Dallas.
12:30am. August 20.
It
was a little game they would play. Henry would come into the 7-11
for coffee on his way to work the night shift and Agnes would pretend
not to remember him. Each time it was the same and in 2 years of
consistency, Henry found comfort and Agnes found the respect from a
fellow human being not often afforded one behind a counter.
August
in Dallas, for those not familiar with the geography, meant it was
hot enough to fry eggs on the hood of old cars. The local television
stations all relished the ratings boom that hit when the thermometer
allowed such a display as much as the residents hated the constant
reminders. The heat had the bad habit of lingering long after the
sunset, eliminating any logical expectation of relief, like the
random acquaintance that sat at your table in the bar and refused to
get the hint that you would rather be left alone. In this, it became
just as annoying.
Henry's
headlights shone in Agnes' window alerting her to his arrival and the
start of their game. He entered as he usually did but something was
different this time. Henry looked shaken.
“What
happened, Mr Henry?” Agnes ignored the game for the sake of her
friend. “You look like you seen a ghost.”
“I'm...I'm
not sure, Agnes,” he looked back across the river in the direction
from which he had come. “I was driving through West Dallas like I
always do but just as I got to the bridge across the Trinity, some
fella jumped outta the shadows onto the street, waving his arms like
a wild man.”
“You
didn't hit him, did you?”
“No!
No...but there was something in his eyes....or rather missing from
them. It set something off inside my head. Scared the shit
outta---oh, sorry. Scared the Dickens outta me. It wasn't like he
wanted help. No. It was like he wanted...”
“Like
he wanted you.” A voice from the coffee bar answered.
Both
Henry and Agnes spun around to see the owner of this voice.
“You
didn't stop, did you?” she asked.
“No.
HELL No!” Henry said. “Why would I? I don't know him. Some
crazy crackhead jumps outta the bushes? I don't care if he was just
shot. I'm crazy enough driving through this part of town just to
shave 10 miles off of my commute. I don't need to add getting
chopped into little crackhead kibbles to that list.”
“That
won't no crackhead you seen, mister. Saw him just fore you crossed
the river, yeah? Jumped outta them shadows like come outta nowhere,
yeah? Looked atchoo like he know you, yeah?”
“...yeah.
How do you know all this, ma'am?”
“Cause
I seent that man too. Dat tha Bottom Man.”
“The
wha?”
“Tha
Bottom Man. He come from the river bottom, snatchin up souls what
wanna cross that river. Everywhere there a river where the folk
live, there a Bottom Man live too. He pure Evil, he is.”
“Bullshit,
lady. That was no supernatural entity I saw. That was a crackhead.
I have seen one there almost every night I drive past. It's where
they hang out. Next thing you'll tell me you seen the Lady of the
Lake. Over at White Rock Lake? Is that his sister?” Henry
laughed.
“No.
I never seen her, but she diff'rent. My folks grow up over there
before the war. They saw that lady. She wasn't tryin to snatch no
souls. She jus tryin to get home is all. Like I say. Diff'rent.”
She
hobbled closer to Henry and he got a good look at her. She was an ancient looking woman no taller than a 7th grader. Her
skin was as weathered as the cotton dress she wore and she put a
gnarled finger into Henry's chest. It was much stronger than it had
any right to be.
“Don
be fooled, child. Da Bottom Man don't never look the same way twice.
You seen him many time but now he seen you too. He know you and he
tellin you he want you. You can't go dis way no more. You gotta
never pass that way ever again. Promise me you won't never go that
way no more!” Her eyes glistened through her pleading. “He know
you weakness now and next time you see him, he gonna go fo yo throat
like a Pitt Bull an he ain't never gone let go.”
She
clasped a bony fist in front of Henry's face to drive her point home.
“You be careful if you ever come this way again, child. Don't
stop for nobody nohow at that bridge.”
She paid for her coffee and
hobbled away into the darkness. Henry and Agnes stood in silence as
she vanished into the night. They said nothing to each other as
Henry paid for his coffee and resumed his midnight commute. Agnes
watched his headlights fade into the hot summer night and took a
breath. She realized it was the first one she had taken since the
old crone had started talking.
Another
blistering weekend passed before Agnes returned to her post at the
convenience store counter. She had spent more time worrying about
her friend than she was willing to admit. She returned to work on
the hottest night of the year. It was still in the 90's at 10pm, one
of those nights when it felt like Hell itself had given the Earth a
smothering hug.
Agnes was hot and sticky even inside the
air-conditioned confines of her store. Customer after customer
passed before her counter but Agnes paid them no mind. Her eyes
darted to the clock over the cooler at the back of the store as she
waited for 12:30 to arrive. Her coworkers filed out to leave her to
her solitary post as the clock passed midnight. Any second, Henry
would pass through that door and they would play their little game
and laugh at that crazy old woman.
Her
eyes never left the parking lot as 12:30 came and passed. There was
no sign of Henry, but this was no cause for concern. Often he would
be running late and bypass his coffee to get to work on time. This
had happened many times over the years. This time, it felt
different, although Agnes refused to acknowledge that fact.
Three more nights came and went with no sign of Henry. Agnes felt now that she had permission to worry. She called in sick Friday night for the first time since she began working at the store and borrowed her neighbor's car. She drove into Oak Cliff to the nice part Henry lived in. He had described his house often enough to her she knew the way by heart. She saw no sign of his green Jeep Cherokee in the driveway.
She turned around and followed the path he took on his commute, passing several other open convenience stores that sold coffee. This made her feel a touch of pride that her friend came to see her more for the companionship than the coffee. She passed beneath the highway as she drove down Westmoreland Avenue north towards the river. She drove through old West Dallas where Clyde Barrow grew up and past all the night walkers that inhabited this downtrodden neighborhood.
She saw how easy it was for Henry to
assume the man was a crackhead from the many that loitered at the
intersections even on this blast furnace of a night. The
streetlights were out here in the City's attempt to conserve power at
this time of peak electrical demand. The radio in her neighbor's car
was unable to hold onto a station, but this was the Bottoms and that
was to be expected.
Wary
of running into an unseen obstacle on this dark street, Agnes hit the
car's bright lights. To her shock, Henry was standing in the middle
of the road less than 100 feet in front of her. She slammed on the
brakes as hard as she could and screeched to a stop inches from where
he stood.
He
was torn and covered in muck from head to toe.
He stood in the
middle of the street and made no effort to communicate. He stared at
Agnes as she sat behind the wheel but she felt him looking deeper
inside her than any eye has the ability to. Any human eye, that is.
She began shaking as Henry turned and began shuffling around to her
door. He walked one step at a time with a deliberate measure that
frayed her nerves, all the time never taking his eyes off hers, until
he stood right outside her window.
His
broken fingernail tapped on the glass three times. Each time Agnes
felt the window would shatter from the sheer malicious nature of the
blow that struck it. She could see holes in Henry where no holes
belonged and there was a worm that had erupted from his forearm,
flailing against the air that had replaced the flesh it had just
gnawed upon.
Agnes
rolled down the window that stood between her and her friend and was
never seen alive again.
