Scary Rednecks & Other Inbred Horrors (28 page)

Steve’s wife, Mary, followed behind.
 
She was a woman who reminded Pete far too much of his long dead wife—a woman who felt the world owed her something for nothing.

Pete’s second son, Samuel, was followed by his wife,
Lia
.
 
The only good thing that those two have done
, he thought,
is bring such a perfect boy as Davy into the world.
 
Other than that, they did nothing more than have sex, sleep, eat and shit.
 
Might as well get a dog. At least a dog shits outside and has the decency to die after about fifteen years of freeloading.
 
There are no bigger parasites in all of Georgia.

“Daddy.”
 
Both sons said their greeting simultaneously and Pete winced.

Pete looked up at the peach tree, putting his hand over his eyes to block the sun and thought to himself just how much he and the old peach tree were alike.
 
His whole freeloading family took fruit from that tree, with the exception of Davy.
 
The boy, like Pete, had developed an aversion of peaches.

The rest of the family took the peaches gluttonously, never giving anything back, not once offering to help take care of the tree.
 
That’s my job
, he said, chuckling to himself.
 
I take care of the tree, and they eat its fruit.
 
My family scavenges from me, never even leaving home to cut their own paths.
 
They depend upon me totally.
 
I take care of myself, increasing my fortune every year in real estate, and they eat from me.
 
My money might as well have peaches on the front of the bill instead of the face of some old president.
 
Like the tree, I wince every time one of my hard-earned fruits is taken.
 
The fruits of my labor.

Pete hid his thought well.
 
“Everybody grab a peach and sit down,” he said, gesturing to the tree.
 
“I have something to tell all of you.”
 
He grinned and this time it was genuine.

They all pulled a peach from the tree and sat down.
 
Steve took three in his typically greedy fashion.

They bit hungrily into the sweet, luscious peaches as they waited for Pete to speak.
 
Steve did not even bother to wipe the juice that ran messily down his chin.
 
Lia
took short baby bites, chewing carefully to get maximum enjoyment.

“I’m glad to see everyone here,” Pete said, turning his gaze at each of them as he spoke.
 
“The first thing that I want to tell you is that I’m dying.”
 
He saw that they tried to hide their elation, but failed miserably.
 
They actually seemed to drool like hungry dogs, the peach juice on Steve’s chin emphasizing the metaphor colorfully.

“Oh Pete, I’m so sorry,” Mary said sorrowfully, although to Pete it sounded like, “Good-Goddamn, Pete, that’s fantastic!”

Pete finally put aside the mask of the friendly old man he had worn for years, letting it slide from his face with smooth and satisfying precision.
 
“Please. Spare me your fake sympathy. You’re the most apathetic woman that I’ve ever met.
 
You couldn’t empathize with a dying child, you cold bitch.”

“Dad!” Steve shouted in shock.
 
“Don’t listen to him, Mary.
 
He must be going senile.”

“Senile!” Pete shot back, sending them all into frozen positions of amazement, each of them riveted to his words.
 
“Boy, my mind is sharper than that knife you used to whittle with when you were Davy’s age. Although you did most of your
whittlin
’ without the knife, I should add, judging by the amount of times I caught you in the barn with your pants down to your ankles!”

“Dad!”

“Don’t Dad me, boy! Let me finish! I got some things to say and I want you to hear me out!
 
The least you can do for me, after all I’ve done, is shut your hole and listen!”
 
He glared at them one by one, daring them to open their mouths.
 
“I have a confession to make.
 
Many years ago your mother didn’t run off on me.
 
She didn’t just disappear. I killed her.
 
I killed the cheating bitch.
 
I found her with Ned Roberts and I shot the both of them.
 
Your mother took a bullet in the face, dead instantly.
 
For the first time in her life, she didn’t get the last word in.”

With a true sense of the moment, Pete watched their reactions, locking eyes with each of them as they sat in stunned silence.
 
The summer breeze rustling through the peach tree was the only sound.
 
Davy looked frightened, his eyes wide on his chubby face, his mouth open in an ‘o’ of amazement.

No one moved.
 
The kind old man that they had known their whole life was gone, disappearing in the smoke of murderous memories.
 
The old man sitting before them, his back to the peach tree, was so unlike their father that he was almost alien.

Pete continued his speech.
 
“Now, the first thing that I want you to do is to thank your mother, for she provided your nutrients.”

Samuel, the brighter of the two brothers, was the first to catch on. He was looking at his half eaten peach with horror and revulsion.

Pete saw his enlightenment and smiled.
 
“Yes, indeed.
 
That woman made sure that you got all your vitamins in a way that’s pretty literal.”
 
He knocked his wrinkled fist into the grass.
 
“
Ain’t
that right, Marian?” he asked, looking down at the grave.
 
“I shot them in my very own bed and then I dragged them up here and buried them under this here peach tree.
 
And goddamn, if the peaches didn’t look livelier when they blossomed that year.
 
Tastier too, said many.
 
If you look really close within the fuzz of the peach, you can see the ghostly outline of your mama’s face, her mouth open in a silent scream.
 
That’s entertaining stuff, I tell
ya
.
 
Figures she would haunt me, the miserable bitch.”

Steve studied the peach, his breathing firing out in nervous blasts. Pete could tell by the way that his son’s face looked that he saw the ghostly visage of his mother on the peach.
 
Years ago, when Pete had first seen the image of his dead wife on the skin of the fruit, he had damn near panicked.
 
Fortunately, no one seemed to notice.
 
Sometimes, he would watch her lips moving and he would just laugh with glee before pulling away the skin.
 
One time, a peach was filled with a bloody, milky substance.

“And you know what else?” Pete continued.
 
“You know how I take a walk every night ten o’clock sharp?” He paused while they nodded like zombies, their faces whiter than the puffy clouds above their heads.
 
“I walk up to this here tree and I piss on it every night.
 
I piss right on the
cheatin
’ bitch’s grave.
 
Why a few times I even buried a shit or two.
 
Another neat little twist is if you stab the tree between the midnight hour, the hour your Mama died, she will moan a little.
 
It’s
kinda
cute.”

Steve stood up angrily and dropped his peaches.
 
“You’re crazy, old man.
 
Mom’s not really under this tree.
 
She ran off because she couldn’t stand you.”

Pete snickered.
 
“I notice you stopped eating the peaches real quick for an unbeliever, Stevie.”

“Dad, why are you doing this?” Samuel asked, pulling Davy away from his grandfather.

“Because all of you are good for nothing.
 
You came from a bad seed.” He pounded the dirt to emphasize his point.
 
“You boys
ain’t
never done nothing for me.
 
You take my money and give me nothing in return.
 
I don’t even get a birthday card.
 
Every year you give me the same Christmas present that all of you pitch in for.
 
Goddamn
English Leather
cologne.
 
I’d rather wear skunk piss.
 
Don’t any of you notice that I don’t even wear the shit?
 
I wouldn’t even put it on the dog.”

“Well, it’s not like we go around smelling you, Dad,” Samuel said, trying to lighten up a situation that he felt his father had made up to make a point.
 
“Now, this joke that you made up is funny.
 
Ha
Ha
.
 
We get your point.
 
Now stop this nonsense.
 
You’re scaring Davy.”

Pete got up from the ground and clenched his fists, his face red with anger.
 
“The boy should be scared with a low-life like you for a father.”

“That’s it!”
Lia
screamed.
 
“I’ve had enough!
 
I’m not going to sit here and listen to the ramblings of a crazy old man!”

Pete stopped her with a demonstrative gesture of his hand, a sharp hatchet-like chop.
 
“Before everybody goes running off, I got one more thing left to say.
 
I put all my money, my entire estate, in a trust fund that goes to Davy when he’s twenty-five years old.
 
That will goes into effect today.”
 
He looked at his sons.
 
“As for you two, I left you with one thing, and if you want to get me back, you can start by kicking me off your property.
 
This acre of land, your Mama, and the peach tree are yours.
 
Do what you will with them.
 
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to leave you in peace.
 
I seem to be trespassing on your property.”

As Pete walked down the hill, enjoying the smell of the fragrant flowers, he was rewarded by his good-for-nothing sons for the first time in his long life.
 
The sounds of their whining in his ears was like sweet music.
 
And music
, he thought,
is good for the soul.

by Weston
Ochse

“
S
tick men, stick men, my little stick men,” came the
lispy
singing from the shadowy corner of the living room.

“She
ain’t
violent, is she?” asked the small woman, pointing toward the figure hunched on the carpet.

“No, my dear.
 
Sweet Little Piggy is as placid and nice as a cool spring day,” the old black woman said looking fondly on her granddaughter.

“I don’t know... ” said the woman, waffling like they all did the first time.

“Come over here and meet the nice lady, Sweet Little Piggy.”

The hunched figure stopped its soft singing and froze.

“Grandma says come here,” she repeated sternly.

Sweet Little Piggy clambered up and shambled over in a side-to-side sway.
 
She wore a floor-length smock.
 
Once pink, it was now covered with paint smears and pastel marks, proof of her crayon artistry.
 
Her hands and head were the only pieces of skin visible, pure whiteness against the mosaic of childish color.
 
In her arms, she held a large wicker basket of broken crayons, gripped lovingly, like a trophy.
 
The young woman drew back, a hand to her mouth as she saw the figure’s face.
 
Paper-white skin was the canvas for a pug nose, two tiny triangular eyes containing tinier red orbs and a poorly corrected cleft lip.
 
Tight red curls topped her head like a cherry on a whipped cream desert.
 
The woman stepped back involuntarily, causing Sweet Little Piggy to snort several times.

“Now, now.
 
Don’t tease the nice lady.
 
Say hello, my dear.
 
This is Miss Rosie and her daughter, Jenny Mae.”

Close now, the woman could see the child stood nearly five feet tall and weighed almost 200 pounds.

Sweet Little Piggy stood smiling back at the woman, a look of childish pleasure on the deformed face.
 
Rosie inhaled sharply as Piggy snorted again.

“There you go.
 
Now, go on back and play some more,” said Grandma Fletcher, apparently satisfied at the greeting.
 
To the woman, “My granddaughter is an albino, so she doesn’t get out in the sun very much.
 
In fact, if it wasn’t for me
watchin
’ these children, she wouldn’t have anyone to play with.
 
She may look older, but my Sweet Little Piggy is about as smart as your sweet little daughter.
 
Poor Piggy was shaken too much as a baby.”