Chapter V - "VISIONS"

A Chapter by P_F_COGAN

A modern day horror short story with a moral message.

VISIONS

He had been driving for four hours and knew that he would be coming up on his destination any moment now. His boy Hunter had been sitting shotgun in the Bronco for the entirety, but was asleep as soon as they had hit the road as the trip necessitated that they drive under the cover of night. In the back were three large garbage bags, a flashlight, a rifle, and two shovels. The cabin smelled faintly of whisky. He’d never taken the back route to the destination and was relieved to see a dilapidated sign signaling that he had found it, a rest stop between the middle of here and no where. It was a place he felt safe and had used many times before and he muttered a short prayer for the safe passage.

His left headlight was out and besides the ghostly silhouette of the tree line; there was no form of light for miles except for the rest stop bathroom which illuminated the night like an ominous oasis. He slowed the truck down as he exited towards the rest stop and scanned the parking lot for other travelers; it was completely empty. “Hunter, you gotta wake up kid.” He nudged his boy a couple of times. “Get up and go to the bathroom and while you’re at it grab a couple of bottles of soda” he said while handing his son a handful of coins. “Make it quick now you hear? We’ve got business to attend to.”

Hunter was still in the throes of a dream and tried to rub it out of his eyes. He wanted to protest, but it would have been useless. He sat silent for a moment and let his eyes adjust to the surroundings. “Hurry up now, it’s not like we’ve got all night. You do as you’re told and quit being scared of them monsters and demons or I’ll show you something to be scared of.” It was a trick his father often used. Little Hunter had a history of panic attacks which would lead to fainting spells. “I ain’t raised a god damn sissy” his father had announced upon the discovery. It was a reaction caused by the unnerving circumstances in which he grew up, where severe headaches and heart palpitations would render him defenseless. Little Hunter gritted his teeth and made a resolve that he wouldn’t let his father sense his fear, a much troubling anxiety in his young life.

The digital clock on the dash read 2:00; Hunter’s father was busying himself with the map, running his finger along the route he had drawn before they had left, their next stop being a safe house, two states to the West. Hunter opened the passenger door and was greeted by the blue-black cold of the frigid, spring night. He looked back at his father for reassurance, but his father was busy taking a slug out of his weathered stainless steel flask. Little Hunter shuddered involuntarily. The dark expanse of the lot frightened him and outside of the car, only the lights of the rest stop bathroom yielded a shield of safety, an owl hooted in the distance and crickets chirped intermittently as he made his way to the light.

All little Hunter could think about was his sixth birthday. His father had promised to take him out boar hunting. “It’s a right of passage my boy!” his father had exclaimed excitedly. It is much the dream of all young boys to have the reassurance and approval of their father’s and Hunter was not much different. He adored his father and wanted to be like him when he grew up because he knew no better and he had never known anything else, a sheep being led by a blind Shepherd. His father had given him a beat up .22 rifle and taught him to efficiently shoot, dismantle, and clean the tool. “Remember son, your rifle is as only good as the condition you keep it in, just like praying keeps up the soul.” It was one of Hunter’s few possessions and he loved it as it was the only thing that his father had given him.

The day of his birthday, they drove a few hours north to Highland Park, just the two of them, in the same truck they were using now, whisky tinged cabin and all. His father had taken him out camping before and this wasn’t much unlike it except for the rifles and ammo which they had to lug around. “Hunting will build your character my boy; it’s how you know you’ve become a man.” Mostly, Little Hunter just enjoyed sitting around the campfire and hearing his father talk, which was more often than not, long rambling drawls of delusional grandeur: “If it weren’t on account on you and your mother, I would be sailing through the Bahamas right now, those savages would have seen me coming through on my sailboat and probably would have wanted to make me their king. You sure don’t know all the sacrifices I’ve made for you.” They tracked boar for two days living on nothing but pork and beans and water. On the third they finally found a good sized male and since Hunter’s .22 didn’t have the stopping power required to take down such an animal, his father used his military issued M-14 to do the job, two shots, the first puncturing the lungs and the second through the abdomen.

As they walked up to the animal, it was still breathing so Hunter’s father ordered him to shoot it in the head, “execution style,” he said as he held the barrel of Hunter’s rifle to the boar’s temple. “Now remember to breathe and to squeeze the trigger gently” he instructed. The shot reverberated through Hunter’s frail body and for a moment he felt powerful as his father patted him on the head and told him that he had done a good job. “Ain’t nothing like the first time” he announced as he put his arms on the boy’s shoulder and they stood triumphantly above their kill, taking in all the glory. Since he was still young and inexperienced, his father wanted him to watch while he cleaned the carcass.

Hunter’s father pulled out a long hunting knife from a leg holster and slit the carcasses throat, releasing a fountain of warm, frothy breath which followed with a gush of blood, covering his father’s hands like a glove. Hunter could feel the escaping heat from the animal. “We’ll be eating sausages for a week!” his father bragged through a murderous grin. It wasn’t like Little Hunter’s father was intentionally cruel or a bad man. He had grown up in a rough and tumble world and was convinced that in life there was only givers and takers, the weak and the strong, a black and white world with no in between and he considered himself one who imposed his will onto others and never the other way around. His own father, Hunter’s good for nothing grandfather, had never taken much interest in him and he vowed that things would be different between Hunter and him.

Hunter’s father knelt down next to the bleeding mess. “You want to stick your knife from the top of his sternum and cut all the way down past his stomach and make an upside down “T”, just like this here” he said. The boar’s guts poured out of its stomach like a group of chit-red eels, wriggling onto the forest floor. Little Hunter turned quite pale and stood back in horror and he remembered that all he had wanted to do was throw up. He wanted to look away, but knew that he never could. “As easy as disemboweling a man” his old man said as he pulled out a saw to start parting the body. He felt that if his boy knew how to kill, he would be strong and the pains of the world couldn’t touch him. His father made him hold onto the rear legs as he began the gruesome task of quartering the pig, hacking away as bits of bone and flesh flew splattered his hunting gear.

After they finished, they threw the limbs into giant garbage bags. It took them three trips to carry everything back to the truck. Since then, Little Hunter’s has had a huge aversion to sausages.

Little Hunter could not stop thinking about the boar as he made his way across the parking lot. His hands grew clammy and he felt light headed and weak. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and the handful of change jingled about noisily. He had since been on more trips with his father and by now, killing became a mechanical thing, something that he didn’t even really think twice about. It became so that when his father told him to do something, he just did it. He didn’t really want to shoot the boar, nor had he really wanted to come on this trip.

His father in the meantime stepped out of the Bronco and opened up the trunk door. Hunter had been born out of wedlock. His mother was a young prostitute his father often frequented and due to what his father deemed as an “immaculate conception”; Hunter was borne to the world. After his mother gave birth, she quickly returned to the streets and had only met Hunter on a handful of occasions. “She was a sinner my boy and sinners will pay for their crimes.” His boy was taking a long time getting those sodas and he needed him to unload the carcass. He took out a couple of shovels from the bed and placed them on the ground. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit up. After he finished, his boy still wasn’t out. He cursed under his breath and went to find out what was going on.

Hunter didn’t really know his mother too well, but whenever the topic was brought up his father would become infuriated on account that she was a “w***e and a charlatan”. So it didn’t surprise Hunter too much when his father said that God had chosen her to be their next victim. It didn’t affect Hunter as much as it had his father, who spent most of the days before the job brooding in the little mechanics shop they ran. His father handed him a list of materials to buy and said, “Make sure you don’t get everything from the same place” without even looking up from his seat. He could have sworn that his father had tears in his eyes, which surprised him as it was the first time that his father had shown weakness and it scared him a little bit.

When Hunter’s father made it to the rest room, he found his boy face down on the urine soaked tiles. He hurried to his side and lifted him up, making sure that he was still breathing. “Hunter boy, wake up!” he stammered smacking his boy across the face. Hunter’s was a yellow-grown pallor and his breath shallow. When he finally came about, he gave his worried father a weak smile. “He talked to me dad. I’ve finally had a vision.” The worry melted from his father’s face and was replaced by a relieved exaltation.

“So you’ve finally had a vision?”

“Yes dad, I know what to do now.”

“Well, you listen to the Good Lord now; he has finally accepted you into his flock.”

As the boy stood up the change jingled merrily in his coat and he knew that everything was going to be alright. They walked to the soda machine and bought some drinks and walked back to the car to dispose of the body. “Now remember to take your .22, just in case we should happen to stumble upon any visitors.” The boy did as he was told. The ditch they were to dig was a hundred yards further from the rest stop and it took them three trips to carry all the materials. The rest of the operation was spent in silence as they took turns digging the trench which was to house the body of the parted prostitute. They were both exhausted when the job was completed and Hunter bought a couple of more bottles of pop which they sipped on next to the freshly covered mound.

“Nothing like a job well done, right boy?”

Hunter shook his head in agreement. The sun was creeping up past the tree line and the light glinted off Hunter’s rifle. His father picked up the shovels and motioned them to walk back to the truck. “We gotta hit the road.” His father was headed back towards the parking lot across the rest stop when he heard the sound of a round chamber in the .22 and then discharge. His vision dimmed and he felt his life slowly slip from his body. Little Hunter had done just like his father had showed him, slowed his breath, aligned his sights, and squeezed the trigger. The Good Lord had indeed spoken to him and he told him that his father had bequeathed him all his powers and was too weak to carry on. Little Hunter felt no remorse; no, he was rather proud that he had been blessed with the courage follow through with the ordeal. He was indeed his father’s son and his father had taught him well.

He grabbed the truck keys out of this father’s pocket, collected the shovels by the body and headed back to the truck. The Lord had many things for him to do and the road was going to be long and arduous, but he was ready. He loaded up the truck and shut the tailgate. As he started the car, he had a murderous grin on his face. He knew that as long as he was strong that nothing could touch him, because he was a son of God. He never looked back as he made his way out of the rest stop parking lot, but kept his eyes on the road, following the route that his that had been marked along the map.