Hell Hollow

by Ronald Kelly

  “Need me to open that pack for you?” he offered.

  Allison had forgotten the Merits in her right hand. “Uh, sure,” she said.

  He took them from her, opened the pack, and stuck one of the cigarettes between her lips. “Here, I’ll light it for you, too.” There was the rasp of a thumb on the roller of a cigarette lighter, then, and instant later, the bluish-yellow flame of a Zippo was hovering before the end of her cigarette. She could feel its heat and smell the sharp odor of butane.

  “Which hospital is your father in?” she asked, thinking that conversation might settle her nerves.

  “Huh?” He turned and stared at her as if he didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “Which hospital?” she repeated. “In Chattanooga?”

  “Oh,” he said with a thin smile. “Memorial.”

  Allison nodded. She had no way of telling whether he was speaking the truth or not. She had driven through the Tennessee city several times, but knew practically nothing about it. And she certainly didn’t know how many hospitals were there or even if one of them was named Memorial.

  They drove on in silence. The radio was on low, set on a classic rock station. The Stones sang “Sympathy for the Devil”. For some reason, Allison couldn’t listen to the words without thinking about the man sitting next to her. The man that most folks just called Slash. Slowly, the cross pinned to his shirt began to lose its innocence. She glanced over at him, hoping that he didn’t notice.

  Sometime between that moment and the first time she had seen him back at the gas station, the pin had changed its position. It now hung upside down. Inverted.

  Allison’s suspicions concerning hitchhikers began to creep back into her thoughts. She began to wonder if she had made a mistake.

  They were halfway between Marietta and Chattanooga, when they approached a green and white exit sign.

  “Adairsville,” Jackson said softly. “Two miles.”

  Allison said nothing. She couldn’t figure out why he had said that. But, on second thought, maybe she could.

  “Yeah, Adairsville,” mused Slash Jackson. “I think we’ll get off there.”

  Allison’s heart leaped in her chest. “What do you mean?”

  “I said we’ll be getting off at that exit,” he told her.

  She was about to protest, when she heard a crisp snap. Allison turned her head and caught a glimpse of polished steel gleaming in the dashboard light.

  A knife! her mind screamed. He’s got a knife!

  She jerked the steering wheel to the right, throwing her passenger off balance. The Taurus veered toward the shoulder of the interstate, leaving the right lane and heading toward the dark grass beyond. The tires grated against gravel and, for a moment, she was afraid the loose rock would throw the car off its wheels and into a roll.

  Then, suddenly, Jackson was close to her, his hand reaching beneath her chin. She felt something narrow and cold press against her throat and realized that it was the knife. Her heart thundered in her chest and she cried out in alarm.

  “Put it back on the road, Allison,” he hissed in her ear. “Now!”

  She fought with the wheel and finally steered the car back into the correct lane again.

  “Now take the Adairsville exit when it comes up,” he instructed.

  “Why?” she asked, her voice shaky.

  “There’s a place a few miles back in the woods. An old house where no one will disturb us.”

  Allison Walsh recalled news stories she had heard on the radio during her drive to Florida. Stories of robbery, rape, and murder along the same stretch of interstate that she now traveled. Feeling the knife blade against her throat, she was suddenly aware of who was responsible for those crimes.

  A cold sensation settled in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed dryly. “What… what are you going to do to me?”

  She could see Jackson smiling in the darkness, like a wolf bearing its fangs. “Everything,” he whispered.

  Allison moaned softly.

  “Everything you’ve ever heard of,” promised Slash. He turned the honed blade against her flesh, drawing a single drop of blood. “And some you’ve never imagined.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Keith! Over here!”

  The boy left the crowd that had just departed from the Atlanta flight. He hefted a neon green backpack over this shoulder and searched for the one who had called his name.

  “Keith!” came the voice again and he turned his attention to a line of people standing behind a roped barrier, waiting for friends and loved ones. Keith saw a tall, elderly gentleman with silvery-white hair and a leathery tan standing with the others, smiling and waving to him. He was wearing jeans, scuffed work boots, and a western-style shirt with pearl snaps and a yoke across the shoulders and back.

  The twelve-year-old groaned inwardly. Well, there was no turning back now; no appeals to be pleaded or tantrums to be thrown. His parents were on their way across the Atlantic and he was here in the Nashville Metro Airport, on the verge of the worse summer of his life.

  Soon, he was past the barrier and standing before Jasper McLeod. Keith stared at his maternal grandfather through his Ray-Ban aviators and frowned openly. Will you look at the old fart? he thought to himself. He looks like Jed Clampett on the Beverly Hillbillies.

  Jasper grinned and extended a wiry hand. “Howdy, Keith! Boy, it’s sure good to see you again!”

  Keith stared at his hand, then reluctantly took it. The old man’s grip was strong and firm. “Uh, yeah,” he muttered in reply. “You, too.”

  They finished shaking hands and stood there quietly for a long moment. Finally, Jasper broke the silence. “Do you have a suitcase with you?” he asked.

  “Yep,” said Keith. “It should be coming up soon.”

  They walked to the luggage carrousel and found the boy’s suitcase waiting for them. It wasn’t long before they had crossed the lobby of the huge terminal and was outside.

  “I’m parked over yonder in that lot,” he said. “You know, it cost me eight whole bucks to park there? Now don’t that beat all?”

  Keith simply nodded. Not only is he an old fart, but he’s a cheap old fart, he thought.

  A moment later, they were climbing into Jasper’s Chevy pickup. Keith appraised the vehicle with a mixture of repulsion and amazement. He couldn’t figure out how the old truck still managed to run. It looked like a prime candidate for the junkyard. And the interior was even worse than the exterior.

  “I know it ain’t much to look at,” said Jasper almost apologetically. “It might be an old rust-bucket, but it’s got four hundred thousand miles on the speedometer and it hasn’t given up the ghost yet.”

  Keith felt around on the seat, but didn’t find what he was looking for. “No seat belts?” he asked incredulously.

  “Nope,” said the old man. “This old Chevy is a B.S. model. You know, Before Seatbelts.” Jasper laughed and gave the boy a wink.

  Keith failed to crack a smile. How corny! Am I gonna have to listen to his lame jokes the whole time?

  Jasper parked the boy’s suitcase between them and closed his door. “Are you hungry?”

  Keith looked at the Bulova diving watch his father had given him for his last birthday. The digital display read 11:37. “Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

  “We’ll stop by Burger King and grab us a bite before we head to Harmony,” suggested Jasper. “How does that sound?”

  “Okay,” said Keith. He slumped down a little in the seat, feeling embarrassed to be seen in such a junk heap of a truck.

  As Jasper took the airport exit and hit Interstate 24, he glanced over at the boy’s Atlanta Braves cap. “Did you know that you’ve got your cap on backwards?”

  Keith rolled his eyes behind his shades. “It’s the style.”

  “Oh,” said Jasper with a nod.

  They rode in silence for a while. Then Keith turned and looked at the man he would be spending the next month with. “Uh, what do you want me to call
you?” he asked. “Mr. McLeod? Grandfather?”

  “Grandpa will be just fine,” said Jasper with a big grin. “That’s what your cousin, Rusty, calls me.” The old man reached over and turned on the truck’s AM radio. Country music began to play through the speakers choked with scratchy static and interloping signals. “By the way, we’re having supper over at your Aunt Susan’s tomorrow after church. Your Uncle Frank is out of the state on a trucking job, so he won’t be there. Do you remember much about them?”

  Keith shrugged. “Kind of. Not very much.”

  “Well, we’ll fix that up right fast,” promised Jasper McLeod. “I know they’ll sure be glad to see you. Particularly Rusty.”

  Keith tried to conjure an image of his red-headed cousin in his mind. No matter how hard he tried, though, he always came up with him looking like Opie Taylor on the old Andy Griffith Show.

  “Do you like fried chicken?” asked Jasper.

  Keith shrugged again. “It’s okay, I guess.”

  “It’s your aunt’s specialty,” he told him. Jasper’s smile faded a little. “Don’t talk much, do you?”

  “Not much, no.”

  “I don’t really blame you,” he replied. “Way I figure, this wasn’t your idea in the first place, was it? And you’re none too happy about coming up her and spending your summer. Am I right?”

  Keith turned and looked at the old man. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.” The boy was a little surprised. Old grampus isn’t quite as dumb as I thought. Something came to mind and he decided to test the waters a bit. “So how do you feel about my parents dumping me on you all of a sudden?”

  Jasper laughed. “Well, now, that ain’t how I look at it, Keith,” he said. “To tell the truth, I’ve been looking forward to it. We ain’t had much chance to spend any time together, have we? Well, this’ll give us the opportunity. And you won’t be disappointed, I swear you won’t. Harmony ain’t as bad as your folks have probably made it out to be.”

  I wouldn’t bet my life on it, Gramps, thought Keith.

  “You’ll have a lot of fun, just wait and see,” Jasper assured him. “Maybe not the kind of fun you’re accustomed to, but, then, it’s good for a young fella your age to do new things every now and again.”

  “Yeah, right,” said Keith, unconvinced. The country music that buzzed from the Chevy’s ancient speakers was beginning to grate on the boy’s nerves. “Uh, Grandpa? You mind if I listen to some of my sounds?”

  Jasper turned and looked at him blankly. “Pardon me?”

  Keith opened his backpack and took out an iPod with headphones. “Music. I just can’t dig those tunes you’re playing. They’re just too sophisticated for my taste.”

  The old man detected the sarcasm in the boy’s statement, but ignored it. “Why, sure. You just go on and help yourself.”

  “Thanks.” Keith slipped on his earphones and cut up the volume, drowning out both the hillbilly music and any small talk his grandfather might want to subject him to.

  Jasper McLeod stared at the boy for a moment, then turned his attention back to his driving. He was a little disappointed that things hadn’t gotten off to a better start, but he knew he must be patient. They hardly even knew each other. It would take time for them to feel one another out and find some sort of common ground.

  The old man just hoped that Keith got past the resentment he was so set on exhibiting. If not, Jasper was afraid it was going to be a long month.

  A very long month, indeed.

  ~ * ~

  An hour later, they were entering the town limits of Harmony, Tennessee.

  Keith sucked on the straw of a fountain drink and stared out the side window at the rural community. The first thing they passed was fields of corn, soybean, and tobacco, as well as pastures of Holstein and Black Angus cattle. When the farms began to thin out, the town itself began to grow more apparent.

  “That’s my friend Edwin Hill’s store there,” said Jasper, pointing to the side of the road.

  Keith looked at the weathered structure of planks and tin, but was far from impressed. It looked more like a firetrap than anything else.

  They passed the general store and continued on. Next came shady, tree-lined streets with single and two-story houses of white clapboard and brick. Keith noticed several beer-bellied men in shorts mowing their lawns, while their wives worked in flower gardens and their kids rode bikes or played freeze tag in the empty streets.

  Then came the town itself. It was a slow-paced, sleepy place that looked nearly deserted, even though it was Saturday afternoon. A line of small shops and businesses sat to the left of the main street, while to the right stood a white-brick courthouse with a gazebo standing out front. To the rear of the courthouse, amid a grove of oak trees, stood a tall, steel water tower painted an ugly sea-green color. Across the sphere-like reservoir at the top were painted the words WELCOME TO HARMONY – THE NAME SAYS IT ALL!

  Keith smirked and began to whistle the theme from Green Acres.

  Jasper McLeod cocked his head like a dog and frowned. “What is that? Sounds kinda familiar.”

  “Beethoven,” said Keith. “Concerto number three.”

  “Oh,” said his grandfather, looking a little confused. “Right.”

  Keith caught himself before he could laugh out loud. Then he looked at the extent of the town, which they were quickly nearing the end of, and his humor died down. “What do you do for kicks around here, Grandpa?” he asked.

  “Oh, all kinds of things,” said Jasper.

  “Like what? Got a mall or a video arcade?”

  “Uh, no,” admitted the old man.

  “How about a movie theatre?”

  “We used to. It burned down six years ago.”

  “Fantastic,” groaned Keith. “So what do the kids do around here for fun? Swat the flies off the cow’s tail and watch the corn grow?”

  There was that sarcasm again. Jasper wasn’t sure he liked that side of his grandson, but he refrained from mentioning it. “Mostly they ride their bikes, play ball on the diamond out back of the elementary school, and explore the woods south of here.”

  “Whoopee,” said Keith with a bogus yawn. “I can hardly wait.”

  Jasper couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. “Are you going to do this the whole time you’re here, son?”

  “Do what?” asked Keith with mock innocence.

  “Make wise-ass comments like the ones you just made?”

  Keith shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably. That’s just the way I am.”

  “I’d really prefer that you keep your opinion of Harmony to yourself from now on,” Jasper told him, trying to keep a firm reign on his temper. “I know you’re not crazy about this arrangement, but you’re stuck here and that’s just the way it is. I just hope you get rid of that chip on your shoulder and try to relax and enjoy yourself. This doesn’t have to be as bad as you think it’s going to be. It’s entirely up to you.”

  “Thanks for the lecture, Gramps,” said Keith. “But if you don’t like the way I talk and the way I act, then you can always buy me a plane ticket home.”

  Frustration showed in Jasper’s eyes. “You know I can’t do that. It’s too late.”

  “That’s right,” snapped Keith. “So don’t try to push your hicktown ways on me. Just keep off my back and we’ll get along just fine. Comprende?”

  The old man clutched the steering wheel tightly, his face red with anger. “If you were just a couple years younger, why, I’d turn you across my knee and whale the living tar plumb outta you!”

  “Now it’s child abuse, huh?” asked the boy smugly. “You’re not racking up any points with me, Gramps.”

  Jasper glared at the boy. “Your mother mentioned that you had an attitude, but I figured she was just exaggerating.”

  “Afraid not,” said Keith with a grin.

  “That’s clear enough to see,” Jasper muttered beneath his breath, then said nothing else to antagonize his grandson. This wasn’t how he had wanted
their first day together to turn out. Not by a long shot.

  Keith stared at his grandfather through the dark lenses of his Ray-Bans. He congratulated himself, feeling a cruel satisfaction at having bested the old dude. Part of him knew that it was wrong to feel that way, but that part was vastly overwhelmed by the stronger aspects of his character, mainly arrogance, ego, and self-importance.

  He sat back against the truck seat and propped his Nikes on the dashboard of the old Chevy, hoping it would piss the old man off even more. Maybe this won’t be as bad as I first thought, he told himself. If I can play everyone here in Hootersville like I just played Gramps, I might just end up having myself a helluva lot of fun.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jasper McLeod pulled his pickup truck into the gravel drive of a farm a mile south of his own place. Sitting on the seat next to him, looking none too happy, was Keith. He sat there, still dressed in his Sunday clothes, with his arms firmly crossed and a sullen expression on his face.

  “Well, we’re here,” said his grandfather. “Your Uncle Frank and Aunt Susan’s place.”

  “No kidding,” said the boy quietly.

  Keith glared through the windshield. The house was a traditional two-story farmhouse with a shady front porch. To the rear of the structure were a huge red barn, a concrete grain silo, and several smaller outbuildings. It didn’t look much different than Grandpa McLeod’s farm, except that the old man’s house was single story and there was no silo next to the barn.

  Jasper looked at the boy and felt a little sad. Keith had scarcely said a dozen words to him since their argument the day before. Jasper didn’t think it was because the boy was angry with him. No, indifferent was more like it. Keith seemed to be deliberately ignoring him.

  If Keith was miffed about anything, it was the fact that he had been forced to attend services at Harmony Holiness Church that morning. Keith hadn’t wanted to get out of bed early that morning. Jasper had woke his grandson up at six o’clock, two hours later than he himself had risen. The boy had grumbled and frowned through his breakfast of scrambled eggs, country ham, white gravy, and buttermilk biscuits. When Keith had made a move toward his bedroom, intending to sleep the rest of the morning away, Jasper had collared him and steered him toward the shower. They had bantered a few unpleasant words back and forth, but Jasper had put his foot down. Still half-asleep, Keith had grouchily agreed to accompany his grandfather to church. Jasper knew he had been lucky. If the boy had been a little more alert, there would have been a good chance that the old man would have ended up going to church by himself.