The Deepening Shade

by Jake Hinkson

  But I was just a wild ass kid those days. I’m sane enough to know that serial killers all end up getting caught at some poi—

  The guy comes out, clutching the hair of a screaming little girl in one hand, an old revolver in the other. He’s shouting threats when I pull the trigger and split his head like a piñata. Blood, bone, and brain spray the glass door of the office building while his body, seized by gravity now, thuds to the ground.

  The little girl wails. Her mother runs up to her, thanking god, surrounded by fifty cops. One of them turns around and gives me the thumbs up.

  “Bad guy down,” someone crackles into my earpiece. “Nice shooting.”

  I’m a hero again.

  T HE SERPENT BOX

  As he took the bible from his nightstand, Tore King called across the hall to his daughter and told her to wake up. She did not answer him back, and he heard no indication of her stirring as he passed her closed door on his way into the den. Small spikes of ice hung from one of the logs in the wall where rain had seeped in during the night. King broke the ice down into a pot and placed it on the warm black stove in the center of the room.

  “Karen,” he called, “I said to get up. I ain’t going to meeting this morning, so you’re gonna have to take the serpents early.”

  After a moment, her voice drifted back, “I’m awake, Daddy,” and he heard the first faint rustlings of her sheets. He dipped a cloth into the pot and washed his lean face and neck. Then he wrapped the cloth around the handle and took the steaming water to her thin, wooden door and knocked.

  When it opened, the girl was still in her white nightgown. Though she was fifteen, she looked no more than twelve. Her face was round, with ruddy cheeks and a thick ball of a nose. “You ain’t going to meeting?” she asked, taking the handle from him.

  “Got rained out yesterday,” he reminded her. “The mill’s been setting idle two days now. I reckon my ox is in a ditch.” He turned and started down the hall. “You need to get moving. I had enough of your sleeping.”

  She nodded and closed the door, and he walked over to his reading table. He was sitting there with his bible when she came out, still in her nightgown, and warmed herself by the stove. Pressing his reading glasses to his thin, skin-flaked lips, he watched her and thought of whipping her for slothfulness. He decided not to. It was Sabbath morning, and he did not want to begin it with a beating.

  “I spect they’re gonna be needing the serpents down there before noonday,” he said. “Brother Hiram asked us special to get them there early.”

  “Brother Hiram,” the girl sneered. “I don’t know why you pay that man no mind at all after the way he done Momma.”

  King stood and walked over to the stove to warm his hands. “Best be watching your tongue, girl,” he said. “He’s still the shepherd of our flock.”

  “That shepherd,” she said, “told everyone Momma died on account of her not having enough faith. Momma! You know that ain’t the truth, but you let him say it.”

  “Girl!” he shouted, jerking toward her, his narrow face tilting in so that the cold blue of his eyes seemed to jump at her. Shrinking away from him, she tightened her muscles, ready to absorb a physical reprimand, but he steadied himself, rocking on the heels of his work-boots, his long, thick hands still at his sides.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said, her back touching the cold logs in the wall.

  “Just hush,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. “Just hush. Now listen. The preacher’s a good man of God. He may not a been right about Momma, but that ain’t for us to handle. We got to handle our own faith and for us the believing is in the forgiving. I forgive him even if he’s wrong. That’s the whole thing. Your momma was as good a woman of the Lord ever walked this earth. She’s with Him now. You just keep that in mind, and remember that she’d have you forgive Brother Hiram.” His eyes opened and he regarded her a moment. “You just never need to forget that in the eyes of Jesus, we’re all of us sinners.”

  ***

  After a quick breakfast of biscuits and coffee, King walked out to the wooden shed behind the house. It was sturdy and well insulated, and stood between the house and the horse barn. In the floor of the shed were two small doors, which King pulled open. He drew out two finely crafted, stained-oak boxes. On the lid of each box shone a brass handle and latch and the inscription: Mark 16:15-18. King carried the boxes to the barn and saddled the girl’s horse, clamping each box into a special iron rigging on the saddle.

  A slow, heavy thunder tumbled over the dampened mountains. When the girl came outside she wore a maroon dress and a thin, emerald jacket her mother had made for her. In the bruised sky above her, a white mist twisted and unfurled like a banner on the breeze.

  “You go get your heavy coat, girl.”

  “This one’s pretty, Daddy.”

  Her father grunted. “You go get that coat fore I whip you. I can’t make you wear it, but it ain’t a bad idea to have it along.”

  The girl shrugged and loped back inside. King surveyed the sky again. Around the darkened edges of the trees the sky was starting to turn pink, and the moon was evaporating into the mist. When the girl came back outside she was smiling, still wearing the emerald jacket but carrying a thick brown coat.

  “What’re you grinning like a possum at?”

  “I’m just happy,” she said. “It’s Sabbath day, and I ain’t got to help at the sawmill none.”

  He shook his head. “That all Sabbath day is to you? A reason not to work?”

  She climbed onto the horse and straightened her skirt. “No, Daddy. It’s a opportunity to forgive Brother Hiram his trespasses.”

  He pulled his long, callous fingers across his scalp of graying-blond hair. “I can’t believe I raised such a blaspheming girl.”

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said. “I’ll be good.” She leaned down, a wisp of her long blonde hair floating beneath her chin, and stuck out her lips for a kiss.

  He kissed her. “I won’t be at meeting tonight, neither,” he said. “I got to finish working that back acre. You come on home tomorrow morning if Sister Barris will put you up tonight. If she don’t, you just head on home after dinner this afternoon.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” she said.

  King watched his daughter ride away. He feared that he detected the first scent of a hard rain.

  ***

  Halfway between her cabin and the church, the girl met two strangers on the road. One was thin shouldered and bearded. He wore a floppy gray hat and when he smiled at her and said, “Howdy, sweet miss,” she saw that he had only a few blackened teeth left in his mouth.

  She nodded and said, “Howdy,” clutching the horse’s rein. On the wooded ridge just above her, a heavy fog hung in the trees like a drawn curtain, and the fat croaks of unseen toads echoed down the slope.

  The other stranger was a shivering boy not much older than Karen herself. He had many teeth, big and jumbled in his mouth, so that when he smiled they almost seemed to spill out. The boy held an old, skinny goat by a frayed rope.

  “Would you like to buy that goat there, miss?” the man asked her. “We ain’t got no food, nor no money for food. Ain’t even got a gun to shoot us a squirrel with. Just this here goat, and we ain’t got the heart to kill him for eating.” He glanced back at the boy. The shaking youth rubbed his yellowed palms together, staring at Karen with a dull smile drifting across his lips like an afterthought. “Don’t mind him,” the man told her. “He can’t talk. Not a word.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t have no money. I’m heading to the church house, and I need to be hurrying.” She wanted to get past the men now that she knew they were hungry, because she feared they would steal the horse, or her coat, and sell them. She had heard of such things.

  “Ain’t going to put no money in the plate this morning?” the man asked.

  “I reckon not today,” she said. In a small, white purse tied to her belt beneath the coat she had a dollar that she intended to give to th
e church as an offering. She thought about giving it to the man, but she didn’t want the folks at church to think she was too stingy to tithe. “If y’all want to come with me, I reckon you’d get some dinner after meeting.”

  “That’s mighty sweet,” the man said. He smiled again, and the pointed, red cheeks above his beard nearly obscured his eyes in crinkled flesh. He walked over and stroked the horse’s neck, and as he did, his narrow chest touched the white lace hem of her dress. “What kind of church are you?”

  His proximity sent a chill down her back. It was new to her, a different fear than ever fallen on her before. Her skin felt heavy and thick, like another coat the man might want to steal.

  “Holiness,” she said. “We’re Holiness.”

  The man smiled even wider. “You all are snake handlers, ain’t you?”

  “Yes sir,” she said. She motioned back at the boxes. “I’m taking the serpents up to the church house. My daddy’s an elder and we keep the serpents for the church.”

  “I’d sure like to see them snakes,” he said.

  “Well,” the girl said, “I got to take them to meeting. I’m already late.”

  “No,” the man said. “No. You’ll be there. Ain’t it your duty to show us them snakes? I reckon I seen plenty, but I ain’t never seen no snake handler’s snakes.”

  “Just serpents,” the girl said, her voice almost obscured by the croaking toads. “Copperheads.”

  “Copperheads! Y’all handle copperheads!”

  Karen smiled. “Scripture says, them with faith shall pick up serpents and not be hurt.”

  The man grinned at the boy and said, “She’s quoting scripture at us now.”

  The girl looked up at the mud-red sky through rattling tree limbs. “My daddy says that when you hold the serpent you’re holding your faith in your own hand. That’s when you feel the Lord. My momma had faith,” she said. “She did. She handled serpents most her life.” She shook her head. “But one bit her a year ago. The preacher said that if she’d had enough faith she would of not died.” She shook her head again. “My momma had faith.”

  “You got faith?” the man asked, lightly touching the silent box.

  Karen’s face was dry and the veins at the bridge of her nose were pale green. Her cheeks were almost purple with the assault of the constant, icy wind, and when she frowned at him, she looked as if she were in pain. “I got faith,” she said. “I never handled them before, but I got faith.” She stared at the man’s sneer and said again, “I got faith.”

  She climbed down from the horse and began to wrestle one of the boxes out of its rigging. Walking around the horse, the boy watched her, his mouth hanging open.

  The girl laid the box on the ground and knelt by it. She touched the lid’s simple, cold latch. Kneeling in the man’s tilting gray shadow, she stared down at the box.

  “Are you ready?” she asked, and he grabbed her hair and flung her backwards into the mud. The horse jumped and started to gallop down the trail. “Get it!” the man yelled at the boy. Karen scrambled to her feet and lunged toward the woods. The man grabbed her muddied, emerald coat, and she turned and struck him in the mouth. Her face was tight and hard now, and he punched her, but she was free from him and was already to her feet.

  He clutched his face, yelling, “Get the horse!” but the boy stood there dumbly, the goat kicking at his feet. The man turned and ran after her.

  He caught her beneath a bare birch tree and threw her to the ground, and she cried out, “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God! In the beginning was the Word…”

  He pinned her knees to the ground with his own and grasped under her dress, tearing away her undergarment. She screamed as if he had torn away a piece of her flesh. The boy was beside them, rubbing his hands for warmth, his mouth hanging open and silent. Karen called out, “The Word was with God and the Word was God!”

  “Well, hold her hands,” the man grunted. The boy reached down and took her wrists. As Karen thrashed about beneath him, the man picked up a smooth rock near his feet and struck her face with it.

  ***

  Wet, steady winds shook the bending pines, and droplets of rain sprayed the two killers like pellets of bird shot. The man sat down, looking away from the body. “Now let me figure,” he said. He rubbed his mouth; a quiet ache had begun where the girl struck him. He looked up at the boy, who stared at the body. “That horse is gone to hell and back. No use a-looking for it anyhow on account of it’s probably lost in the woods where the trail goes thin.”

  The boy watched gray, dappled sunlight fall on the girl and shine in the tiny bubbles of rain on her cheeks. He walked over to her and bent down. The man turned and struck him in the thigh and the boy slithered away. The goat jumped with him and fell into a pile of wet leaves.

  “You keep away from her,” the man said. “You ain’t got to spoil her too.” He turned away, looking up into the pines and trying to catch some light on his face. A hard wind slapped the tree tops and rain fell on him “Well,” he said, hanging his head and rubbing the back of his long neck, “we got a coat for you, I reckon.”

  The boy shook his head.

  The man peered up at him. “You ain’t telling me you ain’t gonna to wear it on account of it’s a girl’s?”

  The boy had not stopped shaking his head.

  “God damn you,” the man said. “It’s a good coat. If it’d fit me, I’d by God wear it.”

  The boy was still shaking his head.

  The man shrugged. “Well, I ain’t gonna make you wear it if you’re set again it, but you’re a goddamn fool if ever I saw one. Gonna freeze your ass when that rain comes back.”

  The boy smiled. The man shook his head again. “Goddamn fool,” he said.

  They walked back up to the muddy trail and glared at the snake box. “Snake handlers,” the man said. “There’s some crazy sons of bitches, I’ll tell you what.”

  The boy nudged the box with his toe and squinted at the man.

  “Oh yeah,” the man said, “there’s a snake in there, all right. I’ll bet you she’s a copperhead, too. Crazy. Them snake handlers is crazy in the head.”

  The box thumped and the boy jumped back. Shaking with laughter, the man slapped the boy on the back. “Well, go in and get her, Ignorant,” he said. He straightened and laughed under his breath. “Oo-ee. Ignorant, I don’t know what kind of man thinks he’s gotta pick up a damn snake to feel the Lord, but you ain’t that kind.”

  The boy jerked his head toward the box, his face red and drawn. He waved his hand at it.

  “No,” the man said. “I don’t reckon I’m that kind neither. I heard of specters chasing after folks. And the devil coming after you. But I don’t reckon I seen nothing to make me believe in a good ghost, holy or no.”

  Thunder broke through the trees, and shadows swayed over the two like black flames. “We got to get out of this here rain,” the man said. He started down the trail and then turned back to the boy. “You go fetch that coat. We can trade it on down the road for a boy’s.”

  To this suggestion, the boy nodded in happy agreement.

  ***

  When Tore King opened his door to the two strangers, he yelled over the storm, “Y’all come in out of that rain!” and the two dashed inside, the boy pulling the goat along. Shaking the rain off, the goat sprayed them all. Tore glared down at it.

  “I’m sorry,” the man said, leaning over and kicking the goat in the ribs. “Damn thing.”

  King shook his head. “When the rain lets up a little, one of y’all can take him out to the barn.” He sat down in front of the stove, and the other two sat on a narrow bench on the opposite side. “What a day,” King said. He poured some coffee and passed the man a steaming cup. “Where abouts are y’all from?”

  “Down round Black Tree,” the man said. “Just come out of Missouri and heading on through. I don’t reckon to be in Arkansas much longer.”

  King nodded. “Y’all are welcom
e to stay the night. I figure it’ll be a cold one tonight.” He stopped and looked at the boy. “You don’t say much.”

  “Ah, sir,” the man said, “he can’t talk. On account of no tongue. He’s born without one. You ever hear of such a thing? I been doing all his talking for him most his life.”

  “That’s a mighty heavy cross to bear,” King said. “Don’t reckon I’d want that position.”

  The man nodded and ran the back of his thin, hairy hand over his face, wiping off the rain. “Well, sir, it ain’t easy, you know. It ain’t. I done the best I could, though. Ignorant here’s like a brother to me. He is. And I tried to do right by him.” He scratched his head. “Ain’t always succeeded. Got him off track a time or two, I reckon.”

  “How’d you go about that?”

  The man shrugged. “Oh, getting him into all sort of wickedness with me.” The man looked into Tore’s solemn face and something in it opened him up. “Wickedness follows some folks, I reckon,” he said. “Poor old Ignorant here’s had to catch mine with me. I don’t feel none too good about that, I’ll tell you.”

  King nodded like a minister. “The Lord’ll forgive, you just hold onto that.” Then he smiled and said, “We’ll feed your body first, how’s that? Y’all hungry?”

  The two both perked up and the boy, who had been holding the girl’s rolled up coat under his arm, set it behind his chair and locked his hands on his knees.

  King smiled even wider. “I figure I’d be hungry, too, if I was a walking all day. This rain’s kept me in, though. Rained on me for three days now, and the winds have been blowing mighty hard and cold, too.” He shook his head. “I was about to have supper, anyways. You boys pull them chairs to the table and we’ll pass a pork stew around.” He turned to the boy. “You can take that goat out to the barn now, I reckon.”