“It was almost midnight and ol’ Sam was plum tuckered out. He sat down on the edge of the swamp and let it all pour out, he cried like a newborn.
“I must say, Mr. Lake, you don’t seem to have handled your success very well, have you?” came a voice from out of the dark.
Sam looked up and saw his old friend. “Mr. Webb, I’m so glad I’ve found you. No, you’re right. Things haven’t turned out as I’d planned. But…it isn’t my fault.”
“Really, Mr. Lake. Whose fault would you say it is?”
“Sam struggled, searching his mind trying to find someone to blame.
“Fate…” Sam offered weakly. “The market…it…the creditors…they…”
“Indeed,” said Webb, raising an eyebrow and giving Sam a disconcerting look. “Tell me, Mr. Lake, what have you done to enrich and enhance your network? What have you done to…keep connected?”
“Sam thought, searching his mind again, but he hadn’t done anything. Like so many others he went for the fast easy money, played the market, and paid for it.
“Sam stood up trying to straighten himself out. Webb looked him over like he was examining something disgusting you might find under a rock.
“Mr. Webb. I…I thought maybe, we could strike up a partnership like we had before. Perhaps—”
“No. I’m sorry Mr. Lake, but you only get one bite at the apple, as they say.”
“I…I could…if you’d only help me again, I could regain what I’ve lost. I could…”
“You could? Really, Mr. Lake? I sincerely doubt it. However, I must say you are everything I’d hoped for.”
“What?”
“Well, just look at you. You’ve lived high off the hog, as they say. You’ve had the best of everything, all money can buy. You’re quite the plump little pig, aren’t you?”
“Sam looked down at himself. He weighed the same as when he was twenty years old. He hadn’t put on a single pound. “I…I don’t understand.”
“Yes…I’m sure you don’t…they so seldom do,” said Webb turning his back on Sam. “Do you know where you are, Mr. Lake?” asked Webb, taking out a big fancy cigar and lighting it up, puffing away. Sam hoped Webb would offer him one but he didn’t.
“Yes…I…well—” stammered Sam, looking around.
“Webb interrupted Sam, “This swamp, the very spot you’re standing in, is where Jackson and his men massacred the indigenous people from this area. Do you know why, Mr. Lake? Do you know what their crime was? ‘Being’. Simply being. They were…alive. They had the misfortune of living in a time and place where their very existence was deemed…intolerable. The greed and ambition of men knows no bounds. It’s one of man’s most defining qualities. Don’t you agree?”
“I…”
“Not even bothering to let Sam finish, Webb continued, “Men, some men, will…‘steel’ themselves Mr. Lake, allowing them to accomplish the most incredible acts, all in an effort to secure whatever, or in some instances whomever, they seek. But you know all about that, don’t you Mr. Lake.”
“Webb puffed away on his cigar, enjoying the smoke and the moment. “You know, Mr. Lake, some men possess a real ‘inner’ strength. The kind of strength I’m speaking of is the kind a man can summon, allowing him to hold a new born infant under water while its mother watches, screaming and begging you to stop.”
“Webb continued puffing on his cigar. The ember glowed red hot and he had a distant look in his eyes. “Some of Jackson’s men marched helpless old men, women, and children to this very spot and not wanting to ‘waste’ a bullet on them…they drowned them instead…held them under water one at a time, blub, blub, blub…People they had never met, people who had never done anything to them, people who had never offended or raised arms against them. They were just…‘here’. Yet Jackson’s men had the strength to…see it through, as they say. Not unlike the Saxons when they landed on the isle of Britain in the fourth century. The wholesale slaughter of the Celts was simply marvelous in its execution…No pun intended.”
“Webb paused and waited for some recognition from Sam but Sam hadn’t a clue to what Webb was referring. Disappointed, Webb continued, “There’s quite a difference between sinking a lifeless body in these black waters and holding a live one under water watching the light go out in their eyes. Watching the last bubble rise up and pop at the surface.”
“Webb gave Sam a cursory once over again. “Tell me Mr. Lake, when old man Burris was squirming under his pillow, kicking as best he could for his last breath, how did you feel? Powerful? Like a god? You had the ability to let him live or die. How did it feel?”
“Ol’ Sam thought back and recalled it didn’t feel anything like power or strength. He’d been scared. Webb looked at Sam and as if he read Sam’s mind. “Yes…and that’s why, Mr. Lake, you are a lame horse, as they say. To reinvest in you would not be prudent. I just would not see the proper return.”
“Webb puffed on his cigar while looking Sam over and shaking his head. “I will tell you something else Mr. Lake. The slough that feeds this old swamp flows from a swamp up by the prison. Did you know that?” This time Webb did see a sign of recognition in Sam’s eyes. Webb smirked. “You wouldn’t believe what washes down here. Have a look. Go ahead, I insist.”
“The way Webb had said “insist” and the look he gave Sam, made Sam feel like a frightened child, so he complied.
“Sam peered into the murky water. Bubbles were slowly rising from the bottom. He tried looking harder, to penetrate the black water to see what was making the bubbles. He saw the rotting corpses of Indians and some blacks slowly rising from the depths. Some were missing their eyes, ears, or noses, some their fingers, hands, or toes; chewed off by the swamp critters. Sam screamed and lunged back.
“One by one, they planted their feet on the soggy bottom and began walking and crawling toward him. Frozen in fear Sam laid against a stump, whimpering, as they loomed ever closer.
“Mr. Webb was slowly blowing on the glowing ember of his cigar. He said, ever so nonchalantly, “Mr. Lake, I can’t speak for all of them, but I’m quite certain I detect a lot of anger resonating from a select few, in particular the darker variety. I do believe they mean to drag you to the bottom. If I were you, I’d run.”
“Sam hauled tail out of there as fast as he could. He had no clue what direction he should run. Everywhere he looked he saw mangled, rotting, soggy corpses crawling toward him, grabbing at his feet, touching him with their cold, wet hands. He screamed every time he felt their touch.
“He wasn’t looking where he was going and ran into something soft and sticky. It kept him from falling but he couldn’t break free. Looking about, he saw it was a giant spider web. He flailed about trying to free himself, but to no avail. He stopped to catch his breath and looked around for the spider. In the moonlight, he saw web after web, one after another running off into the swamp from tree to tree. Each had something large, the size of a deer or large dog wrapped up in a cocoon.
“Please, Mr. Webb, help me!” Sam cried out.
“From somewhere in the darkness he heard Webb reply, “Be there directly, Mr. Lake.”
“He saw the ember of Webb’s cigar getting closer. The objects caught in the webs started to squirm. The closer Webb got the more they moved about, faster and faster. Sam heard the muffled cries pleading, “Oh God, please, no more!”
“Webb approached Sam and looked him over with a familiar, unpleasant smirk.
“Help me, Mr. Webb. Set me free,” Sam begged.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that Mr. Lake. Our relationship, our arrangement, is about to pay dividends, for me.” He pinched Sam’s backside. “Yes, you’ve grown. Oh, in how many ways, you’ve grown. It’s always a pleasure to see my investments mature.”
“What?”
“You know, Mr. Lake, you’ve a terrible habit. It’s impolite to say, what. It’s proper to say, ‘pardon me.’”
“Pardon me,” whimpered Sam.
“That’s better, b
ut I’m afraid I can’t pardon you either, Mr. Lake. You and I, and the rest of my business partners…” Sam watched as once again Webb motioned with his strange hand indicating all those trapped in the webs, “have to spend some time together.”
“How…how much time?” asked Sam.
“Why eternity, Mr. Lake. Eternity…”
“Mr. Webb, I’ll do anything, anything…”
“You’ve already done everything, Mr. Lake. Now if you please, we must get down to business. I need to ‘wrap things up’ as they say. There are matters in Europe, which need my attention, in particular, Germany. The most wonderful things are taking place there as we speak and I need to get in on the ground floor as they say.”
“Sam watched as Webb’s head started jerking like he was having a fit. Webb’s eyes moved slowly apart and his face split in two like a rotten peach. The split ran right down to his chest and long hairy legs pushed through, slowly unfolding, prodding the air searching for a solid foothold. From out of the lifeless Mr. Webb costume a gigantic black spider emerged, fangs clicking and glistening with huge drops of venom. It moved ever so slowly toward Sam, clicking away.
“Sam was screaming and flailing about in the web. He felt those enormous fangs sink deep in his flesh and thought his whole body was on fire. Then…he couldn’t move, not even blink. The world began spinning and spinning as he was wrapped up in a cocoon, only his face was left uncovered.
“Some say on nights like tonight you can hear Sam and the others screaming as Mr. Webb comes visit his old business partners and make a withdrawal.
“There ya have it, son. Oh look, your dogs are back. And just in time for sunup. Well, that’s east of course, so that way is south toward Sneads. I reckon you should be able to find your way out now. Pardon? Oh, the pleasure’s been all mine son, all mine. Why thank you, I’m glad you enjoyed the story.
“You know J.W., I see something in you I really like. I might be able to help a young feller like you. You come back and see me again sometime. Come again? Well…you look like a J.W. Me? My name? Oh the name’s Slither. Mr. Slither.”
A word about the author…
T.C. Tereschak is a horror/suspense writer, a history enthusiast and lover of mystery and the macabre, and enjoys writing about the odd and eerie, enjoined with universal themes: love, family, and the dichotomy of good and evil.
Thank you for purchasing
this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Eternity Swamp Page 3
