He ejaculated five minutes later and rushed into the shower. He scrubbed himself in the hot water for an hour, nearly using up a bar of soap.
The next morning, the penis had grown back. Everybody thought things had gone as well as possible considering the circumstances.
It wasn’t until Judd started gaining weight that things got complicated.
Humanitarians
by Weston Ochse
The Lincoln Town Car pulled into the yard, dust and leaves crunching beneath its tires. Adam stepped out, briefcase in hand, wondering for the third time why he was here. What had brought him to this point? The sad thing was that if it weren’t for this sad family, he would have been fired on Monday.
The dogs launched from the porch and stampeded towards him. He’d learned to keep completely still after Monday’s episode and since he only had one good suit left, he followed the lesson closely.
There were eight of them, and never had the AKC even fathomed that such color and body combinations existed. He’d run from them on Monday, and when the owners of the house had finally called the dogs off, his clothes had hung in strips. They’d loaned him an old pair of jeans and a stained flannel shirt, and when he’d returned to the office, everyone had laughed — that is until he’d plopped the contract on his boss’s desk.
And then all the bastard had said was, “We’ll wait until the check clears before we start celebrating.”
This time the mongrels recognized him and after a few minutes of spastic sniffing, they shuffled back to their places on the stoop. Adam sighed and headed across the dirt yard to the house. He wove around several rusting hulks of trucks that had seen their best days when his father was still in canvas hi-tops and black and white television was the height of technology. The house was a miracle of clapboard and tarpaper architecture. He imagined the builders blindfolded, drunk and in the midst of acid experimentation as they hammered and stapled the incredibly rambling structure into crazed existence.
More unbelievably, the Wheaton’s had purchased homeowners insurance.
“Hey Momma, it’s that insurance guy again,” said the thin girl who opened the screen door.
Adam waved and smiled his trust me smile at Enid. She was a sweet girl and he felt sad for her physical problems. Her left arm was six inches shorter than her right and her eyes were slightly off-center, so that staring into them made one queasy. He fixed his gaze on her mouth, a slightly less disturbing vision with the orange tint of never-brushed teeth.
“Good Morning, Enid,” he said. “Is your Momma around?”
She stared at him with cross-eyed befuddlement. “Of course she is, Mister. Didn’tcha hear me callin’ her?”
Adam grinned and stepped carefully over the step that he had fallen through on Tuesday. “No, I didn’t,” he said. “Will you tell her I’m here, young lady?”
“You need to get your ears checked, Mister. I done told her and she said she was comin’ as soon as she finishes up with the turkey.”
Adam smiled and decided if he mentioned that Enid only had one ear and shouldn’t be talking about ear problems, he wouldn’t make his fourth sale this week to this seriously strange family.
“Let Mr. Connors in, Enid. Don’t make him stand there at the door,” came the husky voice of the mother from deep inside the shadowy depths of the kitchen.
Enid opened the screen halfway and stepped aside so Adam could enter. He sucked in the fresh Tennessee air before he accepted the invitation, then crossed the threshold. If this had been two years ago, he never would have stepped foot inside the place. The recession had hit him hard, however. With his company going belly-up, and the divorce, and his present boss on his ass to make his quota, he had little choice.
It wasn’t so much that everything was dirty. It was just that a film seemed to be coating the furniture, the walls and the floor.
To his left were the two boys, who sat watching Goldberg slam The Blue Flame again and again on the wrestling ring mat. Not boys, really. They were thirty-three year old twins, who in their simple-minded enthusiasm grinned toothlessly at their favorite sport. The remnants of homemade pork rinds lay scattered along their three hundred pound, overall-covered frames, and littered the carpet at their booted feet.
Enid indicated he should sit in a low-backed chair by the plastic covered window. He sat and sank deeply into the old cushions. On his first visit, he’d discovered it was the Grandmother’s Chair, but the old woman spent most of her time in bed. The exception was Wednesday, when she’d come shuffling out in an old robe.
She reminded him of a gnarled tree — thin, but tough enough to have weathered innumerable seasons. She’d touched him and felt his muscles, commenting on how poorly fed he was. He guessed that since she’d lived through the Depression, being well fed was an important thing in her life. He’d always felt a little on the scrawny side though, and her clucking had made him feel like the one hundred and fifty-pound man he was.
But this family seemed determined to change it. He could have sworn he’d gained thirty pounds in the last few days. They were forever feeding him and offering him drinks. He’d even eaten the pickled pig’s feet and chicken beaks offered up in an un-appetizing bowl of brine. After all, he needed the commission more than his pride. The pecan pie was the best, though. Yesterday, to the extreme happiness of the mother, he’d eaten an entire pie.
“Mr. Connors. It’s so nice that you found the time to come back to us.”
“Mrs. Wheaton, of course I returned. You told me your husband was returning today and how keen you both were on the Term Life policies for your family. If there is anything that’s important, it’s providing for the survivors in the event of unfortunate death. I can’t tell you the times where folks felt everything was going okay and they had too many credit cards and... ”
“We don’t own any credit cards, Mr. Connors.”
“Still,” he continued without hesitation, “It would certainly help finances if... ”
“What the fuck is goin’ on here and who the hell is this man!”
The figure that stood the door was not the patriarchal presence he expected. The intimidating shadow and deep voice revealed a man that had to tip-toe to reach five feet, but wore his machismo upon his tanned and wrinkled face like a matador.
Adam stood quickly, his briefcase slipping to the floor. The twins jumped up and ran over to their father. They surrounded him, hopping from foot to foot in childish glee.
“Da, you bring us presents? Did ya, huh?”
The father glared at his two sons momentarily, then smiled.
“In the truck boys. Bring in Da’s things and there’s something special for ya in the cage.” When the boys scampered out the door, Mr. Wheaton returned his attention to Adam and his face reverted to what appeared to be a comfortable sneer. “Now you! What the fuck are ya doin’ here? If it’s my Mable you’re after, you’re gonna have a fight on your hands.” The last he punctuated by drawing a long fish knife from his hip.
The smaller man went into a crouch, the tip of the knife steady — deadly.
“Sir! Sir! I am not after your Mable, I’m here to... ”
“What do ya mean you’re not after my Mable? Ain’t she good enough for ya!”
“Well, yes. Of course. I mean no. I mean, I’m here for insurance, Sir.”
“You’re gonna need insurance after I’m done with ya,” screamed the smaller man launching himself across the living room.
“Henry! Stop this now. Poor Mr. Connor is here for dinner.”
Henry sat on the insurance man’s chest, the tip of the knife quivering at the pale throat. He turned to see his wife in the kitchen door, her hands covered with brown and white feathers. His mask of rage smoothed into a broad smile.
“Why didn’t you say so before?” he asked, standing up and sheathing the knife. He reached down and helped up the insurance man. “Sorry about that, Mister. Welcome to our home.”
Adam stood shakily and tried to catch his brea
th. His hands went absently to straighten his mussed suit, but his eyes were still locked on the knife at Henry Wheaton’s hip. Adam’s brain screamed for him to run, but his legs refused the commands. The dire need for a commission still held him in a tight grip.
“Pleased to meet ya, Mister,” said Henry proffering a small strong hand.
Adam felt himself accepting and squeezed a weak reply to the iron grip of the smaller man. With the handshake, however, his fear seeped away and he smiled. It was just a misunderstanding. Maybe he could still unload the insurance — and if he did, he’d shove it down his boss’s throat.
“Pleased to meet you too, Mr. Wheaton,” he said, trying hard to control the quavering in his voice.
“So Mable says you’re here for dinner,” said Henry, looking Adam up and down. “You’re a little thin, though.” He turned to his wife. “You been feedin’ him, Honey?”
Mable smiled proudly. “Sure have. He’s been here everyday sellin’ us insurance. But I’ve been makin’ sure he’s been eatin’. It’s all that unhealthy big city livin’ I say.”
Henry nodded once. “Good. Good. Bring me the jug and get on back to the kitchen.”
Henry sat on the couch. Picking up a few loose pork rinds, he shoved them into his mouth. His gaze went to the television and he grinned as Goldberg threw The Blue Flame into the second row of the screaming crowd. When Goldberg shot his victory sign, Henry joined in, the middle fingers of his hands rising toward the ceiling. As the man laughed, rind residue shot out and onto the coffee table where they landed among magazines and spit cups.
The boys exploded through the door, whooping and hollering. Each carried a metal Coleman cooler and the stench of fish swirled into the room. Sitting atop each cooler was a small metal birdcage containing a beautiful multi-colored parrot.
“Ma, Ma,” said the one on the left. “Looky what Da got us. We got us parrots.”
Henry watched his boys run into the kitchen, the look of fatherly pride unmistakable. He glanced over at Adam and winked.
“Gonna teach them them to talk,” he said.
Adam wondered who was going to teach whom. He took a moment to collect his thoughts and cleared his throat. He grabbed the briefcase where it had slipped to the floor and propped it on his knees. He dialed the combination, flipped it open, grabbed several documents and closed it. Placing the documents on the top of his laptop desk, he began his spiel.
“Now, as you know, Mr. Wheaton, I have been concerned with your family. Your wife and I,” said Adam, gulping, “have developed a comprehensive plan in the event of virtually any untimely disaster.”
He paused to make sure he had the man’s attention and waited while Enid handed her father an earthenware jug. The man uncorked it with his teeth and took a long swig. When he finished, he whistled long and slow.
“They call this concoction The Sweetness. My cousin makes it and it’s the best, damned shine you’ll ever taste. Here,” he said proffering the jug, “Try some.”
“Maybe later, Sir. As I was saying, your house is insured and covered in the event of fire, flood, earthquake, tornado and of course the special consideration your wife insisted on... er... demonic possession. And I can guarantee that we have provided your family with the best rates available in today’s tumultuous market.”
Henry nodded for Adam to continue.
“Tuesday, I returned and we initiated a comprehensive plan for your truck and the John Deere out back. So if anything happens to them, all you need to do is call me and I will take care of everything. I pride myself on individual service and... ”
“Okay. Okay,” said Henry, his eyes glazing over a bit with the words. “Tell ya what, Mr. Connor. Let’s talk about that after dinner. I’m hungry as a bear after a winter snooze and I need something to fill my gut.”
Adam stared blankly for a few seconds then nodded slowly. It appeared he was going to get fed again.
They had been eating for three hours. Well, he’d really done the eating. The rest of the Wheaton’s had merely picked a bit, seeming more concerned with his health. Henry had just returned from a fishing trip down to the Florida panhandle and had brought back four hundred pounds of amberjack. Mable had begun to pickle it right away and offered a bowl for Adam to taste. He had to admit, it was very good and contained some unique seasoning. He’d also forced himself to eat some of the pork rinds they were so proud of, as well as half a pecan pie and four boysenberry muffins.
His stomach felt distended and all he really wanted to do was lie down and take a nap. They must have noticed and had made him a pot of coffee. The bitter dark taste of chicory made it an exotic counterpart to his usual early morning vanilla java. The caffeine also spiked his brain awake. He was looking forward to concluding the deal.
The aroma of turkey was making its rounds through the house, and even though he was full to bursting, it teased his taste buds until his mouth watered. It took little effort for them to entice him to the dinner table. The spread was incredible. It was everything one would expect at a Thanksgiving and more: Mashed potatoes and gravy, fried okra, pickled fish and pig’s feet, boysenberry jelly, pickles, corn on the cob, plates of butter, dressing, cornbread and an immense turkey.
The boys gnawed on their roasted parrots, holding them daintily with pinkies extended. They’d explained to Adam that their Da liked them to eat them because it made the boys talk better. Adam had nodded, somehow knowing that that would be the reason.
Around the table sat Enid, the twins, Henry, Mable, Granny and Adam. But the only two that were seriously eating was Enid and Adam. Henry had expertly carved several huge slabs of juicy white breast meat and laid them on Adam’s plate. The turkey had been carefully basted in honey and the meat fell apart in his mouth. He didn’t even need to chew it was so perfect. It wasn’t until the second plate that he voiced the question that had been bothering him.
“Why aren’t you eating? I’m feeling more than a little guilty sitting here and devouring your excellent food.”
“Don’t you worry, Mr. Connor,” said Mable. “This food is for you and Enid. The rest of us are humanitarians and we don’t like to eat animals.”
“Humanitarians?” asked Adam. The political term seemed out of place in the kitchen and he’d never heard it mentioned with food before.
“But as you see, Enid’s joining ya,” added Henry. “We could never get her to stop. Even though she’s thin as a sassyfras tree, she never turns down a meal.”
“Enough of this shit, Henry. I’m tired of waiting and getting hungry as hell,” said Granny in a reedy voice.
Henry cast a glance at his mother and then locked eyes with his wife who nodded in return.
“As soon as you’re finished, Mr. Connor, we’ll get down to business and finish this once and for all.”
Adam gulped down his mouthful of food and nodded sharply. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed the plate aside.
“Let me just go and grab my briefcase,” he said, pushing away from the table.
“Not yet, Mr. Connor. We got something special to show you first,” said Henry.
Adam paused and glanced around. If it was more food, there was no way he’d ever be able to eat it. As it was, he felt what could only be what a woman pregnant with sextuplets must feel like on delivery day.
“Well, I don’t know, Mr. Wheaton,” he said. “I really can’t imagine eating another bite.”
“Then it’s perfect timing. Come on and lemme show you what I mean.”
Henry stood and gestured for Adam to follow. Adam pushed away from the table and ambled across the wooden floor of the kitchen and into a room he’d previously mistaken for a closet. Instead, it was a large room dominated by an immense stove set against the outside wall. Henry tugged open the door which opened downwards. The small man pulled out a six-foot metal tray. Deep grooves had been cut along the edges to catch juices as they bubbled out of the meat. Five bands of metal were arrayed along the stainless steel.
“Take off your clothes Mr. Connors,” Henry said, as if he said it to men all the time.
“What? Take of my clothes? But... ”
“Come on. Either you do it, or I’ll have my boys do it for you,” Henry said, his voice hardening.
“But why do I need... my... clothes... off?” his voice trailed away as he spun around to see the smiling faces of the family and realized that the oven wasn’t made for pigs, or cows, or horses.
He spun and ran toward the door and hit the Mongoloid brothers at full speed. He bounced off and hit the floor hard. They grinned stupidly, picked him up and held him fast. Enid slid next to him and with a long knife, began to cut away his last good suit. He soon stood naked. He struggled the best he could, but the iron-like grips of the twins made it virtually impossible to move.
They threw him on the metal tray. Carefully, they secured his arms, legs, and neck with the metal bands.
He screamed for them to stop, but they ignored him.
They left him momentarily and he found himself offering them his car, his savings account, his house, his condo in Jamaica and his first born child if only they’d let him go.
They reentered. Granny carried a large twenty-gallon pot of breadcrumbs, parsley and celery. A garden shovel stuck out from the top of the mixture. It took his panicked mind but a few seconds to realize that it was stuffing and it was meant for him.
“Go on ahead and chop off that, pecker, Mable,” said Henry. “We’ll make jerky out of it. You know how much Momma loves to chew on her jerky.”
Four things happened at once:
Granny approached his ass with a garden shovel full of dressing.
Mable approached his manhood with a paring knife.
Henry approached his stomach with his fish knife, apparently ready for the gutting.
And Adam realized that being a humanitarian had absolutely nothing to do with politics.
Scary Rednecks & Other Inbred Horrors Page 10
