Edge of Dark Water

by Joe R. Lansdale

  Me and Jinx pushed an old dresser with a tall, cracked mirror in front of the busted window to make it safer, and then we all sat up that night, listening. Now and again one of us would drift off, but there was always someone awake. Jinx stayed in the bedroom with Terry. Me and Mama sat in the big room. During the night, at least a couple times, I heard Skunk try the doorknob, rattling it so as to shatter our nerves.

  Rattling the door, breaking the glass out of the windows, bits of it falling down between the window frames and shutters in little clinks, went on for most of the night; then a couple hours before dawn it quit.

  When light come, I was scared and starving. It was still raining, though less savage than before. We dug the fish guts and that blackened head out of the fireplace and wiped it off, and the four of us had pieces of it. It wasn’t much to eat and it tasted nasty. My stomach acted at first like it might not manage to wrap around it, but it did.

  Mama found a tin with a little coffee in it, and she heated the water and made us some. It tasted like dirty water, but it was something to put in the belly to make you think you’d eaten.

  About two hours after we was up, I ventured, against Mama and Jinx’s will—Terry had fallen back into a wounded sleep—to open a shutter and look out. From that window I could see the woods. They was shadowy in the rising light. I checked as good as I could, but didn’t see Skunk. I didn’t see nothing but those dark trees and rain falling.

  I locked up, went from shutter to shutter, checking to see if I could see anything. I opened one on the other side of the big room, and there was a face staring in at me, the nose poking through a broken pane of glass, the eyes dry and stiff. I jumped back and screamed. It was the old woman. She was still wrapped in the rug, but it had been peeled back so her face was free of it. Her white hair was wet as a fresh-born calf, and she was propped against the window by having her arms pulled up and bent at the elbow, pressed to the window frame. In her arms was the saw box. It was open, and everything that had been in it was gone except Terry’s arm—the hand that went with the arm was gone, though. And the old woman’s arms that held the box in front of her was stumps; her hands had been chopped off, too.

  “He dug her up,” I said.

  “Hell,” Jinx said, standing near me with the pistol. “We can see that.”

  “He’s a monster,” Mama said, easing over to take a look.

  “You just now figuring that?” Jinx said.

  “Jinx,” Mama said, “you should be careful. I might knock the shit out of you.”

  Me and Jinx both looked at Mama.

  “I’ve said it now,” Mama said, “and though it makes me feel better, I prefer not to say it again, and would like to ask you to not remember I said it the first time.”

  The rain had started to slacken, and we could see the sun real good from that window, rising up in a thin gold line, dragging more blood-red light behind it. I closed the shutters and locked them.

  I said, “There ain’t no pattern to him. He’s on deck all the time. Any other body would sleep sometime. But night or day, rain or dry, it don’t affect him. How are we to deal with someone like that?”

  I was starting to get a little crazy, and I had to make myself quit chattering like a squirrel.

  Jinx went over and sat down cross-legged on the floor, laying the pistol across her lap. “There ain’t but a couple ways for us to do, Sue Ellen,” she said. “Someone has to go on into Gladewater and get help, or we all need to go. Or maybe there’s a third idea, and that one is we split up and strike out in different directions, but that idea only works if Terry can go along, and he can’t.”

  “So that brings us back to the first two,” I said.

  “It does,” Jinx said.

  “But if someone stays here with Terry,” Mama said, “Skunk will eventually get in the house. One person can’t watch both rooms and go without sleeping.”

  “Or the house will dry up and he’ll set fire to it, burn it down,” Jinx said.

  “I believe I have a say in this,” Terry called from the bedroom, throwing back the covers with his good hand. He was wearing only his shorts, trying to put his feet on the floor.

  He started to walk toward us, but didn’t get too far. He had to go back and sit on the bed. Jinx went in there and laid the pistol on the bed, helped him swing his feet back up, and covered him. We all went in there and sat on the bed by him.

  “You couldn’t whip a kitten if we tied one of its paws behind its back and put out one of its eyes,” I said. “Lay down and rest some.”

  “All I do is rest,” Terry said.

  “All you’re up for just right now,” Jinx said.

  I thought for a moment, said, “That log down there by the river. That could be a way.”

  “Log?” Mama said.

  “It was there when we found the fish,” I said. “We could use it to sail down the river. Me and Terry did a similar thing.”

  “I had two arms then,” Terry said.

  “That’s true. But I think someone walking out—that’s not so good, provided they’re trying to get to Gladewater. I don’t think it’s real far by river, but on foot it might be a distance. All of you could stay here, and I could take the pistol and make a break for it, get to that log, push off and make it downriver to Gladewater, get some help. One person can make it easier than a bunch.”

  “That doesn’t sound like that good a plan,” Jinx said.

  “I have to agree,” Terry said.

  “Me, too,” Mama said.

  “I’m a fast runner, and if I can get down to the river and push the log off, and if Skunk ain’t right on top of me, and the water is running swift, I can get away.”

  “That’s a lot of ifs,” Mama said.

  “If we stay here, we’re all dead,” I said. “I’ll take the hatchet. I’m more likely to hit something with that, since I ain’t a good shot. And the hatchet ain’t so heavy.”

  I went over and grabbed up the hatchet by the fireplace. Mama said, “Now? You’re going now?”

  “Time ain’t going to get no better,” I said. “I figure Skunk ain’t going to expect me running for the river when I got a perfectly good cabin to hole up in. That gives me an edge.”

  “That’s not much of an edge,” Terry said.

  I hugged Mama and Jinx, and went into the bedroom and hugged Terry.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Mama said as I came back into the main room.

  “Yeah, I do,” I said.

  I went to the door and Jinx and Mama followed.

  “Be alert,” Terry called out from the bedroom.

  I took a deep breath, told Jinx, “You open it, and I’m going to take off running.”

  She opened it, and I broke like a wild mustang, heading straight for the river, carrying that hatchet. It looked like good free running. I didn’t see any sign of Skunk. All I saw was the slope of the hill that led down to the water. The grass was green and the wind was cool on account of last night’s rain. I was almost enjoying myself. I was beginning to think things was going to be hunky-dory. That I was going to make that river and that log without so much as a grasshopper smacking into me, but right about then, coming out of the woods on my right, I seen him.

  Now, it generally figures that things are scarier in the dark, which is how I had seen him before, at night, running along the bank, carrying a hatchet, same as I was now. But in the daylight, I got to tell you, he looked even scarier.

  He was big and stout and was carrying the cane knife. He had on that derby and his hair was all coiled out from under it, twisted up and full of pine needles and leaves and dirt and such; that bird was there, too, dangling. There was a wink of light on his hat, which I seen now had a string fastened to it and was tied under his chin. That wink of light was Constable Sy’s badge pinned to the front of the hat. He had a necklace made out of the hands he had recently chopped off, them that was Constable Sy’s and Gene’s, and the old woman’s, and the blackened hand that had belonged to Terr
y; all of them had a strand of leather run through them, and they flapped against his chest as he run, like they was birds attacking him. He didn’t have his pack on his back, having laid it aside somewhere, and there wasn’t nothing to slow him down. His mouth was open and he had surprisingly good white teeth, and plenty of them. He was making a sound like someone trying to gargle with a turnip; that made the whole story about him having his tongue pulled out make sense. But that wasn’t my concern then. My concern was the path in front of me and the river beyond that and that damn log. I could tell right away I wasn’t going to make it.

  I knew, too, if I turned around and tried to run back to the house I wouldn’t make it there, either. He’d be on me with that cane knife.

  I veered off toward the briar patch. It wasn’t a good idea, but when I seen Skunk coming fast, I didn’t have no more thought than that. I had to dive in or take that cane knife twixt the ears.

  Just before I got to the briar patch, I looked back and seen Skunk with his cane knife raised, and glory hallelujah, he was right on me. And then there came a crack, and all of a sudden Skunk stiffened and then went down. I hesitated, looked toward where the sound had come from. I could see shutters thrown back on the house, Jinx’s shiny black face at the window, that big revolver propped on the windowsill. That was a far and good and unlikely shot, considering she hadn’t been able to hit him on the roof or at the window. It wasn’t no more than blind luck, and it just as easily might have hit me.

  Still, it wasn’t a finisher. It was a flesh wound. Skunk got up and started after me again, walking like he had one foot hung up in a bucket of mud. I heard another shot crack, but this one didn’t hit Skunk. It whined off toward the river.

  I dove into them briars, swinging the ax, trying to chop a way through. All that was doing was slowing me down. I ducked and went through that shallow spot in the briars I had seen before, thinking that might get me away from him, but I could hear him coming, breathing heavy, making a sound that was godawful. I thought at first it was from pain, but it come to me that it was from anger. He was trying to yell at me with no tongue.

  The briars and vines and bushes got thick, and I had to duck more than before to go through, and soon as I ducked, I heard a whistling sound pass over where my head had been. I knew by just sheer luck I had missed getting my head chopped off.

  I hustled on through that low place on my hands and knees. Skunk grabbed one of my feet, tried to pull me to him. I kicked back, and my old shoe come loose of me, and I escaped.

  The tunnel of briars was real narrow now, but that darn Skunk was getting through, coming close, smelling like an open grave. I kept scuttling, and finally the briars widened and there was room to move around, but I felt like one of those fish that had got in a trap and couldn’t go back.

  Getting to my feet, I tried to run, but there was just enough vines to tangle and trip me up. I almost dropped my hatchet cause the thorns had gotten into me, cutting me up something horrible. I saw right in front of me was the riverbank, and I wasn’t no more than a step from it. It fell off there maybe twenty feet to a line of dirt running by the water. It was a good drop, but it seemed better than a cane knife in the head.

  It didn’t matter, though. I was wound up tight in those vines and thorns and couldn’t pull free. I was like a fly in a spiderweb. I knew this was it. I was about to take the Big Siesta. I managed to get my feet under me, but those vines still had me. I leaped at them a few times, trying to break through, but they held me.

  I glanced back. Skunk was hacking through the briar patch, getting closer. He had lost his bowler and the bird hanging from his hair had a lot of its feathers torn out. His face was as cut up as if he had been in a knife fight. He was grinning and right on top of me. He was so close I could see his skin was cracked up with wrinkles and scars; he looked ancient as Satan. He had the cane knife raised. I quit looking back and leaped at the briars again. I felt a terrible pain as the thorns ripped free and the vines broke, and I went tumbling over the riverbank.

  I hit the bank hard on my stomach. The hatchet come loose of my hand and was lying nearby. I wanted to get to it, but couldn’t make myself move cause I couldn’t even breathe; the fall had knocked the breath from me.

  I eventually got my knees under me, but all I could do was roll over on my back. Above me, Skunk was slashing his way through the briars at the edge of the bank, making a gurgling sound. He sprang off his toes to get a good jump, and down he come.

  Well, almost. That big jump wasn’t to his good. His leap carried him up into a tangle of briars that wound around a tree limb and dipped down; they caught up in his hair. One wrapped around his neck. His leap snapped some of the vines loose of his hair, letting him fall and ripping the bird free, but it wasn’t a complete drop. The one around his neck was thick as a man’s wrist. It caught and held him as surely as if he had his head in a noose. He kicked his legs, trying to twist loose. He dropped the cane knife. It fell right between my legs and stuck in the ground, weaving a little back and forth before it stopped shaking. He grabbed at his throat, trying to rip the thick vine off, but it was so tight around his throat he couldn’t get his fingers under it.

  I had my breath by then. I crawled toward the hatchet. I got hold of it, turned, and looked at Skunk. Due to all his kicking, he dropped some more—as far as the thick coil of vine around his neck let him. His eyes was bugged out and his mouth was open; the little nub of what was left of his tongue was thrashing around in there like a little man trying to climb out of a cave. His toes touched the ground, but not enough. He was hung good, and in a short time he quit gagging and moving.

  With the hatchet cocked, I got closer to him, and all of a sudden, he shook a little. I damn near beaned him with that hatchet. But there wasn’t no need. He was dead, and like a chicken with its head cut off, all that had moved him was his nerves and muscles coming unknotted. I could not only smell his awful stink, but the fresh stink of what he had let go in his pants.

  When I realized he was done for, I fell over right there. It was like that time when I had sat down on the log and cried cause I was so overweighted with all manner of business. I started to cry this time, too.

  26

  When I was cried out, I walked along the bank, carrying my hatchet, kind of tiptoeing on my shoeless foot. I come to the spot where our boat had been, where the log I was going to ride was supposed to be. But the rain of the night before had lifted it up and washed it downriver. That gave me a bit of a chill, knowing if I had run down to the river slightly ahead of Skunk, I would have been trapped at its edge, and that even if I had jumped in, he could have swum after me and caught me good. Like it did for Brer Rabbit, that briar patch had saved my life.

  When I got up over the rise and could see the house, I also saw Jinx, who was coming my way, toting the pistol.

  I got closer to her, and then she started running, and so did I, at least a few steps, cause the foot that didn’t have no shoe was full of stickers, and my legs gave out under me like they had on the riverbank. I just sat down and went to crying again. Jinx got to me and threw her arms around me and kissed me on the head, and I kissed her, and we both cried.

  “You got him, didn’t you?” she said. “I knew someone could get him, it would be you.”

  “He got his ownself,” I said, and told her what happened.

  “I started to come help, but then I was afraid if I got killed, wouldn’t be no one to take care of your mama and Terry. Finally, I couldn’t take it no more, and I was coming no matter what, then I seen you walking up.”

  “You did fine,” I said. “It happened real quick. That shot in the leg slowed him down.”

  “Lucky shot.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “You stink.”

  “Skunk touched me.”

  “Ain’t nothing soap and water won’t take care of,” she said, and helped me up. We walked back to the cabin, but I looked over my shoulder a few times as we went, just in case Skunk cou
ld come back from the dead. And I didn’t let go of that hatchet, neither.

  We had quite a reunion when I got to the cabin, though they was anxious for me to heat up some well water and bathe, and after a bit of airing, most of Skunk’s smell went away.

  We ended up staying at that house for a couple days. I found a pair of the old woman’s shoes, which was pretty run-down but better than mine, and took to wearing them. We kept talking about how we was going to bury her again, but I’m ashamed to say we left her leaning up against the house. We just kept them shutters at that window pulled to so as to keep her odor out.

  Me and Jinx caught fish for us to eat, and each time we was out, we went and looked at Skunk hanging where I had left him, just to make sure he was good and dead. And dead he was. Birds had been at him. His eyes was just holes. The flesh around the end of his nose, and his lips, had been pecked at, too. If I thought he stunk before, he stunk twice as much now.

  When Terry had his strength up enough we thought he wouldn’t be as much a burden to Mama, we laid in some squirrels we killed with the shotgun, knowing they wouldn’t last more than a couple of days before they went rancid. But they was good enough eating for three days in a row. We gathered up some berries and some wild grapes. We left Mama with the shotgun. She was the best choice to take care of Terry, provided she remembered how to be a mother. As of late, she’d been right good at it.

  Me and Jinx took a bit of the money from the can in case we needed it. I carried the hatchet, Jinx carried the pistol, and we went walking out. It was a long ways before we come to a road; about two days. We slept out in the open under some trees, and woke up full of red bugs that had crawled up and nested in spots I don’t like to talk about. When we come to that road, we abandoned the pistol and the hatchet, as we felt these might not be the things to carry if we was going to try and bum a ride.

  Well, that need not have been a problem, cause we walked all day and not one car came down that red clay road, least not until we was in sight of a town, and by then it was close enough to walk. The town was Gladewater.