by Brian Hodge
Trey stared deep into the eyes of the fish, alien, but mysteriously human, searching for the answer. There, among the blackness, he saw the same look that Guinn, his mother, his father, his grandfather, even Greg on occasion, had given him. It was the feeling that pervaded his being. Instead of drowning, instead of feeling the quick burning warmth of a lungful of watery death, he felt the warmth of love. Unconditional and pure, it was there for him, just for being alive. Would grandfather want him to die for him? He pictured the old man’s tall John Wayne features and knew the answer.
‘Yes. I would die for you.’
Then you understand. Go in peace and live long.
The firm grip of the weeds suddenly released him and Trey felt himself floating towards the surface. He watched the imperious figure of the Catfish God until it had became one with the shadowy depths. It wasn’t until his head bobbed to the surface that his body contracted and jackknifed. He automatically relented and allowed his body to breathe in the sweetness of the putrid, yet life-giving air of the dock.
“Trey. Trey. Trey,” came the jubilant shouts.
He glanced up and saw Greg, cheeks puffy and hair matted as if the storm had come and gone. His eyes were as red as his hair and his voice held the hoarseness of a widow.
“Trey. I thought you were dead,” said the boy, tears renewing their slalom through his freckles. “It’s been hours.”
“Hours?” asked Trey absently as he levered himself into the boat. He examined the sky and noticed the sun setting.
“I… I couldn’t leave. I… I thought you were dead. I didn’t know what to tell people.”
Trey stared at his friend openly with a fondness that hadn’t been there before. Greg noticed it and his eyes widened. Then his face went serious and he wiped his cheeks.
“How can you be alive?”
Trey shook his head. “I have no idea, man. All I know right now is that I love you for waiting.”
“Yecch,” Greg said, poking his tongue between his lips and smiling. “You gay or something?”
Trey looked off toward the community dock and began to paddle. “Naw. Just happy to be here.”
His grandpa used to say that.
Some Things Were Better Off Not Talked About
by David Whitman
“They say Judgment Day is gonna be here soon,” Judd said, staring at his burning marshmallow. “Jesus is coming, and he’s pissed as hell. He’s gonna stomp us out like a bunch of rats.” With that final statement, he extinguished the fire from his marshmallow with a puff of exhaled air.
His friends stared at the smoking marshmallow for a moment as if it held deep and profound truths, the flames of the campfire flickering across their faces dramatically. They let Judd’s words sink in and all sighed at what seemed to be the same time.
Judd sat back with a scholarly look of feigned intellect on his face, feeling that he had impressed his friends with his observation.
Max farted loudly. “That is the biggest crock of shit. Man, Jesus ain’t coming nowhere. That hippie looking dude is probably up there surfing the clouds on some sort of rainbow colored surfboard.”
Kenny Joe and Bailey Butler started laughing simultaneously in redneck stereo, their impressive bellies shaking with mirth. This really angered Judd who felt what Max had just done was sacrilegious.
“Go on, make fun,” Judd hissed. “You’ll see when Jesus comes down and takes your ass come Judgment Day. You won’t be making jokes then-you’ll be on your knees crying like a little schoolgirl. You’re my best friend and all, Max, but there will be nothing I can do to save your ass.”
Max snorted up some phlegm and spit it into the campfire. “It ain’t my fault they paint Jesus in the pictures to look like some blue eyed guitar player rock star. Hell, if I see Jesus I’ll hand him a guitar and ask His Holiness to play me a couple of rock riffs or maybe a little Spanish flavored groove.”
Judd actually smiled at their laughter this time. “Go on, keep digging your hole. I can already feel the devil getting your room ready.”
Max spit again. “Shit. If Jesus don’t have no sense of humor, I don’t want no part of him.”
Kenny Joe nodded. “One only has to look at my ex-wife and see that Jesus must have a sense of humor, bro. Hell, I ain’t never missed a day of church in my life. What did that get me? A big fat slut. And not only was she fat, she was evil.”
Bailey nodded emphatically. “I must agree.”
Judd just shook his head and tried not to laugh. Sometimes he craved a little more than these types of conversations. A talk on Judgment Day had just degenerated into the disgustingly witty observation, ‘not only was she fat, she was evil.’ He sighed and walked towards the tent. “I’m going to sleep. This is tiresome.”
Max smirked at his friend. “Well, you have to admit, Judd. If Jesus could play the guitar, that sumbitch would be fantastic.”
Judd sighed again and pulled off his jeans. Sometimes Max just tries to bug me on purpose, he thought as he adjusted his boxers. He heard the sound of one of the guys popping a beer can as he wiggled into his sleeping bag.
Something slid up his leg, slithered slowly around his balls, and then came to rest. He knew what it was without putting his hand in his pants as he felt the cold, scaly skin against his own warm flesh.
Trying his best to remain calm, Judd tried to shout out, “Max!” but it came out as a kitten-like squeak. After a few minutes, he managed to yell his friend’s name loud enough to get his attention.
Max stepped into the tent. “I ain’t your maid, Judd. If you want a damn beer get it your own goddamn self.”
“Max, go get the lantern.”
Max moved closer to Judd.
“Don’t come any closer!” Judd hissed. “Just get the lantern. There is a snake wrapped around my balls.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Get the lantern!” Judd exclaimed, trying hard not to upset the snake, which he felt coiling around his testicles.
“Is it a big one? Can’t be that big.”
“Oh my fucking motherfucking god.”
Max exited the tent muttering, “Okay, okay, jeez.”
“Don’t tell Kenny Joe and Bailey,” Judd called out, knowing full well the brothers were already being told.
Five minutes later, they were standing around Judd’s sleeping bag looking at him the way men looked at their dying comrade in those old war movies. There were tears going down Judd’s face.
“Oh now, don’t cry,” Max said. “We’ll figure something out.”
“If that snake is poisonous, you’re screwed, bro,” Kenny Joe said, looking down his friend as if he was already dead.
“I must agree,” Bailey said.
“You two aren’t helping any!” Judd hissed, cringing as the snake tightened around his testicles, squeezing them.
“It’s probably not even poisonous,” Max suggested, watching his friend’s ashen face in the lantern light. “Probably just some garden snake. Did it rattle?”
“I don’t think so,” Judd said. “But you know my hearing has been screwed all day since Kenny Joe blew off that shotgun too close to my ear.”
“Sorry about that,” Kenny Joe said, looking genuinely remorseful as he stared down at the crotch area of the bulky sleeping bag.
Judd’s eyes widened as the snake circled around his penis and he tried to hide his embarrassment as the physical movement brought him to a semi-erection. “Oh dear Lord, I’m being punished for what you said about Jesus. I’m going to die in this tent.”
“That’s just stupid,” Max said. “It’d be my dick that snake would be around then.”
Kenny Joe stepped back a little. “The Lord, he works in mysterious ways.”
“I must agree,” Bailey said, poking his finger into his round belly.
Judd tried his best not to scream at the top of his lungs. “Can you two please get the hell out?”
Max stepped forward. “Ok, Judd. I’m going to try and pull t
he sleeping bag off of you, maybe then we can at least see the bugger and get him out.”
Judd grimaced as the snake moved yet again. “Okay, but do it slow, man. This is my life we’re playing with here.”
Kenny Joe and Bailey stood together, their breathing held in check as they watched Max approach the sleeping bag. Max looked like a soldier entering battle, teeth clenched, his face a mask of grim determination.
Judd bit his lip as Max gently pulled the sleeping bag off his body.
A rattling sound emitted from between Judd’s legs.
“Oh my god,” Judd whispered. “You may as well just kill me now. It’s a rattler.”
Max just mouthed ‘Oh God’ over and over as he stared down at the sleeping bag. “You know I’m scared of snakes. Oh god. Should I keep pulling?”
Judd nodded, a bead of sweat running down his forehead. Max took a deep breath and cautiously pulled the sleeping bag from his friend.
The snake rattled again.
All the men stopped breathing, too scared to exhale. Max didn’t stop though, he continued his mission bravely. A half a minute later, he had the sleeping bag down just over the crotch of Judd’s undulating boxers.
“That shit wouldn’t have happened had you worn briefs like a real man,” Kenny Joe observed.
“It looks like his dick is taking on a mind of its own,” Bailey added.
Judd didn’t even hear them. Instead he looked down at his crotch in pure terror, his sweat-drenched face dripping down his neck.
The snake squirmed around in his boxers as if it was trying to get comfortable. For a brief second, the snake poked its head out of the hole and stared at the men with unblinking eyes, its forked tongue flickering around menacingly. It vanished back inside. The small rattle sack was sticking out of Judd’s boxers just so.
“I’m going to try and pull it the hell out,” Max said, as he heard both Kenny Joe and Bailey exhale in fear. “This is going to be downright scary. For one thing, what am I supposed to after I’ve pulled the damn thing out? Kenny Joe, go grab that bitch-be-quick-stick.”
The bitch-be-quick-stick was Max’s lucky walking cane. He brought it with him on every outdoor excursion he could, using it to make clearings and even sometimes kill snakes that scared the hell out of him by slithering in his path. Kenny Joe returned in seconds with the stick.
Max held it in his hands, feeling its power. “Okay, Judd. I’m going to pull this thing, but quick. We can only hope she don’t bite you.”
The only sound that could be heard was the crackling of the campfire. Max reached slowly towards the rattle that stuck out from Judd’s crotch, his fingers shaking in the air.
“God, god, god, god,” Judd chanted as Max’s fingers came dangerously close to the snake’s tail.
“Get ready, Judd,” Max said, his fingers only inches from the rattle. “I’m gonna pull this bastard away from you.”
With a flash of speed, Max wrenched the snake away.
Judd shrieked and curled up into a fetal position.
Max tossed the snake into the corner of the tent and whacked it with the bitch-be-quick-stick as his friend screamed. Within seconds, the small rattlesnake was nothing but a bleeding mass of bone and flesh.
“It bit me on my dick!” Judd shrieked as the men’s faces instantly lost all blood and went totally white. “My dick! I’m fucking dead! I can already feel it killing me.”
“Oh shit,” Max exclaimed, his knees nearly buckling out from underneath him. “What the hell we gonna do? It will take at least an hour to get you to any hospital.”
Kenny Joe knew what Max had to do. “You’re gonna have to suck the poison out, bro.”
“I must agree,” Bailey said, staring down at Judd’s shaking form.
“No…goddamn…way,” Max said, shocked to his core at the suggestion.
“Fucking bit me in the dick!” Judd shrieked. “Fucking dying! Fucking help!”
Max shook his head. “I can’t even believe I’m considering this. Sucking another man’s dick. Oh Christ, I can’t.”
“We won’t tell anyone, Max,” Kenny Joe said, as his brother nodded. “You got to save Judd, that sure as hell won’t make you no fag.”
Max nodded, his stomach wrenching. What a night this had turned out to be. “Judd, I’m going to have to suck that poison out.”
Judd stopped crying. His face seemed to drop to an even whiter shade than before. “Uh…what?”
“If I don’t suck it out, you’re gonna die.”
Judd put his hand over his by now hugely swollen penis. “No way, man. Screw that shit.”
Max looked at the enlarged member. “Look, you think I want to do this? Now don’t be an asshole and let me suck your dick.” He paused for a moment. “Uh…did I just say that? What I meant to say was I can’t just sit here and let you die.”
Judd shook his head violently. “Max, you ain’t gonna suck my dick and that’s final. I can’t even believe we are having this conversation.”
Kenny Joe coughed and pulled a buck knife from his pocket. “Well, there is one other way.”
Judd nodded, sweat dribbling down his neck and into his drenched shirt. “I’d rather have the thing cut off then have it sucked by my best friend.”
Max sighed heavily. “Man, you are insane.”
Kenny Joe opened the knife and wiped it off on his pants. “Look, after we cut it off we can just rush him to the hospital. We can put it on ice and maybe they can get the poison out and save it.”
Bailey waved his arms as if he had an idea. “Hey! Remember that Old Pete’s wife? Aren’t they camping about twenty minutes away? Maybe she’ll suck it out! She may be an old hag, but I’m sure it’s like riding a bike. She probably get the poison out, but quick. And it’s gotta be a plus that she got no teeth, right?”
There was silence in the tent as they all just stood there looking at Bailey.
Kenny Joe walked over to where Judd’s penis jutted out of his boxers. “Okay, Judd. Let’s do this quick.”
Judd screamed. “Wait! Can’t I at least get some ice on this fucker? Christ, man, what the hell do you think I’m made of? This shit’s going to hurt!”
Max ran out and came back in with a handful of ice. Judd winced and bit his lip as the ice began to take effect.
“I once knew this woman who did some amazing things with ice,” Bailey said, curling his mustache as he studied the swollen penis. “This reminds me of that.”
Once again, there was silence in the tent.
Judd held his penis out. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”
Kenny Joe put the knife against the penis as every man in the tent winced and unconsciously held their crotch.
Then he began to saw.
Judd screamed so loud that Max felt his eardrum had exploded. “What the are you doing, asshole! Don’t fucking saw it! OH MY GOD OW!”
Blood ran down Judd’s fingers and into the ice. Bailey walked out of the tent and vomited into the grass.
Judd snatched the knife from Kenny Joe’s hand. “Give me that! I’ll do it!” He put the knife to his bleeding penis and held his breath. “Oh god, I can’t do it. Fuck it, Max. Suck the poison out.”
Max grimaced. “You sure, man? I’m not so sure I can do this now that I been thinking about it. It will make me feel queer. Not just queer as in fag, but queer odd.”
“What, and you think I want you to do this?” Judd asked, rubbing his bleeding penis with a piece of ice.
Max looked like he was about to cry. “This is a nightmare.” He looked over at Kenny Joe. “Go grab me that Jack Daniels.”
Kenny Joe left the tent and returned instantly with the half-full bottle of JD. Max took it and drank hungrily, bubbles shooting up in the bottle. He handed it to Judd who also took a heavy sip.
Max got down on his knees and leaned over the swollen penis, his stomach feeling as if a little fat man was disco dancing around inside. He looked for the fang holes, gritted his teeth, and closed his eyes bef
ore bringing his mouth to Judd’s member.
Judd looked down at the top of his friend’s head and cried. The sight of his best friend’s face buried in his crotch was the most disturbing thing he had ever seen.
Kenny Joe and Bailey peeked into the tent forty-five seconds later and watched the surreal sight of one of the most macho men they knew giving a blow job. It took Bailey two weeks to stop shuddering when he thought about it.
“That’s just wrong,” Kenny Joe said, wanting to turn away, but watching anyway. “There ain’t no way we can keep this to ourselves.”
“I must agree,” Bailey said, nodding his head up and down rapidly.
Two weeks later, the whole town had heard about the snake situation. Max and Judd never spoke of the incident again, although they would beat half to death anyone who brought it up. Some things were better off not talked about.
The Appalachian Easter Outhouse Feud
by Weston Ochse
“It’d been your Grandpa Jessup’s idea to put the outhouse on top of the Hell Hole. On account of the Easter of ‘46, of course. After the long battle, he’d gotten sorely drunk, ramblin’ on about them Nazis and them Eye-talians. You see, he’d hoped that after the Big War he’d be able to stop fightin’. He said he’d seen enough killin’ to last him two lifetimes. Why, he was so busy walkin’ from Sicily to Berlin that he’d almost forgotten about The Feud. And then he come home on Ash Wednesday and all the preparations was in gear — he was sure pissed. Grandpa Jessup had thought his fightin’ days was over, so his goal was to make the Devil eat shit.”
Jimmy Lee glanced sidelong at his Granny as she paused to take a medicinal swig from a small silver flask. Even old and shriveled with skin drawn tight against the bones, she was the toughest woman he’d ever heard of or seen. And he’d even been to the city once.
“Well, after the battle was over, even before the smoke had cleared, he ordered your uncles to go and drag the old outhouse back from behind the barn and bring it into the ravine. Them boys, your uncles, was hootin’ and hollerin’. They knew what your Grandpa was up to. Even the Whitmires joined in and they passed around jugs and jugs of their special brew, if you know what I mean. Well, when they placed the outhouse over the hole, Grandpa made sure he was the first one to take a dump. He grunted and groaned so loud that everyone on both sides was laughing until their teeth hurt. Then he up and came out and told everyone he had been so tired of taking the Devil’s shit that he felt it was only right to give a little back. It was a regular Hoot n’ Annie with everyone singing and dancing and taking their turns trying to fill up the hole. Why, in as long as I can remember, it was the first time that the Whitmires and the Wheatons had gotten together for anything but a fight.”
