Bloggang.com : Robert Kenny - Shadows in the Wild ((Part One of Two Parts)) Short Story)

Shadows in the Wild ((Part One of Two Parts)) Short Story)

It is the hour before midnight, on the harsh, gray flat asphalt road along the banks of one of the Great Lakes [Superior]. A truck races by like a shadow, the moon glowing behind a small house. The car swiftly goes on by, the dim light from the fogy night: --moon penetrating through the fog onto the tuck and house, where a man is standing by the road; -- music is heard coming from the car, Rock & Roll, as this stranger standing by the road, a man in a red plaid shirt, he stands erect, as if he was Paul Bunion; standing in-between the road and the house as a truck races by.

Now, it is an hour past midnight, and the soupy sky is blocking more of the light from the moon, yet still bright amounts of light seep through from the moons light, spiritedly, making clear the man figure intermittently, but not too clear, not his face in particular [you never see his face clearly, yet you know he is handsome], only his height is quite obvious; -- his broad and thick shoulders are noticeable, his solid stance is terrorizing if not magnetic. Still standing between the lake, house and road, the music is no longer heard, only the sounds from the waves of the Great Lakes are audible, slapping against the bank. The big man doesn't turn, or move a muscle. Now the truck again, the very same one that went by before is going by again, but this time slowly. It is an l952-Ford truck, green.

A huge rat runs across the street, in-between the wheels of the car, it is hit, and squeals, cries with pain, someone in the front seat, passenger side looks back to see what it was that they hit. The rat stares at the looker, his eyes dark, almost humanistic, a reflection of his dark eyes, it seems to penetrate the back window, as if the eyeball it self of the rat, sticks into the glass. The rat's back is crushed, and he is pulling himself off the road with his front limbs. The Ford-truck is a spotless and clean truck, that is, it was before the rat put his blood on its wheels.

The dark figure standing, staring by the street, is noticed by the two men in the front seat of the truck, they stare but keep going, --trees blowing to his right and left, the waves of the Great Lake of Superior, makes a humming sound, and everything else, as if you were in the middle of a hurricane, the stranger stands erect yet, never moving. He sees the eyes of the passenger in the Ford-truck, a small figure, a man of about forty, the driver calls him Skip, and he hears that. The taller man at the wheel, his arms are solid, and frozen to the wheel, is called Amery, for some reason you know he knows that.

Skip: "Yes, yes, I saw him! D' did you? He was by the trees, or was it in front of the house...? No, by the road; gee, maybe it was both, he seemed to be in both locations at once. A shadow effect I suppose." [He talks with unsteadiness].

The moon is almost covered now with the fog and darkness of the sky, and night has completely taken over the north area of Minnesota. The birds in the trees, and there are only a few, can be heard, most have gone south as there is a little snow here and there, the fall leaves are all over with their many colors; the rat now across the street is dying, and reeking with sounds of pain. You can hear him twisting about in the leaves. A deer in the woods is awaken and runs deeper into the wooded area; as if nature was about to have an abruption; birth pains. The few birds leave the branches; they also know something is wrong.

Amery: "You'd think that man, that man, the one by the house back south [he doesn't finish his thinking]."

He stutters a bit and is silent as his truck slows down to ten miles per hour. Amery hands a knife to Skip, who puts it next to his groin area. The car stops, they both are thinking, looking at one another, their eyes are not blinking, you can see the hairs of their eyebrows as if the eye is attached to it, the lower lip of the eyelid is almost stuck to the eyebrow from staring, --they're listening to the waves, for that is the only sound now that is optional, except the humming of the truck motor, the waves of the of the Great Lake Superior seem to be upon them [Amery is thinking out loud, talking to himself 'I'd don't like it, get out of here'].

Skip sees the thickness of the woods next to him, as the head lights reflect the fog-lit moon shadows. In front of him there are hundreds of frogs crossing the road, driftwood had reached all the with way from the lake up to the road, --it is strange they both think [but say very little, talking seems to stress them now], and so they now are thinking more with their body expressions, their face, eyebrows, the way they look at each other; --they turn their head sharp as if they sense Lake Superior is right next to them because of the sounds of the waves are becoming louder again, but they know it is a few hundred yards to the side of them, yet all this driftwood laying about, they seem to be fixed on for the moment, as if they were on a levy.

Amery puts the weight of his head on his hand as if to support it, --not sure of what to do next, and then he puts his hand flat on top of his head: -- as if he is fed up with it all. Skip gives a head shake as if to say no, but says nothing. He turns his head from side to side. Then out of no where he puts his hand along side of his face as if to slap it, giving stupid me looks!

Skip: "That house, for some reason I'm interested in that house, as if I don't have enough mystery in my life, and that man, and d'do-oo, you-u-u think we should go back and ..." he leaves it an open statement-question, instead of a question.

"M-m-m-m," said Amery [with a query looking face as if to request for clarity], his cunning looking eyes staring at the frogs. Adding, "We can circle around and go back South to the stranger's house, if that is what you want, I like the house idea for some reason, it just... [he puts his fingers both hands on his forehead simultaneously, one above each eye, and puts pressure on them as if to say, this is crazy], it's just bothering for some reason, the house, that man;" --he kind of feels at this point, maybe this is an unlucky thing to do, as if there might be no escape once done, and so is unclear with his mood; 'foolish of me to think like that,' he tells himself. Skip does not say a word but with the tips of his finger and thumb in the center of his forehead he pinches himself to see if he is crazy himself or alive, "Weird..." he mumbles.

[Back to the House]

Slowly they drive a little further up the road, find an area along the road side, they can turn around the truck; --cliffs being on one side and an embankment on the other that lead down to the lake itself. As they make their turn, they straighten out the wheel, press hard on the gas and get the hell going to the strangers house.

As they drive Southbound to find the house, innately Amery's solid arms are becoming tighter, along with his hands on the wheel, his face showing stress, eyebrows were rapidly being raised and lowered as if to say 'no', being annoyed with himself and Skip for turning the truck around. His whole body is becoming agitated.

Skip: "You need a drink, Amery? Pull yourself together; you look like you're under some acute anxiety attack." Pulling a bottle of wine from under his seat, he opens the bottle and drinks a good drink from it, right out of the spout, then hands it to Amery.

Along the roadside you can see the shades of dark-green and black shadows along the grass, and the crossing of shadows along the forwarding black asphalt road, as the Ford-truck glides along.

The car now becomes more manageable, as Amery takes a second swallow from the wine bottle. His body is starting to loosen up. He pulls on his eye somewhat, as if he is more alert, or is trying to be.

Skip: "See? That is all you needed." Skip has small glasses on, like Ben Franklin, as he speaks he looks over the top of his glasses at Amery. He notices Amery is more settled, and therefore, allows himself to lean back more into his seat.

"We should be getting closer to the house, slow the car down," says Skip.

Amery: "You mean truck."

Skip: "Whatever, -- but slow it down...!"

He now takes a look about the area, it is not the house, it is the top of tress by the lake; --the shadows are forming the likes of a house. As he catches his breath, they continue forward.

Everything is quiet outside of the car now, yet some Rock and Roll music can still be heard from within the car, but it is real low.

Again they slow down, then stop, look about, they hear the water slapping the bank from the Great Lake again, but can not see it. The breeze from the lake is picking up, as the window is rolled down they can feel the breeze, there is a chill to it, so they roll it up a bit more. Trees are swaying.

Amery: "I can't see a damn thing out there, and it's getting cold...!"

Skip shakes his head [as if to say, I got to do everything] and opens the door to see where they are at [in particular, if the house is visible, he does not want to pass it up so he looks in both directions, north and south, as the steps out completely of he truck; --he steps on several frogs, "...god...birchen frogs every place!" He jumps back into his truck.

"Damn things are all around; I hate swarms of things like that." Amery simply looks at Skip, not saying a word, a flat affect.

Skip and Amery start to make funny faces as a putrid smell fills their nostrils.

Amery: "What on gods-earth is that stink...?"

Skip: "Not sure, --maybe a skunk, dead frogs, the water smells sometimes; maybe shit, who knows up here, could be a combination ... [he hesitates] let's shut our windows." As another mile goes by it starts to get a little foggy looking out the window, shadows seem to be everywhere.

Amery raises his head, he sees the house, and pulls the truck over to the side of the road. The house is across the street, now to their left, or East. The big man, the stranger with the red-plaid-flannel looking shirt, is standing by his porch; --just standing there. Skip rolls down the window, gets a bit of fresh air, and notices the frogs are gone.

Skip: "Hay Amery, the f*cken frogs are gone, gone, gone."

Amery: "I just got thinking, what are we doing back here, this is the third time."

Skip: "What do you mean?" Skip stops to think what Amery said, "Yaw, your right, the first one was by necessity, the second by curiosity, and the third, oh well, maybe by something symbolic, that man, yaw, that man, we need a good fresh mystery in our life's like we need a hole in the head, but we're here none the less. I suppose no real reason to this otherwise; --can't think of one anyways."

Skip looks over Amery's shoulder out his window, toward the house, he is somewhat leaning on the steering wheel.

Amery: "He's just standing by the porch."

Skip: "Yaw, I can see that, let me yell at him: --'Hay stupid, yaw you, what you doing!"' Amery looks at Skip as if that might not be the smartest thing to do.

Skip: "Something on your mind, Amery."

Amery: "I would like to go, get rid of this cargo, and have breakfast."

In the back of the truck is a gunny-sack, the sound of a sack is rolling back and forth, it sounds like a sack of potatoes. "Let's pass this up Skip, I don't necessary like this."

Skip: "Morning will not be for a few more hours, we got time to fool around, and then get back to business."

Very quickly Skip opens the truck door, steps down from the truck onto the side of the road. There is still a chill in the air; he coughs, buttons his sweater up a bit, tries to focus his little eyes, adjusts his glasses on his nose. He is about 5'4" inches tall, about 160 pounds, so he is having a hard time seeing over the hood of the car, he starts to walk to the front of the car. Spying about, trying to see in the forest, he hears something, a squeak, looks down, and there is that rat, a big, big rat, the size of a twenty pound dog; --the rat is a foot from him, and with what strength he has left, bites through Skip's pants taking a good gash out of him. Skip falls back, than turning 45-degrees, he jumps up on the side of the truck, almost backwards into the truck. You can't make out what he is saying but he is yelling and swearing, and as he feels his leg, blood is bucketing out like a boxer who just got his nose broken, and split open. He pulls out a scarf from under the back of his seat of the truck, and ties it lightly around his leg.

Skip: "I'm bit, the rat, that f*cken rat, was trying to kill me..." Amery backs the truck up, then goes forward running the rat over, but now is stuck in the side of the road in a hole, his front right wheel in mud with a little ice.

Amery: "I told you Skip, this was not good, and we should go."

Skip: "I got to get to a hospital."

Amery: "What about the cargo?"

Skip: "Get the gun, go in that damn house and kill that sun-of a bitch-en stranger and we can bury the body there, and get a doctor out here"

Amery: "I don't think it's going to be that easy." Amery then pulls a gun out of the glove-compartment, a Three-fifty-Seven revolver. He checks to see if it is loaded, knowing it should be, and it is. Putting it in his right jacket pocket, he grabs the wine and gives it to Skip to drink. Skip drinks half the bottle down, leaving only one forth left. He is drunk now.

Amery: "I hear another car coming, funny isn't it; way up here in no mans land." He hesitates, looks at Skip, "Maybe we can go to that light house, you know, the one we saw one the way up here, I'm not sure, but it's about a hundred, or is it fifty miles from here." Then he looks around, "Where is that car...must be hearing things also."

Skip: "It's too far, why not here."

Amery: "This guy is more creeper then you and I are. That's why."

Skip: "Now listen [Amery being with a lack of credulity], we don't need to be put off by this guy, we just kill him like we were going to do with the girl ... you know, girl in the gunny-sack in the back of the truck. The one we rapped, and rapped, and she tried to get away, so we cut her hands off, feet off so she couldn't, and we rapped her again. She's most likely dead by now."

Amery: "I hear a boat whistle, and I heard that gunny-sack rolling back and forth before, when the truck was stopped, she's still alive."

Skip: "This is the Great Lakes, what do you expect, ships go back and forth all the time. You've lived too long in North Dakota. But if we do not get me a shot to counter this rat poison, I'm going to die; this f*cken rat most likely has rabies, disease, everything under the sun. I don't want to die like this, not with a rat bite."

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