Brett McBean - Tales of Sin and Madness

“Forget it. So people buy these dead animals…for food?”

“’Course. Why else?”

Craig thought for a moment. “To get stuffed and mounted?” he offered.

“This here’s good eatin’. You’d be surprised how tasty these critters are. An’ it’s a good business, too. It don’t cost nothing for me to get them; I just wait ‘til some animal is run over, then I scrape it off the road, clean it up a bit, an’ sell it.”

“You sell many?”

“I do all right.” He turned to the line of strung up, flat-as-a-pancake carcasses, tails hanging limply, fur bloody, dead eyes glaring. “Now, I’ve got fox, beaver, wild cat, deer…”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Craig said, the hot afternoon air making it difficult for him to breathe. All he could smell was baking meat. “I’m suddenly not that hungry.”

Almus shrugged. “Suit yourself.” A gleam sparkled in his otherwise glassy eyes. He moved over to the table next to the one that housed the road kill. Craig followed. “Would you be more interested in one of these?”

Tins of varying sizes sat atop a splintery table. There were around twenty, the smallest being the size of a coffee tin, the largest the size of a paint can. Most of them were rusted and full of dints; some still bore their labels, though most of the brands were faded, and those that Craig could read he had never heard of.

“These the souls?” Craig asked.

Almus nodded, the twinkle in his eyes growing more fervent.

There was something distinctly odd about this man — and it wasn’t just his homely looks or that he sold road kill and souls by the side of the road in backwater, USA. Craig sensed purpose in him, a deeper intelligence that he was trying desperately to cover up.

“When a varmint is killed, their soul escapes and floats up to heaven…or down to hell, depending on what God sees fit. Only, if you’re quick enough, you can catch the dead critter’s soul. You have to be quick, mind you, or else you’ll miss your chance. And you gotta know how to catch it.”

“And you know how to?”

“I got ‘em right here, don’t I?”

Craig eyed the rows of tins, could barely contain his smile, but was fascinated by this man and what his bizarre roadside stand represented. It was capitalism at its most primitive. Yessiree, he had definitely found the spirit of America.

“Whose souls are they?”

“These road kill, mostly.”

“Can I see one?”

Almus shook his head. “’Fraid not. You have to buy one first before you can open a tin up. These are mighty powerful things. They may be the souls of simple animals, but they’re souls all the same.”

“What do you do with them?”

“Buy one and find out.”

It was all bullshit, of course. Craig knew this was just a clever, albeit morbid, way of making money off of stupid and equally morbid tourists. During his two-month road trip, he had seen roadside vendors selling bottled air, water that was supposed to cure cancer, even locks of pubic hair from virgins. In a land where everything was for sale and nothing was too absurd, selling the souls of dead animals was just another way of squeezing every bit of milk and sucking all the honey from her generous and bountiful supply.

Craig could do without the moldering carrion being passed off as edible food…

Surely people can’t really buy and eat the animals…

…But the idea that souls could be captured and contained, and then sold on the side of the road was wondrous and ghastly at the same time. What kind of mind thinks up something like this? Craig wondered. Either a really clever one, or a delusional crackpot who really believes he has the essence of life for sale. Craig hadn’t decided which one Almus was yet.

“You got a wife?”

Craig looked up into the archaic face of Almus. “No. I mean I had one, but she’s…dead.”

Pain ripped through Craig’s chest.

Sorry, Rachel.

“Just thought you could buy one for her, or yer kids. Make a nice present.”

“No kids either.”

Just as well , he thought. Wouldn’t have wanted them to go through what I went through with Rachel.

Annoyed at Almus for dredging up memories he had tried so hard to forget, had driven so many miles to put behind him, Craig decided it was time to hit the road again, so he plucked his wallet from his back jeans pocket. “How much for one of the tins?”

“Depends on the soul. The bigger the tin, the bigger the animal, the bigger and more powerful the soul.”

Craig scanned the assortment of tins. His eyes locked on to the large one. “That big tin, what animal was it and how much?”

If he was going to buy one, why not make the most of it? He could afford it and this guy looked like he could use the money.

Almus breathed a long sigh. When he smiled, his lips trembled. “Glad you asked.”

A howl, long and sorrowful cut the still afternoon air like a blade through flesh. It sent chills up and down Craig’s back.

He noticed Almus grin, and once the cry had stopped, Almus said, “That tin contains the most powerful soul of all. A human’s.”

Craig blanched. “A human’s? As in a person, a human being?”

“That’s right.”

This was taking the gimmick a little too far, but he had to ask. “Where’s the body?”

“Long gone,” Almus said. “Besides, that would be in plain bad taste, hanging a human like it was ordinary road kill.”

Craig almost laughed.

Bad taste? Take a look around you, bud .

He guessed it didn’t really matter what was supposed to be in the tin; it was all bull anyway. He was in it for the funhouse aspect of it, not for any magical power it may contain.

Hell, if there really is a human soul in there, maybe I could take it home with me and give it to Rachel. It might help her. Craig felt the sting of regret. Not funny , he thought.

“Okay, how much?”

“Twe…thirty bucks.”

Craig was used to haggling prices — he worked at a used car lot back home — and had used his bargaining skills countless times during his trip around the States, but decided not to bother this time. After all, thirty dollars was a good price for a human soul.

Craig handed Almus the money.

Almus thanked him, then handed Craig the tin.

It was heavier than Craig expected.

“Well, I guess that’s it then,” Craig said, cradling the tin under his arm.

“Just remember, a soul is a powerful thing.” Almus winked.

“Right,” Craig said. “I’ll be careful.”

“You made the right choice. I think you’ll be happy.”

I’ll be using it to piss in, but thanks all the same .

“Are you sure you don’t want to buy some road kill? I’ll do you a special price. I’ve got a nice fresh one killed this morning. There’s not much to eat around here and it’ll be dark in a few hours. If you’re planning on camping, you might want some fresh meat.”

Craig was planning on camping out tonight. He had provisions in the Jeep that he had bought at a store after eating at Patty’s — some beef jerky, canned cheese and crackers, a chocolate bar and a six pack of beer — but a nice bit of meat would be damn delicious. Craig took one last glance at the fly-ridden corpses, pictured himself cooking the fox over an open fire, and knew it was something he just couldn’t stomach.

“Sorry. Maybe some other time.”

Almus nodded and smiled.

It was a sly smile, one of secrets untold.

And for the second time since stopping at this roadside stand, Craig sensed that its vendor knew more than he let on.

It’s just the heat , Craig told himself, turning and heading back to the Jeep. It’s frying your brain .