Blood in the Woods

by J. P. Willie

  “We have to put Rambo in the shelter,” Jerry said, walking straight past his wife and directly toward his car keys that hung on a nail on the wall in the kitchen.

  “What? Why, Jerry? What was Lewis yelling about on the porch?” Teddie asked, as her eyes wide.

  Jerry shrugged, non-committal. “All I can say is that Lewis Rhine will be back in a month. And when he does, he’s in for a big surprise,” Jerry told his wife. Teddie just listened; she knew when her husband had something to do, it was best to step back and just let him get on with it, a lesson learned when they’d first got together, way back in the day when Teddie had been just sweet sixteen. Jerry walked over to his keys, grabbed them, picked up the phone, and called his daughter.

  Gayla was busy cleaning the kitchen when the phone rang, her mind running on blank; the boys had tracked mud all over the kitchen floor again, dashing in and out of the trailer. This had become an everyday occurrence for her since the sporadic rains had arrived, and every day Gayla did the same thing to ensure a tidy home. Resting the mop against the cheap laminate counter top, she walked over to the ringing phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Sissy.”

  “Yeah, Daddy.”

  “Bring Jody inside the house,” her father’s voice instructed, “I have to take Rambo to the shelter right away. I’ll explain everything to you and your mother later. Just tell Jody the dog’s sick, and he has to go to the veterinarian for a while.”

  “Okay,” Gayla said, very slowly, her mind burning with a dozen questions at once, but she didn’t dare ask any of them; she knew her father just as well as her mother did.

  “I know he’ll be upset, but I’ll talk to him about it later. I have to go. Love you. Bye.”

  “Bye,” Gayla said, and hung up the phone. Of course, she didn’t know what was going on, but she did know that it couldn’t be good. With a heavy sigh, Gayla walked to the front door and scanned outside for her son.

  “JODY!” Gayla yelled at the top of her lungs. Her son came running full-pelt around the corner of the trailer, and Gayla smiled upon the beautiful creation she’d made. Even though she wore two smiling scars across her belly from both her boys’ cesareans, she wore them with great pride.

  “Yes, Momma,” Jody panted.

  “You need to come inside for a minute, Bubba.”

  “Ok, Momma. See ya later, Rambo!!” Jody yelled back to his dog– who was occupied taking a mountainous shit in the middle of the yard. Jody ran up the steps of his porch and darted past his mother into the trailer, a trail of muddy shoe prints in his wake. Gayla looked at Rambo with a heavy heart and sadness in her eyes and then closed the door.

  Several hours passed by, but as soon as Jerry was back from dropping Rambo off at the shelter, he parked his car and made his way over to his daughter’s trailer. He knocked on the door and Gayla opened it, welcoming her beloved father in with a hug and kiss to the cheek. Jerry looked around the house and saw both of his grandkids sitting on the floor playing with their toys; the tearaway Jody, and his sweet baby brother with golden blond hair, Hunter, who was just as cute as could be. Jerry sat himself down on the couch with a forced smile playing across his lips.

  “Hey, Pepaw,” Jody said, then went right back to playing.

  “Rambo’s going to stay in the animal hospital for a while,” Jerry told the boy, “He might come back, and he might not. But if he doesn’t come back, I’ll get you a new puppy.”

  Jerry had told the shelter, located in the small town of Ponchatoula, to go ahead and put Rambo up for adoption. Of course, he wouldn’t tell his grandsons this – he knew better – and he fully intended to get Jody a new dog if the kid really wanted one. Hunter was still too young to even care about the dog; he had more than enough imaginary friends to keep him company.

  “No, that’s okay, Pepaw. Rambo’s going to get better fast, and he’ll be back in no time,” Jody said with smile that radiated innocence. It really hadn’t occurred to him that his beloved dog might not come back.

  “Alright, Bubba, I’ll talk to you later,” Jerry said with a wan smile. He ruffled the boy’s hair and let out a sigh of relief that telling his grandson the bad news had gone smoothly, even if he’d had to flower it up a little.

  “Gayla,” Jerry spoke quietly, “when the boys are asleep, come over to the house, I need to talk to you and your mother about today.”

  Gayla eyed her father with suspicion; it wasn’t like him to be so cryptic. “Sure. They’ll be knocked out in bed in a couple hours or so – I’ll call before I come over,” she said.

  “Okay then, Sissy, I’ll see you later,” Jerry got up from the couch, bent down to give his grandsons each a kiss on the cheek and then stood back up. Immersed in their imaginary worlds, the two boys didn’t notice, and Jerry just smiled. He envied them, that youthful ability to have that special inner place where nothing in the world seemed to matter. He smiled once again at his grandchildren and walked out the door.

  “Okay, you two! Get your butts in bed and go to sleep!” Gayla yelled through the paper-thin doors to her sons’ bedrooms. Muffled giggles followed, giving away their after-bedtime fun. Most likely Jody would have been running out of his room and into Hunter’s, making those sticky fart sounds with his hands and laughing up a storm along the way.

  Eventually, both Jody and Hunter fell asleep, after two more yellings and one threatened ass whoopin’ with the belt. Gayla waited until she was sure they were both deep in slumber, then slid out the door and over to her parents’ house.

  And so, Jerry told his wife and daughter about Lewis Rhine’s accusations. Teddie and Gayla just sat there quietly, mouths half open, not saying a word and trying to make sense of what Jerry was telling them. And, although Jerry told them what happened so far as Rhine’s crazy theory about Rambo, and that he’d had to put the dog up for adoption, he stopped short of telling everything he knew.

  Jerry didn’t tell what really was killing Lewis’s cattle.

  He kept that particular nugget all to himself and his conscience, and let his family go on believing that nothing terrible was going on, just a crazy old dairy farmer and a dog that may or may not have been worrying his damned cattle.

  ***

  A month later, Jerry was watching football on the TV; the New Orleans Saints were losing again, this time to the Green Bay Packers, and the exponential rising of his blood pressure signaled now was a good time to turn off the game. There came a sudden, panicked knock at the front door; it had happened again.

  Jerry placed the remote down on the arm of his chair, rose up and answered the door.

  “Hello, Lewis. How’ve you been?” Jerry smiled at his somewhat not unexpected visitor.

  “Don’t give me your bullshit, Jerry! Your dog has –”

  “My dog has done absolutely nothing,” Jerry interjected, “I dropped Rambo off at the shelter the last time you were here accusing him of killing your cattle, Lewis.”

  “What?”

  Clearly, the man knew the jig was up. Jerry Jones had outplayed him and all he could do now was stand there and look at his feet.

  “I don’t know what your problem is with me, Lewis,” Jerry said quietly, “But I hope it’s resolved now. Like I told you the last time you were here, my dog did not kill your cattle. I believe it is something far more than just an animal that’s responsible.”

  “Well, who’s responsible then?” Lewis demanded.

  Rhine’s entire demeanor had changed now; he’d thought he seen Rambo running away that night a month ago when he’d found his cows all chewed up, but perhaps he’d been mistaken in the heat of the moment. He really didn’t know what killed them that night; it was obvious that Lewis Rhine had seen what he wanted to see. Plus, he’d never really liked Jerry Jones. He was jealous because the man had more money and a better life than he, so who better to blame than the person you detest? Now, though, Lewis Rhine was scared; he didn’t know what was responsible for the killings, and he just knew that it wasn�
�t about to stop anytime soon – Lewis Rhine was up shit creek without a paddle.

  “That’s something you have to figure out. Not me. Why not try using your brain? Have a nice day,” Jerry growled and slammed the door shut just inches from Lewis Rhine’s worried face.

  Jerry leaned his back against the door, let out a sigh of relief and waited for his unwanted guest to go away, pleased that the confrontation was over and that his plan had worked. He knew, though, deep down in his troubled soul that dark forces were working their way into the country area where he lived; he thought back to 1975, when his son had said he’d witnessed something sinister within the woods. He recalled the myriad meetings with all the church leaders and most of all; he remembered the fear that had come along with all of that.

  Jerry was forced to come to the conclusion that something evil was now present on Rhine Road.

  That night, Jerry made his way into his bedroom, tiptoeing silently past his sleeping wife, who’s light snores purred from between her slack lips. He took off his clothes, climbed in alongside her and before he closed his eyes Jerry prayed hard for his family. He prayed for God to protect them from the malevolent things that he knew were skulking about the town, and he prayed even harder for his grandkids, begging the Good Lord to watch over and protect them.

  “And if anything should happen, Lord, let it happen to me. Amen,” Jerry ended.

  No more than two weeks later, Rambo showed back up to the house.

  Evidently, the well-meaning person who’d adopted him had forgotten to keep him locked up, and the dog found his way back to his old home on Rhine Road. Jody was ecstatic and Jerry stood on the porch, shaking his head back and forth at the joyful reunion.

  “Can you believe that dog, honey?” Teddie smiled.

  “He sure did like it here, didn’t he?” Jerry stated.

  “The little rascal ran all the way from the Kentons’ house, and that’s at least six miles away. They only adopted him five days ago and he’s already escaped,” Teddie said, with a big, soppy grin on her face.

  “Call the Kentons, honey, and see if they want him back,” Jerry instructed.

  “Already did. They said we could keep him if we wanted to.”

  “Look at little Jody’s face. What do you think?” Jerry matched his wife with a smile that seemed to stretch from ear to ear.

  This would be the last fond reunion between the boy and his best friend, for a month later Rambo was struck by a car out on the street and died twitching in the gutter.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  NIGHTS LIKE NO OTHER: 1990

  My brother Hunter really was something else.

  Let me tell you, that boy had so many nicknames while growing up it was ridiculous. One day it was Hunter-man, then Pudge, then Roo-Rha-Pooh-La-De-Da and finally Ra-tou-ka-ly. Don’t ask me how my mother came up with these ridiculous names, because honestly, I have no idea.

  Hunter was an adorable child with golden blond hair; he was also very short and had a cute little speech impediment. The kid was four and a half years younger than me, but that never slowed him down one iota when it came to playing; he was hyper like me, and a tough little shit to boot. So much so, he once beat the shit out of a kid of my age with a water hose that he found from under Memaw’s house. That kid took off running and hid under Memaw’s porch for over an hour, too scared to come out, all because of Hunter.

  There were no other kids of Hunter’s age on Rhine Road, so he was always playing with me after Jack and I were done for the day. I remember this one day we were outside playing baseball and Hunter had pissed me off because he wouldn’t let me have a turn batting. Naturally, everyone wants to bat; no one ever wants to play the outfield all day. So, when he continued to refuse to share I bent down, grabbed a crayfish hole and threw it at him. Now, if you don’t know what a crayfish hole is, take a trip down to Louisiana and look around for towers of hardened mud that resemble little dirt fortresses. Crayfish extract the soil, bring it up to the surface and build a nice little home for themselves. When the pellets and globs of mud dry, they’re hard as nails and that’s what struck Hunter in the hand and sent him charging at me like a crazed bull.

  Well, that little bastard sucker-punched the shit right out of my left eye, and instantly it began to swell like someone stuck a dark purple balloon under my skin. Hunter and I stood sobbing in the backyard, Hunter’s weeping a little more dramatic than mine because he thought he’d blinded me, until our cries got the attention of our mother. Momma came outside, beat the shit out of us both for fighting, and then made us – literally – kiss and make up. Then she’d had the nerve to come back outside with the camera and take a picture of the two of us crying on the porch like two little schoolgirls. There’s one thing I can say now that I couldn’t say then; we were some badass kids.

  Bill Murray was our favorite actor at this point in our young lives, and so Hunter and I would stay up to the late hours on the weekends with Momma, and we’d watch either Meatballs or Stripes. Those movies were just so damned funny – Bill would work his magic on screen with his wild, out of control hair and make us all but piss our pants with laughter. Those times helped out Momma a lot too; the divorce had taken a pretty nasty toll on her, and she was fighting some kind of depression. On school nights, there was no Bill Murray with Momma, we were put to bed at eight sharp, but Hunter and I would still mess around in our rooms ‘til about ten, and I think that secretly, Momma knew that we did.

  Anyways, when the weekends would finally roll around Momma would sit on the love seat, which was on the left side of our living room, beneath the sliding window that looked out into our backyard. Late at night when you looked out that window, it was so dark that you could barely see anything, not even Memaw and Pepaw’s house, which was only a hop, skip and a jump away. A typical night on Rhine Road was normally pitch black; I often imagined it to be akin to the darkness that Jack the Ripper and his friends used to hang out in. Every time I had to take out the trash, I would haul ass to the garbage cans at the end of the driveway, throw the bags into its respected can and beat feet back to the trailer like some dribbling, hideous monster was right behind me.

  There were no streetlights, therefore when the sun went down, you went down as well. Living on Rhine Road wasn’t like living in the big city where there is constant noise and glowing lights to keep you company during the night. The only type of light you got in Hammond at night was when there was a full moon, and of course that only came around once a month. To me though, those nights when the moon was full made being outside even creepier than the inky darkness alone. The moonlight had a way of making cold shadows out of every little thing it touched, giving off a bright glow that illuminated like some weird, ghostly luminescence. It always looked to me like snow was on the ground when the moon shone its brightest, and I remember how the phone lines used to cast long, stretched out shadows on the ground to make it look like railroad tracks ran through your yard. And the only thing that could be heard on those soulless nights when you stood still was the sound of God’s creatures stirring in the darkness.

  So, this one night, we boys were sitting opposite our mother on the big couch, all comfortably positioned for a night of fun and hilarity with one Mr. Bill Murray and around 11:45 the Hunter-man passed out. My little brother actually fell asleep sitting up, and momma whispered from the couch, “Lay him down, Bubba. Pudge is knocked out. He’s had a long day.”

  “Okay, Momma,” I whispered back.

  I did as she asked and laid Hunter carefully down on the couch, and then I was back to watching our favorite comedian.

  “ARMY TRAINING SIR!!” Bill yelled to the man standing on the stage behind the podium. This was at the end of the movie, and my most favorite part. They would twirl their rifles in the air, do some cool choreography, sing the Why did the Chicken Cross the Road song and that would be about the last laugh of the night for me. So, as the credits started to roll and John Candy marched his group of shitbag soldiers off into the sunse
t, Momma looked over to me.

  “You ready for bed, Bubba?”

  “Not really. What’s coming on after this?”

  “I have no idea, Bubba. I didn’t get the TV Guide out of the mailbox today. I’m pretty sure – it’s nothing – good,” she said, while yawning.

  “Okay. I guess I’ll take Hunter to bed with me now, then,” I said, getting up off the couch stepping over the scattered toys that Hunter had left right below my feet.

  I stopped, stretched my back a bit and bent down to pick Hunter up when I heard something.

  Thump... Thump, Thump, Thump... Thump...

  I looked over to Momma, my eyes asking the obvious question. Momma quit yawning and sat up, straight as a board on the couch. She turned off the TV with the remote and looked back at me as I stood there in the middle of the living room with my head cocked slightly to one side as I tried to figure out where the hell the sound was coming from. The loud, rhythmic thumping was coming from outside the trailer; it had a constant, irritating groove to it that repeated itself and oddly enough it made me want to dance around in a circle like a war painted Apache in the old westerns.

  It stopped.

  “What on earth was that, Jody?” Momma asked, finally breaking the silence between us.

  “I don’t know, Momma,” I replied, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. “What do you think it is?”

  “Shhh –” she hissed.

  Thump... Thump, Thump, Thump... Thump...

  There it was again.

  That same rhythmic beat we’d just heard moments before, like some kind of otherworldly heartbeat that the night was producing all on its own. It sure as heck didn’t sound like someone bumping Soul II Soul’s Back to Life on the radio at a high volume, but something altogether more.

  Momma got up on her knees on the couch, pulled the sliding window to the right as hard as she could and poked her head out of the window and into the darkness. She scanned the yard from left to right and then looked up at the dark sky. The clouds were thick and bloated and blocked out the moon as if God himself had covered it with a blanket. A thunderstorm was definitely approaching, and by the look of things, it would be arriving in Hammond shortly. As soon as the window was open, the cool wind from outside blew through my hair and the thumping sound became even louder. It made my heart race like I was running a marathon.