The Barrens & Others

by F. Paul Wilson

  She began chewing at the flesh of her trapped wrist, tearing at it, unmindful of the greater pain, of the running blood. It seemed the natural thing to do, the only thing to do.

  Free! She had to get free!

  3

  Juanita wasn't having much luck tonight. She'd just pushed her shopping cart with all her worldly belongings the length of a narrow alley looking for a safe place to huddle for the night, an alcove or deep doorway, someplace out of sight and out of the wind. A good alley, real potential, but already occupied by someone very drunk and very nasty. She'd moved on.

  Cold. Really felt the cold these days. Didn't know how old she was but knew that her bones creaked and her back hurt and she couldn't stand the cold like she used to. If she could find a place to hide her cart, maybe she could sneak into the subway for the night. Always warmer down there. But when she came up top again all her things might be gone.

  Didn't want to be carted off to no shelter, neither. Even a safe one. Didn't like being closed in, and once they got you into those places they never let you go till morning. Liked to come and go as she pleased. Besides, she got confused indoors and her mind wouldn't work straight. She was an outdoors person. That was where she did her clearest thinking, where she intended to stay.

  As she turned a corner she spotted all the flashing red and blue lights outside a building she remembered as a warehouse but was now a bunch of apartments. Like a child, she was drawn to the bright, pretty lights to see what was going on.

  Took her a while to find out. Juanita allowed herself few illusions. She knew not many people want to explain things to someone who looks like a walking rag pile, but she persisted and eventually managed to pick up half a dozen variations on what had happened inside. All agreed on one thing: a gruesome double murder in the building's elevator involving a naked woman and a half-naked man. After that the stories got crazy. Some said the man had been flayed alive and the woman was wearing his skin, others said the man had cut off the woman's hand, still others said she'd chewed her own hand off.

  Enough. Shuddering, Juanita turned and pushed her cart away. She'd gone only a few yards when she spotted movement as she was passing a shadowed doorway. Not human movement; too low to the ground. Looked like an animal but it was too big for a rat, even a New York City rat. Light from a passing EMS wagon glinted off the thing and Juanita was struck by the thickness of its fur, by the way the light danced and flickered over its surface.

  Then she realized it was a coat – a fur coat. Even in the dark she could see that it wasn't some junky fun fur. This was the real thing, a true, blue, top-of-the-line, utterly fabulous fur coat. She grabbed it and held it up. Mira! Even in the dark she could see how lovely it was, how the fur glistened.

  She slipped into it. The coat seemed to ripple away from her for a second, then it snuggled against her. Instantly she was warm. So warm. Almost as if the fur was generating its own heat, like an electric blanket. Seemed to draw the cold right out of her bones. Must've been ages since she last felt so toasty. But she forced herself to pull free of it and hold it up again.

  Sadly, Juanita shook her head. No good. Too nice. Wear this thing around and someone'd think she was rich and roll her but good. Maybe she could pawn it. But it was probably hot and that would get her busted. Couldn't take being locked up ever again. A shame, though. Such a nice warm coat and she couldn't wear it.

  And then she had an idea. She found an alley like the one she'd left before and dropped the coat onto the pavement, fur side down. Then she knelt beside it and began to rub it into the filth. From top to bottom she covered the fur with any grime she could find. Practically cleaned the end of the alley with that coat. Then she held it up again.

  Better. Much better. No one would recognize it and hardly anybody would bother stealing it the way it looked now. But what did she care how she looked in it? As long as it served its purpose, that was all she asked. She slipped into it again and once more the warmth enveloped her.

  She smiled and felt the wind whistle through the gaps between her teeth.

  This is living! Nothing like a fur to keep you warm. And after all, for those who of us who do our living in the outdoors, ain't that what fur is for?

  foreword to "Pelts" the play

  I'm including this piece because it's the offspring of the preceding story. "Pelts" and its stage adaptation should be read back to back.

  The stage version started at the tail end of March 1990 when I received a call from someone named Al Corley who'd got my number from Joe Lansdale. He said he was putting together a Grand Guignol type production called Screamplay for off Broadway, featuring state of the art special effects and midgets for ushers. Would I be interested in writing a one act play for them?

  My first thought: This is a Lansdale joke. Joe is setting me up.

  But as Al Corley talked on about how they had the Astor Place Theatre reserved, and how Del Close was scheduled to direct, I realized he was serious. So I sent him a copy of Soft & Others plus a few manuscripts of stories that were in the pipeline. He latched onto "Pelts" immediately and suggested I adapt it.

  So while my agent informed the producers of all the unacceptable clauses in their contract, I began the first draft. I started on May 3 and finished it in four days. Al Corley read it and said there was one major problem: I'd written the play just like the story, which meant it had three sets. That was two too many. One set. Do it with one set.

  One set? This was more restrictive than Monsters. But the challenge of distilling the action and interaction down to the bare essentials intrigued me. Took me two days. The revision was completed on July 1.

  The result is almost a different story. What little subtlety there is to be found in the prose version (not much, I grant you) is gone, obliterated by sprays of red. This is a very bloody, busy one act play. But the special effects consultants said the bashed heads and flayings and such were no problem.

  I didn't allow myself to get psyched. I wanted very badly to see this performed, but I'd learned from my experience with THE KEEP not to get emotionally involved until the opening credits begin to roll – and even then, hold back. So I downplayed Screamplay whenever it was brought up.

  Just as well. Screamplay never reached the stage. And that's a damn shame. With material by Nancy Collins and Joe Lansdale and other super talents, dramatized with state of the art live special effects (and let's not forget the midget ushers), Screamplay would have been a very hot ticket among New York's jaded theatergoers. But Wall Street's mini crash in the fall of '90 and the deepening recession through '91 sucked off the financing. Opening was pushed back to March of '91, then postponed indefinitely.

  So here's the one act stage version of "Pelts." This, I think you'll agree, would have been something to see.

  PELTS

  SCENE ONE

  Dawn. The Jersey Pine Barrens.

  (All action in Scene One takes place behind a white translucent screen. Scrub pines are silhouetted on the screen, as are squirming lumps along the floorline.)

  Jeb and Gary (in silhouette) come upon their traps.

  GARY: Lookit, Pa! Lookit the traps! Lookit what we got!

  JEB: I see 'em, boy. Lookit all them beauties! A whole line of 'em! Damn if that ain't a sight to behold!

  GARY: But what on earth are they? They look like raccoons but I ain't never seen–

  JEB: Don't vex me with your pointy headed questions, boy! Who cares what they are? They got the best looking fur I ever seen! Let's get to work!

  As they start pounding at the lumps with their clubs, the theater fills with the THUDDING of the clubs accompanied by high pitched SQUEALS of pain.

  JEB: The heads, boy! Get their heads! How many times I got to tell you not to mess up the pelts?

  GARY: I'm tryin', Pa, but they're squirmin' around so! Hard to get a bead on the little suckers!

  JEB: Just take your time, Gary. Gotta learn to take your time. Just take your time, Gary. Gotta learn to take your time. They's ju
st sitting ducks when they's caught in the leg traps. Look at 'em. All tuckered out from strugglin' all night long to pull free. All you got to do is stroll up to 'em one by one and beat their heads in. No hurry, boy. They's trapped. They ain't goin' nowhere.

  As Jeb and Gary keep pounding at the trapped, huddled, SQUEALING lumps, the lighting on the screen changes slowly to crimson, then BLACKS OUT, leaving only the THUDS and the SQUEALS. Soon those fade as well.

  SCENE TWO

  Evening. The Jersey Pine Barrens. Jeb's barn.

  Both Jeb and Gary are in bloody bib overalls. Jeb sits facing the audience from behind the work bench while Gary moves about down stage. Two blood splattered baseball bats are stacked near the pot belly stove. Jeb is pretty well sloshed on the Jersey lightning (applejack) he's been sipping from a jug. He watches Gary tack the last of the pelts to the stretching boards.

  JEB: (irritable, slurring his words) Ain't you done with them pelts yet? I swear to–

  GARY: Stretchin' the last few now, Daddy.

  JEB: Good! A good day's work! Have we ever had a day like this, boy? Ever?

  GARY: Not as I can recall.

  JEB: Me neither. Never seen anything like it. The whole line of traps and each an' every one with somethin' squirmin' in it. Beautiful sight.

  GARY: Yeah. An' after we was finished and packed up all the critters, I looked back as we was leavin' and there was a bright red spot on the snow by each and every trap. Looked to me like a bloody footed giant had stomped through that field.

  JEB: (sipping and nodding wistfully) Yeah, it did, didn't it? That's almost like poetry. (straightens abruptly and shoots a look at Gary) You ain't turning into no sissy-boy, are you?

  GARY: (laughs) No, Daddy. But I been thinking. Are you sure these things ain't gonna be causin' us trouble?

  JEB: Trouble? What the hell's that supposed to mean?

  GARY: Well, I mean, we did poach 'em off old man Forster's land. You know what they say about his place.

  As Jeb replies, one of the PELTs draped over the top of one of the stretching board MOVES a little. Neither Jeb nor Gary notices.

  JEB: Garbage! Superstitious garbage. I heard all them stories – hunters goin' onto his land and never comin' out, strange noises, weird lights. Garbage! Old man Forster spreads them tales hisself, just like his daddy afore him. Wants to keep everybody off his acreage. Fine. Let the other chickenshits believe that stuff, but it ain't gonna stop me! Hell, we trapped that land today and got away scott free with a goldmine, didn't we, boy! Didn't we?

  GARY: Yeah, we sure did, Daddy. Kind of a strange goldmine, though, dontcha think? I mean, we ain't even sure what kind of animals they was.

  JEB: Who cares! Long as they got great fur. Look how those pelts shimmer. And think! Winter thick! So celebrate, boy! Celebrate!

  As Gary replies, the PELT MOVES and slips over the back of the stretching board.

  GARY: I dunno, Daddy. These things give me a weird feeling. For some reason I been thinkin' 'bout how it'd feel to have your hand caught in a trap so's you'd have to lie in the freezin' snow all night. You think animals feel much pain?

  JEB: (laughs) Not if you hit 'em right. One good whack to the head with a Louisville Slugger ought to do it every time. Although I do remember this tough old coon I trapped once. Had to give him forty whacks before his skull caved in. Plumb like to wore me out. (shoots another hard look at Gary) Ain't going soft on me, are you, boy?

  GARY: No, Daddy. It's just that when we was bustin' their heads this morning, a couple of them...well, sorta held up their paws like they was asking me not to hurt them. It was almost, like...human.

  JEB: (makes a disgusted noise) Speaking of paws, look at this. (tosses a small black object to Gary) Found it stuck in one of the traps.

  GARY: Hey! Looks like a front paw to one of them beasties.

  JEB: Yep. The thing had just finished chewin' it off when we got there but I nailed it afore it got away.

  GARY: (tosses it back to Jeb) Gonna add it to your collection of chew-offs?

  JEB: (holds it up) Nope. Think I'll put this on a chain and make me a necklace out of it. Or maybe I'll give it to Jake when he comes down.

  GARY: Jake the furrier? He's comin'?

  JEB: Yep. Sent him a piece of that first pelt you stripped. He called awhile back. Tried to act cool but I could tell he was all excited. Gonna be here first thing in the morning. Jake's gonna love these. Gonna pay big for 'em too. We're gonna have us some spending money, boy. (takes another pull on the applejack) Yep. Gonna have some long green for once. (mumbling, head sinking toward the table) Maybe we oughta catch a coupla those beasties alive, stick 'em inna cage... mate 'em...get into the fur farmin' business...

  Jeb's head sinks onto the table (the crown of his head toward the audience) and he begins to snore.

  Gary begins to move the stretching boards around. As he slides one between Jeb and the audience (allowing Jeb to be replaced by a dummy), he stops. He lifts his arm from behind the board and sees a PELT CLINGING to his forearm. He tries to shake it loose as he finishes pushing the stretching board (moving it clear of the table), but another pelt begins clinging to his other arm. Suddenly Gary's expression goes slack and he stops trying to remove the pelts. He walks over by the potbelly stove, reaches for his bloody bat, then pulls back.

  GARY: No!

  Gary struggles with himself as his hands slowly reach out and pick up the bloody bat. He turns and approaches Jeb's slumbering form. As Gary stands over Jeb, he slowly raises the wavering bat, fighting it all the way.

  GARY: Oh, no! Oh please, God, no!

  With a wail of horror, he smashes the bat down on his father's head, caving it in amid a spray of red. He raises the bat and clubs Jeb again. And again. When Jeb's head is a bloody ruin, Gary slumps to his knees next to his father SOBBING. Abruptly the SOBBING STOPS as Gary gets back to his feet. He holds the bat before his face.

  GARY: Please, no! Sweet Jesus, no!

  He slams the bat into his face with a loud, wet SMACK and an explosion of red. And again – another SMACK. And as the lights BLACK OUT we hear the bat SMACK into Gary's face again and again... over and over...

  SCENE THREE

  Jeb's barn the next morning. The barn is bloody. The pelts are still there, but no bodies are in sight.

  JAKE AND SHANNA ENTER. Both are dressed in fur coats.

  SHANNA: Eeeuuuh! Jake, lookit all the blood!

  JAKE: What did you expect, Shanna? I'm a furrier. This is one of the places I get my pelts. Fur doesn't grow on trees. It grows on little animals. And it's gotta be peeled off their backs before you can wear it.

  SHANNA: (grimacing) Please. I haven't had breakfast yet.

  JAKE: Wonder where Jeb and the kid are? Weren't up at the house. (picks up Jeb's jug and sniffs) Whew! Jersey lightning! Looks like Jeb's been hitting the applejack again. Probably dead drunk somewhere. Or waking up with one helluva headache.

  SHANNA: I don't know why I let you talk me into coming here.

  JAKE: Hey, Shanna. Gimme a break. We've had a good professional relationship the last few years, haven't we? I told you: This is business. Purely business. The modeling business.

  SHANNA: Then I should've had you call my agency and talk to them. Where the hell are we, anyway?

  JAKE: The Jersey Pine Barrens. A coupla million acres of wilderness. Real wilderness. I mean there are stretches in here no human eye has ever seen. And all just an hour's drive from Seventh Avenue.

  SHANNA: (buffing her nails) Fascinatin', Jake. Just fascinatin'. But what's this gotta do with me? You think this is a neat location for a shoot or something? It ain't.

  JAKE: I don't care about a shoot site –

  SHANNA: Then why are we here?

  JAKE: If old Jeb's got a stock of pelts that are anything like this...

  Jake's voice fades as he notices the pelts arrayed around the barn. As he strides from one stretching board to another, Shanna pulls a pamphlet from her coat pocket and begins to read.
<
br />   JAKE: (excited) Look at them! Look at them! Where on earth did that old fox get them? They're magnificent!

  Jake inspects the last stretching board, then straightens up.

  JAKE: Exquisite! What a coat these'll make! Look at the color! I never seen such a perfect match! They won't need to be dyed! Shanna! Look at these!

  SHANNA: (glances up from the pamphlet) Hah?

  JAKE: Aren't you listening? What's that?

  SHANNA: Just one of those pamphlets those animal rights nuts left all over your car. Listen to this: "Animals should not have to sacrifice their skins to feed human vanity." (laughs) Are they nuts or what? (talks to the pamphlet) Ay, if God didn't want us to look great in furs, why'd he make animals with great lookin' fur? Huh? Tell me that!

  JAKE: (taking the pamphlet from her) Forget that. Take a look at these, will you. They're magnificent! (holds up a pelt) And they're gonna make a magnificent coat, Shanna. When it's made, I want you to wear it for me

  SHANNA: Jake, I don't do fur shows anymore. I'm shooting for bigger things.

  JAKE: Something bigger this'll get you. Trust Jakey. This coat will put you on the cover of every major fashion magazine in the world.

  SHANNA: Jake–

  JAKE: Wait. Just give these a look. Touch them. Feel them. Aren't they fabulous?

  Jake holds out the pelt to Shanna. It's beautiful. The fur shimmers and glistens. Little streaks of iridescence run through it.

  Shanna glances at it, turns away, then turns back. Without coming too close, she walks around it, viewing it from all angles, almost mesmerized by it. She looks at Jake questioningly. He holds it out toward her, nodding encouragement. Finally Shanna takes the pelt and runs her hands over it.

  JAKE: It's going to look fabulous on you, Shanna. Absolutely fabulous!

  Shanna's eyes glaze as she envisions the coat these will make. She knows she must model this coat but isn't sure how to go about it with Jake.