No Rest for the Wicked

© 2000 Ryan David Grove
All rights reserved.

"You live upstairs?" asked Walter.
The drunk lady waited for him on the bottom step of a stairway running up the side of the two-story shamble. She reared up her head, which had slumped to her chest and said, "Whaaa? Oh, yeah. That's right, pokey. I live upstairs." She put her finger on his lips, then dragged it down his chin. She spun around and worked her way up the stairs.
Walter followed close behind, the whole time studying the wad of creamy tan underwear that had bunched out of her black stretch pants at the waist.
She reached the door scrounging through her purse and pulled out a big cluster of keys that were attached to an even bigger cluster of key chains. She carefully examined each and every key. Why she had so many of them was a mystery. She didn't have a car. The two of them had walked all the way to her apartment from the bar.
Cocking her head to one side, she peeked over her shoulder. "I've got too many keys," she said and snorted a laugh.
"Yep," said Walter. A pair of headlights turning down the street distracted him.
She found the key she was looking for and held it up to his face, triumphantly.
"Here's that sucker!"
She rattled away at the lock as several dogs began yipping on the other side. Walter could hear their little paws clicking on linoleum.
"My babies know I'm home," she said and opened the door. "Don't worry, they don't bite. They love their mommy."
She stepped inside and was instantly surrounded by four little dogs jumping, yipping and piddling with excitement.
"Yes you do, don't you. You love your mommy," she said and bent down to pet them. A moment later, she stood up, not without swaying, and stepped on one of the dogs.
The dog screamed and dashed away.
"You gonna stand there all night or are you gonna come in?" she asked.
"Where's your bathroom?"
The drunk lady stood in a dilapidated Spanish doorway with her arms sloppily folded together.
"There," she said and pointed to a door at the other end of the kitchen. "Don't flush the toilet. It doesn't work right."
"O.k."
Walter stepped into the bathroom. Dirty laundry, visibly stiff, covered most of the floor. A solid wall of cosmetic containers lined the side of the rust stained bathtub. He took a deep breath, which he filtered through his T-shirt, and held it. He stood a good distance away from the bowl, to avoid being splashed by the thick, rainbow-ish film that had formed on the surface of the water and aimed.
He maneuvered his way through the dark apartment. After tripping over a stack of cardboard boxes, he finally emerged into the light of the living room.
The drunk lady sat on a tattered sofa, groping a fat white cat. She stared at a television which sat on top of a vacant cage filled with sawdust and wood chips. A bird squawked from another cage in the corner. Walter turned just in time to see a fat, timid rabbit dart behind an aquarium filled with discolored rocks and dirty water.
"There y'are," she said. "I thought you mightta fell in."
An image of actually falling in the toilet water flashed in his mind. With a shudder, he quickly drove it out.
She patted the couch next to where she was sitting.
"C'mere. Sit."
Walter went to her. He scooped a pile of newspapers off the couch onto the floor and sat down.
"You got a smoke?" he asked.
She leaned over and withdrew an aluminum Christmas cookie tray from beneath the couch. Pot seeds rolled around the edges. A pair of forceps, still clutching a roach, lay next to a pack of Lucky Strikes's. An envelope of rolling papers sat on Santa's red coat like a nametag. Jolly old zigzag was winking at him.
She held up a cigarette in one hand and the forceps in the other. Walter took the cigarette. She lit the roach.
"You smoke dope?" she croaked, trying to hold the smoke in.
"Yeah. I do."
She handed him the roach. "It's all I got, but its good."
They smoked in silence, instantly hypnotized by the television. The drunk lady seemed to forget that she had company. She sporadically chuckled or mumbled to herself as a throbbing late show raged against her eyes.
Walter slid his heavy arm awkwardly around her shoulder. He brushed her hair back with his nose and stuck his tongue behind her earlobe.
She cocked her head to one side.
With soft grunts of heavy breath, Walter leaned in and jabbed his tongue into her ear canal.
She didn't respond.
He worked her ear the best he could, but she was oblivious to the affection. After a while, he lost momentum. He leaned back and returned his attention to the television.
She suddenly turned to him, unblinking.
"I want to show you something," she said and suddenly stood up. She staggered through a doorway opposite the couch into a bedroom. She flicked on the light and tore through a mountain of laundry scattered on the floor. She returned with a pink, cloth-covered book. She sat in a chair next to the couch, flipping through the pages.
"What's that?" he asked, feigning interest.
She held out the book until it was firmly in his grasp, careful not to let the pages turn. "See that?"
On the page was a horse rendered with a wide spectrum of colored pencils. The most striking features were its pink, smiling lips and long, curly eyelashes.
'Cool," he said, avoiding her gaze. "Cool picture."
"I drew that," she announced.
Walter knew it was his cue to be shocked. All of the excitement he could muster, however was "Really? You drew this? Wow."
The drunk lady was too desperate for praise to notice his unmovable lack of interest.
"Yep," she said. "I didn't even have to look at nothin'. I don't draw very good, usually. This just came out of the blue, one day."
He pretended to study the horse for as long as he could, then handed it back to her.
"You should go into art," he said.
"Noooo. I wouldn't be very good. This was just sort of a freak thing. It's Phill, my grampa's horse. Well, used to be my grampa's horse. They're both dead, now. My grampa named her Phill 'cause he couldn't think of a name that was good enough for her. He always called her 'the filly'. Then one day it was just 'Phill'."
"Do you know what time it is?" asked Walter. He was growing impatient. Daddio would be getting up for work soon and hated when Walter came home so late. After the last time, he had threatened to kick Walter out of the house.
"Why? You gettin' bored?" The word 'bored' blew out of her mouth with a spray of spittle like breath from a popped balloon.
"No. I'm not bored. I got a long walk back and I was just wondering how late it was getting. Weed always screws up my sense of time."
The drunk lady tossed the book across the floor. She moved over to the couch next to Walter, turning off the light. The t.v. filled the room with a dim blue glow. Her face hovered close to his. Her eyes had become cellophane wrappers. She lifelessly grabbed his thigh and tightly squeezed.
Walter wasted no more time. He fell into her, grabbing her ass with one hand and her tits with the other. He tried to kiss her, but her breath was too foul. He rested his face in her neck. He dug her shirt out of her pants and stripped it off her. He didn't bother removing her bra. He simply hiked it up and let her boobs fall out. Her stomach folded over her waist making it difficult for him to peel her stretch pants off. He shoved his hand down into her underwear. He violently squeezed her ass as he worked her underwear down.
The drunk lady was unresponsive. She merely opened and closed her eyes, occasionally moaning.
When Walter deemed her sufficiently unclothed, he stood up and nearly lost his balance. He was panting. A string of drool dropped from his lip onto her leg like a spider. He wrestled his pants down and tried to kick them off, then realized his shoes were still on. He dropped to his knees, jerking himself to an erection. Finally, he gripped her knees and hoisted her legs up to her chest.
He came in less than two minutes.
Instantly, a wave of disgust surged up and forced him back as he pulled up his pants.
He stared at her obscene figure with morbid fascination. He noticed a dark spot on her left boob. At first glance, it looked as though she had two nipples on the same tit. One was pink and large like thick wrinkled tracing paper. It was in the right location for a nipple. The other spot was two or three inches higher. He leaned in for a closer look and realized that it was actually a blister. Immediately, more blisters fell into focus over her whole body. Some were as small as pimples; others were as large as walnuts. They lay on her breasts, on her stomach, on the inside of her thighs....
"That was nice..." she said and closed her eyes. She nestled her bloated, naked body into the corner of the couch and fell asleep. Her stretch pants still hugged her ankles and her bra twisted around her neck like a choker chain.
Walter zipped his pants up and maneuvered his way through the dark apartment to the bathroom. He frantically searched for a bar of soap. All he could find was a dirty pink bar pressed with hair on the floor behind the toilet.
He hurried back to the living room. He sat on the sofa and lit up a cigarette.
She was snoring.
He stuck the rest of her cigarettes in his pocket. He crept as quietly as he could across the room.
"Are you leavin'?" She sat up, rubbing her squinty, bloodshot eyes.
"...yeah."
"Aren't you gonna give me a kiss, first?"
With profound reluctance, he went to her, quickly bent down and tried to peck her cheek but she out maneuvered him. Their lips met forcefully. She didn't let him off with just a peck, either. She slipped her coated tongue between his lips and injected all kinds of Styrofoam passion into his mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. He tried to pull back but she pulled harder.
Unprepared for so much resistance, he fell forward into her.
He put his hands out for support and they slid into the cracks of the couch. His left hand landed on crumbs and paper, wedged beneath the cushion. His right hand landed on something more bizarre.
At first, he thought he had touched an orange, or a grapefruit, dropped there and forgotten. The object was rigid, cold and meaty. However, it was also much longer than either of the two fruits. It was long and tapered like the body of a fish.
"Jee-zus!" he hissed. He jerked his whole body backward, rigorously wiping his hands off on his jeans.
"Oh. A minute ago you could fuck me, but now you can't even kiss me?"
"No, no, no...there's something in the cushions, like an animal...or meat...or something." He pointed to the spot where he had felt the object.
The drunk lady was silent. Her eyes instantly sharpened and she narrowed them. Confusion and alarm began to swirl across her face. Her gaze held his for a moment then followed his arm down, past his pointing finger, to the couch.
"Meat?" she asked softly.
"Do you know what it is?" he asked. "Is it an animal?"
She turned back to him with a cold face. Her hand slipped into the cushions.
"Is that one of your pets?" His voice wavered. He tipped his head to one side like a confused dog as the drunk lady withdrew the object. It was purple and smooth. That was all he could make of it. He leaned in for a closer look. The drunk lady stared at him. Her breaths tightened into audible gasps.
"Why do you keep looking at it?" she asked quietly.
A whimper slipped out of Walter's mouth.
"Why do you keep looking at it?" She clenched her teeth, pushing the words through.
"Oh, jee-zus..." he whispered.
"What's the matter?" she screamed. "Do you wanna eat it? Huh? Do you wanna fuckin' EAT IT? DO YOU WANNA EAT IT?!"
From far off there came the sudden rhythm of deep jungle drums. The natives had been aroused and they were restless.
"I'LL MAKE YOU EAT IT! I'M GONNA FUCK YOU UP !"
She sprang off the couch, shoving a severed human foot against Walter's mouth. She grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head down screaming, "EAT IT, YOU FUCK! EAT IT!" She dropped the foot and grabbed his head with both hands. With all of her weight behind her, she shoved his head down, bouncing over and over again, trying to smash his face into the foot.
The drums crept closer.
Rumbumbumbum rumbumbumbum rumbumbumbum...
She relentlessly bounced her weight upon his head.
Walter couldn't regain his footing. It took everything he had to keep from having his face broken on the floor. At the moment he could no longer resist and his arms buckled, the drunk lady suddenly lifted off him.
Walter lurched upright and gasped. He scrambled across the floor, away from her
The jungle drums pounded faster, rolling closer and closer. They encroached upon the living room, their rhythm seeping forward like a dark mist.
Rumbumbumbum...Rumbumbumbum...Rumbumbumbum
The drunk lady crawled to the foot and picked it up. The dim glow of the television burned like an eerie spotlight upon her. Deep, distorted shadows stretched across the corners of the room. From the dark perimeters of the apartment, the jungle foliage rustled. In between the trunks of palm trees bounced the red tongues of burning torches. The natives had arrived.
Walter's eyes flickered about like flies, intent on spotting the new arrivals. One by one, their silhouettes materialized at the edge of the clearing.
RumBumBumBum...RumBumBumBum...RUMBUMBUMBUM.....
Their numbers continued to grow until they formed a palisade around the living room.
Suddenly, an unnatural and terrible voice grumbled from the drunk lady's mouth. It was like the voice of a dog or a pig that had been somehow granted the gift of speech.
"You're a cock-sucker just like your father, Walter! Yesssss, little cock-suckers need their sleep." She waved her hands and twisted her arms about like she was performing an interpretive dance.
Walter heard the sound of the jungle drums compounded with what sounded at first like spears beating on shields. As if responding to his misconception, the natives stepped forward into the blue light of the television. Instead of spears and shields, each native beat two yellowed bones together in time with the drums. The natives themselves were tall, black and slender with swollen pot bellies and grass skirts. Small bones pierced their earlobes and their noses. Their shaved heads were crowned with a clump of hair wrapped tightly around a sharp bone. Each set of giant white eyes bulged from the skull for there were no eyelids to hold them in.
Suddenly, the drunk lady stopped dancing. She fell to her knees and placed the big toe of the severed foot into the side of her mouth and bit down. Her body lurched up and arched backward at a very wrong angle. Walter heard little 'pops' from her spine like the sound of many knuckles cracking simultaneously.
RUMBUMBUMBUM...CLACKCLACKCLACKCLACK....RUMBUMBUMBUM... Her body continued to fold backward. Her boobs stretched so thin, Walter could see her ribcage pushing up from underneath. One of the larger blisters at the top of her stomach split open from the tension. A stream of clear fluid, like corn syrup, oozed out and crawled along her chest. Her face touched the floor behind her. The popping of her spine was replaced with the muffled sound of meat ripping apart. For a second, Walter thought her head was going to creep right up her ass. However, at the critical moment, her whole body suddenly rolled over in a gruesome somersault.
She ended up on her stomach, rocking back and forth. Her head and neck curved upward like a lizard swallowing a large meal. Her eyes bulged from their sockets and rolled all the way up into her head.
Walter bent over and puked. He flicked his eyes up, in between heaves, unable to look away.
The body of the once drunk, now mangled lady began to quiver. Her whole mass trembled with such violence that she bounced across the floor. She moved toward Walter, then away from him.
Her body slapped against the floor, face down like a bow with its string cut. She lay still. Black blood spilled onto the floor from her nostrils and mouth.
Blood swooshed in Walter's ears.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
In an instant, the mangled lady sprang up on all fours, her head wobbling as she loosely held it up. Blood and spittle bubbled from her lips as she uttered a garbled moan. She scrambled around in a circle, like a dog chasing its tail, then darted behind the couch. A second later, she peeked around the corner. Her eyes slowly rolled back down from her head. Although they seemed to be looking off in different directions, Walter knew they were trying to focus on him.
The instant they locked on ... she charged.
Walter burst through the ring of natives. Their touch spread a chill through his body that burned worse than any pain. Worse than any fear. It was the cold bite of nightmare wind.
Walter clawed his way through the ferns into the kitchen. The window on the kitchen door, glowing dimly with moonlight, materialized in the darkness. He scrambled to it and fumbled with the doorknob but the door was locked. He jiggled the lock back and forth. After trying each direction three or four times, the lock finally clicked.
He looked back and almost fainted dead away.
Small black shapes suddenly appeared on the wall and ceiling from around the doorway. At first, Walter thought them giant spiders, darting about the kitchen walls. However, he realized they were in fact her dogs! Her tiny, wicked little dogs with black matted fur scrambling about like insects. Their lips had shriveled and hardened like the sun-baked carcass of a dead baby bird. The whole of their teeth was exposed like an alligator. Each of their little bodies was broken and hobbled as it moved.
The dogs crawled into position forming a circle right above Walter's head and began howling. It was unnatural. It sounded like the moaning of sick, old men. More creatures crawled toward him from the bathroom ceiling. One may have been her cat. Walter couldn't tell for sure because the fur was gone from its face which looked hellishly human.
Slowly, the mangled lady's head peeked into view through the Spanish doorway near the floor. Her gruesome head slid across the floor toward him, pushed by a long, black veined neck that slithered like a snake. The neck extended at least six feet from her body which she dragged into view with two gigantic, sinewy arms. Her body had become a mound of putrid flesh that shuddered with every inch it moved.
Walter pushed the door but it didn't open. He slammed against it with his shoulder but still it wouldn't open. He screamed. He screamed until his eyes saw only red.
The head of the mangled lady lifted off the floor like a cobra and hovered next to Walter. She flicked her tongue in Walter's ear.
"My little cock-sucker!" she giggled. Hot, acrid breath swarmed around Walter's face. She pinched Walter's earlobe between her teeth.
"Try pullin' the door open," she whispered. "...you know, instead of pushin'."

Walter ran and ran. He raced across the darkness like a spooked mare ... or filly ... or maybe just Phill ...
He stumbled through back yards, jumping jagged fences and dodging spider web clotheslines. He sprinted along the rickety old bleachers next to the high school football field, bursting into Lincoln Park on the south bank of the Rock River. Stretching across the river to the down town area was the Peoria Ave. Bridge.
Home was over on the other side.
A gust of wind aggressively rustled the trees, drawing his attention to the sky.
As he looked there, the moon flared up like headlights flashing to bright beams. Coruscating streams of moonlight plunged into the river, splashing the park with a silver aura.
The naked universe, exposed in the crystal sky, rushed in on Walter. The moon and all the stars doubled in size as they zoomed close to the earth. Rings blazed around the planets, spinning like fiery pinwheels of red, gold and blue. An inexorable concentration of celestial brilliance burned into him, paralyzing him.
The sound of grinding metal echoed throughout the park like the sound of rusty chains on an old schoolyard swing. Walter rolled his heavy head to the side in time to see a blackened figure of a fat man, riding a bicycle, break through the shadows into the cascade of starlight. As if the darkness had muffled him, the fat man broke into a song as soon as he emerged from the shadow.

"I ain't a'feared to walk along...the shit stained highway of my des-tin-y. I ain't a'feared to walk alone...with no suitcase or with no-mo-ney, 'cause I got the Devil by the balls... ...I've got the Devil by the balls... ...the Devil's really got me by the balls..."

"Walter!" she screamed. "Walter, I know you're awake!"
She slapped his face with such force his vision blurred.
"Mom...?" he whispered.
"You faker!" She slapped him again. "You see? You weren't sleeping....you were faking!"
Her weight crushed him. Her thighs pinned his arms to his sides.
"Faking is lying. You are a faker and a liar!" Spittle and breath wreaking of alcohol sprayed his face.
"Mom ... "
She stopped him short with a smack.
"I know you're not sick. You're faking that, too. Why do you have to lie to me? Your cock-sucking father lies to me. Now you have to lie to me. WHY?" She grabbed his cheeks with her fingers and squeezed. "Answer me you lying son-of-a-cocksucker! Goddammit, answer me!"
Walter tried to wriggle free but his mother was much too strong. His face raged with heat as she tore at it. From somewhere in the blackness, a small voice spoke.
"Mom? What's the matter?" It was Walter's little brother James. He was in his bed crying.
His mother's body stiffened. "I told you not to spy on me James!"
The weight on Walter's body lifted. The hand unhooked itself from his face.
"I told you NOT TO SNEAK, JAMES! What is the matter with everybody? How can you keep treating me like this? I told you not to sneak. I asked you not to sneak...but look at you. You're sneaking!
Snarling with the fury of a rabid dog, she tore at James mercilessly.
Walter wriggled out of bed and scurried across the floor. He was well accustomed to maneuvering through the house in darkness. He hurried down the stairs to the second floor where his two older brothers slept. He dove under Henry's bed only to find Henry already under there.
Henry forced Walter out and whispered, "Get in the closet."
"I can't. She'll find me in there. She is soooo pissed!"
"Get in the closet! She hit the circuit breaker again. She wont even be able to find the closet. Not when she's this drunk. Now MOVE!"
Their mother had gone to the cellar and flipped the circuit breaker switch which she had done many times before. Why she did it was a mystery to the boys. She rarely could ever find them. Perhaps some part of her didn't want to find them...on the other hand, maybe it made the hunt more enjoyable.
One of the steps leading down from the third floor creaked. She was on the move.
Walter wriggled beneath Michael's bed. Again he was driven out. "Get out! Get out! Get out! Please, get out!" Michael pleaded. He frantically kicked at Walter, striking him in the nose.
Walter felt blood seeping into his mouth.
The floorboards just outside the door moaned.
Walter choked back a whimper. He leapt to his feet and plunged into the closet. As quietly and quickly as possible, he covered himself with clothes and toys. He held his breath and waited. He let the air leak from his mouth ever so slowly.
"Walter? Waaaal-ter?"
Silence.
"Walter, honey. I wasn't finished talking to you."
Silence.
"Was I being too loud for you upstairs?"
The floor groaned as she moved into the room.
"Did you come down here to sleep with Henry and Michael? I really don't blame you honey. It's much quieter down here, isn't it? You're tired and sick and need your sleep. Yesssssssssssss, little cock-suckers need their sleep."
She stood next to the closet door.
It was so stuffy inside. The swelling heat was unbearable. It was hard to breathe. Walter had to relax. He had to keep control.
Suddenly, his mother's footsteps thundered away from the closet. The floorboards heaved as she threw herself onto one of the beds.
She gasped....then screamed. "Henry? You're hiding too? You're all hiding? From your mother? You can't hide from me. You're just like you're cock-sucking father. Sneaking around and hiding!"
The clash of shattering glass rang out as she threw her bottle of Wild Turkey against the wall.
"I won't let you grow up to be cock-suckers like your father. I won't. You'll see what happens to little cock-suckers when they sneak and lie and fake and ...uuurrrAAAAGGHH!" She fell into a berserk rage. She smashed whatever her hands met as she flailed them about. She staggered out of the room, down the stairs and into the rest of the house.
Walter didn't move. He didn't make a sound. He sat in the closet letting the air leak from his mouth before sipping another breath.
He had to pee.
There was a bathroom on the second floor. It was only a few feet from the closet door but Walter didn't want to risk the trip. His mother could hear a pin drop from all the way on the other side of the house. She could hear two little cocksuckers whispering to each other on the third floor from all the way in the basement where the circuit breaker was.
Walter's bladder screamed at him. He couldn't hold it much longer. Piece by piece, he slowly began removing the clothes and toys that covered him. Every fiber of his being was intent on making no sound.
Please. Please. Please.
He waited until his mother loosed an extraordinarily violent stream of obscenities before opening the closet door. He waited until she hammered away at the cupboards with her fists before slithering out of the closet on his belly.
Between himself and the bathroom was a vent cut into the floor above the kitchen and covered with a grate. The vent allowed heat from the kitchen to rise and warm the second floor.
Walter crawled to the vent and peered down into the blue moon light of the kitchen. Shards of broken glass were scattered like confetti across the floor. The legs of a toppled chair jutted into view...
everything
was
quiet.
His mother had stopped smashing. She had stopped screaming. Everything was still.
Walter's heart leapt into his throat as his mother stepped right into the middle of the vent's picture frame view. With one steady motion, her face turned upward. She looked directly into Walter's eyes.
"You're spying on me, Walter," she said quietly then vanished. Not a second later, she was storming up the stairs.
Walter darted into the bathroom and locked the door. He aimed his pecker blindly at the toilet and was about to let loose when....
BAM! BAM! BAM! She pounded on the door. BAM! BAM! BAM!
Walter couldn't pee.
"Come out of there right now, Walter. I'll break this goddamned door down if I have to, you COCK-SUCKER!"
"I gotta pee real bad..."
"Go through the living room and down the hall. The bathroom is on the left across from the study," said Father Mullin.
"Thanks." Walter hustled from the kitchen to the bathroom. The priest's house was a museum filled with everything that children are not supposed to touch. The furniture appeared to have never been used. The tables and woodwork were polished exquisitely. Everything was immaculate and sterile, peaceful and safe. It smelled like a church.
Walter peed for what seemed like forever. Before returning to the kitchen he washed his hands. There was something about Father Mullin's house that compelled him to wash his hands after using the toilet....even though he consciously chose not to do so at any other time. He sat back down at the table, drying his hands on his jeans.
"Are you hungry, Walter?"
"Nope."
"Are you sure? I have a lot of lunch meat and those jars of sauerkraut that Mrs. Reynolds gave me...I'll never be able to eat it all myself."
Walter shook his head. Father Mullin's food always had a strange taste to it; like it was about to spoil but hadn't quite made it.
The priest fixed himself a sandwich. He handed Walter a bottle of Coca-Cola and sat down across from him. He studied the boy between each bite.
"So ... .how are you?" he asked.
"Fine."
"That's a pretty good shiner you got there and a nice fat lip to match."
Walter winced. He took a swig from his coke bottle.
"Don't worry. There's nothing to be embarrassed about." He laughed and tussled Walter's hair. "I know what its like growing up with older brothers. I had six of them, myself."
Walter returned a weak smile.
"Yes sir. I had six of them. I lost two in the War. One in France... the other in Africa. It was tough. I spent fourteen years hating their guts then spent forty years mourning over them. Be thankful for what you got while you got it, 'cause...who knows? Anyway, I sure am glad I got you over here today to help me. We have a lot of reorganizing to get done. Have you heard anyone at the church mention the words 'Novus Ordo'?"
Walter nodded his head but he didn't really recognize the words. All he knew was that he had to pee again.
Father Mullin continued. " Novus Ordo means "New Order" in Latin. It seems the Pope and his Cardinals and his Bishops...just about everybody, really....are not satisfied with the level of business the institution has been generating...that's all it is to them, you know....business."
Walter had to go to the bathroom as badly as before if not worse. "Excuse me father. I have to pee again."
"Oh ... well. Go ahead. You know where it is."
Walter darted back to the bathroom. He was about to relieve himself again when there came a soft, single rap on the door. He froze.
There came another soft rap.
"Father Mullin?"
No reply.
With a trembling hand, Walter slowly opened the bathroom door.
"Father?"
Again no reply.
The hallway was empty. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of movement across the hall in the study.
Rumbumbumbum....Rumbumbumbum...Rumbumbumbum....
The light in the house dramatically dimmed to a shaded gray as if the sun had slipped behind a cloud. The partially opened door to the study opened a little wider revealing a pair of feet and two thick calves spread across the floor.
Walter wanted to hide in the bathroom and lock the door but he couldn't. He was helpless to watch as the study door gradually exposed, inch by inch the naked body of a woman. A bloated woman. A bottle of Wild Turkey and a crumpled pack of Chesterfields lay next to her. A big bowl shaped ashtray made of heavy green glass rested on her stomach. A swollen hand was trying again and again to light a brass lighter that sparked but never caught fire. The door creaked to a stop, leaving the entire naked body in view... except for the head.
The hand flicked the lighter one last time then stopped.
"Women are whores, Walter. Cock-suckers like your father look at naked whores."
ClackClackClackClack....RumBumBumBum....RumBumClackClack....
The naked body bolted upright. The mangled lady's face peeked around the door.
"Are you a cocksucker, Walter?" she asked then clicked her teeth together three lucky times.
A telephone rang.
Father Mullin appeared in the living room and answered his phone. "Hello?" He turned to Walter in the hallway. "It's for you. It's your mother."
Walter screamed at the body of his naked mother lying in the study. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"Walter! Your mother is on the phone." Father Mullin repeated.
Walter drifted into the living room. Blood swished in his ears as he lifted the phone to his face. "Hello?"
"Walter, I want you to come home now, honey."
"But mom, I'm supposed to help Father Mullin with..."
"I said get home....now." She hung up. Her voice had slid from conversational to insidious all within the same short sentence.
Father Mullin patted him on the back. "Don't worry about it. We'll get 'er done some other time."

RUMBUMBUMBUMBCLACKCLACKCLACKCLACKRUMBUMBUMBUMCLACK!
Walter felt severely nauseated. He closed his eyes.
When he opened them, they were met with morning sunlight pouring through the window. He sat up in bed letting the light wash over his face. But not for long. He had wet the bed.
He quickly jumped up and removed his pajamas. He crumpled them up and stuffed them in his school bag. James' bed was empty. His brother was already downstairs. Walter yanked the sheets off both beds and switched them. He remade the beds as neatly as possible. He dressed himself in clean clothes and went downstairs.
Walter's father was at the stove with James. Henry was at the table scarfing down a bowl of cereal and reading the back of the box. Michael was still upstairs sleeping. He hadn't slept much the night before.
Laying on the sofa in the living room smoking a Chesterfield and staring at the television was his mother. Her eyes were almost swollen shut with fatigue. A crocheted blanket was pulled up to her armpits. A small shred of torn fabric peeked out from underneath.
She sensed someone watching her and turned. "Good morning, Walter."
Walter croaked an unintelligible reply.
His father turned away from the stove with a smile. "There's Walter! You hungry? We're making poached eggs if you want one."
James took a big drink of chocolate milk leaving a mustache on his lip.
"You better shave that thing," said his father. "They'll throw you out of school for being too old."
"Nooo..." squealed James as he burst into giggles. He thought his dad was great. He was the only one of the boys who ever called him 'dad'. The rest called him 'daddio'. They felt uncomfortable calling him anything else.
James didn't realize his face looked like it had been raked over with barbed wire.
Their mother sat up. "Hey Ted. Bring me another cup of coffee."
"No. Why don't you try gettin' off yer fat ass and gettin' it yerself?" Daddio looked at his watch. Whenever his wife tried to interact with him, it was suddenly time to go. "I gotta get goin' or I'm gonna be late."
"You gotta leave now, dad?" asked James. "Awwwww, you always gotta go."
"Don't touch this pan. It's hot." Daddio grabbed a piece of toast, put on his hat and with a 'see ya later alligator', was out the door.
James moped into the living room and sat on the floor in front of the t.v. "It's Saturday. We don't have to go to school so dad shouldn't have to go to work."
"He's not going to work, James," said his mother. She spoke in such profound monotone that the subject was dropped. Everyone except James knew exactly where 'ole Daddio' was off to.
Walter grabbed the tea saucer with a poached egg on it that Daddio had fixed for him. All of the plates had been smashed, however the mess had been magically cleaned up already. Probably by Daddio.
Walter sat down at the table. He had barely swallowed his first bite when Henry kicked him in the shins.
"Quit making all that noise. You sound like a hog. Eat like a human being for once."
"You're the one who eats like a hog. Your nasty slurpin' woke me up," said Walter. He slopped his eggs up as loudly as he could. He even let some of the yolk spill from his mouth and run down his chin as he displayed the chewed up contents of his mouth to Henry.
Henry got up from the table and grabbed Walter by the shirt. He mustered up a ferocious belch and loosed it slowly in Walter's face. He went to the closet and put on his jacket.
"Where are you goin'?" asked Walter.
"No where." With a 'see ya later alligator' he put on his cap and was out the door.
"Walter?" It was his mother's voice. "Hand me my sewing basket. I need to sew a patch on your black jeans."
He quietly brought the basket to her then slipped outside to find Henry.

"Try to stay awake Walter."
Walter snapped his head up and snapped himself out of sweet oblivion. His cheek was wet with drool and it stuck to his notebook paper. Mrs. Crete stood over him and rapped his desktop softly with her knuckles.
"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled. He felt wide-awake for the moment, partly because of his nap and partly because the heat of embarrassment had flared up with within him. He heard the other kids snickering. He adjusted his posture and looked as attentive as he possibly could.
That only lasted a couple of minutes, though. His eyelids soon became quite heavy and eventually closed.
"There you go," said the old man as he rolled the pick-up truck to a stop on the side of route 30 where it intersected with Harmon road. Sensing the change in velocity, Walter lifted his head off the window and yawned. Henry nudged him out of the truck and mumbled 'thanks' to the driver who had picked them up. They stood for a moment to stretch as the truck pulled away.
It was already dark. They still had three miles to go. They zipped their jackets up all the way, stuffed their hands in their pockets and started walking down the road. They never brought schoolbooks home because their fingers would freeze trying to carry them.
Harmon sat way out in the country, about fifteen miles from Dixon. It was tiny...only about a hundred and fifty people lived there. There were no streetlights between the town and route 30. The fading sky was overcast. The shadows laid by the walls of corn lining both sides of the road were long and black making Harmon Road a tunnel of oily darkness.
"Hurry up," said Walter. "I'm freezing." He stopped to wait for his brother who lagged behind.
Henry strolled along at a leisurely pace, fascinated by the eerie landscape.
"Yer scared is what you mean," he said and he charged at Walter with his claws up and his teeth barred. He got right in Walter's face and roared a monster's roar.
"Scared that I might be as stupid as you someday."
A set of headlights suddenly turned off route 30 onto Harmon road. The boys moved to either side of the road and stuck their thumbs out.
Headlights turning down a dark country road gave Walter the willies. As they approached, his stomach fluttered and the urge to run took root.
The car showed no sign of slowing. In fact, it continued to accelerate as it approached. Suddenly, it swerved toward Walter. As he stumbled into the ditch, the car abruptly veered to the left on a direct path toward Henry. Henry's thumb froze in mid-wave and his eyes widened with shock. The wild car bore down on him as ruthlessly as an owl swooping down upon a mouse.
Walter opened his mouth to scream but plunged into dreamy slo-mo instead. He was helpless to act as the car roared past with a blinding flash. Red brake lights flared up and tires screeched. In a moment all was still and all was quiet except for the soft drumming of the idling engine.
In the red glow of the taillights, Walter saw his brother...still standing on the side of the road with his thumb stuck up in the air. His eyes were clenched shut. One at a time, they popped open.
"Holy cow," he said as a thousand pounds of tension escaped his mouth.
Walter ran over to him."I thought you were dead."
"So did I. Did you see that...?" he started but stopped. The car thudded into reverse and lurched at them.
The boys were not paralyzed this time. They bolted out of the path of the car. But they didn't have to go far. The car stopped again and a face popped out of the window.
"Get in the car." It was their mother.
The boys looked at each other and their hearts sank. Knowing better than to keep her waiting, they hustled over and climbed into the back seat. The inside smelled like fire and whiskey. Michael was in the front passenger side as still as a statue. He didn't even turn around to acknowledge his brothers. James sat next to his mother.
""Momma's driving like a race car driver!" he said with a grin.
Walter had barely closed the door before the tires squealed into action and the big brown car was again launched on its path down the road.
"Where the Hell have you boys been? Huh? I've been driving around for an hour looking for you. If I'm coming to pick you up from school then you wait at school until I get there! Do you understand me? Huh? It's too bad you're embarrassed of your own mother. Well, I'm embarrassed of you cocksuckers too. But there's nothing I can do about that, is there? Next time, just wait!"
Walter wanted to tell her that the next time she picked them up from school, she had first better tell them that she was going to pick them up....but he kept silent. He knew better.
His attention was redirected to the acceleration of the car. It was moving faster and faster. It tore through Harmon in a heartbeat and the boys found themselves right back in the deep of nowhere.
"How fast do you think we're goin'?" asked their mother. She adjusted her posture and tightened her grip on the wheel. "We're going about sixty. That ain't nothin'."
Walter could see her mouth constrict into a tight sneer in the rear-view mirror. The car picked up more speed.
"This is about seventy-five. Whaddya think now? Too fast for ya?"
None of the boys spoke or moved.
"There's a little hill up here that goes over the railroad tracks. How fast do you think we can jump it?"
Walter's chest constricted. The car started to wobble rapidly. The yellow dashes in the middle of the road whizzed by so fast that they almost looked like a solid line. Mother Violet was barreling down the very middle of the road.
"I can't tell you how fast we're goin' now....you'll just pee your pants." She screamed out 'WHEEEEE-HAAAWWWWW!' and put the pedal to the metal.
Up ahead, the sign with a black 'X' and two 'R's' raced at them. The tracks ran along a mound that looked more like a concrete wall than a rise in the road. It was at least a forty-five degree slope. It didn't linger in the distance, either. It came at them on a direct, relentless path. Within moments, it dove beneath their car and flung them up high into the air. The instant they were airborne, every mouth in the car screamed.
Walter's tingling stomach flung itself from his fingers to his toes.
The car crashed back onto the concrete and bounced. Walter's head lobbed about his shoulders like his neck was made of jelly. The car fishtailed and swerved and even skidded through the gravel on the shoulder of the road but it never spun out of control. Momma Violet, the whole time cackling like a mad woman, stabilized that baby and was again cruising down the middle of the road.

"When you were just a baby, the doctor said your heart wouldn't last a month. He sent me home that day and told me there was nothing more the hospital could do for ya. We thought you were going to die right there. Your dad even gave you his own quick version of a baptism and a last rites. Hand me that tape."
His mother wasn't looking at what she was doing. She was staring up toward the ceiling looking at another time. She accidentally poked her finger in Walter's eye.
"Ooooh! I'm sorry, honey." She grabbed him and pulled him to her, rubbing his head. "That stinks! I'm sorry. I gotta watch what I'm doin'. Are you okay?"
"Yeah."
"This is how I held you when I brought you home from the hospital. I'll be damned if I'm gonna just let my baby die, I said. Only I held you upside down by yer feet for four weeks straight, almost. It took a lot of pressure off yer heart. Took enough off 'till yer heart got strong enough to work on its own. You were my strong baby."
She finished wrapping the present and put it under the tree. Wrapping paper, scissors and tape were spread across the living room floor. It was a mess....but it didn't look like a mess. It looked normal. There were a lot of gifts beneath the tree. More than Walter had seen at any other Christmas.
Walter kept his cool. He didn't get too excited. Christmas wasn't over yet.
Michael called from the kitchen, "Is the turkey done yet? I'm starvin'!"
His mother wrestled herself to her feet and went to the kitchen.
"Not yet. It has to cook a half an hour for every pound. We still have an hour to go. Besides, we're not eatin' till yer father gets here. Which will probably be another hour." She said and opened the oven door to double-check the turkey's progress.
"Can't we at least open a present? Just one?" asked Michael.
"Let's just wait till yer father gets here. It's Christmas. It's a family day."
"Fine." Michael pouted out of the kitchen but not before snagging a piece of celery stuffed with peanut butter off a relish tray.
Their mother returned to the living room and nestled into the sofa with a Chesterfield. Occasionally she glanced at the clock.
"Henry and Walter, pick up the wrapping paper and stuff and put it in the back bed room. Be careful not to wake up James."
She glanced at the clock.
Again she glanced at the clock.
And again she glanced at the clock.
After an hour, and still no sign of Daddio, she took the turkey out of the oven. She set the table and distributed the relish trays at tactical positions. She left the rest of the food in the oven to keep it warm. Everything was ready.
Still no sign of Daddio.
She returned to her spot on the couch and resumed her smoking. Only this time she stared at the clock and only occasionally glanced at the Christmas tree.
Walter and Henry sat beneath the tree examining all the presents, trying to determine who got the most and who got the biggest. So far, James was winning both categories.
Michael came in hugging his stomach and whining, "Can't we eat now? I'm starving."
"We have to wait for your father. Its Christmas," said their mother. She watched the passing of each second on the clock.
"Can't I eat a little now? I'll eat again when Daddio gets here."
"No."
James suddenly appeared, returning from his nap. He looked puffy and grouchy. He stood for a moment smelling the titillating aroma of all the food.
"I'm hungry, momma," he complained.
"We're all hungry but we're waiting for your father. He should be here any time, now."
"I'm hungry, momma," he repeated. "I wanna eat."
"Yes. I heard you the first time."
Walter and Henry began an argument over which of the gifts might be whose causing Michael to take an impish interest.
James stood where he was repeating, "I wanna eat! I'm hungry." Each time, he said it louder until he achieved a screaming tantrum.
Walter could feel the atmosphere dim. He could feel the energy in the house turn sour and become erratic. It was inevitable. Henry hit Walter. Walter struck back. Michael egged them on. James continued to scream. Violet smoked her cigarettes and locked her laser beam gaze onto the clock. Daddio was an hour late.
An hour and fifteen minutes late.
An hour and a half late.
Getting no results from his original position, James carried his tantrum into the living room and began pulling on his mother.
"I wanna eat! I wanna eat!"
Their mother slowly rose to her feet and moved to the kitchen.
"HO, HO, HO!"
Walter stopped fighting and the room became blurred. He heard the sinister laughter but could not discern its source.
"HO, HO, HO!" it came again. His head began to swim.
His mother opened the cabinet above the kitchen sink and pulled from it a brand new bottle of Wild Turkey.
"HO, HO, HO, WALTER!"
Walter heard the deep voice coming from the Christmas tree. He looked through the branches and down to the base. It was coming from the presents.
"If everyone in the whole world would reduce their liquor consumption by one glass a week, there would be enough grain to feed the whole population of mankind. Did you know that, Walter?"
Walter's eyes focused in on one of the gift tags attached to a present that he hadn't noticed before. It was tall and cylindrical, like a bottle. It was addressed to 'Violet' from 'Jolly Old Zigzag' And sure enough, Ole Zigzag, with his poisonous grin, was on the tag wavin' at Walter.
"But then again, what the Hell does that have to do with anything? Right Walter? Maybe you should tell that to yer mother. Although I wouldn't do it just yet. She doesn't look like she's much in a trivia kind of mood."
Henry and Michael turned the television on to Tarzan and began running around in circles wrestling each other and loosing Tarzan styled jungle calls. James couldn't help but to watch. Tarzan was one of his many favorite shows. He stared at the television while continuing to tug on his mother and whimpering.
"I wanna eat."
Their mother poured a glass of whiskey. She carried it into the living room along with the rest of the bottle and assumed her position on the sofa. She had to concentrate hard on ignoring James and her other rowdy sons.
Jolly Old Zigzag wouldn't let things alone...especially on Christmas.
"Hey! Walter! Do you hear that sound? Doesn't that sound familiar?"
Walter listened. From the t.v. came the sound of jungle drums. He quivered.
RumBumBumBum. RumBumBumBum. RumBumBumBum.
"Doesn't that usually mean somethin' bad is gonna happen? Or ... wait! Maybe that's just later on in life. Oh, who knows....It's all just a whirl-winded mess, don't ya think?"
Walter looked at his mother and the space between them stretched to a vast distance. "No, mom...." He screamed but the distance between them suffocated his voice. He could barely hear himself.
"Turn around Walter. You shouldn't watch this!" said Jolly Old Zigzag who was now sitting on the sofa next to his mother. His tattered, pissed stained britches wrapped around his crossed legs like stretched out spandex. His withered, lesion peppered arm protruded from his coat and slithered around his mother's neck.
"MERRY FUCKIN' CHRISTMASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS, WALTER!" he bellowed. He slid his dry, black tongue in Walter's mother's ear and grabbed the deep inside of her massive thigh. With his other hand, he gently assisted in bringing the whiskey glass to her mouth.
"I wouldn't want you to miss this, though, you cock-sucker!" Zigzag opened his abysmal mouth and with a raspy whistle sucked Walter back from the edges of his tunnel.
Walter exploded into the sound of the jungle drums and into the sound of James screaming and his brothers fighting and into the silence of his missing Daddio.
"Gotta go," said Zigzag and he was off into the gift tag singing, 'I ain't afeared to walk along... the shit-stained highway of my des-tin-y...'
Walter's mother touched a small stream of whiskey running down her chin with the tip of her fingers. She pushed it back into her mouth.
RumBumBumBum. RumBumBumBum. RumBumBumBum.
She poured another glass and held it. She closed her eyes as the elixir bubbled furiously inside her and blitzed her brain. With a shudder, her eyes popped open.
Walter was only aware of the psychological transformation in his mother but he could see the physical metamorphosis. The skin on her forehead constricted into a fleshy washboard of tension. Her eyeballs inflated to the size of golf balls, then diminished slightly and continued to undulate. Her lips retracted to her gum lines as she clenched her teeth. She shot straight up from the couch. She looked taller but her shoulders hunched forward like a gorilla.
"Shut up!" she screamed. "Just shut up!"
She grabbed James and threw him across the floor. She moved over to Michael and Henry clutching handfuls of their hair. She dragged them over to the sofa and shoved them down. She turned to Walter. Realizing he was next, he went to the couch voluntarily covering his head with his arms. His foresight only enraged her further and she beat his arms down. Although he was already on the couch, she grabbed his hair anyway and thrashed his head about. James lay prostrate on the floor wailing.
"You want to fight? Huh? You wanna FIGHT?" she hollered. "You just can't sit still, can ya? You just can't wait until yer cock-suckin' father gets home, can ya? You don't deserve to have a Christmas. You ASSHOLES! You don't deserve to have presents! Do you think I'm right? Do you?" She directed the question to Henry by putting her hot face immediately in front of his.
"No," he answered humbly.
"NO! YOU DON'T!" She didn't just hit Henry. She clenched her fist, cocked her arm all the way back and laid one Hell of a hook into the side of his head. "None of you do!" Henry hit the floor clutching his head and sobbing.
That swing felt pretty good to her. She wanted the satisfaction of sharing it with all of her sons. Fortunately for them, she tried too hard and lost some control. She swung at them wildly; just knicking them or making only half contact for they instinctively flinched and dodged her swings.
"Go outside and get your own sticks," she said suddenly.
The boys stared at her, confused.
"Go outside and get your own sticks," she snarled. ""They better be at least as thick as my thumb. If they ain't, I'll beat you with the broom. I swear to God!"
Still the boys stared at her.
"Go! I TOLD YOU WHAT TO DO, NOW DO IT!"
The boys snapped into action and hustled over to the coat closet. They fished around for each of their coats when she attacked them again.
"What are you doing? Are you retarded? All of you? I told you to go outside and get your own sticks! Go right this fuckin' minute!"
The boys fell over themselves to get outside. All of them except for James. He still lay on the floor screaming. As Walter stepped out into the cold, he heard his mother fix that problem.
"JAAAAAAAAAAAAMES!"
Less than a minute later, the four year old came flying from the door and sprawled face first into the snow....in just his T-shirt and diaper. His mother stood in the doorway for a moment then disappeared into the house.
When she was gone, Henry went over to James who was hysterical and helped him up. His lip was bloody and beginning to swell. His left cheek was a hot, vibrant red.
"I'll get yer stick, buddy. Hold on." Henry sprinted toward the tree line at the edge of the back yard.
James stood barefoot in the snow, crying.
Walter trotted to a huge lilac bush in the neighbor's yard and examined the stems. Toward the center was a thick one. It was straight and virtually notch-free. He broke it off with relative ease. He waited by the bush although he was freezing. He did not want to be the first one back in the house.
Down the street came the sound of car doors slamming followed by laughter. Walter moved toward the front yard to get a look. The sky was overcast dimming the late afternoon which made it difficult for him to see very far. A porch light came on four houses down. People carrying lots of packages climbed the porch steps and were greeted by old Mr. Pratt who held the screen door open for them. He heard voices and again laughter. The whole of them then disappeared into Mr. Pratt's house.
Michael ran up to him panting. Large clouds of breath puffed from his mouth. "What are ya doin'?"
"Nothin,'" said Walter and he waved his stick. "Ready?"
"Yeah."
Henry had already returned with two sticks and was hustling James back into the house. Walter and Michael ran back inside, compromising their fear of violent retribution to satisfy their immediate need for warmth.
Their dinner was destroyed.
The refrigerator door was covered with a greasy stain where the turkey had impacted and slid to the floor where it remained the rest of the day. The relish trays lay in pieces on the floor. Shards of broken glass intermingled with bits of food. A pile of debris lay on the floor by the table. It looked like a magician had bungled an attempt to whip the tablecloth out from beneath the table settings.
Their mother once again sat on the sofa, smoking a cigarette. She had apparently abandoned the inconvenience of transferring the whiskey to a glass and gulped it directly from the bottle.
"Get in here and line up."
The boys came into the living room and formed a line. Their mother stood up and went to Michael first.
"Next time I tell you we are going to eat when that cock-sucker father of yours gets home, then that is exactly what I'll mean. I don't ever want to hear you complain about it ever again. Do you hear me, Michael?"
"Yes."
"What? I didn't hear you..."
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Give me your stick."
Michael handed his stick over. She grabbed it and compared it to her thumb. It must have been adequate for she yanked his head down by his hair and forced him close to the floor. She pulled his shirt up over his head and laid into his back with the stick.
"You wanna eat? Do ya? There's food right there on the floor. Right there!" She bounced on his head with all of her weight. "YOU WANNA FUCKIN" EAT IT? HUH? I'll MAKE YOU FUCKIN' EAT IT! I'M GONNA FUCK YOU UP!"
She ravaged his back relentlessly until the stick broke into pieces. She grabbed the stick out of the trembling hands of James and continued Michael's thrashing. When that stick was rendered useless, she gave up on the primitive tools and beat whoever was in her reach with her fists. The kids scattered and headed through the kitchen toward the door.
But they stopped. Their mother had been distracted. She paced in front of the Christmas tree for a moment, then quickly bent down and picked up one of the gifts.
"Here, James. This is for you," she snapped and hurled the box at him.
Putting his hands out, he dodged the projectile and it crashed into the telephone stand. It had barely landed before another one came sailing across the room toward Walter.
"Here! This one's for you, you pathetic little PUSSY!" She missed him, too.
Walter heard something in the package snap like wood or plastic. Despite all of the commotion, he couldn't resist peeking through the torn wrapping paper to see what the gift had been. He wasn't able to see anything more than a colorful box before he had to dodge another flying present.
She quit throwing them at the boys and threw them directly on the floor. She stomped them into tattered bits. When all beneath the tree had been smashed, she called out to her sons.
"Get back in here, you cock-suckers. Get back in line. We're not finished yet."
With profound reluctance, the boys fell back into line.
"Turn around and face the tree."
The boys obeyed. Their mother sat on the couch behind them. They could hear her slobbering gulps as she finished off the bottle of whiskey.
"Do you see all that? Do you see all that shit there, right in the middle of the floor? Do you? Well, Merry-fucking-Christmassssssssssssssss! That's what you get. That's more than you deserve."
Walter peeked over his shoulder and saw his mother undress completely...buck naked, down to the bitter bone. She stood up on the couch. Walter quickly looked away.
"I've waded through a lake of snakes, slopped across the road
everyday so I could go to school. Miles of snow....
apples in my stockings...sometimes coal.
Snakes.
SNAKES!
Wet slimy scaly snakes
Like my daddy's fingers over my mouth.
I had to go through a LAKE OF SNAKES!
EVERYDAY SO I COULD GO TO SCHOOL!
I got straight "A's"
I was the best in the class but my daddy said I was a goddamned fool
and if it wasn't fer the goddamned government,
I'd never've lasted till the eighth grade.
There was a time when the bootleggers came
and the goddamned government came after them. They
was all shot up on my kitchen table
There was real live actual blood everywhere
In my kitchen.
The one who didn't look pretty but was awful funny and had a naughty laughin' in his eye,
...he's the one layin there
with blood all over.
I could see the purple of his insides....
He said I was a pretty thing
Which didn't bother me one bit.
I didn't want to break his cock-suckin' face like I did
When my daddy told me that.
Then the government came in and dragged him out by his hair
All cause he was a drinkin' man
They dragged him off the table
And out the door
By his hair!
His purple insides spilled out real bad and he screamed at me 'You sure are a pretty thing!'
And he went out the door into the yard
Not moanin'
Just twitchin'
They blew a bomb as loud as heaven itself through his head
Like a real live shadow
A faded shadow
A mere hint of what once was
Yer father came and said I was a pretty thing.
He sounded like the bootlegger
Not my daddy
He said school was real good
He figured I did pretty good
I was lucky
All pretty and smart too.
He stuck his dirty lying snake up into my pretty smart pussy and pumped me full of all kinds of babies.
He had to marry me
He moved me out here where
There aint nobody around to see
My fat ugly body
Ruined with his cock-sucker babies
Where nobody could make the association.
"Stop touching me, you stupid fuckin' bitch! "
He had to marry me and daddy his babies so everyone else could see
How hard it was to work all day and raise a big family...
OOOOOOHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You must need a break, Daddio!
You deserve it.
You need a coffee break
Wink. Wink.
That's what all his whores tell him.
I had to walk through a lake of snakes to go to school and git those good grades so I could do chores for the rest of my fucking LIFE with nothin' to eat but bread and FUCKING WATER!!!!!!!!!" She took a deep breath.
"Turn around and look at me."
The boys turned around and faced their naked mother. She stood on the coffee table with a clothesline cord tied around her neck. The other end of the rope was tied to a ceiling rafter. She must have gotten the rope out of her big sewing basket which she always kept near by.
"Pull the table out."
Not one of the boys moved.
"Pull the goddamned table out! NOW!"
Walter began to cry. "No, mom..."
"If I jump off, I'll go to Hell. You want me to go to Hell? I'll be in Hell burning before your bedtime if you make me jump. Now pull out the table!"
"Please don't, mom. Please get down," Henry cried.
"Pull out the table ... PLEASE! I can't do this anymore..." She fell into broken sobs.
"Fine. Send me to Hell, then," she said suddenly and stepped off the table. As the boys screamed, the rope stretched thin. The rafter groaned under the stress. She swung for a moment before the beam broke. Their mother came crashing down. Her head smashed the glass top of the coffee table and blood spread everywhere. She scrambled to her feet, swaggered across the floor in a stupor, then collapsed onto the sofa.
"You gotta go to the doctor, mom. Yer bleedin' terrible," said Henry. He rushed to her aide but she shoved him back.
James threw himself to the floor, covering his head.
"You boys go get yer father. He's at a whore house in Dixon," she said as though nothing was wrong. She displayed no sign of injury, in spite of all the blood.
"How are we gonna get to Dixon?"
"You know where the keys are."
"You want us to drive?"
"Go, now. Before I get pissed."
Henry said, "C'mon, James."
His brother didn't respond. He just kept wailing.
"Just leave him. Now go!"
Henry grabbed the keys and the rest grabbed their coats and they all piled into the car.
They drove to Dixon. It didn't bother them too much that Henry could barely reach the pedal and see the windshield at the same time. They were out of the house and they were warm. They had no idea where Daddio's whore house was. Their mother never told them. They simply drove around in silence until the gas got low. Then they headed home.
As they pulled into the driveway, they noticed a car with its brake lights on but its headlights off sitting four or five houses back. Clouds of exhaust rolled from its tail pipe. At first, Walter thought perhaps his mother had sent them off then called the police on them. However, when they climbed out and the other car didn't move, he dismissed the notion. He turned his attention to his house, which was dark. That was a good sign. Could very well mean his mother was asleep.
Of course, he was wrong.
The minute they opened the door, their mother was there...hiding in the dark.
For once, she wasn't waiting for them.
"Get in!" she whispered. "Get in here and close the door. Go to your beds."
With no objections and a great deal of relief, the boys did go upstairs to their beds. Apparently, their mother had also noticed the car down the street and she watched it through a dark slit in the curtains.
The boys, once in their rooms, were instantly curious about the car. They too, peeked out the window through the curtains. For a long while nothing happened. All was still except for the normal creaks of the house whenever the wind gusted. Eventually, the car moved. Leaving its headlights off, it rolled toward the house and crept into the driveway.
"That's daddio's car!" whispered Michael.
"Shhh!" Henry hissed.
A figure got out of the car and ran around to the back of the house.
"What's he doin' ?"
"I don't know."
They ran to the other side of the room and peered out into the backyard. Sure enough, Daddio was climbing up the side of the house on the eve spout. He made it up to a slope on the roof and went to the window that opened into the stairway outside their bedroom door. He opened the window and crawled inside. The boys heard him drop to the floor right outside their door.
"Oh, shit. I'm going up to your bedroom, Walter," said Michael and he did just that.
Then the battle began. Their mother, with supernatural senses, had detected the point of entry and bolted there as silently and as swiftly as a cat. Screaming erupted. The muffled slap-thud of blows being exchanged. Screaming. At one point, their mother was interrupted in the middle of an obscene rant as one of the combatants was flung down the stairs. Unnerved by the silence that followed, Walter and Henry opened the bed room door to see what had happened. They did so just in time to see their mother leap off of the third step and plummet all the way down to the first floor where she landed right on Daddio who did not get out of the way in time. The impact devastated the both of them for they lay there quite some time, moaning and rolling around.
Henry went to bed, grateful that he wasn't the designated punching bag for the moment. Walter had to pee so bad it was killing him.

Some guy with a short sleeve shirt on and a big cheesy tie picked Walter up almost immediately as he stuck his thumb out. When Walter told him he was headed as close to Harmon as he could get, the guy said, "Hey! No problem," and drove him all the way down route 30, which was obviously out of his way. He repeatedly glanced at Walter. If Walter caught his look, then the man would smile a big smile and nod his head.
"You play football?" he asked.
"Yup."
"From the looks of your jacket there, I'd say you were a highly decorated veteran of high school athletics. You play a little basketball, too?"
"Yeah. I'm not very good. I keep the bench warm."
"I bet you do."
The two of them looked at each other.
'What the Hell does that mean,' Walter wondered.
The guy socked Walter's arm and grinned.
'If this guy's a fag, I'll beat his ass,' thought Walter.
"When I was here before, with you....doin' this, I was a 'fag." said the guy with a wink.
"What did you say?"
"That's right. I don't understand why you wanted to hurt me, though. I wasn't gonna rape you or anything. I wasn't even going to hit on you. I was just enjoying your company. Kind of like you, whenever you get stuck in a group project with a pretty girl. Don't you just feel glad to be a part of her realm of existence for a while? Obviously, it doesn't wind up a sexcapade right there in the class room. It doesn't even matter if it turns into one at all. You feet good for a while, just the same. You forget about other stuff. Its euphoric. Nobody wants to beat your ass for it, though. So why did you want to beat mine?"
Walter wrapped his arms around his waist and doubled over.
"What's the matter, Walter? Gotta pee?" The guy buddy-punched his arm and winked.
Walter wanted to open the car door and leap out but the pain in his bladder was furious. He couldn't move.
"Its weird, man. I never hurt anybody throughout my entire life, yet you wanted to beat my ass. You grew up and stalked lonely women. You took advantage of the vulnerable ones because they were ready to screw. No assembly required. You were too pathetic to try and develop a relationship with someone. The great thing about the insecure ones is that when you're done with 'em, you can treat 'em like shit and never talk to them again. A clean get away. Ah, but you got yours in the end, didn't ya?"
"What are you talkin' about You crazy fag? Let me outta here or I'll..."
"What?" said the guy with a smile. "Beat my ass? Look here, you miserable piece of shit. Are we supposed to feel sorry for you? Ooh woo woo. My momma beat me everyday. Boo hoo hoo. My momma beat me on Christmas. Boo hoo hoo. Nobody understands me. Is that how it is, Walter? The day of reckoning is at hand and we're supposed to reach a verdict with all things considered. Is that right?"
The car was moving at a thousand miles per hour. The sky was dressed in daylight and wore the veil of nighttime simultaneously. The guy with the cheesy tie suddenly became fat beyond all recognition. Swollen folds of fat hung over his beady pin-point eyes and nearly swallowed his chattering mouth. The cab of the car narrowed until Walter was virtually on the guy's lap. He was smushed right up against him. A fleshy tendril burst from the guy's pants and crawled onto Walter's lap like a snake lookin' fer a little lovin'. It stretched and wrapped itself around one of Walter's thighs and then crawled around his other one.
"Weeee!" cried the guy with the cheesy tie. "WEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
"I gotta get out. Please let me out!" cried Walter and he clawed at the door but there was no handle.
"You can't get out. You're kind of like Old Mr. Scrooge and I'm the ghost of Christmas past. Only the ghost of Christmas past came to Ole Ebby while he was still alive. You know, to try and save him. Whereas with you, my friend, well.....I don't really need to say it, do I?"
The tendril had worked itself into Walter's pants and was making its way to Walter's crotch...rubbing and poking and feeling its way around.
"What about your mother? Where was her compassion. What about her unfortunate circumstances? Where's the sympathy for her cause. Did she get any? Do you honestly think that you deserve any? You're a piece of slimy shit, Walter! You treated people like crap because you didn't get a fair deal. Maybe you didn't get a fair deal because the Big Guy upstairs knew you were a waste. A piece of shit, to quote the vernacular. Who knows? Ours is not to wonder why. Ours is but to live and DIE!"
The tendril was trying to get into Walter's ass. He writhed about in a desperate panic trying to fight it off. He felt the sharp tip of it digging between his cheeks.
"NO! NO! OH MY GOD! NOOOOOO!"
"Maybe that's what all those poor women were thinking as they fucked you but were too desperate for any sort of affection to say anything out loud. Maybe. Oh, well. Just sit back and enjoy the ride, Mr. Pissypants!"
The car came to a silent and instant stop at the intersection of route 30 and Harmon road.
"There ya go. It was good talking to you," said the guy with the cheesy tie. "Take it easy."
Walter grabbed the handle, shoved the door open and jumped out. He all but ran from the faggot's car. He looked back once to make sure the queer wasn't following him.
He wasn't. He watched Walter for a moment with a look of confusion on his face then pulled away.
Walter breathed a sigh and headed down Harmon road. It took him a moment to shake the fear. To settle back into reality. He smelled the cow shit and the pollen. It smelled normal. That was good. Although it kind of smelled like being bored, too. It smelled like being bored and being poor and having to stay outside and entertain himself because he couldn't go home yet.
Oh well. He'd live.
The sun was bright. It was early autumn. Things weren't going too bad. His mother was sober a couple of days a week, lately. Her body was getting' tired. It made her lay off a bit. It had been a long time since she actually hit anybody. Too tired for that business, too.
Henry quit the whole scene and moved away. First to Florida, then to only God knows where. Walter hadn't seen him since he was sixteen. Walter didn't blame him. Henry had gotten the worst of it.
Walter occupied the majority of his time after school by trottin' off down to Pat's tap, the only bar in the whole expanse of metropolitan Harmon, to play poker with some of the old farts that lived there. When he got really bored, he'd slip over to the neighbor's house, while they were at work, and fuck their daughter. She went to Catholic school so no one at his school ever even knew she existed. It worked out perfect because, although she was not exactly ugly, she was fat little thing. And she was kind of a dumb. But, oh well. It all feels the same in the dark.
All the sun-shiny air was making Walter kind of horny. He thought about possibly paying the fat girl a little visit. It had been a while since the last time he'd visited her because during their last rutting frenzy, she mumbled those three naughty words to him. He finished the job and left without saying a word, swearing to himself never to go back. But, desperate times call for desperate measures.
A mile or so down the road, something caught Walter's eye. There were colorful objects lying in the road. As he approached, he realized they were clothes. It looked like someone had taken their laundry and pitched it out the window as they drove along. As he drew nearer, he saw something just off the road sticking out of the corn that made his stomach jump. It was chrome, like a fender.
"Oh my God," he whispered. It was a fender. Someone had been in an accident. He raced down the road as fast as he could. Clothes were everywhere. Some were across the road lying on the other side. Some were dangling in the corn. A majority of them were lying in the ditch. The fender lay at the edge of the cornfield. A path plowed by the car plunged deep into the field.
Walter made it all the way to the lone fender before noticing something quite remarkable about a pair of black jeans hanging from the corn.
They were his.
He could not grasp the reality of the coincidence at first. He was stymied. How could someone have gotten a hold of his pants...?
He looked frantically around at the other scattered clusters of laundry with dread. His suspicions were confirmed. One of the shirts belonged to his father. His mother's bathrobe Lay in the middle of the road. Next to the fender lay James' pants that he had stained with India ink (and had been severely beaten for).
Walter staggered to the opening of broken cornstalks and peered down the trail. At the end, about fifty yards away, was his mother's brown Caprice Classic. It was an overturned, crumpled wreck.
"Oh, Jesus," he mumbled. "No more."
He ran as fast as he could toward the car and stopped a few feet away. The top of the car had been smashed completely flat. It looked like an upside-down convertible. A lot of blood had sprayed out across the corn from beneath the front of the car like juice from a tomato after a cylinder block had dropped on it.
Shaking with shock, he walked to the rear end of the car which was facing him and bent down. An object, embedded in the soil jutted out from the broken metal. It was purple and smooth like...
...her foot.
She's still under there.
He squatted down to examine it and realized that it was a long and slender foot. His mother had short fat feet with malformed toes. The toes on this foot were straight and healthy.
He thought maybe it wasn't his mother after all. Maybe someone was driving their car on their way to do their laundry but he couldn't imagine who. Maybe the laundry had just been sitting in the car and somebody had stolen it or borrowed it.
A few feet behind the car, also embedded in the soil was a torn sneaker. A black Chuck Taylor canvas high-top just like the ones James wore...
"NOOOOOO!...."
In vain, he tried to lift the car but of course couldn't. Blindly, he grabbed the foot thinking perhaps he could pull his brother out from beneath the massive hunk of metal. But when he pulled, there was very little resistance and he stumbled backwards.
In his hands was his brother's severed foot, pinched off his leg as a flying car landed on his fragile eleven year old body.
Walter dropped the foot and screamed. He screamed until his eyes saw only red. His body acted on its own now that there was no one at the controls. It jumped up and ran a few feet toward the road then stopped. It ran around the car, searching for more gore but terrified of finding it. It plunged into the corn and ran.
Walter didn't run long because he stumbled across the broken body of his dead mother.
She had been thrown several feet into the corn and killed. Her torso bent back at a forty-five degree angle. Her eyes bulged from their sockets and appeared to be looking off in different directions at absolutely nothing. Black blood spilled from her mouth and nose. Her arms and legs were frozen in a pose that mimicked an Egyptian relief.
Walter collapsed onto the ground screaming 'NO!' over and over again.
From far off came the sound of jungle drums. The natives had been aroused and they were restless. The sky blackened with eternal night blowing acrid wind across the land that burned the lungs and seared the eyes.
RumBumBumBum. RumBumBumBum. RumBumBumBum. RumBumBumBum.
"Get up, Walter. Quit being a pussy!" It was the pig-voice and it came from his mother's mouth.
He got up and gasped. His mother's broken body was dragging itself toward him.
"You gotta help me, you fucking cock-sucker. They're coming for me. You can't let them take me. Help me!"
From all sides came the red flames of the native's torches. They were coming from the corn. Only it wasn't a cornfield anymore. It was an ocean of fleshy tendrils that looked like giant, bristled worms. The tendrils violently quivered upward like strings tied to a furnace vent. Walter was torn between staying to face the natives or plunging into the field of quivering tendrils.
"You gotta help me, Walter! I'm your mother! They're gonna get me! Don't let them get me!" his mother croaked.
The natives were almost upon them.
"Yer already dead. I can't help you. Yer dead and so is James. You killed him."
"Help meeeeeeeeeee!"
"You killed my little brother. He's dead."
The natives formed their palisade just outside the clearing, beating their bones and drums. Suddenly, the earth cracked beneath his struggling mother. A gaping sinkhole opened in the ground, eager to swallow her. She held on to the edge with her iron claws like the tough old bitch that she was.
With an obstinance that drove through her resignation like a nail, she said one final time, "Help me, you cock-sucker." She let go and slipped into the abyss.
The natives moved in on Walter. It was Walter's turn.
"No!" he cried. "NO! I don't wanna go in there. I didn't do anything! No. Please. I didn't do anything!"
He tried to run but a few of the quivering tendrils had rooted his feet to the ground. The natives grabbed him. Their touch spread a chill through him that burned worse than any pain, worse than any chill.
"NOOOO! I didn't do anything! PLEASE! LET ME GO!"
The natives held him over the undulating pit which roared with the poisonous wind.
"NOOOOOOOOOO!"
They fed him to the pit.
He fell and fell. The pit was made of soil at first but gradually the soil fell away revealing a wall of oily flesh. The wind grew so hot and so saturated with an unimaginable stink that Walter did not know whether he was alive or a corpse. Before reaching the bottom, the walls of the pit constricted like the inside of a gargantuan throat...swallowing him. Digesting him. It caught him and squeezed him out the bottom into a dark room. There were no lights but the meaty walls shimmered with a crimson incandescence. Into the middle of one putrid wall was cut an opening. It was shaped like a window but had no glass. It was the mouth of a shaft running deep into the meat.
Walter went to the window and peered inside.
Six feet into the fleshy shaft sat his mother's head. The rest of her body disappeared into the meat. She was covered with a film of acidic sweat excreted from the walls and was pierced in a multitude of places on her face with small bones. Her eyes had been gouged out and replaced with red-hot bearings of steel. The cartilage of her nose was ripped out. Jammed into her forehead was a bottle of wild turkey that perpetually pumped that fine spirit into her skull.
"You know what, Walter?" she slobbered. "You put me here and I don't blame you honey. It's a lot quieter down here, isn't it? You need your sleep. Yesssssss, little cock-suckers need their sleep. But what gets me, though, is who put you down here with me? You ever stop and wonder about that? As far as I'm concerned, this is much better than being up there. Don't you think? It ain't no big thing. Just a small sack of change and no one can tell ya how