S79 The Horror in the Swamp

by Brett Schumacher

  She would like the lush green foliage that lay along the hilly land, and the long, wide meadows that seemed to stretch out to infinity. As he took the shots, he wondered how the place could have such large tracts of uninhabited land; it didn’t look that large on any of his maps.

  Consulting his map again, Robert notes that the next road was several miles long. That was good because the light was beginning to drain from the sky. It wasn’t dusk yet. It was the time of day when the air gets still and there’s a definite lull in activity from the wildlife. The angle of sunlight paints its last blast of gold across the land, making the light-colored buildings stand out from the landscape starkly. Shadows were long and thin, and he knew if he cared to stop and watch them, he could see them moving, growing longer and fatter as the sun crept toward the horizon.

  The sun was at his back and gave the scenery in front of him a dreamlike glow. The gas station, still equipped with old pumps and beverage signs from the sixties, sat like a painting come to life beside the road. He drove to the pumps and a bell dinged as his tires crossed a black hose on the ground. He chuckled as an attendant came out, wiping his hands on a greasy rag.

  He didn’t look like the type of guy Robert wanted hanging around his car. He stepped out. “Good evening.”

  “Yep. How much you want?” His oily hair was plastered to his skull in the front and lay in chunky strands in the back that stuck out from his head. The right side of his face protruded as if he had a golf ball in his cheek.

  Robert quelled a shudder and smiled. “I’ll pump it, thanks anyway.”

  The man glared at him and pointed to a round sign attached to the top of the pump. It read: Full Service. Robert laughed. “I didn’t see that. But really, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

  The man walked over and shook his head. “You gotta pump from the other side if you wanna do it yourself, Mister. Them’s the rules ’round here.” He spit tobacco juice from between his teeth, letting Robert know what was in his cheek—a wad of tobacco, obviously.

  Looking around, a bit put-off, Robert motioned to the empty lot. “But I’m the only customer. I’ll just be a minute and then I’ll be on my way.”

  “You need to move to that side, Mister, else I’m gonna have to pump for you. Junior don’t like nobody pumping their own gas outta this here pump. I ain’t in the mood to get in trouble tonight, so…” He motioned for Robert to move his car to the other side.

  Sighing heavily, but not wanting to incite the man’s anger, he nodded. “Fine. That’s fine, too.” He moved his car under the watchful gaze of the attendant. As he stepped out, he glanced inside the station to his left and saw the man at the pay counter. He was a behemoth of a man in jeans and a dirty tank top. The enormous man eyed him with coldness.

  After pumping a full tank, Robert replaced the gas cap and headed for the pay counter, relieved that the pump attendant had finally wandered away. A bell tinkled overhead as he entered. The big man stared at him as he approached the counter.

  “Sixteen-forty,” he said in a voice so low it rumbled.

  Robert shook his head slightly. “I’m sure the pump said it was fourteen even.”

  The man’s eyes grew wide. “Well, you didn’t add the convenience fee.”

  “What convenience? I pumped the gas myself, sir.” Heat rushed to his face. He didn’t like being swindled. The numbers on the pump were clearly visible from where he stood. It said fourteen dollars.

  “That’s the convenience. You ain’t from around here obviously.” He held out his hand and repeated the price.

  Robert handed him a ten and a five, and then looked at him defiantly.

  The man put the money in the till. “Still owe a dollar-forty, Mister. When you pump your own gas, you get out of giving Billy a tip, and we add a two-forty convenience fee to cover that.” He grinned and Robert saw that he was missing a few teeth and the ones that remained were discolored and chipped.

  It didn’t make any sense to Robert, but the pump attendant appeared in a doorway behind the big man. It seemed like a bad time to quibble over a couple bucks, and Robert handed it over. He wanted to ask how long it would take him to get to Montegut Road, but thought better of giving them any information that could lead them to him later. They seemed like the type that might run him off the road and rob him after giving him a beating just because they could.

  As he got back into the car, he understood why the parking lot was still empty. Anyone who lived in the area probably avoided it because of the two thuggish men in charge. With his heart in his throat and the realization that he was isolated enough that anything could happen, and no one would find him for a long time, Robert set his mileage and left.

  He drove, staying on the same road, for another twenty minutes or so before checking the time. With the sky dimming into dusk, he was shocked to see that it was quarter ’til six. Fifteen minutes. Either he was closer than he thought to Mr. Washington’s place, or he had taken a wrong turn somewhere.

  Checking the map again, he saw that he would have to make a right-hand turn onto it in a curve. There had been no curves to speak of so far, and he surmised the curve lay ahead. He had to be close.

  The farther he drove, the more certain he became that he was lost. The sunset came swiftly, leaving him in the dark and alone out on the unknown stretch of road surrounded by forests and swamps. He couldn’t see the swamps, but he could smell them. To him, they smelled like murky water and fish. It turned his stomach as much from the smell as from the knowledge that there were alligators and snakes that could kill a man in the swamps.

  The houses had steadily become farther apart. The last time he checked the map had been at least ten minutes before and he had not seen a single house or any other construction since. There were no streetlights, either. Just the lonely beams from his Ford piercing the ever-deepening darkness ahead.

  The foliage crept closer and closer to the sides of the road until he felt trapped, walled in on either side by the wilderness. Several miles rolled by slowly as he scoured the tree line for signs of another road, possibly a gravel or dirt road that would lead him to a house. He knew he was in the general area of Montegut Road and that road would take him past Mr. Washington’s house.

  A crossing road came into view, but its name was Point Farm Road and it was gravel. The pavement terminated at the stop sign and didn’t continue past the crossing road. He had no choice but to go right or left. But that wasn’t on the map. Neither was Point Farm Road.

  He turned right, following his instincts, and drove slower and more carefully on the gravel. The road was narrower than the paved road, and if he passed another vehicle, the limbs and foliage would scrape his car.

  The emptiness and the lack of traffic was unnerving. As soon as another road came into view, he turned right again. If he kept taking right turns, eventually, he would have to end up back on the paved road. He thought that was logical. It didn’t take him long to realize that logic didn’t play a big part in the layout of roads in the South. He did find pavement again, but it only lasted a mile or so and turned back to the gravel and asphalt mix.

  It was five after nine when he finally came across another little hole-in-the-wall diner that looked less pleasant than the last one. He was beyond caring. He had to stop to get a bite to eat and stretch his back and legs again.

  Looking along the outside wall for a payphone, Robert wasn’t shocked to see there wasn’t a phone in sight. The way his day had gone, he was just damn glad to have found a place to grab a late dinner.

  Thankfully, there was no big dog to contend with and no other vehicles in the parking lot as he entered Maybelle’s Diner. He was in no mood to deal with dogs or nosy people. His patience had run out about two hours before.

  He didn’t bother waiting for the waitress to tell him to pick a spot, he just walked to the nearest table and sat. Raucous laughter echoed from the kitchen area. It
sounded as if there were at least four or five people back there.

  The waitress approached with wary eyes, looking him up and down. He supposed it was the white tee shirt paired with slacks and dress shoes, but he didn’t care.

  “I’ll have coffee and a burger, please.” He didn’t even give her time to speak.

  She raised her eyebrows as she wrote. “That all?” Her tone implied she was annoyed.

  “Yes. Thank you.” He tried to appear more pleasant, feeling bad that he had been abrupt with her. He added a smile for good measure, not wanting to wonder if his food had been spit in, or worse.

  She disappeared into the kitchen, and almost immediately a man in cook’s whites came out brandishing the order and shaking his head. “Nuh-uh, Mister. We done cleaned the grill.” He pointed to a handwritten sign on the front door. “We close up shop at nine-thirty.”

  “So, I can’t get anything to eat?” Robert shifted on the uncomfortable chair.

  The man broke out in a wide grin, showing a full complement of white teeth. “Yo, you ain’t from around here, are you? Mister Accent there, that’s cool. I’ll cut you some slack. We got some shrimp gumbo left from dinner rush that you can have.”

  Robert thought if anyone brought it to his attention that he wasn’t a local, he might scream. Gumbo wasn’t his favorite, and he really didn’t like shrimp. “That’s all you have?”

  Incredulously, the man chuckled. “We got a couple pieces cornbread; I won’t even charge you for them.” He flashed another wide grin, as if Robert’s presence was somehow amusing.

  “That’s fine. I’ll take the gumbo. Thank you.” The waitress reappeared with his coffee, and he took it, thanking her.

  A man and woman came out from the kitchen and started cleaning at the back of the dining room. Robert rolled his eyes. He hated it when people cleaned where he was trying to eat and usually, he vacated the establishment, expressing his distaste for such rude behavior. He remained seated only because he had arrived only a few minutes before closing time.

  A minute later, the waitress brought his gumbo. He was picking out the shrimp when the cook and another woman came out to help clean.

  They didn’t bother him and kept their activity away from his immediate vicinity for which he was thankful. But their conversation was perfectly clear in the otherwise quiet diner.

  At first, the conversation was about alligators in the nearby swamp. He wished he hadn’t heard the stories about the overgrown ’gator and his latest foray onto a nearby farm where he apparently devoured the farmer’s favorite pig. Supposedly, the alligator had survived several shots from a rifle to trundle off into the swamp again.

  Then a more disturbing story came up. One of the women said, “I wonder if that’s what happened to that guy from Florida. He’s been missing for three weeks now. Ain’t even found his car.”

  The cook laughed. “At least he had him a good last supper right here before he went missing.”

  The other woman announced, “Nope. That ain’t right. Weren’t no ’gator that got him.” She whispered the next part, but Robert could still hear clearly. “He was took out to that government place and sacrificed to the thing running there.”

  The cook added, “That’s shit’s a lie, Maybelle. Ain’t nothing out there except that rotten bunker.”

  Scoffing, Maybelle retorted, “Yeah, well the government done fucked up big time out there and whatever they was trying to create got loose. We older generation know all about that. By the time you came along, that place was shutting down.”

  “I came here in ’84, it hadn’t been shut down so long when I got here.” The cook laughed and turned chairs upside down onto the edges of the tables.

  Maybelle snapped a towel onto her shoulder and put her hands on her hips. “It was 1981 when that alarm blared. It sounded for a full twenty-four hours before the military guys came and shut it up. That tells me that whoever set off that alarm was dead shortly after. None of us knew what to do when it started blaring. Every dog in the state must’ve heard it and set to howling, too. Babies crying, animals hollering, it sounded like the end of the world out here.” Maybelle went to a small closet and retrieved a broom and dustpan.

  The waitress cleared her throat and Robert startled, dropping his spoon into his remaining food as his head jerked up toward her. He smiled nervously, uneasy about the story he had heard. He knew nothing about a government facility anywhere near Montegut.

  The waitress cleared her throat again, and he realized she was trying to get the attention of the others, not him. He looked over his shoulder at them. The cook and the other man shrugged in unison as if asking what the problem was.

  He turned back to the waitress and she nodded toward him. “Shut up back there. You’re going to scare our customer.” She looked at him and her expression changed dramatically.

  “Miss?” His voice was low.

  “Yes, sir?” She seemed to be straining to remain overly polite.

  “What are they talking about? Monsters and overgrown alligators?” He fished his spoon out of the bowl and his stomach knotted unpleasantly. He put it aside and pulled a piece of cornbread toward him. It was a bread he had learned to occasionally enjoy since moving from Chicago.

  She laughed, ill-at-ease, and shook her head. “They’re just gossiping. Trying to scare every tourist who stops here.” She leaned forward at the waist and whispered, “It’s their entertainment for the night.” Winking, she turned on her heel and walked to the cash register.

  Taking that as a cue to leave, Robert stood and dropped a five on the table before walking to the register. “So, none of those stories were true?” He kept his voice at a whisper.

  She shook her head. “Nope. Just stories people tell to keep their kids out of the swamps. Don’t want the little ones wandering out there and getting hurt, you know.”

  He smiled and nodded, feeling as if she weren’t telling the whole story. He paid and asked if there was a payphone around.

  “No. We never got a replacement for the one that got hit by a car two years ago. Maybelle says they’re more trouble than they’re worth.” She took his money and counted out his change carefully.

  “Is there a motel nearby?” He took the change and stuffed it in his pocket to avoid opening his wallet in front of her again.

  She gave him quick directions. “You sound like you’re from way up North, or something. What are you doing out here in the boonies in the middle of the night, anyway?” She smiled crookedly and put a hand on her hip.

  “It’s a long story, and I’m afraid I don’t have the time to tell it properly. Could I possibly get a large coffee to go?” He turned up his smile.

  She nodded and poured it. Handing it to him, she winked again. “On the house, Mister. Be careful out there and have a good night.” She followed him to the door and locked it as soon as he was outside.

  In the darkness, the sound of the lock clicking into place seemed very loud and more than a little unnerving. He rushed to his car and headed for the motel. Two miles up the road, in the same direction he was headed anyway, is where the waitress had told him the motel was located.

  Wanting only to get somewhere and get some sleep, Robert let his mind wander as he drove slowly in the pitch blackness. He would call Julie and Lilli; he missed them terribly and wished he were home with them. The call to apologize to Mr. Washington would have to wait until morning, as it was too late to call on business.

  The road widened and the dense foliage suddenly seemed farther away from the car. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the Dew Drop Inn Motel’s neon sign announcing vacancy. However, the relief was short-lived. Passing the copse of trees, he got a good look at the motel and had serious doubts as to whether the place was really still in business.

  It looked abandoned. The sides of the flat, long building had been covered by creeper vines, some of whi
ch had found their way inside broken windows. The bare bulb over the entrance was little more than a flickering orange glow, and the interior of the tiny check-in area gave him the impression that maybe a homeless group lived in there.

  Trash was strewn about, a purple bug-zapper light flickered above a couple of chairs against the wall, and the potted plants had been dead for a while.

  He turned off his headlights and rolled to the side of the entrance where he could see a payphone. He left his car idling just in case he needed a quick getaway. He hadn’t seen an attendant through the grimy door, but surely someone was in there, and it might not be anyone he wanted to meet from the looks of the place.

  He called Julie, and his heart skipped when she answered. The sound of her voice sent a wash of calm over him. The day’s troubles and setbacks seemed to dissipate like so much fog under a bright sun.

  He heard Lilli in the background, sleepily asking if she could talk to him. His heart melted. If ever there was a good reason to carry on and persevere through the hard times, it was his little angel.

  Although it was far past her bedtime, it made his night to get to talk to her for a minute. She handed the phone back to Julie after telling him she loved him.

  Julie sighed and told her to go back to bed. “Oh, and your farmer’s market idea was a real hit. She loved the baby ducks.”

  He laughed. “I knew she would.”

  “Yeah, she loved them so much that we brought one back home with us.” Her voice was timid.

  “Really? You let her have a duck?” He chuckled again. “I don’t believe you.”

  “That’s why she got up. She was checking on the baby duck.” She giggled and her words sounded more relaxed. “I was afraid you wouldn’t like the idea of a duck as a pet.”

  “We have the room for a duck outside now, so I don’t see what harm it could do.” He heard a man cough raggedly from inside the building and was instantly uneasy again.