Fiction Vortex - September 2013

  His grin bothered the trooper but there was nothing for Stuckie to do but leave the man to his gluttony.

  ~~~~~

  “I see you,” Granny Liz called. “Come out of there, you varmint.” The woman took out her pipe and waved it at the smokehouse. “Don’t make me come over there to get you.”

  There was a low, rumbling sound, and then a dark shadow detached itself from the shed and slunk toward her on four legs.

  “You dumb hound dog,” she hissed. “I’ll bet you didn’t even catch that coon, did you, Jefferson Davis?” The dog came up to stand on the woman’s left, ignoring the cat, which still stood on her right.

  “I have to head over to little Ginny Anker’s tomorrow and make up a love spell for her on that boy Joe Chambers; gotta get me some fixins from him.” She patted the dog again.

  “Well, I suppose you want some supper, eh, boy?” She reached down and patted the dog on his massive shoulders, which elicited a ‘woof’ of affirmation. “You just wait out here; I got some soup bones I figured you’d want.”

  She went in the cabin to get the food and did not notice that the dog’s ears pricked up and he took to sniffing the air as the wind shifted.

  Out of the circle of the clearing, hidden in the trees, Henry Duck crouched in the underbrush and thought, “Okay, tomorrow sometime there’ll be my chance. Sleep tight, lady.” Then he snuck away into the night.

  Chapter Two: Hollow Victory

  Granny Liz was able to get the hair she needed from Joe and even some from Nancy (young Ginny’s rival) to use in her charms without either knowing it. She rode her mule back to her own cabin with her mind spinning just what she needed to do and what, indeed, she should do.

  “Sparkin’ is natural,” she said aloud to the mule, “But sometimes, Ulysses, I swear humans do it the most unnatural way!”

  Ahead she could see some of the turpentiners moving through the woods, and she squinted hard to see just where they had set their soaks for gathering the sap.

  “Still on their side of the stream, Ulysses,” she said aloud and patted the mule on the neck. “So I guess that Stuckie boy got through to them.”

  She urged the animal down the path to her clearing with thoughts of how she could help Ginny with her problem, so she didn’t see Henry Duck slip from her cabin into the bushes on the other side of the clearing.

  She didn’t see him as he watched from the cover of the foliage, nor did she see the empty container of coal oil he carried that he had used to soak the firewood by her hearth.

  Granny Liz opened the door to her cabin and was puzzled when Jefferson Davis did not come barking to greet her.

  “Where are you Mister President?” she called, becoming concerned.

  The dog came slinking out of a corner, his head bowed and walking stiffly.

  “Boy!” She moved quickly to the animal. He whimpered as she held his head and looked into his eyes, studying them.

  “You look like you’ve been at my corn squeezin’s,” she said. “Or elst you’re powerful sick.”

  Granny Liz helped the dog over to her bed where she pulled him up on to it, lighting an oil lamp to be able to look more closely at the eyes of the ailing dog. She leaned in and sniffed at the animal’s mouth and made a face.

  “What you been into, Mister President?” She sniffed again and her featured darkened as she looked around her cabin with a concerned eye.

  “Or maybe I oughta say, what’s been into you?”

  ~~~~~

  Henry Duck stood with one of his turpentining crew trying not to look like he was watching the old woman’s house.

  “We’re almost done with this whole section, boss,” the worker said to Duck. “We’re gonna be ready to cross that stream again tomorrow.” The rough fellow, who was even broader shouldered than Duck, glanced toward the clearing where Granny Liz’s cabin was. “And some of the boys ain’t very anxious to face that old bitty with a gun again.”

  Duck took a long drag on a cigarette before he answered. “I don’t think that will be problem, Matt,” he said.

  “You mean that Mister Collins got it all worked out with her?” the worker asked. “She seemed pretty worked up yesterday.”

  “Not to worry, Matt,” Duck said. “The boss has ways of making problems disappear. Legally all those trees over there — those sweet, sap filed trees — are on government land and ours to tap.”

  “If she don’t shoot us.”

  “Grow a pair, Matt. She won’t be a problem for much longer. Just have’ta wait till she gets hungry.”

  “Hungry?”

  “Or when it gets dark enough.” Duck chuckled. “Any time now. Any time.”

  Just as he spoke there was a brilliant flare of light from the other side of the wisewoman’s cabin.

  “There ya go,” Duck said as he spat out his cigarette and started running toward the cabin. “Time for me to be a hero!”

  The burly Duck ran just fast enough for his men to see that he was ‘trying’ to help. He made sure that the men were following him for them to be able to tell the State Troopers and his boss Collins that he had tried to save the old woman.

  It would make things much simpler if the old woman was out of the picture, and Henry Duck didn’t care if she was hurt or dead. Either way she would be off the grounds for more time then they needed to strip the turp sap from all the trees.

  “And that is bonus money for me,” Duck thought as he rounded the corner of the cabin. There, Duck stopped, stunned by what he saw.

  Six feet in front of the cabin the old woman was standing in front of a pile of cord wood that was blazing! She was not burned or injured in any way. When she heard Duck run up behind her Granny Liz turned and smiled.

  “Why, hi, y’all,” she said. “What’s the fuss all about?”

  The other turpintiners ran up while Duck was still trying to find words.

  “Cat got ya tongues, boys?” the old woman asked.

  “Uh, we thought something was wrong, ma’am.” Matt said. “Least wise, Henry here did and we figured he was right. We saw the flash fire —”

  “Oh that,” Liz said with a chuckle. “Seems some of my heating wood somehow got coal oil all over it, and I just couldn’t dare burn it in the house.” She tottered over toward Henry Duck and then seemed to stumble so that she bumped into him. “Sure seems a terribly careless thing to put coal oil on firewood, don’t it, fella?” She fixed Henry in her glare and her smile took on a dark aspect. “Good thing my nose is still a sniffin’ marvel, elst I would’a been cooked like a quail!”

  She steadied herself and regarded all the roughnecks who had run to her aid.”

  “I ‘preciate you gents all caring enough to come runnin’; if’n you’ll sit yourself a moment I have some nice cool suntea for y'all.”

  The men all looked around to each other, embarrassed, then a few smiles cracked as rough demeanors surrendered to the offer of a cool, sweet drink.

  Granny Liz kept a smile on her face as she served them and was particularly attentive to the burly Duck, refilling his cup.

  Her change in attitude puzzled the foreman and by the time she had collected all the cups and wished the men well he became more than puzzled. He began to feel a little fear.

  ~~~~~

  “You bumbling fool!” Collins yelled when Duck arrived at the office in Greenwood. “I told you to find a way to make her grateful to you so we could get tapping rights from her —”

  “Or make sure she wasn’t able to object,” Duck said. He pulled himself to his full height and did his best not to be cowed by the smaller man. “I figured it would work out one way or the other.”

  “Well did it?”

  “I — I don’t know. She was weird.”

  “Weird?”

  “I mean ... I think she knew I was the one that poured the oil on the wood, but —”

  “You don’t think,” Collins said. “That’s the problem with you. Of course she figured out you did it. From what you tell m
e she smelled the coal oil on you. I still can.” He rose from behind his desk and paced the room.

  “Okay, knucklehead,” Collins finally said. “Here’s what you’re gonna do. I didn’t want to go this far, not yet anyway, but you’ve made sure we have to.” He turned to stab the glowing end of a cigar at the burly foreman like a sword. “You’re gonna knock that old bitty out and burn the place to the ground.”

  “But you just told me that I was wrong —”

  “Shut up!” Collins screamed. “You were wrong because you failed. But we can make this work for us. The guys saw you try to help and heard her say she was careless with coal oil. So tonight she gets careless again.”

  The little gangster boss laughed. “You’re even gonna bring the lady a nice gift in the morning, maybe a nice pie from that bakery down the block for her being so nice with her tea.”

  Duck looked at his employer for a long moment, and then his coarse features split in a malicious grin. “Yeah, I’m a regular saint, ain’t I? A regular saint.”

  Chapter Three: The Dark of Night

  Granny Liz was busy after all the turpentiners went on their way. She hummed to herself as she took the few hairs she had secured from Henry Ducks’ head and worked them into the head of a wax poppet.

  The poppet had been fashioned from a carved root, paper, wax, and clay that had been stuffed with herbs.

  She kept the ingredients for the tiny figures in her hut, and made one fresh for each spell she cast. She set aside the hairs she had gathered earlier from Joe Chambers and pressed Duck’s hair into the crown of the new figure she fashioned to resemble the turpentiner.

  She sang old songs that Granny Jenny had taught her as she worked, using sage to give the air of the tiny cabin the aspect of a temple.

  She sang to herself as she worked, an old tune about the Angel of Death.

  I will sing of the twelve

  What of the twelve?

  Twelve of the twelve apostles,

  ‘Leven of the saints that has gone to Heaven,

  Ten of the ten commandments

  She placed the poppet in the center of the circle and sprinkled it with powdered animal bone and herbs in an ancient pattern she had learned at Jenny’s knee. All the while she sang:

  Nine of the sunshines bright an’ fair,

  Eight of the eight archangels

  Granny Liz pulled the last of the powders from her pocket, the rarest of powdered green stone made from bloodstone and alexandrite, drawing the shape of a bat around the effigy before her.

  Two of the little white babes,

  Dressed in the mournin’ green

  When she finished she was exhausted, her face lined, a mask of concentration.

  “That’s a good night’s work, eh, Mister President?” she said to the dog. The animal had rested quietly while she worked, but now his head shot up, his ears perked up, and his head turned to stare at the door.

  “I guess I done my fixin’ just in time, boy,” she said. “Seems we got visitors.”

  ~~~~~

  Henry Duck parked his car over the hill and walked down the road silently toward Granny Liz’s cabin. He had a bar of soap in a sock in his right jacket pocket, a favorite prison version of a sap which would allow him to render the old woman unconscious without leaving a mark. He gave a savage grin as he thought about showering with the soap afterward and getting rid of the evidence over the next week, shower by shower.

  When he came in sight of the cabin he paused. There was smoke coming from the chimney and he saw no sign of the dog, which he assumed was inside with the woman.

  “That could be a problem,” he thought. “He might not take the drugged meat from me again.” He carried a coil of rope that he could use to hold an animal while he clubbed it. The soap would work just as well on the dog and no one would examine the burned body of an animal.

  After checking his weapons, Duck moved purposefully to the door of the cabin. He smiled and paused to knock.

  “Come in, Mister Duck.” Granny Liz’s voice came muffled through the door and made the burly thug jump.

  “How could she know ...?” he thought. Then he scowled, lifted the simple latch and entered.

  The old hound dog was seated by his mistress across the cabin and barely raised his head to acknowledge Duck’s presence, save to growl.

  “Hush, Mister President,” the woman said. Granny Liz was seated in a high-backed chair with a comforter pulled around her shoulders. There was a roaring fire in the hearth, casting dancing shadows over the wisewoman. “Do come in, Mister Duck.”

  The man entered and closed the door behind him, his hand in his jacket pocket resting comfortably on the improvised sap. He walked across the cabin slowly, mindful of the squirrel gun the woman had hanging over the fireplace.

  “I — uh — I just wanted to see that you were all right, ma’am,” Duck spoke haltingly as he crossed to stand right in front of the old woman.

  “I would ask you to sit down, Mister Duck,” she said with a wide smile on her withered features. “But I think you will not be here that long.”

  He returned her smile with a dark tint. “Yeah,” he said, “I’m pretty sure I won’t be either.” He slipped the sock out of his pocket and began to whirl it like a miniature lasso. “But then you won’t be here much longer either.”

  The woman’s reaction took the would-be murderer completely by surprise; she laughed! A full-throated belly laugh that brought tears to her eyes.

  “Oh my, Mister Duck,” she said when she could talk. “You really are a caution. You have a talent for seein’ the future, ya know? You might almost be a grannywoman!”

  Her reaction angered the burly thug. He raised the sap to strike at her, but suddenly his arm seemed to freeze in place. His muscles locked as if an invisible hand had grabbed his wrist to hold it.

  “What the hell!” he yelled.

  “No reason to use profanity, young man,” the woman said. She rose from the chair, and for the first time Duck could see that she was holding a small doll in her hand, one that he noticed, to his horror, was fashioned with jacket, hat, and trousers that looked like the clothes he wore. It was also positioned just as he was at that moment.

  “What the hell have you done to me?” he said with fear in his voice. He grabbed his right hand with his left and tried to pull it down, but it was as unmoving as if it had been made of stone.

  “Now you stop that talk!” She reached over to the poppet in her hand and pinched the small wax lips of the image. At that moment his jaw seemed to lock. He moaned in terror.

  “Oh, youngin’,” she said with a shake of her head. “You is just as thin blooded as you are thick headed.”

  She moved to the hearth and procured a long taper, which she used to light her pipe.

  Duck found he could not move at all save for his eyes, with which he followed her movements. She puffed on her pipe while she regarded him.

  “Did you really think you could pull the wool over Granny Liz’s eyes, Mister Turpentiner?” She shook her head. “You city men think we mountain folk ain’t got the sense God gave a ‘coon, but it’s y'all that don’t got a lick of sense. We know this land, we feel its pain and you, comin’ up here to rip the blood from our trees, scar up our land, you are the ones who will come to justice.”

  She puffed on her pipe and stroked her cat that had stretched and walked over to her, disdainfully stepping around the frozen Duck.

  “But just what should that justice be, eh, Jonah?” She looked down at the cat, which meowed to her in answer.

  “Oh yes,” the wisewoman said. “An excellent idea; just like the good book says, 'an eye for an eye!'”

  Epilogue: The Roots of Evil

  Trooper Vernon Stuckie drove his patrol car up to the foot of the road near Granny Liz’s clearing. The early morning mist was still crawling along the hollow with a dream-like quality.

  “I expect you to stand up for my legal rights, Officer,” Joe Collins said. The little man w
as bundled in a trench coat that seemed as if it had been borrowed from his big brother. He tugged on gloves and had pulled his fedora down tightly on his head.

  “I will do my job, Mister Collins,” the trooper said sharply. His breath puffed into cold mist that joined the fog. “I don’t need you to tell me what it is.”

  “I know this old woman had something to do with my crew leaving yesterday, and that voids any absurd agreement you made with her.”

  The trooper stopped short and turned to look down at the turpentiner. “I made a bargain in good faith, Mister Collins, and there is no proof that Miss Cloud did anything to cause your men to leave.”

  “There is no way that my foreman just up and left me, Henry has been my right hand for years.”

  The two men continued down the path only to halt when the dog Jefferson Davis began to bark. The trooper stopped.

  “Miss Cloud!” the officer called out. “I’d like to speak to you.”

  The dog stayed by the cabin but continued to bark until the grannywoman came out the door and said, “Hush, Mister President. Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Miss Cloud,” the officer said. “Trooper Stuckie.”

  “Who’s that with you?”

  “I am Joseph Collins, Miss Cloud. I came here to find out what happened to my foreman Henry Duck. And what you did to my men!”

  The old woman walked slowly across the clearing while lighting her corncob pipe. “Mister Collins,” she said with a wide smile on her withered face. “I have been wanting to meet you. I was up early makin’ up a little potion for a problem for little Ginny Ankers. ”

  “Morning, Miss Cloud,” Trooper Stuckie said.

  “Morning, Vernon,” she said. She came to stand by the two men, dwarfed by the trooper but almost eye-to-eye with the shorter Collins.

  “Madam —” Collins began.

  “I ain’t no madam,” she said, “I’m Miss Cloud.”

  “Miss Cloud, what do you know about Mister Duck’s disappearance?”

  “Disappearance? Did he go somewhere?”

  “You know damn well he’s gone somewhere,” Collins said. “My whole crew took off yesterday with a cock and bull story about hives or something.”

  “Watch your language young man,” the old woman said. “Don’t you blaspheme to me.”