In The Falling Light

IN THE FALLING
LIGHT

by

JOHN L. CAMPBELL

Wild Highlander Press © 2012

These are works of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents either are products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.

IN THE FALLING LIGHT Copyright © 2012 by John
L. Campbell

Wild Highlander Press ® is a
registered trademark.

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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of this author.

The following were
previously published in another form; “Avoiding Miranda” & “Pet
Shop Tarantulas” at
SNM Horror
Magazine
, “Muse” at
Static Movement
,” “Eater of Stars”
& “Zero Tolerance” at
Death Head
Grin
, “Lyme Disease” at
Deadman’s Tome
, “The Houe on Mohawk”
in
Conceit Magazine
, “Chained,” “Trophy Wife,” “Ten Rules of Walter” &
“Salty” at
Necrology
Shorts
, “Wildfire,” “Texas Rising,” “Of
Crimes and Crows,” & “King of the Monster House” at
Schlock! Webzine UK
,
“Courageous Little Philomena’s Wondrous Bait” in
Gargoyle Magazine
,
“Barringer Road,” “Trail of Breadcrumbs,” “Someplace the Wind Blows
Through,” “Embracing Neptune,” “Taillights,” “Jack’s Folly,”
“Rejection,” & “American Tragedy” at
MicroHorror,
“Corn of Cortez”
in
Timeless Worlds.

Cover design and illustration by Keith
Haney/[email protected]

For Linda and Daniel, the center of my
world.

Special thanks go to the following people,
who made this collection possible; Albert Carlos, who took the time
to explain the inner workings of a prison, and corrected me when
things didn’t make sense; Keith Haney, for his magnificent artwork,
unvarnished feedback and eternal patience with artistic revisions,
and to his wife Laura for letting me steal away his time; James
Polisky, whose art I fell in love with at a street festival, and
whose piece, “The Town Secret,” inspired me to write about
Courageous Little Philomena; To Al and Ginny, for enduring rough
draft readings without my glasses; To my wife, my primary reader
and most important critic, who not only supports my endless
keyboard tapping and dares me to dream, but who also provided the
title for “Corn of Cortez;” And to the readers and editors, both
online and print, who gave me their time, their criticism and
encouragement. Thank you all.

Additional titles by John L. Campbell

Red Circus: A Dark Collection

The Mangroves

CONTENTS

Chained

Playthings

Barringer Road

Texas Rising

Rejection

Muse

Avoiding Miranda

Lyme Disease

Taillights

Wildfire

Trail of Bread Crumbs

Zero Tolerance

Trophy Wife

Pet Shop Tarantulas

Embracing Neptune

Courageous Little Philomena’s Wondrous
Bait

The House on Mohawk

Someplace the Wind Blows Through

Rising Sun, Setting Sun

Girl on a Platform

American Tragedy

Salty

Grand Central

A Ranch in Nevada

Eater of Stars

Of Crimes and Crows

Society

Jack’s Folly

Corn of Cortez

Ten Rules of Walter

King of the Monster House

It was one of countless failing farms in the
West Virginia hill country, fields lying fallow and gone wild
because there was no money for planting, a rusting tractor sinking
into the earth because there was no money to fix it. The barn had
collapsed in the center, looking like an old swayback horse, and
hadn’t been rebuilt. A pickup which only ran when it wanted sat in
the weeds beside a two story house with peeling paint and plastic
stretched over those windows missing glass. In the dooryard, a
small dog harried a clutch of scrawny chickens.

A quarter mile behind the house a line of
elms straddled a narrow stream, and a large, time-worn rock jutted
out of high grass at the base of one old tree. It was here that
father and son sat side by side in the shade, looking out at the
sun-warmed meadow between the creek and the house. Dragonflies
flitted and hovered over grass and wildflower which were still in
the unmoving air, and blue skies sailing overhead.

Leo McClellan was rolling a cigarette – he
couldn’t afford store bought, couldn’t afford much of anything
these days – while his son Matthew watched. Matthew was twelve.

“McClellan’s have been on this land since my
great-granddaddy’s day.” Leo waved vaguely towards the overgrown
fields, the house which was falling apart. “It wasn’t always like
this. McClellan’s have grown up in that house for over a hundred
years. I’d hoped you and your sister would do the same.” He looked
down at his worn out boots for a long time. Matthew said
nothing.

When he looked up, Leo squinted into the
bright sky and rubbed a hand across the rough whiskers on his chin.
“Lots of things happened here. Right
here
, in fact.” He
slapped the rock they were sitting on. “Like Earl. I tell you about
Uncle Earl?”

“No, Daddy.” His voice was cautious,
respectful.

Leo grunted. “Well, it ain’t the kind of
story you tell a boy, but I suppose I should. You deserve to know.
He was my great uncle, lived in a little shack out past the barn.
It’s long gone now. He helped my daddy with the farm.” He was
silent then, staring out at the meadow, then softly said, “We take
care of our own.” He looked back down at his boots, and Matthew
thought he might not tell the story after all. Then Leo looked at
him and smiled with bad teeth. There was no money for a dentist,
either.

“It was June, 1967. I was seven years old.
No one could say exactly when it happened to him, or how long he
had it before it started to show. I hear it’s different with
everyone. But I remember it. Some things you can’t forget, no
matter how much you’d like to.” Leo finished rolling his smoke and
took a long, measured moment digging a wooden kitchen match out of
his pocket, striking it on the rock and holding it to the tip.
Cheap tobacco smoke hung around him in the still air.

“Uncle Earl got himself bit. Raccoon or fox
or some such, we never did find out. Most likely a coon. Earl
wasn’t too particular about where he dumped his trash, and the
little bastards was always nosing around. Anyway, he got bit on the
arm and caught the rabies. You know about the rabies.”

Matthew nodded. Farm kids were taught early
on about the dangers of wild animals, what warning signs to watch
for, and were told that if they ever had to shoot an animal they
thought might be infected, not to shoot it in the head, so its
brain could be tested. In school they learned about the effects,
learned that it drove a person crazy before it killed them, but
that shots at the hospital could save your life.

Leo squinted at the sky again, not seeing
the sweep of white clouds over the startling blue field, seeing
only his childhood. “I was pretty young, don’t recall everything
that led up to what happened, but I remember Uncle Earl was sick a
lot, and some days he had so much pain he couldn’t work the fields.
You better believe that made my daddy plenty mad. Lazy don’t sit
well with McClellan’s.

“Earl got worse. He started shuffling around
the dooryard like he was lost or didn’t know where he was, or he’d
sleep a lot. When he wasn’t sleeping sometimes he’d just up and
scream for no reason, or flap his arms like a frightened hen. I
remember thinking he was funny, but my daddy told me to keep away
from Uncle Earl or he would blister my ass. He and my mama, they
knew what was happening.”

“Didn’t anyone take him to the doctor,
Daddy? They could have fixed him.”

Leo looked sideways at his son. “Doctors.
Bunch of damned bloodsuckers looking to get rich off poor folk.
Besides, my daddy didn’t have a pot to piss in.” He looked at the
fallen barn, the shabby house. “Like us.” He smoked and watched a
touch of breeze catch the little cloud and carry it away.
“McClellan’s take care of their own.”

There was another long silence, and Matthew
shifted, uncomfortable on the rock. The tree had actually grown
around the big piece if field stone, the thick trunk curving
slightly, and Matthew settled his back against its bark. His daddy
didn’t seem to mind, and he was thankful for that.

“Wasn’t long before things got even worse
for Earl. Instead of sleeping, he was up all night, walking around
the outside of the house and carrying on, yelling and pissing
himself, talking to people that wasn’t there, jumping like he’d
been goosed. By that time I didn’t need daddy’s promise of an ass
blistering to keep away from him. He scared me. One afternoon I was
out by the barn, playing with a little truck in the weeds, and I
turned around. Earl was standing not three feet away in nothing but
his underwear, standing real still, arms hanging at his sides, not
saying a word but smiling all big, like something was funny. But
his eyes didn’t say funny. His eyes said he wanted to do something
bad. Something
really
bad. See, he’d started getting sneaky,
moving real quiet. That was worse than all the noise. It meant you
never could tell where he was.”

Leo looked at his son. “He’d gone crazy. You
understand?”

Matthew nodded slowly.

“I told mama what happened by the barn, and
then it wasn’t just me scared. That night I heard mama and daddy
whispering in the kitchen. They said Earl was dangerous, and
something had to be done.”