Joe Lansdale - A Fine Dark Line

“You ought not to have dug Butch up,” Chapman said. “I put him to rest.”

“Did you murder him too?” Richard said. “Did he bark when he shouldn’t have?”

“Butch never let me down. As for the others, God lets a righteous man make decisions about such things. Did you know God come to me and told me to do you like Abraham was told to do Isaac? I had to take you out and kill you. ’Cept God didn’t come to me and tell me to turn my hand. I just didn’t do it. Your mother didn’t think it was the thing to do. She thought people would come to us, and want to know where you was, and that you’d be a strong worker. You remember any of that, boy?”

Richard, trembling, said, “No, sir.”

“Naw, you wouldn’t. I took you on a little squirrel huntin’ trip when you was five. And I was gonna shoot you in the back of the head ’cause God told me to, have a little hunting accident, but I didn’t do it. I was supposed to. It would have made life easier. Raisin’ you, that didn’t do me and your mama no good. The world would have just thought it was a little huntin’ accident. God was testin’ me, seein’ what I was made of. He never told me to stay my hand. I just did. And I shouldn’t have. Only time I ever let God down. I didn’t let him down with these others. When he come to me and told me what I had to do, I did it. But you were my son, so I didn’t do it. Now it comes back on me. You’re gonna turn me over to the infidels, ain’t you?”

“For what?” Richard said.

Chapman laughed. “That was quick, boy. You’re quick like your mother. You know, from the time I took you out and didn’t kill you, ’cause I had your mama’s thinkin’ on the matter in the back of my mind, things have gone bad. Crops ain’t good. World is changin’. Niggers is wantin’ rights. All manner of evil. Can’t abide it. No, sir. I won’t. Your mama, I make her pay for it every day. Not because I want to, son, but because God expects it, and in spite of her mistake, she’s a righteous woman, she is, and she takes it. She know she ought to. I ain’t killed none of these people ’cause I wanted to, but because it was right. It was the will of God. You’re my only mistake.

“And you, son,” he said looking at me, “I reckon you’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But you are from a sinful family. I can see that. Your sister actin’ like she’s got the rights of a man. That daddy of yours whippin’ on me when I was seekin’ out my own son. Givin’ him refuge. Runnin’ that movie house. That’s wrong.”

“You killed these people to save money,” Richard said. “I think that’s why you killed them. Because you’re cheap.”

Chapman snorted. “You think that? Well, you would. Some of them people were drinkers, and fornicators . . . That silver-toothed one there. She was a whore, and ran with that Stilwind girl in a manner a girl ain’t supposed to go. I tried to witness to her. She wouldn’t have any of it.”

“You witnessed to her by the railroad tracks?” I said.

“You witness where you find the need.”

“I think you wanted her,” I said. “You didn’t want anyone else to have her. So one night you followed her . . . with that scythe, and killed her. Brought the head back here.”

“You ain’t no man of God,” Richard said. “You ain’t better than me. You ain’t as good as me.”

Chapman’s face turned sad. He looked at Richard like the last morsel on a plate.

“You killed Margret, and you burned up the Stilwind girl, didn’t you?” I said.

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Chapman said. “And I ain’t gonna talk no more.”

That’s when Richard flicked a shovelful of dirt into Chapman’s face.

Richard bolted. “Run!”

I didn’t have to be told twice. I went after Richard. We started back in the direction of the sawmill.

We zigzagged through trees and finally broke out to where we could see the old mill and the road beyond. I glanced over my shoulder, saw that Chapman was catching up. Spit was trailing out of his mouth in a way that made it look like foam.

I realized we weren’t going to make it to the road before he caught up.

Nub chose that moment to burst out of the woods, and when he saw me running, and Mr. Chapman after me, he broke straight away for my pursuer, barking.

I shouldn’t have stopped, but I turned and yelled for Nub. It was too late. Nub hit Chapman’s ankle hard, and though he didn’t get in a good bite, Chapman’s legs got tangled and he went down, the scythe flying out in front of him.

While he was getting up, I yelled for Nub in as hard and as insistent a voice as I could. Nub barked at Chapman, and chose to obey me for a change. He came running toward me happily, as if it were all a game.

I bent down, held out my arms, and Nub jumped into them. I turned and started running, sneaked a look over my shoulder, saw Chapman was up now with his scythe, and he was picking up speed.

Ahead of me, Richard was almost to the sawmill. I was coming up on his tail, panting with the weight of Nub and the weight of fear.

When I reached the sawmill, Richard was at the base of the old ladder that lay fastened alongside the building and led to the upper platform. “Go up,” he said.

Going up didn’t seem smart to me. We would be trapped like a rat in a matchbox, but I couldn’t run anymore. My sides felt as if they were about to split.

Richard pounded up the ladder before me. I tossed Nub over my shoulder with one hand, then started climbing, nearly losing my grip on the ladder and my grip on Nub, who was squirming like a snake.

“Come on! Come on!” Richard said.

The ladder was about eighteen feet high and I felt as if I were slower than a ground sloth, but I made the platform ahead of Chapman, set Nub on it, and looked over.

Chapman had laid the scythe across the back of his neck, balancing it, and he was climbing up. Nub stood on the edge of the platform and barked furiously.

Richard disappeared through the open door that led into the second-floor room, came back with an old busted two-by-four.

“Daddy. Go down now.”

Chapman looked up. “I’m not your daddy. You have no daddy.”

Chapman continued to climb. Richard launched the two-by-four forward with all his might. It caught Chapman in the top of the head, knocked him backwards to the ground, sent the scythe skittering over the leaves, the blade winking in the moonlight like death’s smile.

Chapman shook his head, put a hand to it. I could see something dark oozing between his fingers.

“You child of the devil,” Chapman yelled. “You wicked boy. I will chastise you.”

Richard sat on the edge of the platform, kicked at the top board. It creaked. He kicked again and it came loose and fell.

“Hang on to me,” he said. I grabbed his arm and he swung down and tried to kick loose the next board, but it was too late, Chapman was screaming. He grabbed the scythe and swung it high and the blade passed just beneath Richard’s foot.

“Pull me up,” Richard said.

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I tugged him up.

Chapman was coming up again, and I knew that one missing board wasn’t going to stop him.

“Come on,” Richard said.

I grabbed Nub and we went into the old sawmill room, the moonlight cutting through rotted spots and slashing beams across the floor.

“That there in the middle is rotten,” Richard said. “Stay close to the wall over here.”

We eased along the wall and the whole structure wobbled. Richard said, “Worse comes to worst, we can slide down into that sawdust. But that’s the worst. I don’t know we’d come up out of it.”

“We’re trapped, Richard.”

“Stay away from the middle. Stay right here.”