Lovers and Other Monsters Read online

  “Think about it, Mackay. You have seven hogs, Tyrell buys three. How many do you have left?”

  “How much he pay me?”

  “That’s not important.”

  “Not sellin’ ’less Tyrell he pay a hundred dollar.”

  Why did he bother? These cretins should be home eating corn-on-the-cob and Crisco. Dawber crossed to the blackboard and wrote the figures. “What’s seven hogs take away three hogs?”

  “Tyrell ain’t taken nothin’ no more from me. He steal my whittlin knife.”

  “Didn’t steal nothin’, you jackdaw crazy.”

  “You tooken it...”

  “I won it fair and square.”

  “Boys, settle down...”

  “Robber, steal the cane from Blind Granny!”

  “You be a liar like your paw!”

  Mackay leaped over his desk and crashed head-first into Tyrell’s stomach. Both boys fell on the floor and punched each other hard and ugly.

  Dawber cursed under his breath. Every day the same. Fights and stupidity, stupidity and fights. He watched the twelve-year-olds roll over each other, blood streaming from crushed noses and split lips. Let them kill each other. Let them hurt each other so bad they won’t come back to the sorry classroom. Then all he’d have to deal with would be the narcoleptic Fletcher twins and the four inbred cousins from the other side of the mountain.

  Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of movement at the window. He turned quickly but only saw the top of a bald head before it disappeared. The sly had clouded over as the chilly October wind swirled tiny twisters of dead leaves against the cheap windowpanes.

  “All right, all right, break it up!” Dawber yanked the back of Tyrell’s shirt. It ripped in his hands. He grabbed the boy’s shoulders and pulled him off of the smaller boy underneath. Mackay took advantage of his freedom and aimed a roundhouse at Tyrell’s head. Tyrell saw it coming, though, and twisted away in Dawber’s arms. The punch caught the teacher square at the base of his left car. He fell and scraped his back against the corner of a desk.

  “You goddam idiots!”

  No one moved.

  Dawber stood up suddenly and pitched the desk he’d hit across the room.

  “Get the hell out of my school, you trash! You’re expelled, both of you!” He felt dizzy and sick to his stomach. “Get out. Now!”

  Tyrell and Mackay sullenly went to their desks and pulled out books and papers. Tyrell dripped blood on his geography book and smeared it onto his English primer. Mackay looked like he was either about to laugh or cry. Together the two boys walked up the aisle to the back of the classroom. At the door they turned back to face Dawber.

  “Teacher?”

  “What?”

  Tyrell and Mackay looked at each other, then opened their mouths and each hocked a gob of bloody spit on the floor. Then they threw their books in the air and ran out of the schoolhouse.

  Some of the other students tittered but the look on Dawber’s face prevented any more giggles.

  Dawber wanted to run after Tyrell and Mackay and crack their heads together until there were no bones left to protect the pulp. He wanted to hurt them. Real bad. The ringing in his ear made him lose his balance. He slumped onto the closest chair.

  “You go... dismissed.”

  He sat with his head in his hands. Tiny blond Deborah, accent on “bore,” piped up.

  “We got to do the Halloweeny decorations, Teacher.”

  When Dawber didn’t say no she prissed around gathering up the cardboard ghosts and witches and the construction-paper black cats.

  “Lonnie Mae and me’ll paste up the pitchers. The boys’ll cut up the jack-o-lanterns. Ada and Eve, ya’ll just watch.”

  Dawber sat without moving, fighting nausea, envisioning his cord of wood sitting behind Tyrell’s cabin covered with snow. Outside, the wind had kicked up The whistling hurt the ringing in his head. He wanted out of here, wanted out of this pit of a teaching job. He’d felt lucky to get it at first. Graduating third from the bottom of his class made him eager to work anywhere. One of his professors at the state college had inspired him with the fairy tale of the poor boy who finds the golden key and the iron chest. “If the key does but fit the lock, no doubt there are precious things within to be discovered.” Truly fine teachers never give up searching for the small keyhole that will admit the key of knowledge. Dawber had joyfully sought to unlock the treasures in his backwoods students, but his desire to teach was greater than his skills or patience. The hardness of the mountain folk stymied him and he took his frustrations out on the children. The poverty and ignorance here in the Tennessee mountains made life ugly, not quaint. He felt mean and hopeless. Bit by bit his dreams of unlocking his students’ minds withered. He had failed. So he gave up. He hated the world just a little less than he hated himself.

  The children ignored their teacher while they decorated the room. Deborah barked orders at sullen Lonnie Mae, who deliberately hung the cutouts off-center or backwards. Sixteen-year-old Seesel Packer and Coriander Linderman, each with one brown eye and one blue eye, tolerated Deborah’s carving instructions and shot pumpkin seeds at her when her back was turned. Deborah made a great fuss about having to climb on top of the desks to hang the garlands of spitting cats.

  Dawber caught himself nodding along with the Fletcher twins bat he resisted the luxury of sleep to fulfill his obligation as teacher while the children were still his responsibility. He just wasn’t in the mood to face an outraged parent. He didn’t have the energy to make the students leave. He trusted that his presence, such as it was, would keep them in line and hurry them up.

  Once when he was on the verge of sleep he saw the top of the head again at the window. The Superintendent of Schools? His foggy mind considered asking him in to complain about this worthless job and the creek that constantly overflowed and flooded his room behind the school. But he would wait until the children left so as not to shock them with his foul language.

  “We need a match. Teacher.” Seesel held a crudely carved pumpkin in front of Dawber’s face. “And candles.”

  “In the left cupboard.”

  Dawber sat up straight and looked around him. The ghosts and witches were taped to the windows and the cat streamers hung suspended over the desks. On each windowsill sat a fresh jack-o-lantern. He watched Seesel and Coriander stick candles in the base of each pumpkin. The suddenly awake Fletcher twins eagerly took turns lighting the matches The purple afternoon sky reflected the crude orange and yellow faces in the windows.

  The children admired their handiwork as they packed up to go home.

  “Treats tomorrow, Teacher?” Deborah fairly purred.

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  Deborah leaned close to Dawber’s face. “Don’t forgit to blow out them candles.”

  “Yeah.”

  Seesel stood behind her. “Whyn’t I blow ’em out now? You askin’ for trouble with fire all night long in those jacks.”

  “You courtin’ trouble with the monster woman,” muttered Lonnie Mae.

  Abruptly, the children touched their right thumbs to their tongues, then made a circle and an “x” in their left palms.

  The usually gruff Coriander spoke quietly. “She be mad.”

  “She think you be makin’ fun of her,” added Seesel.

  Dawber stared at his students. Their sudden intensity surprised him. “Who?”

  “Don’t: tell nobody, hear?” pleaded Seesel. “She hurt us if she know we talk about her.”

  “Who?” repeated Dawber.

  Deborah leaned in and whispered in his ear.

  “Kylie Greer.”

  Almost as one the children shuddered.

  “She be a crazy one who live ’round here,” continued Deborah out loud. “She ugly as the devil and she suck out your eyes if she catch you lookin’ at her.”

  “What, she doesn’t like teachers?” snorted Dawber.

  The children crowded around the teacher and spoke over one another’s wor
ds in their urgency to warn Dawber about the local horror.

  “She hate fire...”

  “She live in the ground....”

  “She throw dead squirrels down yourchimley....”

  “She freeze you with her ugly face....”

  “She throw your baby brother in the kettle and boil him for breakfast....”

  “She steal your firewood....”

  “She eat your cookin’ fire so you wake up froze dead like a porkypine in January....”

  “She iress up like a witch....”

  “She kill you on Halloween with poison apples....”

  “She throw you on the bonfire....”

  “She bite off your head and eat your brains and pick her teeth with your knucklebones....”

  Wild-eyed and out of breath, the students pressed close to their teacher.

  “She powerful tetchous,” concluded the Fletcher twins.

  Dawber waited for the children to break into laughter but he realized that they weren’t trying to spook him. They really believed their talc.

  “Have you ever seen this Kylie Greer?”

  “No, Teacher, we be dead if we see her. We he blind and dead!”

  “She’s just make-believe.”

  “No, sir, Teacher, Kylie Greer real.” This from a pale and shaking Deborah.

  “Well, if she comes here I’ll make her look at herself in a mirror so she’ll scare herself to death,” sneered Dawber.

  Just then the wind howled. The children screamed and ran for the door. Lonnie Mae skidded on Tyrell’s and Mackay’s gifts of spit. Deborah and the Fletcher twins squashed through the door at the same time. Coriander knocked over a chair and dragged down the black cat paper chain that dangled in front of his face. Seesel stopped long enough to yell back to Dawber.

  “She hear us tell you, Teacher! We got to go!”

  Dawber chuckled as he watched the six children charge out the door and race into the chilly dusk. But the crash of the slamming door cut short his laughter. The pain from the clout on his ear came back in full force. His head throbbed so badly he could barely hear the wind rattling the windows. Hurting, and too tired to go back to his room, Dawber gingerly slid to the floor and stretched out in the aisle. He was asleep within a minute.

  ❖

  The quills dug under his fingernails and pried them off one by one. Blood oozed and scabbed in the raw wounds. The pain was excruciating but he couldn’t cry out. His mouth was filled with kerosene and his hair was on fire. If he opened his mouth the flames would choke him. A hand exploded out of the ground. The slimy fingers crawled over his neck and cheeks, then hovered near his mouth. Slowly the fingertips began to pry open his lips. He twisted his head from side to side. Sparks flew from his hair. He mustn’t open his mouth! He gritted his teeth but the fingers pressed and poked his lips trying to pull his chin down. Kerosene dribbled from the corner of his mouth. A flame burned his cheek. The tip of a crusted finger slid between his lips and rubbed his gums and teeth. Sores opened at its touch. He had to scream! But the fire would eat him. More fingers squeezed their way through his clenched lips. A thumb pressed hard against his front tooth. He heard the crackle of the roots as they snapped and pulled free. Frantically, he pushed his tongue against the tooth to hold it in place. A piece of tooth chipped off and sliced his tongue. Fingers and thumb yanked the tooth from his bleeding gums. The pain! The fingers broke off another tooth, then another. If only he opened his mouth it would be over. The agony of fire would he easier to bear than this. End it with a scream! All he had to do was open his mouth. Scream! Just open his mouth and scream! Just...

  Dawber jerked awake. His mouth was open wide in a silent scream, Gently he touched his mouth. The awful images that had terrorized his sleep were gone. He lay blinking in the dim light and swallowed hard. A hint of kerosene gagged him and he shuddered. The nightmare clung to him like a shroud.

  In the murky light he recognized the schoolroom more from the chalk dust than from the dark shapes of the desk and chair legs surrounding him. He lay on the floor between two desks near the windows, freezing, his body stiff and sore.

  The door of the schoolhouse opened.

  Dawber lay unmoving. A bitter wind swept through the room. Papers swirled to the floor.

  Something was in the classroom with him.

  The door closed. Dawber held his breath and focused on the muted shuffling. Slowly he turned his head. Through the forest of furniture he could see a dark figure moving towards him. The blood in his ears pounded so painfully he thought he would cry out. But his fear was stronger than his pain. If the intruder was Mackay or Tyrell, he would kill them. And no jury would hang him.

  Dawber turned silently onto his right side. His breath hurt. He kept his mouth open so as not to gasp out loud and give himself away. He would beat them with a chair. He’d make sure they were dead. Then he’d run.

  The figure stopped at the window a few feet from Dawber’s head. Dawber tensed, waiting for the attack. But the stranger hadn’t seen him, didn’t even know he was lying so close by. Tire lighted jack-o-lantern cast its dim reflection in the glass. Dawber raised himself up to get a better look. He watched the stranger pick up the jack-o-lantern and turn its cutout face around until their two faces were silhouetted. Dawber’s throat tightened.

  It was a girl, yet hardly recognizable as female, for she had the most hideous face he had ever seen. Stark white and purple blotches flowed together on a melted face. Her eyes were uneven and hooded by rolls of flesh. The nose was no more than two lopsided holes, the mouth puffy white scars stretched over blackened stumps of teeth. A singed clump of hair lay behind one perfectly normal ear. The other ear was completely gone along with the rest of the hair. She wore a shabby cloak that totally covered her body.

  Dawber’s strangled cry wheeled the girl around. The shadows made one horrible eye seem to slide down her face. She threw up her hands to hide her ruined face and lost hold of the jack-o-lantern. The pumpkin smashed into the teacher’s chest, knocking him to the floor. Hot wax and pulp sprayed his face. The top flew off and the still flaming candle landed on his shirt. The thin wool material ignited while Dawber was swiping away the burning wax.

  The fire engulfed him. It raced across his body eating fabric and skin alike. Dawber screamed. He beat wildly at the flames. He smelled the sickening odor of burning hair, burning flesh. He rolled around on the floor, crashing into the desks, trying to put out the fire that was scorching him to death.

  Suddenly, a rough material blanketed him and something heavy fell on top of him. He fought for air. He screeched as his burned skin was shredded by the scratchy cloth. He couldn’t see or breathe. The pressure suffocated him. He fought desperately to push off the smothering weight. He pushed and shoved and finally was free. He tore off the blanket and sucked air into his burning lungs, but before he could get his bearings he was pulled by strong arms. The fire was out. The terror of burning alive still gripped him and he flailed against the person who now dragged him outside.

  The biting October air stung his bare skin. He cried out in pain. He wrenched himself free and fell face down on the ground. Again the strong arms grabbed him. Too exhausted to struggle any more, Dawber let himself be dragged. He moaned as rocks and grass scraped his raw chest. The urgency of the person pulling him made him look up. He saw the stream that ran near the schoolyard. Now understanding, he stumbled forward and flung himself into the icy water.

  He peeled back the shreds of his shirt and longjohns so that his scorched skin could be cleansed by the sudden cold. The intensity of the pain took his breath away but he knew the water had saved him.

  She knelt in the shallows and supported his head. He cringed at her touch. Shivering with cold and pain, he climbed out of the water. In the schoolhouse windows the jack-o-lanterns grinned at the limping man and the girl who followed him.

  Dawber made it just inside the door before he fell, shaking, to his knees. He tried to take deep breaths but he just kept shakin
g. He knew she was there in the shadows. He knew who she was. And he knew she had saved his life from becoming a horror like hers.

  He felt a cloak being placed gently over him. It smelled like his body on fire. He forced himself to look again at the monster of the valley.

  “Thank you, Kylie.”

  She sat with her hands covering her face. She didn’t say anything.

  Dawber cleared his throat and swallowed. “How can I repay you?” His breath was easier now.

  Her words were muffled behind her hands.

  “Teach me.”

  Dawber stared at the girl with the horrible burns. He reached for her hands and delicately pulled them away from her face. The eyes that looked back at him shone with a fearless life.

  No doubt there were precious things within to be discovered.

  Christina Rossetti

  A Nightmare

  Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830-94), sister of the poet Dante Gabriel Rossetti, was herself a noted Victorian poet. “Goblin Market,” one of her best-known compositions, has often been interpreted as sexually symbolic. “A Nightmare,” composed in 1857, still existed in manuscript when Rossetti died in 1894. Her other brother, art critic William Michael, bowdlerized it before allowing it to see print, changing the first line to read ‘I have a friend in ghostlandas well as the beginning of the second stanza, substituting “hunts” for “rides.”

  I have a love in ghostland—

  Early found, ah me how early lost!—

  Blood-red seaweeds drip along that coastland

  By the strong sea wrenched and tost.

  If I wake he rides me like a nightmare:

  I feel my hair stand up, my body creep:

  Without light I see a blasting sight there,

  See a secret I must keep.

  Dan Burrello

  The Songs of My Young

  “The Songs of My Young” a weirdly erotic and ultimately horrifying love story, is the first, but I am sure far from the last, published fiction of Dan Burrello, a talented young resident of Sea Island, Georgia.