When I woke (came to is probably a better term), I was lying in a puddle of sweat on my own couch, in my own living room, in my own house, and I was thirsty as the rich man in hell. I sat up and winced as pain lanced through my brain. Thunderstorms today, as my mother liked to say when she was getting one of her frequent migraines. Only this was an all-out-balls-to-the-wall electrical storm, from the feel of it. I gasped for breath and made myself stand up.
A very bad idea.
Vertigo took me, and I waltzed drunkenly toward the kitchen, never quite falling but always almost, and slammed into the counter next to the sink. I fumbled in the dish drainer (can't stand those dishwashers, never seem to get anything clean, so I do it the old-fashioned way) and grabbed a glass. I splashed water from the tap into my face, and then, guessing it was cool enough, splashed some in the glass, too. I swallowed three gulps of the heavenly liquid, and promptly vomited all over the counter. Never mind, I'll get it later, I thought, and refilled the glass. Leaning back against the sink so as to avoid the mess on the counter, I wiped the hanging tendril of mucous from my lips and raised the glass.
"A little slower this time, if you want to keep it down."
Startled, I dropped the glass. It did not shatter, but instead slammed down on my (bare) left foot, drawing blood under the skin in a small arc that would later turn black, I knew.
"Damn!" I hissed, sucking in cold air through my teeth. I stumbled/hopped back towards the stove, away from my visitor. He looked like he was in his thousands; and old man, older than God, with long, matted yellow hair hanging almost to his sagging chest. Old muddy biballs and a rat-chewed t-shirt covered his nakedness, completing the definition of the word decrepit. His eyes were bright and black, though, like a crow's, and the way he tilted his head as he watched my antics furthered the impression. This intruder made me very uncomfortable indeed. I swallowed, grimacing at the sting of the bile still in my throat.
I stooped and picked up the now-empty glass with trembling fingers and turned back to the sink, starting to refill it once again.
"I suppose you're the one who found me," I said quietly, my voice level, for a wonder. I twisted off the flow of water from the tap and took a gulp- only one this time, and my stomach still flipped around like a freshly-caught catfish, but it seemed that I might be able to keep it down. "My name is Victor Cole. If you don't mind my asking, sir-"
"Gary Hess."
"What is your name?" I finished, startled.
The old man's answer cut so quickly in front of my question that I had had no time to stop. Now I wished I hadn't asked. Mean Man Gary had a reputation among farmers for being not quite right up top, and their kids, who I grew up with, expanded on that point until Mr. Cole became an evil insect-monster from outer space who not only shot anyone who came within a mile of his place, but actively sought out children in the deepest, darkest nights, dragging them to his barn where they would be butchered and eaten. Kids have wonderful imaginations.
Not an insect, I thought, approaching what I assume was a state of panic. Not an insect, a crow. A dead crow.
Something must have changed about me, because the old man chuckled happily.
"You don't have to worry about me, son," the Mean Man said. "It's true, I might be a little off my rocker since I got back from that mudhole in 'Nam, but I figger a little insanity never hurt nobody. In fact," he smiled at me in a strange avian fashion, "I'm just as friendly as the Baummiers down the hill." His smile widened until I was afraid his false teeth were going to pop right out of his mouth and drop to the floor, chattering away. In fact, the Baummiers had never been very friendly to me, still regarding me after the manner of Granny Clampett, as a "furriner"; I thought it wise not to contradict Mr. Hess on this matter, however, certainly not at the present time.
"Thanks for helping me out of there, Mr. Hess. I really appreciate it." I was looking at the steadily darkening crescent on my foot, the glass which caused it now forgotten in my hand. I looked up at the grinning bird-man, feeling sick and ashamed of myself for being rude. Hell, I had just insulted the man who saved my life!
"Don't be too hard on yourself, son," said the bird-man, startling me again at his apparent telepathic abilities. "How could you have known those stories weren't true? Oh yes, I've heard 'em spreading those lies about me behind my aching back. They're all just full of the Green Lady, they are."
"Green Lady?" My eyes could have popped from my skull. Was he talking about absinthe? No, that's supposed to be the green fairy... Maybe he really is crazy.
"Envy, boy, envy." His dark eyes had taken on a silver gleam that I didn't particularly care for. There was cold malice in that look. "I got something they can't have. That's why my crops'r better, why my cows'r fatter, why I make more money farming than they and their kids ever will." The gleam shattered and became a sparkle at this point, and I exhaled.
"Here son, I feel bad 'bout what happened when I was burnin' pasture today, so I brought you something special. Figured I'd give it to ya before I headed out."
"Huh? Sorry, woolgathering." I had actually started to doze off, but I wasn't about to tell him that, even though I had loosened up considerably since he introduced himself as the monster from my childhood.
"Take a look for yourself."
He turned and made an odd sort of shuffling hop towards the dining room, making me guess again at his age. Awfully sprightly for an old geezer, was Gary Hess. He had something in his right hand, and I just caught a glimpse of it before he disappeared into the other room; it appeared to be a wicker basket of considerable size, with a whitish towel laid over the top to cover something inside. The moving something inside...
No comments:
Post a Comment