How To Eat A Human Being

by Dan Dillard

EYE FOR AN EYE

  He was awkward and odd but not off-putting. Something was just different about him. It wasn’t his 19th century garb or his flame red hair. The local Amish population was no secret. They built furniture and farmed and sold their goods at spring and summer markets. She had grown up with it, but still couldn’t help but stare.

  She had watched him for as long as she could remember. He moved in a strange way. His almost lumbering gait had an athletic grace that confused her. His clothes confused her. His lifestyle confused her. She hated him for that. The strange man had always been there, selling his odds and ends. The difference? That day he watched back.

  “Freak,” Rachel said.

  Her long brown hair blew in her face as she watched from the convenience store. With practiced ease she coiled the hair into a bun at the back of her head and tucked it in place where it would stay, at least for the time being.

  At just-turned-twelve years old, it had become a daily thing for her and her brother to wander or bike from their ancient house down the road to the convenience store. They’d down junk food and energy drinks and watch the locals. It was small town summer.

  “What?” Will asked.

  “Fuh-reak,” she repeated.

  “Are you talkin’ about me?” he said with appropriate angst, puffing his chest at her.

  She laughed, “Well, you too.”

  Then she pointed across the street at the man in the white shirt, suspenders and charcoal-grey pants. He was staring back at them with a blank expression. She curled her lip at the drab clothes he wore. They seemed to clash with the fiery hair that stuck out from under his wide-brimmed hat. He pulled the hat from his head and wiped his brow with an equally dull rag.

  “Oh,” Will said, finally taking notice.

  At thirteen-and-a-half, he hadn’t begun to fill out his tall frame. The bag of nacho chips he was toting wouldn’t help any given his youthful metabolism. He rubbed a nacho-cheese-powdered hand through his sweaty hair and then cracked open a can of vitamin-B fortified legal crack.

  “What are you starin’ at?” he yelled across the street.

  The red haired man raised a hand in acknowledgement, though there was little chance he could’ve heard what the boy had said. Rachel shook her head and started back towards her house.

  “C’mon, Will. It’s too hot out here,” she said and left without waiting for his response.

  He continued to stare at the red-haired man as he walked. The red-haired man stared back, never breaking eye-contact. Not even for his customers.

  -~‑--~@

  A few hours later, Red Hair got up and closed shop. The light was failing and he disliked driving in any circumstance, but much more at night. He packed his furniture into the white van, carefully wrapping each piece in a blanket and placing them so they wouldn’t shift in transit. Within half an hour he was buckled in and headed to his farm house north of the small town of Lum.

  Josiah Stahley parked his Econo-line van in the large barn south of the house which served as his workshop. He stepped out and closed the heavy doors, flipping the lock into place before walking back to his home. Grass and weeds had grown to reach his waist. Only the driving path from the road and the walking path to his house were cleared. He removed his hat as he entered the meager structure and shut the door behind him. Tears flowed from his eyes as a primal scream escaped his mouth and he pounded a fist on the front door. Then he calmed himself and spoke through painful sobs.

  “Lord Jesus, King of kings, you have power over life and death,” he said, and knelt to continue his prayer.

  “You know things that are uncertain and obscure, and you know our very thoughts and feelings. Cleanse me from my secret faults. I have done wrong and you saw it. I am weak in body and soul. Give me strength, oh Lord, and sustain me in my sufferings.”

  Josiah stood and wiped the tears from his cheeks as he surveyed his surroundings. There was a small refrigerator and a microwave that sat stacked on a desk by the front door. Next to them stood a bottle of sour mash which he opened and drank from. Everything flooded back.

  “You are a disgrace in the eyes of God!” the elder had said.

  The room spun around him. Josiah had no defense. He had no will left. There was nothing left but anger inside him and the community had taken notice. For his excessive drinking, he was pulled aside for counseling by an elder church and taken to the church. Drinking had consumed his life since her passing.

  The handcrafted interior of the old church looked stark in light of the conversation. There was no congregation to warm the air, no preacher telling of God’s love, or warning of his rules. Josiah was being scolded as a boy for acting foolish, for stepping outside the realm of what was acceptable in the community’s eyes. He leered at the older man with contempt.

  “Your wife’s death was tragic and is exactly why you don’t want to be like those heathen English. She has been gone for months now, Josiah. Come here for help, son. Come to church for guidance. There is no relief in that bottle.”

  Josiah looked at the floor and mustered courage he didn’t know he had. Speaking against the church would only seal his fate, but he had no love for his community. He raised his eyes to meet the older man’s.

  “The church didn’t help when she was being raped. It didn’t help while she was being tortured and killed!” Josiah said, cheeks flushed with anger. “There’s nothing here for me.”

  “Watch your tongue,” said the elder. “These things were not God’s doing. These are man's evils. Men who have no God.”

  “What God would allow this?”

  “You’re angry, son. Rebecca would never abide your speaking this way.”

  “She is dead. She will never abide anything.”

  The elder sighed. “You need help, son. Let us help you.”

  “I want no help from you,” Josiah growled.

  There was a look of shock on the elder’s face as he searched Josiah’s face for any sign of reconsideration. Josiah showed none. “Then our decision is final. Separation is the only answer.”

  Josiah didn’t speak. He had known it was coming. Some strange part of him was relieved at the thought. He packed some of his tools into his work van and moved into an old family farm that had been empty for years. He could continue to sell his woodwork while he gathered his life again. His regrets were many, but leaving that community was not one of them.

  He opened his eyes back to the present and looked around at the house. It was in shambles. He’d been there two months and hadn’t repaired a thing. Since he lost Rebecca, he had no interest. She was his motivator. She was his reason for everything and now she was gone.

  He crossed the makeshift kitchen to his bed and sat. It was little more than a cot in the corner. His mind raced as he took yet another swig from the glass bottle. Memories of his bride, her blonde curls, her laugh, her warm smile and bright eyes, the warmth of her body, the way she stroked his hair as he was drifting off to sleep, her longing for children they would never have. She was pure. She was light.

  She was dead.

  In his mind, every beautiful thought of her ended with the same violent conclusion. He closed his eyes to let the whiskey soak in and saw her face. She was smiling, standing with her back to the sunlight, Mrs. Josiah Stahley. It was their wedding day. In his head she was beautiful and full of life though he knew that in the ground, she was anything but. They struggled trying to have children, and in nine years of marriage never did conceive. He didn’t care. He only wanted her back by his side to balance the evil in the world.

  His vision flickered black and horrid and he opened his eyes for a moment to clear the view and then took another drink from the bottle. Closing them again, he tried to capture her beauty once more, but was met instead with her broken face, twisted in terror. One eye was blood-red from ruptured capillaries, her cheeks were swollen and bruised, and the teeth that remained intact held scarlet stains from the vicious blows to her face. He opened his eyes to see h
er still standing there, just out of arm’s reach. Her lips said the same thing they always said to him, “Help me.”

  Josiah gasped as she faded. Her rape and murder was more than he could deal with in the months that had passed. The demon that killed Rebecca was caught. His crimes had spanned three states and he was finally tried and put on death row in Chicago. He would pay his toll and go back to hell. Josiah made the trip to Illinois for the trial. He planned on going back for the lethal injection. An eye for an eye. He would sit smiling as the sentence was carried out. None of that, however, would bring back his lovely Rebecca.

  -~‑--~@

  The next morning, Rachel woke and was restless. She hurried into some shorts and a t-shirt and pulled on her sneakers and rushed to the kitchen. She was already eating cereal when her brother grumbled into the room with bed-head.

  “Nice hair,” she said. “Looks like a dead animal.”

  “Shut up or I’ll tell everyone your A-cup is really a No-cup,” he replied.

  “Hey! Not nice,” said their mother, Anne, who went back to sipping her coffee.

  Will rubbed his hair down in an attempt to tame it while he poured milk in his bowl of store brand cereal. Then he grabbed a spoon and ate, noisily, and in the sloppy manner of a teenage boy.

  “What are your plans for today?” Anne asked.

  “Think we’ll hang out at the store, maybe bug that Amish freak,” Will said.

  “William! Leave that man alone, he wife was killed last winter, poor thing,” she said.

  “You know him?” the kids asked in unison.

  “Well, I know of him. He’s been selling furniture there for years. His name is Josiah something or other. That end table in the living room is one he made.”

  “Josiah? Sounds like a freak name,” Rachel said and snickered.

  Her mother, who was expecting the comment and had walked to stand next to her at the table, swatted her on the head with the newspaper. Then she tossed the paper on the table to get Will’s attention.

  “It’s a biblical name. You two leave him alone. You never know what someone might have done, or what they might accomplish in life. Hell, you two might even turn out to be something someday… but I’m not holding my breath,” she said and smirked at her cleverness.

  “Right, mom. We’ll follow in your footsteps,” Will replied and tossed the newspaper back at her.

  Anne was unemployed and perpetually looking for the next job to quit or be fired from. Lately all she’d been able to find was been retail sales and she was running out of friends that could do her favors in the job market.

  During her days, she called every “help wanted” number listed in the paper or online. Then she would pray that her car started so she could at least get to the interviews. She still looked young enough to turn heads and that helped get her a few jobs. Usually for the unsavory types. Getting work was rarely a problem. The scheduling requirements of a single mother were always the issue. Her kids came first and foremost at all times. No questions. Often, that led to conversations ending with statements like, “We just need to find someone who is more reliable.”

  “So, there’s just going to be more summer adventure then?” Anne said and peered over her coffee mug at her daughter.

  “Yep. We’ll try and cause as much trouble as we can,” Rachel answered.

  Anne ignored the sarcasm, “Good. Maybe next week when school is back in, you’ll have friends to hang out with instead of each other. You two are getting’ on my nerves. I know you’ve got to be bugging each other!”

  The kids gave a half-hearted laugh knowing she was right and then shoved their bowls in the sink. A quick rinse and they were out the door. Anne watched the screen door shut slowly and opened the paper as she took the last sip from her coffee mug.

  Rachel and Will hopped on their bicycles and pedaled down the driveway to the sidewalk to make their daily inspection of the neighborhood. During the week, there wasn’t much action. Their best friends, also brother and sister, were visiting relatives before school started, so that last week, they’d been on their own.

  “What do you wanna do today?” she asked.

  “Dunno. Ideas?” he responded.

  “Creek?”

  “Nah.”

  “What about the movies? We could sneak in.”

  “It’s nine in the mornin’, dumbass” he said, rolling his eyes.

  “Right.”

  She stopped her bike and paused to think looking down the sidewalk in each direction. “You got any money left?” she asked.

  “A few bucks, you?”

  “Same. Wanna race up to the store and then grab somethin’ to eat?”

  “We just had breakfast!”

  “I know, but I’m hungry,” she pleaded.

  He looked at her the way a detective looks at a suspect. “You just wanna see if that freak is out there.”

  “Maybe. Hell, Will, you know he’s there. He’s always there. We could talk to him, ya know. Ask him why he’s so fuckin’ weird.”

  “You’re fuckin’ weird,” he said, not quite as accomplished with the curse word as his younger sister.

  Will pondered the thought for a second and then shrugged, conceding that they had run out of ideas. He stood on the pedals to get his speed up and her much shorter legs struggled to maintain next to him. They flew by dozens of homes, the occasional mother and child playing in their yard or washing a car, all to the fwap-fwap-fwap sounds of rubber tires rolling over seams in the concrete walk. Within five minutes they were outside the store and each had broken a sweat in the August morning’s heat.

  Across the street at the small roadside stand, Mr. Allison had opened the doors and was setting out baskets and boxes of fresh produce and Josiah Stahley had laid out his benches, stools and small wooden knick-knacks for the town of Lum, Michigan to browse. He tipped his hat up high on his forehead and shook Mr. Allison’s hand. The kids watched them speak for a moment and then went inside the store for some pop. Moments later, they exited the glass door, tinkling the little bell, and walked back to their bikes to sit down in the shade.

  “Do you think he killed her?” said Rachel.

  “Huh?”

  “His wife. Momma said she died. Do you think he killed her?”

  “Nah. What? Maybe he strangled her with those suspenders,” said Will and punched her in the arm.

  She grimaced and slapped him back.

  “Maybe. He makes my skin crawl. I think he killed her.”

  She blew the hair from her face and cut her eyes at Josiah. He took no notice of the children who were stalking him. Rachel stood up and looked at the white van parked to the right of the produce stand.

  “I thought they were all horse-n-buggy?”

  “Nah, not all of ‘em. Mennonite is what he is. They drive, use electricity and shit.”

  “How’d you know?”

  Will shot her a look, “I read.”

  “Ya do not,” she said and stared until he came clean.

  “I saw it on the internet. I don’t know what it means, some religion or somethin’. Alls I know is it’s weird, dressin’ that way.”

  His eyes followed her gaze and he saw the van as well. The gears in their heads cranked away trying desperately to find adventure in the end-of-summer monotony. Rachel spoke up first.

  “I say we follow him home tonight. I’ll bet we could find out if he killed her or not. Probably got her body buried under his house!”

  “Why don’t we just ask him?”

  “You think he’s gonna confess in public? We need evidence,” she said.

  Cars drove to and fro between them and their subject of interest. The heat of the day was setting in and lunch time approached quickly. Will finished his pop and tossed the empty plastic bottle in the barrel on the porch of the old convenience store. Rachel copied her brother’s actions and mounted her bicycle. The two rode like little bandits back to their secret hideout to square away their sinister plan.

 
; When they got within sight of the house, both stopped. A police cruiser in the driveway meant only one thing.

  “Mom dating that dickhead cop again?”

  “No way. She hates him,” Rachel answered.

  “That’s how it works; you always end up dating the ones you hate. Don’t know why,” said Will.

  “Um, no. She hates him, hates him. I heard her tellin’ Aunt Shelle on the phone that she wanted to cut his balls off and feed ‘em to a stray dog,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “That’s awesome,” Will replied, proud of his mother.

  -~‑--~@

  It was true that Anne dated Sheriff Sanders for a while. Things were actually good for a few months, but then he turned on her. He got possessive and mean. One time he called her stupid bitch in front of the kids. Will had screamed at him to leave. He did, and then he called to apologize, but Anne had told him to stay away, that they were through.

  They weren’t through then and there. In fact they dated for some time after that incident. There were other things he had done that the children didn’t know about. During one fight, he choked her in anger. He was full of other strange surprises that Anne didn’t enjoy, especially during sex. She cut that off first. He slapped her in public one night. Half a dozen residents saw it happen and the relationship ended after that.

  Her children were first, and she knew in order to take care of them, she had to take care of herself. No man was going to come between them and ruin that. Men had ruined too much for her already. Still, there he stood on the porch all sheriff-looking. To most folks, the uniform made him look official and trustworthy. All Anne saw was her tax dollars being wasted.

  The argument continued as they approached.

  “I told you to leave us alone!” Anne yelled.

  “You know you don’t want me to go,” the cop said and wedged a foot in the doorway as she tried to close the door.

  “There a many places I want you to go, John. Anywhere but here.”

  “Just let me in so we can talk.”

  “How about fuck off?!” Anne said.

  “Way to go, Mom!” Will said, giving Sheriff Sanders the stink eye.

  Both adults turned to look at their audience and blushed. The sheriff stepped back from the door and nodded. Anne put a hand to her mouth and looked away in embarrassment.

  “Afternoon kids,” he said.

  “Sup, John?” Rachel said, with purposeful disrespect.

  “Sheriff Sanders,” he said.

  “Whatever,” she replied.

  John Sanders looked at Anne and she laughed.

  “You lost our respect long ago, John. Now will you leave?”

  She looked at the children and then stood tall in her doorway letting him know she was going to protect her territory. Will and Rachel dropped their bikes on the lawn and pushed past him to enter their house. Defeated, he hung his head.

  “You owe me one conversation, Anne. I want to make it all up to you.”

  “I don’t owe you a goddamn thing,” she said through clenched teeth and pushed the door shut.

  Anne stood there long enough to catch her breath, hold back tears of frustration and rage and regain her composure. She was thankful the children were in the kitchen in case she lost it. One deep breath, then another and she was finally ready to face them in her cool, in-control manner. She made the short trip to find them spreading peanut butter and homemade jelly on some bread. Two glasses sat on the vinyl placemats and she helped by filling them with milk.

  “Did you find any trouble to get into?” she asked.

  The kids looked at each other, each oozing guilt at their plans, but covering for one another.

  “Are you gonna date him again?” Rachel said.

  Her mother took it in stride, “No. Never again.”

  “He’s an asshole,” said Will.

  Anne considered it for a second and then mussed his hair. “He’s a fucking asshole, but you don’t get to say that. That’s reserved for me.” Anne’s voice wavered as she spoke and her eyes were crazed in a way the kids couldn’t understand. Once she realized what she’d said, she put her hand to her mouth and began to laugh. The children roared along with her. They continued to giggle as they ate their lunch and each filed the story away to tell their friends once school started back up. It would win them and their mom some cool points.

  The ringing phone interrupted their moment and Anne got up to answer. Rachel and Will continued to chew.

  “Hello…Yes… Of course I can,” Anne said into the handset.

  Rachel looked at her brother.

  “Job interview,” they both said.

  “I’ll be there at four,” said their mother and then she asked a few more questions that the kids didn’t care about.

  As she hung up the phone, Will said, “Congrats, Mom! Does this mean pizza for dinner again?”

  Anne smiled and dug a twenty dollar bill from her wallet and laid it on the table.

  “I’ve got to make sure I’ve got something to wear!”

  She looked at the clock which showed 12:46 and then scurried off to check her closet. A minute later the sound of the washing machine rolled down the hallway followed closely by the shower. Rachel cleaned the plates off of the table and rinsed them in the sink. Then she walked back to her room and Will followed. They still had plans to make.

  -~‑--~@

  Josiah Stahley watched as the sun began its downward journey and let the moon take over the watch. Mr. Allison stepped outside the shack and perused his produce, taking stock of the inventory that was left.

  “Pretty good day, Josiah. How’d you fare?” he placed a hand on Josiah’s shoulder.

  Jack Allison was sixty something. He had hair, but it was wispy and white from age or stress or whatever causes that phenomenon. Tattoos on his still muscular forearms told tales of his days in the Navy and calluses on his hands left no question that he worked hard to earn his living. The stand was all he had left since his wife passed. It was that common bond that kept Josiah coming back to that place to sell his hand-crafted items.

  “Not so bad, really,” he said. “I sold four pieces today.” Stahley adjusted his suspenders and removed his hat to wipe his brow, placing the cover immediately back on his red mane. His hair had grown long since Rebecca’s passing.

  “Aside from that, are you doin’ ok, son?” Mr. Allison said firming his grip on the younger man’s shoulder.

  “Fine, gettin’ better each day, Jack,” he lied. His eyes spoke the truth. They were distant and bloodshot from alcohol and his nightly bouts with crying and rage. He was a man dealing with demons.

  “A man has only but to deal with his own grief. No one can do it for him,” Jack said. “I don’t know who said that, but it rings true.” Jack Allison patted his shoulder and nodded. He knew of the pain. His was a different flavor, but the same in its own right. “If you need help loading up, holler. I’m closin’ shop,” he said.

  Josiah nodded and continued to stare into space. He closed his eyes and sighed, hoping for one moment of peace, but she was there.

  Help me.

  He shuddered and stood quickly to shake off the feeling, knocking over the bench he’d been sitting on in the process. Mr. Allison looked over his shoulder at the noise and shook his head.

  “Are you all right over there?” he said.

  “I’m just clumsy is all.”

  The rear doors to the white van popped open with the easy pull of the handle and Josiah pushed the bench inside on the carpeted floor, sliding it all the way to the front. When he turned to grab the next piece of furniture, he noticed two bicycles coming down the street. Their riders were familiar. He continued to load, but kept an eye on the children as they approached. There would be staring, perhaps some taunting. He’d grown used to it.

  -~‑--~@

  Rachel and Will slowed their pedaling to a coast and rolled into the parking area next to the little store. Their eyes weren’t as cautious as the Amish
man’s from across the way. They stared blatantly and with purpose, watching like predatory creatures waiting for a moment of weakness so they could strike. Their plans, however, weren’t for attack, but surveillance.

  “You got the stuff?” Will said.

  “You put it in my backpack, Will,” Rachel snapped, glaring at her brother.

  “Shh,” he said. “He’ll hear us.”

  “He can’t hear us all the way over there.”

  Josiah raised his hand and waved and the children froze.

  “He knows,” Will said. “I know he knows.”

  “He knows shit. Look, are we doing this or not?” Rachel said.

  “Of course. I just think we need to be careful,” said Will.

  “All we’re doing is watching. I might snap a couple pictures,” Rachel said. “It’ll be fun!”

  Will sighed and watched the strange man named Josiah place one last piece in the van and then round the side to hop in the driver’s seat. “He looks weird in his 1800’s clothes and driving a van, doesn’t he?”

  “He looks weird period,” Rachel said.

  -~‑--~@

  Stahley adjusted the driver’s side mirror and then pulled the van out onto the road heading out of the small town. He had begun to prefer the safety of town, and the company of Jack Allison and the customers to being alone in that house. She was all around him. Everywhere he looked, Rebecca was watching. She was angry, bruised, bloody and violated and she would not let him rest.

  Help me.

  Josiah smacked one hand on the steering wheel and drove a little faster.

  “I need to rest, Rebecca. Please let me rest,” he said.

  He felt the urge to cry, but fought it off. He only needed to get to his bottle, to the comfort of the liquor, and to the darkness and calm that it brought. It was only a few miles to the old farm property.

  -~‑--~@

  The kids pumped their pedals to keep the Econoline in sight.

  “He must live on that old farm out on Slattery Road,” Will said. “You know the place. We go by there on the way to church. When we go to church.”

  “Suits him. Place is a shit hole,” Rachel said.

  They were only a few miles from the old farm. They flew onto the scorching blacktop only a block or two from the prying eyes of town when a black Jeep cut them off. Their bikes slid sideways onto the shoulder to avoid running into the stopped police vehicle, kicking up dirt and spraying pebbles across the road.

  “I think you kids best leave things alone,” John Sanders said as he shut the car door.

  He had them cornered. They watched the van drive away in the distance. Rachel sighed audibly.

  “What do you want?” she said.

  “Josiah Stahley has been through enough. He doesn’t need you little chimps humping his leg. Go on home.”

  “You said humping his leg. That’s funny,” Rachel said.

  Sanders frowned.

  “Who’s Josiah Stahley?” Will asked.

  “Don’t give me that crap son. You were going to ride those bikes all the way out Slattery Road to bug that man.”

  “We ain’t goin’ anywhere,” Rachel protested.

  “Does your mom know you’re out here? Didn’t she just start a new job?”

  “How would you know that?” asked Will.

  “Word travels fast. A better question might be this: Do you want her to give that job up because she’s worried about where you two are? Don’t you want her to trust you? Let her have some peace, will you?”

  “You let her have some peace,” Rachel said. “She hates you.”

  “You little…” John started to scold her, but Will stepped in between them.

  “He’s right, Rachel. Mom don’t need to worry about us.”

  “Fine,” Rachel said and turned her bike around.

  “Have a good night, kids,” the sheriff said and watched them until they were well on their way home.

  Rachel hung her head and watched the sidewalk roll under her tires in the fading light.

  “I hate that man.”

  “Me too. But he’s right. Prick or not, he’s right.”

  “But he ruined our thing. This was our thing.”

  “What were we really gonna do, Rach? If we found Josiah, what were we gonna do?”

  She shrugged. “I dunno. There’s just something wrong about him.”

  “Whatever,” Will said as they pulled into their driveway.

  Anne wasn’t home yet. Will opened the door and walked straight to the kitchen. He grabbed the twenty dollar bill off the counter and called the pizza place. In half an hour, they were eating pizza and watching TV.

  -~‑--~@

  The white van rolled up to the old house and parked. The engine shut off first, followed closely by the headlights and Josiah stepped out and stretched. The heat of the day had taken its toll on him and he was ready for some rest. He opened the front door and looked at the mess inside. Crossing that threshold changed his demeanor and before he sat, his hand found the bottle of sour mash. He struggled with the cap momentarily and then stopped himself. It took strength to set the bottle down and walk away and he sat on the cot opposite the bottle and stared at it for a moment.

  “Help me, Rebecca,” he said. “I need your help.”

  When he closed his eyes she was there, broken and battered. The vision turned to face him and melted into something horrid. Something vile looked at him now, grinning with bloody, broken teeth and hollows where its eyes should have been. Josiah pounded his fists against his temples and opened his eyes, only to see she was still there in the room with him.

  “Help me, Josiah,” she said.

  “Gah!” he gasped.

  “You owe me,” she snapped at him while floating from one place to another.

  The apparition alternated from beautiful bride to black, rotted fiend and back again.

  “Rebecca?” he said, looking past her at the bottle.

  “You didn’t protect me then, Josiah. Help me now!” she wailed.

  “What do you want? Tell me what to do,” he cried.

  “I want death, Josiah. I want rape and torture. I want murder. I want revenge.”

  Josiah's eyes swelled with fresh tears. “No.”

  He dropped to his knee and eyed the floor. “That’s not you.”

  “Revenge, Josiah.”

  She brushed phantom fingers along his cheeks as she passed by him and then silence. It felt cold on his face and smelled like rotten earth. Then her presence was gone. He reached for the bottle on the table and took two long drinks before setting it back down. He prayed for sleep, for peace for Rebecca and for himself. He prayed the suffering would end.

  -~‑--~@

  Anne came in to find her babies sleeping on the couch in the living room. The TV was on a channel she felt they shouldn’t be watching and the half eaten pizza sat on the coffee table, but at least they were home, safe and sound. She put her hand on Will’s shoulder and gave him a gentle shake.

  “Baby?” she said. “Time for bed. If you sleep here, you’ll have a sore neck in the morning.”

  “Mom?” he said.

  Rachel woke up when Will spoke.

  “Hey,” she said, “how was the interview?”

  “Hi baby. It went well. I can start tomorrow,” Anne said and smiled.

  “Way to go, Mom!” Will said, groggy from sleep.

  “Is this job like the others?” Rachel asked with a frown.

  “Nope. The boss is a woman,” Anne said smiling.

  “Rock on,” Rachel said. “Proud of ya.”

  Anne grinned and hugged her kids and then whisked them off to bed. She kicked her feet up, changed the TV channel and dozed on the couch. Crickets chirped in the summer moonlight.

  -~‑--~@

  The next morning, Anne buzzed around nervously getting ready for her first day of work. The children made their own breakfast and sat quietly at the table watching her bounce from bedroom to bathroom to co
ffee maker and back. They giggled at her behind her back and cheered her on when she appeared, finally ready to face the world of retail management. Will howled at her like a construction worker. “Lookin' pretty hot there, Anne,” he said and gave her a wink.

  “Smartass,” she said and patted him on the head with a smile.

  “How about a woman's point of view?” she asked Rachel.

  Rachel looked her up and down. “Spin,” she said.

  Anne turned slowly on her heels holding her hands out for balance and then turned her palms up in a shrug. “Well?”

  “Fantastic,” she said, giving a thumbs up.

  “In that case, I'm off. You two behave, and try not to blow anything up, here or anywhere else in town, 'kay?”

  “Yes ma'am,” they said in unison.

  “I should be home about dinner time and I expect you two to be here so we can all eat together.”

  Rachel and Will nodded and batted their eyes at her. Then they saw her out the door to her car. “Best of luck, Mom, sincerely,” said Will.

  Anne waved, opened and closed the car door and drove off.

  “How long you think she'll last at this one?” Will asked.

  “Who knows? Maybe this is the one.” She watched Anne drive away and then Rachel looked at Will.

  “What you wanna do today?”

  “Dunno. Let's wander and see what we can find,” he said.

  “Sounds good.”

  They split up, each attacking their closets and finding shorts and t-shirts for the hot summer weather. They slipped on shoes and bolted out the door for their bikes. Will took off like a startled rabbit and Rachel pumped the pedals for all she was worth to keep up with him.

  -~‑--~@

  Josiah woke late. He sat up from the cot holding his forehead. He blinked continuously wondering if he had dreamed of his wife's spirit, if she had been real, if the alcohol had caused the vision, or if it was somehow a combination of all of those things. His brain ached and his teeth and tongue felt coated. Once his eyes would focus, he looked at his watch. It was 7:00 am. Then he found the bottle of whiskey, which was empty to the halfway point.

  “That explains,” he said.

  He stood and headed toward the shower when he noticed a strange car parked next to his van. It had rental plates. Grabbing a shirt to pull over his head, he pushed through the front door and walked out into the sunlight. No one was in the car and he didn't see anyone in the immediate vicinity. The hangover was working on his gut as well as his head and he generally felt it wasn't a good day for surprises. He walked past the van toward the barn.

  “Good morning,” said a voice from his right. The man he saw there wasn't intimidating, nor was he local. Josiah shaded his eyes from the bright morning sun and remained silent.

  “Don't mean to intrude, but I wondered if I might ask you a question or two?”

  At that moment, he recognized the creature before him. He had the all too familiar slime coat of a reporter. There had been dozens of them outside the courthouse at the trial, asking questions and snapping photographs. The case was tried in a closed courtroom at the request of the family. Very little information had made public news. A strap across the young man's chest told Josiah one thing: There was a camera behind his back. “You are intruding,” Josiah said.

  The young man rubbed a hand across his military style haircut and then down his face over a closely trimmed goatee. He sighed audibly and produced a smile that said, I'm about to tell you some bullshit.

  “Mr. Stahley, is it? Sir, I've come a long way to see you. I just want to ask you some questions about Rebecca.”

  Josiah's stomach churned and he felt his face flush with anger. He stepped past the trespasser and pulled the barn doors open to begin loading his van. He would shower after the pest was gone. “None of that changes the fact that you aren’t welcome here. And you don't say her name,” he hissed

  “Take it easy, buddy. I'm on your side.”

  Josiah's face suddenly matched his bright hair and he channeled his aggression into carrying the furniture. Muscles rippled on his wiry frame. He placed a bench into the van and turned to grab another piece. The reporter was in the doorway of the barn, aiming his camera. The shutter clicked once. Then again.

  “Please, leave me alone, I have no information for you.”

  “Are the Amish often victims of violent crime?” the man asked.

  “I have to work. I have nothing to say to you,” Josiah said.

  The shutter clicked again.

  Josiah placed another chair in the van and walked back to the barn taking care not to look at the camera. This time the reporter followed him.

  “Josiah,” he said.

  The voice matched the reporter's lips, but hadn't come from the reporter. It was a woman's voice. A comforting voice. Rebecca's voice. When Josiah looked up, she was there. He glanced at the reporter to validate his vision. He'd taken no notice of the bruised and bloody woman who stood in front of them. Click, went the camera.

  “He's trying to steal your soul,” she said. “Just like the bastard who stole mine.”

  “No,” Josiah said.

  The reporter lowered the camera from his face. “No what?” he said.

  Josiah stared at Rebecca wide-eyed.

  “Help me, Josiah,” she said and a drop of blood trickled from her pale lips.

  “No!” he shouted.

  “Are you all right?” said the reporter, now turning the camera toward a new subject. He snapped another picture. Then another. Josiah tried his best to ignore the man.

  “Revenge, my love,” the Rebecca thing said. “Be my revenge.”

  “Mr. Stahley, please just answer my couple questions and I'll be gone.”

  “No!” Stahley yelled and pounded his hands on the workbench. The misty apparition of his dead wife boiled and morphed from humanoid into something haunting. Its eyes grew to deep black pits and the teeth in its maw lengthened and honed themselves sharp.

  “Help me!” it screamed.

  Josiah's head thumped and pulsed. The camera snapped its photos. CLICK CLICK CLICK. Each one felt as if it was taking him piece by piece and the horrible vision of his dead wife swirled around him.

  She screamed, “Help me, Josiah!” and “Kill him!” and “Revenge!”

  Darkness seeped into his mind. The red-haired man's vision blurred and focused and he felt faint. Rage grew inside him like black carcinoma and bile boiled up into the back of his throat. The world went silent and all he could see was his wife’s face asking for help. He gripped nearest thing he could find and flailed his hands out to swipe it all away. The reporter had stepped in too close for a photograph and the handsaw struck his neck bringing forth a volcano of blood that spewed with each heartbeat.

  Finally speechless, the reporter gasped, taking gurgling breaths. He held his hands out, as if for help. Josiah looked at what he had done. He prayed while the man bled out, but offered neither assistance nor comfort. Josiah cried and Rebecca’s ghost laughed until the last drop of blood was spilled.

  Josiah searched through the dead man's pockets and found his keys. The car would be easy to hide for a day or two, but then someone would come looking for him or at least looking for it. He drove it deep into his property and parked under some trees next to the cornfield. He could dispose of it that night, he thought. For now, he needed to get to work.

  Rebecca was there waiting for him when he walked back to the barn.

  “This is quite a mess,” she said. “Put it in the freezer.”

  “What?”

  “The freezer for now. You can find a more permanent solution later.”

  Josiah opened the old freezer in the workshop and eyed the body. His mind raced and his heart ran right along with it. It wouldn’t fit as it was. He considered cutting it into chunks, but he wasn’t sure he could stomach it. Plus, that would be time consuming and there was enough blood already. He grabbed a pile of rags from one of the shelves and tossed t
hem at the pool of blood, and then he rolled the body onto a packing blanket and dragged it to the freezer. He removed the shelves from the empty unit, and then walked outside and tossed them in one of the rusty trailers.

  When he got back, Josiah crossed the reporter’s arms over his chest and folded the legs up at the knees. In that position, he thought it might fit in the container. He sat the corpse upright and gripped it in a bear hug. Then, using his legs, he lifted it into a sitting position on the bottom of the freezer. After a twist of the body, he squeezed the legs into place and finally folded the left arm on top of the knees. The dead reporter appeared to be sleeping in the fetal position inside of the freezer. Shutting the door was Josiah’s only remaining concern but thankfully, it latched without further adjustment.

  He plugged the unit in and relaxed when the old compressor sputtered to life. He had no idea how long it might work or if it still cooled at all. Still, with the body out of sight, it made it easier to clean up the mess and get to Allison's for the day. He could drag the body out and bury it that night if he had to. Preferably frozen.

  A hose and a scrub brush did a decent job of cleaning the bloody stain in the concrete. Years of oil spots and dripped paint helped to camouflage the new addition. He took his clothes and the bloody rags and tossed them into an old metal drum which he kept outside for burning and lit its contents on fire.

  “Please, Rebecca. Please tell me this brings you peace,” he said.

  “No, Josiah. This isn’t enough. This is not even close. Revenge,” she said and he began to cry, harder than before.

  -~‑--~@

  Will and Rachel had fought boredom and lost miserably. They had biked from one end of town to the other and back, and it was only 8:45 a.m. They sat on a street corner, each with one foot on a pedal and the other on the ground and said nothing. A car rolled by and pulled them from their funk.

  “Follow it,” Rachel said.

  “Why? You know where it's going. That's Mr. Jackson.”

  The car pulled into their neighbor’s driveway and Will smirked at his sister.

  “Fine,” she said and took off down the sidewalk.

  Will rolled his eyes and went after her. Then they were back at the center of town, quickly approaching the convenient store and still bored. Rachel peered over her shoulder at her brother, and then checked for traffic. Once clear, she bounced her bike over the curb and across the street to the vegetable stand where she stood on the kick brake and slid sideways like a pro.

  “Well done, Ms. Reese. I think that deserves an apple,” Jack Allison said.

  Will’s entrance was less grand. He stopped his bike and nodded at the proprietor. Mr. Allison smiled. “I guess you can have one as well,” he said.

  The kids each picked a piece of fruit and munched thankfully. Rachel's eyes found Josiah Stahley and will punched her in the arm. “Quit staring,” he said.

  “I'll stare at what I want to,” she said.

  “He'll see you,” Will whispered and grabbed her arm.

  Rachel pulled free. “He looks nervous. Guilty. Look at him.”

  Will craned his neck to see around his sister. She took her gaze off the red-haired man just long enough to glare at her brother. Then she took a huge bite out of her apple and spoke through the mouthful. “I say we go check his place out. It should be safe while he's working.”

  “Mom will...”

  She interrupted him, spitting apple in all directions. “Aw, mom won't be home for hours.”

  Will conceded, knowing he had no argument. Even if he’d had one, he would've lost.

  “Come on,” said Rachel. “We'll need supplies.” She flipped her apple core into the trash barrel and waved at Mr. Allison. He raised his hand in a wave and grinned at her. The red haired man stared into space.

  Will followed reluctantly and within ten minutes, they were back home. Rachel burst through the door and looked at the answering machine. No calls meant her mom was busy. She ran to the closet and pulled two back-packs from the bottom and tossed one to Will.

  “What's this for?” he said.

  “Fill it.”

  “With what?” he asked.

  “Snacks, flashlights, batteries. You know. Like we're going camping.”

  He stared at his sister and then nodded.

  “What are you getting?”

  “Mom's camera,” she said.

  -~‑--~@

  Glaciers had rendered that part of the world flat, but there were enough gentle swells to give young legs a workout. Thankfully the kids could rest on the downward slopes before biking up and over the next hill. At the next crest they saw what they were looking for. Will stopped at the edge of the drive to take mental note of what they were looking at and decide if he really wanted to go through with whatever they were about to do.

  It was Josiah Stahley's farm. Not the red, wooden barn he expected, but a metal pole-barn with sliding doors. Rust had eaten at the edges and it was in dire need of some paint and tender loving care. Grass and weeds grew up around the building and a line of trailers which were missing their rigs sat next to it. Rachel stopped her bike next to him and hopped off the pedals, straddling it.

  “That’s creepy,” Rachel said. “I told you he killed her.”

  “What? How’d you come to that?” Will said.

  “Look at this place, Will. It’s a perfect place to hide her body. Or a hundred bodies. Who the hell would come out here to look?”

  Will gripped the hand brakes of his bike and leered at her.

  “You mean besides us?” he said.

  She weighed the statement momentarily and frowned. “Come on.”

  Before they could take a step, the familiar black Jeep Grand Cherokee rolled up next to them, crushing the gravel and wiregrass that grew on the shoulder of the road.

  “Didn’t I already tell you monsters to leave this place alone?” asked Sheriff Sanders.

  “I can’t remember,” Rachel answered.

  “I don't doubt that,” he said. “There have to be a hundred places you two could cause trouble. Leave Mr. Stahley alone.”

  “He's at work,” Will offered.

  “All the more reason you two shouldn't be on his property.”

  “We just wanted to see what it was like,” Rachel said.

  “See what what was like?”

  “Bein' Amish,” she said.

  “Well, he’s Mennonite and this isn't it. You two go home, now. You can look it up on the internet.”

  Will punched his sister in the arm again, catching her attention before her mouth got them in more trouble.

  “Come on, Rach. Mom will be home soon anyway,” he lied. By the clock, Anne had two more hours to work, plus the drive home. He cut his eyes at her in a way only a sibling would recognize. She argued with him purely for show.

  “Whatever,” she said.

  “Rach, come on. I'll race you!” he said.

  “That's a great idea,” the sheriff said and pulled the car back onto the road.

  “Okay, John. Thanks for checking on us. You have a good day now,” Rachel said.

  They rolled their bikes back out on Slattery Road and pumped the pedals hard. Sheriff Sanders pulled around them in the opposite lane and yelled from his open window, “I’ll think I’ll follow for a while just to make sure you make it back to town.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes, but Will was already pedaling. He wasn’t racing, but leisurely coasting along letting gravity do the work. They made it halfway home, off of Slattery and back onto the main road before the sheriff turned off and left them.

  As soon as he was out of sight, they coasted to a stop and waited. Once they were certain he was gone, Rachel stretched a wicked grin across her face and turned back toward the farm. Will followed. If he had been reluctant before, defying the sheriff gave him reason to misbehave.

  They were covered with sweat by the time they got back.

  “Whew,” Rachel said. “There must be something really good in the
re for all this work.”

  “I hope so,” Will said. They dropped their bikes in the weeds and headed straight for the barn.

  -~‑--~@

  John Sanders pulled into Allison's and tossed his hat into the passenger seat. He popped open the car door and hopped out.

  “Josiah,” he said.

  “Sheriff,” Josiah said.

  Their relationship began and ended with the discovery of Rebecca's body. It had taken the state police to gather evidence and the FBI to find her killer. There was no love lost between the two. Sheriff Sanders walked past and up to John Allison.

  “Afternoon, Jack,” he said.

  “Same to you.”

  “Hot today,” Sanders said.

  “Yep. August tends to do that,” Allison said.

  The sheriff took his sarcasm in stride with a grin and then moved on. “I just found some kids out on Slattery Road. They were snoopin' round Stahley's place. He mention anything like that to you?”

  Allison glanced over at Josiah who was pulling a few more pieces of furniture out of his van and stacking them for display. “Nah. He doesn't talk much.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Sanders said.

  “Kids we know?” Allison asked.

  “Anne Reese's kids. I chased 'em off.”

  “I saw them earlier. Say, are you still chasing after her? She'll never forgive you, you know.”

  “I assure you these incidents are not related,” the sheriff said.

  “Uh-huh,” Allison said. “What you need to do is apologize. Then leave her and her kids be.”

  Sheriff Sanders looked over at Stahley and then back at Allison. “You're probably right,” he said.

  Josiah walked to where the other men were talking. Allison nodded, giving Sanders the heads-up and then patted Josiah on the shoulder.

  Sanders turned to face Stahley. “I was just tellin' Jack that I shooed two kids off your property. You ever see any kids pokin' around out there?”

  Josiah looked each man in the eye. “No. Can't say as I have. There’s dangerous stuff out there, what with all those trailers. I need to clean that mess up.”

  “Ah, kids will be kids. I don't think you've got anything to worry about,” Sheriff Sanders said.

  Josiah stared down the road in hopes of glimpsing two children on bikes. The sheriff had pulled in five minutes ago. It couldn't be more than ten or fifteen minutes by bicycle to his place. There were other routes they could take, but he'd seen those children ride that street every day since school was out and the same routine last summer.

  “They're in the barn,” Rebecca said as clear as if she was standing with them, but the other two men didn’t hear her. If they did, they were excellent actors. He closed his eyes and wouldn't look. “They'll find the body,” she said.

  He turned his head away from the sound. It moved to his other ear.

  “They'll ruin everything, Josiah.”

  Josiah nodded and looked back down the road. No kids. No bikes. He grabbed an apple from one of the crates and took it back to his bench.

  “I'll have to dock you for that,” Allison said with a grin.

  Josiah took no notice, but continued to stare down the road.

  “They know, Josiah. They all know,” Rebecca said.

  His heart rate quickened. He pictured the freezer in his mind. The dead body inside.

  “Revenge,” she said.

  It was all he could do to keep from screaming. Josiah held his breath. In his head, he saw the journalist walking up the drive again. Snapping pictures again. Bleeding again. He thought about the shop in a paranoid frenzy. Tools were placed lifelessly where they belonged…nothing was out of place.

  Had he put back the hack saw? Or was it covered in the dead man’s blood and still laying on the floor. They would find it. They would find it and run home to tell someone. Maybe the sheriff.

  “Revenge,” she said again. “I can’t have revenge if you get thrown in jail. It’s not enough, the reporter. It’s not enough, Josiah.”

  He swallowed hard and thought again of the freezer. The average person would see a freezer and think nothing of it, but children would look inside for ice cream or cold drinks.

  -~‑--~@

  They stared at the old pole barn for a long time. Rachel smacked at a mosquito that was biting her calf and Will scratched at his legs, irritated by walking through the tall grass.

  “Let’s go in,” Rachel said.

  “It’s probably locked.”

  “It’s not locked. Come on.”

  She took a step toward it but Will grabbed her arm. She glared at him. “I’m not ready yet,” he said.

  “What do you need to be ready for. You just walk in,” she said.

  “Maybe, but I’m not ready.”

  “Sheesh,” Rachel said. She bolted across the small clearing to the side of the barn. Will tentatively followed, cursing her the whole way.

  “Irritating little shit.”

  Around behind the building, Rachel sat down against the wall and opened her backpack. “Get your pack, Will. We need to check everything and get moving!” she said.

  “I got all my stuff,” he said.

  “Just open it and check this stuff off,” she said and produced a slip of paper with a handwritten list on it.

  “Flashlight?” she asked.

  Will stared at her.

  “Look, butthole, I say ‘flashlight’ and you find it. If it’s there, you say ‘check’.”

  “I know how it works.”

  Rachel glared at him and once again said, “Flashlight?”

  “Check,” Will said, with all the enthusiasm of a sleepy dog.

  “Camera?”

  “Check.”

  “Batteries?”

  “Check.”

  “Snacks?”

  “Check.”

  “Ok, let’s go in.”

  “What if he comes home,” whispered Will.

  “And? What’s he gonna do, Amish us to death?”

  “You said he was a killer!”

  She frowned at his logic again. “I said maybe he’s the killer.”

  “No. You said he was…”

  “Whatever. Maybe he’s not,” Rachel said.

  “Then what if he calls the cops?”

  “John Sanders? Please.” She walked around to the front of the barn again and Will followed. Once they were standing in front of the barn, he grabbed her arm again.

  “What if he calls mom?” he said.

  “We can handle her. What if there’s a body in there?” she said. She made faces and contorted her fingers in ghoulish fashion.

  “Okay, that doesn’t really make me want to stay.”

  Rachel grunted and pumped her fists to her sides. “I’m going in with you or without you,” she said and grabbed the door handles.

  “Okay, okay,” Will said.

  He pulled one door while Rachel pulled the other and the afternoon sun flooded into the barn-turned-woodshop. Workbenches lined the back wall along with small cantilever racks full of lumber. On the left, a tractor sat neglected like the vegetation it was meant to keep short. Old barrels and boxes were stacked on either end of the structure, and in the middle of the concrete floor was a series of stains caused by leaks, oil changes and various other maintenance practices. The recent bloodstain looked as if it had been there for years. In the back corner on the right hand side was the old stand up freezer.

  The kids had no idea there was a journalist inside. A man who was simply on assignment from a trashy Chicago paper and had instead found himself the victim of murder. He had wanted the story of the raped and murdered Amish woman. He'd hoped it would be great press. Now he was more a part of the story than he’d ever hoped to be.

  Rachel looked around and frowned. “Shit, there’s nothing in here but some tools.”

  Will let out the breath he’d been holding in. “What now?”

  “I guess we have a look around outside. He’s hiding someth
ing. I know he is,” she said.

  -~‑--~@

  Anne drove with a smile plastered on her face. She might’ve been embarrassed by the expression if she’d seen it in the mirror. The first day went so well, she wasn’t sure it had really happened. It was the first time she’d ever worked for a woman. The first time she’d ever worked for anyone who listened to her more than they stared at her tits. The hours were flexible, the pay decent. It was a dream come true. She parked the car and bounced up the walk to the front door.

  “Hello,” she said as she entered the house. There was no answer. She peeked in each bedroom, in the kitchen and out the back door. The kids weren’t home. Her smile widened. “I guess I’ll celebrate alone,” she said and opened the refrigerator to see a box of leftover pizza.

  She pulled it from the shelf and a bottle of chardonnay from the door, set them on the counter, and then walked down the hall to the bathroom. She turned the hot water knob on the claw-foot tub and poured in some bubble bath that smelled like lavender. Anne skipped back to the kitchen and looked at the clock. 7:08 p.m. She let out an audible giggle while she grabbed a stemmed glass from the cabinet and opened the wine.

  The children never came home before curfew but were rarely late, so she had almost an hour to relax. With a slice of pizza on a napkin in one hand and her glass of wine in the other, she walked back to the bathroom. After a sip of wine and two bites of pizza, she let out an enormous sigh, setting both down on the counter. She pulled off her dress and looked in the mirror, first her right side, then her left, stretching all the way around to see her back side. Then she patted her belly and frowned, slipping back to the kitchen to drop the rest of her pizza into the trash. The wine, she kept.

  Her bra and panties came off in a snap and as she dipped her toe into the steaming hot water, it sent warm fingers dancing up her spine. “Yes,” she sighed and closed her eyes as she slipped the rest of her body into the soothing liquid. She reclined and reached for a wash cloth from the basket next to the tub, dunking it into the near-scalding water. She laid the folded cloth across her eyes lifting the corner so she could see to grab the wine glass and take another drink. The silence was only disturbed by the occasional drop of water from the spigot.

  Another drink of wine.

  When the phone rang, it sounded like something from another life, one where interruptions were tolerated. It rang again. She prayed for a wrong number. A third ring.

  What if it’s the kids? She thought.

  It rang again.

  What if it’s my new job?

  She stood up, grabbing her towel and wrapping it around most of her naked parts as she dripped her way into the kitchen. Anne grabbed the phone on the fifth ring and said, “Hello?” in her most pleasant, business-like voice.

  “Anne, it’s John,” Sheriff Sanders said.

  She let out an audible snort of disgust. “Oh my God,” she said and began to hang up.

  “Hear me out.”

  For whatever reason, she put the phone back to her ear. “I don’t have time for you.”

  “I just wanted to apologize. I've been giving it a lot of thought and...”

  “Thought? You?”

  “Anne, that's not fair.”

  “Go to hell. Is that fair? You slapped your hand across my face. You have no right to talk to me.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Fine. Forget all that. Are your kids home?”

  “Since when do you give a crap about them?”

  “I saw them out on Slattery Road and sent them home. It’s been two hours ago, I guess,” he said.

  “You stay away from them,” she hissed.

  “Anne,” he started.

  “Don’t call me. Don’t come to my house … and don’t talk to my kids,” she commanded.

  As she hung the phone up she heard him say, “I'm sorry.”

  Anne slammed her hand against the sheetrock and cried. Not a single tear was for John Sanders. Those tears were because she’d lost her urge to relax. Every fiber in her body wanted to strangle him with his own innards. She glanced back at the clock. 7:32 p.m.

  “Twenty minutes? All I get is a lousy twenty minutes?”

  Back in the bathroom, she pulled the plug on the tub and grabbed her wine glass. In the kitchen, she filled it to the top and then grabbed another slice of pizza and sat at the table in her towel and ate it.

  -~‑--~@

  Josiah packed his white van in a hurry. It was sloppy. It had been over an hour since the sheriff left and he felt certain the kids had found the reporter. Why else hadn't they come home? They should’ve ridden by by now. He could feel Rebecca's burning stare at every turn.

  He didn't wave goodbye or make any excuse for closing up a bit early. As soon as the van was full, he pulled out onto the road and headed home. The drive was excruciating. Her face was in both rearview mirrors and behind his eyelids when he blinked. Her voice thundered inside his skull.

  “Help me, Josiah. You owe me that much.”

  As he pulled off the road onto the grassy drive, he saw the bikes lying in the weeds. He drove carefully to the front of the barn and cut off the motor. His view through the open barn doors was of the freezer.

  “They know,” said Rebecca.

  -~‑--~@

  Rachel walked point with the camera while her brother followed with the flashlight. They rounded the barn and stood looking at the row of trailers. It looked like a graveyard for over-the-road trucks. Seven of them lined up like rusty cows, their contents a mystery.

  Rachel stared at her brother with a goofy grin on her face.

  “What?” he said.

  “I can’t believe you took mom’s camera. I couldn’t find it,” she replied.

  “Digital is better than that crappy film camera you got,” he answered.

  “It might be the coolest thing you’ve ever done. It proves we're related. I was starting to worry.”

  Will ignored her comment. “This way, we can dump the pictures to the computer and she’ll never know we took ‘em.”

  “Good thinkin’ for once,” she said and mussed his hair.

  With camera poised and ready, Rachel took the first few steps and looked down between the large metal containers. There was nothing but weeds that she could see. The camera made a shutter noise as it took the first picture.

  A few more steps and she took another photo, similar to the first, of the space between each one. Then she recorded the next gap, and so on to the end. Will followed close behind with the flashlight turned off and pointed at her feet. The sun was still bright enough that they didn’t need it.

  She rounded the last trailer and stepped between it and a tree. There were fields to her left, the barn and a white van, parked outside and to her right. She halted in her tracks. The van hadn’t been there before.

  “What can I help you two with?” said Josiah.

  He was behind them. The children froze. Will turned slowly toward the voice. Rachel spun quickly and accidentally pushed the button on the camera. It clicked and Josiah frowned. In his head he saw the journalist.

  “We were leaving. Sorry, Mister,” Will said. “C’mon Rach.”

  “I recognize you two. I see you in town,” Josiah said.

  “Yep. Maybe we’ll see you around sometime,” Will said.

  Rachel solidified her stance. “No. I got questions,” she said and snapped a second, deliberate photo.

  As its digital shutter clacked, Josiah saw his dead wife's image, gnarled and bloody.

  “Don't do that,” he said, taking a step toward them.

  The children backpedaled. Crickets began their one note songs as the sun dove toward the horizon. The light began to fail. “I heard your wife was dead. What happened?” Rachel said.

  Will’s eyes widened at his sister. “Rachel!”

  Josiah Stahley recoiled at the question and felt his lower eyelids swell with tears. He swallowed hard.

  “They know,” said Rebecca.

  “That’s
not a story for children,” Josiah said.

  Rachel twisted her facial features, “Did you kill her?” She snapped another image.

  Again, the image of Rebecca's battered, lifeless body flashed in Josiah’s mind. After he blinked, he saw his dead wife hovering just behind the children.

  “They know,” Rebecca said again.

  “No, I did not,” he said to Rachel and his eyes looked toward the barn, toward the freezer.

  Rachel held the camera up and pushed the button again. This time, the flash popped in the dusk.

  “Revenge,” Rebecca said, dragging the word out forever.

  Each step backwards for the children was a step forward for Josiah. Tears spilled over his cheeks at the accusation.

  “I think you did,” Rachel said and snapped another photo.

  With each new image she took, Josiah's rage grew. Rebecca's haunting grasp dug deeper, and her commands became more menacing.

  “Kill them,” Rebecca said.

  “Rach?!” said Will, astonished at his sister’s lack of compassion and the size of her balls.

  “Please stop,” Stahley asked again, more urgent this time. The cancerous black smoke rose in his belly again. There was no longer a little girl in front of him, but an evil creature casting lies. A slimy reporter digging for dirt.

  “You’ve got her dead body hidden in one of them trailers don’t you?” she said glancing at the line of containers.

  Light from the barn washed over the three of them. The two children had their backs to the barn, and Josiah faced them growing ever angrier. He reached a hand out to shield his eyes as she snapped another photo, and another. Dead Rebecca flashing in his eyes each time.

  Josiah's mind snapped like a brittle twig and in a split second, his hands were on her shoulders. With a roar, he shook her tiny body and then tossed her backwards with every bit of strength he owned.

  Rachel tottered on her heels and finally fell, her head bouncing on the concrete floor with a wet thump. The camera squirted from her hand and shattered into a spray of plastic parts. All movement stopped. Even the crickets were silenced. Will couldn’t move. He just stared at his sister’s still body as the halo of black liquid grew around her head. Josiah wasted no time in grabbing the boy and pushing him into the barn, and then he slid each door to the center and flipped the latch.

  “Well done, my love,” Rebecca hissed.

  “Rachel?” Will whispered, hoping for a response.

  Josiah, crazed, looked at the boy. His tender eyes had been replaced with calculating hollows. He saw one of his chairs, hand-made from oak, and pushed the boy in its direction.

  “Sit,” he said with a calm authority.

  Will sat down, shaking with fear and sadness. If Rachel wasn’t dead, she didn’t have long. The puddle around her head continued to grow. She didn’t move.

  Josiah pulled some rope from a hook above his workbench and tied it around the boy’s chest and then his legs. He secured Will’s wrists to the arms of the chair and then looked at him with a smirk. Will had no strength or desire to fight. He struggled a bit with the ropes, but emotion overtook him and he sobbed. The red-haired man paid no mind and turned his attention to the girl on the floor. He placed two fingers to her neck and felt no pulse. The amount of blood on the floor told the story. She was already gone and he had bigger problems. It could be days before anyone missed a journalist from a city the size of Chicago. A child was different. She had a mother nearby who would be looking for her—who might already be looking for her.

  He scooped up Rachel’s body and took her out to the third trailer and laid her in the grass while he wrestled with its latch. Once it was open, he shoved the tiny corpse into the trailer’s gaping mouth and went back to the barn. His problem was less what to do with the dead child as it was how to handle the living child. Back in the barn, he closed and latched the door and commenced to cleaning the immediate mess. The larger mess would take planning.

  -~‑--~@

  Anne drummed her fingers on the tabletop and looked at the pizza box. One more piece wouldn’t hurt. As she stood up, she felt the magic power of the bottle of wine she had almost finished. One more glass of that wouldn’t hurt either. On her way to the fridge, the clock caught her eye. 8:36 p.m. It wasn’t unheard of for the children to miss curfew, but that phone call from the bastard John Sanders sat in the back of her mind like a class clown.

  Forgetting the pizza and the wine, she marched to her bedroom and tossed her towel on the top of the bathroom hamper. Within seconds she wore a tank top and shorts and had her hair in a smart ponytail. She wasn’t sober when she grabbed her car keys and thought about the odds of being pulled for drunk driving and then laughed.

  “Fuck you, Sheriff Sanders. Fuck you and your badge!”

  Her sandals sat faithfully by the front door and she slid them on as she passed through it. Anne stepped around to glance in the empty backyard just in case they were there, but they weren’t so she jumped in the car.

  Her first stop was the convenience store where they hung out. Then she’d be off to Slattery Road. If they weren’t there, she would start calling friends and neighbors. As a last resort, John Sanders. She spun the key and the engine growled like always. An unreasonably nervous feeling rolled in her belly.

  “I’m gonna beat your asses when I find you. I’ll hug you first, and I might cry, but then I’m gonna beat your asses,” she said as she backed into the street.

  Anne rolled those first few blocks with her foot on the brake. She glanced into each yard and down every side street. When she reached the convenience store, it was closed and the parking lot was empty. She rolled down her window for some fresh air and lit a cigarette.

  -~‑--~@

  John Sanders drove angrily through one back road after another. If anything stuck in his craw it had to be disrespect. Sure, he was never Prince Charming, but he was a good guy at heart. He had a good job, a prominent and respected position in their town. She at least owed him a conversation. He deserved a woman like Anne. He took a swig from a leather-cased flask.

  He kept repeating those things over and over, even speaking the list out loud once or twice.

  “Respect. I just asked for a frikkin’ conversation. Just a few words,” he said.

  Then he rolled to a stop sign and threw the car in park. Nothing but crickets outside, and they wouldn’t mind if he pissed on the side of the road.

  He slammed the door of the police SUV and stepped up to the stop sign unzipping his fly.

  “Always was a crazy bitch,” he said.

  He shook his head and pulled out his dick, laughing when he saw it.

  “She liked you though, didn’t she buddy? Always had a smile for you.”

  Once he was done whizzing on the sign and talking to his pecker, John Sanders took another drink and then mounted up and rolled out. He was headed in the direction of Slattery Road before going back to town to drive by Anne’s house. He might just stop in and see if she’d been drinking as well. She’d talk to him then.

  “Yep. Girl likes her wine. Back in my bed in no time,” he said.

  -~‑--~@

  Anne turned on Slattery and drove slowly looking for anything resembling a bicycle. She continued to ride the brake and scanned from one side to the other, swerving as she went. The clock on the dash read 9:04 p.m.

  “Where are you? Where are you?” she sang, nervously, under her breath.

  The longer she drove, the clearer her head got, and the worse the knot in her belly tightened. She palmed her cell phone thinking about calling the police station. She could ask John for help but didn’t want to pay his toll, at least not yet. A last resort, she thought. Anything for my kids, but that would be a last resort.

  On the left she saw a light. It was that old farm house that she’d driven by a million times. She thought it was empty, probably condemned, but maybe someone was living there. Then she saw a glint in the headlights and she slowed down to look into the
tall grass. Two very familiar bicycles lay there. She pulled off the side and threw the car into park with the headlights facing them.

  Closer inspection revealed that nothing was wrong with the bikes. They hadn’t been hit by a car. They were off exploring somewhere they shouldn’t be. That was all. Anne walked around the corner of the weeds to where she could see the barn and the familiar white van parked in front.

  “Josiah? Christ kids, leave that poor man alone,” she said and started walking toward the house which was opposite the barn.

  She knocked first, and then pounded on the door but heard no response. Turning, she looked at the white van and the building beyond. In the dim lighting, the silhouette from the trailers gave her a shudder and sent her feet moving to find her kids and leave. She placed her palm on the hood of the van, which was cold. It hadn’t moved in a while. She peered inside and saw nothing unusual. It was empty save for the furniture piled in the back. The inside was well illuminated by a flood light from the barn.

  The scraping sound of metal on metal whirled her around and there stood Josiah Stahley, opening the heavy double doors. Behind him, she saw the inner workings of a wood shop. Nothing looked odd, but she felt something.

  “Evening, Josiah. It’s Anne. Anne Reese?”

  She shielded her eyes from the flood light.

  “Anne,” he nodded.

  The cold calculating thing inside him showed no surprise at the unwanted visitor. He was a puppet, Rebecca his master. “What brings you out here?”

  “I’m looking for my children. The sheriff said he saw them out here earlier and I saw their bicycles on the side of the road.”

  Josiah’s eyes darted to the corner of the road. He’d forgotten about the bicycles. His heart raced a moment and then the calm predator resurfaced. “They find me strange, I’m sure,” he said.

  “They’re just kids. I hope they haven’t been bothering you.”

  He approached her slowly carrying his hat in one hand and listening for noises from the trailers. Rachel lay dead in one. Will was bound and gagged in another. In the freezer was the broken journalist and now he had a distressed mother to deal with. Once he was within arm’s reach of her, he wiped his forehead and looked her dead in the eye. “They won’t bother me anymore.”

  Her face contorted at the dark statement and his hollow look, but his fist connected with her cheek before she could move. She dropped to the ground, losing her grasp on consciousness and thinking only of her children as she passed out. Josiah dragged her by the foot back to the woodshop. Anne got her bearings as she was being tied up and lashed out with her feet connecting squarely with Josiah’s knee and sending him to the ground. She got up and grabbed a metal pry-bar from the work bench and held it up like a baseball bat. Stahley got to his feet and pulled a scythe from the wall.

  “Where are my kids you sick fuck?” she screamed and swung the pry-bar, twisting herself off balance.

  “Vulgar,” he said, shaking his head. “You should be ashamed.”

  His eyes, black as death, focused on his prey and in his head, Rebecca cheered him on.

  “Fuck you!” she screamed and reset her stance.

  “You are a filthy thing. I see where your daughter’s demons come from,” he said, and then looked toward the trailers and corrected himself, “Came from.”

  Anne’s eyes teared up. “Where are my children? I will kill you if you’ve hurt them.”

  Josiah smiled vacantly and lunged with the medieval looking weapon. Anne dodged and swung her metal club in retaliation, connecting with his thigh. He roared in pain as she ran from the barn. He gathered himself quickly and stood back up. White-hot rage numbed his pain.

  Anne hid next to the building and waited to see if he was following her. He didn’t. She waited for half a minute before ducking behind the structure and continuing her search for the children. Her ears rang from the punch to the jaw and she tried her best to keep her mind clear from the vile things he might have done to her children. She was breathing heavy, but between her breaths, she listened and didn’t hear his heavy boots on the grass.

  “Will? Rachel?” she whispered. She walked to the first trailer and dropped down to the ground, looking for them, looking for Josiah. There was no movement. From her crouched position, Anne snuck under one trailer and on to the next where she tried her best to hush her labored breathing. She listened in hopes of some sound, but found none. The third trailer was the same. There was no way of knowing that her youngest lay inside with a fractured skull and a dead brain, or that Will was tied up nearby. It was locked with a padlock.

  The hand that landed on her shoulder sent a flutter of panic so strong through Anne’s body that she felt she might explode. The voice or face attached to it didn’t matter.

  “Anne?” it said.

  She turned and struck with such violence that the pry-bar shattered the jaw of Sheriff Sanders. The forked tongue of the instrument impaled his face through the cheek and lodged there causing him to cough. His eyes bulged and he gurgled as if he was trying to speak. He dropped to his knees and fell forward, his body momentarily propped up like a tripod. Blood poured down the shaft of the pry bar and puddled on the ground below.

  Anne stood in shock for a moment, and then screamed.

  “You stupid bastard,” she said through her tears.

  From the next trailer, Will's voice called out. It was muffled, but she heard and understood it.

  “Mom?”

  “Will?” she shouted. She ran toward the source of the noise.

  “Mom!” came from inside the trailer again.

  Anne sobbed and shook the chain that hung from the trailer door and it came loose. There was no lock.

  “I’ll fucking kill you Josiah Stahley! If I find you I will fucking kill you!” she shouted.

  After a moment’s fumbling, she worked the lever that opened one of the doors and saw Will there. The duct tape was still around his head, but he’d worked it loose from his mouth. He held a leg of the broken chair in his hand. “Mom,” he said.

  “Will, where’s your sis…”

  The scythe silenced her as it made contact with her shoulder. Her arm fell limp and she grimaced, looking to her son. “Run Will!” she screamed.

  Will hesitated only for a moment, but then ran past them. Josiah ignored the boy. He had work to finish and the boy would just have to wait.

  Revenge, he heard. Revenge.

  Anne tried to run, but the scythe came down again. She took one more step and stopped. Her head wasn’t completely severed from next hit, but it was nevertheless fatal. Josiah punctuated his words with each blow, following her body as it dropped.

  “I told you to watch your…”

  Hack.

  “blaspheming…”

  Chop.

  “Mouth.”

  When he finished, Anne’s remains were an unrecognizable mess. He stared at it for a moment. Then he swung the scythe again. He paused to look and then took another swipe. Then he grabbed her body by the foot and dragged her off toward the last trailer. Most of Anne’s head was still in the grass, staring up at the heavens.

  “Tell me this is enough, Rebecca,” Josiah said.

  She didn’t answer.

  -~‑--~@

  Will hid underneath another trailer. He’d heard his mother’s screams stop and began to cry. If he could get to her, maybe he could save her. Maybe there was still time to help Rachel, too. He watched as Josiah dragged his mother past the row of trailers and began to cry. Josiah was talking to himself and kept repeating the same phrase.

  “Eye for an eye. Eye for an eye. Eye for an eye.”

  Will was in a kneeling position, hidden almost completely by the overgrown vegetation. He didn’t know what to do but run for help. He could find John Sanders. He could find Mr. Allison. He could find anyone. He crawled between the containers checking back every few steps to make sure he wasn’t being followed. At the end of the row, he was met by John Sanders�
�� body. He gasped at the way his face was contorted, the way his mouth seemed to bite down on the metal rod and the creepy way he hung there like a marionette. Ten feet to John’s right was a large portion of Anne’s head. Seeing her tripped a switch inside him. He went pale and wanted to tear things apart. He wanted to kick and claw and bite and hurt. He wanted Josiah.

  Will walked behind the dead officer and unlatched the pistol from his belt. Back when Sanders dated his mother, he’d taught Will how to fire a pistol. Although his hands shook, he pushed the clip release to see that it was loaded and then slid the magazine back inside. Carefully, he cycled the barrel. One round ejected and one entered the chamber. Then Will flipped the safety to show the little red dot like the sheriff had shown him.

  “Red means dead,” Will said.

  Josiah Stahley came around the corner to face the young man with the handgun. Each was expressionless. Each wanted it all to end. Will squeezed the trigger and the round entered the Amish man’s chest. It rocked him back but didn't knock him down. He looked down at the weeping wound and touched it with his fingers. Will leveled the weapon for a second shot. His hands were no longer shaking.

  “An eye for an eye,” Josiah said.

  Will squeezed the trigger again, sending Josiah Stahley to the ground. Then he stepped up to the red-haired man and emptied the remainder of the clip into his chest and head. Once the weapon was empty, Will walked back to find his mother’s head and sat next to it.

  -~‑--~@

  An hour later, state police responded to reports from a passing motorist that shots were fired. One of John Sanders’s deputies was also on the scene along with a pair of forensics technicians. They never expected to find what they found.

  “Have you got any idea what happened?” asked the trooper.

  “A fuckin’ mess is what happened,” answered the deputy. “Jesus, that’s our sheriff.”

  “Did he call anything in?” said the trooper.

  “No. Nothing. He used to date Ms. Reese though.”

  “Who is Ms. Reese?” the trooper said.

  “The lady with the missing body,” the deputy said.

  “We found her body,” the trooper said. “And another body. A little girl.”

  “Holy Jesus. I’d bet that’s the Reese girl,” the deputy said.

  The trooper shook his head. “ And what’s with the Amish guy?”

  “Stahley’s his name. I have no idea how he’d be involved in this,” said the local officer. “He sells furniture at a fruit stand in town. Nicest guy you’d want to meet.”

  “His wife was murdered, right?” the trooper said.

  “That’s him.”

  As they walked into the barn, a forensic technician exited and tapped the trooper on the shoulder.

  “Did you see the body in the freezer?” he asked.

  “No shit?” said the deputy.

  “All folded up and shoved in there. This guy was angry,” the technician said.

  “Which guy?” the trooper said.

  “Who knows?” said the technician “Somebody did this and they were pissed.”

  “Do you know who’s in the freezer?” the trooper said.

  “Nope. But we found his wallet. Running the ID now,” the technician said.

  “Okay, and what about the boy?” the trooper said.

  “Child services has got him. He’s going straight to therapy. Looks like he saw everything. Keeps saying ‘an eye for an eye’ over and over,” the deputy said.

  “What the hell does that mean?” the trooper said.

  “My guess? It means we’ll probably be seeing him again,” The deputy said.

  “Crazy breeds crazy, don’t it?” the technician said.

  Will Reese sat on the rear bumper of the ambulance with a blanket wrapped around him. His eyes were hollow and empty. He wouldn’t shed another tear.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Dan writes creepy. Sometimes creepy writes back.

  He has a family that loves him despite these flaws. That includes a fantastic wife, Stephanie, and two little girls who put up with his immaturity amazingly well. Together they adventure about this rock with a dog, a bird, a lizard, and some fish.

  Thanks for reading!

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