Moonbog, page 16
“Are . . . are you gonna’ let me go?” he asked, wiping his tongue around his mouth to wet his lips.
The man’s low, hollow laugh was the only answer. The dark form hovered over him like a tree ready to fall.
“I . . . wanna’ . . . wanna’ . . . go home, . . .” Tears welled in his eyes, and the beam of light began to swim. “I’ll be good from now on . . . I will . . . I won’t . . . play. . . near the . . . Bog. . . .”
“What’s the matter with you, crying like a little girl?” the shadow man asked gruffly. He leaned close to the terrified boy, his breath warm on his chilled skin. “Are you a little girl?” he asked, mockingly.
“I’ll . . . be . . . good . . . I’ll . . . be . . . good,” Jeffy murmured. “Don’t hurt me. . . .”
“Oh, I can’t let you go yet.” The man patted him almost gently on the shoulder. “I can’t let you go until I have some fun. You must’ve figured that out.” He placed the flashlight down on the ground, directing the light so it shone on the boy’s trembling body. Roughly, he rolled the boy over and began puffing at the ropes that held him. At first, Jeffy thought the man was making sure he was still tied tightly and that he couldn’t move, but then, suddenly, he felt the twisting pressure that pinned his arms back released.
“Are . . . you . . . gonna’ let . . . let me . . . go?”
“I told you,” the man answered, “I want to have my fun first.” He was working on the knots that pinned his legs together, and once these were released, he shifted Jeffy over onto his back and stared down at him.
Jeffy looked up at the towering dark form that seemed to sway dizzily above him. Tears ran down his cheeks, streaking the dirt on his face. “Please please . . . don’t . . . hurt . . . me. . . .”
With a grunting heave, the man rolled Jeffy over onto his stomach and ground his face into the spongy earth. He reached down and quickly undid his own pants, letting them drop to his ankles. Turning back to Jeffy, he reached into his pants pocket and took out a closed knife. With a snap of his wrist, the six inch blade sprang out. The blade caught the flashlight beam and glimmered.
“Cryin’ like a little girl, huh? Well, maybe this is what you want.” With one hand, he raised Jeffy’s butt into the air and pressed him close to his stomach. The knife blade gleamed as it came around and touched Jeffy’s stomach, dimpling the smooth skin.
With his face pressed to the ground, whatever Jeffy said was recognizable. The teasing point of the cold steel, pressed against his stomach, brought him closer to awareness. Matching the sharp pain of the knife-point, was a duller but larger, ripping pain from behind. The man grunted deeply as he penetrated Jeffy and began to pump rhythmically.
“Do you like this?” he asked between grunts. “Huh? Maybe you really are a girl, and little girls like this. Is that it? You’re a little girl?”
The pain, ripping through his bowels, brought Jeffy still closer to awareness. From somewhere deep in his stomach, Jeffy found enough air to expel the word, “No!”
“What?” the man shouted, pushing violently into the boy. “Did you say, no? You don’t like it?” He put both of his arms around the boy and squeezed him tightly. The tip of the man’s knife pressed harder and harder against the boy’s belly. The pain rose in a rush and began to sting as blood began to flow.
“This is what little girls like, you know. If you’re a little girl, you should like this.” He thrust the knife deeper. Blood flowed freely as the man began to move the knife back and forth in slow strokes, enlarging the wound. His blood pouring out freely, Jeffy once again retreated into the darkness. The deep, heaving voice became the darkness that swallowed him, pulling him down . . . down.
The man sat back on his heels and pulled Jeffy to him so tightly that he heard several of the boy’s ribs crack. The knife bit deeper, deeper with wide strokes. The man screamed with a shuddering climax, jerked back, drawing the knife in a long gash. Jeffy’s intestines spilled onto the ground. Sweating and panting, the man held the limp form of the boy for several seconds, then slowly withdrew himself and let the lifeless body slump to the ground.
“Go ahead,” the man said as he stood up and nudged Jeffy’s body with the toe of his boot. “Go ahead and yell all you want.” Jeffy lay face-down in a widening pool of blood that stained the ground dark black.
“Come on, you little bastard.” He hauled back and kicked the boy violently in the ribs. Jeffy flopped over, his lifeless eyes catching the light from the flashlight and glowing with a distant gleam.
“Ain’t you gonna’ cry? Ain’t you gonna’ yell?” the man shouted louder. There was a growing edge of hysteria in his voice that soon cackled with laughter. “Come on, you little pussy! Cry! Cry for me!”
He threw his head back and let his insane laughter fly up into the night sky. Louder and louder, his laughter rose until it swelled above the sounds of the spring peepers in the Bog and filled the night-black woods.
X
Les sat with his feet up on the footstool. His left hand held a can of beer, and his eyes were fixed on the TV screen. The clicking sound of Leah’s knitting needles made a steady rhythm that seemed to lull both of them into a half-sleep.
“So,” Leah said softly. Les shifted in his chair but didn’t look at her.
“So, what?”
“You didn’t really tell me how the search went today.”
Les took a swallow of beer and sighed. “We didn’t find him, what’s more to tell?”
Leah’s knitting needles clicked steadily. “I dunno’; I just wanted to know how it was, I guess.”
Les sighed, leaned forward, and turned the TV a shade louder for the sports news. “It was a bitch, that’s how it was. Out in the goddamn boonies, up to my knees in muck and mud, blackflies going for my fucking eyes—that’s how it was. Now, if you don’t mind . . . ?” He tilted his beer can in the direction of the sports reporter.
Leah looked at her husband with a questioning wrinkle on her brow. “I thought,” she said, during the commercial, “you said that the searchers wouldn’t be out past dark.”
Les drained his beer can and dropped it onto the floor beside his chair. “I said I thought we wouldn’t be out past dark, not that we wouldn’t.”
“Oh.” The needles clicked.
“Once we were out there, we figured to stay at it as long as we could. There are a few parties still out, I think.”
“Really?” Leah said, nodding. “I called Frank about nine o’clock, and he was already home.”
“Schroder, he’s a dip-shit! But he’s probably right; they’ll never find that kid in the Bog—’specially after dark.”
“Oh, I hope they do.”
Les sighed deeply and, tilting his head back, stared up at the ceiling. “They never will.”
Suddenly, there was a loud thump from upstairs. Les snapped forward, and Leah paused in mid-motion. Muggins, lying on his rug behind the couch, lifted his head and snorted.
“Those little shits ain’t asleep yet?” Les said, glaring at Leah.
“Doesn’t sound it, does it. But it’s getting close to summer vacation; they’re kinda’ excited, I guess,” Leah offered unconvincingly. “Besides, what can you expect after everything that’s been happening around town lately. They’ll settle down soon. Just relax.”
Les snorted and then belched. “Shit, when I was kid, if I screwed around like that, I’d of had my ass belted.”
“Take it easy, will you?” Leah said, lowering her knitting to her lap. “God, what’s got you so worked up?”
“Nothin’, nothin’s got me worked up!”
Leah stared at the TV, but her mind was elsewhere. Her eyes were blinking rapidly, she was gnawing on her lower lip.
“Oh, by the way,” she said after the silence had grown unbearable, “I got a call tonight from David.”
Les tensed, but his face revealed no emotion. “Yeah?”
“He wanted to firm up an evening we could get together,” she said, softly.
“Huh,” Les snorted.
“What—what’s the matter, don’t you want to see him?”
“I could just about give two shits,” Les said, turning on her with an angry glare.
“Well he wanted to know if we could, you know, maybe go out for a meal, to the Red Sands or something, on Friday.”
Les slapped his fist into his open hand and shouted, “No, damnit! Friday night wouldn’t be all right!” “He—”
“We’re not going and that’s—” From upstairs came a rapid series of thumps. “What the hell’s going on up there?” he shouted, glaring up at the ceiling.
“Nothing. Take it easy, will you, hon’?” Leah put out her hand to touch his shoulder, but he pulled away violently. “It’s probably just Georgie going to the bathroom.”
“Well, goddamnit, he’s gonna’ settle down,” Les snarled, rising from the couch. He stood beside the TV, frowning at Leah.
“Will you just take it easy, hon’? Come on, sit down and relax.”
Les swore softly under his breath and switched the station before sitting back down.
“Hey! I was watching that,” Leah protested.
“The hell you were,” Les said, sitting back down. Leah sat there and studied her husband’s face. In the blue light from the TV screen, it looked pale and drawn, as though the blood had been drained out. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, emphasized by the dim light. His jaw muscles clenched and unclenched repeatedly. Finally, Leah let her attention drift back to the TV.
Again, a loud thump sounded from upstairs, and this time it was followed by Georgie’s piercing cry. Les was on his feet in an instant and starting up the stairway. Leah was two steps behind him, grabbing at his back as he climbed the steps.
“What in hell’s going on up here,” he bellowed, once he had reached the head of the stairs. He peered into the boys’ darkened room, then reached in and snapped on the light.
Robbie and Sammy were sitting in their beds cross-legged, blinking their eyes from the sudden brightness. Georgie was face-down on the floor under a heap of blankets. He was sobbing deeply.
“I said, what in the hell is going on up here?” Les shouted. He walked over to Robbie’s bed and stood there, arms folded across his chest. With a quick grab, he pulled Robbie’s arm almost tumbled him out of bed. “Well?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Robbie screamed as his arm twisted painfully.
Leah bent over Georgie, comforting the sobbing boy. He was whimpering between sniffles, trying to talk. Les looked over at them and then glared at Robbie. Giving the boy’s arm another twist, he repeated his question.
“What the hell is going on here?” he asked, glaring angrily.
“Honest, Pop. I don’t know! I was asleep!”
Les turned around, letting Robbie’s arm drop. He looked over at Sammy. The faint expression of pleasure on Sammy’s face at seeing his brother catch hell slowly faded away. Les stood at the foot of Sammy’s bed. “Do you know what happened?” he asked harshly;
Sammy shook his head, no.
“What do you think is so funny?” Les asked. “I saw that stupid smirk on your face.” Les reached out suddenly and grabbed Sammy by the ear. The boy had no time to react or dodge. He screamed in pain as he was practically lifted from his bed.
“You think this is funny?”
“Lemme’ go! Lemme’ go!” Sammy shouted. His eyes pinched tightly closed. “I didn’t mean it! Honest! I didn’t mean to scare him!”
Les grabbed the boy’s shoulder and pulled him from the bed onto the floor. He spun him around and forced him to lean over his bed. He held him in this position as he listened to Georgie who, between sobs, was finally getting his story out.
“I got up . . . to go . . . to go pee-pee. And. . . and while I was in the . . . the bathroom, Sammy. . . turned out the light. . . .”
Sammy twisted his head around and scowled at his tattle-tale younger brother.
“He had . . . had made his bed look like. . . like he was still in it . . . but . . . but he hid under mine . . . and when I came back and was . . . was getting into bed . . . he grabbed my leg. I fell and hit my head.” His story told, Georgie broke into tears again. Leah ruffled his hair and pulled him close to her.
“There, there. You’re OK now.”
“My head hurts,” Georgie moaned.
It sounded to Sammy like the little fink was putting it on pretty heavy. He gritted his teeth and looked up at his father. “Honest, Pop. I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
Leah eased Georgie back under the covers, tucking the blanket in under his chin. She leaned down and gently kissed his forehead.
“He’s all right,” she pronounced, looking nervously at Les. He still had Sammy leaning over the bed, his hand rested menacingly on his belt buckle.
“I was just goofing on him,” Sammy said, his voice a high-pitched squeak.
“Well I’m not,” Les snapped. He opened his belt and slid it from his pants. He wrapped one end around his fist and slapped the leather strap on his other hand. “Drop your pants, young man.”
Leah stepped over to Les and rested her hand on his shoulder. Before she could say anything, Les said angrily, “He’s got to learn.”
The look in Les’ eyes made Leah think that he was angry enough to use the belt on her if she crossed him. She took a nervous step backwards.
“I said, drop ‘em!” Les shouted. He continued to smack his open palm with his belt.
Robbie was watching from his bed, wide-eyed and glad that he had had nothing to do with scaring Georgie. Georgie was sniffing, wiping his nose with his pajama sleeve.
Sammy twisted the elastic band of his pajama bottoms and, realizing there was no way out, slowly slid them down to his ankles. He spread his legs and leaned over the bed, as he had seen so many TV criminals do when they were being searched by the cops. He could feel his throat tightening, and his knees felt as though they were about to buckle. Tears welled in his eyes, but he forced them back, vowing silently not to cry. He inhaled, held his breath, and waited.
The leather strap suddenly stung his rump with the sharp sting of a snake bite.
“One!” Les said, forcing the words out slowly.
Sammy bit into his lower lip so he wouldn’t cry out. The pain spread like a fire.
The strap struck again with a snap.
“Two!”
Sammy pressed his face into the jumbled pile of blankets.
Another loud crack.
“Three!”
A salty taste filled Sammy’s mouth, but he didn’t realize yet that he had bit his lip open and that it was bleeding. He thought it was the taste of pain.
“I’ll teach you to fool around up here when you’re supposed to be sleeping.”
“Les!” Leah said, her voice cracking.
Les looked at her over his shoulder as he drew his arm back for a fourth swat. The gleam in his eyes looked almost as though he had lost his mind or something. She brought her hands to her face and watched, horrified as Les struck Sammy with the strap again.
“Four!”
With this, Sammy could hold back no longer, and he let out a piercing howl that startled even Les. The boy’s skinny shoulders contracted and shook as he buried his face in his blankets. Les looked at his son’s bare butt and saw that four angry, red welts were rising. He let out his breath slowly and then started to run his belt back into his belt loops.
“You can get back into bed now,” he said sharply. He saw that one of the welts had begun to bleed. A thin trail of blood ran down the boy’s crack. “Pull your pants up!”
Leah made a move to go to Sammy, but Les grabbed her by the arm and pushed her away roughly. “He ain’t no goddamn baby! Leave him alone!”
“Les . . .” Leah said, but then fell silent when she saw the crazy gleam still in her husband’s eyes.
Les pointed a finger at her and jabbed it at her angrily. “And don’t you go tellin’ me how to deal with my own damn kids!” he shouted. “I don’t need any of your bullshit!”
Sammy still hadn’t moved. He lay crumpled on top of his bed, his pajamas bottoms still tangled around his feet. His ass was still bleeding, but not much.
“I told you to get back into bed,” Les said, shaking his finger at the boy. “And stop your goddamn crying.”
“Jesus, Les,” Leah said almost in a scream, “enough is enough.”
“Well,” Les said, tilting his head and looking at Leah with a wide-eyed glare, “just maybe, if these boys got a whippin’ now and again, they’d behave better.”
Sammy quickly slid his pajama bottoms up and hopped into bed, lying on his stomach. His body still shook from crying.
“Stop actin’ like a baby, and I’ll stop treatin’ you like one,” Les snarled. He pushed Leah toward the doorway and then out into the hallway. At the door, he paused before turning off the light. “And if I hear any more noise from this room, even a peep, I’m gonna’ come up here and tan the hides of all of yah. Now go to sleep!”
He snapped the light off and followed Leah downstairs where the TV was still blaring away. As they sat in silence in the living room, Leah stared at Les, waiting for that crazy gleam to leave his eyes. After he had gotten him another beer, he seemed to calm down.
“You know,” she said tentatively, “I’m really surprised you’d explode like that. You’ve never belted the kids before.”
“Well, maybe it’s about time I did. It might do them some good instead of all the goddamn coddling they get from you.”
“Les.”
Les snorted, “Well, I just don’t want any son of mine growing up to be a chicken-shit little bastard, that’s all.”
Part II
“The Blackheart Man”
“Alas! poor children, whence came ye; do you know that this house belongs to an Ogre, that eats up little children?”
(Little Poucet, 1729.)
HOLLAND, MAINE, TUESDAY, JUNE 7, 1977, SEARCH CONTINUES THROUGH NIGHT
