A Fine Day For A Hanging

Another day, another town. I really didn’t stop to look what the name of this one was. Even if I did learn it, it would be forgotten by the time I was on the main street of the next town. I noted the dress of the locals varied from 1950’s American Suburbia to Old West calico dresses and suits. Judging from some of the looks the locals gave me, their social displays were also kept behind modern times.

Ah, no matter. I’m just passing through anyway. I’m already on the outskirts of town. A few more hundred steps, and I’ll be in between failing societies again.

“Hey Lady! Why ya leaving? He ain’t one of yours, is he?” The kid could be Huckleberry Finn’s cousin. And just as devious by the glint in his eye. He was running from outside of town back in, and stopped to confront my unhurried departure.

“He, who?” At my question, the boy’s eyes widened. He spit some of his chew before answering my question.

“He, who! Why, that condemned bastard, that’s who! Ain’t you heard?”

“No. I’ve heard nothing. As no one here tells me anything. Which is why I’m leaving. This town doesn’t hold what I’m searching for. Good day, and enjoy yourself. Try not to paint fences.” I smile at him, and start to go past him.

He grabs my hand. “Lady, if you leave now, they’ll think you have blood with him. And they’ll hunt you down like they did him because they is dumbasses like that.” Despite his youth and drawl, I see he has a very serious look in his eye.

“You know more than you say, young man. Tell me all.” I allow him to continue holding my hand, but I pulled back slightly to place tension on his arm. He feels the shift and lets go.

“They hanging him today. In a few minutes, if we haven’t already missed it! Everyone will be at the square to watch. So if you ain’t with the Good Folk watchin’…”

I finished the implication. “It’s because you’re with the evil bastard looking for payback.” The boy nodded with strangely bright eyes. “Very well then. Do you think they’ll notice if you escort me?”

He spits again. “Naw. That would start a lot of fun, but they’ll be too busy watching him swing to notice we came in together. Just make sure they see you there after, then you should leave afore they start wondering why you still here.”

I nodded. Small minds are paranoid minds. They would want to make sure I wasn’t doing anything behind their backs, then immediately question why was I in sight. The boy grabbed my hand and pulled me again. He seemed eager to watch the hanging. But I noted he was also eager to make sure I watched the hanging as well.

The townsfolk were already gathered around the permanent gallows. A few noticed my arrival and glared at me suspiciously. I smiled at them as if in anticipation, and their suspicion gave way to a more mirthful, festive grin. I meant to ask the boy what the condemned man had been sentenced for, but I found my hand closed around midair. The boy had stepped away unseen by me.

On the gallows platform was the executioner, a large man with a black satin hood over his head, and the mayor, a pot-bellied man attempting to conceal his glee by looking overly solemn. The rope was already tied, and the executioner was passing the time by playing with the trap door lever and winking to the young women in the audience.

The many rumors flew around me as so much noise. More and more furtive looks were tossed my way. I did my best to appear interested, but really wasn’t able to drum up much interest. Instead I was occupied studying the fashion difference between 1850’s California, and 1950’s California. I noted the snippy gossipy attitudes were identical, and chalked that up to small town life.

A door slammed open not far from the murmuring crowd. The silence that followed was heated with their excitement. All heads turned to the jail as an armed guard exited, commanding the crowd to remain at distance. Another guard, struggling with the condemned, followed by a third guard pushing them both from behind. A preacherman followed the slowly moving procession, holding a Bible before him as a shield and furtively praying in low tones.

In fits and starts, the guards managed to get the condemned man up the stairs to the platform, where the executioner swiftly put the noose about the neck and tightened it securely. It was plain to see, the executioner was well practiced in his profession.

While the mayor began to read off the many crimes of the condemned, much to the delight and horror of the crowd, I took a good long look at the still struggling man. Strangely, his face was not covered. He had red hair, with the beginnings of a balding spot. I could not tell if the mangled hair style was the result of a bad haircut, a struggle which pulled out hair, or from him hitting his head against the walls of his cell. A crazy look in his eyes that brightened every time he laughed. Which was often. When he wasn’t laughing, he was struggling against his bonds on his hands, feet, and legs. He easily drowned out the mayor’s recital of his crimes.

“Hang him already! We know what he’s done!” A man cried out from the crowd, immediately followed by a chorus of agreement from the agitated crowd. The mayor looked upset as his shining political moment was taken over by the bloodthirsty crowd. He looked at the preacher, who tried to ask the man one last time to repent and accept Jehovah’s forgiveness. The ferocity of the man’s returning laughter, along with the strange words vomited from his mouth, forced the preacher to retreat to the very edge of the platform.

Over the roar of the crowd, I was able to hear the preacher clearly as he told the mayor and the executioner, “He’s damned already, and God will not spare his soul. Stop sparing his life and hang him!” The mayor looked smugly at the executioner. The executioner, without preamble, snatched the lever back in a quick motion. The crowd’s call for death was answered as the condemned man fell through the opened trap door. The rope tightened with a dull twang and cut off the man’s laughter in mid-herk.

The women gasped and the men shouted and the children cheered what everyone felt. The mothers suddenly aware of their children, pulled them away chiding them for attending. The men patted each other on the back and declared it a good day. The executioner walked off the platform to fetch the wagon. The preacherman spoke his last words over the suspended dead man while the mayor grinned and made sure we all knew the condemned was caught and hung while he was in office.

But something wasn’t right. I studied the dead man’s posture, and noted something wasn’t right. There was something weird about the way his legs were hanging. A few of the townsfolk snorted at me, as if I was related to the dead man. But when I failed to take up their unspoken challenge, they turned to see what I was staring at.

“What wrong, hussy? No more fun for you?” Derisive laughter surrounded me, but I ignored them all. My continued watching of the dead man’s legs were starting to unnerve people. Finally, I realized what was wrong with the posture.

“His legs are not relaxed. His knees and ankles are bent.” Several of those near me jerked their head towards the swinging corpse. Some answered with “Nonsense!”, “You’re seeing things!”, and “Stop scaring the women!”. But a few others said, “She’s right, there’s something wrong about the legs. He’s not dead.”

The mayor had come down off the platform to talk with several townspeople. At the muttering, he rushed back up the platform to steal the attention and soothe the rumbles. “He’s dead! He’s dead!” The mayor managed to swing a pudgy foot into the back of the corpse’s head. He almost fell off the platform for his efforts, causing the returning audience to laugh and diffuse some stress. The preacherman, never one to miss a chance for a sermon, also rushed onto the platform. His sermon was interrupted by catching the mayor.

The crowd’s laughter died down, but still one person was laughing. As the source of the laughter was identified, the crowd changed from mirth to increasing panic. The corpse was chuckling. He had a silly grin on his face, and his throat gurgled from the sharp angle of his neck. But he was definitely chuckling. His shoulders moving in a strange jerky way.

“Y’all thought I would just up and die for ya? That you could be rid of me with this shoestring? Heh. Heh-heh.” He starts kicking and jerking, suspended in midair. “Just wait until I get down from here. Ha-ha-ha!” He starts laughing in earnest and tries to free himself from his bonds. The crowd starts to panic. Shrieks of terror can be heard as everyone starts running away from the gallows. The mayor and the preacherman are still on the platform, too terrorized to come down. The mayor is calling for the sheriff while the preacherman just stands there and prays.

The not-so-dead man is violently jerking at his bonds now. All while laughing with maniacal glee. I’m still suspicious about his body. It is moving strangely under his clothes. There are lumps where none should be. I spy a long pole on the ground by the gallows stairs. It has a hook to the end of it, I suppose to help tie the rope when the executioner was working alone. I grab the pole, and hook it onto the hanged man’s shirt.

“Oh, little girl! Are you going to play with me?” His speech is slowly improving. I take that to mean his body is healing itself. If his strength returns, he may be able to snap the worn rope. I pull sharply on the pole and rip his shirt clean off, and his pants halfway.

Tentacles are erupting from his flesh. From all parts of his skin, eruptions and protuberances are growing, moving, and exploring. Some are tearing at the rope on his neck. Others are reaching for the bonds about his hands, legs, and feet.

At the sight, the townspeople fell into complete panic. Screaming in absolute fright, they flee from the square and continue past their homes. The mayor fell off the platform, with the preacherman falling on top of him. Neither man helped the other up. Instead they scramble to their feet and fled the square as well.

And still, the man was laughing. He spoke things in unutterable languages, he spoke things in plain speech. When all others had fled and it was just him and me, he promised me he would commit various offenses upon my body. When his threats failed to move me, he became angry and started spitting in my direction. The spit sizzled on the ground, several feet short of me. I noted the acidic content and moved back a little further. But I kept the pole, and prepared myself should he manage to free himself and attack me.

Behind me, I hear the creak of a wagon. The executioner has returned with a cart and a coffin. “What the hell is going on here?” He speaks with an even tone, not even frightened in the least. He notices his “dead man” is quite alive and kicking and looks at me in askance.

“It’s not human. It’s a monster. See the tentacles?” I point with the pole. He follows its lead and double-blinks at the sight of the extra appendages.

“Goddammit. Another one of those bastards. You had the right idea with the pole, but you need more than just the hook. Here, gimme.” He holds one hand out while reaching into the cart with the other. I handed over the pole, amused that he had encountered one of these monsters before. As he attaches a blade extension to the pole, he explains. “These things, they mostly look like men, but as you see, they ain’t. You can’t kill them by snapping the neck. Not even by removing the head. The head you see, is the dingleberry to them. Their head is their ass and their ass is their head. I tried to tell the mayor when I heard of his crimes. No man can devour a woman’s body from the inside out. But that’s how these things feed.”

“That’s incredibly gross.” I was smiling at the novelty even as I cringed at the thought of a devouring penis. “So, how do you kill them?” He held up the impromptu polearm.

“You cut their brains out.” The monster had started spewing obscenities and acid at the executioner. But the pole kept the man safe from the acid spit. One quick stab and a slice to the right later, the monster’s midsection was cut completely open. It gurgled and cried out in pain as its internal organs shlurped out of the exposed cavity and poured onto the dusty ground under it. I noted what fell out did not look like intestines, but indeed, more like brain matter. The monster twitched a moment, and with a halting rattle, died.

He stepped away from the gory display and retrieved a jug of cleaning solution. Pouring it onto the blade, he was talking more to himself than to me. “That’s the fourth one this week, and the week has barely started. Goddamn epidemic ‘n shit. I’ll bet I’ll find more among the preacherfolk. They love hiding as men of the cloth. You can always tell them though, if you have open eyes. They never completely fit in. There’s always some little quirk about them.” He stops wiping the blade in mid-stroke. A thought strikes him, and he sharply looks up at me. I sense a passing fear from him, then intense curiosity.

“Hey. You didn’t run. You confronted it.” I nodded. “You ain’t from around here, are you.” He tightens his grip on the pole and studies me deeply. “You’re human, though. You ain’t one of those. But… You’re not just any human. Why are you here? What are you looking for?”

“What I’m looking for, this town doesn’t have. I stayed for the execution because I didn’t want to be suspected of being one of those. But now that the ‘execution’ is over, and the monster completely destroyed, I think I should leave now. Good job with that strike. And I’ll keep what happened here in mind. Good day.” I smile and nod as I excuse myself. He nods lightly and flashes a smile of his own more in polite reaction than intentioned response.

There are no townsfolk to hold me, no grinning boy to catch me. Just me, the executioner with his christened blade, and the cooling remains of the assheaded monster. I calmly walk away from the scene, leaving the town and the dream, with no further delay.

Make of that, what you may.