Popcorn Thief

by Cutter, Leah

  “That he’s a bitch about to get his ass kicked? Yeah, I heard that,” Darryl said, sounding mean.

  Franklin didn’t care. It still felt good to get back at Darryl for all those years of teasing.

  Out behind Lexine’s house, the trees had been cut back further, giving Lexine a place for a garden. Franklin was going to have to come out and tend it once a week or so, until they’d settled what they was gonna do with her place. Tall okra plants grew along one side, standing like prickly guards. Lexine’s purple and red heirloom tomatoes needed harvesting. The yellow and green striped squashes were nearly ripe as well. Franklin didn’t know what to do with all her herbs—sage, oregano, rosemary, thyme, basil, and others. Maybe he could dry ’em out, like Lexine had, and sell ’em in town.

  Darryl scouted from the cabin to Lexine’s garden, then back again, then out, walking in wider circles, always examining the earth, looking for some footprint or clue or the hint of a trail. He reminded Franklin of a hound trying to catch a scent.

  At the edge of the woods, where the path started, Darryl called Franklin over. “Something came through here recently. It was big, moving fast. See this broken twig?”

  Franklin winced. That damage had probably been caused by him, leaving with his bike. “Ghosts don’t generally go through things, or along paths. They just disappear and reappear.”

  “Something went this way. Come on. It’s as good a place to start as any.”

  “You know this path leads back to the main road, right?” Franklin called after Darryl as he hurried along, the bushes slapping at his legs. At least this time Franklin was better prepared, wearing thick jeans and boots.

  “Yeah,” Darryl said, unerringly turning where Franklin had turned, taking the same trail. “So maybe it isn’t some kind of spirit we’re hunting. Maybe it had some human help.”

  “Okay,” Franklin said, though he knew it wasn’t the case. If anything, the spirit had had ghostly help, from Gloria.

  Were Gloria and the spirit connected? If so, what connected them? How were they connected? They’d both shown up at about the same time. . . .

  Darryl stopped just before they took the final left to the highway. Sunlight filtered down through the pines above them. The air felt still and thick. He swung his head to the right and the left, his back hunched, like a left guard about to make a flying tackle. He held up his hand and kept looking around, his eyes growing unfocused, his mouth slack.

  Was that what Franklin looked like? When he talked with a ghost? Darryl didn’t seem to be all there anymore.

  No wonder people thought Franklin was crazy, if he looked that way.

  Suddenly, Darryl took off again through the woods, going a different direction. They weren’t following no proper path—it was more like a deer trail.

  Franklin hadn’t ever gone this way before, though he was sure Lexine had: She’d know every inch of land surrounding hers, and probably all the property marked private as well.

  Branches grew across the path that Darryl leaped over with ease. He slid to the left or right, avoiding brambles gracefully. Not a leaf stirred as he ran, and his footsteps were silent.

  Franklin had never seen his cousin move that way. Had Darryl’s sight lent the hick a grace he’d never had before?

  Squirrels chittered at them from above. Some small creature—a rabbit, probably—bounded away through the dry leaves of the underbrush as they came up. The cicadas kept up their deafening cries. Franklin felt a headache creeping up from the back of his skull.

  Darryl paused at the edge of a clearing. It was barely fifteen feet across, just a pause in the trees.

  Franklin looked out and felt his heart push hard against his chest.

  What the fuck was that?

  On the far side of the clearing hung a gray dust devil. It was maybe three feet tall, and another couple wide. It could have been a tumbleweed, but it had black vines growing through it, laced with sharp thorns. It floated two feet off the ground, whirling in place.

  Even from where they stood, Franklin felt it radiating evil. Its intent was clear: It hated him and all those like him, viewed them as competitors and prey. It planned on getting rid of all of them, dipping its thorns into their flesh, ripping out what made them special.

  “Shit,” Darryl said. “We got to help him.”

  “What? Are you crazy?” Franklin said, reaching out and grabbing Darryl’s arm. That thing didn’t need their help.

  Without warning, the thing whirled toward them, arms failing, intent on cutting them to ribbons. Franklin tried holding Darryl back but his stubborn cousin shook him off and walked into the clearing.

  The thing disappeared before Darryl reached the other edge.

  Only then did Franklin see the man on the ground.

  * * *

  “Hey, Mister, you okay?” Darryl asked as he knelt down.

  The man lay just under the edge of the trees. The cicadas cycled up loudly, filling the air with their screeching. Smells of mulching leaves and black dirt floated up.

  “Is he breathing?” Franklin asked as he came up.

  “Yeah, he’s still alive,” Darryl said.

  Franklin looked over Darryl’s shoulder. The man was white, mid-fifties he’d guess, and probably some kind of bum, given how beat up and dirty his clothes were, how the dirt was caked along the wrinkles of his face, and how blistered up and sunburnt his hands were. He had gouges in his right cheek where the thing had attacked him, the same gouges that Franklin had seen in the businessman’s face, and the two long scars running down Adrianna’s cheek.

  “Water,” Darryl snapped at Franklin.

  Franklin shrugged off his backpack and handed over his extra bottle. The man looked in bad shape.

  “What do you think he was doing here?” Darryl asked.

  “He was being attacked,” Franklin said quietly. “See the gouges on his face?”

  “That thing? Was it here?” Darryl asked as he wet a kerchief and washed the man’s face.

  “Yeah. It was standing right over him,” Franklin said. He shivered. He had no idea what the hell that creature was. It wasn’t natural, though. It wasn’t a regular spirit. Why could he see it? Normally, he only saw ghosts.

  “Why didn’t you shoot it?” Darryl demanded.

  “I—I—it don’t matter. You’ll be able to track it again,” Franklin protested. “Besides, there was this guy here.”

  “All right,” Darryl said with a sigh. He turned back to the bum. “Come on, buddy, there you go.” He raised the man up a little and tried giving him a drink of water.

  The man sputtered and coughed, then heaved a huge sigh before he opened his eyes. At the sight of the pair of them, he suddenly sat up and scrambled backwards, trying to get away.

  “Hey, hey!” Darryl said, reaching out and grabbing the guy’s leg so he couldn’t get away. “We ain’t here to hurt you.”

  The man reached up and touched his cheek gingerly. “Yeah?” he said, disbelieving.

  “We didn’t do that,” Franklin assured him. “Look, I’m Franklin, this here’s my cousin Darryl.”

  “Billy,” the man said. He looked fearfully beyond them out into the clearing. “You sure it wasn’t some kind of dog or trained wild animal? Something that’s with you two?” His voice sounded like sandpaper roughed over hard stones.

  Franklin didn’t bother pointing out that an animal that was wild was the opposite of trained.

  “It wasn’t us,” Darryl said. “Or any animal we have with us. It’s—wild. We was tracking it.”

  Billy nodded. “I ain’t never seen anything like it before. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t some kind of trick that you two pulled.”

  Darryl rolled his eyes, but Franklin asked, “What did you see?”

  “Some kind of whirling light. Calling to me, out here, under the trees,” Billy said. “Haven’t been hitting the hooch today,” he added defensively. Then he paused. “Okay, only a bit, though. So I followed it. Then it attacked me.” He l
ooked suspiciously at Franklin and Darryl again.

  “We came up while it was standing over you. You were down on the ground,” Franklin said. “We chased it off.”

  “You still should have shot it,” Darryl complained.

  Billy shook his head. “Won’t catch that thing with guns.”

  “What do you mean?” Franklin asked. “What do you think it was?”

  “Evil,” Billy countered. He looked straight at Franklin, his watery brown eyes suddenly sharp and clear. “And the only thing that’ll combat that thing is love.”

  Darryl scoffed. “Right. We’re supposed to hug it to death. No, we got good rock salt here, ready to blast it to bits.”

  “Do you think that’ll work?” Billy asked Franklin, ignoring Darryl.

  “It likes salty things,” Franklin replied. He really didn’t know what else to do.

  “Right, which is why it was licking my cheek,” Billy said sarcastically. “That thing’s a killer. And it’ll come back after me, won’t it?”

  Franklin hesitated, but he had to tell Billy the truth. “Yeah, it might. But I ain’t never seen anything like it before, so I don’t know for certain.”

  “Okay. Guess I better go break the law, then,” Billy said as he heaved himself up.

  Franklin and Darryl stood as well. “What do you mean?” Franklin asked.

  “He breaks the law, he’ll be thrown in jail for the night, maybe two. You think a few bars are gonna stop that thing?” Darryl asked.

  “Nope,” Billy replied. “But being around a bunch of other folks will. It drew me out here, away from the others. Now, they’re a sorry group. I wouldn’t trust ’em with my sister, and she’s both a black belt and a whore. They’re too confused to be much help. But a nice clean jail cell with a bunch of cameras? That thing’ll swerve off.”

  “Why do you think it called you, and not the others?” Franklin asked before Billy turned to go.

  “Don’t know if it was calling just me or not,” Billy said. “But I was the only one who heard it.” He shrugged. “Just thought it was another one of those damned voices. Thank you for the water,” he said, nodding his head at Darryl. “And thanks for the warning.” Then he turned and tramped off through the woods.

  “Should we go after him?” Franklin asked Darryl quietly. Was it safe for him here in the woods? How long before that thing came after him again? Or would it go after someone else now?

  “Do you want him sleeping on your front porch?” Darryl replied. “’Cause he can’t go home with me. You gonna give him a ride on the front of your bicycle?”

  Franklin sighed. Darryl was right. He just wished he could do something more.

  “He’ll be all right,” Darryl assured Franklin. “Now, let’s get back on the trail.”

  Franklin let himself be persuaded. Billy would be fine. He’d be able to take care of himself. He’d probably been doing it for a long time.

  “Where was that thing standing?” Darryl asked, trying to distract Franklin.

  “Right where we are,” Franklin told him. “Like a goddamn cloud.”

  “Let’s go rain on its day then,” Darryl said.

  * * *

  Franklin was ready to go home. All the woods looked the same to him at this point—same trees, same brambles, same damn heat and noise. His water was gone, he’d soaked through his clothes with sweat—so bad it was like he’d gone swimming in them. He was sure he had blisters on his toes, on his heels, even on his thighs. And he was going to have to work in the morning.

  “Come on, Cuz,” Darryl said. “Let’s just try it one more time. Go back to Lexine’s cabin and search again.”

  Franklin shook his head. “I’m tired,” he complained. Then the woods backed off a little and Franklin walked into an open space. “Is this the clearing where we saw Billy?”

  Darryl gave him a look that just said Duh.

  “Instead of going back to Lexine’s, how about we go find where Billy first saw the thing? Go to that hobo camp? ”

  “That’s a good idea,” Darryl said. He knelt down next to the spot where they’d found Billy, then stood back up, peering intently. “This way. Come on.”

  The trail seemed obvious, even to Franklin. His heart lurched when he realized why: Billy had been in worse shape than they’d realized, barely walking straight, breaking branches left and right.

  They should have stayed with him, or gotten him some help, or maybe a lift into town, or something.

  Darryl walked faster. Was he feeling as guilty as Franklin?

  They smelled the camp before they saw it, the wind carrying the stink of unwashed men. It was just four of them, camped in a gully, surrounded by pines. Two of the men lay passed out, their filthy blankets over their faces, while their bare feet and legs stuck out, unprotected. A third man lay curled on his side, around his pack, like he was drowning and it would save him.

  The last man sat propped up against a tree. He had a filthy beard but a shaved head. A once white T-shirt rode up on his chest, exposing a fat belly and tied-off pants. He waved at them before taking another swig of something brown in an unmarked bottle.

  There wasn’t any sign of Billy.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Franklin said, trying to be as polite as Mama would want him to be. “Do you know where Billy is?”

  “Who?” the guy asked. He scratched at his bare belly with his blackened fingernails and belched.

  “White guy, brown eyes, hears voices,” Darryl said, bored. He reached behind him and drew his gun out of his pack, then held it casually, barrel down.

  The guy spit to one side. “He said he was being hounded by the winds from Hell. But he’s always saying things like that. The creek’s over that way. You might find him there.”

  “Thank you,” Franklin said as they turned to go. “What do you want to bet they’ll all be cleared out by the time we get back?” he asked Darryl.

  “Pretty safe bet,” Darryl said with a grin. “As they should be. Woods aren’t safe,” he added seriously.

  The stream—an offshoot of Wolf River—lay like a black ribbon between the trees. Rocks the size of cars lay casually piled on the bank, as well as across the water.

  Billy lay in the middle of the stream, looking like he was sunbathing naked on one of the big rocks.

  But this time, they was too late to save him.

  * * *

  “Should have known it’d be you finding the body,” Sheriff Thompson told Franklin sourly. They stood out on the blacktop, next to the police cruiser. Though the sun was finally setting, the baked road still held the heat of the day. Bats chittered above them, going to do their duty. The pine scent had died, and the woods felt more ominous as it got darker.

  “Me?” Franklin asked. “Why me?” Shit. Had the cops figured out he’d been out at Lexine’s place?

  “Weird stuff happens around you. And your family. I don’t like it,” the sheriff said, running his finger and thumb along his mustache, stroking it slowly.

  “We don’t like—” Darryl started hotly.

  “Weird stuff happens to lots of families,” Franklin countered, interrupting Darryl before he said something that got them both thrown in jail.

  The sheriff looked at Darryl, then at Franklin. “I want to see both of you down at the judicial center, in my office, tomorrow morning, first thing.”

  “Sir, I’ve got work—” Franklin said.

  “I’m sure your boss’ll understand.” Sheriff Thompson paused. “It isn’t just about this. It’s about Lexine, as well.” His hard piercing eyes bored into Franklin.

  Damn it. Should he just confess that he was there? Get it over with?

  “All right. We’ll be there,” Darryl said, grabbing Franklin’s arm. “Can we go?”

  “Yeah,” the sheriff said. “See you in the morning.”

  Franklin and Darryl turned back up the road, going the long way back up to Lexine’s cabin, where Darryl’s truck and Franklin’s bike were still parked. It would have been shorte
r going through the woods, but even Darryl was hesitant to go back into that darkness.

  “Want to tell me what the hell is going on with you?” Darryl asked once they’d walked far enough up the road to be out of earshot.

  “What do you mean?” Franklin asked, startled.

  “You were leaking guilt like a sieve,” Darryl stated. “What were you going to confess back there?”

  Franklin sighed. He could tell Darryl, right? “I was out in Lexine’s cabin. The morning the cops found her. I was in the cabin when I heard the sirens. That first trail we followed? That was me, high-tailing it outta there.”

  “Shit.”

  They trudged on for a bit in silence.

  “I should just tell them,” Franklin said.

  “No. You should not. You don’t ever tell any cop anything about your business,” Darryl said adamantly.

  “Then there’s the corn,” Franklin added.

  “What corn?”

  “Didn’t the cops tell you? I’d thought they’d told the family,” Franklin said. At Darryl’s blank look, Franklin continued. “They found cobs of corn next to Lexine’s body.”

  “What the hell?” Darryl asked. “How’d they get there?”

  “One of my ghosts,” Franklin confessed. “Normally, a ghost can’t lift something that heavy. I don’t know how she managed it. Then to travel there with them—no idea.”

  “Are they from your crop?” Darryl asked.

  Franklin shook his head. “I’ve checked. I don’t see nothing missing.”

  “Then where’s this ghost of yours getting them from?”

  Franklin sighed. “Karl Metzger.”

  “Wait, the guy who’s always beating you at the state fair?”

  “I’m surprised you remember his name,” Franklin said dryly. “But yeah. Him. Karl. I think him and the ghost—Gloria—they had something. Maybe.” He still didn’t know if Karl had loved Gloria or not, but Franklin figured Gloria did care for Karl.

  “So she’s stealing his corn?” Darryl asked.

  “Yeah.” Franklin thought for a moment. “You remember what Billy said about getting arrested? That being around a bunch of folks would stop that thing?”