Lyin' Like a Dog, The Yankee Doctor, The Danged Swamp! 3-Volume set

by Richard Mason

  “All right, y’all, I’ll finish it up, but the last part is the scariest. I just wanna warn you.”

  “Maybe we should wait until the next time we come back to finish it, Uncle Hugh,” I said.

  Well, the fire was blazing up real good, and John Clayton was still trying to show out that he wasn’t afraid of ghosts, so he piped up, “Naw, I wanna hear the rest of the story right now.”

  Uncle Hugh kinda smiled and shook his head like he knew that John Clayton was just trying to act brave, and when that ghost showed up again John Clayton was gonna be scared slap-dab outta his gourd.

  “Well, okay, boys, this is what happened then. I was standing there, holdin’ a bloody arm and blood was drippin’ off of it, and I didn’t know what in the world I was gonna do with that bloody arm. I couldn’t think of nothin’, so I stuck it under a loose board upon the mill floor, and I figured, maybe tomorrow, somebody would want the arm when they got ready to bury Old Man Tate, but right then I wasn’t ’bout to take Old Man Tate’s arm to the mill boss. Shoot, he might just think I had something to do with the accident, and he’d fire me. So I just waited, and then the next day one of the hands came runnin’ up to the mill, where we was all just standin’ round, and he yelled, ‘Old Man Tate is gonna be buried up at Pigeon Hill Cemetery this afternoon.’”

  “Then I thought, what am I gonna do with Old Man Tate’s arm? They’s got him ready to be buried and they sure don’t want to hafta fool with no arm now, and he ain’t gonna need that arm where he’s a-goin’. Us colored hands had all been a talkin’, and we knowed as mean as Old Man Tate was, he’d gone straight to hell, and he shor wasn’t gonna need that arm. I had to get rid of it so I picked up the arm, which I’d wrapped in paper… .”

  “Whoa! Wait, a minute, Uncle Hugh! What’s that?” I yelled. Wow, when Uncle Hugh said “I picked up the arm,” I heard something out in the bushes mumbling ’bout what sounded like “arm” or “mine”. Heck, I couldn’t tell what the noise was, but I jumped up like a flying frog.

  “Oh, my gosh! Oh, my gosh!” I yelled.

  “Settle down, Richard. I done told you that every time I mentions Old Man Tate’s arm, I hears something, but it’s okay ’cause nothin’ has ever happened. That ghost is here just to haunt, not to hurt nobody.”

  Well, big-shot, brave John Clayton was white as a sheet, and he was so scared he couldn’t say a word, and I kept moving closer and closer to the fire, hoping maybe ghosts are afraid of a fire, but what I was really wondering was how Uncle Hugh knew that the ghost hadn’t changed its mind and in about two seconds we’d all be dead as a sack of rocks.

  “Ain’t much left of this story, so let me finish and things’ll calm down,” said Uncle Hugh.

  I stood there for a few seconds, thinking about just running for my life, and then I looked out beyond the campfire, and it was pitch black. There wasn’t even a moon. Shoot, I wasn’t about to leave that campfire. John Clayton tossed some more wood on the fire and we stood with our backs to it while Uncle Hugh settled back against the log and started the story again.

  “Boys, I had that arm, which I’d wrapped in paper, stuck under my arm and I slipped down from the mill floor, and passed the hands standin’ there just like I was carryin’ some trash. Then I throwed it out on the burnin’ pile where they burned the waste wood from the mill.”

  Wow, when Uncle Hugh said that, something out in the dark kinda screamed like it was being hurt, and I almost stepped back into the fire, it scared me so much.

  “That’s enough, Uncle Hugh!” said John Clayton. “You’re gonna make that ghost so upset he’s gonna get us!”

  “Naw, I ain’t, John Clayton, ’cause that ghost is just after me, and I’m so old that I ain’t a-scared of ghosts. Y’all just listen up ’cause some real strange things started happenin’ right after I throwed that arm in the burnin’ pile.”

  There was another groan from out in the dark, and my throat started closing up to where I could just barely breathe. Shoot, my heart was pounding so hard my chest was shaking.

  Uncle Hugh smiled and settled back against the log.

  “Well, I thought that was the end of Old Man Tate ’cause they’d buried him, and I had done burned up his arm. But let me tell you something, boys, I was wrong ’bout that. It didn’t take no more’n a week till some strange things started happening round the mill. I’d come up on the mill floor, and the saw would be on, or right in the middle of us cuttin’ up a big log, a board would just splinter and fly off, sometimes hittin’ us hands. But what bothered us the most was that we swore we could hear someone tappin’ with a stick just like Old Man Tate did, and some of them hands swore they heard someone say, “Where’s my arm?”

  “When I was round the mill, everyone would hear a whole lot more of the tappin’ and callin’ out. I think Old Man Tate must have thought it was my fault for cuttin’ off his arm. And then one day a huge log just flew off the belt, and if I hadn’t jumped, it would’ve killed me dead.”

  “Hold it, Uncle Hugh—listen!” I said. Sure enough, there was someone tapping out in the woods, and John Clayton made this whine like he was about to drop dead, and Uncle Hugh said, “Y’all that’s probably just a woodpecker.”

  “Woodpecker? Woodpecker? At night? Ain’t no woodpeckers gonna peck at night! It’s Old Man Tate tappin’ his cane!” I yelled. Let me tell you something right now: If we could’ve gotten outta there, we’d have been back to Norphlet in about ten seconds, but heck, who in the whole wide world would head out in the woods with a sure-fire ghost roaming around?

  “Now, boys, y’all just calm down, ’cause I’m just ’bout through. Let’s see. Yeah, I was tellin’ y’all ’bout that ghost hauntin’ the sawmill. Well, when that tappin’ and moanin’ started at the mill, that was it. I couldn’t stand that ghost tryin’ to get me, and I quit the mill. But y’all know something? That old ghost didn’t stay at the mill. Naw, he followed me, and every day round here I hear things. Boys, I hate to tell you this, but I thinks Old Man Tate’s ghost followed me here. I’ve heard him in my cabin, and that’s him out in the bushes. He just lookin’ for his arm, and I can’t do nothin’ ’bout it ’cause the mill fire done burned it up. But y’all don’t worry none, ’cause that ghost is just hauntin’ me. He ain’t after y’all.”

  Shoot, I didn’t care a whit if that ghost was after Uncle Hugh and not me and John Clayton because we wasn’t but about two feet from Uncle Hugh, and it might get us if it went after Uncle Hugh. I stood there looking out in pitch black darkness where I’d heard the last moan. The wind picked up and blew some branches against a tree with a rustle, and just then something stepped on a limb and it snapped. Me and John Clayton both jumped like somebody had shot us.

  “Uncle Hugh, did you hear that?”

  “What, boys?”

  “Somebody’s walking right out there!” I said. “I heard him step on a limb.”

  “Naw, Richard; you boys is just hearin’ things. ’Course, I ain’t hearin’ near as good as I used to, so maybe y’all do hear something. That happens now and then when I tells this ghost story.”

  About that time there was another snap, and then the wind blew down on the fire sending a gust of ashes out toward us.

  “Oh, I guess I done made ’em mad. Did y’all see how that old ghost blowed them ashes at me?” said Uncle Hugh.

  “Dang, John Clayton, something’s out there, and now it’s mad!”

  “Boys, calm down. That ghost ain’t after y’all, and I’m shor ’nough too old to worry ’bout a ghost gettin’ me.”

  “Come on, John Clayton; let’s get outta here.” Heck, I was ready to run, but where? Run out there and bump into a real ghost?

  Shoot, I knew we wasn’t about to leave that fire and Uncle Hugh. Well, ’course, Mr. Not-Scared-of-Ghosts, John Clayton was about to get burned up he was so close to the fire, and I could see his legs shaking like some newborn calf.

  “Heck, Richard, this place is so spooky I think I’m gonna die. I know
Old Man Tate’s ghost is just roamin’ round out there, and he’s probably mad ’cause Uncle Hugh told us that story ’bout him.”

  Uncle Hugh stood and acted like he was about to leave, and right then I felt a little shiver go down my back, like “you’re a goner, Richard.”

  “Well, boys, I guess I had better get on back on up to my cabin. It’s gettin’ kinda late.”

  Heck, I looked at John Clayton, and he had this look like a dying dog on his face like nothing you’ve ever seen, and I was thinking about sleeping way down in the woods by ourselves with a real ghost just about ten feet away.

  “Uh, no, Uncle Hugh, just wait a minute before you leave. Maybe we need to talk a little more,” I said. Shoot, just the idea of Uncle Hugh leaving us there and knowing the fire was gonna burn down, and we’d be in a moonless midnight darkness in a little while had us both so upset we could hardly stand it.

  Just when I didn’t think it could get no worse, I heard what sounded like a big saw running. Well, me and John Clayton’s hair just stood on end, and when we finally were able to say something, we both yelled, “Ahaaaaaaa! What was that?”

  Uncle Hugh kinda nodded like he knew just what had made that noise, and then he said, “Boys, that’s the old ghost remindin’ me of what happened back at the sawmill―you know, a ghost can sound like anything. He made that saw sound. He’ll go away now, I think.”

  “You think?” I said.

  “Yeah, Richard, unless we starts talkin’ ’bout him again.”

  “Don’t nobody say nothin’! I mean it―nothin’!” yelled John Clayton.

  Uncle Hugh kinda smiled and sat back down, and then he said, “Boys, would y’all mind if I just lay down by the fire and slept down here at the spring?”

  Would we mind? Shoot, in about two seconds me and John Clayton was saying for Uncle Hugh to stay, and in a few minutes we’d even given him one of our extra blankets.

  We finally stretched out and got ready to sleep, and I pulled my alarm clock out of a paper sack that I’d brought.

  “Oh, my gosh, Richard; surely you ain’t gonna set that stupid alarm clock tonight!”

  “Well, you know I am, ’cause if I’m late one more time Doc is gonna deduct another fifty cents from my paper route money.”

  John Clayton just shook his head, grabbed his blanket, and curled up. I woke at five o’clock as usual, and while John Clayton and Uncle Hugh finished sleeping, me and Sniffer ran my paper route. I was back by six-thirty when they were just getting up.

  “John Clayton, you can just forget about any more campin’ out over-night. I was so scared last night I could hardly breathe.”

  “Shoot, Richard, I wasn’t scared! I could sleep right here again tonight.”

  “You liar! You were so scared you could hardly talk.” Well, we laughed about Old Man Tate’s ghost, which was a whole lot easier to do when it was daylight.

  “Boys, y’all come on up to the cabin, and I’ll fix you some breakfast.”

  Gosh, them scrambled eggs and bacon cooked over that old wood cook stove tasted so good you wouldn’t believe it, and Uncle Hugh had made some biscuits to go with it.

  I guess it was around seven-thirty when we finished breakfast and started back home. Heck, we were laughing up a storm about everything.

  “Well, we sure fooled our mommas, tellin’ ’em we were stayin’ at each other’s houses.”

  “You bet, Richard; that was a great idea.”

  We came up through the open field in front of my house, and John Clayton turned and went across the road, heading for his house. I was walking up the driveway when I saw Momma come out of the front door.

  “Richard!” she screamed. “Where have you been?”

  Panic hit me. What could I say? Sniffer didn’t like the sound of Momma’s voice, and when Momma screamed out “Richard!” he ran under the house.

  I finally blurted out, “I spent the night at John Clayton’s house.”

  “No, you didn’t! Mrs. Reed thought John Clayton acted funny when he asked her to camp out in our backyard, and she called to check on you about eight o’clock last night. I told her we hadn’t seen either one of you boys.”

  About that time, Daddy came outta the house, ran down the steps from the porch, and made a beeline right for me.

  “Richard, come up here on the porch and tell your mother you’re sorry and tell her where you’ve been.”

  I started whining and telling Momma how sorry I was and that we’d just been a little ways down in the woods, which was a lie, but I was desperate, and if it would’ve helped to say I’d been kidnapped, I would have said it. Momma just kept going on about how much she loved me and how glad she was when she saw me standing in the yard. I began to think that maybe this would be just a little misunderstanding, and nothing else would happen. Daddy didn’t say anything for a while, but when Momma finished, Daddy said, “Richard, do you know how much you upset your mother? And, of course, the Reeds were so upset that they were about to call the police.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What else have you got to say for yourself?”

  “I’m sorry, and I won’t ever, ever do it again. I promise.” I knew that wasn’t gonna be near enough to keep me from getting switched. In fact, considering all the problems I’d caused, I figured this might be the switching of my life.

  And then the chilling words rang out, “Richard, cut me a switch!”

  I took that long walk over to the willow tree, and as I walked by the back of the house, I could see Sniffer looking out from under the porch steps. He wasn’t about to come out until the switching was over. When Daddy started a switching, Sniffer would always howl, but he knew better than to come even close to the switch.

  I felt Daddy’s hand grab my wrist, and we were in the starting gate.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Blood

  Well, you might just know, John Clayton was waiting for me when I walked on the school ground that next Monday morning.

  “Dang you, Richard; I got the fool beat outta me ’cause of you!”

  “What, you’re blamin’ me? I didn’t make you go campin’. Heck, when you asked your momma you looked so much like a lyin’ dog that she knew something was up. Shoot, I should be mad at you for tellin’ such a sorry lie.”

  “Oh, for god’s sake, Richard, nobody but some half-witted moron could think that was my fault.”

  “Well, it was…hey, wait a minute, here comes Ears. Let’s talk to him about cuttin’ down the number of funny books he’ll take for the upside-down funny book.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hey, Ears, come here; we need to talk,” I called.

  Ears walked over, and sure enough he had the upside-down funny book under his arm, all sealed away in a plastic cover.

  “What y’all want?”

  “Ears, you’re askin’ too many funny books for the upside-down funny book,” John Clayton said.

  “Naw, I ain’t. Just take a look; have you ever, ever seen anything like this?”

  Well, Ears opened the plastic cover, and he held it over his head like it was a gold crown or something. John Clayton reached up to get a better look, but Ears shut the cover.

  “Sorry, John Clayton, I can’t let nobody touch this funny book. Heck, I read where just a wrinkle could hurt the price you could sell it for. This here funny book might be worth a hundred dollars, if it’s just like new.”

  I looked at John Clayton and he nodded like “He ain’t got no idea how much that funny book is worth.”

  “Shoot, Richard, eight hundred funny books is a bargain for this upside-down funny book. Ain’t no tellin’ what I’d get for it in some place like New York City—maybe as much as three hundred dollars.”

  “Yeah, Ears, but this ain’t New York City; it’s Norphlet, Arkansas, and nobody but us wants that danged funny book.”

  “Well, y’all ain’t getting’ it until you can come up with eight hundred, and not one less.”

  Well, we argued with Ears fo
r another few minutes until the bell rang, and we headed into class. Heck, just the sight of that funny book and Ears going on about how it could be worth three hundred dollars had us just dying to come up with enough to trade with Ears. John Clayton whispered to me just before we sat down at our desk, “Thousands, Richard, not no three hundred dollars.—We gotta come up with some more funny books.”

  I nodded and then looked up in front of me just as Rosalie sat down, Yeah, he’s gonna let Rosalie join us, and we’ll have the eight hundred, I thought. ’Course, after that, I sat there and daydreamed about me and Rosalie being rich and walking around Norphlet like a young king and queen. Heck, we had to come up with those eight hundred funny books. It was the chance of a lifetime.

  ***

  The next week passed so slow you wouldn’t believe it. Yeah, you guessed it: It was the last week of school, and when you sit there in class thinking about being out of school all summer, the minutes just drag by. That last week of school tuned out to be a little different after a special announcement came in over the radio. Heck, it was what we’d been waiting for ever since Hitler had committed suicide. Walter Winchell had the news on his May 8th radio program:

  “Good evening Mr. and Mrs. North and South America and all the ships at sea … lets go to press … May 8th, 1945, V-E Day, a day all Americans will remember for generations to come. The German high command signed unconditional surrender papers this morning and the War in Europe is over.”

  Well, of course, we all yelled and celebrated, but the best part was the announcement that the President had declared it to be a national holiday, and then our local announcer said school would be out the next day. Wow, that really made that last week of school a whole lot better.