Catfish Lullaby

by A. C. Wise

  Too big. Too much. His bones cracked. No, not his bones, Cere’s. Her memories, her hurt and terror flowing through him.

  A vast shape loomed over him. Them. Caleb felt himself slip even as Cere did her best to tamp down the flow of memories. But there was so much. Tendrils of solid shadow lashed the air. Things with teeth and too many eyes. Hungry things that wanted to devour the world.

  A man who looked like Archie Royce—maybe the grandfather Cere had never known—summoned things from under the earth as a wide-eyed boy watched. A woman, bound to a tree, a knife pressed to her skin. Creatures born wrong, babies with no mouths or all mouth, teeth too sharp, with skin like bark, with tails. A devil with a downturned mouth, grey skin, and the blackest of eyes.

  All that darkness had been shoved inside Cere, forced into her small frame. A chain of belief, warped with each generation, pulling it further out of true. Catfish John. Catfish John. A devil to be destroyed.

  It hurt, worse than anything he’d ever felt. She’d felt. Caleb’s body wanted to split at the seams, but if he let it, all that horror would be unleashed in a torrent upon the world.

  “No!” Caleb jerked back, the connection broken, his hands on Cere’s shoulders, pushing her away.

  Cere looked as though he’d slapped her, taken her pain and shoved it back into her arms, told her she had to carry it alone. She slipped out of the bed, her eyes fixed on him, burning, but dulled by tears.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .” The hammering of his pulse calmed, coming back to normal.

  Too late. She was out the door, not even bothering to close it behind her.

  He heard her window slide up, rushing to his own in time to see a shadow sprint across the lawn. He couldn’t let her run away again, not this upset. Caleb shoved his own window up, scrambling after her.

  Branches whipped at his arms and face as he crashed into the woods bordering the property. He couldn’t help picturing black lines of rot tangling his legs. The scent of char and ash, soot and damp wood, hung in the air, reaching him long before he burst out of the woods and onto Archie Royce’s property. The distance cutting through the woods was less than the half mile by road, but Caleb was winded, his legs shaking as if he’d run a marathon.

  He braced his hands on his knees, catching his breath. The trees that had looked sickly the night of the fire were worse now, leaning away from the remains of the house as if they could pull up their roots and flee. Between them, the skeleton of Archie Royce’s house loomed. Only a small section remained intact, braced by a chimney. The rest was bones without skin.

  Cere was in there somewhere.

  Caleb tried to call her name, but his voice came out as a wheeze. Any moment, something monstrous would rise from the ruin, Catfish John holding Cere’s remains in his claws. Rotted, scaly things crawling from under the earth and out of the swamp.

  A scrabbling sound from the intact part of the house put Caleb’s heart in his throat. But it was his fault Cere was here. He couldn’t leave her. Without giving himself time to regret, he ducked around a blackened timber.

  There was a crash, followed by a wordless yell. Caleb found Cere sitting on the floor, shoulders slumped. The room—what remained of it—held an iron bed frame, its covers and mattress burned away. Debris lay scattered all around it. Caleb found a relatively clear spot and lowered himself to the floor beside Cere. What had the room looked like before the fire? What in her father’s house had she called her own?

  Cere looked up. No gold threaded her eyes now. Her expression was stark despair.

  “I’m sorry.” It was the only thing Caleb could think to say.

  Ash smeared Cere’s arms, rinds of black char worked under her nails.

  “There weren’t enough bones.”

  “What?” Caleb wasn’t sure if he’d misheard or just didn’t understand.

  “When they took my father’s body away, there weren’t enough bones in the ash. I kept coming back to look in case they missed something.”

  A knot tightened in the pit of his stomach. This is where she’d come when she’d slipped out the window the first time. How many times since? Caleb half expected the curve of ribs sticking up from under the bed or a grinning skull wedged under a fallen beam. His gaze fell on a section of wood that might once have been a closet doorframe, carved with crude notches. A prisoner, counting down days.

  “I locked them in. They should have burned. But there were only remains for two people. One of my brothers is still alive.”

  Caleb gaped at her. She’d just admitted to locking her brothers and her father into the burning house. Had she set the fire too? Part of him might have suspected, but hearing her admit it aloud . . .

  “Whichever one is alive, Ellis or Del, they stole my father’s body from the morgue.”

  She knew about the break in and that her father’s body had been stolen. What else did she know that he didn’t?

  “How do y—” Caleb started, but Cere cut him off.

  “They murdered that woman too. The one whose picture was in the paper. Those marks cut into her skin, that’s my daddy’s magic. They’re trying to raise the dead and bring my father back to life.”

  Caleb’s breath caught.

  “Is that . . . can they do that?”

  “They were never as strong as my daddy. They weren’t what he needed, but he taught Del everything he knew in case he failed, and Ellis learned from Del.” Cere surprised Caleb by leaning against him, letting him take some of her weight.

  “You won’t tell, will you? Any of it?”

  “My father could help. He’s the sheriff.” Caleb swallowed. The thought came back to him, the protest he’d almost made to his father about Robert and Denny and some problems being too big for the authorities. Some things you had to fight on your own.

  “Would he even believe you?” Cere lifted her head.

  “I . . . don’t know.” Caleb shrugged. His father would want to believe him, but how could he? On the other hand, he couldn’t let Cere fight alone. All that darkness she held inside—if she unleashed it, even against her father, it would swallow her whole.

  “So what do we do?”

  Cere looked at him, startled. We, he’d said we. Caleb held her gaze, and didn’t take the word back.

  “Catfish John,” Cere said after a moment. “He’s not the monster everyone thinks. He helped me before. He could help me again.”

  Caleb thought of his grandmother’s story about the girl saved from drowning. But there were more stories like the ones Robert and Denny told; he didn’t know what to believe. Cere trailed her fingers through the ash, absent patterns that made Caleb’s eyes hurt, so he had to look away. Cere wiped her hand on her jeans.

  “People are afraid of Catfish John because of the way he looks, but real monsters don’t look like monsters. They look like you and me. Especially me.”

  chapter five

  Between 1968 and 1979, there was a string of unsolved disappearances in Sabine, Vernon, and Rapides Parishes. Seventeen women, ranging in age from sixteen to thirty-seven, went missing. Initially police assumed the women were runaways or victims of domestic violence. There was little to suggest a link between them; however, the recovery of a body in 1986, years after the last disappearance, sparked new interest in the cases.

  Evaneen Milton’s body was found in a swamp just outside the town of Lewis while authorities were engaged in an unrelated search for a missing girl. The remains were badly decomposed, but there was enough to show evidence of violence. When the media picked up on the story, they suggested a link between Evaneen Milton and the other missing women, and public imagination went wild. Everyone had a theory about the serial killer who was dubbed the Swamp Slasher. Though of course, other folks insisted on blaming the disappearances on Catfish John.

  —Myths, History, and Legends from the Delta to the Bayou (Whippoo
rwill Press, 2016)

  ***

  A

  mosquito whined close to Caleb’s ear. He slapped it, leaving a smear of blood on his palm. Between the trees, the air hung still, and on the other side of them, patches of damp opened like mouths in the ground. Light reflected in the wet, making it look like the sky come down to earth. Those patches marked the swamp’s first foray into the woods surrounding them.

  “Now what?” Sweat stuck Caleb’s shirt to his back. They’d tramped through the woods for what felt like hours, Cere looking for just the right spot, leaving him hot and irritable.

  She slung the pack she’d carried to the ground. Caleb peered over her shoulder as she drew out a cloth-wrapped bundle. His breath snagged as she unwrapped layers to reveal the wooden figurine she’d been clutching the night of the fire.

  Even with the full sunlight through the trees, he couldn’t make out the exact color of the wood. Dappled shadows made the carving itself seem to shift. One moment it looked like a knot of organic material, leaves and roots and flowers all wound around each other. The next, Caleb was certain it was a face, its lips thin and downturned. Then he became convinced it was actually a series of smaller, interlocking figures—fish skeletons, human bones, and deep-sea creatures making up a larger pattern. He desperately wanted to touch it, and at the same time, it disgusted him.

  “What is it?” Caleb shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “A song.” Cere held the carving out, so the light caught the wood, making it ripple. The tangled mass seemed to uncurl, and Caleb looked away.

  “Catfish John gave it to me.”

  Caleb glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, trying to work out how a carving could be a song. The woods had gone still, no birds, not even a mosquito since the one he’d killed.

  There was another sound though, just on the edge of hearing, a faint vibration at the base of his spine. Caleb’s sweat dried against his skin.

  “When I was seven years old, I tried to run away from my daddy.” Cere kept her eyes on the carving as she spoke, moving in a slow circle with her hands cupped in front of her.

  “I didn’t get far. It was rainy. I couldn’t see anything, and my feet kept sticking in the mud. I wandered until I was almost in the swamp. Then I thought it would be better to drown myself than go back. That’s when Catfish John found me.”

  She looked up. The gold in her eyes had soaked all the way through, making Caleb think of old coins. The air shivered around her hands. For a moment, Caleb could swear Cere’s hands actually disappeared, taking the carving with them, so her arms ended just past her wrists. The sound at the edge of his hearing rose. Even though he could still feel the sun shining, Caleb was suddenly struck with the unshakable feeling that the sky was littered with black patches of night, impossible stars showing through.

  “What—” he started, but his jaw locked.

  Not just his jaw, something held his entire body still. Panic gripped him, but Cere put her finger to her lips. All Caleb could do was blink.

  “I begged him to let me stay with him.” Cere continued as though nothing had changed. “He said it wasn’t time, but he gave me this. He said I could use it to call him. He said it would sing to me and keep me safe.”

  Despite the evenness of her words, Cere looked pained, Catfish John’s rejection stinging even all these years later. He tried to imagine her at seven years old, wanting to drown herself rather than go back to her father. She shut her eyes, lifting the carving higher. A faint humming noise came from the back of her throat, making Caleb’s scalp pull tight and the skin on his arms pucker.

  He could see now that of course the carving was a song. How could he have thought otherwise? Stars glinted in the wood. Not the stars of this world, much older stars. They sang. Comforting and terrifying. Their song made him want to sleep; it made him want to scream and peel the skin from his bones.

  The song continued, longer than he could bear, unwinding him, unraveling him. Then all at once, Cere’s eyes flew open.

  “What is it?” Cere’s hold, or the song’s, released Caleb, and the words tumbled out.

  Cere caught his arm, digging her fingers in hard as she stared through the trees. At first, Caleb couldn’t see anything. Then his eyes focused on a man the same green-grey as the patches of water between the trees.

  A man, except the shape of him was wrong. Looking at him made Caleb’s eyes hurt the same way the carving did. He flickered, and Caleb’s gaze wanted to slide away, forget him, unsee. Beside Caleb, Cere quivered, a bow string after the arrow is loosed.

  Catfish John.

  The man took a shuffling step, becoming clearer and more indistinct all at once. Caleb couldn’t be sure if he was actually seeing true things or if his mind filled in bits from rumors and stories. A downturned mouth, deep creases at its corners, gills slit into the side of the man’s neck. Eyes, black all the way to the edges. When those eyes fixed on him, Caleb had the feeling of plunging into the creek, the water cold enough to steal his breath. Those eyes were deep as the space between stars.

  All at once, the wail of a siren slammed into Caleb like a physical blow. Breath left him in a rush. He whipped around, looking for the source as it was followed by another siren and another. Through the trees, Caleb could just barely see the main road. Light skipped between the trunks as three cars from the Sheriff’s department flew past.

  “We have to go.” Caleb grabbed Cere’s arm.

  She dug her heels in. He turned to find her staring at the spot Catfish John had been. They were alone.

  Voices bounced through the woods, and Caleb tried to pick out his father among them. What had called the sheriff’s department out here? There was nothing for miles around. Unless he and Cere had come farther than Caleb realized. He squinted. That might be the turnoff to Tupelo Campground just ahead. He let go of Cere’s arm, moving closer.

  One of the officers shouted, and Caleb ducked, pulling Cere with him. His pulse hammered, but the footsteps veered away. A crackle of radio static joined the jumble of voices, but Caleb couldn’t make out the words. Keeping to an awkward crouch, he waddled forward, trying to get a better view.

  A body lay sprawled on the leaf-strewn ground. Behind him, Caleb heard the harsh catch of Cere’s breath. He twisted around to look at her. Her grim expression set a lump of cold in the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t a chance hunting accident; Cere’s brother, whichever one was still alive, had killed again.

  He didn’t have to see the body to know it would be covered with markings. Cere’s expression shifted to rage. Shadows gathered and flickered around her, and the ground under them shivered. A dread certainty filled Caleb. Just like Archie Royce would tear the world apart to stop Catfish John, Cere would tear the world apart to stop her daddy.

  There were no footprints in the dream this time, only a bridge jutting halfway out over a lake. At the far end, ragged chunks of concrete dropped into the water. Trees broke through the surface—a whole forest, drowned. There were dead things in the water too. Hair trailing around faces gone fish-belly pale and eyes white as polished stones. Open mouths, singing. Mark, Denny Harmon, Robert Lord. Even Caleb’s father. All of Lewis was down there.

  Cere stood at the far end of the bridge, only it wasn’t Cere. It was the woman he’d seen in his dreams before. Light shone through her skin, and her dress fluttered against bare legs spattered with mud. She took a step toward the crumbling end of the bridge. Before Caleb could shout a warning, she let herself fall, striking the water as it boiled, a sun, ripe to bursting, unable to drown.

  Caleb jolted awake. It was a moment before his room resolved around him, familiar and safe. He lay still, waiting for his pulse to slow. He couldn’t shake the feeling the dreams were trying to tell him something. That they weren’t just dreams but images like the ones Cere had shown him before, leaking out from her no matter how she tried to hold them in. They
couldn’t be memories though, so what were they? Vision of the future? Or just things that might happen? Peeling back the covers, he sat up and tapped softly on the wall separating his room from Cere’s. After a moment, she tapped in return.

  Light from the television shone under his father’s door as Caleb crept down the hall and pushed open Cere’s door. She sat with her back to him, a faint glowing surrounding her. Caleb sat beside her. She held something in her lap that looked like a bundle of rags; it was a homemade doll.

  A few strands of wool clung to its scalp. Arm and leg holes had been cut into a purple Crown Royal bag, cinched at the waist with the bag’s gold drawstring cord, which had been cut off and repurposed as a belt. Eyes and a mouth had been drawn on crookedly with permanent marker.

  “It’s not Del.” Cere’s eyes—green as moss, dark as mud—were threaded with dangerous light. “It’s Ellis. He made this for me when I was little. I found it on the window sill.”

  Caleb looked from the doll to the window, imagining Cere’s brother lurking in the dark, watching them.

  “He didn’t used to be like daddy and Del. He was different, but then . . .” Cere turned the doll over and over in her hands.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Find him.” Cere’s grip tightened to a chokehold on the doll. “Maybe I can make him listen to me. And if I can’t . . .”

  Caleb saw the woman who looked like Cere, stepping off the end of the bridge and falling into the water. He saw it in Cere’s eyes too. She’d rather die than let her brother use her to bring more darkness into the world.

  “What happens if Ellis succeeds?”

  “You’ve seen it already.” Cere clenched her jaw.

  “Not all of it. Show me the rest.” He had to know why she was willing to risk her life.