In seconds, I spotted a break in the tree line and Nana’s frail body on top of a mound of damp grass to my right. Her favorite nightgown hung in tattered pieces, her gray head of hair loose, splayed out behind her like a white blanket. Her breath came in great gasps and her withered, wrinkled hands clutched something to her chest. She turned her head and looked at me, her cloudy eyes wild with fright. My leg muscles contracted and propelled me across the open area from the edge of the tree line. In one giant leap, I was right next to her. When I landed, my body shook with emotion.
She spoke again. “The torch has passed on, and I ain’t needed no more. What you want from me, I ain’t never gonna give. End it. I ain’t afraid to die. I know where I’m goin’ when I do, and you’ll surely never step foot there!”
An inhuman, piercing scream ripped through the forest, the sound so loud the ground beneath us shook from the intensity. Fury pulsed through me as a roar burst from my lips. My mouth filled with hot, rust-flavored liquid and spilled out down my chin, soaking my neck with its sticky heat. Warm flesh gave way underneath my strong bite. The sound of it, as I tore pieces away from the body, made my heart pound with glee. Hunger for more overrode everything else. The scent of the rusty blood drove me mad with rage. My fingers dug deep into the exposed flesh, tearing and pulling chunks off of the writhing body.
Another shriek, louder than the one before it, rang out in the darkened woods. This time, it was full of pain and not anger.
And this time, it was human.
CHAPTER FIVE - THREE DAYS LATER
Questions about where I heard the name Nahu’ala were long forgotten, overshadowed by the passing of Nana. The strange vision I had in the hallway the day my family found out about her death stayed locked inside of me. I was unable to bring myself to tell anyone. Something inside my mind whispered to keep the disturbing images to myself. When I snapped back to reality and found myself in the hallway once more, my mouth locked tight. Mom didn’t handle me mentioning the name Nahu’ala to her very well, so I didn’t dare say a word about what I had seen in the forest. The thought of telling her the gruesome scenes left my mind as I watched her sob in Daddy’s arms.
For the last three days, our tiny farmhouse had been filled with so many people I’d lost count after one hundred. The majority of the faces I recognized, but a few I did not. All of them had the same expression—compassion and shock. Food of all sorts piled up on every available nook and cranny in our small kitchen. The competing scents overwhelmed my nose so I steered clear of the area. After the second day, Mom politely asked the visitors to please take what they brought home because we would never eat it all before it spoiled.
My best friend Barb was allowed to stay with me to “keep me occupied.” Her mother, Nanette Ransford, told her it was her job as she carried a pile of green bean casserole and fresh cornbread to the kitchen the first day after Nana’s death. As my best friend, it was her job help me smile and keep me out from under the feet of my family while they grieved. Barb had turned three shades of red when she realized I overheard her mother’s instructions from my spot by the open window. I jumped from my perch and helped lug the food in, and then Barb and I snuck out back to sit in the afternoon shade.
I didn’t care what the reasons were for Barb being at my house. I was simply grateful she was there. She stuck to my side like a wad of gum embedded in a chunk of my hair. Her motormouth never stopped as she flitted from one topic to the next, determined to keep my head full of so many other thoughts I didn’t have a chance to break down.
Meemaw had been at our house ever since the discovery of Nana’s body. She was heartbroken and needed to be near her daughter and granddaughter. Normally, when the three generations of Kovlin women were in the same room, no one could get a word in edgewise. Meemaw, Mom, and I were all talkers, mouths always flapping. When Nana was with us and four generations occupied the same space, it was utter chaos.
But not anymore. The matriarch of our family would never be in the middle of marathon gabfests or whisper her outrageous tales of the past into my ears.
I came close to spilling to Barb what I saw the day Nana died only once during the three days. It was after listening to Daddy talk to Sheriff Gilmore the evening after Nana’s death. Both of them thought I was inside with Barb, Mom, and Meemaw, but I wasn’t. I hadn’t slept much since Nana died. An hour or two here and there, but nothing solid or resembling real sleep. It terrified me to think I might have another weird dream or vision. Instead, I faked sleep until Barb crashed next to me and then snuck downstairs when I heard the sheriff’s car pull up. Like a quiet church mouse, I listened from my perch on the bench under the living room window, hidden by the heavy drapes. Daddy and Sheriff Gilmore spoke in hushed tones on the front porch.
“I’m tellin’ ya, Jared. Ain’t never seen anythin’ like it in my life. Poor ol’ Ralph Wemscott ain’t never gonna be the same. Swore off ever settin’ foot in the woods again. Not even to hunt. Took forever to get a full statement from him. He kept stoppin’ to puke.”
There was a long pause before Daddy responded. “You don’t think he…?”
“Oh, hell no! What happened to Ms. Beulah weren’t done by no man, like I told ya yesterday. Besides, ol’ Ralph is just a harmless drunk. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know that. Just a hard pill to swallow, thinkin’ we got ourselves a bear or wolf in the woods. Ain’t had one around these parts in what, years?”
“Weren’t no wolf. Bite marks were too big for a wolf’s mouth. Claw marks were too…deep. Coroner is leanin’ toward a panther or bear. My money’s on a bear. Time was when the Delta was full of the black scourges, back ’fore them damned Injuns killed them all off. Least that’s what my Pa told me ’cause I ain’t never seen one, and I’ve hunted all over the woods for years. Ralph thinks it’s a panther though. Said he heard screams in the forest while he was out huntin’ that weren’t made by a human. Hard to imagine it’s either one, ’cause ya know, ain’t a big predator been seen in these parts for decades. Then again, nature has a way of rebuildin’, so I betcha that’s what we’s seein’ here. Wish we coulda got some good prints, but we didn’t. The rains that night left nothin’ but a pile of mush around her. Don’t make no sense no matter what thing got to her. Animals kill because they’s hungry. But, Ms. Beulah wasn’t…I mean…it just…killed her.”
The sheriff’s words trailed off, followed by a long moment of silence. My skin crawled at his words. Finally, Daddy responded. “Listen, Sheriff. I appreciate you lettin’ me be the one to…ID her. Woulda sent Jolene or Ms. Gertie to the hospital from a stroke or heart attack if they’d done it. Almost did me, and she ain’t my ma or grandma. And I saw the leftovers after she was, um, cleaned up. Can’t imagine the horror Ralph witnessed when he found her. God, stumblin’ on that musta’ knocked a few years off him for sure. And probably sent him headfirst into the nearest bottle.”
Sheriff Gilmore pulled out a can of dip, stuck a large pinch between his lips, then spat over the railing a few times. “Listen, Jared. We finished goin’ through her house and didn’t find nothin’ that would explain just what in tarnation Ms. Beulah was doin’ out down by the creek at night. It’s damn near six miles from her house! We didn’t find no evidence of someone harrasin’ her, no sign anyone had been inside or broke into her place. Nothin’ disturbed or signs of a struggle. Ned Simpkins checked with the phone company this mornin’, and Ms. Beulah didn’t get no phone calls in the last week ’cept from your house. So, I wanted to ask you: do Ms. Jolene or Ms. Gertie have any ideas? Say anythin’ to you that might shine some light on why Ms. Beulah went out there—besides what they told me already?”
Daddy rubbed his head in frustration, wiping away a small bead of sweat before it trickled down into his eyes. “No. We’re all just as stumped as you, Sheriff. Ain’t like Ms. Beulah ever wandered before out like that, at least not that we knew about. Once we got Sheryl and Barb to bed, it’s all the three of us talked about, off and on, ’t
il you drove up. We came up with diddly-squat. Course, I ain’t been completely forthcomin’ with the girls either—you know, about everythin’.”
“You didn’t tell Ms. Jolene and Ms. Gertie the truth?” Sheriff Gilmore queried.
Daddy wiped his brow again and eased down into the rocking chair to his left. “Of course not, Sheriff. How can I? You said it yourself. You don’t rightly know exactly what kinda critter tore her to pieces. They’s havin’ enough trouble swallowin’ the fact that Ms. Beulah was out in the woods at night. I mean, come on! She was ninety-somethin’ years old! Ms. Beulah always was a tad…quirky. Their words, not mine. I think she was looney tunes. After the flood and her losin’ everythin’, then findin’ out she was pregnant with Ms. Gertie—it done turned her brain to mush. I kept tellin’ Jolene I thought we shoulda put Ms. Beulah in that home down in Greenville, you know, so she would have round the clock care. Jolene wouldn’t hear of it though. And now look what’s happened. Her body torn to bits by some damned critter, all because she forgot where she was and started wanderin’ around in the dark. Nope. I think it’s best to just let them continue to think she was sleepwalkin’. Got lost and had her a heart attack when she couldn’t find her way home.”
“Jared, you and I both know that little tale ain’t gonna stick for long. When the death certificate arrives at your front door and doesn’t match up your story, what then? I got a good crew of deputies, but people talk. If just one of them or the County Coroner or even Ralph, went home and told their wives what happened, the news will spread like wildfire. And that fire will hit your house before the death certificate does. Then all hell will break loose. Besides, I’ve got the rest of the county’s safety to worry about. Whatever tore Ms. Beulah apart is still out there, and we’ve gotta find it before it kills again. People see us out traipsin’ through the woods armed to the teeth, they’ll put two and two together. Either that or they’ll think Armageddon is acomin’. People will panic. And the last thing I need now is a bunch of armed rednecks combin’ the woods, shootin’ at every little sound. That happens enough durin’ huntin’ season.”
Sheriff Gilmore made a noise that sounded like someone was choking him while he tried to laugh. I heard Daddy’s deep and heavy sigh all the way from the other side of the porch. “I know, I know. I certainly don’t want another family to go through this. I just…I just don’t know how to tell them. I mean, how do I start the conversation? It’s gonna break their hearts.”
“Jared, give the gals some credit. They’s tough stock, just like everyone else ’round here. After all, they’s both mom’s too. Think about little Sheryl and Barb in there. Ms. Gertie and Ms. Jolene’s instincts to protect their youngin’, and all the others in town, will kick in. Once the shock of the news wears off, they might surprise you. Maybe they’ll grab their guns and help track the four-legged monster that killed their kin.”
I couldn’t sit and listen to any more. The hairs on my neck and arms stood straight up, and my stomach hurt. For a minute, I thought I might throw up on the couch. A wave of dizziness swept over me when the memory of the odor of the rusty blood slammed into me. Spit filled my mouth, and I shook with fury.
Without thinking about the noise it would make, I bolted from the living room and sped up the stairs. Thankfully, I made it to the toilet just in time.
I shook the thoughts of the last three days away. I didn’t want to get in trouble for not paying attention or showing any disrespect. Nana’s funeral service was underway, the church packed with mourners. The air conditioner hummed overhead, working furiously to keep the room at a tolerable temperature, a hard task for sure with all the warm bodies crammed inside its walls.
I snuck a peek behind me. It looked like the entire inhabitants of Locasia County had come to pay their respects to Nana. She may have had a reputation as a crazy loon, but people still loved her. Even the reclusive Witherspoon clan showed up, including my schoolmate, Dane V, with Ms. Emma, his momma, and his grandfather, Dane “Pops” Witherspoon III. My second-grade teacher, Lillian Shelby, sat at the organ, her pink summer frock already marred with sweat as she played. Pastor Wray stood near Nana’s shiny silver casket, his face flushed red though he had yet to speak. The lid was closed, and a big, black and white picture of Nana, one I didn’t recognize, sat on an easel next to it. When the last chord of “Amazing Grace” settled over the congregation, Pastor Wray cleared his throat, loosened the black tie around his neck, and began the service.
Like I always did during church, I tuned the pastor out and forced myself not to squirm in my seat. Sandwiched between my mom and dad in the first pew, I snuck a peek at Meemaw on the other side of my mom. She looked like a marble statue. With a quick glance around, I noticed Papa Joe and the rest of the crew from the diner filled up the spaces on the remainder of the bench. In honor of Nana’s passing, Daddy had closed the restaurant for the rest of the week. Papa Joe smiled at me, but sadness shown behind his dark brown eyes. Daddy sat in silence, his eyes downcast as he stared at the closed hymnal in his lap and the card that read “Come! Celebrate the Life of Mrs. Beulah Roberts Kovlin.”
I turned away, unwilling to look at the picture of her on the front cover or the one on the altar. I settled my eyes on Mom’s quivering hand instead. It gripped Meemaw’s as the pastor spoke about the promise of Heaven for Nana. I tuned back in and listened to him spout verses from the Bible meant to give comfort to those of us left behind, to ease our pain from losing her. They were just like the ones he said at Grandma Pat’s service two years ago. He cautioned those of us listening to remember that departing this world was not the end, only the beginning. We were just travelers in a strange land and our ultimate destination was above.
Next, a parade of residents took the stage one by one and each offered their favorite recollection about Nana. Some of the stories were funny, and uncomfortable laughter spread through the crowd. Seemed people were unsure whether it was proper to laugh at a funeral service or not. Other testimonies brought a round of tears and sniffles. I snuck a peek at Mom and Meemaw to see if they would get up to speak, but neither of them moved. Backs erect and chins set, they stared at the shiny casket and nothing else until the pallbearers hoisted it out to the waiting black hearse.
The sun was just beginning to set in the western sky. The heat of the day still held the area hostage. The shimmering waves of warmth hung heavy around me. The last visitors pulled out of our driveway, kicking up a light cloud of dust when they hit the main highway. I watched from the porch, swiping away at the mosquitoes buzzing around me. It was so hot, I wondered if I could get away with sneaking out to the pool in the back for a quick dip. It would have been easy since no one was paying any attention to me. But somehow, it seemed wrong. Today was not a day for fun.
The house was quiet, other than the low murmur of the radio by my side and the creak of the rocking chair I sat in. Only the four of us remained, surrounded by enough food to last a lifetime. Mrs. Ransford took Barb home with her after they paid their respects, along with a boxful of food Meemaw insisted they take. The large box full of southern delights didn’t seem to make a dent in the mounds of food left. My stomach was packed, and I guessed everyone else’s was too, considering how much food I watched people gobble down. In between the tears and hugs, they shoveled it in like they were starving.
Alone on the porch, I thought about Grandma Pat. She was my first go-round with death and all that followed it, so at least I had known what to expect. It had taken Daddy weeks to laugh and smile again, but eventually, he did. I knew Mom and Meemaw would too. Life moved on—returned to normal. I cried when Grandma Pat died. More from seeing Daddy upset than actually missing her presence in my life. Grandma Pat was a cold, hard woman whom I never felt comfortable around. I tried, but didn’t recall a time when I snuggled up in her lap or enjoyed warm kisses and hugs. She had been nothing at all like Nana and Meemaw. Thinking about her funeral and how I bawled like a newborn kitten confused me because I had yet to shed a tear for
Nana.
The lack of tears for Nana almost hurt as much as her passing. I loved her. Nana was a funny little thing, always flitting about from one project to the next. She wasn’t able to sit still for more than ten minutes—just like me. Her mind revved up in constant motion—like her mouth. Her house smelled like talcum powder and warm apples fresh from the oven . Nana had a quick smile, hearty laugh, and a love for all things southern. Born in 1911, she loved to tell stories of her life growing up in Junction City, peppered with tall tales and crazy adventures.
Her favorite story, and one she told repeatedly, was about the great flood of 1927—her unbelievable tale about how she survived out in the woods, away from the raging waters that engulfed the region when the Mississippi River levee’s failed and wiped out nearly all of Junction City. The story was legendary in our family—and the entire county. With a dramatic flair, she would recall how she survived. She’d been lured to the forest by screams she thought were from a woman in pain but turned out to be from a panther. Terrified, she started running and went the wrong direction, heading deeper and deeper into the woods. The sound of the big cat’s heavy breathing and snarls behind her kept her feet pumping until she collapsed from exhaustion.
“I just knowed my life was over! I couldn’t make my legs go no more. Thought my heart would burst from fear when the hairy beast jumped out from the bushes. Lawdy! I screamed and cried for help, tried to shoo it away, but it kept acomin’. I was clawin’ my fingers in the dirt, tryin’ to pull myself away. Didn’t matter none. Thing was right on top of me ’fore I could blink. Mounds a black fur stickin’ up every which way, and it stunk worse than an old dead skunk rottin’ in the hot sunshine. It had these big yellow eyes and teeth as long as my fingers! I’m tellin’ ya, it was right here.”
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