The Bighead (13 page)

She had to distract herself to say,
“What are you doing out here so late, Goop? Surely you don’t have
chores to do at this hour.”

“
Aw, no, no, Miss Jerrica.”
Finally, the boy had simmered down. Jerrica guessed that she’d
scared him more than he had her. He drawled on, “I’se, see, I’se
forgot ta set the tammers.”

Jerrica’s brow
creased.
Tammers? What the hell is a
tammer?

“
Fer the sprinkler system,
see. Miss Annie’s got sprinklers now fer her flower
garden.”

“
Oh, you mean timers,”
Jerrica figured out.

“
That’s right, tammers. She
asked me ta change ’em ta make ’em go off earlier now that it’s
gettin’ hot, an’ I’se forgot, so’s I hadda git outa bed an’ do it.
Didn’t figgure anyone’d be up this hour.”

“
Charity and I got in
late,” Jerrica told him. But already she was having trouble
concentrating. It always happened this way, didn’t it? Her
temptations rearing like a slowly rising beast. “We, uh, we went to
The Crossroads.”

“
Ya did!” Goop Gooder
seemed amazed. “That’s a fine place, ain’t it? Fine place fulla
fine folks. I’se go there alls the time.”

“
Well, if we’d known that
we would’ve invited you to join us.”

Goop gulped in the silver shadows.
“Ya—ya would’ve? Me?”

“
Well of course, Goop. I’m
sure we’ll be going again soon. We’d love for you to come
along.”

“
Aw, shucks, Miss Jerrica.”
Goop looked like he’d swallowed a flounder at the suggestion.
“That’d shore be great, an’ I’d shore be proud ta go
anywheres
with you an’
Miss Charity…”

But already the words were
fading out, as Jerrica’s awareness began to shift into the ever
familiar fever. The warm night seemed to lick her skin beneath the
gauzy nightgown. Her mind in a swarm, she could only look
speechless at him, and could only imagine the most lustful and even
indecorous images. She imagined Goop’s cock stuck in her mouth to
the balls as her fingers handled his testicles like ripe fruit on a
vine. She imagine the thick, salt taste of his sperm as he
ejaculated, and the viscid texture of it as she swallowed. More
imaginings, more images then, in a steady, hot stream. Then she’d
sit on his face, let his tongue rove her anxious, open sex. She’d
thumb his rectum and suck his cock hard again, and
so hard
it would be, hard
as polished wood. Yes, that’s what she imagined. And then
she’d
impale
herself on it, let herself be skewered. And that would only be
the beginning.

This was how it happened every time,
for nearly as long as she could remember: her desires running mad
in her mind until she could explode, and each dense image
acuminating to an awl-sharp point. Back to earth, back to the here
and now of this wild, hot night on the back porch of Annie’s
boarding house, and the stark flesh reality of what was dopily
standing before her. Jerrica could guess where Goop’s eyes were;
where else would they be as she faced him in a nearly see-through
nightgown whose hem ended higher than mid-thigh, and with nothing
underneath? The night teemed. The moonlight limed his muscled flesh
and its traceries of perspiration.

More dead-silent lightning
flashed.

Jerrica struggled not to fall. “It’s,
it’s fascinating, isn’t it?”

“
Whuh—oh, yous mean the
lightnin’. Heat lightnin’s what it is. Happens lot durin’ the
summer. No rain never comes with it, no thunder
neither.”

She tried to push her mind away from
that awl-sharp point of her senses, averting her eyes to the sky.
“It’s beautiful.”

Goop stuttered, “So’s-so’so’s are you,
Miss Jerrica, I means, if ya don’t mind me sayin’ so.”

Her resolve collapsed, the keystone of
an arch giving way. Jerrica’s nipples felt like hot pebbles against
the scant top. Her sex felt soaked.

She took Goop Gooder’s hand then, and
in a voice that barely even sounded like her own, she said, “It’s a
beautiful night, Goop. Let’s go for a walk.”

—
| — | —

SEVEN

(I)

That weird lightnin’ flashed an’
flashed as The Bighead tried ta sleep. He’d cooped hisself up in
the crook of a hillock, his mind racin’ with wonderin’s. He’d seed
the silent lightnin’ many times in the past, but never so clearly
as this, ’cos livin’ in the Lower Woods with Grandpap, the tall
trees mostly blocked it out. But now he could see it just fine, and
how weird it looked! And— And—

And it reminded him’a somethin’,
didn’t it?

It reminded him’a the
dream.

It were a dream he’d been havin’ fer
longer than he could ’member. Not ever-night but ever so often, and
it were always the same.

The Bighead dreamed of a castle, and
the castle had angels in it, purdy ones, three or four of ’em alls
scurryin’ around like they’se was scairt, and they’se was
screamin’. There’s was old men lyin’ around too, faces peerin’ up
like big dry mushrooms like the kind he’d seed growin’ at the
bottom’a trees in the dark woods.

The angels was just so purdy, and
purdier still by the way they was runnin’ around screamin’ like
that. Then the eye’a the dream showed him two more angels, but
buck-nekit they was, an’ they’se was takin’ baths in one’a the
rooms in the castle. Well, Bighead, in the dream mind you, he
didn’t waste no time layin’ some serious peter on ’em. He fucked
’em both an’ drowned ’em right there in their purdy smellin’ baths.
Then busted open their heads an’ et their brains, too. Afters that,
though, he took ta walkin’ round the castle, and tracked down those
first four in their angel clothes, and they’se was still screamin’
and tryin’ ta run away. The Bighead wouldn’t stand fer it, no sir,
an’ he fucked ’em, cornholed ’em, juss like that, left ’em bleedin’
ta die, ’cos like Grandpap said, ya gotta fuck with folks ’fore
they’se kin fuck with you. Bighead were quite randy in this here
dream, an’ he had enough spunk fer all of ’em, he did, an’ he
weren’t stingy dolin’ it out, neither! Bighead’s big hard pecker
shore did bust all these angels wide open, it did, an’ some of ’em
was gushin’ blood whiles he were comin’ in ’em, an’ the ones he
cornholed, they bled even more, an’ when Bighead were done, they
all laid dyin’ with their purdy angel faces kinda frozen in fear,
their eyes wide open, their mouths wide open too, an’ their pussies
an’ poopholes droolin’ blood an’ shit an’ piss.

So much fer the angels.

Then the dream took him further inta
the castle, back ta where he’d seen all them old men layin’ ’round.
The Bighead guessed that the old men must be angels too, ’cos why
else would they be in the angels’ castle? It were a lot’a fun
twistin’ off their ballbags an’ pullin’ their shriveled old peckers
off. Coupla these old angels, he made ’em eat their own peckers, he
did, made ’em scarf their own dickmeat right down, yes sir. Bighead
popped their eyeballs outa their screamin’ faces, jerked their arms
outs their sockets, busted their bellies open an’ hauled out their
guts. When he were gettin’ close ta finishin’, he found his pecker
gettin’ hard again, more good spunk buildin’ up in his lower parts,
so’s he buttfucked the last few ta boot an’ had hisself a couple
more dandy nuts. Shee-it, Bighead must’a come enough ta fill a
milkbucket time he was done! But thens he looked arounds an’
discovered that alls’a these old men angels was dead now, an’ all
the gal angels too it looked, an’ there weren’t no one left movin’
in the castle.

The castle were dark, it were, an’ it
were a dark night, an’ Bighead, still in the dream, mind you,
sometimes he could barely see ’cept fer the quiet lightnin’
flashin’ in the winders.

An’ when he were shore there weren’t
no angels left ta fuck an’ put a killin’ on, he left, an’ he stood
outside in the middle’a that grand an’ fine night an’ he looked up
inta the sky.

The lightnin’ continered ta flash,
weirdlike, with no sound, ands then, still in the dream, he heard a
voice…

It weren’t Grandpap’s voice, no sir.
It weren’t no one’s really.

Instead, the voice seemed ta sizzle in
his head as he stared out at the lightnin’, an’ what the voice said
was this:

It said, COME.

That were the dream that Bighead had
ever so often, and that were what he was thinkin’ ’bout right now
as he tried to git some sleep by the hillock. What bothert him most
weren’t all them angels he kilt in the dream, it were the voice he
heard sizzlin’ like coon meat on the fire.

COME, the voice had said.

But—

Come where?

COME.

The Bighead just couldn’t figgure it.
Why in tarnations would he have a dream like that? One time
Grandpap tolt him that dreams had meanin’s, that dreams were like
the soul callin’ out. But what could this dream mean?

He knowed there weren’t much point in
tryin’ ta sleep, so’s he got up an’ stretched, an’ he pulled a long
piss in the bushes, then shat up them possum and coon brains he’d
et earlier, an’ them dandy snake guts. It were late’n dark, it
were, an’ the moonlight shined bright in his lopsided eyes. He
looked up in the sky a’ just stared.

An’ that’s when he heard it. An’ he
knowed he weren’t dreamin’, he knowed he was full awake
now…

Yet he heard it
nonetheless.

An’ what he heard were
this:

He heard the same voice from the
dream, an’ it said:

COME.

The Bighead, well, he didn’t quite
understant how he could hear for real somethin’ he’d heard inna
dream. But he figgured there was only one thing ta do.

Foller the voice…

(II)

The lightning flashed in
silent whips across the windshield.
Heat
lightning,
Father Tom Alexander recognized.
Static electrical charges built up in a high-pressure zone. Common
in mountain regions during the summer.

The Mercedes veered down
the black road, Route 154. The lime-green dash clock read 12:58
a.m. How could time have gotten away from him so thoroughly? He
should’ve at least called, to let them know he’d be late.
Ah, well. I’ve slept in tank turrets and rice
paddies, in field barracks and pup tents and bivouac perimeters. If
the landlady is asleep, it won’t kill me to sleep in a fucking
Mercedes tonight.

He lit a cigarette, let the warm night
air stream across his face. So far, at least, the place was well
marked; there were signs every few miles: ANNIE’S BOARDING HOUSE,
and Halford said his room had been paid for in advance.

His gaze strayed as he
drove on.
Beats the shit out of
Richmond,
he concluded. The countryside was
gorgeous, he had to admit, even more so at night. The moon followed
him like a gibbous chaperon, racing over treetops. The roads wound
and wound; eventually he was there.

Decent looking old place, he’d give it
that. A winding lane led to a gravel lot. Two vehicles parked out
front, a snappy red Miata convertible and a beaten pickup truck
that looked thirty years old. Alexander parked, doused the lights
and cut the engine. All day now he’d been sweating in his black
slacks, black shirt, and Roman collar. The latter felt like an iron
cuff digging into his neck. He grabbed his suitcase and embarked up
the steps.

A brass door knocker faced
him, strange in that it was a face: just two eyes, yet no mouth, no
other features.
Everyone’s probably turned
in,
he felt sure.
Just sleep in the car. Don’t wake up the whole house just
because you lost track of time.
But when he
tinnily knocked, the door opened nearly at once, and Alexander was
let in by a comely, white-haired woman in her sixties, in slippers
and an indigo robe. “Father Alexander?”

“
Yes, and you must be
Miss—.”

“
Annie, please.” Blue eyes
beamed at him. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“
I’m very sorry for
arriving so late,” Alexander apologized. “I was detained, the time
got away from me.”

“
Oh, that’s quite all
right.” She showed him to a faintly lit parlor which was nicely
cooled down by crosscurrents from open windows. “Set down your bag.
May I offer you some wine?”

“
Uh, well sure, thanks.”
Alexander smiled.
Actually I could use
something harder, but wine’ll do.
He
glanced around in her brief absence. A quaint house, homey and
genuine. From somewhere nearby, a clock gently chimed the first
quarter hour. Annie returned momentarily with a glass of something
dark. “It’s raspberry wine, made locally,” she said. “I hope you
like it.”

If it’s got alcohol in it,
I’ll like it.
“Thank you,” he said. “My
boss says I’m paid up for two weeks, correct?”

“
Yes, that’s
right.”

“
I’ll have another check
cut soon; it looks like I’ll be needing to stay a bit longer than
that.”

“
The longer, the better,
Father. We’re delighted to have you.” They both sat at a leafed
table covered by intricate doilies. “So you’ve already been to the
abbey?”