Chapter 39
The Taylor boys, Clem and Jimbo, sat there waiting for their pa to say something. Clem had come up and told pappy that the revenue agent had been thrashing about and had run into the workbench, breaking some of pappy’s bottles of moon shine in the process. Clem knew that pappy would cause the man to suffer for that, but he had to just sit there and wait until he decided what to do with the intruder.
Clem wanted to go and cut him up some more, cut him up real good. But pappy wanted to take his time with this one; he wanted him to suffer more than any of the others before him. Clem knew that he had to respect his dad’s wishes. One time he had crossed him, and he was beaten to within an inch of his life. He didn’t want to go through that again. If pappy wanted to wait before going back to the shed, that was fine with him.
Old man Taylor horked up a black wad of chewing tobacco and spit it into the spittoon. “Well, boys, we’re gonna mess this one up real good, don’t you worry none.” He sensed the boys’ impatience and wanted to make sure that they behaved and didn’t do anything that he didn’t approve of.
"Yeah, pappy, we know. Whatever you says is good with us.” Clem was quick to agree. After a couple of moments, Jimbo added. “Uh huh, pa, you’s always right. Whatever you says is okay with us.”
Before pappy had a chance to say anything else, a loud bang came from the shed, and the stranger was screaming. Pappy got out of his chair, quicker than what his age would seem to allow, and he went to get his knife again. His boys were close behind.
"That pussy is getting on my nerves. Let’s go give him something to carry on about. He’s annoying what with all his noise and all. Time to do some carvin’ up boys.”
"Okay, pappy, let’s cut him up real good this time.’
"Whatever you says pa, you’s always right.”
"When they opened the shed door, what they saw came as a complete surprise. There, in the middle of the floor, was the stranger, seeming to be dancing a jig. At least it seemed that way at first. At closer look, they saw something attached to his face and he was whirling about, trying to get it free. He wasn’t having any luck. Blood curdling screams were coming from him, somewhat muffled because his face was covered by the thrashing animal. Then they realized that it was a large rat that had clamped onto Jake’s face and was clawing at him ferociously. Clem’s fear arose again and he stood there frozen with fright but also transfixed by the spectacle that was going on in front of him.
"What the fuck?” Old man Taylor spoke first. “Boy, get that thing off of him. I want him alive so I can mess him up myself.”
"The older Taylor son hesitated, fearing for his own safety. Pappy mistook that for a sign of weakness, and slashed him with the hunting knife.
"Oh shit pappy. Don’t do that. I’ll git it off him. Just don’t slice me up.”
Clem got a stick and was about to hit at the rat. At the last moment, however, the rodent sensed his presence and loosened his grip on Jake, turned and lunged at the intruder, landing on his shoulder. The rat bit into the young Taylor’s jugular vein. Blood began to flow in an unstoppable stream. Clem was now screaming, running around trying to get the creature off of him.
The rat hung on and kept biting down, enjoying the fresh blood that he was now tasting. Then he remembered that this was the creature that tried to stomp on him earlier and bit down that much harder. Clem’s knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor, twitching and writhing. A gurgling sound was coming from him. He was becoming weaker by the moment. His blood loss was very extreme and he was slipping into unconsciousness.
With the recent turn of events, old man Taylor and Jimbo forgot all about Jake. Jimbo tried grabbing at the rat but just managed to get nipped in the fingers. He withdrew a step or two. The old man, quick as lightning, stabbed into the rat’s back with his knife. For a moment, the rat held on, hissing and spitting the whole time. Pa struck again, and this time, the rat let go of Clem, who by now was beyond saving, and fell to the floor, looking like an epileptic having a seizure. Its body went into spasms and then it lay still. Its tongue hung out of its mouth; human blood and gore coated his face, giving him an almost clown-like appearance.
The older Taylor went to his injured and now dying son. He dropped the knife and knelt beside his older boy, a tear forming at the corner of his one good eye.
"Pick him up Jimbo and carry him to the house. We’ll tend to him there. Be quick about it.”
"Yes sir, pa, you always knows best.” He leaned down and picked up his brother. The blood was still flowing from the wound but not as strongly as before. Clem’s face was white and he moaned as he was lifted and carried toward the house.
In all the commotion, the shed was left unlocked. It was a few moments before Jake realized this. He was in dire agony. His face had been shredded in several spots by the rat, causing some of the wounds from the knife to reopen, but newer, deeper gashes had also appeared.
It took him a few moments to see the knife lying in the dirt. The door was partly ajar and enough light was coming in that Jake could start to see more clearly, even though blood and sweat were getting into his eyes, causing them to sting.
Realizing if he didn’t act soon, he would lose his one chance to get away. He had to get out of there before the remaining two returned to extract revenge on him for what happened to their son and brother, even though he had nothing to do with it. The fact of the matter was, if they hadn’t come in when they did, it would probably be him instead of that asshole that now lay dead or dying. He owed them a debt of gratitude for that. But he was not in a forgiving mood. After all, they were torturing him and probably would continue until he died.
Even though his hands were still tied behind his back, he managed to grab the knife. It felt like he was going to dislocate his shoulder again, but managed to complete the task without any more physical harm. Forcing himself to his feet, he stumbled across the room, where a vice was bolted to the work bench. After a few tries, he was able to secure the blade into it.
Moving his hands back and forth over the blade, he began the task of getting the rope removed from his wrists. A couple of times, he slipped, nicking himself. He was so intent on getting the job done that it felt no more than a pin prick. It seemed that he wasn’t making any progress, but then finally, the binding started to give way. He pulled with all his might, and with a final tug, was loose.
A whole new pain reared its ugly head. His arms had been tied behind him for so long that circulation had been restricted. A wave of pins and needles shot across his shoulders. He started rubbing his arms to get blood flowing again. After awhile, the sensation subsided, leaving him to contend with the agony that all his other wounds were causing him.
"I’ve got to get it together.” Jake gasped from near exhaustion. “I must get these cuts stopped bleeding or I’m not going be able to do anything. If those bastards get back here before I’m done, I’m in deep shit.
Got to think, think, think. I know what I’ve got to do.” He eyed a bottle of moon shine on the table.
“That will kill anything in those cuts, I’m sure. It’s going to hurt like hell though.” He took a quick gulp and felt it burning his throat all the way down. “Now I’d better do this.”
Pouring alcohol onto some of the worst wounds sent a jolt of unbelievable pain through him. It felt like his whole body was on fire. Stifling back a scream, he took another gulp of the fire water, coughed, almost choked, but managed to hold it back. He poured some more onto the wounds. It didn’t hurt nearly as much this time. Finally, the flow of blood was easing up. At least he wouldn’t die from blood loss.
He took one final swig to bolster his courage. It also helped to deaden the pain that was wracking his body at the moment. After a few more moments, he figured he was ready and knew what had to be done.
It was time to have a nice friendly “talk” with the two good ole boys that were tending the wounded, dying Clem inside the house.
Looking around he saw what he needed. He could have used the knife, but that was not his style. An old tire iron lay on the floor near the door. No sooner had he picked it up that macabre flash backs of some of the previous crimes he had committed came roaring into view.
Mr. Jacobs was first. Half of his face was gone. Maggots crawled in and out of his eye socket. Then, just as quickly, the vision vanished. Next, there was dear Mrs. Keller. Jake couldn’t be sure. Her face was unrecognizable. A large gaping hole was in the skull, and all of the skin had rotted from her face. It approached, raising its arms as if to embrace him, but then it too vanished without a trace.
More grotesque and unsettling visages came flooding into his vision and then in a flash would blink out. So many dead, rotting corpses appeared that he almost became overwhelmed. Voices screamed accusations at him but then were silent. Then, as quickly as they came, they were gone.
"Somewhat rattled by the sudden apparitions that had just presented themselves to him, he stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do or what to expect next. After a few moments, it seemed that no more would come to torment him, and he relaxed a little. Then his mood changed, and he became confrontational. It was like someone had thrown a switch inside him. One moment, he was cowering, almost timid, and the next, he had become violent, wanting to lash out and hurt whatever or whomever got in his way.
"It was not my fault.” Jake implored. “All I wanted was to be friends with you, but you all lied and treated me like shit. I’m glad you’re dead. You got what you deserved. You stupid bastards, I’d do it all over again if you were standing here beside me. You’re all a bunch of shit heads! You make me want to puke!” He was now shouting in anger.
He began pacing back and forth, becoming more and more agitated. Picking up a nearby two by four, he threw it as hard as he could against the far wall, banging noisily as it fell to the floor. The sound brought him out of his tirade.
"Oh shit. What if those assholes heard? I’ve got to get them before they get me.”
He stood there for a moment, swaying but then steadied himself. A combination of nerves and too much liquor were having an adverse effect upon him. Breathing deeply for a moment, he calmed himself so that he was able to think clearly. It was time, time to extract his revenge and rid this world of the two monsters that were nearby. Their stink still lingered in his nostrils, making him want to throw up again.
Clutching the iron tightly, he slowly opened the shed door and looked out cautiously. No one was coming. They mustn’t have heard. Hatred was consuming him from the inside out. If he didn’t do something soon, he felt like he would explode.
Grabbing his weapon tightly, he started towards the house. At the moment, he didn’t feel any aches and pains. If someone saw him, they would wonder how he could be walking with so many injuries. It’s amazing what one can endure when there is sufficient motivation. To Jake, the only thoughts going through his mind were those of torturing, maiming and killing two mad dogs that were close by.
A look that was pure evil came over his face. His ankle was swollen quite badly and he was limping. This didn’t deter him on his mission. As he neared the shack, his adrenalin began pumping. The thrill of the kill always got to him just before he would pummel the unworthy, or those who professed to be his friend when in fact, all they wanted was to make his life miserable.
Finally, he was at the door. He listened but couldn’t hear anything from inside. Worried that they may be circling around to come at him, he stopped for a moment to look about. But then he heard voices, muted but definitely coming from inside.
He went around to a side window to see if he could see what they were doing and where they were. There was so much dirt on the pane that he could barely see through it. But then he saw them. The one who had been attacked was on his back on the kitchen table. He was lying still and no blood was coming from his wound. It was obvious that he was dead. His father and brother were both standing beside the body with their backs to the door, talking quietly to each other, probably planning their next attack against him.
Jake went back to the door. The hinges were rusted and he was afraid that the door would creak when opened. He pushed gently, and to his great relief, the door opened noiselessly. There would be an element of surprise to his attack. One would be easy pickings, but with two of them in the room, he would have to act swiftly if he wanted to get at both of them and survive himself.
The door was now partly open and he slipped inside. He hadn’t been noticed and so he stood there for a moment, and then sidled along the wall until he was beside an old cupboard. Hidden within its shadow, he waited; waited to bludgeon and mutilate his two enemies that were now within arms length.
It was then that the younger one turned and spotted Jake. Before he had a chance to warn his pa or before he even had a chance to move, Jake was upon him. The first blow hit him in the left side of his head. All that could be heard was a sickening crack, and Jimbo staggered backward, bumping into his pa, and almost knocking Clem from the table.
Before he had a chance to get up, Jake was on him in a flash, striking with such speed and ferocity that poor dumb Jimbo didn’t have a chance. His head split wide open with the second blow, causing what little brain matter that was there to splatter against the near wall.
The attack continued until old man Taylor grabbed him by the hair and yanked him off. Jake let out a yowl as he felt a clump of his hair being pulled out by the roots. Blood was streaming from his scalp wound. He jumped up quickly and whirled around to find his assailant with another knife in his hand. Quick as a flash, his hand whipped out and sliced Jake’s stomach a couple of times. They were only glancing blows because once the blade was seen, he took no time in backing up. Pa came at him again, but Jake was faster. The tire iron struck the old man’s knife wielding wrist with one sharp blow, breaking it and causing him to drop the knife. He let out a howl of pain. His wrist hung limply but the fight was not out of him yet.
His lips curled back in a snarl-like gesture, and he was letting loose with a spine-chilling shriek that made Jake’s hairs stand up on the back of his neck. Spittle and black tarry chewing tobacco were dripping from the corners of his mouth Before Jake had a chance to react, Taylor, more like a rabid dog than a man, lunged and bit him on the left cheek. A low guttural noise was coming from the old timer’s throat. Jake pulled back from this demon, causing a chunk of flesh to be ripped from his face, bringing tears to his eyes.
All he saw was a mouth of rotting blackened stumps that used to be teeth, snapping about a foot from his eyes. If he faltered now, chances are that he wouldn’t be able to shake this lunatic off of him. Fatigue was getting the better of him and he didn’t have much fight left. In desperation, he swung the iron and connected with enough force to stun his assailant. Adrenalin seemed to kick in again. With renewed vigor, Jake struck a solid blow to the old man’s head.
Taylor dropped like a ton of bricks, and crumpled in a heap. He had been hit so hard, that he was dead before he landed on the floor. This didn’t matter to Jake. He struck again and again until what was left was not recognizable any more. These animals wouldn’t bother poor Jake anymore, unless they came to him in visions like his other victims did.
When he was done, he dropped the iron with a clang. Totally exhausted, he slumped to the floor, not knowing what to do now. He had no idea why they had done to him what they had, and it didn’t matter. The situation was taken care of. Soon he would be able to get out of there and continue on his trek west to start his new life. A smile came over his face.
Little did he know that he was one of the most wanted men in recent history. If he had heard this, he wouldn’t have believed it anyway. He was just a good guy that was ridding the world of people who didn’t deserve to live. In his mind, it couldn’t be him, because he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He was definitely mentally unstable, not knowing reality from fantasy. In all probability, in a few days, he wouldn’t remember his ordeal at the Taylor homestead, and he would wonder what had happened to him to have received so many injuries.
The mind has a way of blocking out unpleasant things that happen in one’s life. Some people suffer from amnesia. It is the way that people cope with traumatic events that occurred to them that are too horrifying to deal with. If memories of gruesome things that happened to them or that they caused would surface before the person was mentally ready to handle them, they would have a total breakdown from which there would be no return.
This most likely would be Jake’s case. Unless something sparked his memory, such as visitation from the apparitions, he would never remember the killings or even the days spent in the shed outside the Taylor house.
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