Out Past the Persimmon Trees
A horror story.
Larry came seventh out of thirteen. Smack dab in the middle, the only boy with six sisters on either side of him. He loved every one of ‘em.
Daddy kept one rule in the house. Just one. “Family takes care of family.” Larry turned eleven two days before he learned what it meant. Daddy handed him a spade and walked him out past the persimmon trees. Larry dug. Didn’t ask no questions.
Ten years later, he still didn’t.
He was replacin’ a fencepost by the barn when the truck came up the holler. Red Ford, mud on the wheel wells. Light gettin’ soft. Larry set down the post when the truck bounced through the ruts. Ruth stood on the porch. Seventeen, a few years younger than Larry. She smoothed down her dress when she saw the truck.
The boy who climbed out stood tall, carried himself like he knew he looked good in his letterman jacket. Larry recognized him from town. Spencer Lewis. His daddy owned the tire shop.
“Hey Ruthie,” Spencer said, grinnin’. “Surprised you called.”
“Told you I weren’t mad no more.”
“That’s real sweet.” He walked toward the porch, hands in his pockets. “Real sweet of you.”
Ruth smiled, held out her hand, let him take it.
Daddy stepped out on the porch. Didn’t say nothin’.
“This is my daddy,” Ruth said. “Daddy, this is Spencer. From school.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir.”
Daddy stared at him a long while. Then he smiled. “Come on in.” He held the screen door open, let Ruth and Spencer pass through. He glanced out toward the fence. Caught Larry’s eye. Nodded once.
Larry headed for the barn.
Inside, he pulled the tarp off the corner and moved hay bales out of the way. The trapdoor underneath was made of old oak, probably as old as the farm. He lifted it and climbed down into the dark. Rust and wet dirt. He found the rope by feel, the good hemp on the nail. Found the spade. Climbed back up and waited.
Mama’s voice drifted from the house, warm and welcomin’. His sisters laughin’ at somethin’ Spencer said. Spencer’s voice, louder than it needed to be, tellin’ some story about baseball. Then the back door opened.
Larry watched through the gap in the barn slats. Ruth and Spencer, walkin’ toward him. Spencer’s arm around her waist. Hand too low.
“Where we goin’?” Spencer asked.
“Wanna show you somethin’.”
“Yeah?” He pulled her closer. “What’s that?”
“It’s a surprise.”
She led him into the barn. Larry stepped out from behind the stalls.
Spencer stopped. “Who’s this?”
“My brother Larry.”
“Didn’t know you had a brother.”
“Just the one.”
Spencer looked at Larry, then back at Ruth. Somethin’ registered on his face. The smile fadin’. “Ruthie, what–”
Larry hit him with the mattock handle. Caught him right above the ear. Spencer dropped, knocked a bucket over goin’ down. Ruth didn’t flinch, stood quiet with her arms crossed.
“He alive?” she asked.
“For now.”
She knelt down next to Spencer. He moaned, tried to crawl. She grabbed his hair, lifted his head, looked him right in the eye. “Told you I weren’t mad no more.” She let his head drop. “Didn’t say nothin’ about my brother.”
She stood up, brushed off her dress. “I’ll go help Mama with dinner.”
“Ruth.”
She stopped at the barn door.
“He do that to your arm?”
She lifted her arm where bruises in the shape of fingerprints still showed in ugly black and blue. “That ain’t the worst of what he done.”
She left.
Larry kicked Spencer Lewis in the gut. The guy was cryin’ now, snot runnin’ down his face. Larry grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him to the trapdoor. Shoved him down into the cellar.
“Please,” Spencer managed. “Please, I didn’t–”
“Yeah you did.”
He lifted the spade.
At supper, nobody said nothin’ about the red Ford behind the barn. Pork chops, green beans, cornbread. Judith told a story about her teacher. Clover picked at her beans and Mama let her be. Ruth ate slow and steady. When she finished, she smiled across the table at Larry.
“Thank you for showin’ Spencer the barn,” she said.
“Weren’t nothin’.”
Daddy nodded once. “Family takes care of family.”
“Yes sir,” Larry said.
After supper, Ruth found him on the porch. “Opal’s got a fella,” she said. “From over in Vinton County. He ain’t nice neither.”
Larry looked out at the holler. At the soft dark comin’ in over the trees. “She gonna invite him to supper?”
“Next week, she said.”
Larry nodded. Stared at his hands, dirt under the nails. “Alright then.”
Ruth went inside and the screen door clapped shut.
Larry sat there, listenin’ to his sisters clean up the kitchen. Laughin’ about somethin’.
Safe. All twelve of ‘em.
And God help any man who made ‘em feel otherwise.
Thanks for reading!
A masterclass in pacing and economy. Brutally effective and not a word wasted.
This was a great short story. It absolutely nailed an eery rural family of killer(s) vibe, with the perfect amount of exposition to get the reader invested. I really enjoyed it. The casualness after the fact was also a great humorous break between horror bits, made me smile.