Creepers
Creepers
BRET TALLENT
Copyright © 2014 Author Name
All rights reserved.
ISBN:
ISBN-13:978-1505516395
DEDICATION
For Laura,
who always believed in me.
Even when I didn’t
CONTENTS
Sheila Eckers stood peering out the dirty screen door of her trailer, her skin glistening with perspiration. The light evening breeze carried the scent of honeysuckle and kudzu blossoms through the screen and bathed her body in their sweet aromas. Clothed in only her panties and a “wife beater” T-shirt, she closed her eyes and let the breeze dance across her bare skin. Sheila relished in the slight relief from the oppressive heat it provided, and the smell reminded her of happier days. Of days long gone, filled with innocence and possibilities. Absentmindedly she gently rubbed her belly.
Sheila brought the smoldering stub of her cigarette to her lips and sucked deeply, then exhaled the pungent smoke of the cheap tobacco out through her nose. The smoke encircled her head and tainted her dishwater blonde hair with its acrid stench. With it, the smoke brought her back to where she was. Back to where innocence was long gone, and possibilities was just a word. It brought her back to the reality of her life now, and washed away what it might have been.
Sheila took a final puff then flicked the spent butt out the screen door. She exhaled heavily and let the door slam shut, its damper long ago broken. Sheila rubbed her arms lightly where gooseflesh had risen from the relative cool of the breeze coming in her screen door, and listened. There was nothing but the rustle of leaves. There were no frogs, no crickets, and no chatter of squirrels or squawk of birds. The night was eerily silent. But none of that mattered to her right now, she was pissed as hell.
Here she was pregnant with his baby and that bastard Ricky wasn’t even home yet. Sheila just knew he had hooked up with some skank at the bar. “Oh yeah, gonna have a few drinks with the guys from work,” she mumbled to herself as she turned to walk down the short hall to the bedroom she shared with him. “Gonna fuck Cindy, more like it,” she continued in disdain. Although she openly displayed her anger, deep down she was also worried, this wasn’t really like him. Yes, he was a drinker and a skirt chaser. But he had always come home to her, her and now a baby.
Sheila lay down on top of the covers; her sheets were sticky damp from the heat and humidity. The light breeze that found its way in through the screen door, and out her bedroom window, did little to cool the room off. The old metal trailer was a sweat box. She had left every door and window open, and still it was an oven. Sheila didn’t have to worry about leaving everything open; she lived near the end of a county road in the backwoods, some ten miles from the nearest town. If you could call it a town, that was. Lusaoka Mississippi had a total population of around two thousand, and her nearest neighbor was an old black preacher man that probably couldn’t even get it up anymore, she mused.
So Sheila lay there and tried to sleep, both angry and worried about Ricky. Perspiring in the heat of her run down trailer, she struggled to get comfortable. Sheila laid there for the longest time, the hum of the ceiling fan and the rustle of the leaves her only companions. Eventually, boredom and exhaustion took hold of Sheila, and she fell into a fitful sleep. Lost to her was the thick, oppressive heat of a southern Mississippi night. Lost to her were any concerns of Ricky or Cindy. Lost to her were the rustling sounds that were approaching her bedroom window.
***
While Sheila Eckers was lighting up the last cigarette she ever would, Ricky Dixon was popping the tab on the last beer in his dirty old plastic cooler. He slammed down three or four good hard swallows of the cheap no-name brew and then sat the can down gingerly on an old swamp-maple stump. “Damn that tastes like horse piss,” he thought. But it was cold, wet, and his last one. So he picked it up and took another swallow, paused, then downed the rest of it. Ricky was three sheets to the wind and in a good mood.
He tossed the empty can up into the air and from somewhere behind him rang out several shots from various rifles and even a pistol. None of them struck the can as it fell to the ground, and Ricky said, “Damn, you guys couldn’t hit shit with your own asshole!” He snorted a laugh and leveled the sights of his mini-14 on the can. Ricky let off four or five rounds in quick succession. He didn’t hit the can either.
In Ricky’s mind there were four things in this world that good ole southern boys loved; drinking, shooting guns, Ford trucks and fucking some sweet young thing. Tonight as it turned out, Ricky would have all four. He’d been out in the woods drinking with his buddies since his shift at the mill ended. A case of beer, semi-automatic rifle, and spotlighting deer was his idea of heaven. Although they never saw a deer, it didn’t keep them from emptying their guns. In fact, none of them had seen much in the way of deer all year.
Ricky thought it odd that they hadn’t seen any deer; the woods around Lusaoka were usually full of them, especially out of season. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen much in the way of any animals all summer. He kept that thought for only a moment and then washed it away with another. Ricky’s thoughts turned quickly to his mini-14, and he smiled, good times. Soon, both the beer and ammo were gone, but Ricky wasn’t ready to head home. Not yet. The night was still young, only midnight or so. So Ricky and the boys decided to hit Lusaoka’s only bar, the White Oak Tavern on Route 33.
Ricky’s ‘boys’ consisted of Yancy Clower, and Toby and Tom Unger. They had known each other all of their lives and had been hanging around with Ricky since they were kids. Ricky didn’t much like them, hell; he didn’t much like anyone. It’s just that these three morons were the closest things to friends that Ricky had. He was closest with Toby. He and Toby tended to think a lot alike while Tom and Yancy were just followers.
Ricky put up with Tom and Yancy because they would often become the butt of his jokes. That and Tom followed his brother Toby around like a puppy. Yancy was a different story altogether. Ricky had beaten the shit out of him way back in the third grade, and he kept coming around. Ricky figured he was either a retard or masochist. Either way, he had grown on Ricky over the years, and his torture was always good for a laugh.
Ricky and the boys headed to the bar just after midnight. The outside of the bar was as shabby as the inside, and just about as clean. When Ricky and his buddies entered the place, all three of its black patrons quickly left as well as a couple of the white ones. “Nigger lovers,” Ricky muttered under his breath as they walked past. He followed their exodus with a glare of contempt, and then looked back at his friends with a smirk. “Smells better in here already,” Ricky blurted out as the front door shut, and his friends snorted in agreement. “Let’s get some drinks flowing,” he demanded as he slammed his hand on the table.
The bartender, a heavy set man with a leathery face, just rolled his eyes and nodded at Cindy for her to take their order. Bobby didn’t much approve of Ricky or his friends, but money was money, and he sure didn’t want to piss him off. That boy was nothing but trouble, he thought to himself, and one mean assed drunk.
Ricky Dixon was just about the most worthless man in Lusaoka, and those Unger boys and that Yancy fellow weren’t much better. The four of them were the worst this town had to offer, and the sooner they left Bobby’s bar, the better. Why if he were a younger man, he mused, he would just show them all to the door with the toe of his boot. Instead, he just smiled and poured them their drinks.
Heaven Hill Mellow Corn had to be one of the worst whiskeys around, but Ricky didn’t mind. It was cheap, and his mouth was already numb from the beer. Ricky downed his second shot and ordered the next round, on him. Ricky had been eyeing that sweet young waitress Cindy Hooper for some time now, and tonight might be the night he thought.
As Cindy turned to take his order to Bobby, Ricky gave her a swat on the ass. Although Cindy gave him a stern look, she didn’t really mind. Ricky was one of the better looking men in Lusaoka, and truth be told, Cindy was a little horny and not that choosey. After a couple more drinks and some hot and heavy flirting, Ricky had Cindy in the men’s room stall. Yup, tonight was a good night.
When Ricky sat back down at the table, Yancy asked, “Your sister coming home this summer?”
It took Ricky a moment to change the pace from the piece of ass he’d just had and wrap his head around Yancy’s question. Finally, he just shrugged. “Damned if I know,” he replied, “What are you, writing a book?”
Yancy looked down at his shot glass and said “No, I was just wondering that’s all…”
“Wondering, huh?” Ricky glared at him, “more like dreaming you piece of shit. You keep your mind off my sister Yancy, or you’ll be wearing my size tens up your ass,” he warned.
Tom and Toby only stared at the two of them, their mouths agape. Yancy mustered what little courage he had and said “You can’t tell me who I can and can’t see. Besides, I think it’s up to her…”
Ricky cut him off. “The hell I can’t!” he countered, “You wanna be picking your teeth up off the ground?” He continued, “And since when has Terri ever let you believe you could see her? She’s too good for you boy, and don’t you forget that,” he snarled.
Tom Unger jumped on the Ricky bandwagon and said “Damn Yancy; you been following her around like a pup since seventh grade, and she ain’t never given you the time of day.”
Toby shook his head and added “maybe he isn’t dark enough.” He snorted and washed it down with a shot of his whiskey.
Suddenly, Ricky’s ire was directed at Toby Unger. “What’d you say?” he asked.
As soon as he’d said it, Toby knew it was a mistake. The alcohol had just loosened up his mouth. Wide eyed he mumbled back “Nothing Ricky; I was just…”
“Damn right nothing,” he exclaimed, “my sister is better than any one of you!” Ricky unclenched his fists and turned back to Yancy. “You’d better just forget that shit Yancy.” Then to all of them he said “All of you had better just forget that shit. If I hear any more talk of any of this, I’ll kill you. I’ll kill each and every one of you.”
Tom, Toby, and Yancy all swallowed hard at the threat. They each knew it was not an idle threat, not when it came from Ricky Dixon. He meant every word he’d said. They had each seen him put more than one man in the hospital, and had they not stopped him, one or two in the ground. Ricky was not a man to be messed with, or an enemy to have. So to try and defuse the situation, Yancy ordered one more round for them all. One more before they all got the hell out of there and put some distance between all of them and Ricky.
By the time Ricky had turned his old Ford truck onto the dirt road that led to his trailer, Sheila was already asleep. Ricky figured she would be, or at least he hoped she would be. He didn’t need her giving him the third degree about where he’d been, or what he’d been doing. He sure as shit didn’t want to tell her he had spent all of his pay on beer and whiskey. All of that could wait until the morning he decided. He wasn’t in the mood for it tonight.
That talk about his sister had really pissed him off and ruined the good night he’d been having. “Damn that Yancy,” he thought aloud, “I’m gonna’ kick that little bastard’s ass tomorrow just for good measure.” Ricky knew what his sister was, but he didn’t need those yahoos reminding him. Terri was a disgrace to his family. She didn’t respect their father or their color. Hell, Ricky didn’t like his dad either, but he still respected him. Terri, on the other hand, wanted no part of her own flesh and blood.
Now pissed, Ricky drove down the country lane a little too fast. He was toasted, and he knew it, but he also knew this road like the back of his hand. So onward Ricky drove. It had cooled down enough that fog had formed in the fields and was creeping into the roadway. It played tricks on Ricky’s tired eyes, and he saw movement all around him. It’s as if inanimate objects were suddenly alive. Ricky blinked his eyes hard and shook his head, but this did little to clear his mind. It did little to slow his pace either.
Eventually, Ricky missed a tight curve on the road. Either from fatigue, alcohol, fog or a combination of the three, he found a ditch. The right two tires of his Ford hit the ditch at the side of the road and immediately pulled the truck in that direction. By the time Ricky’s brain was able to react, he was already rolling over onto his side, then upside down. He had been going fast enough that had the clinging vines that blanketed the roadside not caught him, he would have rolled several more times. Instead, he ended up upside down in the ditch, his truck half buried in a sea of kudzu. The heavy vines tangled around his still spinning wheels until they eventually stopped with a jerk, killing the motor.
Never wearing a seat belt, Ricky had managed to bang his head violently against the rear glass and cab of the truck. He was dazed and confused, lying on his back, holding the steering wheel. Fortunately for Ricky, there had been no rain for weeks, and the ditch was empty. The vines had also made for a relatively soft landing, cushioning the roll over. Ricky finally let go of the wheel and struggled to pull himself up to the window. The roof of the cab was slick, and there was nothing to grab onto, so it took him several attempts just to reach the door handle. Then, as he made it to the window, he realized that a tangle of vines had worked its way into the opening. He tried to pull them apart and push them aside, but after several minutes of no progress he was winded.
Ricky tried to free himself from the cab of the truck and tangle of vines one last time and then gave up. His head was pounding, and he just couldn’t think straight. He rubbed his head and his hand found a lump. He touched it gingerly and felt that it was wet and sticky. He pulled his hand away and it was smeared with blood. Ricky knew then that he was just too drunk to do it. He would have to wait until morning. So Ricky lay there on his back on the cool steel of the roof of the cab and let himself drift off. Fall asleep or pass out, it didn’t matter much to Ricky. Either way he was oblivious to the world around him. In the long run, that would be a good thing.