by Tobias Wade
Her eyes swept the property and then landed back on mine. “You plan on wearin’ clothes while you workin’ so hard pluggin’ dem leaks an all dat?”
I realized all of a sudden that I was still in my boxers and boots from earlier. My right hand hung heavy with the weight of the pistol. And as I took a step backward, I realized to my horror that I was erect and sporting out of the front of my shorts! I dared not look down. I dared not move. I didn’t know what to do or say. Humiliated is too weak a word. Devastated? Maybe. Horrified—certainly. The girl, however, seemed not to care.
“Imma head on up the road now. Nice meeting you, Monsieur. I’ll be seeing you again soon.”
And with that, she wandered back onto the road, humming a little tune under her breath. As soon as I could be sure she wasn’t looking, I spun around, shoved my cock back into my shorts, and ran back inside to put on my jeans. I walked to the back as I pulled my shirt on, thinking that this had been one of the longest and strangest mornings of my life only to see that the percolator had not yet started to boil, and it would still be several minutes before the coffee was even ready. I thought about the girl who had just saved my life. I tried to think of her fortuitous arrival and her almost hypnotic control over the herd of hogs. It was nothing short of amazing.
Not only that, but although she had been dressed as an extra from a History Channel show, the figure under her costume was… sublime. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been so overcome by such pure lust. I tried to shake off the thought because it just didn’t make sense. She was just a girl. She did save my life, true. So maybe that had something to do with it. But even so, even now as the percolator boiled and I had so many things to do today, I closed the doors and leaned against a wall and stroked myself until I came so hard it hurt.
Afterwards, I felt as if a spell had been broken. I told myself it was just a matter of having been a few days separated from Becky and the combination of excitement, fear, and ah, fuck it, let’s throw the whisky in there too because lord knows I need as many fucking excuses as I can get, right? Right.
I climbed into the attic to find the source of the drip. Sure enough, there was some wet insulation and I could see where the roof had leaked. I marked it and went to the hardware store to get some shingles to repair it. Luckily, it appeared to be a new leak, so there was no other damage. I finished the deck and began pacing off the yard for fencing when the carpet guys arrived. The appliances arrived a bit later and by midday we had power. When everything was finished, and all the crews had gone, I packed up the truck and drove home to see my wife and child.
Within days we had the house ready for the movers and listed with our realtor. Becky and I packed our most immediate necessities in our own vehicles, buckled Jason into his car seat, and hit the road. Upon arrival at the new place, we got busy. After the incident with the hogs, I ordered an eight-foot chain-link fence to be installed around the yard. The way they had come up on me without me even realizing they were there had scared me to the core. No way my kid was going to be playing outside without a barrier to protect him.
After that, we settled into our normal routines. I saw no sign of any hogs or mysterious neighbors and after weeks of getting used to the rural life, that strange Saturday morning had almost been forgotten. We’d had two solid bites and an offer on the house in the meantime and it looked as if we were going to have that business completed soon. I stood on the porch flipping burgers while Becky sat at the table sipping a glass of wine.
“So now that we have the house pretty much the way we want it, what do you want to do next?” she asked.
“You mean instead of patching yet another roof leak?”
“I said we should just get roofers out here, but you said no.”
I rolled my eyed and huffed. “That was before I started an unending game of whack-a-mole with the fricken’ drip monster.”
“Monsters go RAWR!” said Jason from his spot on the floor.
“Yes, they do, little man, yes they do,” said Becky.
“Sometimes they go DRRRRIP!” I said. Then to Becky, “Seriously, though—you really want to spend six or eight grand on a roof for a house that probably won’t be here in two years? All we have to do is plug the leaks and limp this old hoss to the finish line. If everything goes right, we’ll meet with the builder right after we close next week.”
But that didn’t stop the leaking; there was another one within a few days. Every time it rained, there was a new leak. Fair enough, the roof was probably original to the house and from patching it, I could tell that it really needed to be replaced. But economics and pure stubbornness kept me up there patching rather than replacing.
I happened to be on the roof one day when a man came up the drive and waved at me. He was a black man who looked to be in his sixties. He wore an old-fashioned western shirt with pearl snaps and canvas khaki-colored pants over black cowboy boots. He nodded and tipped his white straw hat at me.
I waved to him, placed my hammer in my belt loop and made my way down the ladder to meet him. “Good morning!” I said.
He smiled and nodded, “Good morning to you.”
I removed my gloves and reached out to shake his hand. “Jim Campbell.”
He nodded again and shook. “Mmm Hmm. You’re fixing up Ole Mr. Johnson’s place.”
I looked back at the house. “Uh, yep. Uh, did you know him?”
The cowboy looked up at me with a strange gleam in his eye. “Yes sir, I did. I know, well, just about everybody.” He raised his arms and looked around.
“You’ve been here for a long time, then,” I said, “Seems like a nice place.”
He nodded and smiled wide, as if he was holding onto the punch line to a joke that only he found funny. “It can be. Now, don’t let me go off and forget my manners. My girl told me she come up here and saved a city slicker from gettin’ tore up by some hogs. I told her I didn’t believe it none as the Johnson place keeps getting stuck with the lawyers so much people think it’s cursed. So, when I heard you hammerin’ I grabbed my hat and come to see it for myself.”
I looked back over my shoulder, “I don’t know that it’s cursed so much as neglected. But, it’ll do until we can get the big house built next year.”
“I wonder, can I trouble you for a drink? Maybe some sweet tea?”
“Uh, of course. Come on in.”
We went inside and I offered him what was there in the fridge which was mostly bottled water and a couple cans of beer. Becky had taken Jason with her on a grocery run that morning and left me to work on the roof, so our stock would be low until she returned. The old man took a Coors and cracked the top. He looked at me and shrugged, “I stopped caring what time it was a long time ago.”
I laughed before deciding I’d have one too. We went to the back and sat on the porch and sipped our beers at ten in the morning. “So how long have you been here?”
His eyes rolled up a bit as if calculating, he then started counting off his fingers one by one. “Well, when it’s all said and done we been here one hundred and sixty-one years.”
“That is a long time. Your family must have been one of the first ones here.”
“We were. You see, back then the world weren’t no good place for no negros. One was either slave or freedman or…” He waved his hand around dismissively. “Aw hell. Even if you had papers that said you were free, sometimes they’d take ‘em away and cart your black ass on back to the market.”
“So, your ancestors found a way out?”
“Damn right. We pulled up roots and headed west. We come out here deep into Texas territory and found this little group of Germans trying to set up a town. We offered to be employed and things were good.” He looked out toward the woods, “Till the war started, then them fool Germans run off and got themselves killed, leaving their wives and children behind. T’was a terrible mess.”
“Oh wow. What happened?”
The cowboy looked at me an
d sniffled, “We jumped their claim, locked ‘em in irons and made ‘em pick our damn cotton, that’s what!”
I sat there stunned. What had he just said? Did he really mean…?
“Got you!” He laughed and slapped his knee. Aw, y’all city boys just take it don’t ya? I don’t know how we come to be here anymore than nobody. I just like messing with folks.”
I couldn’t help but wonder at how strange this old fellow was. And even with the laughing and the gentle ribbing, I couldn’t help but feel like the truth was buried somewhere in there. Like the story was mostly true with elements either changed or left out. I laughed a little nervously and my visitor stood up.
“Well, thanks for the laugh and for the drink but I gotta be movin’ on. Got things needing my attention this morning.”
“I understand,” I said, relieved that it was his idea to go. We walked back through the house and out the front door.
“Well it was nice meeting you mister, uh, I didn’t catch your name.”
“You can call me Jack,” he said with a grin, “It’s as good a name as any.”
“Okay Mr. Jack, you have a good day.”
“Yessir, I will. Oh, one more thing. Old Mr. Johnson and I used to spend occasional Sunday evenings playing cards over a cigar and some sweet tea, if that’s something that suits you.”
I eyed this strange man standing in my driveway and admonished myself for being defensive. Here was an old man whose friend died more than twenty years before looking for someone to spend time with. I smiled and said, “You’re on. Next week okay?”
“Next week jus’ fine. You be careful up on that roof, sir.”
“I will. See you next Sunday.”
He was already walking toward the road and raised a hand to wave. Then he was gone.
Becky and Jason got home a couple hours later. We put away the groceries and played in the yard, enjoying one of the last tolerable spring days before the summer heat would kick in and send us running for our air conditioner. We sat in the grass rolling a ball to one another; Jason giggling happily as he toddled around trying to catch it. Becky went inside to get drinks and I caught and tickled my son. It was a good day.
A little while later, as Becky and Jason chased each other around, I glanced up and saw two hogs standing near the trail to the clearing. One was huge and sported almost comically large and uneven tusks. The other was smaller and stood next to its companion. They did nothing but stand still and watch us, but the way they did it put me on edge.
“Becky, get Jason inside,” I said. I followed them in and retrieved my hunting rifle, a bolt-action 30-06 that had been my father’s, and walked back outside. The hogs were still there. I raised the rifle to my shoulder and spotted the large one in my scope. As I steadied my aim, I realized that I had seen this animal before. The uneven tusks were a dead giveaway. But it was also impossible. These were the hogs I had seen in the dream I’d had about Guillermo Rivas being attacked. Yet here they were in my field.
I took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. The report was deafening, and I quickly worked the bolt to cycle another round. If I could, I would take the pair. But when I drew down on them again, they were both still standing there, casually staring back down at me. I lined up another shot and fired but again they stood unmolested. There was no way I could have missed twice! I cycled the bolt once more and aimed a third time, fired, and then watched as the two hogs walked casually back into the woods.
I went inside and told Becky that I’d missed and that there must be something wrong with my scope, but I didn’t believe it. I had taken countless deer with this rifle and had never needed to adjust the scope more than a couple of clicks either way in over a decade. The worst possible shot I could make at that range should have still hit somewhere. To miss outright was impossible. I told her to keep her pistol handy when going outside from now on, just in case and I spent the rest of the evening researching hog traps and containment systems online.
That night, I had a dream. I was in the clearing and the phantom house I’d seen was whole. On one side, there was a plot with crops coming up and on the other was a corral with several horses. Whoever lived here was doing well. It was still some distance away and I began to walk toward it. When I took my first step, however, the hog with the uneven tusks ran into the path and blocked my way. I reached for my pistol, which in my dream was a toy cap gun from my childhood. I fired anyway but it had no effect on the animal as it walked toward me grunting.
“Best not let him bite you, Monsieur,” said a voice from behind me. I turned to see the girl who’d saved me weeks before but this time she was nearly naked, wearing only a small linen skirt around her thin waist. Her head wrap was gone as well and thin dreadlocks fell about her shoulders. At once I was overcome by an almost panicked lust. I suddenly felt as if I was moving through very deep and warm water and I knew instinctively that this was all wrong—the setting, the company, and especially the seductress who licked her smiling lips and beckoned me to follow her to God-knows-where.
I took a step back and the hog grunted louder. I could hear it pawing at the ground. “You’ve had a hard day, Monsieur, come and let Miss Lucie feel you better, oui?”
Stepping away from the hog brought me closer to the girl who in turn took another step toward me with arms outstretched. I looked away from her and the hog to the house which now had smoke and flames pouring out of the windows. The hog stepped forward. I moved away from it. The girl wrapped her arms about my shoulders and chest and began kissing my neck.
Unimaginable pleasure ripped through me all at once. I could feel her breasts pressing against my back as her lips moved to my ear. All attempts at resistance fell away and my knees buckled as she pulled me to the ground. I lay on my back as she straddled me and traced designs on my chest with her long fingernails. Although I knew it was a dream, it was still just as real, or even more real somehow than reality. My mind recoiled as my body relented. I felt her touch hot on my chest, each kiss the most exquisite torture I’d ever felt.
Suddenly, Lucie’s head snapped up and her countenance changed. Where before she’d had her head thrown back and her eyes closed in sexual abandon, now she was staring at me angrily. The hog squealed and snorted nervously as I felt a hand that was not Lucie’s slide down my chest toward my crotch. Lucie hissed before fading. The whole scene fell apart as I came awake to Becky slowly stroking me and kissing my neck.
“Sounded like you were having a good dream,” she whispered, “Thought I’d join you.”
I turned to her as she kissed me, then we made love furiously, quietly, in the tiny old house in the middle of the deep, dark woods.
Afterwards, as she slept quietly next to me, fear settled in. Something was horribly wrong here. Something horrible had happened here. Something horrible was still happening here. And we had moved in next door to it.
A week later I found the true source of the roof leaks. I had been in the attic trying to take some measurements. I had planned to lay down some plywood and make some flooring so that we could use part of the attic for storage. When I was up there, I touched a piece of the plywood decking and when I did, I came away wet. The wood had gotten dry rot and deteriorated to a spongy gray mass. I watched rivulets of water running in several directions at once, all ending their journey through the attic with an audible drip. Here was the ultimate culprit. Here, this would end.
I bought the plywood, tarpaper, and other supplies I needed and spent the whole day on the roof tearing out shingles and hoping that this would solve the issue once and for all. Occasionally I paused to look out toward the clearing and wonder what I might find if I walked to that back corner with a shovel or an axe. Might I find old tin cups and medicine bottles; signs that someone had lived in that spot before? Or might I find ancient cinders instead? Melted glass. Maybe charred bones; signs that someone had died there long ago? I turned back to my work and pushed the thought out of my head. The truth is, I didn’
t want to know.
I sat on the porch taking a break for a moment when Becky came out with a large pitcher of iced tea. She poured us both a glass and gave me a pep talk and a promise of some fun once I showered and burned my clothes. I was drinking to that suggestion when Jack came sauntering up the road and through the gate. He was dressed the same as last time except for now his hat was black instead of white and looked newer. I complimented him on the hat. He tipped it to Becky, thanked me for the compliment and then pulled a deck of cards from his shirt pocket.
“It too early to get up a game?”
Becky looked at me and frowned. I shrugged. I had mentioned to her that a neighbor may be stopping by for a while, but it was early and I was in the middle of a chore that could not be left undone.
“Actually,” I said, “It is a bit early. I’ve got at least another hour or two fixing the roof. You want to come back maybe five or so?”
With nimble fingers, Jack cut the cards and flipped them over themselves. “One hand. You win, I’ll come back at five. I win, we play now and I’ll help you fix the roof my own self later on.”
I stared at him for a second as he twirled the deck on one finger. This guy was good. I could tell that at some point in his life, Old Mister Jack had been something of a hustler.
“Uh, that’s great and all but I really need to get this done. It’s supposed to rain later and there’s a big hole in my roof that I need to have patched by dark.”
Jack shrugged. “Have it your way then.” He shuffled and cut the cards before pulling one and putting it at the bottom of the deck. “Burn,” he said, then turned the top card over. “Jack of Clubs.” He turned the second card over, “King of Diamonds. You win, I’ll see you at five.” He winked and walked back out of the gate.
“Ooookay?” said Becky as the gate banged shut behind him. “Your friends are weird.”
I finished the roof and got showered and changed. Jason was up from his nap, which itself had been an amazing thing to have happened given I had been pounding on the roof all day. He sat on the floor playing with his trucks as Becky and I sat on the sofa enjoying each other’s company, watching a movie on Netflix. At five on the dot there was a knock at the door. I was really not in the mood for guests and gave a groan as I hoisted myself from the couch. “I’ll see if we can’t reschedule.”
