“Nothin',” I say, which might be the biggest lie yet, so I make it worse by addin', “Honest. I swear!”
“All right. So we're going to be in this swamp a lot longer than I thought.”
“A little,” I concede. “But you ain't been here a day, Tom. I been here my whole life! How you think I feel? I been ready to leave this place ever since I clapped eyes on you.”
“Love at first sight, huh?”
“Yeah. I saw in you then what you see in me now.”
“What's that?”
“A chance.”
Chapter 9: LUCKY
We head north, and it feels like startin' over. Tom and I got an understandin' now, a knowin' we in this together, and that I'm willin' to do anythin' for him, if only he'll meet me halfway.
A pack of frogs croak in the distance.
Tom swats a fat skeeter suckin' his neck. It leaves a stain on his throat, almost like lipstick. So red. My belly grumbles, remindin' me I aint' et nothin' since that licorice stick this mornin'.
“Christ Almighty!” Tom complains. “Are the bugs always this bad?”
I shrug. “Dunno. Them lil suckers never bother me. I don't think I ever been bit, and can't think of no Swamper who has. Must be we got a natural immunity.”
Tom gives me a funny look but don't say nothin'. We pole on in silence for a time, 'til the light turns golden–brown.
“Be dark soon,” I say. “Need to find us a place to hole up for the night.”
“Fine, but let's keep goin' 'til we find one that's not too wet.”
“Might be we have to make do,” I say. “There are plenty of islands, but you can't trust just any ol' one to do the job. Some are more mud than earth, and some are traps with nests of gators, snakes, or quicksand. Even a black bear or two.”
Tom gulps. “You can tell which are which?”
“Mostly, though some you can't tell 'til it's too late. That's why my pole's so handy. It doubles as a checkin' stick and critter–flusher. Right now, this here pole's worth more'n all the money in that case of yours. How much you say it was?”
“I didn't,” Tom says. “But it's twenty–thousand.”
I whistle. “Twenty thousand! Hot damn, that splits right down the middle to ten each. Nice 'n' easy.”
Tom sighs. “We've got to get out of this blasted green hell to spend it. You know the first thing I'm going to buy? An ice–cold beer.”
“Yep. Anythin' ice–cold sounds mighty fine. Everythin's hell–hot here. Packed you some of my Pappy's 'shine, though. That'll curl your whiskers.”
Tom wrestles with the idea, swats another skeeter, and then asks me where it is. I point to one of the sacks I brought from the cabin. Tom pulls out the mason jar, twists off the lid, then wipes the rim with his shirt sleeve before taking a sip. I laugh as his eyes bug out of his head and he gasps for air.
“Tastes like gasoline,” he sputters, then takes another sip. His eyes squeeze shut. “God! What's in it?”
“Secret family recipe.”
Tom knows better'n to ask more and points to an island ahead. “Hey! What about that one?”
“Too wet. We'd wake up drowned.”
We drift on and he points out another. “That one good?”
“Maybe. It's larger, anyway.” I glide us over and poke it with my pole. “Seems solid 'nuff.”
With the raft beached, we set out to explore the island. It's covered in tall swamp–grass and I keep Tom behind me while I swish the stick through to flush out any critters. I manage to startle a family of lizards, but nothin' dangerous.
“We'll make camp here,” I say. “On the highest and driest spot, but can't risk a fire. Someone might see.”
We dine on pickled vegetables and tinned meat, and I wash it down with bottled water while Tom uses 'shine.
“Don't drink too much now,” I tell him. “Just 'nuff to take the edge off. Been a long, hard day. Where was you really headed, if you don't mind my askin'?”
He shrugs. “Florida, then Cuba or Brazil. Someplace the law can't touch me. And I would've made it too, but the cops set up roadblocks, forced me to detour onto side roads. Those country roads all look alike. Before I knew it, I was lost, with the needle pushin' empty and the radiator overheating. Had to walk five miles just to reach Howphil.”
“Why'd you steal that money?”
“Why does anybody steal anything? Because I needed it.” He takes another drink.
“C'mon, Tom. The truth now.”
“Fine. I had gambling debts. I owed thousands to some mobsters who were going to break my legs. They told me that if I robbed the bank and gave them the money, they'd wipe my debt clean.”
“Why didn't you just do what they said?”
“Because I wised up. I figured they were going to kill me if I did—that way, nobody could say where the money went. And even if they didn't kill me, I knew I was going to get caught. Sure, I wouldn't have the money on me, but I'm no great liar or hardened criminal. Sooner or later, the cops'd pry the truth out of me, and then I'd go to jail, and those crooks would pay a hit man to kill me for squealing. I was doomed no matter what, so I said, 'Why not steal the money for myself?' Right? I mean, after all, I could start my life over somewhere else.”
“With someone else,” I say. I don't know what my lazy eye is doin', but I give him a wink with my good one.
“Sure,” Tom says. “Everybody wants that.” He takes a slug of shine. “How'd you get your name, anyway?”
“Well… ” I chew my lip, wonderin' how much of the truth I should tell him. “Promise you won't laugh, but my parents, they didn't know if I was gonna come out right or not. So they prayed, and when I came out as normal as I did, they both jumped and said, 'Lordy! It's a miracle.'”
Tom takes a drink.
“Only that ain't the whole story. Once, Ma told me my real names is Lourdes, on account of I look as pretty as the Virgin Mary. But I guess that don't matter. Everyone just calls me Lordy.”
“Lordy Murch,” Tom says. “That's quite a name.”
“I'm quite a woman.” I take the jar of 'shine from him and set it aside. “Tom Thatcher your real name?”
“Why?”
“I was just gettin' used to the idea of being Lordy Thatcher, when it come to me that might not be your name at all.”
“It's not,” Tom says. “My real name doesn't matter anymore. Neither does yours. When we get out of this swamp, we're going to be two different people with new names, new pasts. What name do you like for yourself?”
“I—I don't rightly know! I always been Lordy Murch. It's hard to be someone else, just all at once.”
“No, it isn't,” Tom says. “It's easy.” And then he's kissing me and his arms are 'round me and we's just as close as close can be.
Chapter 10: YOU AIN'T REALLY DYIN'
I made Tom keep my dress on. I didn't know we was gonna do it, not all the way, but he seemed so insistent I didn't wanna hurt his feelings. I couldn't spoil what lil we had just when it seemed to be growin' into somethin' more.
Afterward, I waited for Tom to go to sleep and snuck off while he was still snorin'. I went to the water's edge, took off my dress, and washed up as best I could.
This is my new life.
This is who I am: A woman. Wanted. Desired. Rich.
In a few days, I'll finally be free of this swamp forever, and maybe the Old Gods won't curse our children the way they cursed me.
Strong hands circle my waist, paw at my breasts. I squirm and struggle, but Tom won't let go. He's drunk on 'shine and drunk on me. And now he wants more, but he can't see me, not like this!
When Tom turns me around, when he sees what I am, he won't want me no more. And as he spins me around, I see that it's true. Even though my hands race to cover my curse, the look of horror that comes over my lover's face tells me I'm too late.
In the dim pre–dawn light, Tom sees the scaly face in my belly, the empty eye sockets and gator–fanged mouth.
“
Tom,” I sob. “Don't look at me! Don't look at me!”
He backs up. He's screaming now, and I'm not the only reason. Big Gertie's come up behind him. Her dinosaur jaws clamp down hard on his waist.
There ain't nothin' to do but run for camp. I come back with the knife and flare gun. Gertie's got Tom in her mouth and she's shaking him, shredding him.
I point and fire at the gator's head. The flare bounces off her thick armor, goes flying into the swamp where it sizzles and smokes. I reload the last shell, but can't get a shot. Tom's in the way.
I come at her with the knife, fearless. Unstoppable. I give it to that long–tailed bitch, right in the eye. It bursts like a black–jellied grape. Gertie roars and drops Tom.
I point the gun at her. The next time she opens her mouth, I pull the trigger. The flare goes in, paints her innards hellish red. Gertie thrashes, stumbles back into the water, and dives. All that's left is some foul–smelling smoke.
I go to Tom, but he's all tore up, his guts squirmin' between my fingers like angry snakes. “I saved you,” I sob. “I saved you, and you were supposed to save me… ”
Tom coughs up blood and gurgles somethin' that sounds like my name. I hold him in my arms and rock us back and forth. “Hush now,” I tell him. “It's all gonna be OK… ” He gurgles again, and I stroke his hair, real comfortin'–like. “Tom, I need you to listen to me: I never told you 'bout the Old Gods and the curse they laid on my people. How when Philip Derleth got revenge on his cheatin' brother, Howard, he wouldn't give the Old Gods his soul. They cursed him, Tom! They cursed him so bad that all the souls of everythin' and everyone who dies in the swamp would go into him and his kin, how they'd be reborn over and over and never die! So you ain't really dyin', Tom. You'll be born again.”
I kiss Tom for a long time. For the last time.
Chapter 11: KEEP MY PROMISE
Well, that's my tale, or most of it. In case you're wonderin', neither Catfish nor the law ever caught up with me. I made it out the swamp with the money and moved north. Opened a General Store in a lil coastal town called Innsmouth, a fine place where nobody thinks I look funny at all.
As for Tom, I dream of him often and fondly. He died in my arms, so I did the only honorable thing I could and ate him myself. Hand–butchered, hand–fed. My second mouth and I ate real good. Neither of us growled for days.
I know what you're thinkin'. Sure, I didn't have to do it, and you're right. I could've left poor Tom for Big Gertie and the rest of the hungry critters. But that ain't the Swamper Way. We take care of our own. Granted, the law says Tom and me weren't officially married, but the Old Gods, they got their own kind of law.
Before you call me a monster, you should know I ate Tom out of love, so I could keep my promise and guide him out of the swamp. His body may be gone, but his soul's inside me. I see it every time I look at the summer–blue eyes that grew out of my belly. The same bulging belly that carries our child.
How's that for a crazy ending? Looks like poor Lordy got that “new life” with Tom in more ways than one. The Old Gods heard her prayers—pray they don't hear yours!
FUN FACTS
(WARNING: Spoilers!)
Did you know I got the named chapter style from reading old “weird menace” horror pulps from the 1930s? Chapters in short stories were common then but rare now. I feel they add a nice, atmospheric touch, as well as make the stories easier to read. I usually select a thematic line from the chapter as the title—and if it has a double meaning, all the better.
“Sarah's Lot”
There are quite a few Stephen King references (including book titles) hidden throughout this story. How many can you find? For example, David Soul starred in the 1979 version of 'Salem's Lot.
“The Most Beautiful Girl in the World”
Possession stories are one of my favorites: the seduction and corruption process create the perfect downward spiral for drama and suspense. As someone who has had bizarre experiences with Ouija boards, let me spell out one free piece of advice:
D-O-N-O-T-P-L-A-Y-W-I-T-H-T-H-E-M.
“The Truth About Bigfoot”
I wanted a wild twist, and a half-remembered image of Bigfoot driving a flying saucer from a '70s UFO comic gave me the idea to go sci-fi. From there, my brain immediately went to the world's first time-traveling caveman movie, Yor, the Hunter from the Future (1983). Everything was easy after that…
“Come to the Cemetery”
My first #1 international bestseller and a personal favorite. I love how I was able to make this more of a mystery and work in a non-dysfunctional romance with a (more-or-less) happy ending. In case you're curious, no, I'm not Mormon, but a friend of mine used to be, so I was able to pick his brain for the religious details.
“Impulse”
This was my first short story, loosely based on growing up in the serial killer capital of the country. It was originally about the friendship between two boys, but I had to change the narrator's gender to make it fit Horror Girls. I added the romance angle and gave it a new, happy ending since I don't do enough of those.
“The Haunting of Hex House”
Another of my #1 international bestsellers. This was inspired by my own nightmarish experience living in a haunted house as well as from multiple late night viewings of The Haunting (1963), The Legend of Hell House (1973), and Burnt Offerings (1976).
“Empty Girl, Empty Grave”
The vampire is patterned after Jerry Dandridge in Fright Night (1985), which is one of my favorite horror movies. I wrote “Empty” with the intention of turning it into a novel. That novel became Forever Dark instead, and some of the same concepts appear in that book and “Sarah's Lot.”
“Who's Afraid of Lordy Murch?”
I got Lordy's last name, “Murch,” from Lurch, the butler on The Addams Family. Most of the other characters are named after ones in Mark Twain stories. The concept of “love at first sight” from Tom Sawyer is reversed here, with Lordy cast as Tom and Tom taking Becky Thatcher's place. Their raft journey is a nod to Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
Big Gertie was inspired by the 1980 movie, Alligator, and also Robert Edmond Alter's 1966 bayou noir novel, Swamp Sister, a book that had as much influence on my story as H.P. Lovecraft's “The Shadow Over Innsmouth” (in other words, a lot).
Howard and Philip Derleth are composites of Howard Phillips (H.P.) Lovecraft and his friend and fellow Weird Tales author, August Derleth. The Daggone Tavern refers to the 2002 movie, Dagon, that is loosely based on “The Shadow Over Innsmouth.”
I'm a fan of H.P. Lovecraft's Cthulhu Mythos and refer to its gods Azathoth, Nyarlathotep, Shub-Niggurath, and Yog-Sothoth in my story by their abbreviated “Swamper” names.
The new Dystopian Sci-Fi Thriller by Jackson Dean Chase! Here's what authors, book bloggers, and readers have to say about Drone:
“I couldn't put it down! This is a terrifying idea of what our future could be.” — BTS Book Reviews
“I love the creativity this author shows… I recommend this book to anyone who likes futuristic books with a lot of explosions and action.” — Fang-Freakin'-Tastic Reviews
“Fast paced, absolutely riveting… by far one of the most original YA dystopian reads…” — Tome Tender
“Author Jackson Dean Chase has found the right formula [by] creating interesting characters and putting them into interesting situations… The novel speeds along, using short chapters and intense action sequences… Pick up a copy and give it a read. I think you'll like it as much as I did.” —Michael Billington, author of Blood Debt
“Fantastic premise, well-executed plot… Drone offers an action-packed, quick-paced story that grabs readers from page one. I recommend this novel for anyone in The Hunger Games/Divergent zone…” — Nate Philbrick, author of The Little One
“If you love sci-fi, dystopian worlds… you won't be disappointed!” — Kindle reviewer
“A fresh voice in the Dystopian genre.” — Kindle re
viewer
“…Excellent! It had non-stop action throughout the whole book!” — Kindle reviewer
“There are a lot of twists and turns in this book that make it a page-turner.” — Kindle reviewer
CLICK HERE TO BUY DRONE NOW
CLICK HERE TO GET THE PREQUEL, "HARD TIMES IN DRONETOWN," FREE along with 3 other eBooks and be notified of my new releases.
DRONE Preview — Chapter 1: VIKKA
They're threatening to shut off our oxygen again. The final “pay up or die” vidmail came over the holocom this morning. It was read by a cheerful blonde who reminded us that failure to pay our bill by midnight will result in termination of service. Unfortunately, termination of service also means termination of us.
Mom says we'll get the money, but with late fees, the bill is more than any amount we can raise today, unless… But I'm not ready to think about that. Not yet.
I scrub my body with the last of the cleansing pads. Only the Elite use water to bathe, and we're anything but rich. My body is small and skinny, malnourished. Is it selfish that I want to be tall and strong? That I want to wear nice clothes and go to parties? It is, and it's also stupid.
The truth of my world is that Drones like me are bred to work in the factories. We don't have money to eat right or afford nice things. We don't have time for parties. We get up, go to work, get married, create another Drone, then die.
I take my time getting ready. The bathroom is the only place I ever have any privacy, so I stay in here a lot and pretend there is something more beyond these walls than the tiny, one-room apartment I share with my parents. Maybe I pretend more than I should. Knowing my dreams will never come true only makes reality hurt worse.
Horror Girls Page 11
