Lost in the Bayou

by Cornell DeVille

  “I could kill both of you right now, you know. If I wanted to.”

  Logic isn’t working any longer, and the situation is getting further out of control with every second. I decide to try another approach. I recall Dad’s advice when a girl at school was bullying me last year. Sometimes you have to bluff. It’s worth a try. I look our uncle dead in the eye as my hand slaps the table. It’s a lot less noisy and intimidating than the crash his large fist made earlier, but it gets his attention.

  “Well, why don’t you then? If you’re going to kill us anyway, why don’t you just do it right now and get it over with?”

  There’s a sharp pain in my shin when Andy kicks me under the table, and my nervous leg stops bouncing. When our eyes meet, he’s shaking his head and giving me his most serious expression.

  Conrad doesn’t seem to notice our exchange. “Where’s the fun in that?” he replies with a look of disbelief as he drops the carving knife on the platter. “That’s way too easy, and no fun at all. What if the Cavendish Gang came out of their hiding places and walked up to the Lone Ranger and said, ‘Here we are. Just shoot us.’ How much fun would that be? Not much, I’d say. We can make it a lot more fun than that.” There’s a childish excitement in his voice now. “We can make it a game. Like hide and seek. You hide. I seek. Then I kill you—unless you can figure out a way to kill me first. What do you think?”

  I don’t know who the Cavendish Gang is, and I still can’t believe what I’m hearing. He’s talking about killing us and comparing it to a game and a television program. It’s a crazy idea, and one I don’t want any part of.

  “We could go to the police,” I say.

  “Oh, I suppose you could do that,” he replies. “But do you really think they would believe you?”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Well, I wouldn’t believe you. If I was a police officer, and you came to me with a nutty story like that, I’d think you were trying to trick me. A lot of people try to trick me, you know, but I’m too smart for them.” He taps his temple and gives me a wink. “Way too smart for them. I would just write it off as the wild imaginations of two poor little children, obviously distraught over the death of their parents. And that would be the end of that.” He shakes his head. “No. You wouldn’t trick me with a story like that. Anyway, it’ll be much more fun if you just play the game.”

  When I hear his argument, I realize he may be right. The police probably wouldn’t believe us. Another idea floats into my head. “We could tell Warner.”

  “Go ahead. Tell him,” he replies. “I’ll just kill him, too. I’ll probably kill him first to get him out of the way. And that should be easy enough, considering how old he is.”

  “We don’t want to play your dumb game,” Andy interrupts. His reaction surprises me. Normally, Andy would rather swallow his tongue than argue.

  The words have barely flown from Andy’s lips when it happens. Everything seems to go into slow motion, and I’m frozen in time as I watch the events unfold. The metal claw reflects the chandelier’s light in a bright flash as Conrad reaches forward. The jaws close on Andy’s wrist with a metallic snap! Andy looks at me with a helpless expression as his free hand moves toward the claw, trying to open it.

  Everything returns to normal speed when I jump up from my chair. “Stop it!” I yell. “Leave him alone, you big bully!”

  A split second later, Conrad is on his feet and in my face. His quick movement has jerked Andy out of his chair and partly onto the table. Our uncle’s lips curl into a snarl, and his whiskey breath fills my nose as he hisses back at me.

  “Shut up and sit down!”

  I have no choice but to obey. He’s towering over me as I melt back into my chair. When my eyes dart to the carving knife, he must read my mind, because his real hand slams down on it before he returns his attention to Andy.

  “Now, where were we?” he asks, as he pushes Andy off the table and back into his chair. “Oh, yes, Andrew, you were saying you don’t want to play the game. Well, perhaps you should reconsider your position.” He sits back down in his chair and slides the carving knife closer to his plate and out of my immediate reach. His voice changes to a whisper. “I promise to make it quick if you play along. You won’t feel a thing. I might even be really nice and do it while you’re sleeping. Otherwise, it could be much more painful and prolonged.”

  I start to say something, but when Conrad’s head snaps toward me, I decide not to. Conrad looks down at Andy’s fingers. “Have you ever had a fingernail pulled out with a pair of pliers, Andy?”

  Andy’s eyes grow wider, and he shakes his head.

  “No?” Conrad replies. “Well, I assure you it’s not a pleasant experience.” He holds up his real hand and spreads his long fingers apart. “As you can see, I only have five left. But look at you! You still have ten, don’t you? My goodness. I can’t even imagine how painful that would be, to have all ten of them pulled out one at a time.” He pretends to shiver. “I certainly wouldn’t want to find out. Would you?”

  A low laugh escapes his throat, and it sends a creepy shiver up my spine. A moment later, the claw snaps open with a loud click, and Andy jerks his hands away and places them on his lap out of reach. I stare down at my own fingers. My nails aren’t that great, but I want to keep them where they are.

  Conrad leans back in his chair and drums the fingers of his right hand on the table. “So, what do you say, kids?”

  It’s obvious he’s not teasing, and it appears he’s given this insane idea of his some thought. I’m impressed with the simplicity of it, but horrified by the potential outcome. If we refuse to play along, he’s going to kill us anyway—after he removes our fingernails. We’d be crazy to agree to such a game. But it seems like refusing to play might be a worse choice.

  “Come on,” he coaxes as he leans forward, glancing from me to Andy and back. “You’re not yellow-bellied cowards, are you?”

  I don’t know what to do or how to reply. It’s clear that we can’t tell Warner. And Uncle Conrad is probably right about us calling the cops. They wouldn’t believe such a crazy story. I’m afraid if we don’t give him a decision, he’ll make one for us and then we’ll be stuck with it. I need to stall in order to have time to sort out our options and try to come up with one that’s better than the two he’s giving us.

  “What are the rules of this game?” I ask.

  I jump when the palm of his big hand slaps the table. “Good response! Requesting more information so you can make an informed decision. Very good,” he says with an excited smile as he leans forward and shifts his glance from Andy to me. “I’m glad you asked, because that’s the best part of the game. There are no rules. We don’t need any stinking rules. Rules are something grown-ups make up just to keep us in line. Just to make things harder than they need to be. So there won’t be any rules in our game. Starting tomorrow, I try to kill you, and you try to avoid being killed. You savvy?”

  My heartbeat pounds in my ears as I look across the table at Andy. I can tell from his expression that he understands our situation as well as I do. Our uncle has put us between a rock and a hard place, as Dad would say. But the fear that was in Andy’s eyes a few minutes earlier has changed to a mix of anger and quiet determination. He understands my questioning look, and he nods slightly in response.

  We have no choice other than agreeing to his crazy demand. I hate being placed in this position, but it seems like our best option at this point, at least until we can come up with something better.

  “All right!” I say as my redheaded temper reaches the boiling point. My fork drops on my plate with a loud clang as I stand up from my chair. “We’ll play your stupid game. But don’t be surprised if you’re the one who ends up dead.”

  I can hardly believe my words after speaking them. I’m usually the timid one—the girl who’s afraid of her own shadow and never brave enough to stand up for herself. I stomp toward the doorway, forgetting my shoes, and Andy follows m
e.

  Conrad’s crazy laugh fills the room as the thunder cracks outside the window. “That’s the spirit! See how much fun we’re having already?” His voice booms as Andy and I hurry down the hallway. “Now run along and make your plans on where you’re going to hide. Everything starts tomorrow. And don’t change your minds! I can always use some garden nippers and snip off one finger a day for the next ten days. Or maybe toes would be better. We’ll save the big ones for last. What do you think?”

  His wild laughter is still coming up the staircase as Andy and I rush down the hall toward my bedroom.

  Chapter Eight

  A Fly Can Hide Anywhere

  “HE’S NUTS, ROBIN!” Andy whispers as I close my bedroom door and turn the key to lock it. The frightened look has returned to his face. “Crazy Conrad is totally wacko.”

  “Unbutton your shirt so I can see where that blood is coming from,” I tell him.

  When Andy gets his shirt unbuttoned, I can see that it’s only a small scratch. I go to my bathroom, grab a tube of antiseptic ointment, and hand it to Andy. “Rub some of this on your chest.”

  “We should call the police right now,” he says as he squeezes the ointment from the tube and rubs it on the scratch. He replaces the lid and drops the tube on my desk.

  I sit on the edge of my bed. “Calling the police won’t do us any good. The only thing it’ll do is to make him angry if the police actually do show up.” I glance down at my hands. “And I really don’t want my fingernails pulled out. Besides, he hasn’t done anything yet except talk about killing us. I don’t think that’s against the law.”

  Andy is pacing the floor and running his hands nervously through his hair. “I wish Mom and Dad were here,” he says. This is the first time he’s mentioned our parents since they disappeared. He stops in his tracks and looks at me.

  A pain shoots through my heart as I watch the corners of his mouth turn down and see the tears filling his eyes. When I rush toward him and put my arms around his narrow shoulders, I feel his sobs as my own tears run down my cheeks. There’s a lump in my throat, but the words make their way around it.

  “They’ll be home soon.”

  He pulls away and sniffs, dragging the back of his hand across his upper lip as he nods. “I know they will,” he says as he looks down and starts buttoning his shirt. “But I still think we should call the police.”

  “He would just deny it,” I reply as I wipe the tears from my eyes. “Conrad would say we made it up or something. And it won’t change anything. Like he said, even if we go to the police, he’s still going to kill us.”

  “Why don’t we just call them and see what they say?” Andy says. “That way, if we do turn up dead, they’ll have a record of it. Just call them. Please.”

  “Okay. I’ll call, but I know they’re going to think I’m just a crazy kid playing some kind of prank.” I lift the receiver from the pink Princess phone on my desk. I’m about to dial the operator to get the number for the police station when I realize there’s no dial tone. I tap the disconnect button several times, but the phone is clearly dead. I hand the receiver to Andy.

  He stares back at me as he holds it to his ear and listens. A moment later, he slams the receiver down in the cradle. “We’re dead. We’re dead as doorknobs.”

  “We’re not dead yet,” I reply. “And it’s doornails, not doorknobs. We’re not going to end up dead if we can figure out a good place to hide until Mom and Dad get home.”

  “What about the cellar?” Andy suggests. “Or the attic?”

  I shake my head. “Too obvious. Those are the first two places he’ll look. And even if he didn’t find us at first, he’d catch us when we came out of our hiding places to go to the bathroom or to the kitchen to get something to eat or drink. We need to come up with a better idea than that. Let’s just think for a little while.”

  Lying on my bed, I stare at the ceiling and try to come up with some places we could hide. My concentration slips as I watch a fly crawling across the ceiling and wonder how they manage to do that. Andy sits on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chin and his arms wrapped around them as he leans back against my night table. When I glance back at the ceiling, the fly is gone. I guess it’s easy to hide when you’re that tiny.

  “Can you think of any other places?” I ask.

  Andy shakes his head. “I thought about the stable, but it’s not that big, and there aren’t any places in there to hide. He’d find us in no time.”

  I start searching my memory for all the possible hiding places in our large home. After thinking about it for a while, I realize there really aren’t that many. Something draws my attention toward the window, and I spy the missing fly sitting on the sill. A moment later he’s taken flight and disappeared outside the window. The fly is gone, but he’s left a thought in my head.

  “Yeah,” I reply. “But that’s not a bad idea.”

  Andy furrows his brow when he looks at me. “What do you mean?”

  “The stable isn’t the house. If Conrad is expecting us to hide somewhere in the house, then hiding in the house is the wrong thing to do; we need to outsmart him and find a good place to hide outside the house.”

  “What about the woods?” Andy suggests.

  “We could go even further than that,” I reply, “and be even safer.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We could go to the end of the woods.”

  “You mean the bayou?” Andy asks with a skeptical expression.

  I nod. “Yeah. We could do it. We did it before. Remember?”

  “I remember.” Andy nods. “But there’s gators down there.”

  “I know,” I reply. Memories come floating into my head—vivid memories of the two times Andy and I went to the bayou. The first time, we were with Dad. It was shortly after we moved to the estate. We had ridden the horses, since there are no roads in that area. I rode Star, and Andy was on Sunny, of course. Dad was riding Buck, the old chestnut gelding. I suddenly remember how sad Dad was when Buck died the following winter. He loved that horse, and after he died, Dad decided that he didn’t want to replace him. So it’d just been Star and Sunny as stablemates from that day on.

  We had left the house early that morning and rode through the woods for most of the day until Dad said it was getting too late to go any further. He pitched a tent in a clearing, and he cooked us dinner over a small fire before we turned in. We were miles from home, deep in unfamiliar territory, but I felt safe and secure in the tent with Dad there. It’s funny how the company of the right person can make you forget your worries and fears.

  Around sunrise the following morning, we saddled the horses and left our campsite. After an hour’s ride, the bayou loomed ahead of us, dark and mysterious. It was the first time I’d seen it, and it was spooky, even during the daylight hours. Twisted vines hung from the trees, and spiders were everywhere, along with snakes and alligators and every type of flying insect imaginable. Thinking about the spiders and snakes gives me the creeps all over again.

  Later that morning, we saw an abandoned Cajun shanty hidden deep inside the darkest part of the bayou. It was at the top of a hill overlooking a creek. There was a small paddock behind it with a fence that looked newer than the shanty. Andy and I wanted to explore it, but Dad said we didn’t have time if we were going to get home before dark.

  On the trip back, Dad told us the story of Fabien Laveau. He said most people thought it was just a legend, but a few believed he was still hiding out in the bayou after his escape from the mental institution. Dad warned us never to venture into the bayou by ourselves. He said it was much too dangerous.

  No one knows about the second time we went to the bayou except Andy and me. Mom and Dad were out of town the following weekend, and we decided to go back, even though Dad had warned us not to. We told Warner we were going to take the horses and camp out in the woods that weekend. We packed up and left the house just before dawn.

  As we rode deeper into the woods
, Andy said we should name it Sherwood Forest. I thought that was pretty clever of him. Since our last name is Sherwood, it worked out perfectly. I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it. The name stuck, and from that point on, that’s what we called it. It’s funny how things like that happen sometimes.

  We slept in the woods that night, as we had done with Dad, and rode the rest of the way the following morning. It took us a while, but we finally made it to the bayou. It was a lot scarier without Dad. The unfamiliar environment and all the strange sounds spooked our horses a bit. Andy didn’t have too much trouble with Sunny, but Star was pretty jittery once we entered the bayou. Talking to her along the way helped to settle her down a little.

  When we reached the shanty, it didn’t appear there had been any horses in the paddock for some time. There was a good stand of grass in there, along with some velvety moss that was growing along the fence where the large trees on the other side provided ample shade. After we put the horses inside, we removed their saddles so they would be comfortable for the rest of the day, and we closed the old gate.

  With the horses taken care of, we were ready to check out the shanty. I was a bit worried about what we might find inside. Andy said he was, too, so we approached the little cabin with caution. The door creaked on its rusting hinges when Andy pushed it open. It was just one room with a tiny window to let in some light. There was a small stone fireplace on one wall with a rough, wooden shelf above it. The shanty was empty except for some mouse droppings and spider webs. It didn’t look like anyone had used the place in a long time.

  We spent that day cleaning things out and turning the shanty into our make-believe castle. Andy even spent some time carving our name, Sherwood, on the door. He said that made the place ours, officially. The day seemed to go on forever, and I didn’t want it to end. We were having so much fun in our make-believe world that we stayed too long. Darkness crept in before we realized it was getting so late.