Black's Creek

by Sam Millar

  Eventually, she came to the last of the kill, and cut almost ear-to-ear, before dangling the carcass in front of my face.

  ‘Stick your finger in its throat,’ she said calmly.

  ‘I … I can’t.’

  ‘Do it!’ She leaned in so close I could smell all her smells. A faint but malevolent odour, like a residue of hospital, of medicines and disinfectant and illness – all things terrible – was oozing from an opening in her shirt. ‘Now!’

  Gingerly, I obeyed, poking a shaking finger into the bloody gap where the creature’s throat had once been.

  ‘What does it feel like, boy?’

  ‘Sticky … warm …’ I willed my stomach to stop heaving.

  ‘Warm? Sticky? Is that how my daughter feels like, you little whoremaster?’

  ‘What …? I … I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ I could feel my face doing a strange little twitching dance, if as someone had shot a million volts of electricity into my nervous system.

  ‘You think I don’t know why you’re here, sneaking about, sniffing the air like a bloodhound? Think you’re the first mongrel dog to come here with your little cock high in the air?’ She wiped the bloodstained knife very slowly on her gore-covered skirt, as if it were an artist’s palette. I wondered if she was planning to plunge the knife right into my throat?

  Tiny needles of pain began burning my skull as she reached for the shotgun. She placed the cold barrel tight against my jawbone, and I knew there and then that I was about to die. The side of my face twitched madly, like a freshly strangled chicken.

  Miss Jessica reached up slowly and cocked the weapon. The sickening sound ran up the rail of my spineless spine. For a terrifying few seconds, my upper muscles went limp and unresponsive, like stretched rubber bands that could neither expand nor contract. All I could do was hold my breath and wait for my face to be blown to kingdom come.

  ‘I’ve taken care of my daughter since she was womb-wet. If you ever come back here looking for her – you’ll be the hare. Do I make myself clear, boy?’

  I blinked my eyes in acknowledgement of her chilling words.

  ‘I’m gonna give you some advice for free. Be warned of where you crap, boy, because you’ll eventually walk in it. If I ever see your ugly face again, I will use this gun. Now get the hell off my property!’

  Like a drunk let loose, I staggered backwards from the room, into the evening air, then turned and ran as fast as my feet could move. The sky above was more dark than light. God had gone, and the Devil was taking over.

  I eventually reached home, bravely ignoring Mom’s questioning as I made a dash for my room. Slamming the door shut, I looked in the mirror on the wall. Two perfect circles of red made by the shotgun were branded on my face, giving it a papier-mâché look. I shuddered. I never wanted to see that dreadful woman again.

  Quickly changing, I balled the shitty underwear and jeans into a Wegman’s plastic bag, and sneaked outside to the garden.

  I buried the bag of humiliation deep into the softness of the garden, thankful for last night’s rain. I could hear Mom calling my name, but I didn’t care. I kept digging and digging, burning with shame and anger.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Hulk and the Thing Pulped to a Pulp

  There is always some madness in love. But there is also some reason in madness.

  Friedrich Nietzsche

  A couple of days after the terrifying encounter with Miss Jessica, I finally acknowledged that in all probability, I would never see Devlin again. So, rather than spending the remainder of the summer alone, or cleaning dirty patrol cars for Dad, I reluctantly decided to swallow my pride and make the first move to reunite with Brent.

  ‘Oh, hi, Tommy,’ said a smiling Mrs Fleming, answering the door to my timid knock. Drying her hair with a towel, she was barefoot and evidently bra-less, under a white T-shirt with the words ‘Life Is Liberated As Long As I’m Medicated!’ stencilled boldly across it. A tiny pair of cut-off denims cut into her perfect legs. ‘I haven’t seen you for some time. Everything okay with you and Brent?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Fleming. Everything’s fine. I’ve just been very busy. Dad had me doing loads of unfinished chores around the house.’

  ‘Sally. Remember?’ Her smile lengthened, and I wanted to fall right into it. ‘What a great young man you are. That’s what I need, a man about the place. I wish I could get Brent to do something around here, instead of just lazing about in his room all day long. You know, one day you’re going to make some very lucky girl a great husband.’

  My face turned as red as the tomatoes in Jack Harding’s fruit store. I wondered, would I ever be lucky enough to find a girl as beautiful as Mrs Fleming or Devlin, when I got older?

  ‘Is Brent about, Mrs Fleming?’

  ‘Oh, sorry. Yes, he’s upstairs in his room. Go on up. I’ll bring some cold lemonade.’

  Shit! The mere mention of the L word made me sweat. I tried squeezing by Mrs Fleming, but she made little or no effort to move. I could smell soap and shampoo floating from her freshly opened pores. The scent made me feel dizzy in a nice way.

  I took the stairs two at a time, before swinging a quick left into Brent’s room. He was resting on his bed, reading a comic. The Fantastic Four. Number twenty-five, the classic Jack Kirby battle between the Hulk and the Thing. The room was filled with comic books and crime magazines. A pungent oniony smell of dirty socks ghosting from beneath his bed caught my nostrils. I decided to ignore it. The smell in my room was probably just as bad.

  ‘How’re things?’ I said.

  Brent didn’t even look up. I don’t know if he was too engrossed in the fearsome battle taking place within the pages of the comic, or if he just didn’t want to see me. I decided it was the latter, and turned to go, sexy lemonade or no sexy lemonade.

  ‘Who d’you think’s the strongest?’ he said, looking up from the comic just as I turned to leave.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘The Hulk or the Thing? Who’s the strongest?’

  I shrugged my shoulders. I hadn’t given the question much thought.

  ‘The Hulk, probably,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought. But then, why the hell can’t he defeat the Thing outright?’

  I shrugged again. ‘The problem is, the other three members of the Fantastic Four help the Thing to battle the Hulk. There’s strength in numbers.’

  Brent considered my words of bullshit wisdom for a few seconds, and then nodded. ‘Yeah … and there were three of us. We were supposed to be blood-brothers. That was our strength, wasn’t it?’

  ‘We still are blood-brothers.’

  ‘You’re sure of that?’

  ‘Look, if you’re talking about the incident at you-know-where, it’s over. It was just stupid talk coming from all of us. Luckily, nothing came of it – lucky for all three of us. Between you and me? I’m glad it didn’t happen. We could be sitting in the county jail, right now, terrified of taking a shower.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Think so? Are the Hulk’s balls green?’

  ‘As green as the Thing’s are orange.’

  ‘Damn right!’

  We both laughed.

  Just then, Mrs Fleming made a welcome appearance. She now had the towel wrapped around her head like a turban. It made her look even sexier, which I hadn’t thought possible.

  ‘Here you go, boys. Nice and cold,’ said a hot Mrs Fleming, resting the pitcher and glasses on Brent’s table. She turned and gave me a smile, and then left the room. I wanted to peep at her denim butt, but resisted the urge for fear that Brent would spot me.

  ‘Why don’t we get Horseshoe, and then head over to Jackson’s Lake?’ I said, reaching for a glass and filling it up with lemonade. I held the filled glass to Brent. A peace offering of sorts. ‘It’s hot as hell outside. The water’ll be great to cool down in.’

  He stared at the lemonade for a few seconds. A reconciled smile crawled around the bottom half of his face, mak
ing him look like a witness to an execution.

  ‘Are Hulk’s balls green? Where the hell do you come up with that shit, Tommy?’

  ‘Who knows? Just shit that’s in my head instead of my ass. Take Sue Richards, for instance.’

  ‘Invisible Girl?’

  ‘How the hell does old Reed, Mister Fantastic, manage to see her boobs if they’re invisible?’

  Brent grinned. ‘I never thought of that.’

  ‘And don’t get me started about the Human Torch taking a piss!’

  He was laughing now. ‘Okay, let’s get the hell out of here, and pick up Horseshoe,’ he said, before gulping the lemonade down in one go.

  I followed suit.

  As though everything that had happened could be conveniently forgotten, we headed out the front door together, just like the Hulk and the Thing going to meet Mister Fantastic …

  We called for Horseshoe, picked up some Cokes at Gino’s, and then proceeded onwards to the lake. We were back again – the Magnificent Three. The Three Musketeers. Blood-Brothers United. Our eyes promised, no more mention of that disastrous night. We all looked relieved, and especially Brent.

  ‘This is the life!’ a butt-naked Horseshoe shouted, springing off an old plank we used as a diving board at the lake. Brent and I quickly followed behind him.

  Almost an hour went by before we finally dragged ourselves out of the water, allowing the sun to dry our naked bodies on the prickly grass.

  ‘What d’you think of that new X-Men artist, Neal Adams?’ Horseshoe said to Brent, reaching for a Coke. ‘Isn’t he amazing?’

  Brent nodded in agreement. ‘He is so fucking cool. I love his style, the way he makes the X-Men look so real and angry. He’s a god.’

  I always felt left out of their comic books conversations, because they only ever discussed Marvel, never DC. Yet today, I was content just to listen to their voices, glad we were here together. I wouldn’t tell them that I looked upon my one-time hero, Neal Adams, as a turncoat and a traitor, as he had drawn Green Lantern for DC before jumping ship to Marvel.

  ‘They’re advertising real shrunken heads in the back of this month’s Spider-Man,’ Horseshoe said. ‘I’m thinking of getting one.’

  Brent started laughing. ‘Horseshoe, you’re such a sucker for all that crap. The shrunken heads are probably just the heads off old Barbie dolls. Someone’s trying to make a fast buck from …’ Brent’s voice trailed off.

  ‘I want to talk to you – now,’ Devlin said, appearing out of nowhere and glaring into my face.

  I was taken completely by surprise, and no doubt my face registered that. But whatever the look on my face, I knew it was nothing compared to the looks on the faces of Horseshoe and Brent.

  ‘A girl’s just seen my dick!’ Horseshoe screamed, jumping up quickly and running for his clothes, with Brent right behind him. I never in all my life saw the pair run so fast.

  Bold as brass, I stood up, naked. ‘Devlin … what … what’re you doing here?’

  ‘I told you never to go to my house, unless I brought you. Why did you disobey me?’ She jammed her finger angrily into my chest. It felt like a hot needle.

  ‘I wanted to see you, that’s why. Was that so wrong?’

  She leaned her face right into mine. I had never seen anybody so angry. There was spittle on her lips. It made her look vulgar. ‘Wrong? It’s wrong when you don’t do as I tell you. I should’ve known not to trust you. You’re just like all the rest.’

  ‘The rest? Who’re you talking about?’

  ‘Hey!’ Brent shouted. Now having squeezed into his jeans, he was probably feeling manly again. ‘Don’t get into my friend’s face. Otherwise, I’ll –’

  Devlin pushed me out of the way, and made a beeline for Brent. Hands on hips, he was grinning with confidence.

  ‘Otherwise?’ Devlin said, nose-to-nose with Brent. ‘Otherwise what, needle prick?’

  I could see Brent’s face tightening.

  ‘You better be careful how you talk to me,’ he said. ‘Just because you’re a girl, don’t think I won’t hurt you.’

  I saw it coming a mile away, even if Brent didn’t. Devlin’s left knee crunched into his balls with such force, he yelped like a wounded dog, before buckling over.

  Devlin bent over him, and whispered in his ear. ‘Otherwise what, needle prick?’

  ‘Devlin,’ I said, quickly approaching. ‘He didn’t mean anything by it.’

  ‘What about you, sardine face?’ Devlin said, turning her flint-like attention to an awestruck Horseshoe. ‘Want some otherwise?’

  ‘Me?’ Horseshoe quickly zipped his jeans closed with one hand, while guarding his crotch with the other. ‘No … no, thank you. I’ve had my fill of otherwise for today.’

  I grabbed Devlin by the arm, fearful she was about to beat the crap out of Horseshoe. Her face changed at my touch, and not in a good way.

  ‘Take your filthy hands off me,’ she hissed menacingly through clenched teeth.

  I waited for the knee in the balls, but instead saw Brent rushing her. I tried pulling her out of the way, but Brent was too fast, ploughing straight into her like an out-of-control juggernaut. The two of them went spiralling into the lake.

  ‘Brent! Leave her alone!’ I shouted, running towards them. Despite her nastiness towards me, the thought of Brent – or anyone – even thinking of hurting Devlin sent blood straight to my eyes.

  When I reached them, Devlin was on Brent’s back, pushing his head under the water. There was a chilling smile on her face, animal-like in its fierceness.

  ‘Devlin! Let him up!’ I pleaded. ‘You’re drowning him.’

  She ignored my plea, and continued holding Brent’s head under the water. Little air bubbles began ballooning to the surface from Brent’s nostrils. There was little doubt in my mind she wanted to kill him.

  Wrapping my arms around her, I tried to pull her away. She screamed at me, reaching to gouge my eyes out with her fingernails. Finally, I managed to pull her off.

  We both stood, winded, our bodies heaving up and down with exertion.

  Behind me, I could hear Brent gagging and spluttering. Horseshoe stood statue-like, looking up at the sky, not saying a word, not moving, as if fearing the she-tiger would turn her attention and claws on him.

  To my surprise, Devlin walked over and kissed me. Then sank her teeth into my bottom lip, biting down so hard I thought the lip had come off. A shaft of pain ran straight through me, bringing tears to my eyes.

  She pushed away from me, her mouth covered in my blood. She looked like a vampire, feasting, eyes filled with an insatiable frenzy. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help screaming in agony. My screams immediately stopped when she kicked me in the balls, so hard I feared they would come flying out my ears.

  ‘I don’t want to see your face, ever again. If I do, I won’t be so tolerant. You’ll do more than just crap your pants,’ she said, before walking away, back in the direction of the forest, giving Brent’s ribs and face a nice kick on the way for good measure.

  The scene was a battlefield. Blood everywhere. The pain from my bleeding lip was unbearable. I held my hands against my lip, fearing it would fall off. Horseshoe looked on the brink of vomiting when he saw the bloody state of my mouth. A battered Brent staggered about like a drunk let loose in a liquor store. The Hulk and the Thing had just had their asses kicked, big time, by Catwoman.

  ‘What the hell was all that about, Tommy?’ Horseshoe asked. ‘You know that crazy girl?’

  ‘I’ve … got to … get home,’ I mumbled through a bloody mouth. It was left to Horseshoe to quickly bring me straight down to earth.

  ‘You better put your clothes on, first, Tommy. I don’t think half the town wants to see you walking about in your bare pelt …’

  An hour later, I was in the hospital, rushed there by Dad in his screaming squad car. My lip needed eight stitches, but my pride was damaged beyond repair.

  When I got home from the hospital, Mom still looked
as pale as when she had first set eyes on the lip, despite all her usual tough-as-nails bluster. She had looked on the verge of fainting when I staggered in earlier, covered in blood, practically screaming my head off for Dad. It was the first time I ever saw so much emotion from Mom.

  ‘Well?’ she said, looking directly at Dad as he came in behind me, after the hospital treatment.

  ‘He got a tetanus shot, and stitches,’ Dad said nonchalantly. ‘He’ll end up with a bit of a scar.’

  ‘Oh my god … a scar.’ Mom looked as if she were about to faint again. ‘Not a scar.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Helen. It’s no big deal. Boys love that sort of thing. Isn’t that right, Tommy?’

  I nodded. I didn’t feel like talking. The painkillers were finally showing their strength. Now there was only a dull, relentless throb.

  Mom turned to me. ‘Despite your denials, I know that Fleming boy had something to do with this,’ she said. ‘I’ve a good mind to go over there and see what his mother has to say.’

  ‘Brent had nothing to do with this. He wasn’t even there. Just Horseshoe and me,’ I finally managed to say. My mouth was feeling rubbery with the combination of stitches and painkillers. I sounded like a ventriloquist’s dummy, its wooden mouth needing re-hinged.

  ‘This was a criminal act, Tommy,’ Dad said, standing beside Mom. ‘Don’t you understand? The person or persons who did this should be called to account.’

  ‘It … was a gang, Dad.’ This was the story we had concocted between us, knowing the inevitable questioning we would face. There was no way we were going to admit that a single girl had beaten the shit out of us, leaving us with swollen balls and devastated faces. ‘They … the gang … took us by surprise.’

  ‘Gang? What gang? Where from?’ Dad said, looking even more concerned. ‘Did you know any of them? Can you describe any of them?’