Lick Your Neighbor (26 page)

12
A Most Best Laid Plan

Excerpt from the diary of John Alden

February 17, 1621

As dawn approached, Mr. Ely returned to the common house. Captain Standish and the Reverend were there to meet him with their muskets raised.

“What is the meaning of this?” asked Ely.

Bradford came out from the shadows, still wearing the chemise.

“Silence, Jasper,” he said. “Yes, we know who you are, Jasper Eberly. You, swine, are a villainous witch! Are you not?”

“Perhaps,” said Mr. Ely.

“Ah ha! Only a witch would say perhaps!”

“Then I change my answer.”

“To what?”

“To maybe.”

“You are a witch!” said the Reverend. “There is no maybe about it!”

“Jasper Eberly,” said Bradford, puffing out his chest, “you are Satan’s honey-tongued nose-herb. You have brought this plague of illness upon our member, causing untold suffering and death. You have conjured those Savages out of the unholy soil and sent them against us. It was you, and not the smoking of tobacco whilst laying the thatch, that caused our dwellings to catch fire. You made it bitterly cold. You made it snow a lot. Finally, you made me eat more than my fair share of the biscuits on many, many occasions. What say you to these indisputable facts?”

“I say you have all gone yeasty.”

“The time for lies has past,” said the Reverend. “I remember you from the Essex witch trial. You’ve escaped on the back of a flying goat for the last time, Jasper Eberly.”

“Furthermore, we saw you dancing and sinning with that deer,” said Standish.

“Have you ever danced with a deer, Captain?” asked Mr. Ely.

“Of course not.”

“Would you like to?” asked Ely, who had suddenly transformed himself into a rather stunning deer. He coyly batted his eyelashes over his bright deer eyes.

“Stop that, Eberly!” Bradford shouted. “I order you to turn back into a man!”

The deer pouted and then sighed. “Not until you tell me what you intend to do to me.”

“Very well, deer witch,” said Bradford. “We are giving you two options. One, we burn you tonight. Two, you atone for your crimes by using your Evil once more, but this time for Good.”

A twinkle flashed in the deer’s eyes. “Using Evil for Good again, eh?”

“Does anyone else find it odd that we are negotiating with a deer?” the Reverend asked. “Just me? Fine.”

“Cast a spell over the Auwaog,” said Bradford, “like you did to William Button. Turn them all into some form of beast that we can easily defeat. Do this, and you shall live.”

The deer looked out the window and considered this. “Do you all swear to this deal?”

We all agreed, and Eberly transformed back into a man.

“Then I accept,” he said. “What would you like me to turn them into? Shall I pick something?”

“I’m wise to your tricks, witch,” said Standish. “If you had your way you would turn them into monstrous snakes or foul tempered beavers. Not on my watch. We want them to be something harmless. Perhaps some form of fowl.”

“How about turkeys?” I said, “They’re a most harmless and beef-witted bird.”

“I was thinking of water fowl, such as ducks, but yes, turkeys will do just fine. Make it so, Eberly.”

“Very well. But before I begin, I must inform you that there is a third party in this deal, for I am just a man, and am thusly not capable of such Evil. All I can do is ask the Devil to make it happen. That’s all witches do. We ask, and he delivers. But he always asks for something small in return. As the spell is your desire, he will want something from you.”

“Well then out with it,” said Standish. “What does that Swine ask of us?”

Eberly closed his eyes and muttered an incantation. It sounded like “ooba booba hoo yip hoo yip tata tata.” Then he smiled, opened his eyes, and spoke.

“After the spell has been cast, all of the Auwaog turkeys, every last one of them, must be killed. If any of them live, the Devil will bewitch you until you uphold your end of the deal.”

“Won’t the turkeys all eventually die on their own?” asked Standish.

“The Auwaog shall not age, nor will they succumb to illness,” said Eberly. “And neither will any of you until the Auwaog are all dead.”

“So we could live forever?” I asked. “That will be our curse?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“Seems like more of a reward than a punishment.”

Eberly smiled. “Perhaps.”

“The devil is right,” Standish said, “To live forever in this wild world, and to never taste the sweet reward of God’s serene love, is the greatest punishment of all. Tell me, devil, when will the transformation take place?”

“Whenever you wish.”

“We’ll make it at sunrise,” said Standish. “All of us will then take up position around the Auwaog village. We will wait for the transformation and then immediately wipe them all out with our fowling pieces. They won’t know what hit them.”

“That sounds like a most best laid plan, Captain,” Eberly agreed.

To cast the spell properly, Eberly informed us that he had to be dangerously close to the Auwaog village, which was miles from Plymouth. It was decided that Standish and I, being the younger and stronger of the four, would escort him there. Bradford and the Reverend would get some rest and then meet us there at sunrise. So with muskets in hand, and Eberly in shackles, Standish and I set out with the full moon lighting our way.

When we reached the small clearing where we encountered the Savage Boy the other day, Eberly said we were close enough. He knelt down and grabbed a handful of dirt, smelt it deeply, and then let it fall slowly between his fingers. Then he unbuckled his shoes and placed them beneath a tree. Next he took off his shirt, folded it neatly, and laid it on top of his shoes. He did the same with his pants. Then he began to remove his undergarments, which was when we saw where this was going.

“Stop, stop it,” Standish said. “What’s the meaning of this, Eberly?”

“What’s the meaning of what?”

“Do you think we’re a couple of pignuts? We know what’s going on here. Sinning, that’s what.”

“But I must. The Devil requires that a spell of this magnitude be cast in total and utter nudity. Look, I don’t make up the rules. If you have a complaint you’ll have to make it directly to Beelzebub. Would you like me to lodge a complaint for you? Arrange for a meeting? I could do that. But just so you know, the meeting will have to take place on the back of a flying hairless goat, with Satan in the form of a mother mouse, and you in the form of a newborn mouse, sucking on his little teats.”

“Nude it is then.”

Eberly took off his undergarments and stood before us wearing only his hat. Standish and I tried not to look too closely at him, but we couldn’t help noticing that the area between his legs, where the nuts and berries should be, was flat and smooth. In short, he had no flap-dragon.

With his eyes closed, knees bent, and hands cupped around his mouth, Jasper Eberly sang a soft la la la melody. It seemed to be a call of some sort, and indeed it was, because out from the woods soon came a forest creature.

It was a small rabbit, and, strangely, it stood upright, and walked on its hind legs. Stranger still, it was lee lee lee’ing to answer Eberly’s la la la’ing.

After the rabbit, there came a fox, also walking on its hinds legs and singing. Then came a deer, a skunk, an opossum, a mole, a shrew, a chipmunk, a muskrat, a porcupine, and a raccoon, all of them walking on their hind legs and lee lee lee’ing. Finally a turkey emerged from the woods.

When the creatures had all gathered around Eberly, they stopped singing, and all bowed their heads in silence.

“Um, Eberly?” The Captain stepped forward. “Could I, uh, have a word?”

The animals responded in unison with a stern “Shhhhhhhhhh!” which sent the Captain scuttling back. He pulled me aside and whispered, “John, this is madness.”

While the animals softly hummed around him, Eberly used nearby twigs to build a small fire in the middle of the gathering. Then he passed around a wooden cup, which all of the animals spat into. The opossum brought the cup over to Standish and I, and would not leave until we, too, spat into it. Once we did so, the cup was given back to Eberly, who dumped it into the fire. The flames grew higher.

From only the Devil knows where, the animals procured sundry musical instruments. They must have gotten them whilst my eyes were on the fire, because one moment they were all empty-handed, and the next thing I knew they were all dancing and playing the strangest music I had ever heard. The rabbit plucked a hurdy-gurdy, the fox blew on his crumhorn and the deer on his sacbut. The skunk next to him blew on a dulcian so hard I thought his head would explode. The mole wildly plucked a lute, and the porcupine banged on a harpsichord in a most violent manner. And then there was the raccoon, who marched around the fire whilst tooting on a 3-holed pipe with one hand and tapping a small tabor drum, hung from his wrist, with the other. The other creatures, such as the chipmunk and muskrat, formed a small choir. The words they sang were in Latin, and the music they played was like something you would expect to hear in the insane asylum.

Jasper Eberly danced around the fire in a most unmuzzled manner, with his arms and legs flailing about. He soon took the turkey in his arms and danced with it. The turkey, far from minding this, bobbed its head along to the music.

Then Eberly threw the turkey into the fire. But instead of burning, the bird floated betwixt the flames, rotating round and round. It must have felt no pain since it continued to bob its head merrily to the music.

Suddenly, the music stopped and the fire went out. Eberly grabbed the turkey before it fell to the ground, and held the bird high above his head. The other animals dropped their instruments and rushed in close to him, so that we could only see Eberly’s hands on the turkey above the crowd of beasts. They held this position for quite some time, none of them moving even an inch.

“What are they doing?” Standish whispered.

“I don’t know. They appear to be frozen. Perhaps Satan turned them all into statues.”

“Perhaps. Go over there and pinch the mole on the rump. See if it reacts.”

“I’m not pinching that mole on the rump.”

“I’m the Captain here, Alden. I order you to pinch that mole’s rump.”

“Fine. But if that thing turns around and bites my flap-dragon, you’re going to have to bandage it.”

Just as my fingers were about to close on the mole’s rump, the ground began to shake in a most frightful manner. It was as if the entire Earth was boiling. Then a column of light burst up from the ground under Eberly. It was so sudden and brilliant that it gave me quite a fright, and sent me scampering back to the Captain.

Both Eberly and the bird were drawn upward into the light. They rose high enough so that Eberly’s feet were visible over the animals. He still held the turkey above his head.

Then another light shot sideways through the air and intersected the column, forming a cross of light with Ely and the turkey suspended in the middle. The light became brighter and brighter, until Standish and I had to shield our eyes from it.

“Do you think the Savages can see this?” I asked Standish.

“Forget the Savages. I’m sure God Himself can see this.”

As quickly as it appeared, the light retreated to from whence it came. The animals all scattered with it, leaving the clearing and returning to the woods in all directions.

All that was left in the clearing was the turkey, standing on top of Eberly’s hat, which sat atop the ashes of the fire. Atop the bird’s head I noticed a peculiar tuft of thick black hair that I had not seen before.

“That tuft of hair on the bird’s head,” I said, “was it always there?”

“No,” said Standish. He too aim at the bird. “It was not. That hair was on Eberly’s head.”

Standish squatted down next to the turkey. The two of them locked eyes for a long moment. Finally Standish spoke. “I believe this turkey is Jasper Eberly. He’s transformed himself again. Tie him up, Alden.”

“I’m not touching him. Look at his eyes. That bird is judging me.”

“Just tie up the gleeking bird and let’s get some rest! We’ll need our strength for the morning.”

Thankfully, the Eberly turkey was rather docile, and I was easily able to tie him a tree. Standish fell asleep quickly, but I am still awake, scribbling in this journal and unable to sleep with such a foul day ahead of me.

If we fail tomorrow, and I perish, let it be known to whomever finds this account that we made this unholy pact with the Devil so that the glorious dream that is Plymouth may live. And if you believe that, then you are a bigger dewberry than I.

—John Alden

13
Send in the Clown

Even though by most standards it was a small catapult, Randy was having one hell of time getting it out of the Oldsmobile.

He was inside the wagon, with his back against the catapult. Heaving and ho’ing with all his might, but the thing wouldn’t budge from the mound of trash it was encased in.

“This thing is more reluctant to leave the womb than I was,” Randy muttered.

Just as Randy was about to give it one more push, a black Cadillac came skidding to a halt in front of the gate to Wild Willie’s Farm.

Randy ducked down and peeked out the window. He saw one of the beakmen jump out of the Caddie and fumble with a huge set of keys. He frantically tried to unlock the gate, but couldn’t seem to find the right key. As he continued to fumble, the driver grew impatient and honked the horn.

The sound caused something to stir on the roof of the car. There was something alive up there. Randy looked up and saw a woman in a green dress, wearing a police motorcycle helmet. The woman moved very gingerly as she sat up and slid the helmet off her head.

Randy rubbed his eyes. “Judy?”

Judy saw the man with the beak standing at the gate in front of her. She opened her mouth to scream but wisely slapped her hand over her mouth to stop herself. Looking around wildly for help, Judy saw Randy eyes peeking at her through the Oldsmobile’s side window. Randy lifted his head and gave Judy the shush sign.

Judy’s eyes filled with tears and her lips quivered. Her hands lifted, reaching in Randy’s direction. She was going to yell something along the lines of “Hey you! Over there hiding in the Oldsmobile! Help me!” and Randy knew it.

Randy did his best to mime to Judy the message that if she knew what was good for her, she would keep her mouth shut, or else they would both have their heads chopped off by the mutants. Unfortunately, the only thing Judy picked up from all of Randy’s gesturing was that she was in grave danger.

Just as Judy’s lips parted to scream, the Cadillac’s engine roared and the car shot forward, sending her flying off the roof. She hit her head on the trunk of the car and then again on the ground as she landed on her back. For the final time that day, Judy was knocked unconscious.

Randy waited until the Caddie disappeared into the farm before he scrambled out of the wagon. He kneeled down over Judy, straddling her, and tried to bring her back through the time-tested, medically sound method universally known as Shout and Slap the Holy Crap out of Her.

“Judy! Judy, wake up! Juuuuudy!”

Judy’s eyes blinked open to see Randy’s chubby cheeks and stubbly chin hovering over her.

“Dear God, woman, that was one hell of a fall? Are you alright?”

“That depends,” Judy replied. “Are you friend or foe?”

Randy had to think about that one for a second.

“Friend.”

“Oh good,” Judy said. “Then I guess I’m okay.”

Judy smiled, but it didn’t last long. Her face went white when she saw, slowly creeping up over Randy’s shoulder, the enraged and bloody face of a clown. With his mouth foaming he looking positively rabid.

“Judy, what’s wrong?” Randy asked. “Are you having a seizure? It looks like your head is about to explode.”

“Cuh…cuh,” stammered a breathless Judy.

“Cuh? What’s a cuh?”

“No. Cuh-lau. Claaaaaau.”

“Clau? Are you trying to say Claus? Look, Judy, we all love Santa Claus. He’s Grandpa Jesus. But at least wait until after Thanksgiving to start pining for the guy.”

“Not Claus,” Judy said. “Clown.”

Randy sat up straight. “Clown? Clown. Clown!”

Randy spun around just in time to get socked square in the nose by Uncle Pookie. The blow sent Randy to the ground. Judy sprang up and dove into the Oldsmobile for cover.

With his nose now equally as bloody as Pookie’s, Randy got to his knees and screamed. “That was a sucker punch, you coward! You broke my nose!”

Pookie, still only wearing boxers, was back in The Queensbury Rules boxing position, shuffling his feet with his fists raised high.

“That’s not all I’m going to break,” Pookie said. “Put up your dukes, so I may thrash you fair and square.”

“Listen, listen to me, goddammit!” Randy staggered as he got to his feet, almost falling over multiple times as his knees came close to giving out. “There’s no time for this. We must put our personal differences aside so that a life may be saved.”

“That’s right. Your life. Because you’re about to die, Tinker. Die by my fists of fury.”

To showcase this fury, Pookie cut the air with a swift round of jabs, hooks, and uppercuts.

“This isn’t about me,” Randy said. “It’s my brother-in-law Dale. He’s in that barn over there with a half-man, half-bird creature. His life is in danger.”

“Ha! A lie! Nice try, Tinker.”

“I swear by the perfect spleen of Saint Quadragesimus that it’s true.”

Pookie dropped his fists. “Did you say Saint Quadragesimus?”

“Yes. Yes I did.”

“So you
are
serious.”

“Indeed,” Randy said. “It may not mean anything to you, but my sister loves Dale. Not in a rip your clothes off and pound you like a jackhammer while a sea of candles burn around us and salsa music blasts in the background kind of way. She loves him in a Hey you don’t make me want to shove a fork in my eye every morning at breakfast like everyone else does, so let’s get hitched, kind of way. And I’ll be damned if I going to let him die just so you and I can engage in a jaunty round of fisticuffs.”

Pookie looked up at the barn on the hill. The clouds above it were blacker than the rest of the sky. And, the rain, which was only misting down where they were, seemed to be pouring on the barn.

“What do you say, Pook? Will you help me save a good, decent man’s life?”

“I will. But on one condition. Tomorrow morning, at sunrise, you will meet me in the ring of battle to settle this thing once and for all. Queensbury Rules, with a referee, and absolutely no cheating.”

“Agreed.”

“If you win, you have eternal first rights to every woman who enters the Thirsty Pilgrim. And that is regardless of race, age, religious persuasion, or the presence of nylon stockings. If I win, those same rights are eternally mine.”

“Agreed,” Randy said. “And after the fight, no matter the outcome, we shall sup together for a lavish Thanksgiving feast, like true gentlemen.”

“Agreed.”

“Also, to sweeten the pot, the loser shall wait on the winner hand and foot with five-star table service during the feast.”

“Agreed,” Pookie said. “And to sweeten the pot even further, the loser must shave the winner’s back every morning during beach season. And that includes the shoulders and that unkempt region just above the ass crack which I like to refer to as The Forbidden Forest.”

“Okay you’ve gone too far.”

“Agreed.”

“Good.” Randy shook Pookie’s hand. “By the perfect spleen of Saint Quadragesimus, you have my word. Now that that’s settled…help me get this catapult out of the car.