That day came soon enough. Mary had announced she would spend a day in the garden with Joshua. Zebadiah had calmly picked up his rucksack and packed it with pills, water and a jar of moonshine. He dug a baseball cap out of his hold-all and gathered his walking cane under his arm.
“While you two are enjoying the garden, I’m going for a short stroll to the moonshine still honey.” He lied.
“Seriously? That’s an awkward climb through that forest baby. We haven’t been there since you got home. The path will be overgrown and I doubt there will be anything usable when you get there.” Mary replied.
“No worries. I’ll take my time and I just want to see the old place is all. Might be some rocket fuel left up there I can bring down.” Zebadiah laughed.
“Well you go slow. And come straight back if things start hurting. Whatever you find up there won’t be worth the pain you’ll be in my love.” Mary said as she eyed him suspiciously.
“You enjoy your day with Joshua darling. I’ll take my time and yes I’ll be careful. I’ll be ready for dinner when I get back.” Zebadiah said as he departed through the front door and down to the gate.
He would have to do something of a circuit if Mary was watching him. Follow the track in the opposite direction from town and then up into the woods. A narrow, overgrown path from there led up into the hill and on to the moonshine still his father had built and hidden so well. Zebadiah wasn’t planning on going that far. Once above the house he would circle around and then drop back down onto the lane to town. It might add half an hour to his journey but hopefully he might get some answers from the Reverend and he might be driving home in a truck. Maybe Mary would be a little more enthused if he turned up in something they could take trips out in.
He hit the lane after a hacking stomp through the thick overgrown woods and headed for Charles Station. Mary had been right. The track to the still was well overgrown now. Nobody had been there in a long, long time, Zebadiah thought, and certainly no revenue men had been near the place.
He could feel his aches growing as he got to the main street through the little town. He stopped and took a couple of pain pills from his bag. He swilled them down with a drink of water, fastened the pack and carried on towards town.
He was pleased to see the door to the little chapel of Reverend Halcomb was open and he ventured inside.
It was tiny with seats for maybe thirty people to sit and little room for any latecomers who might have to stand. Not that there were that many people in the town itself anyway. The folk up in the hills rarely came down this far just for a church service. The only time Reverend Halcomb need worry about overcrowding was the usual births, deaths and marriages.
Sunlight bounced through the high windows and the one fancy colored glass one exploded rainbows over the pulpit at the front, standing before a huge cross that had been carved from two local trees. It was intentionally rough-hewn and primitive. Reverend Halcomb had insisted on it. He wanted the people to know just what sort of painful and cruel torture device their savior had died on. The locals of course, didn’t quite see it that way and thought the Reverend was going cheap to save collection money for his other pursuits outside the church. He didn’t actually have any, except perhaps enjoying some of the finest moonshine in the area. Usually that came with a nod and a wink from the supplier in the hope of a good word on Sunday.
As Zebadiah moved into the church he could see the Reverend sitting in the front pew. He was reading a book of psalms and was looking intent and nervous. Zebadiah was shocked to see he was actually trying to make sense of what was in the book as he saw him flicking backward and forward through the chapters as if looking for an answer to something.
“Reverend? Could we have a word?” Zebadiah said gently.
The Reverend sat bolt upright and swiveled in the pew.
“Certainly! Certainly! I’ll be right with…” The Reverend’s voice trailed off as he turned to face Zebadiah.
“Ah. Zebadiah. I have been thinking and praying for you son.” Reverend Halcomb said.
“You have? Well here I am. I was wanting to ask why you left in such a hurry the other day is all.” Zebadiah replied.
“I’m sorry for that son. A trick of the light is all. I thought I saw Mary coming out of the front of your house. Mary indeed. How ridiculous does that sound?” Reverend Halcomb said.
“I’m not sure I understand. Why shouldn’t she? It’s her home too.” Zebadiah said.
The Reverend turned ashen and he could feel himself gripping his book of psalms as he tried to face Zebadiah. Somewhere in this book was an answer and he couldn’t find it. Somewhere in this chapel should be some sort of explanation but it was lost to him. Perhaps he wasn’t what he thought he was. Perhaps he was in no position to give guidance to anyone. Perhaps he was as insane as the man standing in front of him.
“Mary is dead Zebadiah. Mary has been dead a good long time son. Your house is a burned down ruin. You need help my friend, serious help but I just don’t know how to help you. You see, I saw the house as good as new and I saw Mary standing at the door and that makes me crazy too, right? Crazy because I’m the one that helped bury her and your mother. Crazy because you live in the ruins of your house and know nothing about any of this.”
Tears began to flow down the Reverend’s cheeks as he looked at Zebadiah and could see the anger welling up in the man’s face.
“Yes you are insane Preacher. My wife is as alive as we are and so is my son Joshua.” Zebadiah snapped. “The house is better than it ever was and that’s all thanks to Mary and the work she put into it. What the hell are you talking about?”
“I saw it Zebadiah. I saw your fancy house and I saw your beautiful wife. I saw it too. That’s why I had to run. I knew it was impossible. I knew it was either a trick of the light or the work of the Devil. Whatever it was I know what it wasn’t. It wasn’t your wife because I buried her and it wasn’t your house because that was the fire your wife and mother died in. You see? I’m as insane as you are.”
Zebadiah dropped into a pew. The pain was coursing through his body from his arm, and his leg and his head throbbed and pulsed. But anger and frustration were filling him more than the pain ever could. He slowly rocked back and forth on the pew banging his head on the backrest in front. Either to stop the pain or stop the nonsense words of the Reverend, he wasn’t sure.
“Stop that now Zebadiah. You are ill. We all been worrying over you up there on your own, but folk don’t like to go sticking their nose into other folks business, right? But you are ill son. You need help. Let me go get Doctor Morgan to come take a look at you. You can stay here tonight. You don’t need to be sleeping up in those woods no more. Move on down here into town where you can be cared for. I have a room here in the chapel at the back you can use Zebadiah, until you find a proper place.” The Reverend said.
“No I need to get home.” Zebadiah replied. “I don’t know what you tell the folk that come to your church, but I think you are a crazy old man. You need to be kept away from selling your madness to the folk round here.” Zebadiah tapped the side of his head and turned to leave.
“Zebadiah, I’ve known you since you were a boy, son. Please let me help you. Your mother, God rest her soul, would want me to do all I could to help you.” Reverend Halcomb said.
Zebadiah spun on his heel and faced the Reverend. “Do Not! Ever! Mention my mother. She would never let your mad ramblings in our house. I know it.”
Zebadiah limped out of the chapel grimacing with every step. He could feel the blood pulsing through his temples as he stood outside the door looking left and right. Should he go and find Frank Williams and sort himself a truck or should he just get himself home and be done with this crazy place? His head swiveled back and forth as he weighed up the matter. A truck would be a much easier trip home and he was feeling every step again. But every moment he spent in this town was driving him crazier and crazier.
He set off for home and could feel the blood easin
g around his forehead. The pain in his wounds still burned and groaned at him but he could feel that cold dark pain of his anger slowly leaving his head. Home it was going to be.
He reached the turn for the lane that led home and after a half mile he stopped and lowered himself down again. He began to laugh. He laughed until he roared and shook his head as tears streamed down his face. What on earth would possess a God fearing man like Reverend Halcomb to spout that madness? He reached in his pack and pulled out the jar of moonshine. He took a long swallow of the smooth liquid and gasped as it hit his throat. Then another before replacing the lid and dropping it back into his pack.
The copperhead he’d seen the last time was sat opposite him. Curled snugly on the other side of the path staring blankly at him.
“I’m living with a dead woman and a non-existent child Mister Copperhead. So yes, I deserve a drink doncha think?” Zebadiah said looking back at the snake.
It never moved its gaze but stared as if encouraging him to continue his rant.
“My house of course, doesn’t exist either. It’s a burned out ruin I’m living in. No bedroom to sleep in. No kitchen to drink my coffee in, just a burned out ruin. Now how do you think I wouldn’t have noticed that Mister Snake? How’d I get through the day without thinking “Hey, this is fine coffee but it tastes like old embers. Or is that just the chair I’m sitting on? That’s why my ass is so hot right?” Zebadiah burst out laughing again and the snake backed its head away into its coils somewhat, still staring intently at Zebadiah.
“Sorry Mister Copperhead. Didn’t mean to startle you. Just one of those crazy days in town see? Like you, I prefer to be up here in the sunshine and the trees. Don’t think I’ll be needing to see those folk down there no more.” Zebadiah finished and stood up carefully, taking the weight onto his cane.
He saluted the copperhead and made his way slowly up the lane. He knew he would have to go back through the woods above the house to look as if he had dropped down from the moonshine still and it was a struggle. His head was spinning with the crazy ramblings of the Reverend and the desperation of getting back to the safety of Mary and her loving arms. He sweat and groaned as the tree limbs sprang back at him, slowing his climb. Eventually he was above the house. He looked down and could see nothing. He panicked. He knew this hill. He had made more trips up here to the still in the evening and darkness than he ever had in the daytime. He knew exactly where the house should be. Exactly. But it wasn’t there. From here he should have been able to see at least the chimney poking through the tree tops.
He crashed through the undergrowth and eventually found the track down to the house. At least the track was here, but now he knew he wouldn’t see the house until he was almost on it. That of course was intentional. To keep both the track and the still well-hidden from unwanted visitors.
As he moved along the overgrown path the smell of old burned wood was overpowering and brought him to a stop. He slapped at his head. Blaming the moonshine and the crazy Reverend he gagged and spat into the soil, wiped his mouth and moved on. He broke out of the narrow trail through the undergrowth onto the main path. There was the house. His house. Mary’s house. As wonderful as it had been when he left it. Dragging his throbbing leg he made his way to the gate and in through the front door. He collapsed heavily into a chair in the kitchen and poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. Mary was coming in the back door to the kitchen as he arrived and looked in horror as she saw the state of him.
“I knew that would be too much for you Zebadiah Rasnake. And a pointless trip it was too, right? You gone and bust yourself up all for a broken down still. Madness that is, utter madness.” Mary lectured him.
“Do you feel okay Mary?” Zebadiah asked her looking deep into her eyes.
“Of course I feel okay. Why shouldn’t I feel okay? I’d feel a lot better if you’d stop with your stupid ideas to go out and see the world all the time. That would make my day a lot simpler, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, yes, but you feel okay. That’s what matters. You don’t smell smoke do you?” Zebadiah said.
“I lit the stove an hour ago Zebadiah. To cook the dinner you insisted I have ready for you. Maybe a little smoke, but no it isn’t unusual, why?” Mary replied.
“Oh nothing. Nothing at all. You look wonderful. Come and give me a hug baby.” Zebadiah said, smiling and reaching out to her.
“You’ll get a hug then a bath before you get fed. Then you’ll be promising me no more of these stupid trips.” Mary scolded.
Zebadiah looked at her and down at the table sheepishly. “No more trips dear. I think we have all we will ever need right here.”
Mary escorted Zebadiah into the back room and the big porcelain bath she proceeded to fill with jugs of hot water. Zebadiah slid into the soapy bubbles and relaxed to her hands gently massaging his back.
“I love you, Mary.” He told her, his eyes closed, trying to block out the words and the sights that plagued his mind.
His Mary was right here, she was real, as real as the water she poured over his head to wash away the soap she’d lathered his head with. He felt her touch, felt the water, felt the heat of it all. It had to be real.
Mary brusquely washed his back, no playtime in the tub today, and left him to dry off. But he needed her, needed to feel her loving touch, and after making sure the baby was asleep, he pulled his wife into his arms and pulled her up so that her legs wrapped around his waist. Carrying her out into the hallway Zebadiah pushed Mary’s body up against the wall as their lips came together, passion instantly kindled into a heat that could not be tamed.
Zebadiah let his towel fall and shifted his body, giving himself room to slide into Mary’s eagerly waiting body. She was wet and hot, ready for him at a moment’s notice, and he plunged into her, thoughts about her pleasure gone as he sought comfort from her, confirmation that this was, indeed, reality.
Her nails raked at his back as she clung to him, fighting to hang on, to stay in place, as Zebadiah pounded into her. He was fucking her, not making love, and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself. He needed to claim her, to make her his, and her compliance only aided that. A ghost wouldn’t cry out as Mary did, would it? It wouldn’t whisper words of encouragement as he thrust into her, forcing her delicate flesh against the rough-hewn walls?
Mary’s release was a surprise, and the power of it shocking, but as she spasmed around him Zebadiah felt his cock react, his balls aching as jets of his seed shot from his body and into hers. He wasn’t just coming against a wall, he could feel Mary’s wet heat milking him with each pulse, taking all he had to offer her.
No, his wife wasn’t a ghost. She was real and so was he. Zebadiah let Mary’s legs go, unpinning them from his waist as she slid down, her dress falling down to protect her modesty. Zebadiah smoothed her hair and she kissed him, wrapping her small fingers around his wrist before she walked away, going down to finish supper.
Zebadiah went to their bedroom and took out the bottle of moonshine beneath the bed, sitting naked in the dark room as he took his first sip. No, they were all real, the moonshine was real, and the quilts his mother had made were real beneath him. The Reverend could piss off to the state insane asylum. Taking one more sip Zebadiah slipped down to the covers, needing to rest for just a little while.
Chapter 8
Zebadiah laid in bed. Comfortable and confused. The Reverend was insane. There was no doubt at all in Zebadiah’s mind. Insane and cruel too. He had never spent any time with the church before he had been sent out to Nam and now he felt it was with good reason. The stories never seemed to match with the people that were supposed to live it. He felt like a good guy. He tried to do the right thing. He couldn’t balance the need somehow to prostrate himself at the hands of some Preacher to admit he was really a bad person. He wasn’t. Somehow though, the Reverend didn’t seem so good at all.
He rolled over in the bed and slid his hand to where Mary was sleeping. She wasn’t. He’d soon go
t used to the idea that when he woke, Mary wasn’t there. He would always find her in the kitchen cooking breakfast or playing with the Joshua. Never in the bed.
Some nights as he had tossed and turned, he had turned over to face Mary and seen something else. Something hideous. He had watched her beautiful fair hair and pale skin slowly collapse into gray dust. Fallen into crinkles of burned skin and falling from her face and arms. He’d watched in shock and despair as she slowly crumbled into dust and disappeared. Behind her she left just a smell of burned timber. He would shake his head and rub his eyes and she would be there again. His gentle, sweet bride. Beautiful, youthful and elegant. He knew his head was torn. He assumed his mind was torn too. The morning would always come and the day with Mary would always be perfect.
The Reverend was a crazy man. Short on clients and loaded with any way possible to drag in new recruits. That was all, thought Zebadiah. He wanted a new convert. A new money supply. Plus he knew Zebadiah could make the good hooch. That was all. Get the guy weak. Fill his head and get some of the good stuff cheap.
Zebadiah pulled himself from the cocoon of his bed and went down to the kitchen, where Mary, as ever, was making him breakfast.
“Good morning princess. I thought I might have worn you out last night. Thought you might still be in the bed with me?” Zebadiah said.
“It was wonderful baby. But I slept like a log and you do need to get your strength up. So I need to make breakfast for my man.” Mary smiled as she placed a large plate of bacon and eggs in front of him.
“But you’re doing okay right?” Zebadiah asked.
“Yes my love. I’m doing just fine. So are you until you go running around out there.” Mary said pointing to the door.
“We’re all good then.” Zebadiah said as he dug into the breakfast. He was desperate to ask her about the Reverend and thought he might mention the graves he’d seen when he was swimming in the creek. They weren’t there though, he thought. How could he tell her about the things he’d seen without her getting angry and being more determined to keep him home? Best to keep it quiet he decided. The Reverend was mad as a box of frogs, just as Mary had said before, and the session in the creek was just the painkillers and a bad head episode was all. No need to bother her with that rubbish.
Professor next Door Page 20
