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Joel Brashear
Appalachian Dad
Potluck: 52 Weeks in a fictional appalachian community
This is a collection of 52 interconnected short stories, all set in the fictional community of Peril County, Kentucky. There are 14 point of view characters we experience the world through and share in their stories. There is not one, true Appalachian story and this collection doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of the complexities of life here in the mountains.
Each story takes place during one week of the year, starting with New Year’s Day and ending on New Year’s Eve. In that year, we see this community’s triumphs and tragedies. We experience the hardships found only in the hills of Appalachia and the trials that we all face from time to time. This work is created to be read in order, but hopefully, you can pick up any week and find something of value. Now, safe travels as you head to Black Grass, KY, the county seat of Pearl County.
Week 52 - New Year’s Eve
“It’s not gonna be that kind a party!”
Adeline was arguing with her Granny about going to a New Year’s gathering with some friends. “We’re just gonna have a sleepover, I promise.”
Granny shook her head, frowning. “I just don’t know, Adeline. It was this time last year’s that I had to come n’get you at that strange feller’s place. You ought to know better by now.” Granny’s frustration and disappointment in the teen radiated off of her in waves that the young girl could feel.
“It’s not gonna be that kind a party!”
Adeline was arguing with her Granny about going to a New Year’s gathering with some friends. “We’re just gonna have a sleepover, I promise.”
Granny shook her head, frowning. “I just don’t know, Adeline. It was this time last year’s that I had to come n’get you at that strange feller’s place. You ought to know better by now.” Granny’s frustration and disappointment in the teen radiated off of her in waves that the young girl could feel.
“I do, Granny. That’s what I’m saying. We’re just gonna spend the night at Regina’s, watch old movies and eat popcorn. That’s it. Nothin’ bad. And no boys,” she lied.
There was an old cup of coffee on the counter. Granny picked it up and took a sip. “You been doin’ so good, Adeline. I’d hate for you to go and mess it all up.”
She sighed, exasperated. “This is my last New Year’s in high school. Please, let me go and spend it with my friends.”
Granny didn’t say anything, just shooed her away with a hand. That was signal enough to Adeline that she could go. It was 5pm on New Year's Eve.
By 7:30, she had changed into a pair of PJ’s and packed a bag that was suspiciously too big for any overnight stay. Her friend, Regina, was already in the driveway, waiting. A quick kiss for Granny and she was out the door.
“Don’t go and do nothin’ foolish, Adeline,” Granny called as the teen left.
Regina’s parents were in Gatlinburg for the weekend, so the girls had been planning all week for how they were going to take advantage of the situation. Of course, they were going to have a party. But they had to keep it small. Not too many people so it doesn’t get out of hand.
As they drove to the home, the girls went through a checklist for the evening. “So, Jackson and Grant are coming?” Adeline asked.
“Yes. Rodney and Anna are bringing pizzas. Emma has a bottle of vodka from her dad’s and Hal says he’s getting three cases of beer.”
Adeline furrowed her brow. “I don’t know if I’m gonna drink,” she said.
Regina got an incredulous look on her face. “Are you effin’ kiddin’ me right now? It’s New Year’s Eve! Bitch, we gettin’ turnt!”
“Listen, last year I got really messed up and then Lauren and Taylor flaked on me and left me at some rando’s house. I woke up missin’ like $400 and sick as shit!”
“Ok, first of all, Lauren and Taylor are bitches, ok? They were a year older than us, never good for nothin’, and, at best, a little skanky! And two, we’re at my house. We’re not goin’ anywhere, right? We’re like, totally safe.” She switched off the radio.
Once at Regina’s they both changed into cute outfits and did each other’s makeup. “You are gonna get’chu some tonight!” Regina screamed as she slapped Adeline on the rear. “Ain’t never seen you lookin’ this hot!”
“Have to wait and see,” she said, not very hopeful. “Guess it depends on who shows up.”
By 8pm, around ten or so high school seniors were at Regina’s, eating pizza and watching movies. Most of them were coupled up and Adeline was sitting with a boy named Braxton. She’d had a crush on him since they were in grade school together, but he always seemed to have a girlfriend. He was a star athlete and all the girls were interested in him. Tonight, he was there to hang out with her.
“What are you doin’ next fall?” he asked her, taking a sip of beer. He was thin, with dark hair and a scruffy face. His angular features made him look angry sometimes to people who didn’t know him. But Adeline knew that he was kind and considerate.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Prolly go to the Community College. I don’t wanna get too far from Granny. What about you?”
“I got a couple of scholarship offers. Hope I get to keep playin’ ball.”
She stared into his eyes. She could get lost in those eyes. “I didn’t miss a home game this season,” she said.
He shook his head a little. “Yeah, it didn’t go as good as it should have. Graham getting hurt killed us.”
“I thought you did pretty good,” Adeline flirted
He smiled at her. “You want a drink?”
She shook her head, sheepishly. “I don’t think I’m gonna have any tonight.”
“Oh, c’mon! its New Year’s! Let me make you a screwdriver.” He popped up from the couch and was gone before she could protest. In a few minutes he was back with a tall glass filled to the brim. “Here you go. This’ll get you goin’!
She took a sip and was pretty sure there was more vodka than juice in the cup. “Ack! S’strong,” she said through pursed lips.
For the next hour, she nursed her vodka and OJ. Around 9pm, the drinking games started. Seemingly innocent at first, these games quickly got the group highly intoxicated. Adeline was trying to keep from drinking, but the more the group pressured her to participate, the less resolve she had, until finally jumping in with both feet.
She started with an innocent game of beer pong, Adeline and Braxton on one team, Regina and Hal on the other. “You’re only drinking like one beer total per game, so it’s not even that bad,” Braxton told her as they started. but after three of four games in an hour, it escalated quickly. This led directly into a Wizard’s Staff competition between the boys. This game of “Who’s got the biggest staff” uses spent cans taped together to make a column, or a Wizards Staff. At this point in the night, Hal was in the lead.
Next, the entire group gathered around the dining room table for a round of never have I ever. It was quickly discovered that Braxton had skinny-dipped, Hal had made out in a church basement, Regina had kissed two girls and Adeline had never gone all the way. Finally, a round of Kings was planned and played. Emma and Regina had never played before, so after several minutes explaining the rules, they began.
By 11pm, they were all feeling pretty drunk, but Adeline was more than a little festive. “One hour to the New Year! Let’s party, bitches!” she screamed, shotgunning another beer.
At 11:30, Braxton and Adeline were slow dancing in the corner of the living room. When the song ended, he bent down and kissed her, passionately. Soon after, they wandered over to the couch where they made out for the next ten minutes.
“Gawd, get a room you two!” Regina finally said with around ten minutes left in the year.
They both giggled and looked at each other. His eyes seemed to say “I’ll go if you want to,” so she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him off of the couch.
The young couple made their way upstairs and into Regina’s parents room. Braxton locked the door behind them. “I’ve never done this before,” she confessed. “Kinda nervous.”
“Oh, I can help with that,” he said as he reached into his pocket.
She was expecting him to have some form of protection or something, but what he had was a small brown vial that looked to be made of glass. “What is that?” she asked.
“Courage in a bottle,” he said as he walked into the bathroom. He came out moments later with a small mirror. With a credit card and a small straw, Braxton prepared the white powder into a couple of lines. “You just, like, sniff it,” he said.
She shook her head. “I don’t know about this,” she said, feeling equal parts afraid and uncomfortable. “I ain’t never done nothin’ in through the nose before.”
He shot her a comforting smile. “It’s easy, babe. Just watch.” He proceeded to inhale one line of powder through the straw. His head jerked back, his eyes wide. “Whoa, Jesus Christ!”
The teens in the living room below were starting to chant down numbers as they counted in the new year. “29…28…27…”
He handed her the mirror. “You’ll love it, Adeline,” he said. “It’s cool.”
Her mind was racing. Would this make her ‘cool’ to him? Would this put her at ease? She had been infatuated with Braxton for as long as she could remember, but never really had the opportunity or the nerve to act on it. And here she is, sitting on a bed with him, about to go all the way? Was this really happening? And what is this I’m about to snort up my nose?
She put her head over the mirror and held the straw in her left nostril with her hand. With one motion, she snorted the powder up into her nose. The feeling was intense; equal parts pain and pleasure. It was a rush of energy and excitement that she’d never felt before.
Braxton put the mirror to the side and kissed Adeline again, passionately.
“3…2…1!” they heard from the living room.
“Happy New Year, Adeline.”
Week 51 - Christmas Festival
Almost no one local would call it as such, but there is a strong sense of philanthropy in Peril County and the majority of Central Appalachia as a whole. Some of the old folks and the ladies who wear big hats to church say that it is having what they call “A Servants Heart.” After six months working in the area, Blair Montgomery had seen this firsthand, but never so much as this week.
Almost no one local would call it as such, but there is a strong sense of philanthropy in Peril County and the majority of Central Appalachia as a whole. Some of the old folks and the ladies who wear big hats to church say that it is having what they call “A Servants Heart.” After six months working in the area, Blair Montgomery had seen this firsthand, but never so much as this week.
The Peril County Community Help Center ran toy drives for years when founder Alberta Gulch started the charity. Hundreds of children who may not expect much under their Christmas trees would be ensured something special from Santa. The program had died out several years earlier when Mrs. Gulch passed. But Blair had decided that this was one project worth bringing back. She had spent the last six months working to find areas where community needs could be met and ensuring community kids had a good holiday season was an easy box to click.
To distribute the toys, Blair had organized something she thought would be very special. Mr. Peterson had agreed to play Santa and every child from infant to thirteen would meet the jolly old fat man and receive a toy. She had arranged live music, hot cocoa and cookies and a couple of elves to help out.
They started lining up an hour before the scheduled start time. In thirty minutes, they stretched halfway down Main Street. Blair pulled into the parking lot of the Help Center, astonished at what she saw. Many children in threadbare shirts, misfitting jackets, and a few in open-toed shoes. “Glad we partnered with the clothing drive on this,” she thought to herself as she parked.
The far side of the Help Center’s parking lot was transformed into a pretty decent facsimile of Santa’s Workshop, with a table for “making” toys that Mr. Peterson would stand behind as a photo op, a snack station for treats, and a section for the folks from Black Grass Baptist to hand out the packages of clothes. Besides a toy, every child would be receiving a shirt, pants, coat, and shoes. And finally, at the end, Jordyn Nelson was setting up a small PA system for her performance.
“Do I have to wear this?” an exasperated voice asked from the corner of the building. Kyle Smith was pleading with his mother to not wear his green elf’s costume, to no avail.
Blair heard the teen’s sister mock him as she walked into the building. “Your legs are gonna look great in those candy-striped tights, Kyle!”
Inside the office, she checked to make sure all people and materials were where they needed to be. The real pine tree in the corner needed water desperately, so she took care of that as well. A knock on her office door shocked Blair just a bit. She looked over to see two young women, about her age, standing in the hall. One was a squat, round-faced Latina with short hair. Her companion was tall with brown, curly hair that fell to her shoulders. Kentucky Blue glasses sat on her crooked nose. They were both smiling.
“Can I help you ladies?” Blair asked.
“Hi, I’m Donna and this is my partner, Lou. We heard about the event and wanted to see if you need any volunteers?”
Blair shot a smile at both of them. “Oh, you are just lifesavers! The church was supposed to send some extra folks to pass out clothes, and I didn’t see them when I walked it. Would you care to help on the gift line?”
Lou nodded her head. “Anything you need, we’ll help.”
The three walked back outside. Kyle was still protesting his red and white stockings, but they were now on his legs. Blair walked her two new friends to the clothing drive station. “Every child gets a set of cloths, a jacket and shoes. We have enough for five hundred and I think we’re gonna get that many by the look of it.” Lou and Donna made their way behind the table and started familiarizing themselves with the layout.
“Blair, honey, what time do you want me to start singing?”
Jordyn Nelson had a guitar strapped around her shoulders and a black and green boggan on her head.
Blair checked her watch. “Now is as good a time as any. Make sure you stay warm, now.”
It wasn’t three minutes before the pretty lady with the guitar was singing old carols and traditional Christmas songs. Her voice was strong and clear and folks in the crowd couldn’t help but sing along.
The gates were opened, and families began streaming into the parking lot. Blair had anticipated a decent crowd, but this was well beyond her wildest dreams. Putting up partitions to direct traffic had been a very wise decision as the herd of bodies made their way thru the Peril County version of the North Pole.
Natasha Jenkins and her three little ones were the first in line. They had been standing in the cool December air for over ninety minutes to see Santa. She was a younger woman, no older than thirty, with bleached blonde hair, light skin and freckles. Her three kids, two girls and a boy, had all inherited their mother's hair and skin tone and the baby had her freckles. They were all dressed in clean, if misfitting clothes. The children’s shoes were worn thin in several places.
Blair snagged a cookie from Kyle at the hot cocoa stand. “Thank you for coming,” she told the young mother. “I know Santa has some special stuff for you guys!” she said, looking down at the young children.
“Oh, thank you all for doin’ this,” Natasha replied. “This is real nice. I remember Mrs. Gulch doin’ stuff like this when I was a young’un.”
The mother was missing several teeth, and those that were still there looked damaged and rotten. “Improve dental care!” Blair thought, making a mental note for future projects.
“Well, you guys fill up on cookies and cocoa and go get your picture with Santa. One of his elves will print you a couple copies before you leave.” She looked over to the opposite side of the parking lot to see Elmer Bowling, the IT specialist for City Hall, finishing his set up of camera equipment and digital printer.
Natasha’s middle child, a girl of maybe nine, tugged on the hem of Blair’s coat. “Ms. Lady, can I ask you a question?” Her voice was sweet and gentle.
“Of course,” she replied, bending down to get even with the child.
The young girl ran her sleeve across her nose and sniffed hard. “My brother says that Santa isn’t real, and this is just some guy in a suit. And that we are just gettin’ stuff ‘cause we poor.”
“Bobby Jean!” Natasha scolded. She was clearly embarrassed.
Blair looked up at the mother and gave a comforting smile then looked back to the little one. “Bobby Jean, is it? I have a secret for you. That man over there, in the red suite and bad white beard? Do you see him?”
She nodded.
“That’s not the real Santa. That’s my boss, Mr. Peterson. He is one of hundreds, maybe thousands of men and women who are Santa’s helper’s this time of year. Now, younger kids like your little sister might not know, so we all kind of play pretend that he is Santa. But the real Santa is too busy loading up the sleigh and getting the reindeer ready for Christmas Eve, right?” She bopped Bobby Jean on the nose, gently, getting the girl to giggle just a bit.
Blair stood upright and pointed to the hot cocoa stand. “Why don’t you take your mama and the rest of your family over to get some cookies and hot chocolate?”
The little sandy-haired girl took her mother by the hand and darted toward the table decorated like a winter wonderland kitchen. Kyle and Janie were setting out trays of gingerbread men topped with green and red crystal sugar, sugar cookies with little snowmen painted on the top and chocolate covered pretzels made to look like a reindeer. Blair followed close behind, making sure the process was going to run smoothly.
“Well, hey there!” Janie said as they approached. “We have cookies for you and your choice of hot cider, regular cocoa or spicy Mexican cocoa.”
The oldest child, a boy of about twelve, pushed past his mother. “I’ll take the spicy one!” Kyle, still looking sullen in his elf costume, poured half a styrofoam cup full from a red pitcher and placed a large marshmallow on top before handing it to the boy.
“SSSSSPPPPEEEEWWW!” He spit the chocolate concoction forcefully from his mouth. “Gross! This takes like dog piss!”
Natasha, seemingly mortified at her son's actions, grabbed some paper towels from the side of the table and wiped off the table. “Garrett, you know better than that!” she scolded as she cleaned.
“Oh, it’s fine,” Blair said as she ushered them next to Mr. Peterson. She shot a glance back to Kyle and Janie, who seemed to be fine and were welcoming the next group.
“Santa” Peterson was standing behind the table with bins and bags surrounding him, all filled with toys. His unconvincing beard hung below his chin, showing his own salt and pepper goatee beneath. “Ho Ho Ho!” he chuckled. “Merry Christmas guys. What are your names?”
Bobby Jean looked up at Mr. Peterson suspiciously and told the man his name. Garrett was too busy eyeing the boxes and bags filled with toys to pay Santa any mind. But it was the youngest who stared up in awestruck wonder. “My name Sally,” she said with a slight lisp.
“And how old are you, little Ms. Sally?” Mr. Peterson asked.
“Free,” she said, holding up three fingers.
Mr. Peterson turned toward the bundles of toys and selected three grocery bag sized bundles. They were labeled “Toddler - G,” “Primary - G” and “Middle School - B.” He handed each of the children their own gift bag. “From the Peril County Community Help Center and all of the elves at the North Pole, it is my pleasure to wish you all a very Merry Christmas!” he said, smiling.
The three kids took their bags, each thanking him in their own way.
“We’re gonna keep the line movin’ Santa! Merry Christmas!” Blair said as she ushered the Jenkins family down toward the next station.
Sally stopped and walked back to Santa. “Merrwy Chwistmas, Santa,” she said in a meek little voice, before turning toward her mother.
Blair could see that Mr. Peterson was moved by the gesture as he wiped his eyes with a white gloved hand.
The next station was for the clothing drive. Donna and Lou talked with Natasha on what size each of the kids wore in shoes and clothes before handing her a giant bag filled with things for the kids to wear. Donna did most of the talking and Lou did most of the lifting.
After all the Jenkins family had collected bags filled with gifts, they made their way toward Jordyn Nelson sitting on a wooden stool. She was strumming her guitar as they approached. “Hey guys,” she said as they reached her. “This is one of my absolute favorites.”
Jordyn lead the Jenkins children, even Garrett, in the singing of Away in a Manger. Blair joined in as she scanned the parking lot. Dozens of families, with children ranging from in strollers to almost grown, were filling the space. No one seemed stressed or rushed. Her elves were working hard to make sure everyone got treats and had a wonderful experience.
“We really appreciate all of this. It means a lot,” Natasha said as the song ended. “Can you all tell Ms. Blair ‘Thank you!’ for me?”
The three kids thanked her in a singsong chorus. “You are more than welcome,” she replied.
The event went on for several hours and by the time the last cookie was handed out, only a handful of gift bags remained. “You done good work today, Blair,” Mr. Peterson said as he removed his Santa beard.
“We did, sir. We all did.”
Lou and Donna were organizing the remaining clothes, which consisted of a few baskets of infant clothes and some size 15 shoes. Kyle and Janie were starting to take down the North Pole decorations and throw out the last of the hot cocoa. There hadn’t been too many takers on the Hot Mexican variety besides Donna, who’d drank almost a pitcher by herself. Jordyn unplugged her guitar and loaded up to go home.
The sun hung low in the sky when Danny pulled into the parking lot. Almost all of the decorations were down and only Blair and Mr. Peterson remained. “Everything go ok?” he asked his fiancee.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. For the first time today, she allowed herself to be tired. “We had over four hundred and eighty families come through. I think we really did some good,” she said.
“Blair, honey, I hate to run, but the Panthers have a JV basketball game in about fifteen minutes and I can’t miss it. I’m just gonna have to wear this Santa suit, cause I ain’t got time to change,” Mr. Peterson said as he walked toward his car.
She gave him a little hug. “Thank you, Mr. Peterson. You made a great Santa.”
He blushed a little. “It was fun. I think the kids liked it.”
“You ready to go?” Danny asked. “I think Mom’s got a big dinner fixed. May even have some stuff you can eat this time.”
She smiled up at him. “Merry Christmas, baby.”
He kissed her forehead, and they walked to the car.
Week 50 - The Raid
The forensic report was in and the warrant was issued. Sam Anderson was going to be arrested for the distribution of illegal narcotics, arson, and the kidnapping/murder of Ray Carter. Anderson’s reputation as an unhinged maniac was only made worse as reports of his erratic behavior had been increasing recently as his drug use was becoming worse. This would not be an easy day for the Sheriff’s Office.
The forensic report was in and the warrant was issued. Sam Anderson was going to be arrested for the distribution of illegal narcotics, arson, and the kidnapping/murder of Ray Carter. Anderson’s reputation as an unhinged maniac was only made worse as reports of his erratic behavior had been increasing recently as his drug use was becoming worse. This would not be an easy day for the Sheriff’s Office.
“Alright, we’re gonna go in hard and fast,” he said, looking down at a printout of some satellite images. Sheriff Roy Higgins and his team, consisting of Deputies McElroy, Watts and Collins, along with a few member of the Black Grass City Police, stood around a tall, wooden table in the back room of the office.
“That’s what she said!” Deputy McElroy said with a smirk.
Higgins gave him a disappointed look and rolled his eyes. “Anderson’s trailer has exits here and here,” he said pointing to the front porch and back door. “There are also large windows in the living room and the back bedroom that he could use if he wanted to.”
“Can we secure all of that with just us?” Deputy Collins asked.
The Sheriff grabbed a black marker and placed “X’s” on the map. “McElroy, you and Collins are gonna be on the back door, here. Watts, you’re with me on ingress. The rest of you will set up a perimeter around the trailer. Make sure to secure the pickup.” He scanned the room, making sure everyone was on the same page.
“Anyone else in the house?” Deputy Watts asked. There was a hint of fear in her voice.
Higgins nodded his head. “We have every reason to believe that his young daughter will be in the house. We don’t know what state of mind Anderson will be in when we get there, but we have every reason to believe that he is armed, dangerous, and capable of just about anything. He’s as bad as they come, so let’s go bring him in.”
The team collected gear and suited up for what was to come. They loaded into SUVs and cruisers, hitting the blue lights as they pulled out of the courthouse.
The road to Sam Anderson’s house was rough and treacherous, with potholes, errant logs and ditches all blocking the path. After turning off of the main stretch, the team traveled toward the Wallins section of the county. From there, they turned off of government maintained roadway to what is called Caney Holler. The Anderson’s had lived in this section for generations and have been terrors to the local community for just as long. Sam’s daddy was a bootlegger that sold mixed drinks out of a hut on the side of the road. His granddaddy was a moonshiner that ran clear whiskey up and down the region. But none have been as bad as Sam.
Sheriff Higgins had known Sam Anderson growing up, as they were close to the same age. Sam was a troubled boy who liked to set fires and hurt small animals when he thought no-one was looking. It was a mystery to the sheriff how someone who barely finished the 10th grade was so prolific at cooking meth today. It was only the Lord’s love of fools that had kept him and the Jones girl alive back in the winter when they blew up that old house.
Dusk was setting in when the convoy of police vehicles started their final approach to the Anderson home. Higgins had instructed the team to cut their lights before making visual confirmation with the home. Radio silence was also required as it was believed that Sam had a police radio scanner.
They blocked off the entrance to the holler with their vehicles and gathered just below the bluff leading to Sam’s house. “Alright, let’s make this quick and safe,” the Sheriff said as he signaled for them to head out.
Deputies McElroy and Collins slinked toward the back of the house as Watts and the Sheriff scurried toward the front door. The sound of the city police dispersing to make a perimeter came from behind them.
Sam’s home was a dilapidated single wide trailer with a grey wooden porch on the front. Dead bushes and weeds surrounded most of the property. There were lights on in at least three of the rooms in the house. Sheriff Higgins heard the sound of a television or radio coming from the front room and saw lights and movement in a back bedroom.
He banged hard on the door three times. “Sam Anderson! This is Sheriff Roy Higgins. I have a warrant for your arrest. I want you to come out with you hands up. We don’t want to come in and get ya!”
A rustling noise came from inside the home. “Z’at you Roy?” a groggy, confused voice called out.
“It’s me, Sam. I’m gonna take you in. We don’t want no trouble. We don’t want no-one to get hurt. So let’s make this easy on everyone.” He was trying to sound forceful but not too aggressive.
CRACK! A small hole, about the size of an apple, blew out of the wall mere feet from the Sheriff’s head as a shotgun blast blew through the wall. Higgins and Watts immediately jumped from the porch and took cover.
“Did I get che’, Sheriff?” Sam called out from inside the house.
Watts grabbed the radio receiver on her shoulder. “Shots fired at 3472 Caney Holler. Repeat: shots fired at 3472 Caney Holler.”
“Sam! We don’t got to do this!” Sheriff Higgins yelled from below the deck. He had twisted his ankle hopping over the railing and was currently twisting his foot, searching for some relief from the pain.
Inside the house, the sounds of furniture toppling and glass breaking rang out. “He’s fortifying hisself in there,” Watts said as she peeked her the top of the railing.
Suddenly, the sound of a small child crying blared through the night air. “Sam! Is your girl in there with you?” Higgins called out.
Another shotgun blast took out the majority of the front door. The child inside screamed in terror. “Goddamnit, Sam! Somebody’s gonna get hurt. Put down the gun and come on out!” Sheriff Higgins was desperate, searching for any way to end this situation quickly.
“Sheriff,” Deputy McElroy said through the radio. “I think we can go in the back here without incident.”
McElroy was a bit of a cowboy, Higgins knew. But not many options were presenting themselves. “Stand down. He’s got a kid in there. Maybe more.”
“Copy,” McElroy said, sounding a little dejected.
Higgins peered over the ledge of the deck just as the front door exploded into shrapnel as Sam fired his gun again. “Where you hidin’, Sheriff? I’m gonna find you!” the crazed shooter said in a sing-song voice.
The cries of the young child were louder now. Higgins was fairly sure she was in the living room with Sam. “Let the girl go, Sam. She ain’t no part a this.”
“You think I’m a damn fool, Sheriff. The only thing keepin’ you and your boys out there from stormin’ in and blastin’ my ass full a holes is my baby, here. She ain’t goin’ nowheres!” Sam’s voice was wild and frantic. “Baby, them men out there is here to kill me and you. But I ain’t gonna let that happen. You understand me, baby girl?”
The cries continued.
Higgins grabbed his radio. “Dispatch, this is Unit One. How long on KSP?”
The speaker next to his shoulder crackled. “Unit one. KSP en route. ETA fifteen minutes.”
“What are you wantin’ to get out a this, Sam? State Police is on their way and they ain’t gonna be near as friendly as we are. Let the girl go and come out so we can take you in. Nobody needs to get hurt here tonight.”
There was some shuffling inside. “We goin’ to Hell tonight, Sheriff! I am the devil and it’s time for me to go home!” A strong, astringent smell wafted through the air as well as the sound of liquid splashing. “We are sinners, and it’s time to burn for our sins.”
A horrific image flooded the sheriff’s mind. “He couldn’t!” Higgins forced himself up on the porch and darted inside the building. Inside, he saw Sam Anderson pouring liquid from a red gas canister all over himself while his daughter, Nevaeh, stood grasping his leg. She was dripping with the same liquid.
“Son of a bitch!” he said as he slammed his fist into Sam’s jaw, knocking him to the floor. He quickly grabbed the girl and darted for the door.
“Nevaeh! Baby!” Sam called from inside. “I’ll kill all y’all motherfu-”
The sound of Sam’s shotgun firing was followed by a loud WHOOSH of air as the living room of the trailer became engulfed in flames. Fire shot from every door and window, sending glass and metal shards out in every direction. Sheriff Higgins wrapped the small girl in his arms as best he could, trying to keep her safe. The force of the blast sent both the Sheriff and the small girl flying from the house, landing on the hard ground below.
From the fire, Sam screamed and laughed as he burned, sounding as if he were playing a game one second and being tortured the next. “Watts, get her away from here,” the sheriff said, handing the small girl to his deputy.
“Dispatch, this is unit one. Add fire and rescue to the call. Advise, 3472 Caney Holler is currently on fire. Repeat, 3472 Caney Holler is on fire.”
The blue lights of state cruisers lit up the darkness as they pulled into the driveway a few moments later. Troopers and a couple detectives approached the burning house, cautiously.
“Higgins, this scene secure?” a detective asked.
He nodded his head. “Sam Anderson was the target of an arrest warrant. Barricaded himself inside and fired on us. Tried to negotiate, but he used his young daughter as a hostage. Then doused her and himself with some flammable liquid. Kerosene if I had to guess. I made ingress and grabbed the girl, knocking Sam to the ground. He fired and the interior erupted into flame. He’s still in there, far as we know.”
The detective was taking notes as the sheriff spoke. “Did you make any attempt to put out the fire and/or save Mr. Anderson?”
“Sam said he was the devil. I figured it best to let him burn.”
Week 49 - The Transfer Student
It had been an easy decision. Paris College was in the rearview mirror, literally, as Brittany Burns drove south and east on a cold and snowy morning. Her few friends, Marty and Devon, had tried to talk her out of it. But her mind was made up. A few too many random run-ins with Buzz, the roommate from hell. A few too many professors always asking her to repeat herself, as if Appalachian were a foreign language. A few too many sorority girls like Betsy with their perfect hair and their perfect bodies and their perfect iced coffees constantly condescending her. It was a few too many few too many’s.
It had been an easy decision. Paris College was in the rearview mirror, literally, as Brittany Burns drove south and east on a cold and snowy morning. Her few friends, Marty and Devon, had tried to talk her out of it. But her mind was made up. A few too many random run-ins with Buzz, the roommate from hell. A few too many professors always asking her to repeat herself, as if Appalachian were a foreign language. A few too many sorority girls like Betsy with their perfect hair and their perfect bodies and their perfect iced coffees constantly condescending her. It was a few too many few too many’s.
Brittany’s mom, Josephine, sounded almost relieved, Brittany thought when she heard the news. It wasn’t a financial burden on the family, as she had a full scholarship to attend college. “Maybe she’s just missed me,” she pondered as the terrain got a little more mountainous the further she drove.
Her boyfriend, Graham, was a different story. He had been down since blowing out his knee a few weeks ago and she thought it best to tell him in person about her coming home, at least for a semester. He was cold and distant for most of her time in Paris. But things would be different once she was home. Things would be better.
Around two hours after leaving campus, Brittany pulled into her parents' driveway. It was still hers; she supposed. But it didn’t feel the same. Even after only one semester away, there was a sense of distance from this place she couldn’t quite place. Josephine was standing by the storm door, waiting on her to pull in and ran down to the car as soon as she saw her daughter drive up.
“There’s my baby. Good to have you home, sweetie!” She hugged her daughter tightly and rocked her back and forth a bit.
Brittany returned the hug. “Good to be home, Mama.”
They packed in a few baskets full of laundry and books, the only things Brittany brought home from Paris, and sat them inside the door. “Come in here a minute,” Josephine said and motioned for her daughter to follow into the living room.
“Now, you know I’m happy to have you home. And I’ll support you in any decision you make,” she said as they sat on opposite sides of a green leather couch. “But you have too much potential to just sit here and waste away in Black Grass. I’m not gonna have that.”
This was her Mama trying to deliver some tough love, Brittany thought. It was sweet, in a way. “Mama, I have no intention of ‘wastin’ away’ here! I’m not sayin’ I want to spend my life here. I’m not sayin’ I want to get hitched to Graham tomorrow. But Paris was a toxic environment for me and I was not gonna thrive there. I was barely able to survive there. It was not good for me. Maybe Columbia would have been better. Maybe one of the bigger state schools? I don’t know.” She twisted open a bottle of extra-sweet tea and took a swig. “I just know that with the classes I was able to take in high school and the ones I had last semester, I can have my associate’s degree from the community college by the end of the summer. And by then, hopefully, I’ll have an idea of where I’m goin’.”
Josephine pursed her lips and nodded her head. “That all sounds very reasonable. What does Graham say about all of this?”
“Not much,” she responded, taking another drink of tea. “He’s been so down since he hurt his knee. And the pills they had him on made him groggy and light-headed. I didn’t like talkin’ to him when he was takin’ ‘em. I think he’s done with ‘em though.”
Her mom stood and stretched her arms and back. “Well, I’m happy to have you home. Go ahead and call the college tomorrow and set up your classes for next semester. I also want you to find a part-time job. Nothin’ crazy. Just to get you some real-world experience at something and to get you some walkin’ around money. Them sweet teas don’t grow on trees, you know,” she said with a grin.
“You know tea literally grows like a tree, right?” Brittany asked giggling.
The next day, Brittany arranged to meet Graham at City Park. Long-distance dating had been difficult this semester, sure. And she couldn’t remember how many times someone said to “Dump your high school sweetheart!” while she was at Paris. Not just to her, it was like a mantra or something. She had a private joke that they were secretly running some sort of underground breeding program with the students the topic came up so much. So, she was more than excited to see Graham for the first time in a while.
His crutches and knee brace clanked and clicked as he shuffled from his old pickup to the benches along the river. Brittany was already there, with a basket of fries and a large strawberry shake, waiting for him. She noticed how skinny he looked, like skin hanging on bones. His coloring was off and he looked different. Tired, maybe? But he was smiling at her, just like he used to.
“There’s my girl!” he said as he got a little closer.
She stood and met him, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him tight. He was at least a foot taller than her, and she felt safe being enveloped in his frame.
“I forgot how good you smell,” she said as she closed her eyes and brought him in even tighter.
He chuckled. “Glad I showered.”
Taking his arm, she helped him across the rocky terrain to the bench where she had prepared them a mini picnic. She wasn’t sure he was going to like what she had to say, so she thought a little insurance in the form of Martha’s fries and a shake might come in handy. “How long are you in for?” he asked, lowering himself gently onto the bench.
“Well, it’s funny you mention that. I’m not going back to Paris.” It was out of her mouth before she had time to stop it. She had wanted to ease into it. She had wanted to break him in gently. This was not going as planned.
His face contorted into confusion mixed with a little anger. “What are you talking about?”
She shifted on the bench to better face him. “You know how miserable I was there. We talked about it. The people. The professors. My roommate with the spiky hair. It is not where I’m supposed to be. So, I’m comin’ home this semester.”
He sat back, away from her, forcefully, blowing hard out of his mouth. “You gotta be kiddin’ me,” he said to no one in particular.
“Why are you so upset about this? I thought you’d be happy. We’ll be able to see each other if I’m here at the community college.”
Shaking his head, he absentmindedly snagged a few fries and shoved them into his face. “You don’t get it. The only thing; the only thing keepin’ me sane was the thought that in just a few months I could come be with you and get out a this place. Did you know that?”
She put her hand on his knee. “There’s no reason we still can’t do that. I’m not saying I’m buying a house and getting a job. I’m going one semester to the community college and then, we’ll see.”
He just kept shaking his head. “You were out. Do you know how lucky you were? Ever since I hurt my knee, my dad makes it a daily ritual to tell me how much of a worthless piece of crap I am and now I’ll never amount to anything since I can’t play ball. And the worst thing is, he’s right! If I ain’t playin’ ball, what the hell good am I?”
Tears welled up in Brittany’s eyes. “Don’t say that, babe. Do you think I’d fall for someone who was ‘just a good ballplayer?’ Really?”
“I told you months ago that you gotta make it. You gotta get outta here so I can make it too. If you can’t make it, what chance in hell do I have.” He sounded defeated and distant. It took some work, but he contorted his body enough to grab the strawberry shake and take a big drink.
She took his hand in her own. “We’re in this together, Graham. I hated Paris. Hated it. The students were cruel, the teachers were condescending and the girl they tried to make me room with was a sociopath. But I still managed to make it through with a 4.0 GPA and my sanity.” He was staring off into the distance, so she turned his face to hers. “I’m not saying we’re gonna get married by New Years. I’m not saying we’re gonna be together forever. But for me, today, I’m saying I want to be with you. I’m gonna go to class next semester and get my associates by the end of the summer. You’re gonna finish high school and then, together, we will figure out our next move.”
He sniffed hard and looked away. “I gotta get outa here, Britt. I just gotta.”
She inched over next to him and put her head on his shoulder. “I get it, babe. I do. But let’s not wish our life away. There are worse places to be than Black Grass, Kentucky.”
He reached down and grabbed a fry and held it her direction. “Me and you; to the end of the line?”
She grabbed a fry of her own and gave him a cheers. “End a the line, babe. End of the line.”
Week 48 - Thanksgiving
It was cold. It was raining. And Fred’s knees were hurting. It seemed like every day it was just a little harder to get out of bed in the morning. His wife, June, was already down in the kitchen. He could smell the coffee on. Outside his window, he found a sea of gloomy clouds hovering above a drab, leafless hillside. A couple of grey squirrels were running laps around the big oak at the corner of his yard. It was already 7:30 am.
It was cold. It was raining. And Fred’s knees were hurting. It seemed like every day it was just a little harder to get out of bed in the morning. His wife, June, was already down in the kitchen. He could smell the coffee on. Outside his window, he found a sea of gloomy clouds hovering above a drab, leafless hillside. A couple of grey squirrels were running laps around the big oak at the corner of his yard. It was already 7:30 am.
Finally up and dressed, Fred kissed his wife goodbye as she handed him a thermos. “Don’t you go smokin’, now!” she scolded, playfully.
“Let’s just see how the day goes,” he said with a smile.
Once he made it into the old barbershop, Fred clicked on the radio. The quiet was too loud for him this morning and he needed some sort of noise going.
A couple of hours passed before anyone came into the shop. And Fred was guessing she didn’t want a haircut.
“Mr. Jones? I’m Blaire Montgomery. I work for the Peril County Community Help Center just around the corner. We’re doing a project on downtown revitalization and folks at City Hall sent me your way. Do you have a minute?”
Blaire was a pretty blonde girl in her early twenties. Fred hadn’t seen her around town, and her accent made it clear she wasn’t local. “Where you from originally, Miss Blair?” he asked.
“I grew up in Indianapolis. Met Daniel Wilson in college and got engaged over the summer. He brought me to Black Grass, and I just fell in love.” She beamed with excitement.
“Danny? Is that Ed and Edna’s boy?”
She nodded.
“Good boy. I still cut his daddy’s hair twice a month. Now, what is it exactly you are needin’ from me?” He eased himself down into his barber’s chair and motioned for Blair to have a seat next to him.
She reached into her messenger bag and pulled out a notepad. “Well, the receptionist at City Hall sent me your way. We’re doing an inventory of potential sites for renovation and your building is only at around thirty percent occupancy, correct?”
Fred curled up his forehead a little. “Meanin’ what exactly?”
Blair flipped over her page and drew two squares. “Now, this is what I was told, so correct me if I’m wrong, but…” She sectioned the first box into two halves and the other box into quarters. “On the first floor here, you are the only active business and this side is not being used. And you have four apartments upstairs, but only one is currently being rented. Do I have that right?”
He nodded, understanding her better. “Ok, I got you. Yes, the other side of the building is where we used to have the auctions. But we quit doin’ those durin’ the lockdown back when and never started back up. And upstairs is partitioned off into apartments, but just my niece, Frannie, is livin’ there. We had a bad experience with some kids livin’ there a few years ago, so I ain’t been too keen to take just anybody back in.”
Flipping her notebook back to the front, she scanned the page, looking for something. “And how long have you owned this building, Mr. Jones?”
“Right ‘round forty years, I’m guessin’.” He had to think back. He rented the barber shop for at least five before he bought the building from Mr. Wooton way back when.
She jotted something down. “What are your plans for the building moving forward?” she asked.
Fred felt a little shocked by this. He suddenly felt ancient. “Well, miss, I don’t really know.”
“Would you have any interest in selling? I only ask because I think there would be interest.”
Fred pondered for a moment. His children had moved out of the region, for the most part. None were either barbers or property managers. “I hadn’t thought about sellin’. But that don’t mean I wouldn’t.”
Blair scanned the room. “Listen, if you want to have discussions on how we can get impact investments in here, maybe some grant funding, I’d love to do that. I don’t want to presume anything. I’m needing all the community leaders I can find to help us get some positive things going on downtown. On the other hand, I have spoken to some folks a lot like you who may be looking at retirement in the not too distant future and cashing out on property is one viable option.”
“You’ve given me a lot to think about, Miss. A lot.”
At two o’clock Mr. Walker made his way from the bank over to the barbershop. He pulled his long coat tightly around his shoulders, trying to fight off the cold breeze.
“Fred, my old friend. How are we on this cold and gray day?” he asked as he slipped off his brown trench coat.
He smiled. “If I’s doin’ any better, they’d charge me for it!”
The both laughed.
“How’s that grandson a yours doin?” Fred asked as he wrapped the drape around Mr. Walker’s shoulders.
Mr. Walker shook his head. “Eatin’ crayons last time I talked to his daddy,” he said flatly.
Fred tried to stop himself, but he couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh, but what the hell is he eatin’ crayons for?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Said red tasted better than green, whatever that means.”
They continued to chat as Fred finished up the haircut. After brushing him off, he spun Mr. Walker around toward the mirror. “Got you lookin’ right as rain.”
“As always!” he said and handed Fred a $50.
“Let me get you some change.”
Mr. Walker held up his hand. “Keep it, my fried. Pre-holiday tip! Besides, nobody else laughs at my jokes!”
The next day was one of Fred’s favorite days of the year; Thanksgiving. His wife June loved to cook and Fred loved to eat. Plus, his kids and grandbabies would be coming back to Black Grass. “I smell greens on, Mrs. Jones. And a turkey in the oven!” he said as he made his way down the stairs.
“I been up since six. I should have done more yesterday. But, oh well.” June was wearing an apron that one of her daughters-in-law had made for her last Christmas. She’d not worn it once since opening it last year, so now was as good a time as any to break it in.
By noon, cars began to pull into the driveway as members of the family arrived. Henry, their youngest, came in with the newest grandbaby. Little Davon was only six weeks old. Soon, the house was abuzz with activity as five offspring, their spouses and all the grandbabies busied themselves before the big meal.
Last to arrive was Frannie. Harley and Xavier, her two children, followed along in tow. “Sorry we’re late!” she said, giving her Auntie June a kiss on the cheek.
The entire family gathered in the living room, holding hands just before their meal. Fred lead them in a prayer of Thanksgiving for all of their many blessings and for bringing them together once again. “And for all that you have done, all that you do and all that you will do; we humbly say ‘Thank you, Lord Jesus’ A-men!”
“A-men” a chorus repeated.
“Thank’s for the turkey! Thanks for the bread! Open up my mouth and shove it in my head!” James, Jr. said. Most of the family laughed, but his father scolded him.
Fred shooed his son away and picked up his grandson. “You got the right idea, boy!” he said and squeezed him in a bear hug.
They gorged themselves on the delicious meal. Ms. June had outdone herself and the sides and deserts everyone brought were fantastic as well. Deviled eggs, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, creamed corn and collard greens were all particularly popular items around the table.
As everyone was finishing, Fred took a swig of coffee and cleared his throat. “Everyone, I have somethin’ to tell you all. Yer mama doesn’t even know this yet. But at the end of the year, I’m gonna close the barber shop and retire. And, nothin’ is official, but there may be an opportunity to sell the building.”
A confused roar erupted from the table, with everyone asking questions, trying to find out more. “That’s great, Pop, if you’re wantin’ to retire. But what about the building?”
“Where would I go?” a panicked Frannie asked.
“I grew up in that barbershop,” Nina, Fred’s oldest daughter moaned.
The old barber held up both of his hands. “I know. I know. It’s gonna be a big change. But we can figure all a that out as we go.”
The entire family sat, staring at the patriarch, stunned.
Fred looked over to his wife, stuck out his hand, and took hers in his own. “June, baby, we’re doin’ fine on money. My knees hurt. My hands ache. And I think I wouldn’t mind keepin’ my ass in the bed a few minutes longer ever mornin’! That sound ok to you?”
She smiled at him, lovingly. “That sounds perfect to me.”
Week 47 - Couple’s COUNSELING
There are few things as important as family in these parts. Mamas and daddies do all they can to take care of their babies until they just can’t anymore; and then the babies, in their turn, take care of their mamas and daddies when the time comes. Cousins will fight like hell amongst one another. But if you cross just one of them, the whole holler will empty out for revenge. It’s always been that way in Peril County and the rest of this region. Sure, It’s not the perfect place to raise a family. Homes get broken apart just the same as they are everywhere. Moms and dads too dope sick to be responsible for their kids. Men and women frustrated with their lot in life taking out their anger on spouses or children. Husbands and wives forget their vows and stray from their marriage. Seems to happen more and more frequently these days.
There are few things as important as family in these parts. Mamas and daddies do all they can to take care of their babies until they just can’t anymore; and then the babies, in their turn, take care of their mamas and daddies when the time comes. Cousins will fight like hell amongst one another. But if you cross just one of them, the whole holler will empty out for revenge. It’s always been that way in Peril County and the rest of this region. Sure, It’s not the perfect place to raise a family. Homes get broken apart just the same as they are everywhere. Moms and dads too dope sick to be responsible for their kids. Men and women frustrated with their lot in life taking out their anger on spouses or children. Husbands and wives forget their vows and stray from their marriage. Seems to happen more and more frequently these days.
Luke Dobbs was as good a man as could be found in Black Grass, Kentucky. He was a hard worker with a good job that loved his wife and doted on his kids. He spent every spare moment and every spare dollar he had to make his family as happy and as healthy as he possibly could. And yet, he considered himself a failure. For only a failure would be sitting, alone, in the waiting room of a marriage councilor’s office, hoping his estranged wife would actually make the effort to show up. She was already fifteen minutes late.
“Can I get you a glass of water?” the lady at the front desk asked.
Luke shook his head. “Naw. I appreciate it.” He bit at a hangnail on his right hand, nervously.
After another five minutes, Rita walked through the door. Her dark hair was cut much shorter from when Luke had seen her last. “This gonna take long?” she said, flippantly, as she sat across the waiting area from her husband.
“Good to see you, Rita. Everything goin’ ok?” he asked, trying to engage any way he could.
“Zander’s got strep and Hailey needs a haircut.” She had already pulled out her phone.
A large woman wearing peach scrubs walked into the room carrying a clipboard. “Donna, Luke, you guys can follow me,” she said before leading them into a comfortable office. A large oak desk sat in front of a huge bank of books. There were two red leather chairs and an inviting couch along the opposite wall. “Just have a seat, guys,” she said, motioning them into the room.
Luke sat on the couch, making sure there was plenty of room for his wife. She, however, chose to sit in the chair furthest from him. The intake clerk in peach scrubs flipped through her clipboard. “Terry will be in to see you guys in just a second.”
They sat in an uncomfortable silence. Rita thumbed her phone, never looking up at her husband. “I’m really hoping this makes a difference, Rita. I’m committed to seein’ this work between us,” Luke said, his voice cracking a little.
“Let’s just save it for the counselor,” she replied, never looking up.
It wasn’t long before a woman wearing a multicolored vest entered the room. She had brown curly hair that fell to her shoulders and wore her glasses low on her nose. In her hand, she carried a yellow legal pad. “Good afternoon, you two. My name is Terry Gershwin, and it’s nice to meet you both in person. I’ve spoken with Luke on the phone and gotten some background info and I am so thrilled you have chosen to put in the effort on your marriage.” Her voice was calming and sweet.
Rita had put up her phone, but was giving Terry a suspicious look. “Let me ask you, how many marriages that come to you end up fallin’ apart anyway?”
Terry smiled brightly. “That’s an excellent question. I’ve seen statistics as high as 98% effectiveness rate in terms of successfully keeping marriages together. From my own practice and research, I think that the real number is closer to around 70-75%. Nothing is a home run, of course. But, that still shows that for couples who put in the work, it can really pay dividends.”
Luke shot a hopeful smile toward his wife and then looked back toward Terry. “That sounds fantastic.”
Terry pulled out a pen. “Let’s get started, then. Rita, what do you love about your husband?”
Luke could see that this was not the question his wife was expecting to start with. “Well, um, I guess he’s a good father. He provides a good life for us. He’s never hit me or run around on me that I know of.”
The therapist nodded. “That’s a great start. Now, you’ve listed some things that he ‘does.’ Try giving me some examples of things you love about the way he is.”
She finally looked over at her husband. “He’s sweet. Funny. Kind. He’s a good man.” Her voice cracked just a bit.
Terry shifted in her seat. “Luke, tell me what you love about Rita.”
He smiled, gazing at his wife. “The way she can find humor just about anywhere. She makes me feel like wherever we are is home, so long as we’re together. She gave me two amazing kids and I think we have a pretty great life. It’s not perfect, but nothin’ is. She’s the better part of me.”
Tears were welling up in Rita’s eyes as she listened. But just as soon as they formed, she forced them away with a shake of her head. She sniffed hard and wiped her eyes.
“Rita, why are you fighting these emotions?” Terry asked, jotting something down on her pad.
She let out an exasperated sigh. “I mean, that’s sweet and all. But it don’t change the fact that he’s gone more than he’s home. And when he’s home, all he wants to do is sit around the house. Nothin’ gonna change.”
Luke crossed his legs, uncomfortably. “I don’t know how many times we have to have this conversation, Rita. I’ve told you that I am more than willing to come off of the road.”
“Let’s pause here, Luke,” Terry said. “Rita, you seem resentful of Luke’s work. Let’s explore that. What is it about Luke being a truck driver do you not enjoy.”
She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Ugh, like everything!” she said exasperated. “He’s gone for weeks at a time. Leaves me alone to take care of the kids. I’m a single mother half the time at least.”
“And when he is home, how does that make you feel?” Terry asked.
Rita shifted in her seat. “Kinda cheated, I guess. He gets to go and do and see the country and I’m stuck here in Black Grass.”
Luke tried to jump in, but Terry put up a hand to keep him quiet. “Go on, Rita.”
“I just feel stuck at home all by my myself. And when he is there, he don’t wanna do nothin’. We ain’t taken but one vacation in like three years. He’s missed birthdays, holidays. And the kids treat him like a hero when he walks in the door because I have to be the mean one at home all the time.” She was working herself up as she went. Her cheeks were flush and there was a tightness in her forehead Luke could see from across the room.
Terry jotted down a few more notes. “Thank you, Rita. Luke, I need you to listen to what Rita is saying and validate her concerns. Don’t try to ‘fix’ her problems. Just let her know that you hear her.”
He scrunched up his face. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Some men have a tendency to act as problem solvers. They want to take action. From our conversation, this is the tact you have taken in the past. And it has brought you here. I want you to take a different path. Look at Rita and tell her you understand that she is upset and will work to find a way to hopefully come together.” Terry’s voice was soft but direct.
“Rita, you know I can switch to drive more local…”
“Luke!” Terry cut him off. “You’re problem-solving again. That’s not what we need right now.”
He took a deep breath and sat back on the couch, thinking. Finally, he found the words he thought might help. “I am sorry I am not there for you like you need me to be. I am sorry you feel alone. I understand you are not happy and I am willing to do what it takes to make this work.”
“Rita, how does that make you feel?” Terry asked.
She shook her head. “Fine, I guess. But it don’t matter. He’ll be gone again in a few days and I’ll be right back were I was.”
Terry looked down at her notes. “Luke, you just told Rita that you were willing to do anything to make this work. Does that include changing jobs?”
Luke nodded his head, trying to hide his annoyance. “I’ve been sayin’ that for months now.”
“Then how we gonna afford the boat and the side-by-side and the mortgage and all a that? How we gonna feed your kids?” Rita harped, matching his frustrated tone.
Terry held up a hand, showing her palm to the couple. “Ok, ok. This seems to be a well rehearsed argument. Let’s go at it from another angle. Rita, what do you want out of life?”
“To be happy, I guess,” she said quickly.
“And what makes you happy?” Terry asked.
She sat there for a minute, quietly. It surprised him she was actually taking this much effort to come up with an answer. “I love goin’ places. I love eatin’ at nice restaurants. I love takin’ my kids to the lake and lettin’ ‘em fish and swim.”
Luke nodded his head. “Sounds right,” he thought.
“Now, what are you doing to achieve your bliss?” Terry chimed in.
Rita’s face pursed in confusion. “What do you mean?”
Terry jotted something down. “What are you doing to make your life as meaningful and pleasant as possible on a daily basis? We all want to be happy, and there are various ways to define being happy. So, we as individuals must put in the work toward finding our own happiness. It isn’t fair to expect happiness to just land in your lap.”
Luke watched his wife try to take all of that in. He thought about what brought him happiness and if he was putting in the work himself and felt a little selfish that maybe he was happier than his wife.
“I-uh, I guess I’m not doing that work, am I?” she said. “How do I, what do I do to start?”
Terry sat down her notebook. “We can start on that next time. If you both feel that there should be a next time. I would love to work with you both.”
He nodded and looked over to his wife. “I’m all in. Rita?”
She shrugged her shoulders and pulled a tissue out of her purse. “I guess,” she said, wiping her nose.
“Wonderful!” Terry said. “Then, I have some homework for you. I want you both to make two lists: one list should have goals for yourself as an individual for things that make you happy. The other will be a list of goals for you both as a couple that will make you happy. This can be as simple as a date to Martha’s Diner all the way to a Caribbean Cruise. I don’t want to give too many examples, just things that will make you both happy.”
They both rose from their seats and Luke walked over to shake Terry’s hand. “Thank you so much,” he said as they all walked out the door.
“Same time next week work for you two?” the young woman at the check-in desk asked as they walked past.
Luke looked over to his wife, who gave a halfhearted nod. “We will be here,” he said.
In the parking lot, Luke walked Rita over to her car. “I appreciate you doing this. I know you don’t like talkin’ about stuff, but I think it will help.”
She reached up and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Me and the kids are havin’ Thanksgiving dinner with mom and daddy next Thursday at three. You should come.”
His face opened into a beaming grin. “Can I bring anything?” he asked.
“Pop. Water maybe. We’ve all had your cookin’ enough to know better than to ask for more than that,” she said, grinning for the first time today that Luke could remember.
He closed her door and waved as she drove off. For the first time in months, he felt a sliver of hope.
Week 46 - Election Day
Politics in Central Appalachia has been a complicated topic for decades. Corruption in the form of bribes and kickbacks from the big coal companies who were more worried about profits than people left the region in the hands of leaders who didn’t always have the locals’ best interest at heart. As the coal business dried up, a vacuum was left, with little in terms of economic development happening in much of the region. Luckily, a new type of politician has stepped up to fill the roles needed to lead the region to greater prosperity. One such leader is high school English teacher Will Turner.
Politics in Central Appalachia has been a complicated topic for decades. Corruption in the form of bribes and kickbacks from the big coal companies who were more worried about profits than people left the region in the hands of leaders who didn’t always have the locals’ best interest at heart. As the coal business dried up, a vacuum was left, with little in terms of economic development happening in much of the region. Luckily, a new type of politician has stepped up to fill the roles needed to lead the region to greater prosperity. One such leader is high school English teacher Will Turner.
Will started his day as he does most; quick shower and shave, kiss from his wife and they both rush out the door to enlighten the minds of students in Peril County. He had decided to run for State Representative late in the game and would not be on the ballot. Instead, he would be a write-in candidate. He had done the research and knew how unlikely a win would be. But, undeterred, Will had met with almost every household in the district and made his case in public speaking events. And today was the day he’d been working toward: Election Day.
He had thought his time in the classroom was over last spring, but a change in the legislation that decimated teacher retirement meant that he would be spending at least a few more years teaching The Canterbury Tales and Beowulf, among other things. Walking into the Peril County High School building, Will received many handshakes and well wishes from colleagues and students alike. There was a Will for the Win poster on his door that one of his students had made for him. Despite his attempts to keep his political aspirations separate from his teaching, his students had taken a keen interest in the race.
His first batch of students slowly trickled into the room and began doing their bell ringer questions.
What do you want to be when you grow up?
Why?
How will you achieve this goal?
After the final bell rang, Mr. Turner submitted his attendance electronically and stood to address his class. “Good morning, everyone. We’re starting a new writing assignment today. And this is one of my favorites because it has real-world applications. Some of you who attend college will write several term papers after graduation. Some of you will attend trade school and maybe not write much more academic stuff. But every one of you will need what we are starting today; a resume and cover letter.”
Will spent the next twenty minutes going around the room, talking with the students about their goals for the future. Many wanted to go to college. A few planned to go to the tech school across town. One girl wanted to be a chef. “Maybe you can cook something for us at the end of the semester, Chloe. Now, let’s get down to resumes and cover letters. Have any of you done one of these before.” No hands shot up and most faces looked confused. “Who knows what a resume is?” Still no looks of recognition.
He walked to his desk and pulled up a document on his smart board. “Here’s my resume. It’s just a document that lists my work experience and qualifications.” For the next few minutes, he walked his class through the finer points of a resume, taking time to answer questions and give insights on why this was an important topic.
Before long the bell rang, and the students collected their things and started for the door. “Good luck tonight!” he heard from a few of the students as they left. The rest of the day pretty much followed this same pattern, with the exception of Scotty Pugh projectile vomiting in his doorway during sixth period. He could smell sour milk and lunchroom pizza for the rest of the day.
Once his day had finished, Mr. Turner signed out and drove to the Baker’s Fork Firehouse about ten miles out of town. There were several cars parked in front of the grey brick building. Ed and Edna Wilson were washing the mud from a new fire engine at the side of the building. They both waved as Will made his way into the fire station.
“Well, Howdy-do, Mr. Turner. You been quite the talk ‘round here today!” Old Man Howard Begley sat at the head of the polling station, checking everyone in. He wasn’t quite as old as he looked, which was good, because he looked about dead. He hacked and coughed as he pointed to the line for Will to sign and then directed him to an empty polling machine. The Baker’s Fork site was one of the larger polling stations in Peril County, having three machines to use. Two were the old, paper machines that had been around for over thirty years. But they also had one digital machine, and that is the one Will walked to.
He scanned the ballot, checking off names for the national races as he went. Will prided himself on being a staunch moderate, not blindly following any party line. Once he came to the State Representative Race for his district, he was careful to select the “Other” option. A digital keyboard appeared on the screen and Will was able to type in his own name. “Easy enough,” he thought. “Just hope other folks thought so too.”
Once finished, he reviewed his selections and smashed the big red “SUBMIT” button to his right. The machine made an odd, crunching noise and a “Thank You!” message appeared on the screen.
“Think ye got’che a shot?” Mr. Begley asked as Will walked toward the door.
“We will find out in a few hours, I suppose,” he replied and let the door close behind him. Will gave another wave to the Wilsons as he drove out of the parking lot. He pointed his car toward his home and hit the gas.
Turning up the radio, Will heard the local news report say a record low turnout was expected for today's race. He shook his head. “Nobody cares,” he sighed.
Will’s wife Alma was sittin’ on the porch when he pulled into the driveway of their home. “You go vote already?” he asked her as he walked up the steps.
“I went before work. Was that Begley man still there?” She was nursing a beer.
Will nodded. “Yeah, he signed me in.”
She shuddered. “That feller would creep out the crypt keeper!”
They both laughed a little.
“Anything exciting happen at the middle school today?” he asked her.
She shook her head and took another drink. “Folks just askin’ about you and this election. Everbody says they hope you win.”
Will raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side a little. “I’m not getting my hopes up. Steward Walker is a successful businessman over in Harlan with a lot of resources. I just want to make a respectable showing.”
Alma polished off her beer and they went inside the house. The afternoon news was on in the kitchen and almost every story dealt with the election in some form or fashion. “And with polls closing in just over an hour, we should get reports to you as soon as they come in,” WEKT’s Jim Morgan said through the television.
The pair worked together to prepare a delicious dinner of stuffed pasta shells, shrimp skewers, and grilled veggies. That, and a half a bottle of white wine later, Will agreed to do the dishes. In truth, he was just looking for anything to keep his hands busy and his mind off of the election. Logically, he knew that the likelihood of winning the House seat was extremely low. But, he had somehow allowed himself to hope, even just a little.
“Will, honey. Can you run in here?” There was an excitement in her voice that caught him off guard. Walking into the living room, Alma sat on the couch, holding the remote to the television, smiling. He glanced up to the screen to see his name, along with Stewart Walker and Horace Griffith. With forty-seven percent of the precincts in, Will was winning by eighty-seven votes.
It took Will a moment to realize what was happening. Up until that moment, he hadn’t allowed himself to accept that this was actually possible. Sure, he was standing up for teachers and making a statement. But, this could happen. A wave of equal parts excitement and panic washed over him. In a low grumble of a voice, “Oh, wow” was all he could say.
For the next few hours, the couple sat in their living room, answering phone calls from friends and neighbors, replying to texts and messages online and constantly checking the reports. The incumbent, Stewart Walker, was his closest competitor. Will could feel his heart racing as the totals kept climbing, and he remained ahead, if only by a hundred votes or so.
“We’ve got a tight one over in Peril and Harlan Counties,” WEKT’s Jim Morgan said on the screen. “Long time State Representative Stewart Walker is currently trailing Will Turner. Turner, a write-in candidate, is a school teacher who is running to oppose Walker’s actions taken against teachers in the Spring. With seventy-five percent of the precincts reporting, Turner has a slim lead. We will keep an eye on this one throughout the night.”
Will was as anxious as he could ever remember. He looked over to see Alma biting her nails, matching his excitement. “Mr. Turner goes to Frankfort,” she said with a smile. The phone kept ringing and texts kept pouring in. “We should have had a party!” Alma said as she got up to make some popcorn.
“Not over yet!” said the pragmatic school teacher.
The late night news open blared through the screen and Jim Morgan sat at his desk with a laptop off to his side. “Good evening, East Kentucky. This has been an Election Day for the record books. We’ve got final results for most of the national and regional races and many of the local ones as well. Let’s take a look.” He started reading through the totals for the US Senate and Representative races; some old faces, some new. Will kept his eyes glued to the bottom of the screen where a ticker rolled with continuous updates of races, hoping to get a glimpse of his.
Alma was finishing up her popcorn when Jim Morgan said “And it was a barnburner of a race in Harlan and Peril Counties tonight, incumbent Stewart Walker comes from behind to beat write-in candidate Will Turner by just thirty-seven votes in one of the tightest races we’ve seen here tonight. Again, Stewart Walker keeps the State Representative seat for his district.”
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry!” Alma said, putting her head on Will’s shoulder.
He kissed the top of her head and leaned into her a little. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. But, honestly, this is not terrible news. Think of it this way. I came into the race three months ago as a write-in candidate and folks liked what I was saying so much they took the effort to do that.” He shifted in his seat so he could face her. “Imagine having the next two years to get out and talk to people and really try to spread the word about making a difference.”
Alma smiled. “You wanna keep pursuing it? I’m all for it if you are.”
“We just started working on resumes in class today. I wouldn’t mind adding State Representative onto mine,” he said with a grin.
Week 45 - Trick or Treat
Halloween in Black Grass has changed a lot over the last few decades. What was once a night of mischief and terror, with teens committing what would now be considered acts of domestic terrorism, has now become a parade of pirates and zombies, super heroes and cheerleaders, all marching through downtown, trying to fill as many bags of candy as they can in the allotted two hours. It wasn’t too long ago that you would have burning logs dragged across the main stretch of road in Grassy Branch. Or get eggs thrown at your car if you drove toward the Wallins area. These days, however, things had settled down into a nice family event where parents and grandparents walked their kids through downtown, greeting friends and neighbors and snapping pictures as they went.
Halloween in Black Grass has changed a lot over the last few decades. What was once a night of mischief and terror, with teens committing what would now be considered acts of domestic terrorism, has now become a parade of pirates and zombies, super heroes and cheerleaders, all marching through downtown, trying to fill as many bags of candy as they can in the allotted two hours. It wasn’t too long ago that you would have burning logs dragged across the main stretch of road in Grassy Branch. Or get eggs thrown at your car if you drove toward the Wallins area. These days, however, things had settled down into a nice family event where parents and grandparents walked their kids through downtown, greeting friends and neighbors and snapping pictures as they went.
Businesses in downtown love to take part in the annual Halloween Trick-or-Treat event, decorating storefronts, setting up tables for giveaways and many even getting in on dressing up for the occasion. Fred Jones always dressed like a mad scientist and had some sort of gross out treat for the kids to try. This year it was bloody eyeball candy. Martha’s Diner had cases of homemade mini pumpkin hand pies ready to give out. And the bank was cleaning out their extra large popcorn machine in preparation for tonight's festivities on the corner of Main St.
“Don’t you think we’re too old to trick-or-treat, Kyle?” Janie asked her brother as they walked up and down the costume aisle at the Super-center. Cheap plastic and nylon shaped into various characters lined both sides of the shelves.
He scoffed at the idea. “First, how can anyone be too old for free candy? And two, what else are we gonna do? Hand out treat bags at mom’s office? That’s sounds terrible!”
She shuffled through the costumes. “We could do a scary movie marathon. I bet mom would let us invite some friends over. I can make popcorn balls and cupcakes.” Janie loved to cook and the idea of having a little get together was right up her alley.
Kyle grabbed a red and black plastic pitchfork and shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe after? I think Bloody Guts 5 is online for free this weekend. We could watch that.”
Janie scrunched up her nose and shook her head. She knew her brother loved those gross out gore-fest movies, but they weren’t for her. She liked the old black and white ones from the 30s and 40s. the best. “We can figure out the movie later. Do you wanna have a little get together or not? We gotta decide because tomorrow is Halloween!”
“Ask mom if we can. After we trick or treat!”
A deal was struck, and a proposition was made. Soon, five young teens had organized a plan of attack for All Hallows’s Eve. Janie, Kyle, and the Thompson twins, Jack and Diane, were sort of friends by default as they were both boy/girl twins in the freshman class at Peril County High. So these four were all set for a night of frivolity when Kyle and Janie’s mom insisted that Adeline Wells also tag along. Adeline had babysat for the twins when they were all a little younger, so she had a good relationship with them. The fact that she was getting $20 for the night was just icing on the cake.
The evening began as the five of them met at Martha’s Diner. Kyle dressed in a blue workman’s jumpsuit and creepy white mask. The plastic knife he carried added to the unsettling effect. Janie and Diane wore poodle skirts and satin jackets. Their matching makeup and hair made them look ready-made for the malt shop. Jack Thompson was a quiet sort of kid, creative and introverted. He’d made his own costume to be an authentic robot, but now that he was inside an aluminum drum with metallic tubing for arms and legs and a helmet that weighed almost as much as he did, he was second guessing his choices. Adeline wore a simple black top, jeans and a witch's hat. She had also brought along a magic wand topped with a green star that sparkled and played music whenever she waved it.
“Alright, so here’s the deal,” Kyle explained. “We do a loop through town, then up to High St. and over to Skyline Park. They were givin’ out full sized candy bars at a few of those houses last year. Then, down to the park for the trunk’r’treat folks, and we’re done. Everyone got it?”
Janie wanted to call him out for being bossy, but she had to admit, it was a pretty good plan. And off they went down Main St. where City Hall had little juice bottles they were handing out. There were four tables in front of the courthouse with the County Judge, the Clerk’s office staff, the Sheriff, and County Attorney all lined up. With candy in hand, the elected officials smiled and dished out the sweets. It didn’t hurt that many of them were up for reelection in just a week. The line at the bank stretched back a whole block, as everyone knew they had the best candy downtown, as well as freshly made popcorn. Adeline didn’t have a bag of her own but made it a point to snag some of that salty, buttery goodness.
“I need another bag!” Kyle said, looking down at the bulging one he was carrying. Diane, Jack, and Janie were all equally weighted down with candy, so they decided to swing by Mrs. Smith’s law office to drop off their take and head back out.
Mrs. Smith, along with her paralegal, Jonathan, dressed as bacon and eggs as they handed out candy in front of her office. A steady stream of vampires and soldiers wandered past and stuck out their bags to be filled. “Done already?” she asked as the five approached.
Kyle shook his head. “Not even close. Just need new bags!” he said, showing her their plunder.
“Lord, I’ll never afford the dentist bill!” she said dramatically.
The kids placed their bags of candy inside the office and started toward Skyline Park. This was long considered the nicer section of Black Grass, as the old money in the community lived here. Well-manicured lawns with late-model cars in the driveway were the norm here. The sidewalks were filled with trick-or-treaters, the vast majority of which from other areas in the community. Kyle led his brigade up one side lane and down another, where each house had elaborate decorations ranging from spooky to sparkly. Light displays of holographic pumpkins singing spooky songs, animatronic skeletons, monsters popping out of bushes, and fog machines shooting out a mystical haze all worked together to create an amazing atmosphere of the season.
It didn’t take long for their four new bags to be filled with more candy than the last ones. A crisp wind blew through the trees as they started back toward downtown.
“This costume is killing me!” Jack said, taking off his helmet.
Janie looked over at him and smiled. “I think it’s pretty cool. And you, like, made it, and stuff. Pretty cool.”
Jack dropped his chin in a sheepish smile. His hand felt warm as Janie took it in her own as they walked back toward the law office. Town was clearing out now and most of the businesses had put up their tables and displays.
Mrs. Smith was putting up her egg costume as the kids came in the lobby of her office. “You guys have fun?” she asked. They each held up their bags of candy, showing off their tremendous take. “Ready to go home?”
Adeline walked over to Mrs. Smith and gave her a hug. “Thanks for letting me hang out with this gang of ghoulies tonight!” she said, looking back at the two sets of twins.
“Thank you for chaperoning,” Mrs. Smith said.
Zack gave an incredulous look to his mother, letting her know that he did not approve of this subterfuge. “You coming over for a movie?” Janie asked Jack and Diane.
“Sure!”
“Love to!”
There was a sound out in front of the building. “Zach, honey, I left a table out there. Will you go bring that in for me?” Mrs. Smith asked. He sat down his candy and his knife and walked out to the sidewalk. Standing in front of the office was a small girl, no older than five. She was dressed in a tattered princess dress that at one point was pink, but was now mostly gray. Someone had attempted to do her hair, but the result was mostly a matted mess now. Tears filled her eyes as she stood, looking down Main St.
“You ok?” Zack asked once he saw how upset she was.
She turned to him, sorrowful. “We missed tricks or treats. And now I can’t find my daddy,” her voice cracked and wavered.
Zack’s heart melted seeing the little girl so upset. “Well, trick or treat isn’t over here. Do you have a bag?”
She shook her head.
“Ok, give me a second.” He darted inside and grabbed his two bags of candy. Janie saw what he was doing and followed him quietly to the door. “Now, you know what to say?” he asked the sad little princess.
“Tricks or treats?” she said.
Zach reached out both bags of candy. “I pick treat. I’d hate for you to pull a trick on me.” Chocolate bars and gum drops, gummy worms and lollypops; so much candy it was literally spilling over the top of the bags onto the sidewalk.
The little girl's eyes widened, and a huge smile spread across her face. “Is this for me? All of this?” she asked.
“Guess you didn’t miss trick-or-treat after all, huh?”
A rusted out pickup pulled into the parking spot directly in front of the office. The sound of a horn honking jolted Zack and the little girl, momentarily. Suddenly, a scrawny man wearing a stained white tank top, green sweatpants and flip flops exited the vehicle. His head was shaved close to the scalp and the few teeth he had were either brown or black. “Neveah Jean, what the hell ‘er you a doin? I been lookin’ all over this town fer you!” His speech was slow and slurred.
“She’s ok, mister. She’s just trick-or-treatin’. See, she got her some candy.” Zach could feel that something wasn’t quite right, but didn’t know exactly what to do.
Mrs. Smith heard the commotion and came out to the sidewalk. “Everyone ok out here. That you Sam?” There was a forced pleasantness in her voice Zack didn’t like.
“Yeah. Neveah Jean here done run’t off from me. Fount her here with yer boy.”
Zach looked up at his mother, confused. “I just gave her some candy.”
“It’s fine, pal,” she said to him. Then, turning to Sam, “Well, happy Halloween, Sam.” She turned to the door and put her hand on Zack’s shoulder. He resisted, trying to signal for her to wait.
Sam stumbled forward and ushered his daughter toward the truck.
“Thanks for the candy,” she said meekly to Zack.
“G’on girl!” Sam croaked.
Zack looked at his mother with wide eyes, pleading with her to do something. “We’re having a little Halloween party this evening. Would she like to come?” he blurted out.
He could feel his mother tighten as he said it. After an uncomfortable moment of silence she said, “I’ll even pay for your dinner at Martha’s while you’re waitin’ on her. How does that sound?”
Sam rubbed his head. “Naw, we gots to get goin.”
“Please, daddy. I’d like to go. Just for a little while.”
He looked down at his daughter. Zack watched as his mother pulled $50 from her purse and walked it over to the man. “My treat. Let her come watch a movie and eat some popcorn. I’ll meet you back down here at midnight.”
With a rough swipe of his hand, Sam took the cash and stumbled toward his truck. “I’ll be at Martha’s,” he said and drove off down Main St.
Mrs. Smith motioned for Janie to come outside. “Sweetie, this is Nevaeh Jean. She’s gonna come to our Halloween party. Take her on in.” Janie took the small girl by the hand and led her into the office.
Turning to her son, Mrs. Smith had a stern look on her face. “Zack, I’m not sure exactly what just happened. Do you know who that was?”
He shook his head.
“Buddy, that’s the biggest dope dealer in the county. He’s dangerous. He’s mean. Now, that girl is his only daughter, and you just invited her for snacks and a movie at our house.”
A tear welled up in his eye. “She was sad mom. She missed Halloween. And she was alone. She needs a friend. And I thought we could help her. Even if it’s just a little.”
Mrs. Smith pulled her son in for a tight hug. “You’re a good kid. I don’t care what your sister says about you. You’re a good kid!”
They both laughed.
As they came into the office Nevaeh Jean was playing with the other kids. “Alright, who wants to go eat popcorn and cookies and watch a scary movie?” Mrs. Smith asked.
They all screamed “ME!” in unison as if they had practiced it.
“And no Bloody Guts 5!” Janie said.
“No. We’ll let Nevaeh pick,” Kyle answered.
Week 44 - The ghost walk
A tall man stood in an open field. A raging orange bonfire blazed at his side. In front of him were three rows of hay bails, awaiting visitors to use as seats. He was dressed in faded jeans and an old Peril County High School letterman’s jacket. The night sky was filled with countless stars and just a hint of clouds crossing over a waning moon.
A tall man stood in an open field. A raging orange bonfire blazed at his side. In front of him were three rows of hay bails, awaiting visitors to use as seats. He was dressed in faded jeans and an old Peril County High School letterman’s jacket. The night sky was filled with countless stars and just a hint of clouds crossing over a waning moon.
Lou and Donna were in the middle of a group of around thirty who found themselves walking up to this tall man and his bonfire. They held hands and huddled close to one another, fighting off the chill of the night. There were plenty of hay bails for everyone as they all found places to sit and listen.
“You will hear many stories tonight,” the tall man said, his voice deep and clear. “Some are for fright. Some are for fun. Mine is different. Mine is a tale of warning. Because this tale is true. I know, because it happened to me!”
Donna sat, rapt in wonder. She had been coming to the Ghost Walk in Black Grass since she was a little girl. This storytelling fundraiser for the local library was a decades-long tradition that featured community members telling ghost stories at various locations across town. And, of course, there was coffee, hot chocolate, pizza, and ice cream for sale after you finished.
The tall man continued his tale. Donna had heard this one before; the one about the hitchhiking girl. This speaker was a frequent participant at the event and must be running out of stories, she thought. Looking over at Lou, she saw her partner checking her email. “What are you doing?” she whispered forcefully.
It took the stab of a sharp elbow to grab Lou’s attention. “I’m lookin’ for a shipment announcement for the shop. I need a set of tires for Ustice Jenkins’ truck and they didn’t come in today.” She matched her girlfriend’s whisper.
Donna gave a wide-eyed look and motioned to the tall storyteller, signaling to pay attention. Lou nodded and put her phone in her coat pocket.
“She said her name was Mary. She was wearing a sundress. Yellow with blue flowers if I remember. And I thought it was much too cold that night for her to be walking that lonely road with no coat. So, I offered her mine.” The tall story teller slipped off his jacket and pantomimed putting it around the shoulders of someone else.
The first time Donna had heard this story, she remembered, was probably ten years prior. She had just started high school and hadn’t met Lou yet. This story, she suddenly realized was a huge turning point for her. When she first heard this tale, it became clear that she wasn’t interested in a boy putting his coat around her shoulders. She wanted to take care of the girl! It would take a couple more years to articulate exactly what she was feeling and finally meeting Lou would seal the deal. But this was the first step on her road to true acceptance and happiness.
She realized she’d zoned out for a few minutes as the tall-teller continued. “When I got back to her house the next morning, it looked abandoned. I knocked on the door, but it just creaked open. Inside, sitting just by the door, I found my letterman’s jacket, hanging from the back of a chair. And a Peril County High School yearbook, dated 1958. Inside the front cover was a picture of a beautiful young girl. It read “Dedicated to the memory of Mary Whitaker.” The girl in the picture looked exactly like the girl I drove home just the night before.”
Donna squeezed Lou’s hand and leaned into her shoulder. She’d never thought about the importance of this story in her life before tonight. The thought of sharing this with Lou crossed her mind, but she decided to keep this little memory private.
The tall story teller slipped his letterman’s jacket back on and directed the group to their next destination. They walked past a few spooky scenes, with witches cackling and a fog machine at one and zombies rattling the bars of a cage at another. Lou perked up for these a little. “Wanna go to the Haunted Forrest after this?” she asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe? Are you having fun?”
Lou took a swig of coffee from an oversized tumbler. “I’m with you, right?” she said, giving her girlfriend a wink.
After a few minutes walk, they arrived at their next stop. In the back corner of an abandoned parking lot, an older woman in an antique dress sat quietly knitting in a rocking chair. Her skin was dark and crinkled around the edges, like thin paper. Her white hair was tied up in a bun and a shawl was draped around her shoulders. An old coal oil lamp sat burning on a wooden table to her side, creating long grey shadows on the concrete walls.
Again, rows of hay bails lay in front of the storyteller, awaiting guests to take their seats. A family of five took up most of the front row, so Donna and Lou hung towards the back.
“Well, fancy meetin’ y’all here tonight,” the old woman started. “I ‘spect y’all wantin’ ta hear a story. I got one for ya. My granddaddy’s grandaddy was the first free black man to own a parcel a land here in Peril County. At least, that’s according to my great-grand-maw, anyway. He was a farmer who worked the land up on what is now known as Topper’s Bluff. I see a look of recognition in some a y’alls eyes out there. Local folks knows that Topper’s Bluff is one a the most haunted places in Peril County. And this is the story as to why.”
Lou leaned over to Donna. “Is there really a place called Topper’s Bluff?” She seemed skeptical.
She nodded. “It’s past Preacher’s Fork up the river. About twenty minutes from town.”
The seasoned storyteller continued to spin a yarn about a family of abolitionists who lived on the creek and welcomed her ancestor’s family to live and work as equals. And, as this was the height of the Civil War, some folks didn’t take too kindly to any of this. The family had a son everyone called “Topper” because he spent most of his days in the tops of trees. And soon Topper began spending a lot of time with a young girl named June from across the creek.
“Some folks will turn they noses up today at a white boy and a black girl spendin’ time together. So, just imagine what it musta been like way back when,” she said. The old storyteller took her knitting needles and placed them on the table, turning to better face her audience. “Well, roads in those parts ain’t like they is today. So folks traveled in the creek a lot of the time. Topper’s mommy and daddy had gone to town for supplies, so it was just him and June that was at the homestead when a small troupe of Confederate soldiers came ridin’ down the way. June and Topper was where they usually was, up in the top a some tree when they first heard the horses ploppin’ in the water. So, he climbed down, leavin’ June to hide. He met the men with a rifle at the gate of their farm. It seemed they was wantin’ to commandeer horses and provisions for the war effort. Well, ol’ Topper wasn’t about to let that happen.”
“You think this really happened?” Lou asked Donna.
“I’ve heard a version of it before, when I was a kid,” she replied.
Coming gingerly to her feet, the storyteller continued. “Well, Topper pacified them men with a pound of flour and some salt bacon. More worried about them seein’ June than anything, he just wanted ‘em gone. They seemed satisfied to be gettin’ a free meal and went about their way. Once the horses couldn’t be heard, he motioned for her to climb down. ‘Run on home, June,’ he said. ‘And tell your daddy they’s bad men aroun’!’ It was the next mornin’ when June went back over to see Topper and check on him. And what she fount planted a seed in her nightmares for the rest a her days. Them rebel boys must a not taken kindly to what went down. Maybe they seen young June and Topper hidden in the trees. Maybe they didn’t. But what they did when they came back was just somethin’ awful.”
“I can’t believe she’s telling this. There’s kids here, like five-year-olds!” Donna whispered to Lou. Her partner shot back a confused face and then looked back to the storyteller.
The old lady sat back down in her chair, seemingly exhausted. She shook her head and picked up her knitting once again. “Them Rebel boys must a come back in the night. I don’t know if they seen June with Topper. I don’t know if they was just mad they didn’t get enough bacon. But they treated that boy worse’er than you would your worst enemy. The first thing June seen was the drag marks on the creek bank. Streaks of blood and cloth and Lord knows what else for long stretches on either side of the bank in front of the farm. They must a dragged that poor boy behind their horses for hours. But it wasn’t until she turned up the creek to the farm that her heart broke in two. She found him hanging, splayed open like a deer. They hadn’t left much, but what was there was a sight no young girl should have ta witness. Had a little pocketknife is her dress, bless it. And she cut him out a that tree. The same one they was in just the day before. An’ she helt on to that poor boy til his mama and daddy made it back to the farm.”
“Now, ever since that night, they say if the moon is hangin’ just right and the creek isn’t runnin’ too high, you can hear those horses ploppin’ through the water. You can hear those Rebel boys shootin’ off their guns. And you can hear young Topper hollerin’ for help as they drag him through them rocks. But on a very special night, they say you might even see Topper. And he’ll be holdin’ hands with a young black girl. They’ll be wadin’ knee deep in the creek, laughing, Topper and June. And I can tell you that young June grew up to be my Great-Great-Great-Great Grand Mama, and she is the reason that I was named June all a those years ago.”
The crowd began to applaud, but Ms. June just waved them off. She thanked them for coming and sent them off to the next stop on the tour. “That was amazing!” Lou said. “How have I not heard that?”
“When I was in middle school, a few of us went camping up there one night. Never heard anything, but we still scared ourselves so bad that we left just after midnight.” She put her head on Lou’s shoulder.
Lou wrapped her arm around Donna. “You ever get scared or worried about what people think about us? Two girls, one dark-skinned, one light-skinned, bein’ out and open in Peril County?”
“I’ve thought about it, sure. But nothin’ will ever change if folks don’t change it. Us showin’ this town that there ain’t nothin’ wrong with two ladies livin’ and lovin’ together is a good thing. Besides, I think Black Grass is a lot more tolerant than folks might give it credit.” She took Lou by the hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
The pair walked along, side by side, to the next storyteller.
week 43 - The Scare-a-thon fundraiser
“What do you mean slutty nurse ain’t an appropriate costume?” Amber Lynn was shuffling through the bagged costumes at Halloween City, the pop-up store filled with seasonal goodies. From cheap makeup and costumes to elaborate yard decorations and haunted house props, if you need it at Halloween, you’ll find it at Halloween City.
Skye, her roommate and best friend, was across the aisle from her, looking for a costume of her own. “I didn’t say it wasn’t appropriate. I said that you should dress as something different than your everyday wardrobe.” She tried to keep from laughing at her own private joke.
“What do you mean slutty nurse ain’t an appropriate costume?” Amber Lynn was shuffling through the bagged costumes at Halloween City, the pop-up store filled with seasonal goodies. From cheap makeup and costumes to elaborate yard decorations and haunted house props, if you need it at Halloween, you’ll find it at Halloween City.
Skye, her roommate and best friend, was across the aisle from her, looking for a costume of her own. “I didn’t say it wasn’t appropriate. I said that you should dress as something different than your everyday wardrobe.” She tried to keep from laughing at her own private joke.
Amber stood there in the middle of the store, thinking. “Are you saying I dress like a slutty nurse every day? I mean, I do. So, I guess you have a point.” They both laughed.
A huge red dragon roared and spit smoke and fog in the corner of the store. That section was decorated in Medieval-themed costumes and magic-school robes. Amber pranced over to take a look around. “What about a sexy school girl?” she asked across two rows to Skye.
“Brittany did it better!” Skye said as she joined her friend.
They shuffled through the rows of costumes: Sexy Pirate. Sassy Harlequin. Slutty Pumpkin. “Why do all these costumes have such sexist descriptions on them?” Skye asked.
“Everyone wants to be hot and slutty on Halloween. It’s, like, tradition.” Amber’s eyes widened as she saw something on the top rack. “Awe, hell’s yeah!” she said as she reached above her head and pulled down a “Fierce Feline Cat Suit” costume. It was black pleather with a tiny domino mask, cat ears, and a plunging neckline. “This is perfect!”
Skye, on the other side of the aisle, was also holding a bagged costume, smiling. “I think I found mine, too,” she said.
“I’m gonna be one fine piece of big titty kitty in this right here,” Amber Lynn said as she stared down at the model’s pic of her costume. “What’d you get, hot stuff?”
Skye held up a bag showing an old-school female baseball player. “I’m gonna be a Peach!”
“What the hell is a Peach?”
“It’s from that old movie. About the girls who played baseball. My mom and I watched it all the time. I’m gonna be just like Dottie, and May, and Marla and all of the girls.” Excitement was just running off of Skye.
Amber Lynn shook her head. “I mean, if that’s what you want, sure. But if you think that’s gonna get Mr. Cincinnati’s motor runnin’, I think you got another thing comin’!”
Skye frowned and slumped her shoulders. “I been meanin’ to tell you, Trenton ain’t comin’. Said he got called in to work this weekend. Ain’t nobody can switch with him, either.”
“That’s what, like twice he’s flaked on you. Girl, you better off ditchin’ that sack a monkey crap now. There’s gonna be a ton a hot guys at this party tomorrow!”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I mean, I really like him. Long-distance relationships are just hard, I guess. I was really lookin’ forward to him comin’ to Peril County for once, too.”
The next evening, the two young nurses arrived at the Black Grass Community College campus, where the annual All Hallows’s Eve Scare-a-Thon was being held. Every year, local charities gather for an evening of dinner and dancing, costumes, and cocktails, to raise money for the many good causes in and around the community. Dr. Vance Logan had purchased a table for the event and asked that Amber Lynn and Skye attend as his guests.
“I hate havin’ to park in Bum-fudgin’-Egypt just to get to this party! There should be a shuttle er somethin’,” Amber Lynn complained. VIP Parking was next to the building, but they were about a mile away, in the student lot. If she were being honest, it was the costume constantly riding up her rear and the blister currently forming on her ankle that were setting her off. But, she wanted to look good for the handsome doctor. While he had never asked her out, there had been some definite flirting between the two over the last months and she took tonight as a great sign he was, in fact, interested.
Skye, wearing sensible sneakers and a comfortable costume, took her friend’s complaining in stride. “You just need to get a few drinks in you, and you’ll be fine.”
“That’s not all I need to get in me tonight!”
They signed in at the front door and were directed to table 12. Inside the conference room, immaculate decorations stretched from the floor across the top of the ceiling. Spooky trees seemed to grow in every corner and the walls actually swayed with cobwebs. Eerie stringed lights and lanterns hung in the air, giving off a ghostly glow. Each table sat dressed with black lace cloths, candles, and black roses. Clearly, a lot of work had gone into getting this space ready for an amazing event.
“Ladies, you look wonderful!” Dr. Logan said as they approached the table. He was dressed as Frankenstein’s Monster, complete with a squared-off head, green face, and bolts in his neck. His already tall frame was accentuated by a long coat that draped below his knees. He motioned for them to take a seat. “I’m sure you know Dr. Hopkins and his wife Martha.” Sitting across the table was a couple in their late 50s, dressed as Dracula and Vampira. Dr. Hopkins was the administrative head of the hospital, and not someone either Skye or Amber Lynn had expected.
“Dr. Hopkins! I didn’t notice you in your costume. Great to see you. And you Mrs. Hopkins.” Amber Lynn was doing her best to hide the awkward feeling of seeing her boss at a social event. It reminded her of when she was a kid and running into a teacher outside of school. She suddenly became very aware that her breasts were virtually exposed in her cat costume. “Well, shit! No use worryin’ about it now!” she thought.”
The older doctor rose to his feet and greeted both young ladies. “I’m so glad you both decided to make it. When I suggested to Vance that he invite you two, he wasn’t sure you’d come. We have some gentlemen we’d love to introduce you to.”
Something was off. Amber Lynn could feel it. She just couldn’t put her finger on it.
“Hey babe! You find the bar ok?”
She looked over to see a striking woman dressed as the Bride of Frankenstein giving Dr. Logan a warm kiss.
“No problem. Got you a screwdriver. And for our two vampires; Bloody Marys!” She handed out drinks to the other folks at the table. Then, she finally noticed Amber Lynn and Skye. “Well, hey you two. You must be Skye and Amie Lynn. Vance and Wilber have told me so much about you.”
Dr. Logan put his arm around the Bride of Frankenstein. “Ladies, this is Hannah, my fiancé. Hannah, this is Skye and Amber Lynn; the two best nurses at our hospital! I’m hoping you can help me talk both of them into moving down to the ER with me.”
Amber Lynn could feel the blood rushing from her head. She was an idiot. A complete idiot. How could she have read the signs so wrong? “He was flirting with me, right? Jesus, I’m such an asshole!” she thought.
Skye stuck out her hand toward Hannah. “Pleasure to meet’cha, Hannah.” They shook hands. She nudged Amber Lynn with her elbow and her friend did the same.
“I think I called you Amie before, sorry about that,” Hannah said. Amber Lynn thought her smile was akin to a cat staring at a birdcage.
The music suddenly faded down and a blonde woman in a scarecrow costume took the stage. “Good evening to all of you ghosts and ghouls out there. My name is Blair Montgomery and I am the program director at Peril County Community Help Center. It is my absolute pleasure to welcome you to this year’s Scare-a-thon! This is my first time at the event, but I can already tell, it’s going to be a fabulous night! We’ve got Kloberin’ Karl Karloff and the Krazy Killers all set to play for us. We’ve got a silent auction with tons of great items and events. We’ve got a gourmet meal catered by my future father-in-law’s new BBQ company and most importantly, we’ve got an open bar until 11:30! So, kick back, have fun, and let’s raise some money for Peril County!”
The crowd applauded as she walked down and a creepy dance song began blasting through the speakers. “There they are!” Mrs. Hopkins said, looking off into the distance. Amber Lynn followed her gaze off toward the entryway and saw two rotund twins walking in. They were wearing matching costumes she was having a hard time understanding. They looked like eggs wearing overalls and cowboy hats. The brothers seemed to be in their early 20’s and were almost as wide as they were tall. “There’s our boys!”
The two egg-shaped twins came over and kissed their mother on either cheek and patted their father on the back. “Mommy, Father. we made it,” the left egg said.
Dr. Hopkins stood to present his sons. “Amber Lynn, Skye, please let me introduce our twins, Mac and Mike Hopkins.” They both gave awkward half bows. “When I told Vance that I wanted to bring the boys with us, he thought you four might hit it off.”
Amber Lynn kicked Skye under the table as the egg-twins flanked them, taking the open seats on either side of the ladies. “Hi, I’m Mac,” said the one on Amber Lynn’s side. His voice was high and nasal. Now that she was up close and personal with one of the eggs, she was certain that this was the last place on Earth she wanted to be. She forced a smile and looked over at Skye.
“And I’m Mike.”
Skye took in a deep breath. “You’re costumes are interesting. What are you both supposed to be?”
“We’re egg farmers!” they said in unison.
“Our boys have always been into agriculture, haven’t you boys?” Mrs. Hopkins said, beaming with pride.
Amber Lynn scanned the room, looking for an escape hatch. “Who needs a drink? I sure could use one. Skye?”
The two excused themselves and headed for the bar. “I think they like us,” Amber Lynn heard one of the twins tell someone as they were walking away.
“Listen, how soon can we ditch Tweedle-Dick and Tweedle-Dork back there?” Amber Lynn huffed as she hurried toward the bar.
“Amber, hon, I know this isn’t what you were expecting. But those boys are the sons of the man who runs our hospital. We can’t just blow them off!” Skye rationalized.
She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, fine.” A cute bartender with a long goatee and tattoos running along both arms came over to take their order. “I’ll take a double shot a’ you to go!” she said with a grin.
“I’m afraid I’m not on the menu tonight, ladies. But we’ve got a nice selection of wines, beers, mixed drinks and shots. What can I get ya?” His voice was gruff and deep.
“I’ll take a white wine, please,” Skye said.
“And for you?” he asked, getting a good look at Amber Lynn.
“Give me three kamikaze’s and an Irish car bomb.”
A half grin climbed up the right side of his face. “Sorry, miss. Two drink maximum per trip. Company policy.”
“Well, what is gonna get me wasted the absolute quickest that don’t taste like absolute gasoline?” she asked, leaning into him a little.
“Two LIT’s coming up.”
“Make it three. She wants one too!”
The rest of the evening was a comedy of social blunders. The egg-twins asked Skye and Amber Lynn to dance, and out of obligation to their employer, they agreed. But once on the dance floor, the bulbous costumes hanging over their equally bulky frames made any rhythmic movements virtually impossible. And when the next song Kloberin’ Karl and his band played was a ballad, Mac and Mike just couldn’t quite manage to reach out and hold on to their dance partners.
After a few drinks, Amber Lynn found it easier to ask Hannah about her upcoming wedding to Dr. Logan. “So, how long you two been together?” “When’s the big day?” “Where’d you meet?” “You sure about goin’ thru with it?” It was more of an interrogation and Skye finally had to intervene.
“Amber, hon, you gonna finish your cheesecake? It’s pretty good!”
She shook her head. “I don’t want no damn cheesecake.”
Around 10, Dr. Hopkins dropped his napkin onto the table. “Well folks, this has been a wonderful evening, but I’m afraid it is getting to be the boy’s bedtime. If they don’t get their full eight hours, they get fairly grumpy.”
Mrs. Hopkins rose and circled the table, wrapping her arms around both Skye and Amber Lynn. “It was so good to meet you girls tonight. I sincerely hope we will be seeing more of your.”
Mike and Mac stood across the table from them, hands folded in front of their overalls. “Would it be alright if we contacted you in the future?” the one of the left said.
Amber Lynn raised her glass as if in cheers. “Text away, egg farmer!”
After the Hopkins family left, Hannah turned to the girls and motioned for her fiancé to lean in as well. “Ladies, I get what’s going on here. And I have to apologize. I’m sure you wanted to come here and find some guys and have a good time. The Hopkins twins were probably not what you were expecting.”
Amber tipped her glass back, draining it. “Not what I was expecting from tonight at all,” she confessed.
After the party ended, Dr. Logan and Hannah thanked the girls for coming out and made sure they were safe to get home. “I only had the one glass of wine. I think we’re ok,” Skye said.
The blister on Amber Lynn’s ankle had grown to the size of a silver dollar as she finally made her way to the car. “’S jus’ not fair! Wha’s she got that I a’int?”
“Not a thing, doll. Not a thing.”
Across the parking lot, the hot bartender was loading kegs into a pickup. “Hey! I’m too drunk and sad right now. But any other night, I would rock your ‘effin’ world!” Amber yelled.
He sat the keg down on the ground and walked toward them. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “Name’s Ed. Call me when you’re up for it.”
Skye herded Amber Lynn into the car and started back to their apartment. “Man, what is it with us and bartenders?”
Week 42 - 911 Dispatch
The call came in about two in the morning. Missy, the new girl at dispatch, was on duty and Deputy McElroy had described her as “Green as goose shit,” just two days before. So, to say she was unprepared for what she heard is the largest of understatements. When Sheriff Higgins took the time to listen to the tape after everything went down, he commended Missy for how she handled herself. But, he wasn’t at all shocked when a letter of resignation landed on his desk a few days later. Some folks just aren’t made for police work. But Higgins wasn’t sure anyone was made to hear what she had to deal with that night.
CONTENT WARNING - VIOLENCE & TORTURE
The call came in about two in the morning. Missy, the new girl at dispatch, was on duty and Deputy McElroy had described her as “Green as goose shit,” just two days before. So, to say she was unprepared for what she heard is the largest of understatements. When Sheriff Higgins took the time to listen to the tape after everything went down, he commended Missy for how she handled herself. But, he wasn’t at all shocked when a letter of resignation landed on his desk a few days later. Some folks just aren’t made for police work. But Higgins wasn’t sure anyone was made to hear what she had to deal with that night.
Regulations dictate no one works dispatch solo, so Missy was riding second chair that night, mainly there to get coffee, make copies and be an extra set of hands. Nobody ever expects anything really major to happen on a Tuesday in Peril County. So, when Trixie, the head dispatch officer on duty, took an extra ten minutes to hit the can and smoke a couple out back, it shouldn’t have been a big deal. Unfortunately, it turned out to be the worst night in the lives of several in and around Black Grass.
“911. What’s your emergency?” Missy said anxiously. She’d only handled a handful of phone calls before tonight.
The voice on the other end of the line was weak and raspy, with lots of heavy, wet coughs breaking in between the words. “Y’all gotta help me. He’s gon’ kill me. This son of a bitch is crazy!”
Panic immediately set in on Missy. It was clear this was not a crank call, and this man was in immediate need of assistance. “Sir, where are you? Are you injured? Is it safe for you to talk?”
“Girl, you gotta send somebody up here. I don’t know where I am. He tied up my hands and put a bag over my head and tossed me in a trunk of a car. He took my phone but didn’t notice the burner in my boot.”
“Can you tell me anything about where you are?” she asked, frantically trying to get the GPS to pull up from his phone. The call was coming from a prepaid cell with no name attached; always the hardest to track.
“I’m in a shed or something. There’s tools on the walls. It’s dark, just one bulb hanging on a wire.” He coughed hard, and she heard him spit.
“Is there anything else you can tell me? Where were you taken? How long were you traveling?” Missy’s mind was racing, trying to figure out any way to get the Sheriff or a Deputy out to help this man.
There was a pause. “Ugh, he got me from just outside a town. At the Speedy Quick. I must a been in that trunk for half an hour ‘fore he took me out.”
“Good, that gives us a perimeter,” she thought. “Anything else you can think of? Do you know who took you?
“Sure, it was Sa-Oh shit, someone’s comin’!”
Missy heard a shuffling noise, like fabric, running over the receiver of the phone. “Sir, are you still with me? Sir? I’m sending police and EMTs to the location pinging on your phone. Sir?”
There was no response. Missy was typing into her computer when Trixie came back into the Dispatch room. “What in the world, girl?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.
“I don’t know, but it sounds legit,” Missy said. She reached over and turned a nob, sending the audio through speakers so that Trixie could also hear the call. The sound of a door slamming caused both of them to jerk.
A new voice came through the line. It was gruff, cold and forceful. “Ray. Ray. Ray,” he said slowly. “Ya done messed up, Ray. Did you think you could narc on me, son, and get away with it? Really?” There was a loud thud followed by a grunt. Missy was sure the caller, who must be ‘Ray,’ was either punched or kicked.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, man. I just sold you my mama’s pills. Why would I do that if I was a narc? Don’t make no sense!” Ray’s voice was weak, but still panicked.
The other voice came through louder this time. He must be right on top of Ray, Missy thought. “You a weak little bitch, is what I think. You get popped for some bullshit and cut a deal to narc on me? On me! That shit ain’t gonna stand, son.”
There was another thud. Then, the roar of what Missy could only guess was a some kind of engine, like a leaf blower, roared through the phone. The screams that followed would haunt her for the rest of her life.
“GPS says that the address is on the Conley Strip Mine. Officers en route. ETA 20 minutes,” Trixie said, shaking her head.
“This ain’t gonna last 20 more minutes,” Missy thought. She wanted to yell into the phone, plead with this monster to stop what he was doing. But, she kept silent.
The engine cut off. “Was that a chainsaw?” she thought, horrified. Now, the only sound coming through the phone that of Ray’s haggard breath. “Now, you really are a little bitch, Ray,” the voice said with a chuckle. “You ain’t got enough balls to do yer time, then I guess you just don’t need nary balls a’tall.”
There was a few seconds of silence. Then, suddenly, Ray began screaming again, literally calling on whatever God might exist to save him. “Oh! Please Jesus! Please Jesus! No! No!”
“Lord, Trixie! What are we supposed to do?” Missy was in tears.
The senior dispatcher put her arm around Missy and gave her a squeeze. “They’ll be there soon, honey. It’s all we can do is wait and pray.”
Ray’s screaming subsided into a mournful wail. “I bet’chu don’t see what you did wrong, son. So, now you won’t be seein’ nothin’ at all. I’m gonna keep your eyes in a pickle jar, Ray. And show folks so they know not to narc on me.”
“I’m sorry, Sam. So sorry. They had the list. I just did what I was told. Just let me go, man. Just don’t kill me. Please.” Ray sounded weak and afraid. Missy wasn’t a medical expert, but wondered how much blood he had already lost.
The other man, Sam she assumed, sniffed hard. “So, the sinner confesses his sins. That’s what I was waiting for. Sinner’s got to pay for they sins, Ray. Sinner’s got to burn.”
There was a short pause, then the sound of liquid splashing trickled through the phone. Something rustled and Ray grunted and seemed to struggle. “Don’t do this, Sam. Don’t do this. Please Jesus. Please save me!”
“Too late for Jesus, sinner. I am the devil. And you’re going to burn in hell with me now.” There was a subtle whooshing sound Missy could barely make out, followed by even more screams of misery. To her, it felt like they would never end, but the screams lasted no more than forty-five seconds. Eventually, the phone either died, melted or just lost signal.
It was another ten minutes before Missy got the call that Sheriff Higgins and Deputy Collins arrived at the scene. “Dispatch, be advised we are on site of an old equipment shed at the Conley Strip Mine. No vehicles in the immediate vicinity. We have smoke and potential fire on the interior. Please alert VFD to roll ASAP.” Sheriff Higgins sounded tired, Missy thought. He’d be wide awake if he had heard what she had just gone through. She was sure of it.
The radio crackled. “10-4, Sheriff.”
“Missy, there weren’t nothin’ we coulda done differn’t, hon,” Trixie said, handing her a cup of coffee. “Some people’s jus’ born bad. And that feller said it his self. He’s the devil!”
She took a sip and closed her eyes. “He begged for help, Trix. He begged for us or Jesus or somebody to help him. And we just sat here.”
The static of the radio cut through the room again. “Dispatch, this is Unit 1, come back.”
“This is dispatch. What have you got, Sheriff?” Trixie was manning the lead station now.
“Contact KSP and let them know we need detectives ASAP. We have one DB on scene, badly burned and the amount of blood splatter on the walls indicate mutilation and/or torture. Scene is secure. We will wait for State to begin forensic and data collection.” Missy was still wearing her headset and could tell that, while he was trying to hide it, Sheriff Higgins was not taking what he had seen well. It was clearly bothering him.
“10-4, Sheriff. Stay safe out there,” Trixie said as she clicked the mic button.
Suddenly, Missy bolted up and ran for the bathroom. She vomited violently into the toilet for several moments, the emotions and shock of the last hour washing over her. She flushed the commode and rinsed her mouth out in the sink before going back into the Dispatch Room and taking a seat next to her workmate. “How have you done this for so long, Trixie?”
She slapped her knees. “Missy, hon, tonight is as bad as it’s ever been. But I know this job helps people. People hurt. People scared. People that are having the worst day they ever gonna have. I hear about OD’s and shootings and all kinds a’ stuff. And it’s hard. But, at the end of the day, we send out the help to the people that needs it. And that get’s me thorough the long nights.”
“I just don’t know how someone could hold that much hate inside themselves to do that to another person. It’s not right.” Missy took another swig of coffee and pulled a coat around her shoulders. She sat there, unmoving, until her shift ended.
The light from the sun was barely viable behind the mountains that surround the dispatch center when her father texted he was outside. Missy hadn’t listened to any of the updates from the scene. She didn’t need any gory details coming across the line. She’d experienced enough to last her a lifetime. And all she could think about was how she had let Ray down, whoever he was.
week 41 - The Full Moon
The word lunatic comes from Latin and when broken down into its root parts means “A person who suffers from the moon.” It was believed for centuries that the moon has an affect on mental health and that the various phases would cause different ailments to those susceptible to such things. Modern science says that the moon has no direct impact on humans, particularly our mental faculties. Anecdotally, however, there is proof all around us.
The word lunatic comes from Latin and when broken down into its root parts means “A person who suffers from the moon.” It was believed for centuries that the moon has an affect on mental health and that the various phases would cause different ailments to those susceptible to such things. Modern science says that the moon has no direct impact on humans, particularly our mental faculties. Anecdotally, however, there is proof all around us.
Will Turner, longtime English Teacher at Peril County High School, had always said that his students get “a little crazy” around the full moon. Sheriff Higgins had always placed an extra unit or two out on patrol during full moons, especially when they hit on the weekend. And even Jaclyn Perez, in her short few months working at WEKT, had noticed that the types of stories that happened around a full moon are usually a little more rowdy than normal.
So, it was with some trepidation that she plopped down at her desk at 9 pm. The moon was luminous through the Venetian blinds in the window to her right, like a giant white lamp in the sky. There were two voicemails on her phone and a yellow note stuck to her computer screen. She reached for the note and scribbled in terrible handwriting she saw - Jim is out sick. Jess gonna solo on News with Annabeth on Weather. She already knows and is fine with it. -
Jaclyn pondered the note for a few minutes. Jess had never anchored a weeknight newscast before and add to that she and Annabeth had less than stellar chemistry to begin with. This had the makings of a long night and the crazies hadn’t even started calling in yet.
It wasn’t thirty minutes later that Jaclyn had her first strange encounter of the evening. “WEKT Newsroom, this is Jackie, how can I help you?” she said in her friendliest voice.
“You ever hear about the gremlins that live in the caves over in Bell County?” The voice was old and gruff. It was also a little slurred, Jaclyn assumed from alcohol.
She couldn’t help but smile. “No, sir. Is this a recent thing or a recurring incident?”
He coughed loudly into the receiver. “Oh! This shit’s been goin’ on fer years. Decades, even. They live back in some caves and come out on a full moon like tonight. Y’all need to send a camera up here to Excelsior, just ‘fore Middlesboro. I got a cabin up in the woods. Them little ‘effer’s been gettin’ into my garbage fer years.”
Jaclyn shook her head. “Can I have your name and a number and email for you, sir?”
“Elmer Blevins. Best to use my email. Cell service is spotty. I’m in town right now gettin’ some bug spray to keep them little bastards away from me. It’s goblinbuster69@hottotrot.ky.com." There was no sense of embarrassment from him as he said his email.
Fighting back a wave of laughter, Jaclyn struggled to respond. “Mr. Blevins, I’m afraid we are a little short-staffed tonight. I would suggest that if you get some pictures or video with a camera or something of the gremlins and send that in, we might be able to use that. And, of course, you would get credit for the footage. Do you need the stations email?”
“Naw, I got it. I been sendin’ in pics of my huntin’ dogs for the mornin’ news’ pet a the week since Ol’ Dan had his eye ripped out by a coon last April”
She let out a wistful sigh. “I am terribly sorry for you and your dog. Is there anything else I can help you with tonight?”
“Don’t reckon. You take care now. There’s freaks out on these full moon nights!”
There was a click on the other end, and she hung up the phone. She took in a deep breath and shot it out, letting her cheeks fill with air.
“That bitch is trying to cut me down to four minutes!”
Jaclyn looked up to see Annabeth Cole, the Overnight Meteorologist. Even with rollers in her hair and no makeup, she was a striking woman. It was clear she was in a bit of a mood. Being put together and always camera ready was a point of pride for the meteorologist, So, clearly, something was amiss.
“Who is doing what, Annabeth?” Jaclyn asked, trying to assess the situation.
“Jess, in her infinite wisdom, says that the national package on low birth weight in panda’s this year is, and I quote, ‘Vital to our newscast’ and therefore needs to take up two minutes of my weather.” The more she talked, the more red appeared in her cheeks.
Leaning back in her chair, Jaclyn flicked a strand of hair from in front of her face. “And what, exactly, are you wanting me to do about it? She’s producing the late show. I do the AM news. It’s her call.”
Annabeth’s eyes widened, and her shoulders raised up to almost touch her ears. “That little girl is barely old enough to drive a car. She graduated college at CHRISTMAS! She has NEVER produced a newscast by herself before. And I am the highest rated on air talent this station has. More people tune in for me than anyone else. She can’t cut my time!”
“Technically, she can. But, I’ll talk to her, ok?”
She turned on her heels and walked back toward the set. Jaclyn heard her say “I’m too good for this market,” as she turned the corner.
Back in the edit bay, Jaclyn found Jess working on a story covering a group of high school students who had organized a canned food drive for needy families in their community. “Got a minute, Jess?” she asked, sticking her head into the small, black room.
“Sure. What’s up?” Jess was a mousy little lady, with sharp features and brown hair. She had come a long way in the several months she’d been on the job at WEMT, Jaclyn thought, from the nervous, clumsy wallflower that came in at the start of the year.
“Annabeth came and talked to me,” she said, plainly.
Jess, never turning from the edit bay, just nodded her head. “Ok. What about?”
“Said you cut her by two minutes.”
“National put out a story this afternoon showing that low birth weight in pandas is an indicator of Global Warming and mercury seeping into the food chain. I think it’s vitally important to share that information.” Jaclyn had learned of Jess’s passion for the environment when the young reporter covered an abandoned mine site being reclaimed through a grant earlier in the spring.
The overnight producer adjusted the glasses on her face. “Jess, I understand that. But you can’t kill two minutes of weather. Pull your B block lead and run it there.”
Jess spun around, aghast. “We can’t kill the dolphin reclamation park story!”
“Dolphin reclamation?” Jaclyn asked, confused.
With another spin of her chair, Jess returned to the edit bay and pressed a couple buttons. The two proceeded to watch a three minute piece on volunteers in Florida are working to reclaim an area as a dolphin sanctuary. It was, if Jaclyn was being fair, a good news story.
“Ok,” Jaclyn said with a ponderous look on her face, “What can you kill in the A block? Any killable promo’s in the breaks?”
Jess shook her head, frustrated. “Listen, this is my show and I’ll run it like I want to. I’ll give the princess a minute back to shut her up, but I don’t need her or you to tell me how to put together a newscast!” She spun back around to her edit bay.
Jaclyn thought about forcing the issue, but chalked it up to another instance of the full moon playing tricks. She walked back to the newsroom where the phone was ringing. “WEKT Newsroom, This is Jackie. How can I help you?” she said in her most professional tone.
“Yes, this is Mary Beth Francis. I just seen somethin’ on the internets that has me just all sick and worried to death.” The voice on the other end was nasal and whiney.
She pulled out a notepad and grabbed a pen labeled with the station’s ID on it. “What did you see, ma’am?”
Mary Beth Francis cleared her throat. “I know this might sound crazy. And I know there’s no such thing as real vampires. But it said that there was a crazy bunch a kids runnin’ around the cities, dressin’ up in wild costumes and bitin’ one ‘nother on the neck and jumpin’ out and scarin’ folks. Now, if that came to Peril County, I’d just die!” She sounded completely serious.
“Ma’am, where did you see this?”
“We have a little texting group down at the church and the lady that plays piano when Mrs. Watterson can’t make it sent it out to us. It’s a video talkin’ about all the teen vampire attacks down in Louisiana. They was galavantin’ around the streets and playin’ the devil's music and all sorts a stuff.”
Jaclyn turned to her computer and a quick search showed her what was happening. “Ma’am. I think you’ve been seeing maybe some advertisements or footage from a costume party they have every year in New Orleans. Yes, it’s just a Halloween-type of thing from what I can tell.”
There was a bit of a pause. “But, what if the vampires come to Black Grass?” she said, clearly worried.
“I can’t answer that ma’am. But my grandmother used to tell me I should treat every guest as if Jesus was paying us a visit. Maybe start there?” The memory of her Nana flashed through her mind, the little old lady who had moved from Virginia to Boston when she was just a girl to escape the segregated south. Jaclyn didn’t think there was a finer person on this planet than her Nana.
Again, Mary Beth Francis sat in silence for a moment. “So, do you all wanna do a story on this or what do we do now?”
Jaclyn closed her eyes tightly in frustration. “Ma’am, I don’t think this story has a local spin on it just yet. If there happens to be something that directly affects Peril County or the surrounding region, we would be more than happy to cover it. Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?”
Mary Beth Francis was not exactly pleased with this outcome of events, Jaclyn could tell. “No, I don’t suppose there is,” and the phone clicked.
It was about half an hour before the news hit the air, and the entire building was buzzing with activity. Production staff were working on graphics and camera shots. Reporters were finishing stories and putting on makeup. Annabeth had taken the curlers out of her hair. “We got a live one!” someone yelled from the other end of the building.
Neil Douglas, a reporter who’d been with the station for several years, with short black hair, stubby legs and a round, handsome face, came running through the halls carrying a camera. He darted past Jaclyn, then, noticing her, ran back to her desk. “Can we get a sat truck by 11?”
She looked at him, trying to judge the seriousness of the situation. “What for, exactly?”
“Gas main blew out on Finley Branch. Two homes lost and a mechanic’s shop. Just got a call from Deputy Watts. No word on fatalities, but it looks bad.” He was out of breath as he stuffed gear into a bag.
Jaclyn knew a story like this would necessitate a live satellite, but getting it by 11 would be difficult. “You head to the scene and I’ll see what I can do.” Neil nodded and headed for the door while Jaclyn dialed Dustin, the stations Satellite Truck driver. He was a notoriously heavy sleeper and had totally missed the flash flood over in Floyd County just a few weeks ago. After about ten rings, he finally answered, and she gave him the address of the accident. He sounded groggy, but awake enough to get out of bed and into the truck.
“Jess, we got a new lead story!” she called down the hall as a new script came up on her screen. She typed up what scant details she could ascertain from Neil and a short update over the wire from the Sheriff’s office.
In a few short minutes, the newscast hit the air with Jess reading Jaclyn’s breaking news about the fire. “WEKT’s Neil Douglas is en route and we hope to have more before the end of tonight’s broadcast,” Jess said from the news desk.
After that, the rest of the show went fairly smoothly. They were able to get a satellite uplink with Neil just as the show was ending for a quick update. No fatalities, but thousands, if not hundreds of thousands in property damage. Once the post-news meeting had finished, Jaclyn sat back in her desk chair and closed her eyes in a moment of relaxation.
The sharp rattle of her phone shook her back to reality. “WEMT Newsroom, this is Jackie, how can I help you?”
“Y’all! I think they a werewolf under my porch. It’s growlin’ like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Jesus, I hate a full moon!” she thought as she pulled out a notebook.
Week 40 - Football Homecoming
The sun had fallen below the far mountain range behind the football stadium, leaving a deep purple sky emblazoned with red clouds. A dull roar from the crowd could be felt as much as heard, with revelers wearing as much black and green as they could cram onto their bodies. The air was filled with the smell of cheap popcorn and suspect hotdogs while hundreds of cars filled the parking lot at the bottom of the hill, many with flags, streamers and window chalk all signaling the importance of tonight; It was the Homecoming Game.
The sun had fallen below the far mountain range behind the football stadium, leaving a deep purple sky emblazoned with red clouds. A dull roar from the crowd could be felt as much as heard, with revelers wearing as much black and green as they could cram onto their bodies. The air was filled with the smell of cheap popcorn and suspect hotdogs while hundreds of cars filled the parking lot at the bottom of the hill, many with flags, streamers and window chalk all signaling the importance of tonight; It was the Homecoming Game.
Sports has supplanted church as the chief reason to gather in central Appalachia over the last few decades and if football is the principal denomination of this new religion, then the Homecoming Game is Easter Sunday. This is a multi-generational affair, with everyone from toddlers to grandparents getting in on the act. There are dances and dinners, expensive outfits to buy and convertible cars to rent/borrow. For those in the “Panther Bubble” it is one of the most important days of your life. And for those looking in, it’s an oddly elaborate set of traditions that may seem antiquated.
For the girls taking part in Homecoming, it’s the social event of the season. For the boys, it’s a must win football game. Quarterback Graham Carter had never lost a Homecoming Game as the starter for the Panthers, and held no intention of doing so tonight. His team found themselves undefeated heading into the second half of the season, with their toughest test coming tonight in the form of the Johnson Central Eagles.
Jake Watts tied a bandana around his head, keeping his long black hair out of his face. This had been the final stage of his pregame ritual since he first started playing the game in the third grade. Graham looked up at the much larger boy, grinning. “You know they got a D1 nose guard, right?” he asked, knowing the answer.
“You know I’m a badass MF’er who ain’t gonna let no-one near your scrawny ass tonight, right?” he replied with a smile.
Gareth Bennington, a boy almost as wide as he was tall, smeared some black shoe polish under his eyes. “War paint, a-holes!” he screamed into the void of the locker room, pumping himself up. He reached the jar of polish to little Crawdad Jenkins, freshman backup QB who was still trying to find his place on the team. The little guy took a pinkie and smeared a streak of black under each eye before looking up to Gareth for approval. The much larger teen smashed down with both arms onto Crawdads shoulder pads, almost knocking the boy to the ground. “Game time, baby!” he yelled as he ran back into the rows of lockers.
A cannon boomed in the distance, signaling an hour to kickoff. The girls and their escorts would be walking across the field any minute now, anxious to hear who this year’s Homecoming Queen would be. The Peril County Football Homecoming Queen was second in the social pecking order only to the Dumplin’ Darlin’, and thus a highly sought-after position. Graham popped his head out of the locker room to take a look at his classmates lining the field. He remembered Brittany standing there last year in a royal blue dress, looking beautiful. She was the Homecoming Princess, and was named most photogenic. Graham was proud of this because he’d taken all of her pics in the portfolio she submitted.
“You ready, QB?” a booming voice said from behind him.
Graham turned to see Coach Simpson, holding a black and green clipboard with a large Panther logo on the back. He was wearing brown slacks and a grey Panther Football sweatshirt. “Fifteen ’til pregame,” he said, smiling.
“Can I ask you something, coach?” Graham said, closing the locker room door.
Coach Simpson put the clipboard under his armpit and looked at the teen almost worried. “Sure, pal. What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “Nothin’ wrong, coach. Just always wondered why the players don’t participate in Homecoming here at Peril County like at other schools.
The old ball coach chuckled to himself a little and pulled up a small wooden bench sitting by the door. He eased himself down, favoring a knee he’d injured thirty years ago. “I know some of you boys are disappointed you don’t get to walk your girls down the sideline. And lord knows the amount of mommies that have cussed me over the years not letting their little Jimmy's and Johnny’s walk Mary Sue and Tracie Lynn in Homecoming. Graham, you’re the best football player I’ve ever coached. Hell, maybe the best I’ve ever seen at this level.”
Graham blushed and tried to say something before the coach cut him off.
“No, I’m serious. You’re a heck of a ballplayer. And you got a good head on your shoulders. Now, why do you think I don’t want my boys walking in Homecoming? Is it because I’m an asshole?” he asked with a smile.
Graham knew Coach didn’t really cuss and that the word going around was that the ‘Asshole of a Coach’ was keeping the kids from walking. “Well, my guess is you don’t want us distracted.”
Coach nodded his head. “Your guess would be correct. And why would I not want you guys distracted?”
“Because that’s when mistakes happen,” Graham repeated what was clearly a team axiom.
Coach nodded his head and gave his QB a supportive pat on the shoulder. “We’re heading down in ten.”
The team finished suiting up and completed any last-minute pregame rituals they may have. Out on the field, Graham, Jake, and the other captains led the boys through stretching and warmups. Coach Simpson gave them some final words of encouragement and it was time to kick it off.
The first quarter went entirely Peril County’s way; with Graham throwing two touchdowns and the Panther defense stopping the Eagles three times. Wide out Braxton Collins had been flagged for celebrating after running sixty-two yards for a TD and Coach Simpson had given him more than an ear full for it. But the Panthers were up going into the second quarter.
The Eagles of Johnson Central roared back soon after as Panther defensive tackle Gareth Bennington got tricked on a counter sweep that saw the Golden Eagles run eighty-two yards for their first touchdown. A rare miscommunication between Graham and his receivers led to a pick-six and the game was tied up going into the half. Johnson Central’s star nose guard, Bilford, was inches away from sacking the QB before Jake recovered and smashed into him, saving Graham from a terrible hit.
“We’ve played twenty-four minutes and settled nothing. That just means that we have got to win the next twenty-four!” Coach Simpson was pacing around the mound of players who were slumped in the end zone.
The Panthers started the third quarter with the ball and Graham and his team marched down the field quickly and forcefully to score. Jake and Bilford battled every play, with the center doing all he could to keep his QB safe. A quick slant route to Braxton in the end zone saw the Panthers back on top. But the Golden Eagles of Johnson Central threw the ball all over the field on their next drive to tie the game up once again. This time, the visiting team decided to go for 2 successfully, so the third quarter ended with the Panthers down by one.
Tired and battered, Graham collected his team in a tight huddle as they prepared to go back out on the field. “Boys. All ‘a those long workouts in the gym. All ‘a those hot days this summer. All the stuff we gave up doin’ to play football. It all comes down ta this. We’re better than they are. We want it more than they do and that’s why we’re gonna win. In twelve minutes, we’re walking out ‘a here winners. Panthers on three!”
The team chanted “PANTHERS!” and headed back out onto the field. Both teams failed to score on their next few drives and as time was running low, the black and green squad saw their opportunities for a win slipping away.
Graham looked up into the stands to see his father, pulling on a bottle inside of a brown paper bag, looking disgusted. “Gotta be now or never,” he thought to himself, as he jogged back onto the field. The Panthers had the ball on their own fifteen yard line. Under center, Graham tired handing off to Braxton but was smashed by Bilton hard to the ground.
“You ain’t goin’ another yard, pussy!” the star defensive player yelled into Graham’s helmet as he ground his meaty hand into the QB’s chest.
The next play saw Graham drop back for a pass but was immediately sacked by Bilton. The quarterback was pounded into the ground so hard, he saw stars for a moment. “Time to go home, you little bitch. This one’s over!” Bilton taunted.
Third down and long with time running out. Graham dropped back to pass one more time. He had Braxton deep down field, all by himself. He flung the ball just as Bilton drove his helmet deep into the QB’s ribcage, driving Graham down to the dirt once again. On the turf, he couldn’t see, couldn’t breath, even. The enormous bulk of Bilton was wallowing on him and the force of the blow to his ribs had knocked the air from his lungs. He was smothering, gasping for air. He didn’t hear with the crowd cheered Braxton seemed to catch the ball and then hear the crowd sigh as it fell incomplete.
“One more chance, pussy. And I’m gonna be right here!” Bilton said as he used Graham’s helmet to push his massive frame from the ground.
Graham managed to get to his feet. He was dazed and probably concussed. But there was nothing that was going to keep him from finishing this game. He checked the clock. :04 left. And the Panthers were still down by one. Stumbling, he made his way to the huddle. “Jake, bud, you think you can keep that asshole off of me this time?”
The big center looked down at his feet, ashamed. He nodded his head.
Simpson signaled in a play that confused Graham, but he went back to the huddle and called it. “HB Middle Screen on 2. HB Middle Screen on 2.”
A thousand thoughts were running though Graham’s mind. Why that play? It left him open and defenseless and was a huge gamble. But, if it paid off, was an almost guaranteed score. A middle screen would allow Braxton to sneak in behind the first line of the defense, with Jake and a few of the other linemen there to act as a row of blockers for him. The downside is that there would be nothing between him and Bilson. “Gotta be quick,” he thought as he approached the line.
“Black 80! Black 80! Hut! Hut!” With that, Jake shoved the pigskin back between his legs into the waiting hands of his QB. Graham dropped back five steps and scanned deep down field. To ensure the success of this play, it was vital to make the defense think that the ball would be sent far into their coverage. He watched as Braxton feigned running a dive before curling into a flat route and slinking across midfield just five yards in front of Graham.
In an instant, the hulking lineman fighting to keep the defense at bay just in front of Graham released their blocks and started running down field. The quarterback could see Bilson barreling down on him. With a quick flick of his wrist, Graham sent the football hurling toward Braxton, who caught the ball just behind Jack and the rest of the line. The large blockers demolished the Golden Eagle defenders in front of them, allowing the receiver wide berth to sprint toward the end zone.
But Graham saw none of this. His view was filled with the black and gold jersey of Bilson, who enveloped the QB and drove him to the ground. Graham’s left cleat stuck into the turf of the field, forcing his leg to contort into an unnatural, twisting motion. He felt someone rip and pop in his knee as the large defender rode him to the ground. He yelped in pain as the behemoth rolled down his body, putting all of his substantial weight onto Graham’s injured knee.
The crowd erupted as Braxton crossed the goal line, hands stretched into the air. Jake, sprinting as fast as he could, was not far behind. They leaped into the air, hugging and cheering as the rest of the team joined them in the end zone. It only took a moment to realize that Graham had not joined them.
As quickly as the crowd had become jubilant, they just as soon went silent. They turned, as if as one, to the far side of the field, to see Graham, lying on the grass, writhing in pain.
“Trainer!” Coach Simpson yelled as he darted onto the field. He was the first to reach the QB, followed closely by the team’s trainer. Simpson knelt down to assess the damage. Graham’s leg was twisted in an impossible angle, signaling either a break or complete dislocation. He took Graham by the hand and unbuckled his star player’s helmet. “Hey pal. You’re gonna be ok.” He looked into the distance and motioned for the ambulance parked at the far side of the field.
“Coach, did he score?” Graham winced as he spoke. A tear fell down his cheek.
Simpson squeezed his hand and forced a smile. “Yeah, bud. You did it. We won.”
Graham let out a sigh of relief. “Don’t think I’ll be suiting up next week, coach.”
The smell of cheap whiskey filled the air as Eddie had stumbled onto the field. A loud chirp of siren made him jump out of the way as he approached his son lying on the field. “Aw, he ain’t hurt. Get up, boy.”
Coach Simpson bolted up and marched in Eddie’s direction. “Eddie, get the hell off my field before one or both of us does somethin’ we regret.”
Eddie took another swig from his paper bag. “Hell, coach. If you didn’ baby him like that, he wouldn’ be lyin’ there like a little bitch.”
“Get the hell off my field, Eddie.”
Eddie made to walk past Coach Simpson, bumping into the much larger man. “Graham, what the hell are you doin’? Get up you damn Puss-!”
Before he could finish, Coach Simpson sent a right cross to the drunk man’s temple, knocking him to the ground and into the next day. He immediately regretted it, as he knew the entire town was watching. But, he was tired of hearing this piece of garbage talk bad about his own son. Graham was the toughest player to ever put on a Panther Jersey and more of a man than his daddy would ever be.
Coach watched as they loaded the stretcher into the back of the ambulance and drove off of the field. He hoped, more than anything, that this would not be the last time Graham got to play the game they both loved.
Week 39 - The Dumplin’ Festival
Community Festivals are an ever-present fixture in East Kentucky communities. From the Chicken Festival in London, and Black Gold in Hazard to Hillbilly Days in Pikeville, every town, big or small, seems to find the time and the funding to organize something special for their citizens and Black Grass was no different. The Dumplin’ Festival began in the early 70s as a cooking contest fundraiser for the local fire department to buy a new engine that grew into a multi-day event with live music, fireworks, a parade, and a beauty contest. Ms. Peril County had been affectionately known as the “Dumplin’ Darlin’” for decades. And since a substantial scholarship came with the crown, it was still hotly contested.
Community Festivals are an ever-present fixture in East Kentucky communities. From the Chicken Festival in London, and Black Gold in Hazard to Hillbilly Days in Pikeville, every town, big or small, seems to find the time and the funding to organize something special for their citizens and Black Grass was no different. The Dumplin’ Festival began in the early 70s as a cooking contest fundraiser for the local fire department to buy a new engine that grew into a multi-day event with live music, fireworks, a parade, and a beauty contest. Ms. Peril County had been affectionately known as the “Dumplin’ Darlin’” for decades. And since a substantial scholarship came with the crown, it was still hotly contested.
Grayson Hughes’ mother was the first “Dumplin Darlin’” many years ago and still sits on the committee that puts the whole festival together every year. He grew up watching her work on the event for the community and seeing how much effort went into creating a fun experience for everyone. Maybe that is why the Dumplin’ Festival has always been one of his favorite times of the year.
As a teen, he remembered visiting the traveling carnival that would pass through during this time of year. He and his friends would ride the Gravitron and the Octopus until they almost puked. The greasy funnel cakes and over-sugared lemonade didn’t help in that regard, either.
One of the first dates he and his wife had all those years ago was going to the Dumplin’ Festival together. She was sixteen and he was just two years older. They walked down Main St. and held hands, listening to a KISS cover band sing “Beth” while kids were throwing darts and softball at targets, trying their best to win cheap prizes. Their first kiss was on the top of the Farris Wheel, looking down at the little town of Black Grass below. After, they shared a strawberry shaved ice and watched the fireworks from the swings in the park. Jeanie’s face sparkled in the red and purple glow of the colorful explosions above. Grayson thought it was the best day of his life.
Today, Grayson watched as Jacob, Laura and Terry darted down the main strip of the festival, trying to check out every booth and exhibit as quickly as possible, as if they were about to vanish at any moment. “Hang on guys, we got all day,” he told them.
“I wanna go to the petting zoo and get a fish dinner and eat a fried candy bar and get a goldfish and get my face painted,” Laura said, clearly overstimulated.
Her dad nodded and looked over to Terry, his oldest. “What about you, pal?”
“There’s a blacksmith at the other end of the street. Some kids from school were talking about it. He gives you a nail.” Terry’s voice was full of wonder.
Grayson couldn’t help but smile. “You know bud, I got like a hundred nails in a bag at home. I’ll give you as many and you want.”
Terry gave a playful, exasperated look. “Yeah, but you didn’t make those nails, didja dad.”
“No, I guess I didn’t. What about you, big guy? What are you wanting to do today?” he asked, looking over to his youngest, Jacob.
The four-year-old scanned the area, thoughtfully. He suddenly became transfixed by a blinking neon booth to his side. “I wah throw da balls!” he yelled, seeing a gaming booth for tossing balls at bowling pins.
Grayson picked up his son and pointed at the booth. “That over there? You wanna throw the balls? What if I throw you at the balls?” he joked and pretended to toss his son in the air while the boy giggled with joy.
The four spent the next few hours exploring the fair, playing games, talking to friends and neighbors and enjoying each other. Jacob couldn’t quite master knocking over the bowling pins, but his dad was able to win him a rather large pink teddy bear. Laura found out that she was strangely allergic to alpaca fur, which is, apparently, impossible. And Terry was thrilled to get a nail fresh from the anvil.
Late in the afternoon, the festival committee had scheduled a magician to perform on the music stage. Lauren and Terry marched up to the front of the bleachers, each holding one of Jacob’s hands. The youngest was not sure about this, but he went along with his siblings. Grayson was standing behind the back row of bleachers when he felt a hand playfully slap his butt.
“You lookin’ for a good time, stranger?” It was Jeanie, his wife.
“Depends. What’s it gonna cost me?” he replied, playfully.
She looked him up and down, seductively. “Good lookin’ cowboy like you. Might be inclined to give you a freebie.”
“Well, I might just be inclined to take you up on it,” he said as he bent down and kissed her sweetly. It had been a rough couple of months for the couple. He had confronted her about seeing another man and she confessed immediately. Lots of tears, sleepless nights and some marriage counseling followed. But, their love for each other and their desire to keep the family together was more important than anything else to either of them, so they were working on it.
Ray the Magnificent appeared on stage with a flash of smoke and proceeded to wow the crowd for the better part of the next hour, mixing decent magic with corny jokes. The kids in the audience cheered his every trick. After the show, Terry and Lauren walked back to find their parents, arm in arm, watching a Bluegrass band load onto the stage.
“Where’s Jacob?” Grayson asked.
“He came back here to find you guys like twenty minutes ago,” Terry said. “Isn’t he with you?”
“Jacob!” the worried father yelled out into the crowd.
Jeanie scanned the street, straining to find her youngest child. “Jacob! Honey? Come to mommy!”
“Lauren, Terry, walk around and see if you see him. Check by the softball game and the goldfish. But stay together. If you find him, come back here.” Grayson was trying to hide the panic he was feeling.
“Jacob!” Jeanie yelled again.
Deputy McElroy jogged over from the corner. “You folks ok?” he asked.
“Our youngest has wandered off,” Jeanie said, the fear welling in her voice.
Grayson scrambled up on the bleachers, trying to find a better view of Main St. “Jacob! Buddy!”
Deputy McElroy clicked the transmitter on his shirt. “Dispatch, be advised we have a missing child, age, how old is he?” he asked, turning to Jeanie.
“He’s four. Named Jacob. What was he wearing, Grayson?” She was starting to panic.
It took him a moment to remember. “Kentucky sweatshirt. Cammo pants.”
“Dispatch, we have a missing child. Four year old male name Jacob Hughes. Last seen on Main St. at the festival wearing a Kentucky sweatshirt and green camouflage pants. Please put all units in the area on notice.” He let go of the switch on this transmitter and walked to stand between Jeanie and Grayson. “Folks, let’s stay calm. He’s probably just lookin’ at a toy booth or somethin’.”
Grayson hopped down from the bleachers. “There’s some inflatables up by the hardware store he liked. I’ll run up there and check. Sweetie, stay here in case he comes back.” She nodded as he jogged off down the street. He ran past booths selling light-up swords and used DVD’s. He scanned the crowd, desperate to find his youngest son. Across from Denton’s Hardware, the Festival Committee has arranged for some free inflatable games to be set up for the smaller kids. “Jacob!” he yelled into the crowd. Dozens of eyes looked at him, but no response came.
He circled the blow-up games where several kids were bouncing and sliding but so no sign of his son. “Maybe the other side of town,” he thought, grasping at any sense of hope. He met Terry and Lauren at the far end of the festival, in front of the goldfish booth. “Find him?” he asked, out of breath.
Terry shook his head. “Where could he be, Daddy?” he asked, clearly afraid of what was happening.
“I don’t know buddy. Let’s go find your mom. Maybe he’s with her.”
The three made their way through the crowd, straining to check every corner for Jacob. Deputy McElroy was still standing with Jeanie behind the bleachers. A beam of hope shot across her face when she saw her family coming, but when she saw that Jacob was not with them, her body sank with despair.
“We’ve got checkpoints going at both exits of the festival, checking every vehicle,” the deputy told Grayson when he stopped. “We’ll find him.”
“Daddy!” a small voice yelled from nearby.
Grayson looked up to see Jacob walking hand in hand with a teenage girl wearing a green evening gown, pink tiara, and a sash that read “Dumplin’ Darlin’” in green and black letters. He recognized Adeline Wells escorting his son in their direction.
“Look mama, a real pwincess!” the small boy called as he got closer to his family. His mother scooped him up into her arms and held him close to her face as tight as she could. “She got a real crown,” he continued.
Grayson walked a little closer to the teen girl. “Thank you, Adeline. Where was he?”
“Up on the back street. We’re lining up for the parade and he was looking at the floats and fire trucks. It took him a minute to realize he was alone, but I think he remembered me from babysitting him a few times last year, so he was just scared for a second. He saw the crown and said I looked like a princess.”
Grayson let himself smile and let out a sigh of relief. “Well, I can’t thank you enough.”
Adeline feigned a self-important pose. “Well, as the official Dumplin’ Darlin’, I am required to uphold the principles and ideals of Peril County. How could I not offer aid to one in need?”
Jeanie handed Jacob off to her husband and quickly wrapped her arms around Adeline’s neck. Grayson could see the teen’s eyes grow wide with surprise but then a look of acceptance came across her face as she hugged the worried mother back. “Thank you for findin’ my baby, sweet girl.”
“You’re welcome, Ms. Jeanie,” she said, patting her on the back.
Deputy McElroy clicked the switch on his transmitter. “Attention dispatch. Missing child found and returned to his family safe and sound. Repeat. Missing child returned safe and sound. All clear.”
A few minutes later, the Hughes family watched as Adeline led the parade in the back of a red pickup, sitting in an antique rocking chair, tossing suckers and bubble gum to the children who lined Main Street. Her Dumplin’ Court, eight girls in total, rode in individual cars and trucks behind her, each tossing out more candy to the kids. Fire trucks covered with kids from the grade school football teams and cheerleading squads followed, tossing even more cheap confections. Classic cars and trucks were next; hot rods, rat rods, ATV’s and side by sides all decked out with lights and accessories. Finally, the floats came, various classrooms and senior citizen centers, businesses and charities had all put in entries this year on the theme “My Old Kentucky Home.” Grayson pointed out the working chimney on the little log cabin the hospital had on their float to Jacob as it past.
Once the parade had ended, the sun was just starting to set. Grayson popped over to one of the concession stands and got everyone a fish dinner and a corn dog for Jacob. They walked down to the park and ate at the picnic shelter. As the last rays of the sun left the horizon, the five of them made their way to the swings on the far side of the playground. Terry and Lauren took turns pushing little Jacob while Jeanie rested her head against her husbands shoulder. The red and purple blasts of the fireworks illuminated her face just as they had done twenty years before.
Grayson watched his children playing and leaned in and kissed the top of his wife’s head. It wasn’t a perfect day. But he had to admit, it had ended up being a pretty great one.
Week 38 - The Audition
It was early afternoon as Jordyn pulled into the parking lot. Her little truck was loaded down with a beat-up guitar case, countless songbooks, a case of Diet Dr. Pepper and a half eaten burrito. The nerves were getting to her, and she didn’t know how to handle them. A couple years ago, she would have found strength in a bottle of pills or booze. But those days were behind her, thank God. She took one last sip of the good Dr.’s elixir and headed inside.
It was early afternoon as Jordyn pulled into the parking lot. Her little truck was loaded down with a beat-up guitar case, countless songbooks, a case of Diet Dr. Pepper and a half-eaten burrito. The nerves were getting to her, and she didn’t know how to handle them. A couple years ago, she would have found strength in a bottle of pills or booze. But those days were behind her, thank God. She took one last sip of the good Dr.’s elixir and headed inside.
Once on stage, the auditorium for the Bluegrass School was cavernous, with black sound-reflecting panels on every flat surface she could see. There was only one light illuminating the stage, and Jordyn truly felt like a deer on the wrong side of a scope standing there alone behind a tin-can-style microphone. Her Gibson guitar strapped around her neck let her know she wouldn’t just float away, and the thin beads of sweat falling down her temples and running down her back were a constant reminder that this was real and it was happening.
“Alright, Ms. Jordyn, whenever you’re ready.” The voice came from the darkness of the audience, but she recognized it as that of Jim Reed, the director of the program here at the school.
How many hours had she practiced? Would it be enough? A pang of self-doubt crept through her spine, only for a moment, before she could stuff it away. “Hey y’all. My name is Jordyn Nelson. I’m from over in Black Grass. Appreciate y’all lettin’ me come here and sing ya a few this afternoon.”
She took a step away from the mic and drew in a deep breath. Leaning into the microphone, she began to sing.
I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger
Traveling through this world of woe
She paused. Her mind had gone blank. This song, the one her father and grandfather had sung to her thousands of time throughout her life was now erased from her brain. Panic set it.
She took a step away from the mic and drew in a deep breath. Leaning into the microphone, she tried to speak. “Sorry. Nerves. Let me try that again.”
I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger
Traveling through this world of woe
Again, her mind became a black emptiness. Even more sweat was forming now on her brow and running down her back. Tears welled up in her eyes.
“You ok, hon?” a voice called from the darkness. It belonged to a woman, but Jordyn wasn’t sure who. She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes and forced a smile.
“Yes. Sorry. I’m fine. One last time.”
She took a step away from the mic and drew in a deep breath. Leaning into the microphone, she sang.
No words came out, just a weak croaking noise. A wave of shame and embarrassment washed over Jordyn as she stood there in the spotlight. “Sorry,” she whispered through tears and walked off of the stage.
After a blur of steps and tears, she found herself in a Green room filled with comfortable seats and a small fridge packed with tiny bottles of water. She collapsed onto a brown leather couch and began to sob.
Jordyn was so consumed with her own failings that she never noticed someone slip into the room and sit down on the couch next to her. “Well, that’s not the worse audition we’ve had at the school. It’s up there, sure. But it ain’t the worst.”
It was the same voice Jordyn had heard from the stage. She rolled over to see a strikingly beautiful woman in her fifties with curly blonde hair, wearing a denim skirt with blue eyeshadow and pink lipstick. She was one of the prettiest women Jordyn had ever seen. She handed Jordyn a box of tissues. “There you go, hon. It’s ok.”
“I screwed that right up, proper,” Jordyn said, dabbing the corner of her eyes.
The nice blonde lady gave Jordyn a kind smile. “Well, we didn’t get much of a chance to hear you sing, that’s for sure. It’s just nerves is all, I’d imagine.”
Jordyn let out a sigh and let her shoulders sink. “I practiced that song a thousand times.”
“Hon, you ever sing on a stage before today? A real stage?”
Jordyn shook her head. “I mean, I sung at church and stuff. But nothing like this.”
The blonde lady smiled even wider. “Well, there you go. I got my start in church too. My daddy was a travelin’ preacher and he had me and my brother and sisters doin’ the music from the time we could hold a mandolin. We had ‘em shoutin’ and runnin’ between the pews after a few bars ever time!”
“I’m a Baptist. It was rare to get an ‘Amen’ in our church,” Jordyn said with a wry chuckle.
The sweet blonde lady slapped Jordyn playfully on the knee. “Awe, honey. I was out a that kinda church singin’ business when daddy caught me swappin’ spit with the piano player’s son out behind the shed. Had his hand up my shirt and a bottle a Apple Jack half drunk between us. Lord don’t care where you come to see him, long as you stop in and say ‘Hi,’ ever now and then, best I can figure.”
The sounds of a banjo tuning up came from the stage. “You need to get back out there?” Jordyn asked.
The pretty blonde lady just smiled. “Oh, they can manage for a few minutes. Tell me why you came here today. What makes you wanna be a singer?”
She squinted her eyes a bit, thinking. “Tons a reasons, really. My grandaddy would sit out on the porch and sing the old-timey songs to me when I’d stay with him and mamaw growing up. Daddy said that I was singing before I took to talking as a baby and ain’t stopped much since; least when I’m alone.”
“Do you write songs, hon?”
Jordyn shrugged her shoulders. “Bet I’ve started over a hundred. Never finished one, though.”
The blonde lady nodded her head and smiled. “Hon, you got a lotta years in front of you yet. When I was your age, I was livin’ in the bottom of a bottle, singin’ in front of ten people a night who didn’t give two shits if I was on key or naked. Now, just because it didn’t go your way on that stage today don’t mean nothin’, alright?”
Jordyn shook her head, weakly.
“Now, I gotta get back out there, but before I do, I want you to do me a favor. Will you sing a song in here with me?”
Jordyn was puzzled by this, and wasn’t sure she had it in her to sing. But, this woman had been kind, and she didn’t want to be a disappointment all over again, so she agreed.
“Let’s do an ol’ Hymn, since we’re just a couple a old church girls deep down,” the pretty blonde lady said with a grin. “I’ll get us started and you just jump in.”
Her voice was clear and soothing, Jordyn thought, like a breeze through a picket fence on a summer day. She immediately knew the song this nice lady was singing to her.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me
Jordyn joined in, harmonizing along, creating something that surprised both of them.
I once was lost, but now I’m found
Was blind, but now I see
They sang through three verses of the song and as they finished, tears filled both of their eyes. “That song is very special to me. It got me through recovery a couple a years ago. That and my son. I was the only begotten daughter, dead in a ditch, and now I’m here.”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about, hon. You got a story to tell. You done some livin’ and now you need to let it out.” The pretty lady with blonde hair stood and motioned for Jordyn to join her for a hug.
“Will I be able to audition again next year, ma’am?” she asked, sheepishly.
She shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not, hon. But you’re gonna need to talk to Cheryl out there as you leave.”
Jordyn’s shoulders dropped. She could feel the hope drain out of her body.
“Your classes for this term start in a week, so she can get you set up with an ID and schedule you for everything,” the pretty blonde lady said as she gathered up her purse.
Confused, Jordyn shook her head. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
She smiled. “I said your classes start next week. You can’t audition next year, sweetie, because you’ll already be a student here.”
Jordyn squealed and hugged her tightly around the neck. “Are you kidding? Thank you so much!”
“I got a feelin’ about you, hon. I want to work with you. You got something and we can make it happen. I know it. Now, go see Cheryl so I can listen to this next kid murder his banjo!”
She gathered up her guitar and songbooks quickly. “Ma’am? I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t think I ever got your name.”
“What?” she said with false surprise. “Well, when I was dazzling them down on the strip, I went by Evangeline. But here at the school, you can just call me Ms. Effy. I’m your Vocals instructor.”
Week 37 - Foster Farms
The weather in Central Appalachia is always tricky, but especially so this time of year. The old joke around WEMT’s Weather Center is “Don’t like the Forecast? Wait five minutes!” because nothing changes faster than Kentucky weather. Blair Montgomery was becoming accustomed to this after living in the region these past few months. The light coat, mud boots, umbrella and baseball cap in the back seat of her compact car all attested to the sudden changes in weather that happen faster than a frog’s first jump. But today, the crisp morning air gave way to huge, cotton-like clouds hanging in a sea of blue.
The weather in Central Appalachia is always tricky, but especially so this time of year. The old joke around WEMT’s Weather Center is “Don’t like the Forecast? Wait five minutes!” because nothing changes faster than Kentucky weather. Blair Montgomery was becoming accustomed to this after living in the region these past few months. The light coat, mud boots, umbrella and baseball cap in the back seat of her compact car all attested to the sudden changes in weather that happen faster than a frog’s first jump. But today, the crisp morning air gave way to huge, cotton-like clouds hanging in a sea of blue.
“Good morning, Wanda,” she said as she entered the Peril County Community Help Center’s offices. In her two months on the job, Blair had made huge strides in modernizing the waiting area with new furniture, updated fixtures, and a bowl of fruit where the years-old magazines once lived.
“Mornin’” Wanda croaked. She was an older-looking lady of around seventy, with dark gray hair that feathered out around her eyes. Her weathered face was caked with thick layers of makeup and the bright red lipstick she wore reminded Blair a little of a sad clown. The receptionist never looked away from her computer screen as Blair walked back to her office.
Mr. Peterson was thumbing through the county newspaper. The Peril County Gazette had once been a thrice weekly, multi-sectional printing powerhouse in the region, with a staff of sixteen just ten years ago. Today, Billie Thompkins runs the paper from his garage with photos he snags off of social media, printing maybe four total pages once a week. But, as Mr. Peterson will tell you, there’s still a large section dedicated to Panther Athletics!
“Good morning, Mr. Peterson. You’re in early,” she said, stopping in his doorway. He folded the top of his paper down to see her. He had a scowl on his face. “What’s the matter?”
Mr. Peterson shook his head. “Simpson’s JV team took an ‘L’ last night against Harlan. And I hear the new boy’s basketball coach is already causing waves. They can’t even start practicing for another month, but half of the boys are threatening to quit.” He shook his head in frustration. “Damn nightmare.”
Blair pursed her lips and took in a deep sigh. “That does sound like a lot. I have someone coming in this morning to speak with me about an issue with foster kids. Would you like to sit in?”
He shook his head. “No. No. I’ve got to head up to Board of Education. There’s a coaches meeting, and the AD asked me to be there.”
“Sounds good, Mr. P. See you later, then?” But he was already back in his paper, so she walked on back to her office. It was small, but cozy. And next to a conference room she used for meetings. Since taking on this work, Blair had made it a point to meet as many local leaders and potential grant partners as she could. It quickly became apparent that there was more than enough need to go around and finding ways fulfill the Gulch Estate’s wishes would not be a challenge.
She spent the first hour of her day responding to emails and scheduling meetings with various folks. It was a little after 10am when Wanda called her. “There’s an Amanda Acre here to see you.” Blair knew it was actually Amanda Archer, but didn’t bother correcting Wanda. She made her way to the front of the office to greet her guest.
Amanda was a firecracker of a woman, with bright orange hair, purple-rimed glasses and a matching pants suite. She was short and squat, with round features that reminded Blair of a Christmas Elf, somehow. “Amanda? I’m Blair. Nice to meet you in person. Follow me.” The two ladies walked back to the conference room and sat. Amanda spread out three folders in front of her.
“I appreciate you taking time to speak with me this mornin’, Ms. Montgomery. I know your fiancee’s mother quite well. We went to school together many years ago.” Blair could hear something in Amanda’s voice, a twinge of accent, that was a little different from most of the Peril County residents.
Blair smiled. “She spoke highly of you. What can I do for you today?”
“As I said on the phone last week, I am a recently retired social worker. I spent most of my career in the inner cities of Louisville and moved back here just a few years ago. And I have noticed an escalating trend that needs to be addressed. We got a lot a kids in this community being seriously underserved and, in some cases, probably harmed. It’s an open secret and most folks don’t give it a second thought.” Amanda’s face was grim as she picked up the first of her folders.
Blair sat forward in her chair, her mind racing with what calamity might be so detrimental to the region. “Of course, I’ll do what I can to help. What are we actually talking about here?” she asked.
Amanda placed the folder, open to the first page, showing a dilapidated single-wide trailer with rusty windows and a row of doghouses along the side. It was clearly inhabited, but probably shouldn’t have been. “Have you ever heard of a foster factory? Or foster farm?”
Blair shook her head and picked up the folder. She started thumbing through and saw pictures of children in threadbare clothes, dirty faces, and sunken eyes. What must have been the interior of the trailer showed three separate rooms stacked floor to ceiling with bunk beds, six in all. She strained her eyes, trying to force her brain to comprehend what she was seeing.
“One of the few laws is one bed per child,” Amanda said, knowingly.
Blair kept thumbing through the file where she found example after example of terrible living conditions: piles of garbage in every corner, animals living in their own waste among the family, and rotting food on the counters. But it was the faces of the children that crushed Blair’s soul. They looked like zombies, half alive, unloved, and barely surviving. “What is this?” she could finally ask.
“That, I’m afraid, is one of the worst examples of what are now being called foster factories. Or foster farms. They shut this one down, thank God, but there are dozens of these in this community right now.” Amanda opened her next folder and handed it across to Blair.
Inside, she saw a small home flanked by a woodshed and open air garage. “These are some of the better ones from what I can gather,” Amanda told her. There were pictures of five kids, looking to range from four to fourteen, playing in a well-manicured lawn. They seemed clean and comfortable. Blair kept flipping through the folder to find images of a police raid on the same home, with an elderly man and woman being carted out in handcuffs. “Trafficking in Meth and Narcotics. Both convicted.”
She reached across the table to Blair, handing her the third folder. Inside were three pictures. The first showed a family of six, four boys and two girls, all under the age of 10, Blair thought. The father was a bald man in his early forties and the mother not much younger. They were all wearing white collared shirts and blue jeans. Each face smiled up at her, beaming with happiness. The second picture showed the same family, minus the girls. The father was seated in a large, wicker chair with the four boys in his lap, hugging him. If it were possible, he smiled even bigger than before. The third was a black and white mug shot of this same man. He was younger, with a head full of hair. He couldn’t have been more than a teenager in the pic. His face awash in fear.
Blair looked up at Amanda after scouring the three pics. “What’s the story here?” she asked.
She took a deep breath in and blew it out slowly through her nose. “That is Pastor Jeffrey Dean Wallins of the Full Holiness Church in Sassafras Fork. He also owns a used car lot over in Viper. That’s his wife of twelve years, Venessa and their two biological daughters. The four boys are fostered. And, as you can see, he’s a fan of his boys. And the third, the mug shot? That was taken when Pastor Wallins was living in Louisiana and named Thomas Labou, who at the age of 17, was convicted of sexually abusing three minors but got off on a technicality. He’s been in Peril County for the past fifteen years preachin’ the good word in the head of a holler after changin’ his name and all.”
Blair was stunned into silence. She adjusted in her seat, trying unsuccessfully to find some comfort where there was none. “What…How is this going on?” she finally got out.
“Sheriff raided that first home and took those kids. Parents there were on Meth and God knows what else. But all a’ the kids are still in the system. Same with the kids in the second home. Bobby Wicker and his wife got busted dealin’ and are both doin’ time now. But the kids are scattered across the state. But Paster Wallins and his four boys are still right up there on Sassafras Fork.” She took all three folders and closed them, stacking each on top of the last.
There was a knock at the door. Wanda stuck her head in. “Blair, honey, your Daniel is on the phone. Said not to forget about the meeting with the bank at eleven.”
“Damn!” she thought. She was supposed to be at the bank in fifteen minutes to close on a mortgage for their new home. “Amanda, I don’t know what to say. I hate to run out on you, but I have to be at the bank in just a few minutes. What you’ve shown me is horrifying. But, I’m not sure how I can help you.”
Amanda stood and grabbed her folders. “I’ll be honest, Ms. Montgomery. I done some checkin’ up on you and I think you’re good people. You got a good heart and you want what’s best for this town and for our kids. And right now, we got a hell of a lot a kids that need more than a Christmas present and a teeth cleaning.”
Blair nodded and asked Wanda to show Amanda the way out. In just a few minutes, she herself was racing the door and around the corner to the bank. There, in the lobby, she found Daniel, her partner and recent fiancee, sitting on a brown chair, looking at his phone.
“Hey babe!” he said, excited to see her. “What’s wrong, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Dan, babe. Have you ever thought about being a foster parent?”
Week 36: Com 151 - Introduction to public speaking
She couldn’t get used to the wind. It blew constantly. At home, the wind whisked around the mountains every once in a while, sure. But nothing like this: consistent, loud, and crisp. Even here in August. Moving in over the weekend, it was the first thing Brittany had noticed. It was just one of the many reminders that she was not in Peril County anymore.
She couldn’t get used to the wind. It blew constantly. At home, the wind whisked around the mountains every once in a while, sure. But nothing like this: consistent, loud, and crisp. Even here in August. Moving in over the weekend, it was the first thing Brittany had noticed. It was just one of the many reminders that she was not in Peril County anymore.
There had been several scholarship offers to attend various colleges from out of state, many with great writing programs and some with prestigious pedigrees. Columbia had even offered her a majority-tuition scholarship that covered most of her expenses. But, in the end, she decided that being close to home was important to her. So, three days ago, Brittany Burns started her first semester as a Paris College Bulldog in Bourbon County, Ky.
The first weekend had been interesting, to say the least. Brittany and the rest of the freshmen had the campus mostly to themselves. The small Christian school featured around a dozen buildings, ranging from an ancient science center to a state-of-the-art Learning Resource Library. Paris had a history of putting out teachers over the years as their Education program was renowned across the Commonwealth. In the deep crevices of her mind, Brittany’s sub-conscience had turned over the belief that if this dream of being a famous writer fell through, getting a teaching degree wasn’t a bad backup plan.
The college had organized two days crammed full of student activities and games for the freshmen. Brittany, always an outgoing and engaging young woman, had initially looked forward to these events. But, she soon noticed something about almost all of her classmates; almost none of them were from Appalachia.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“What did you say?”
“Where are you from? That accent is just adorable!”
“Say that again for me, please. I’m not getting you, dear.”
At first, there weren’t any openly hostile jabs at Brittany. But there was a definite language barrier. Then, the subtle judgements started to roll in as folks learned more about Brittany and where she came from.
“That’s so good that you got into Paris. I hope you do great!”
“I’ve never been to East Kentucky. Is it really like they show on TV, with the meth and the murder and stuff?”
“So, does your dad, like, dig coal, and everything?”
One student looked her directly in the eye, then down at her feet and said “But you’re wearing shoes. And you have all of your teeth? Good for you, girlie!”
Brittany held a brave face and kept interacting with her classmates for the rest of the mix’n’mingle. There had been a few girls she had formed bonds with quickly. Devon Walsburger grew up in Versailles just half an hour away from campus. She was short and slim with a kind face that was framed with maroon hair. Another girl, Martinique De la Cruz, was the daughter of an OBGYN and a tax attorney in Louisville. The three of them quickly bonded when they found out that they were all in the creative writing program and loved old movies. “Marty” as she liked to be called, and Devon were roommates in the Greer Dormitory, where most of the freshman girls lived. Brittany, however, lived in Lincoln Hall, an upperclassman dorm, with a girl she could find very little common ground with.
Buzz (Brittany would never learn her actual name) was something of a non-conformist. Her green and blue mohawk jetted out into spikes two feet from her scalp. The double-gauged nose and ear piercing may be a common sight in some places, but it’s a rare occurrence at the conservative campus of Paris College. A flaming snake tattoo wrapped itself from Buzz’s torso, around her neck until finally, a diamond-shaped head rested on her left cheek, mouth agape with venom dripping from two gnarly fangs. When Brittany walked into their shared room for the first time, she found the walls painted black with an anarchy symbol etched into the wall on her side of the room, posters for what she could only assume were bands but might just as well have been horror movies, plastered on the others. Two large silver speakers sat mounted to the far corners of the room that blasted what Brittany could only describe as hate-filled death wails.
Brittany stood at the door, not sure of what to do next.
“You Brittany?” the spiky-haired rocker spat.
Brittany nodded her head, meekly.
“M’Buzz, your roommate. Got three rules.” The neo-punk inched closer to Brittany to the point that she was hovering over the freshman. “Don’t look at me. Don’t talk to me. And don’t touch shit. You do that and we’re golden.” She spoke slowly and with purpose.
Even over the din of the music, Brittany clearly heard every word. There was no mistaking the intentions of this conversation, and Brittany understood her role in this relationship perfectly. She nodded at Buzz and placed her suitcase on the bed. As she was walking out of the room, Buzz pulled out a large cigar and lit it, filling the room with thick, blue smoke.
She spent little time in her dorm after that first day. After pleading with her floor’s RA to switch rooms, her buildings RD to switch floors and the college’s Dean of housing to switch buildings, all to no avail, she accepted her fate as Buzz’s roommate. So, after the first night, Marty and Devon invited her to stay with them. The three became close quickly.
“I heard a little bit about your roomie!” Marty said to Brittany as the girls prepared for their first day of classes.
Devon squealed with excitement and plopped down onto her bed. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this! Is she a serial killer? Cannibal? What’s the story?”
Brittany was folding some clothes and putting them into a basket. There were only two closets in the small room, but the girls were doing their best to share. “I’m sure she’s just a normal girl who has her own way of doing things,” she rationalized.
“Nope!” Mary chimed in. “She’s a billionaire!”
Both of the other girls looked at her, confused.
“Well, her dad is, anyway. Buzz’s dad owns some medical technology firm and is worth billions! She’s been at Paris for like six years. It’s part of a trust fund deal or something. She has to attend a Christian collage until she either graduates or turns 25. The college won’t kick her out because her dad gives them so much money! This is her last year.” Marty was a hand talker, using them as much as her words to express what she meant.
Brittany shook her head. “Well, she wasn’t very nice. But I hope she finds what she’s looking for.”
The next morning, Brittany awoke and headed out to her first college class at Paris. It was a public speaking course that was part of her creative writing curriculum. She entered the Learning Resource Library at the far end of the campus and quickly found her classroom. It was a windowless room with a large smart board, a table and chair for the instructor and around thirty student desks. There were a handful of other students already there, but none that she knew, so she made her way to far side of the room and sat about halfway back in the row.
After a few moments, the room filled up, mostly, and a stern-looking woman in her fifties walked through the door. She had blonde-gray hair that went down to her shoulders, black horn-rimmed glasses with a pink lanyard showing her teachers id. The brown sweater vest she wore over a white-collared shirt had gold buttons that caught the light with every few steps she took. “Good morning, everyone. My name is Dr. Collier. I will be leading you through Com 151, Intro to Public Speaking. I am the chair of the Communications Department and I have been at Paris for over thirty years. This is a required course for several Majors and Minors, so it is essential that you do your best.” Her voice was quick and stiff.
After taking roll, Dr. Collier let the students know that her class was a little different that most public speaking courses. “There is no time like the present to do a little practicing, so let’s get started. You are about to give a short, impromptu speech about the one topic I know you all are well versed; yourselves. Jaxon, let us start with you.”
A Malaysian teen with bright yellow hair stood up. He bowed slightly, almost as if on instinct. “Hello class. My name is Jaxon bin Hasif. I was born in Malaysia but came to this country twelve years ago. It is my dream to be a professor of maths.” He spoke with strength and conviction about his passions, his family and his home country. The accent he had was distinct, but not cumbersome. After a couple minutes, he bowed slightly again and took his seat. The class gave a smattering of polite applause.
“Very good Jaxon. Very good, indeed,” Dr. Collier said. She scanned her paper. “Betsy?”
A statuesque young woman with platinum blonde hair that ran below her waist stood on the far side of the room. She wore a bright pink tee with some script on the chest that Brittany couldn’t make out, but must have been some designer logo. The crop top exposed her tanned abs. Betsey sat down her iced coffee and Louis purse and made her way to the front of the class.
“Hey everyone, my name is Betsey Whitsman and, like, I grew up just outside of Louisville at Anchorage. And, like, I am like super into yoga and fitness. I have two corgi puppies that are, like, totally my babies.” There was a vocal fry in her speech that Brittany found to be odd. No one in Peril County talked or sounded quite like this girl. No one looked like her either. She reminded Brittany of what a super model would look like on her way to a big shoot. Betsey spoke for six or seven minutes until finally finishing and taking her seat.
Dr. Collier jotted down a few notes. “Well done, Ms. Whitsman. Now, we have Brittany.”
She was nervous as she stood. Making a good first impression was important to her, and public speaking wasn’t something she particularly enjoyed. Written communication was her choice, of course. She stood in front of the thirty or so students and the professor and took in a deep breath. “Hey y’all. My name’s Brittany Burns. I grew up in Peril County, which is a couple hours south a here. I’m in the creative writin’ program and I’m real excited to be here.”
“Brittany, I’m going to stop you right there,” Dr. Collier interrupted. “Brittany, dear, remind me of the town there in Peril County.”
She cocked her head a little to side, confused. “Uh, only real town we have is Black Grass, ma’am.”
Dr. Collier nodded, knowingly. “Yes, Black Grass. Thank you for reminding me. Brittany, I’m going to help you, today. You seem to be a sweet, bright young lady with loads of potential.”
Brittany beamed for a moment.
“But you’re going to waste all of that if you don’t stop talking like a hillbilly.”
A good third of the class guffawed instantly. Brittany felt the gaze of everyone in the room like daggers digging into her soul. “I’m sorry. What, ma’am?”
“There you go again. Dear, no one will ever take you seriously if you sound like the country bumpkin. It may be hard to hear, but I’ve seen it time and again, if you sound like an idiot, people with think you are one. Take Betsey, for example. She has the classic Mid-Western accent. Clean, nondescript and almost unrecognizable in terms of region.”
Brittany stood as a statue at the head of the class, with every instinct she had screaming at her to run for the door. But, somehow she made herself stay.
“Betsey, I would be willing to offer you extra credit if you would assist Ms. Brittany where with her accent. Would you like to do that?” Betsey was sipping on her coffee and staring at her phone. The guy beside her nudged her arm, gently.
She looked over at the professor, then to Brittany, and then back to the professor. “Like, how much extra credit?”
Dr. Collier jotted down something on her sheet. “I’ll make it worth your while. You may have a seat, Brittany.”
Back in the room she shared with Marty and Devon, Brittany shoved her face into a pillow and cried. She’d never felt so ostracized, so excluded, so ‘other’ in her life. For as long as she could remember, the idea of college had been a bastion of hope and growth for her. And now, in just a few short days, those dreams lay dashed.
She rolled over and dialed Graham’s cell.
Week 35: How do you eat an Elephant
The first week of school is always the best of the year. It doesn’t matter if you’re a teacher, a student, or a member of the staff, that wondrous vibe of hope permeates the very walls of every schoolhouse from Miami to Maui, from Maine to Mount McKinley. Teachers were sure that this year would be better than the last. Students were excited to be with their friends again, and, in some cases, glad to be one year closer to getting out into the real world.
The first week of school is always the best of the year. It doesn’t matter if you’re a teacher, a student, or a member of the staff, that wondrous vibe of hope permeates the very walls of every schoolhouse from Miami to Maui, from Maine to Mount McKinley. Teachers were sure that this year would be better than the last. Students were excited to be with their friends again, and, in some cases, glad to be one year closer to getting out into the real world.
This feeling that anything was possible wafted through the air as Mr. Will Turner took roll for his first-period English IV class. He knew most of these kids as he called their names. For a few of them, he’d had their parents in class. A couple, he went to church with at Black Grass Baptist as well. This wasn’t where he thought he would be this time a year ago; retirement being snatched away from him by the Governor and all. But Mr. Turner was, if nothing else, a dedicated and outstanding teacher, ready to give his all to a new class of students.
“All right, looks like we’re all here,” he said as he stood and walked to the smart board. “For those that don’t know, my name is Will Turner. This is my thirty-third year of teaching. I am looking forward to a great year with you all. We have some exciting things lined up for you. A few ‘right of passage’ things that some of you may enjoy, but you will most likely remember for the rest of your lives.” He walked his class through their syllabus, explaining research papers, Macbeth, personal essays, Beowulf, The Canterbury Tales, Graphic Novels, and other little tidbits he had in store for them for the year.
“Now, are there any questions? Policies and procedures are in your packet, so please read over that.” He scanned the room, looking for puzzled faces.
A hand shot up from the back of the class. It belonged to a lanky boy with sandy blonde shoulder length hair. “It says here we gotta write a fifteen page paper? They’re ain’t no way!”
Mr. Turner grinned a half smile. “Dawson, right?” The teen nodded. “Dawson, I get that comment every year. Every class of every year. And I’m going to tell you what I tell everyone else. ‘How do you eat an elephant?’” He paused.
The students started at him, blankly.
“I’m serious. How do you eat an elephant?”
There was a long pause. Finally, a chubby boy with bad skin sitting on the last row said “With you mouth?” Most of the class chuckled. Mr. Turner could see this student become a little uncomfortable, just for a moment.
“You’re exactly right. The old saying is ‘How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time!’ All that means is, no matter how big the job, you can get it done if you just take it one step at a time. If you all will notice, we are devoting six weeks of next semester to the writing of those papers. That’s thirty days of school, so if you average it out, I’m asking you to write half a page a day. That doesn’t sound so bad now, does it?” He could see some relief cross the faces of many of the students. “I’ll sweeten the deal. Dawson, what is your favorite thing in the world?”
Dawson furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
“Just what are you into? Music? Hunting? Movies? What do you like to do in your free time?”
He scratched the side of his face. “I listen to a lot of metal music, I guess.”
Mr. Turner sent out a beaming smile. “See, that’s perfect. You can write about the history of Heavy Metal or a particular band. Maybe you want to learn more about a brand of guitar. My point is that I want you to pick a topic that you are interested in. Passionate about even. When you’re done, you should be the school expert on your topic. But that’s next semester. Let’s focus on what’s right in front of us.”
A dark skinned girl with glasses sitting in the far row raised her hand. “Mr. Turner, I know what a personal narrative is, but what is a Beowulf?”
“Tasha?” The girl nodded. “Well, after doing this for a few years, I’ve found that it works pretty well when we link up a writing assignment with some literature. The curriculum map says we’re supposed to be looking at English Lit. this year and the first example of that we have is an epic poem called Beowulf. It’s about this warrior king who fights monsters. So, while we read it together, you guys will also write a story about a time when you fought a monster in your own life.”
He could see many faces tighten in confusion. “I know what you’re thinking, ‘I never fought a monster!’ right? Well, we’re gonna be a little more figurative with our definition of a monster. Did you ever stand up to a bully? Ever conquer a fear? Ever do something right when it would have been easier to do something wrong or even do nothing at all? These are all examples of you taking on a ‘monster’ of your own. That’s what we’re talking about.” The faces of many of his students loosened in signs of ease and understanding.
The scene was similar for the next 7 hours as Mr. Turner explained how the year would go for the rest of his students. Lots of worry about research papers and wailing about the amount of work in front of them. But Will could already tell that, for the most part, this was going to be a pretty good group.
After the last bell rang and the final students had dashed out of the classroom, Will finally had time to check his email. There he found two messages needing his immediate attention.
RE: Inquiring on Teacher’s Union Rep Position
and
RE: Status of Write-in Eligibility for Election
Will selected the top one first and read the email from the state teacher’s union. He had enquired about the current teacher representation from their region and found that they actually did not have one, so he wanted to see what it would take to nominate someone, namely himself.
Mr. Turner,
Thank you for your interest in representing your district with the Kentucky Teacher’s Union. District 6, the area Peril County resides, has been without a representative since the retirement of a teacher in the Hazard School System last semester. The nominating period has been extended through the end of the month as no names have been submitted. If you would like to submit, please use the following link and complete the application. We appreciate your interest and are proud to serve education professionals of this great Commonwealth.
Will was thrilled with this news and anxiously clicked on the quickly clicked on the second email, this one from the County Clerk, Greg Feltner.
Will,
Good to hear from you. There are no limitations for you to run as a Write-In Candidate in our District for State Representative. You will just need to fill out a form and pay a $50 fee. As a friend, I will warn you that you would be getting in the race pretty late here. But you sound passionate about this and I know you don’t do anything rashly. Just pop by the courthouse if you decide to run.
Another wave of excitement ran through Will. He quickly picked up the phone next to his computer and dialed his wife. “Hey hon, just heard back from the Teachers Union and Greg Feltner. Both look like they could be very doable if we want to jump in.”
“Oh, Will! That’s great. What are you gonna do?” She sounded almost as thrilled as Will.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, there’s not a current person in position for the union. But I don’t know who else might be running. And after the way our State Rep. voted on our retirement, I really want to get him out just on spite!”
“What’s his name again?”
Will pursed his lips and thought for a moment. “It’s Stewart Walker from over in Harlan County. He never comes over this way much, so I’ve only met him a time or two.”
“Real short, bald and fat?”
“That’s him.”
“I didn’t have much for him before he helped screw us out of retirement.”
“Well, he sure didn’t have much to say when we all reached out to him last spring. But Harlan County has more voters than we do. And they love him over there,” Will said, pondering what move to make next.
“Yeah, but they got a lot a’ teachers, too!”
“I want to do the most good. Where do I have the best chance of making a difference?”
He could hear her smile through the phone. “Will, honey, you do good wherever you go. You know that. I say go for both. Either one you get, you’ll make a world of difference. If you get both, you’ll be worked to death, but it’ll be worth it. And if you get neither, then, shit, they didn’t deserve you, anyway.”
“Maybe you’re right,” was all he said.
“I gotta get to a PLC meeting with the rest of the 5th grade teachers. Nothing like an after school meeting on the first damn day!”
“Have fun. Love you!”
“Love you too!”
Will hung up the phone and swiveled in his chair, gently. Being a write-in candidate was a long shot, he knew. But Stewart Walker had voted to take away millions from every teacher in Kentucky. And two years was a long time to wait for another election to roll around. He’d have to get out and meet as many folks as he could in just 3 months. He turned back to his computer and looked up the total number of households in Harlan and Peril Counties.
20,157
“How do you eat an elephant?” he said with a smile.
week 34: The Food Bank & The Drug Dealer
The staff at the Peril County Food Bank was used to seeing around eight hundred families come through their doors every month. Food insecurity had become a huge issue across all of Central Appalachia, and folks in Peril County sought aid anywhere they could. Ray Carter took his mother, Opal, to the food bank on the third Thursday of every month and the two of them would split what they received.
The staff at the Peril County Food Bank was used to seeing around eight hundred families come through their doors every month. Food insecurity had become a huge issue across all of Central Appalachia, and folks in Peril County sought aid anywhere they could. Ray Carter took his mother, Opal, to the food bank on the third Thursday of every month and the two of them would split what they received.
Jenny Baker, the director of the food bank, stood behind a long table filled with pre-filled boxes near the back of the room. A pair of volunteers sat at the door, helping folks fill out paperwork and sign in. Ray held the door for his mother, a frail woman in her eighties who used a walker to get around. He had offered several times to just go in and get the food box on his own, but Opal insisted on going in herself. “These nice folks are kind enough to provide for the two of us, the least I can do is tell them ‘Thank you’ to their faces,” she would say practically every month.
There was a clipboard on the table as they entered Ray knew had to be filled out every month. He picked it up and checked the boxes for ‘Family of 2’ and ‘Receives Government Assistance’ with a blue Black Grass Community Bank pen before signing his name at the bottom.
“You makin’ it alright, Mrs. Carter,” one of the young volunteers asked Opal as she took the clipboard from Ray.
The old woman smiled, weakly. “I’m still a kickin’. That’s better than the alternative, I reckon.” She rasped out a dry chortle and shuffled toward the back of the building. Ray snagged a rickety shopping cart as they walked.
In front of them stood a couple in their forties, dressed in designer clothes. She carried an expensive purse while he stared down at what appeared to be the latest model of smartphone. Ray scanned them both from head to toe, thinking that they didn’t seem to be the typical clientele of the food bank. He watched as Jenny greeted them both warmly and slid over a large box of food. The man seemed uncomfortable, Ray thought, as he slid the box onto a flattop cart and started for the door. The woman held her head high in the air, with a feeling of superiority about her. They exited the food bank and Ray watched as they put their food box into the back of a luxury SUV.
“We feed the greedy to serve the needy,” a voice said from behind Ray. He turned to see Jenny’s smiling, if annoyed face. She tossed a bag of dried noodles into the box in front of her.
Opal shuffled a little closer to the table. “Wha’s that, dear?”
“Nothin’ Miss Opa. Just something we say ‘round here sometimes. Are you all doin’ alright today?” She slid the large cardboard box toward Ray.
He took the box and placed it inside their shopping cart. “We’re gettin’ by. Y’all are busy today, huh? There’ cars lined up around the block.”
With a quick motion, Jenny turned and ticked off another box on her tally sheet behind her. “Lot’s a folks needin’ some extra help right now, I guess. I’m just glad we’re able to do something.”
Opal reached her thin arm toward Jenny and took her hand. “You’re doin’ the Lord’s work, honey. Don’t you forget that. There might be some bad apples that take advantage. But those of us that really need this sure do appreciate it,” the old woman said just above a whisper.
“Well, that’s awful kind of you, Miss Opal. Awful kind. Now, don’t forget your cheese and milk over by the cold case as you all go. We’ll see you next month, ok?”
Ray pushed the cart toward the side of the room, where a bank of three refrigerator cases sat filled with dairy products. A young man handed them a bag of various cheeses and butter, along with two gallons of milk. “Thank ya, sir,” Ray said as he took the items and placed them into his cart.
The young girl working the front table pushed open the door and let Opal and her son out. “Y’all have a good day, now,” she said as they left.
The trunk to Opal’s Oldsmobile Regal Cutlass was tied shut with some plastic lawn mower cord. It took Ray just a minute to undo the knot and place all of their grocers inside. Opal took the keys and started the engine from the passenger seat. The A/C was slow to kick in, so Ray had asked her to get it going as soon as she could. They were loaded up and on the road a couple of minutes later.
Since they were out, Opal wanted to run a few errands. Stops at the bank, the post office, and the County Clerk’s office were quickly planned and executed. Ray wouldn’t let his mother get out in the heat unless she absolutely had do, so she stayed in the cool of the car most of the time. With some cash, a book of stamps and vehicle registration papers all in hand, Ray and Opal headed back to Gunther Holler.
“You sure you don’t need nothin’ else while we out, mama?” he asked, turning the car onto Main St.
“Stop by the smoke shop and get me a carton. I’m out at home.” Opal had smoked since she was fourteen and had a cancer scare back in her 60’s.
After one last stop, Ray turned the Oldsmobile toward home. It was about a fifteen-minute drive, and Opal’s head bobbed a little as she fought sleep. “Tired, Mama?” he asked, knowing the answer.
She nodded, weakly. “Ain’t got as much juice in me as I use’ta,” she said as she turned the air conditioner down.
Ray took the box of food and the two bags of cheese and milk out of the trunk and walked into his mama’s trailer. “I’ll put all a this up, mama. Go take you a nap.” She nodded in agreement and went back to her bedroom and closed the door.
Inside the box, Ray found two bags of frozen taco meat, two bags of frozen meatballs, two jars of pasta sauce, four boxes of pasta, four cans of green beans, and a package of bratwurst sausages. He placed all of the items inside June’s fridge and grabbed a Nattie Ice from the compartment in the door. Opal never drank, but Ray always kept at least a twelve pack in her fridge.
He ripped open her carton of smokes and helped himself to a pack and cracked open his beer. Her trailer had a small wooden deck attached to the back door that had a metal awning covering it. Ray slithered out the back door and plopped down into a sun-faded deck chair next to a small glass table. A brown ashtray with the Best Western logo in the center sat at the center of the table next to a black cigarette lighter. He sat down his beer and lit a smoke before kicking off his old work boots.
There was a small creek that ran behind June’s house. The babbling of the water was loud enough to be heard all the way up on the deck, unless a car was driving down the holler. Ray sniffed hard and remembered the stench this creek used to carry past his childhood home. Terry French raised pigs at the head of Gunther Holler decades ago and the runoff would wash right down the creek, past this house. The reek of pig shit floating by is something that would stick with Ray until his dying day. On hot days like today, he swore that the smell would come back now and then, escaping out of the old rocks and water somehow. He took another drag on his cigarette and downed the rest of his beer.
His foot twitched, nervously. A terrible thought had been running through his mind for over a week now, and today it was eating through his soul like a worm through a Granny Smith. Ray had been working as a CI for the Peril County Sheriff’s Department for the past few weeks and hated every minute. Half of the time, he was buying pills or weed from folks he considered friends. He didn’t touch that meth stuff himself, and didn’t feel too bad about buying it from folks to get it off the streets. But a recent run-in with Sam Anderson had chilled him to the bone. Sam was as bad as they came in Peril County, with a rap sheet as long as his arm. Ray had heard that Sam was already being looked at for burning down a house earlier in the year on top of all the drug stuff. And he knew that crossing Sam Anderson was about as bad an idea as you can have.
It was just a few days earlier that Ray was picking up some beer at the Speedy Quick when he ran into Sam in the bathroom. “Fancy meetin’ you here, Ray,” he had said as they both stood at the urinal. “Not seen you in a few weeks now. You too good to run up and see me or somethin?”
The last time Ray had seen this man, he was buying $500 worth of pills off of him. It was the second buy that Raul had sent him on with Sam. Ray could feel something was wrong but didn’t want to give anything away. “I don’t reckon, Sam. Why you askin’?”
“It’s jus’ a funny thang to me that you make two runs up ta my place in a month and then I don’ see hide ‘ner hair of ye since. Y’ain’t quit me, now, have ye?” There was a cool menace to his voice that made Ray’s blood run backwards.
Ray zipped up his pants and started for the sink. “Naw, nothin’ like that. Just been a little short on cash is all.”
The intimidating drug dealer slammed down on the handle to flush his urinal and walked to the sink next to Ray, never looking directly at the man. “Well, if it’s cash you need, why don’t you get me some a yer mama’s Perc’s. I figure she won’t miss around ten or so.” He washed his hands and shook the water onto the floor. “Bring ‘em up to me in a couple days and I’ll settle up with ya. Figure it’s the lease I can do, right?” He turned and walked out of the bathroom, never making direct eye contact with Ray.
As he sat on the deck, thinking back on that exchange, a fresh shiver shot through Ray’s spine. “He knows. Don’t know how, but he knows I snitched on him,” he whispered to himself, lighting another cigarette. He sat there a moment, trying to force his brain to come up with some sort of solution. “Tell Raul? Naw, he won’t do nothin’! Some other cop? Doubt they’d care either.” Contingency plans raced through his mind. He could come clean to Sam and hope for mercy.
Ray took a long drag off of his smoke and snuffed it out in the Best Western ash tray. He bolted up and his head began to spin, just a little. Closing his eyes and grabbing the top of the chair, he felt better after a moment. “She’ll never miss ‘em,” he thought. “I can take ‘em and she’ll never know.” He bounded into the house and crept down toward the master bathroom, where Opal kept her meds. Inside the cabinet above the sink, Ray found an orange bottle with about 12 round pills inside. He quickly shoved the bottle into his pocket and closed the mirror shut.
“I’ll get her some Aspirin while I’m out,” he thought as he headed for the door, hoping beyond hope Sam was gonna be cool.
Week 33: A Visit with Aunt Imogene
With school set to start in just a few days, Janie and Kyle finished their summer break by staying with their dad’s sister, Imogene, up in Greasy Fork. Aunt Imogene was a little older than their dad would have been, and her kids had all moved on to their own lives. So, she insisted the twins spend at least a week or two with her every summer. Even when they were younger, Imogene would bring them up to play with their older cousins as much as they could. Janie decided much later that it was a way to keep a piece of her brother close by since he’d been gone so many years.
With school set to start in just a few days, Janie and Kyle finished their summer break by staying with their dad’s sister, Imogene, up in Greasy Fork. Aunt Imogene was a little older than their dad would have been, and her kids had all moved on to their own lives. So, she insisted the twins spend at least a week or two with her every summer. Even when they were younger, Imogene would bring them up to play with their older cousins as much as they could. Janie decided much later that it was a way to keep a piece of her brother close by since he’d been gone so many years.
Will, Imogene’s brother and the father of Kyle and Janie, left for the Marines just before the twins were born. Unfortunately, he never made it home to meet his babies. So, Imogene made sure that the two kids knew all about their daddy and his side of the family.
With the threat of high school looming over them, Kyle and Janie were both filled with equal parts dread and excitement. Peril County High was a small school by pretty much any standard, and they knew most of the kids that would be enrolled with them. But, it was still a new school, with new routines and new teachers, and there was some apprehension on their part.
“Have you checked your schedule yet?” Kyle asked his sister as he sat down at a small breakfast nook. Aunt Imogene had left a box of cereal, some yogurt, juice, and milk out for them.
“Yeah,” she said, unable to hide her disappointment.
Kyle poured some cereal into a paper bowl and topped it off with a splash of milk. “Can’t be that bad,” he said.
Janie had already finished her breakfast, so she downed her juice and started collecting her dishes. “Well, I’ve got Health and PE first period, so if I get hot and sweaty, I’ll stink all day. And none of my friends are in any of my classes.”
“What did you get for your elective?” Kyle asked, scooping a huge spoonful into his mouth.
“Home Ec.,” she called over her shoulder as she walked into the kitchen. She tossed her glass and spoon into the dishwasher and threw the disposable bowl into the garbage. “What about you?”
Kyle was already pouring more cereal into his bowl when she walked back into the breakfast nook. “Computer Science,” he said flatly.
“What are you two heathen’s jawin’ so hard ‘bout this mornin’?” Aunt Imogene asked as she came down the steps. She was in her early fifties with gray-blonde hair that went just to her shoulders. She was still pretty, but Janie had seen pictures of her from a few decades ago, and Aunt Imogene was a knockout in her younger days. “We got too much stuff to do today for you’uns to be lolly-gaggin’ around all mornin’!” she said with a smile.
Kyle let out a whiney sort of sigh. “C’mon, Aunt Imogene! We gotta start school in like four days. Can’t we just hang out today?”
“Son, quit that belly-aching and run and put you some old shorts and flip-flops on. I got a job fer you and yer sister.” Defeated, Kyle dropped his shoulders and slinked to the bedroom he’d been using.
Janie, used to cleaning up his messes, gathered up his bowl and glass and took them to the kitchen. “What kind of job, Aunt Imogene?”
She held up a hand to her niece, letting her know to wait until Kyle returned. He bounded back into the room in just a few seconds. “Alright, we’re gonna have an old timey kind ‘a day here today. I’m gonna show you’uns how me and yer daddy used ta play when we was kids.”
Kyle furrowed his brow. “We ain’t exactly kids anymore, Aunt Imogene. We’re gonna be in high school starting next week.”
“Ain’t never too big to learn to play, son,” she said in a pretty serious tone.
Janie thought back to staying with her Granny Wilma as a small girl and hearing about all the old mountain ways. For Kyle, it was always the newest toy or game. But Janie was what Granny Wilma called “An old soul,” and she loved learning all she could about what life was like when her daddy was growing up and even from way before then. “That sounds great, Aunt Imogene. What are we gonna do?”
The three of them went outside where Imogene had sat a box of street chalk down on the concrete. She bent down and drew a grid of boxes. “I know y’all heard of hop scotch, right?” Both twins nodded. “But, have you ever actually played it?” She took a few minutes to draw numbers in the squares and explain the rules. The tossing of the rock confused Kyle tremendously, but after actually doing it a few times, it became second nature.
Janie found the game fun, if a bit childish, but she could tell that her brother was getting pretty bored fast. “Did you and Dad play this, Aunt Imogene?” she asked, trying to engage her brother as well.
“Oh, honey. Your dad HATED hopscotch. Said it was a girl’s game. But I wanted you all to get a little taste of it before we moved on. Y’all ready for somethin’ else?”
The twins both nodded and Janie could see some relief in her brother’s face. Clearly, he was not having the best of times.
“Kyle, honey, run into the shed a grab a hatchet for me.” A bewildered look came over the young teen’s face, but he did as he was told and soon came out holding a small hand axe. “Now, I want you to go out back and find us three long limbs. At least six foot. Cut ‘em off a tree and then chop off any little branches and leaves off of it. Don’t go cuttin’ off yer arm or nothin’ while yer at it.”
He nodded, clearly excited to be doing something that might be considered ‘dangerous,’ and jogged around to the back of the house. In just a moment, the sound of inexperienced wood chopping boomed from behind the house.
“Janie, honey, I want you to head into the shed and find me a pair of sheers, some fishin’ line and some hooks.” She did as she was told.
Inside the shed, she saw countless antique wonders that had always fascinated her. There was an old cola dispenser that belonged to her grandfather. He ran a little store at the head of the holler that miners would stop at on their way to work for tobacco and food to take underground with them. When the mines closed, so did the store. But Grandpa Lawson had brought a lot of the advertising signs and this bottle fridge home with them after the store went out of business. There were also old pieces of farm equipment that Janie wasn’t sure about but looked equally dangerous and exciting. After a minute of searching, she found the items she was looking for and headed back out.
Kyle had already returned with three long branches. He was now taking the hatchet and slicing off the protruding limbs from the base. He handed each one to Aunt Imogene as he finished for her to inspect.
“Not bad, my boy. Not bad at all. Now, there’s a plastic bucket over by the door. Grab that and take off your shoes.” The two shared a strange look of confusion, but slid off their shows and grabbed the bucket. Aunt Imogene led them down to the creek that ran just past her house. “Y’all ever hunted crawdad’s before?” she asked.
Janie remembered playing in this very creek as a small girl several years ago and having a crawdad pinch her toe. She looked over at Kyle, who had always been a self-professed ‘inside kid’ and he looked miserable. “I have, a time or two,” she told her aunt.
“Well, we’re gonna need around nine. So, turn up rocks and they’ll probably be underneath. Just grab ‘em and toss em into the bucket.” She pulled out a pack of slim cigarettes and lit one, taking a long drag.
“What do we need crawdads for?” Kyle asked.
“At’s bait, kiddo!” she said with a grin.
Janie reached down first and flipped over a smooth brown stone. A brown cloud of silt and mud splashed through the water before she saw a red and blue crawdad trying to scurry way. She snatched it just behind its pinchers and dropped it into the pail. “Got one!” she said, excited.
“Atta girl. She’s gonna beat ya, Kyle.” Aunt Imogene took another drag from her cigarette and started measuring fishing line. She pulled about four yards from the roll and cut it.
Kyle braved into the depths of the Greasy Fork and turned over a stone of his own. He found a mudbug hiding beneath, but lost it to the current when the little monster pinched his finger. “Awe, piss!”
Janie stifled a laugh. “That’s two!” she yelled, tossing another into the bucket. Before long, she had found seven crawdads to Kyle’s one. And it had escaped.
“What are you doin’ that I’m not?” he asked, frustrated.
She smiled, proud of herself. “Guess I just got a way with animals.”
“You got a way with somethin’!” he said, trying to sound mean.
“That don’t even make sense.”
Aunt Imogene whistled loudly. “That’s gonna be enough. Get’s us started anyway.” She plunged her hand into the bucket and plucked out a lively little crawdad. Holding it by the thorax, she slid a metal hook through the back of its tail. The little guy didn’t seem to feel much, if any, pain as she did this. With a jerk of her head, she motioned Kyle to come closer. “Take your hand and pinch him here. Then, grab the pole with your other hand.” He did as he was told and watched as she did the same to another mudbug.
Once three hooks had been baited, they walked to the other side of the yard to her small pond. “Be gentle, and just toss ‘em in,” she instructed. She then took her pole and flicked the end, sending the little crawdad out into the water. Janie and Kyle mimicked her and soon all three were standing on the banks of the pond, holding makeshift fishing poles.
Kyle slapped the back of his neck. He had a frustrated look on his face.
“Skeeters?” Imogene asked.
He nodded. “I always get eat up, seems like,” he said.
Janie got an evil grin on her face. “Well, it ain’t cause you’re sweet!”
Kyle let out an obnoxious laugh, mocking her back.
“Let me ask you something, Kyle. If you had your druthers, would you rather be out in the mountains, huntin, hikin’, and doin’ stuff. Or, would you rather be inside, playin’ on your video games or readin’?” There was no judgment in her voice, just honest interest.
Kyle looked over at her, a little confused. “Well, if druthers means which I’d rather do, I guess I’d pick inside. I like workin’ on computers and readin’ more than most anything, I guess.”
Imogene flicked the rod, causing the little crawdad to twitch at the end of the line. “That’s what I figured. Jus’ like yer daddy.”
Both twins looked over at their aunt confused. They had always thought of their dad as a rugged, ‘manly’ man.
“Don’t get me wrong, yer dad liked to hunt and fish. It was how he bonded with our daddy. Yer papaw spent a lot of time underground in those mines and always said that he was gonna spend as much time as he could in wide open spaces when he wasn’t underground. But your dad was a inside kid at heart. I remember when the first few video game deals came out. I’m old enough to remember the big arcade crazes. But yer paw wanted one he could play at home. He’d sit for hours staring at that screen.”
“My dad liked video games?” Kyle asked, bewildered.
“Sure he did. Loved ‘em. And I’ll tell you somethin’, little miss. After he went huntin’ or fishin’, he loved to come home and cook up what he’d got. Can’t tell you how good his deer stew and catfish fry’s were.”
Janie beamed a little. She’d never heard that her father cooked. It made her feel a little closer to him. And she could see that her brother was thinking the same thing.
“Guys, yer mom loved yer dad somethin’ fierce. But when he didn’t come home, it hurt her. Hurt her bad. And I know she don’t like talkin’ about him much. But Will was your daddy and my brother and one amazin’ fella. I just wanted to share a little of what we did as young’uns with you two today. I hope you enjoyed it.” Aunt Imogene blinked away a tear.
Janie looked over and saw Kyle’s pole twitch. “Jerk it in!” she yelled. He yanked at the pole and a giant catfish came flying through the air, landing in his arms. He made a contorted face, half excited, half terrified. Imogene came over and grabbed the fish and pulled the hook from its mouth. Janie noticed how smooth and slick the fish looked.
Imogene tossed the fish back into the pond and dumped out the rest of the crawdads. “Good job, pal. But I think that’s enough of the great outdoors for one day.”
Kyle let out a sigh of relief and laughed.
“What do you say we all get cleaned up and head to Hazard for some pizza?”
The twins chimed in their agreement, and the three started back for the house. After a few steps, Janie looked back to the pond to see a fish break the surface of the water and then splash back down again.
“Good to see you too, Dad,” she said.