Scarecrow

By Kevin Anderson

"I know where them bodies are," said the boy.

Sheriff Burke eyed the skinny fifteen-year old sitting in one of the two wooden chairs on the other side of his desk.  He knew the kid.  Knew him enough to notice he was wearing his Sunday best, lose fitting hand-me-downs that hung like clothes on a scarecrow.  But still, in these parts anyway, dapper enough for God.

Burke reached for his cup of hot coffee.  "And what bodies are those, Seth?"

The boy pulled a Bible from under his arm and set it on the desk.  "The ones you and Deputy Wayne been lookin' fur." Seth took a quick look around. "Where is the Deputy, anyhow?"

Burke followed the boy's watchful scans around the tiny police station.  It was a place anyone could take in at a single glance.  Two desks and a small dispatch area, decked out in equipment circa 1967, made up the brunt of the station's innards.  Toward the rear of the one-room station was a long window hid behind worn drapes, the color of dried blood, and two iron barred holding cells.  An orange discoloration peppered the bars and locks -- locks so old Burke wasn't even sure if they worked.  Not that it mattered much in a quiet, mostly forgotten place like Thankful, Alabama.

"I usually hold down the fort solo on Sundays.  Catchin' up on paper work and all," Burke said.  "Now go on."  Burke sat back, chair creaking under the strain.  "What bodies are ya' talkin' 'bout?"

The boy glanced down at his hands, then said, "Evens Parker, and that teacher, Ms. Conroy."

Burke leaned forward a bit, caressing his cup.  "I don't know what you've heard, Seth, but them are just missin' persons."

The boy looked up fast, gaze aimed right at Burke's.  "Don't screw with me, Sheriff.  What I'm talkin' to ya' 'bout is just between you, me-."  Seth slapped his hand on the Bible. "-and God."

Burke did his best not to show any reaction to the outburst but couldn't help his gaze being pulled to the thick Christian doctrine by the smacking sound of fresh on old dusty leather.  The book looked older than him and the boy put together.  Flecks of aged paper splintered off as Seth's hand pushed down on its thick cover. 

The boy's hand slid back off the Bible and back into his lap.  "You don't call the state police or them government folks for no missin' persons.  As God is my shepherd I know ya' don't." 

Burke rotated the handle of his cup around to his other hand, steam gently rising above the rim.  "If you got somethin' to git off your chest -- out with it."

The boy leaned forward.  His eyes, Burke thought suddenly, were the color of those night beetles that swarmed around the porch light in the summer -- a deep blackish brown, but these beetles had flecks of yellow glimmering in the center.

"There was blood, wasn't there?" Seth said. 

Burke's eye's narrowed.

"All over Evan Parker's garage and Ms. Conray's kitchen."  A grin was snaking up the sides of his mouth.  "But cha' didn't find no bodies, did ya'?"

In a place like Thankful, Burke knew it was harder than Chinese arithmetic to keep any kind of secret, let alone one like the one he and Wayne were trying to keep regarding the crime scenes.  He'd kept a tight lip, but wasn't all that sure about Wayne. 

The sheriff had bumped into his deputy more than once at Milly's Tavern -- impressing the liquored up locals with some embellished tale of life on the beat.  The facts about the blood at both scenes -- in pools on the floors and in Jackson Pollock splatters on the walls -- would have made one terrific barroom story.  Be a miracle, now that Burke thought about it, if Wayne had managed to keep his mouth shut. 

Burke lowered his cup slowly onto the desk like a lunar module coming in for a smooth touchdown.  "You want to tell me how you know 'bout that?"

"Because, I know who kilt 'em."

"Was it you, Seth?"

Seth smiled and looked down at his hands again.  "No, Sheriff."  Shaking his head.  "It weren't me."

"Well, son, you have my attention."

Seth looked up abruptly.  "It was my cousin, Haley."

Burke sighed.  "Seth, I know how close you and your cousin were.  I'm sure her death hit ya' pretty hard and when we find the son-bitch that run her down like a dog in the street, I'll personally hold the bastard so you and your kin can get some justice, but till that day comes, Seth, you got to git-on."

The boy sniffled, but his eyes remained dry.

"I loved her like a sister.  If we weren't have been blood we might of -- I don't know."  Seth looked up, his eyes glassy. "Fact was I always knew she were special.  Just didn't know how much till she called me that night."

"What night?"

"The night that teacher, Ms Conroy, disappeared." 

Burke swallowed hard, sat back deep into his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

"See she was in an awful panic," Seth said.  "Needed my help real bad, but wouldn't say what fur."  Seth shook his head.  "She told me to come over to Ms Conroy's, 'Go round back,' she says.  'Don't let nobody see ya''.  So I does as she say."

"What happened, Seth?"

"Well, I goes round back and she is at the back door holding open the screen.  In the moonlight I could see her hands were covered with somthin' dark and drippin'.  Her overalls and cheeks were smeared in it too.  I wasn't but two steps up that back porch before I could smell the blood.  Awful powerful."

The boy paused and Burke wondered if it was for effect or whether he was actually reliving the moment.  Hard to tell. 

"Seth, why was Haley covered in blood?"

"Why do you think?" Seth dipped his face forward slightly.  A strand of greasy black hair dislodged, falling across his forehead making his face look more sinister than his age normally allowed.  "'Cause she had just slit that sow from chin to birthin' hole, that's why.  I walked in that kitchen and nearly got sick on myself, swear to God.  If I hadn't slipped on some of Conroy's gizzards steppin' inside, I surly would have.  The fall onto my ass left me starin' up at Haley and that big knife she was caressin' like it was the baby Jesus.  That sight kind of helped me focus and I forgot all about being nauseous." 

Burke's eyes were now narrow slits.

Seth brushed the strand of hair back.  "I think right then I was going to scream, or maybe I did.  Don't know fur sure, but she shushed me and said 'I need to show you somethin'.  I sat there in a pile of Conroy's insides and watched Haley walk over to the body.  It was face down and she stepped over it then sat down on the big dead woman's back.   She reached forward, pulled the head up by the hair and run the blade hard across the forehead.  Fast like.  Then she yanked that teacher's scalp clean off.  I remember saying, 'What the hell, Haley,' or some such thang.  She just shook her head and pointed with the knife down at the woman's skull.  'Do ya' see 'em,' she said.  I didn't at first, but than I did."

"See what?" Burke said.

"Horns," Seth answered.  "Tiny little horns.  'Bout an inch, maybe two high, comin' right outta' her skull.  They must have been sticking out through the top of her head but with all that hair, who would know?  Haley let Conroy's head fall.  It hit the wooded floorboard with a smack that sent blood into my eyes.  By the time I'd wiped it away, Haley had yanked the woman's pants down around her ankles and was tearin' apart Conroy's panties.  She made a big hole in the center and pulled, shreddin' them in half.  Two mounds of white flesh fell to either side and the stench was worse then the one that hit me when I walked in.  Ms. Conroy had sort of let go with everythang, ya' know."

"I git it," Burke said and nodding encouragingly.  "Go on."

"Jeez, Haley just stuck her hand in there and pushed it aside as casually as if it were a child's pile of play-dough.  I know I gagged hard then.  When I came up Haley was pullin' somethin' out from the center of Conroy's ass cheeks.  'Bout a roll of quarters wide and two foot long."

"What was it?"

"Hell, it was a tail.  It attached into the small of her back and was hidin' down in her crack."

Burke smirked visibly and a slight chuckle escaped his lips.

Seth held up his right hand like a Boy Scout.  "God is my witness, I swear it, Sheriff.  It was a tail.  The tip was shaped like a big Indian arro' head."  Seth brought his hand down, leaned forward and lowered his voice.  "Conroy, that woman, she been teachin' third graders for almost twenty years and nobody knew, 'cept my cousin, that she were a devil.  A real, from the depths of hell, devil."  Seth sat back, his thin lips were closed firmly and to Burke they looked like someone had laid a night crawler across the boys face, both ends wiggling up the sides of his cheeks.

"A devil?"  Burke shook his head.  "Son, have you gone crazy?"

"No sir, but there are times I wish I had.  Ya' see Haley told me the whole thang right there in that kitchen turned slaughterhouse.  There are devils all around us, sent up from hell -- not doing anythang wrong, just waitin'."

"Fur what, Seth.  Waitin' fur what?"

Seth eyes narrowed.  "The final battle.  The one between God and the serpent.  Hell is sending up its soldiers in preparation, gettin' 'em in position fur the war.  The last war."

Burke shook his head. "Seth-"

"Haley had the sight.  A gift from God -- so she could see 'em.  She says it were like havin' x-ray vision.  And she knew what God needed her ta' do."

The Sheriff took a deep breath.  "So if she has got this gift from God, what did she need you fur?"

Seth smiled.  "Well you remember how big that Conroy woman was.  Near 400 pounds, if she's an ounce.  Haley couldn't move her by herself.  Now that Evans Parker fellow, hell, he was only 140 sockin' wet, and she said she took care of him, no problem.  But Ms. Conroy -- well she just hadn't thinked ahead."

"So you helped her move the body?"

"Sure enough, like I said Sheriff, I loved her like a sister and I love God too.  So when ya' think on it, what choice did I have?"

Burke's brow furrowed.  You had a dozen choices you little shit.  Call me for one.  "Where did you move the body?"

Seth lowered his head slightly and Burke thought he looked ashamed or maybe he was just remembering how messy moving a gutted 400-pound corpse could be.  "Ya' know where Thankful Church Road bends, out by Jim Holsey's place?"

"Ya'".  Burke knobbed.

"Well ever since Mrs. Holsey died, God rest her soul, Jim sort of let her big old garden over grow.  It's just weeds now but the scarecrow they made some ten-year ago is still there.  We buried all that we could carry of Ms. Conroy under the scarecrow.  It's where Haley also hid Parker's body.  I think there is more buried there, 'cuz of all the piles of upturned earth, but I never asked her 'bout it."  Seth turned his face to the side as if he didn't want the sheriff to look at it anymore.  "I didn't really get a chance to ask her.  Not really.  She were run down two days later."

"Seth, you better not be horsin' around here.  If what you're sayin' is true, you're in a world of trouble, son."

Seth turned forward, wiping away an unfallen tear.  "How do ya' figure, sheriff?"

"Well, for starters, how 'bout two counts of aidin' and abedin' after the fact and one count of accessory to murder."

"Hell, sheriff, ain't you been listenin'?  There were no murders.  They's devils.  Killin' devils is God's work.  Ain't no murder about it.  No, sir."

"Seth, I hope to God that on some level you know how much horse shit you're spewin'.  Dam, son.  Ain't no devils in Thankful."  

The boy's eyes, softened and glassy, met Burke's.  "I need you to believe me, sheriff."

"Hell, I believe you believe it."  Burke sat his still full cup on the desk and prepared to stand.  "Now let's you and me take a little ride out to Holsey's place-"

"I don't think you understand, Sheriff Burke."  Seth stood up fast and put a hand on the Bible.  "I didn't come here to make a confession."

Burke got to his feet, not as fast as the boy, but steady and watchful.

Seth flipped open the leather cover, reached in and pulled something black and metallic out of the hollowed out pages.  He pointed an old revolver at Burke's chest.  "I come here today to kill me a devil."

Burke looked back and forth from the Bible's pages, hollowed out in the shape of a gun, to the black short barrel pointed at his chest.  It was a small revolver, the kind most hunters carried for that final shot, when the one that brought the animal down failed to sever the cord of life.  "Oh Christ, son, what the-"

"Ya' see when Haley died it were past to me.  The gift.  I gots the sight now.  And I can see those horns under your scalp."  Seth pointed to Burke's head with the revolver, then slowly down to his groin.

Burke felt his testicles climb upward with a distinct shriveling sensation.  

"Your tail ain't as long as that Ms. Conroy's, but I can sees it all the same.  You're tryin' to hide it by wrappin' it round your thigh, but it don't work against someone who got the sight."

"Seth, you crazy -- I don't have a tail, Jesus Christ."  Burke still had his hand near his cup, and he slowly looped two fingers inside the handle.  "I'll drop my pants right now and show ya' if you want -- just don't do anythin' stupid."

"Sorry, sheriff.  I know my duty and you're one devil that won't be round for the final battle."  Seth pulled the hammer back.  It made a rusty clicking noise.

"Now hold on--" Burke scooped up the coffee mug and trust the scolding hot liquid into Seth's face.  The boy screamed, tried to stager back, but Burke was quick.  The sheriff dropped the cup, reached out and clamped his beefy hand around the back of Seth's neck.  Burke pulled forward and down with arresting strength, slamming the boy's face into the desk.  He signed with relief, feeling the resistance ooze out of Seth's body. 

Blood inked the top of Burke's desk as he let the boy's unconscious body fall back.  The wooden chair legs made gouging noise on the floor as the flaccid form dropped into its seat.

"Crazy, son-bitch," Burke said and wiped his forehead.  He could tell by the cracking sound when the face hit the desk that he'd broken the boy's nose, and by the way one of his cheeks was sagging Burke figured that wasn't all that was broke. 

He sighed and moved around to where Seth was slumped.  Bending down, he picked the boy up in his arms and carried him to the back of the station.  Pushing open one of the iron gates with his foot, he moved into a holding cell.  With all the gentleness he could muster, for a boy who had just thrust a gun in his face, Burke deposited Seth onto a canvas cot.

Returning to the desk he stared at the revolver, its trigger guard dripping with coffee.  The hammer was still cocked and it seemed a haunting reminder of how close he had just come to meeting his maker.  "Crazy, son-bitch," he repeated. 

 

He glanced around for a pencil, found one, and picked it up.  Using the sharpened end he threaded the number two through the trigger guard and lifted the gun off the desk.  Careful not to touch anything, he returned the handgun to its hollowed out spot in the Bible.  Flipping the pencil around, he used the rubber end to close the book's heavy leather bound cover. 

Exchanging the pencil for an old cracked ruler he started pushing the Bible toward the edge of the desk like a man sweeping refuses out of his garage.  It fell over the edge, tumbling end over end into an aluminum wastebasket, where it lay with crumbled paper, a moldy banana peel and pencil shavings.  

Burke shook his head.  "Son-bitch."  He walked back to the cell, stepped inside and closed the iron bars behind him.  How many of them were there, he wondered.  It seemed like every time he got rid of one, another takes its place.  And always kids.  What the hell is God's preoccupation with making champions out of kids?

Shaking his head -- It didn't matter.   When the final battle comes, Burke knew he would be there to do his part and no child champion of God was gonna have a say in it.  Whether Burke had to run them down in the street like dogs or squeeze the life out of them with his bare hands, he'd do whatever it took to see the rightful lord and master walk the earth again.

Burke knelt down beside the unconscious boy.  He felt his eyes turn blood red and the horns beneath his scalp tingled with excitement.  Then he placed his devil hands around the boy's throat.        

About the Author
Kevin Anderson is a marketing professional, doing his utmost to contribute to the gross national product.  As satisfying as that is (not) he has turned to fiction writing to keep from going postal.  In the past year and a half his short stories have been published more than thirty times and have been accepted into eleven speculative fiction anthologies - appearing along side notable fiction writers like Ramsey Campbell, F. Paul Wilson & Tim Lebbon.  When not writing he likes to listen to his massive collection of vinyl and spend time with his two-year-old daughter, Avalon Rain, and the most tolerant wife in the known universe, Hope - whom he married on Halloween.   Anderson lives and writes in Menifee California.  He is currently putting the finishing touches on his first novel and is a member of the HWA.  His web site is http://www.kevin-anderson.net

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