close to my ear.”

  “Sorry about that,” Kenny Joe said, looking genuinely remorseful as he stared down at the crotch area of the bulky sleeping bag.

  Judd’s eyes widened as the snake circled around his penis and he tried to hide his embarrassment as the physical movement brought him to a semi-erection. “Oh dear Lord, I’m being punished for what you said about Jesus. I’m going to die in this tent.”

  “That’s just stupid,” Max said. “It’d be my dick that snake would be around then.”

  Kenny Joe stepped back a little. “The Lord, he works in mysterious ways.”

  “I must agree,” Bailey said, poking his finger into his round belly.

  Judd tried his best not to scream at the top of his lungs. “Can you two please get the hell out?”

  Max stepped forward. “Ok, Judd. I’m going to try and pull the sleeping bag off of you, maybe then we can at least see the bugger and get him out.”

  Judd grimaced as the snake moved yet again. “Okay, but do it slow, man. This is my life we’re playing with here.”