Instinct
I was thirteen years old. Christa was nine. Jane and Jake were three. We were walking out to the car after saying goodbye to Papaw and Mimaw. It was dark. We had stayed all day at their house in the woods helping with chores around the property. Dad and I had spent most of the day outside repairing fence, felling a dead pine, and the associated cleanup.
It came out of nowhere. I wouldn’t have known anything had happened except Christa screamed and then Mom started screaming and almost at the same time Dad ran off into the darkness. After a heartbeat, Mom followed after Dad. I didn’t know what was going on. I stared after them. Then I looked where Christa had been walking but she was not there.
“Rowdy! Jane! Jake! Come inside! Quickly!” Mimaw was calling from the porch.
I shook my head to clear it and looked around. I could see Jane and Jake in the light from the porch. They had been just behind me when we were walking out to the car.
“Come quickly children!” Mimaw was whispering loudly.
I grabbed the twins each by a hand and ran with them to the porch. Jake was crying and Jane was mumbling something about Mom and Dad. We reached the porch and Mimaw’s outstretched arms just as Papaw kicked the screen door open. He stepped out of the house onto the porch and started barking orders.
“Get the babies inside, Darlin’. Lock yourselves in the basement and don’t come out.”
“Rowdy,” I locked eyes with the old man. My brain was still fogged with shock, but his tone and the expression on his face cleared my head.
“Yes, sir?”
Mimaw carried the twins through the open door. Jake was still crying and found words I could understand. “Chrissy! Monster! Chrissy! Monster!” Mimaw closed the door behind her.
“Take this.” Papaw shoved a large flashlight into my chest. I heard the bolt on the door lock.
“Listen, son.” Papaw leaned over a little and his eyes bore into mine. I didn’t know much then, I was a boy after all. I couldn’t have described the look in his eyes to anyone. But I’ve seen that look since becoming a man. I’ve seen it in the eyes of men in war. It’s the look they get when their friends have died and they are about to bring hell down on the enemy.
“Do you hear me, son?”
“Yes, sir!” I almost shouted.
“You turn on that light and you run after your Maw and Paw. I’ll be following your light. I’m slower than you, but I’ll follow.” While he talked, he brought his Henry All Weather 45-70 Government into view and levered a round into the chamber.
“They need us, son. Your sister needs us. Now run!”
I had so many questions in my head and fear was running cold up and down my spine. But when that old man gave an order, there was something in me that burst my insides into flame and I was off. It wasn’t a real flame, of course. But it felt like something was burning inside me.
I ran across the yard faster than I ever had and into the woods. It wasn’t until I was out of the porch light that I had the good sense to turn on the flashlight Papaw had given me. I fumbled with it for a moment before I was able to turn it on, careful not to blind myself with it.
This part of the forest I knew well since it was considered safe to play in. Some of my earliest memories are running between these pine trees and playing hide and seek with Mom and Mimaw. I taught the game to Christa. Running here was easy since Papaw regularly cleared the brush and fallen limbs. I should be nearing the fence soon, unless I was completely turned around.
The wire fence was a lot harder to see in the dark. I had to throw on the brakes hard to avoid running right into it. I bound up the four foot tall field fence and threw a leg over. I glanced back and saw a light behind me just outside the light of the porch. Papaw was faster than I thought.
I turned and looked into the dark forest. It was unnaturally quiet. I couldn’t see anything. I was panting, but held my breath for a moment hoping to hear something. I strained my ears and my eyes. Nothing. I didn’t know where to go from here. My mom, dad, and sister were out there in the dark forest and I was supposed to help them but I had no idea where they were.
Then a gunshot echoed through the trees and I caught a little light in the direction opposite of the house. That had to be them.
I took out running again. But this running was much more difficult. Fallen limbs, sticker bushes, armadillo holes, and spider webs were all determined to slow me down if not break my leg. I ran on for several minutes. I could now hear shouting, I figured that was good since it must mean I was getting closer.
I ran on. My lungs were burning and sweat was pouring down my face. I was pretty sure I was bleeding from several cuts and scrapes on my legs. The muscles in my legs were burning and the big flashlight was getting heavy. But I was getting closer.
I jumped over a log but did not land immediately. I yelled something my mother would not have been happy about. Fortunately, I hit soft dirt that was angled so there was little impact. But my feet sank and I tumbled downward. The light went flying because I was trying to catch myself. Then I landed with a thud and was immediately wet.
I pushed myself up on all fours. Everything was dark but I heard and smelt and felt water. I must be in a brook. The water was no more than ankle deep but was flowing quickly. I looked around. There was a glow a few feet away. It had to be my flashlight stuck in the mud.
Getting the light back was quick work. The brook’s banks were over my head but easy enough to climb out of for an active boy with the world to save.
Once out of the brook, I had to get my bearings again. I could see Papaw’s light some distance back. The house was completely out of sight. I turned my back to Papaw and started running again. I could hear shouting again and I was getting close.
I ran through a small clearing and into the trees beyond. I saw light ahead. It was small and it was moving constantly. I could now clearly hear my parents yelling. They were shouting Christa’s name. I was on them in a moment. They saw the light of course since my honking spotlight was many times brighter than whatever they had been using.
“Mom! Dad!”
“Rowdy! Bring your light! Quick! Shine it in the hole!”
I ran to them and handed my light over to Dad. Mom had been using the light on her phone and Dad had been using the light mounted on his Glock 17.
It struck me how big the hole was. I had seen many animal holes in my time, and of course looked down every one of them. But I had never seen anything like this. The three of us peered down the hole. I only saw dirt.
“I don’t see her. Are you sure she’s in there?” Mom whispered anxiously.
“Yes, I saw it take her in there,” Dad confirmed.
“Neither one of us can fit in there. Start digging,” Mom ordered.
“I can fit.” Someone volunteered. The voice sounded like my own.
“No, son. We’ll dig her out,” Dad responded.
A whimper echoed out of the hole.
I stepped back to hold the light as Mom and Dad frantically dug at the entrance with sticks. The hole didn’t exactly go into the ground. It did angle downward. But it seemed to go into the side of a mound. The mound was a jumble of dirt and dead limbs. It reminded me of a beaver’s dam. Why would a beaver take my sister?
Another light bounced across the mound. I kept the light on the diggers and turned my head to see Papaw jogging through the clearing. In another minute he joined us, panting heavily.
“Roscoe! Is she in there?” Dad didn’t respond.
“Yes, Papaw,” I responded for Dad. “Dad saw it pull her into the hole.”
Papaw sized up the scene for a moment while heaving big breaths and swaying back and forth. I was concerned he would tip over or have a heart attack.
Is this really happening? Was I going to lose my sister and grandfather on the same night? I felt cold fear creep up my spine again. My tired legs were shaking.
“Son,” Papaw was speaking to my father again, but this time in a calm voice. “Roscoe. Beth. You’re not going to be able to dig her out. Somebody has got to go in.”
Mom and Dad paused their digging and looked at each other. Both had been frantically working with little success. The dirt was mostly hard clay with branches and roots mingled creating a barrier impregnable, by my inexperienced estimation, to anything but a bulldozer or backhoe.
“I can’t fit. We can’t fit.” Mom was crying. The despair in her voice broke my heart.
“The boy can fit.” Papaw’s cool voice of reason turned my stomach to knots.
“No. We aren’t sending him in.” Dad had that tone in his voice that meant he wasn’t going to budge on this one. But he was crying too.
I took a deep breath. Said a quick prayer. Thought about a cute redhead I was looking forward to seeing on Monday (I can’t for the life of me remember her name now). I walked to the hole.
I took out my pocket knife and flicked out the three inch blade. I kneeled next to the hole. Mom and Dad both grabbed my clothes, holding me back.
“Please. Dad. Mom. Let me try. I’ll crawl in and you pull me back out.”
“We love you, son.” Dad squeezed my arm and patted my back. Mom kissed my cheek.
Papaw was there. He had removed his paracord belt and was already unweaving it.
“We’ll tie this to both of your legs. You crawl in. Yell when you want us to pull,” Papaw explained.
I took a deep breath and crawled into the hole, pushing the flashlight ahead of me with my left hand. In my right hand, I held my knife. It gave me more confidence than it should have.
The entrance of the hole angled downward. My progress was slow. It was really tight and I was having trouble making progress. I got to the point where my feet felt like they were also in the hole too when the tunnel started evening out and then angled upward. Another body length and the tunnel got wider. But not by much.
I inched onward, trying not to panic. I focused on my sister and how I was planning on kidnapping her favorite doll soon and ransoming it for some of the candy and chocolate that Mimaw had given her. If I didn’t get her back, that would never happen. I tried harder to not think about what I might have to do with my knife. Hopefully whatever was in here would be scared off by it or the flashlight.
Another few inches and the tunnel widened into a slightly wider part of the tunnel. I hesitate to call it a room because there wasn’t really any room. But I could turn my head straight up and down for the first time.
And there in front of me was my little sister, lying in a heap. All I could see was her hand and her long blonde hair. I guessed she had been drug in feet first. I inched more and, setting the flashlight aside, was able to grab her hand. I pulled myself toward her. I couldn’t tell if she was hurt. I didn’t want to chance making more noise than I already was making. Best to drag her out the way I came.
I closed my knife’s blade and held it between my teeth. It was dirty, cold, and hard. How did the pirates do this? That gave me both hands free. I reached past her hair and found her other shoulder. I gently pulled her arm over the top of her body towards me.
Luckily, she was on her back. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been so easy.
I pulled her towards me. She was heavier than I expected. But I was able to move her. I inch wormed my way backward a little at a time. I moved my body, extending my arms, then pulled her towards me.
I was making progress. But it was painfully slow. I kept imagining whatever had grabbed her was on the other side of her waiting for some reason I couldn’t fathom to pull her back and then we would both be eaten.
The plan had been for me to yell when I was ready to be pulled back by the paracord tied around my ankles. But I didn’t dare. I didn’t want to draw any attention. I was terrified that the monster or whatever had simply not noticed us inching away. If I yelled, it might result in disaster. So I inched slowly backward, turning my head sideways again so I could fit.
The thought that Christa was already dead hit me like a hammer. She was so limp. Her hands were cold. I could hold my hand over her mouth to see if she was breathing, but I dared not do it. I was going to save her. Even if it was too late, I was going to save her. Plus Mom knew first aid and CPR. So I just had to get her out.
Fortunately, Papaw was a fisherman. He had been keeping the paracord tied to my feet taut. When he felt it go loose, he pulled in the slack. Then he felt it go loose again and knew that I was trying to get out.
Getting pulled out was definitely easier than crawling in, but it hurt more. My stomach and chest were being drug across roots and rocks. But I could not let go of Christa. My shirt was pulled up to my shoulders. The paracord bit into my ankles. I had to keep my toes pointed so they wouldn’t catch in the dirt.
It wasn’t long until I felt hands grabbing my legs and I heard excited voices. The hands were now grabbing at my waist. I was so relieved to be so close to getting out of this hole. I could feel the cool night air on my skin. I figured one more good pull and I would be totally out. We were so close.
They pulled again, but instead of being delivered from the hole, I felt my arms stretch and my grip slip. She was stuck.
“She’s stuck!” I yelled, my voice ringing in my own ears.
Then she was almost pulled out of my hands as I was jerked back down into the hole. I threw my feet up to brace against the outside of the hole. I think I might have kicked someone.
I adjusted my grip on her wrists. They were slick with sweat and dirt. I couldn’t let go now. We were almost out.
“Pull!” I yelled.
I felt like I was getting stretched in a taffy machine. My hands started to slip. Then in a moment I was out. I could breath and I could hear concerned voices speaking quickly. At first, I wasn’t making out what they were saying.
“Rowdy, son,” Papaw’s calm, stern voice penetrated the fog in my brain. “You can let go now. You got her out. Good job little man.”
I realized I was still clamped onto Christa’s wrists. My eyes focused in the light from Papaw’s flashlight. Dad was holding Christa, rocking her. Mom was feeling her all over, checking for damage.
“She’s breathing… her head is bleeding… she’s unconscious… probably a broken leg… lacerations on her feet… Ros… Ros… we have to get her to a hospital!”
Dad got to his feet, carefully cradling my sister’s limp body.
“Ok. Ok. Let’s go. Rowdy, let’s go.” Dad started back to the house, Mom too.
“No. Leave the boy with me.” Papaw responded. He had his back to us. He hadn’t taken his eyes or his light off of the hole. “You two get her to the hospital. I’ll only slow you down. I still need to rest a spell before I head back. Leave the boy here with me. He’ll be fine. He might need a breather too.”
“I’m fine,” I added. “I’m fine. Go ahead. I’ll look after Papaw.”
I watched as Mom and Dad weaved through the trees. Their dim lights crossed the clearing.
“That was a brave thing you did, son.”
“Yes, sir. Just doing what I had to.” I didn’t feel brave. I felt pain in too many places to count and my stomach was in knots.
“You going in there reminded me of Nahm. I was a tunnel rat, you know. I used to go after Charlie the way you went after your sister.”
“Yes, sir. You’ve told me the stories.” I was anxious to get away from the hole and get back to the safety of the house.
“Do you think it’s still in there?” Papaw was pointing his Henry at the hole.
“Yes, sir. Unless it has another hole. Some animals do, right? Have more than one hole, I mean?”
“Yes they do, son. That’s good thinking. Grab some limbs and stuff them in there good and tight.”
It was quick work jabbing a dozen or so limbs the width of my arm into the hole. There were plenty of dead limbs around us.
“Ok, that should keep it in there. Let’s look for another hole.”
I didn’t want to be out in the woods anymore. I wanted to go home, shower, and hide under my blanket in my bed. For a moment I feared Papaw would find another hole and would tell me to crawl into it.
“Yes, sir,” was all I could think to say.
Papaw started to round the mound, probing with his light. I unconsciously checked my pockets and realized I didn’t know where my knife was. I had held it between my teeth in the tunnel. But now, I didn’t know where it was. I felt naked and defenseless without it. I picked up a sturdy stick and swung it a few times like a bat.
“Stay close, son,” Papaw whispered.
I caught up to him. We circled to what must have been the other side of the mound. I guessed the mound was about the size of Papaw’s Dodge Ram if it had been buried and covered with brush.
The light rested on another dark hole similar to the one I had been down.
“I’d rather not go in again,” I said out loud.
“No. I imagine you wouldn’t.” Papaw laughed gravely. “Help me with this log.”
Papaw set down his flashlight so it pointed past the log toward the mound. He slung the Henry over one shoulder.
The log in question was as long as me and almost as big around. It had once been a pine tree’s trunk. But now it was barkless. I grabbed one end and lifted. I was expecting it to fall apart in my hands since these old pine trunks tend to decompose. But this one was solid and heavy.
Papaw heaved his end and motioned with his head for me to head to the hole. We approached the hole at an angle. I could only hold the log one way. The easiest way to approach the hole would be to turn my back to it. But I wasn’t about to do that. So we walked the twenty or so steps at an awkward angle.
Suddenly the log stopped moving. I looked at Papaw. He was standing still. His face was in the shadows and I could not make out his expression. He stood very still. A chill went up my spine. I turned my head slowly toward the hole.
At first glance, it looked no different to me. I glanced back at Papaw. He was slowly lowering his end of the log.
“Rowdy… don’t move!” He whispered hoarsely. The changing angle of the log made that difficult. The last thing I needed was to drop this log and break my foot. I struggled to keep purchase. The odd angle made my back ache.
Papaw’s hands were now free. He slowly unslung his rifle and took aim. I looked out of the corner of my eyes back at the hole. There was something there. Something black barely sticking out. Something with eyes that reflected the light. The hair on my neck stood up.
Boom!
The Henry belched flame and thunder. My night vision was temporarily lost. My ears were ringing. I smelled burning powder.
The ringing in my ears was replaced by a blood curdling howl echoing out of the hole.
“Quick, son! Plug the hole!”
We heaved the log and rammed it into the hole.
“Will that keep it in?” I asked.
“Probably not for long. Do you have another run in you?”
I was shaking from head to toe with fear and exhaustion. I was covered with mud. I couldn’t count how many places hurt. I had left my flashlight down the hole.
“Sure,” I croaked.
“Rowdy. We need gasoline. And matches. Look in the shed, you’ll find both just inside the door.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Off with you. I’ll stay here and make sure it doesn’t get out. But don’t be too long.”
“Yes, sir. Gasoline. Matches. In the shed.”
“Good boy.”
I was off again running and stumbling through the dark trees. Now without a light. Without a knife. Without a stick. The only thing keeping me alive, I thought, was how fast I could run. And if I wasn’t fast enough, Papaw might get another shot at the monster or whatever it was.
The clearing was actually quite bright now with a near full moon peeking out from behind the clouds. But it was still very dark under the trees. I knew where the brook was now and navigated it without falling. Once across the brook, I could see the porch lights. I ran to them. My imagination was running faster than my legs, however.
What if there were other mounds? What if there were more holes than the two we blocked up? What if I returned only to find Papaw missing? Well, I laughed a little, at least he couldn’t get drug into the hole. He was too big. At least, not in one piece anyway.
The fence was easier to see this time; in part because my eyes had adjusted to the dark and in part because of the porch light beyond the fence. I clambered over the fence and landed hard on the other side. Now I could really run fast, I told myself. Except I was spent. And I still had to make it back to Papaw. So instead I paced myself. I forced myself to breathe heavily.
I ran past the house to the shed. I threw open the door and switched on the light. But I had planned for the brightness. I was covering my right eye with one hand. That was a trick Papaw had taught me. Your eyes adjust to the ambient light separately. So while my left eye adjusted to the light inside the shed, I was preserving my night vision in my right eye.
The gasoline tank was easy to find. It only had two or three gallons in it. But that would be plenty heavy for me. Matches. Matches. Where were the matches?
Found them! They were in a little bin right next to the door post. I shoved the whole box into my pocket.
What else? Anything else? My eye landed on the machete. I probably won’t need it. But there was no way I was going back unarmed.
It was awkward running with a machete in one hand and a couple of gallons of gasoline in the other. I had to stop every few minutes and switch hands. It felt like an eternity and all I could think of was a dozen of those things piling onto Papaw and ripping him apart.
Fortunately, when I made it to the clearing again I could see his light moving. I couldn’t tell what he was doing, but he was moving around a lot. If he had been fighting the things, I reasoned, there would be a lot of yelling and gunfire. So since I couldn’t hear anything, I assumed he was still ok.
I switched my burdens for the last time and ran the final leg to the mound. Papaw heard me coming. I fell at his feet.
“Good boy! What a boy! Rowdy, you are a fine young man! Now let’s send these things to hell. What do you say?”
“Things? Plural?” I stammered.
“Well I can’t be sure.” Papaw was unscrewing the lid off of the gasoline can, pointing it away from us so we wouldn’t get blasted by the pressure that built up while I was sloshing it through the woods. “But it sounded like more than one was trying to dig their way out.”
“Did you look for more holes?” I asked between pants.
“Smart boy. Yes, I looked. I think there’s only two. Unless there’s one up high we can’t see. I wasn’t about to climb up there.” Papaw started dowsing the mound with gasoline. “But you can see, I’ve been busy adding fuel to our soon-to-be fire.”
I looked at the mound. It did seem to have more limbs and brush piled on top of it.
“Smart boy, thinking of grabbing that machete. We might need it. They ain’t gonna’ want to stay in that mound once it heats up. So we gotta stand on opposite sides and watch to make sure they don’t get away.”
“Yes, sir.”
Papaw danced around the mound sloshing gasoline all over it, as high as he could get it. And, I’m not sure, but I think he started singing Johnny Cash’s “Ring of fire” while doing so.
“Ok, Rowdy. That should do it. Matches!” I dug in my pants and produced the box. “You take a few, here.” He ripped the box in half so we would both have a striking surface. “Now run around the other side. Don’t stand too close when you light your match. Those fumes are what’s flammable.”
“Yes, sir.” I ran to the other side.
“Now!”
It took me two attempts to light my matches. I struck two at a time and threw them at the mound.
Whoop!
The mound went up in flames. Heat blasted my whole body. I took several steps backward and almost tripped. I walked a quarter of the way around the mound looking for any sign of the monsters. Then I reversed until I could see Papaw again. He was watching the flames, his rifle to his shoulder at the low ready position. I headed away from him, partially compassing the mound again.
The fire had taken hold of the brush and limbs now. The heat was increasing. The fire was lighting up the whole forest. Sparks floated high into the pine trees overhead. I was concerned about us starting a forest fire. It was a real possibility.
Then I heard the howling again. Papaw was right, there had to be more than one. I held up the machete in front of me. I paced back and forth, squinting into the heat, watching for the devils trying to escape hell.
Boom!
I jumped.
Boom! Boom!
More howls and screams came from the mound.
Then I saw a dark hole open up in front of me. I saw the glint of wild eyes. One was coming out.
“Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Papaw can’t get here in time. It’s up to me. Don’t panic.”
Suddenly a dark, hairy shape sprang from the burning mound. It wasn’t going to hit me. But I couldn’t let it get past me either. I took two quick steps and swung the machete as hard as I could. I connected with the beast just as it would have landed. The impact rattled my whole frame and I half heard half felt a sickening crunch. It howled in pain. The force of the impact knocked me to my knees. I lost my grip on the machete and instinctively rolled away from the dark fur.
Papaw was suddenly by my side. He fired two rounds into the smoking carcass. Then there was silence.
* * *
We stayed by the mound until dawn. We both sat and watched it burn, too exhausted to move. Papaw had his phone on him and had called both Mimaw and my parents to let them know we were alright.
Unfortunately, Christa was in bad shape. She had a broken leg, lacerated feet, various scrapes and bruises, and a concussion. But the doctors expected her to recover.
Papaw had also called the game warden who promised to come by as soon as he could. But he must not have believed our story because it was hours before he showed up, coffee in hand. Once he got a look at the one I had sliced with the machete, he dropped his coffee and started making phone calls.
Papaw looked at me and nodded. It was time to leave our post. We hobbled back to the house on stiff legs, taking our time. Mom and Dad were still at the hospital. But Mimaw and the twins greeted us with hugs, fresh bacon, and hot blueberry muffins.
Later, I asked Dad how he had found Christa. He shrugged and said, “Instinct, I guess.”
Then he asked me how I had been able to get her out of the hole. I shrugged and smiled. “Instinct, I guess.”
