Bad Billy Read online

  She remembered watching in horror as he left, a four-foot-seven, 300 pound blob that had spent his entire life in a basement, in a black and moist hole—the ideal growth location for fungus.

  She had almost gagged as she realized just how awful he looked in the sun (before, she had only seen him in the basement, the only light a single yellow bulb in the corner, bathing shaded gold on his round crater face). He reeked of feces and smelled like a week-old dead animal on the side of the road in summer.

  She had called to her son, told him to come back. "Don't you get in them woods, boy! Come on back fer you get snakebit!" But he hadn't listened, and she'd been left with no other choice but to walk to her Uncle Ethan's house.

  They had spread out, combing the woods, each armed with a .12 gauge pump shotgun to take him out if need be. It was Ethan who'd first heard the screaming, a faint sound that had pierced her soul as it grew in volume and pitch.

  "Follow that noise," Ethan'd said. "More in likely, it'll take us to that wicked boy."

  They'd moved silently through the forest, their experienced feet gliding over the pine straw, barely snapping the twigs. Eventually, they'd reached a clearing deep in the woods. Sitting in the field, a dark and bloated visage of Death, Billy was trying to devour a screaming cat.

  "Billy!" she'd cried. "Spit that cat outta yer mouth!"

  The cat cried out as it tried to fight and claw itself free of the bloody mouth wrapped around is anguished body. Billy chewed and the cat screamed louder.

  Ethan raised his shotgun and drew a bead on the boy. "Billy, you're one dead motherfucker if you don’t spit that cat out." He took the safety off. "Boy, don't think I won’t do it. I got no qualms about sending a demon back into the Hell fire!”

  Billy bit down hard and blood shot from his mouth, splattering the earth. The upper half of the cat's torso fell from his lips and bounced off his fat stomach, striking the soft deer grass below.

  Ethan fired and watched red mist erupt from the right side of the monster's head. He lowered the smoking barrel and walked over to the bloated young man, screaming and kicking his legs in the air. He pointed the shotgun at Billy's face. "Boy, I just shot your ear off. Quit acting like a pussy." Ethan lifted the shotgun, aimed it at his nephew. “Hell, let me put you out your misery.”

  "No, don't do it Ethan," the woman had said. "My son's learned his lesson. He'll be good from now on. Won't you Billy?"

  "Damnit to hell, Brenda. This boy's pure fuckin evil."

  "Ethan, I cain't kill my son. He's my baby."

  Ethan had lowered his shotgun and sighed. "What you reckon's gonna happen to him when you die?"

  #

  A scream broke the old woman from her memories. She lifted the cane she kept beside the recliner and started beating on the floorboards.

  "Shet up you fat bastard!” she cried. “I’ll feed you in an hour. I'm tryin to watch Price is Right, right now."

  The old woman tossed the cane down and leaned back in her comfortable recliner. She suddenly felt so tired. She closed her eyes and felt nothing when her heart stopped beating.

  #

  There was a knock at the door. It came again, louder this time, and he lowered the revolver from his head.

  "Who's there?" Ben Holloway asked.

  "Holloway, open the door!"

  Holloway stood up, dropped his .357 to the floor, and hobbled to the door. He unbolted the deadbolt and took the chain off.

  "My day off!" he hollered. "Assholes!"

  Deputy Dick Dupree—Triple 'D' to his friends—was all smiles at the doorway. "Hey, Holloway. How’s it hanging?"

  Holloway put a cigarette in his mouth and examined the punk. "Get the fuck off my property."

  "I didn't come at a bad time did I?" Triple 'D' wrinkled his nose. "You been drinking a little? Huh?"

  "What do you want?"

  "We've been trying to get you by cell phone, house phone, beeper and radio all morning. Did you turn your radio off? You shouldn't do shit like that. You know, you really smell like shit. A fucking brewery…"

  "What do you want?"

  "Shit, we've got a dead body. Coroner's already out there. Said it looks to him like a natural death, but he ain't gonna speculate. He said he don't too much understand the teeth marks though."

  "Teeth marks?"

  "Yeah, looked like someone tried to gnaw her arm off."

  "Shit." Holloway took a drag off his smoke. "Who died?"

  "You know Brenda Lee?"

  Holloway shook his head. The day was too bright through his bloodshot eyes. "She related to any of those Lee's we're always arresting?"

  "That's a 10-4. As a matter of fact, her brother is one of our top clients."

  "Alright. Hold on a minute. Let me throw some clothes on."

  Holloway closed the door in the deputy's face. He hated being the only investigator in the county. Every time something went wrong he had to be there. Mostly, however, it was narcotics or fraud. Homicide was a rare thing in these parts. He hoped to hell the teeth marks belonged to something and not someone. The fucking coroner.

  He took a quick glance at his .357 on the floor and decided to shoot himself later. His buzz was gone, and one of the dumbest assholes ever to have graced the police academy was waiting outside. It was shaping up to be a great day.

  "Damn it all," he said. He dressed in khakis and a blue polo shirt, ketchup stains all over the front. He didn't care anymore.

  On the way, Triple 'D' was throwing jokes left and right, but Holloway wasn't paying him no mind. He watched the paved roads turn into dirt roads and studied the trees lining the ditches. Triple 'D' kept the cruiser slow and steady, and Holloway smoked two cigarettes before the road turned into a narrow trail.

  "Roll up your window," Triple 'D' said. "Them bushes gonna get you in the face if you don't."

  Holloway took his advice and listened as limbs and leaves slapped the glass and scratched the body of the cruiser. The bushes were so thick along the path, it was nearly impossible to see up ahead.

  “Real backwoods darling, wasn’t she?” Holloway said. He pulled a fifth of J&B out of his pocket and took a sip. “You want a shot, Dick?”

  The deputy shook his head. “Maybe later. Damn, I hate these trails! They really should do something about this shit.”

  Holloway put the bottle back in his pocket. “What are they gonna do? Make the property owner pay more taxes?”

  Triple ‘D’ looked at him. “Huh?”

  “You heard me,” he said.

  “Hell, I don’t know. They just need to fix the roads is all.”

  “Where are they gonna get the money from?”

  Triple ‘D’ looked confused. “Are you a property owner?”

  Holloway lit another cigarette and took a drag. The smoke stung his eyes and he waved it away. “Fuck no I’m not a property owner. My wife took all my property. She took every fucking thing. The only thing she didn’t take was my drinking problem. She sure as shit took all my bottles though."

  “Man, shut the fuck up. You drunker than hell. Look at you Holloway; you can’t even keep your head up straight.”

  “I’m just a good man living in a wicked world. I work hard, but they don’t award hard workers. They just give them more work. You know?”

  “We’re almost to the house.”

  “I’ve worked hard all my life and for what? I don’t have anything, man. I don’t have nothing. I’m too good for this world. You know?”

  “That’s what you keep saying,” Triple ‘D’ said. “Come on. Let’s get you out the car. You can take a quick look at the body, and then we can go home.”

  Holloway slammed the door shut and stared at the house in front of him. A large, white nothing, made of yellow pine. The paint was badly peeling, and the porch looked as if it were ready to collapse at any second.

  Walking inside, he immediately spotted the sheriff and the coroner talking beside a body in the chair.

  “Holloway,” the sheriff called,
“come over here.”

  The investigator pulled up his pants and went forward. “Yes, Sir?”

  “Take a look at this woman.”

  “Did you notify the GBI?”

  “Is this a homicide?”

  Holloway looked at the woman; her eyes were closed and her face was relaxed, almost too peaceful. He stared at the right arm and saw chunks of flesh missing. Teeth marks imprinted in skin and flesh.

  “Don’t really know, Sheriff. We should probably get the GBI Forensics lab down here. They can tell us if it’s a homicide.”

  The sheriff nodded his head. “Alright then. I’ll call ‘em on up. You should take a look in the basement.”

  “Basement?” Holloway asked. “I ain’t really ever heard of any houses in these parts having basements.”

  “Well, this one does. Why don’t you check it out? Go through the kitchen.”

  Holloway moved away from the sheriff and the coroner, his head beginning to clear. He walked into the kitchen and saw an open door in the corner. Walking down the steps, he suddenly found himself holding his breath.

  The stench was unbearable. His eyes watered and he gasped for air. The smell hit him hard again and he could feel the J&B wanting to rise up out his stomach.

  The lighting was dim, and he could see a hill of bones piled in the corner. He studied the bones and guessed they were small animals. Squirrels, rabbits, birds. He hoped they were small animals.

  He scanned the floor and was immediately drawn to an iron ring bolted to the floor. Scattered chains rested on the floor beside the ring. Someone had been chained down here. He took a step closer to the scene and slipped.

  Holloway held out his arms and landed palms first on the floor. The smell was beyond belief and he vomited. He lifted his hands and realized something warm and moist was coating them. He looked and vomited again.

  Feces. He’d landed in a pile of warm, rich shit. Why is it warm?

  Holloway stood up and reached for his pistol. Suddenly, he remembered the .357 on the floor of his own house. He looked around, eyeing the shadows and slowly walked back up.

  “Sheriff,” he said. “When did you search the house?”

  “Haven’t, yet,” the sheriff said. “We were just about to start. Boy, you know you got something on your shirt?”

  “I just fell in a pile of shit, Sheriff. Warm shit.”

  “Too bad,” the sheriff replied. “Why don’t you go clean yourself off?”

  “Do you know what this means?”

  “Are you drunk again?”

  “Sheriff, the shit’s still warm. That means whoever did this is probably here.”

  The sheriff’s eyes grew wide. “Yeah, you might just be right there. Triple ‘D’, Jeff! Come over here.”

  The deputy and the coroner gathered around them.

  “Triple ‘D’, I need you and Jeff to search upstairs. We got reason to believe that someone’s in the house besides us. Y’all okay with that?”

  The two nodded their heads and headed up the stairs.

  “Search everywhere now!” the sheriff called out to them. He turned and motioned for Holloway to follow him. He walked in the kitchen, opened the pantry door and saw it was empty.

  “I just checked the basement, Sheriff.” Holloway said.

  “Alright then,” Sheriff said. He walked in the dining room, the bathroom, and the hall. Holloway followed close behind. They found nothing.

  Sheriff walked back into the living room and stared with dull eyes at the closet. “This is the only other place he could be if he’s down here with us.”

  Holloway nodded. “Yeah.”

  The sheriff slowly walked to the closet door, his revolver drawn, hammer cocked. He wrapped his hand around the crystal door knob. The door creaked as he slowly pulled it open.

  The sheriff stuck his head inside.

  There was nothing there.

  “Maybe he’s upstairs,” Holloway said.

  “You’re probably right. Let’s go on up.” The sheriff turned from the closet and observed Holloway heading up the staircase. “Holloway, you kinda staggering. How much you drunk today?”

  Holloway stopped moving and turned to face his boss. “Aw hell, Sheriff. You know it’s my day off.”

  It was about that time when something stuck its head out the closet, grabbing the sheriff. Sheriff screamed, then disappeared in the closet, the door slamming shut on his wild, panicking eyes, the ugly bloated face of an obese and short creature holding him—his grimy hand clamped to the sheriff’s mouth—grinning at Holloway like an idiot.

  Holloway reached for his pistol and remembered again that it wasn’t there. His heart was thundering in his chest, and he felt it was going to explode out of him if he didn’t get the damned thing under control.

  “Triple ‘D’? Jeff?” he shouted.

  There was no answer.

  “Damnit! You assholes get down here now. A fat crazy midget’s got the sheriff in the closet!”

  There was no answer.

  “Shit!” he shouted, walking to the television and picking up the old woman’s walking cane. The head had a chrome knob on it. It felt cold and solid in his hand. He pulled his bottle out and drank deeply, gasping for air when he brought it back down. Then he walked to the closet, drew back the cane like a baseball bat and opened the door. There was nothing but clothes.

  “What the fuck?”

  He looked down at the closet floor and saw the crude hole. He looked down it and saw nothing but darkness.

  Holloway lit a cigarette and took a drag. Then he dropped it in the hole. He saw it hit the floor about nine feet below. He watched the cherry, glowing brightly in the darkness and saw a huge bulging shape move in front of it. Suddenly, the light was extinguished.

  Holloway almost gagged as the stank hit him. It was a foul odor, reeking of feces and decay. The sheriff was down in the basement with that thing. Holloway thought about the bones and the shit and the fact that he didn’t have a gun.

  He ran upstairs, searching for the deputy and the coroner. Their headless bodies were on the floor, blood soaking into the carpet. The backbones had been pulled out past the neck stumps. Had he ripped their heads off with his bare hands? Holloway hadn’t heard a thing. Could someone sneak up behind two men and rip their heads off?

  He stepped in blood, heard the wet carpet squish under his boot, and vomited. Then he reached for Triple ‘D’s’ holster and took out the issued .357 revolver. The gun felt good in his hand and his nerves returned, somewhat. He grabbed the mini Mag light on the dead deputy’s utility belt.

  Holloway stood up and left the scene, heading for the steps, down the steps, and into the basement. He walked down the wooden steps, his pistol raised, flashlight shinning on the opposite wall. He moved the light over the basement as he descended and saw the sheriff sitting up against the pile of bones; a hole the size of a fist was punched in his chest.

  “Where you at, you fat son-of-a-bitch?” Holloway shouted. “Come out and play with me!” A sudden thought occurred to Holloway and it sent chills rolling over his grave. He looked down, the flashlight swinging with his weight as he searched for the bloated body lurking under the basement stairs. There was nothing. The room was empty.

  Holloway walked over to the sheriff and shined the light in his face. The old man was missing his eyes and had teeth marks all over his face. That putrid lard ass had been trying to make a snack out of him.

  Holloway walked up the stairs and did a quick search through the house. He was upstairs when he looked out the window and saw the fat creature limping its way through a cotton field to the woods.

  He ran out the house, pistol drawn.

  “Stop, you fat motherfucker!” he shouted.

  The thing turned its head and smiled.

  Holloway fired and watched it fall flat on its back. If the shot didn’t kill him, then the fall probably did, he thought.

  He ran towards the monster and aimed the pistol in its face. The creature grinne
d at him, and he saw child-like eyes and rotten teeth and a face that was round and red. Holloway could see the gunshot wound, blood spurting from the beast’s left shoulder, running freely down his filthy rag of a shirt.

  He pulled back the hammer; a bead of sweat stung his eye. “Adios,” he said, pulling the trigger.

  The gun clicked.

  Empty.

  “Shit!” Holloway screamed, pulling the trigger again and again. Click, click, click…he tossed the pistol at the killer and ran. He ran like hell because their was something about a man that weighed around 400 pounds, didn’t stand five feet, and had child-like eyes that unnerved him. Holloway was plain out scared.

  He fled through the field and didn’t turn around, sprinting for the house as the rows of cotton passed under him. The soil was rich and thick against his feet. The house was so close. He could see the cruiser from here, shining in the sun like a sign. Holloway picked up speed and tripped on a clump of earth.

  He went flying facedown to the ground, the sudden motion sending his left foot flying out of his brown penny loafer. He struck the field hard and felt a tooth cut through his bottom lip.

  Holloway turned to his back and looked around for the freak. Blood was pouring freely from his lip, and he wiped it away with a swipe of the arm. He could hear the crickets screaming and the mosquitoes buzzing around him. He closed his eyes and swatted the gnats.

  He opened his eyes and saw him. He saw him staring right at him, smiling like an idiot. Holloway blinked and couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The man was running for him with a speed no heavy set person should posses.

  Holloway tried to stand up and felt a pain in his side. It was sharp and punched him to the ground. He looked at the sky and saw a cloud passing by. It looked like a teddy bear.

  Holloway could hear the ragged, labored breathing and he cut his eyes to the dirtiest creature he’d ever seen. He could smell the decay on his breath and the shit that coated his skin.

  “I don’t want to die!” he suddenly screamed. “I want to live. You ain’t gotta do this.”

  The creature smiled and bent down, his knees popping under the bulk. He lifted a hand and placed it over Holloway’s blubbering mouth.

  The other hand went up in the air and Holloway watched as it descended, hard and fast into his stomach. The pain was cold and sudden and he only saw white for a second.