A Fine Cast of Characters - J. Dane Tyler [68]
The man turned to the river, leaned on his elbows and stared out over the water. “She did die, of course. Lived seven more years though. Seven years, in pain and suffering. Daddy moved the plates down low so she could reach ‘em if she wanted to, and we all helped with chores. She’d get pissed if we did too much, though. Said she felt useless. Can you imagine that? She felt useless if we helped her too much while she rotted away.”
He turned his head back toward Martin. “No … I don’t guess you can imagine it, can you? Chickenshit like you can’t understand that kind of courage.”
The cigarette crackled when the stranger dragged on it in Martin’s silence.
“After Mamma died, Daddy wasn’t the same. But he never did quit, bein’ he had all of us to rear. He had to work until the day he died to provide for us all, but one by one we got out on our own. Became people Mamma would be proud of.”
Martin cleared his throat but couldn’t speak.
The stranger snorted again. “Know why Mamma lingered seven years after the doctor said she’d be dead in a few weeks, boy?”
Martin stood up. “Because … because she never quit fighting. And goddamn it, I’m not going to either. You’re right, mister … about everything. I’m being stupid to do this, to even think about doing this. I can overcome this crap. The people in your life overcame worse obstacles. I can do this. Thank you, mister. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”
The stranger turned toward Martin and rested one elbow on the wide, cold railing. He chuckled, and shook his head again. “No, limp dick, no,” he said, and Martin blinked.
The figure leaned toward him a bit. “Mamma lived seven more years because she cast a spell on herself. Can’t stop the Angel of Death from coming, but you can stall him a while. She turned into a full-on witch, bought herself time. She conjured and brewed potions all the time, when she wasn’t passing out in pain or cooking and cleaning. Cast a spell on anyone who wanted one, too, and had the money for it.”
Martin knit his brows, struggled to comprehend. The stranger tipped his hat back just a hair, and the weak light glinted on his eyes. “She cast one on Daddy so’s he’d work long as he had to for us kids. Cast one on Ol’ Mamma and kept her around a good long while, too. Did one for Sharon’s parents so’s they have a chance to have another precious baby girl. And on each of us kids. I mention there are five others besides me?”
Martin blinked, shook his head. “Five…? Siblings?”
The stranger nodded. “Yeah. The six of us, we’re scattered all over now. Hell, we scattered when the South lost and Sherman burned Georgia asshole to appetite.”
Martin blinked, shook his head, his face screwed up in confusion. “What?”
The stranger snorted, shook his head in disgust. “You ain’t just weak, you’re stupid too. We don’t die or get real old or nothing, on account o’ them spells. It takes a little human flesh every once in a while to keep going though. Just a few bites, you understand.”
His hand shot out lightning-quick and clutched Martin by the throat. Martin gasped, struggled, clawed at the hand. It was like iron. The stranger, face still hidden beneath the shadow of the broad-brimmed hat, hefted Martin off his feet. Martin flailed and kicked futilely as the man tipped his head to one side.
“They’ll still find your corpse, boy,” he said, a trace of a smile in his voice, “but it won’t be beautiful. Might look like you jumped though. Hell, ain’t that what a candy-assed sissy-prick like you would do anyway? Ain’t that what you come here for, limp dick?”
Martin tried to scream when the stranger set upon him, but there wasn’t anyone around to hear.
Acknowledgments
The inspiration for this book—and any subsequent books I electronically self-publish like this—was my close friend and very first non-spousal fan, Raga. She got a Kindle a few months before the book was compiled and almost begged me to try and