Slammin' Tree: Part 1!

“Greetings my loyal ghouls and ghoulies. And welcome to tonight’s episode of Ghost Radio. Monsieur Duke Evan Arthur Drake, forever known as DJ DEAD, coming to you live this fine, fine Day of the Dead, on 99.9, The Ghost. Tombed in front of this microphone until the sun comes up, delivering the gore and lore across the airwaves. And no, you can’t see my face—how could you? But believe me the terror is on my face like a mural on the side of a small-town hardware store.”

“The moon hides among the fog rolling in from the Gulf and seeks the mysterious, malevolent and macabre trolling the streets of haunted New Orleans. I do appreciate you letting me flow into your homes, cars and workplaces tonight. Whether you’re a nurse making sure death doesn’t come for your patients, or one of the badges walking the beat, or a waitress at the diner welcoming stragglers from the Bourbon bars. Midnight strikes within the hour here and we all know what that entails!! No, not stories of unicorns and dragons for the kiddies at bedtime or long-lost loves reuniting by happenstance. Oh no, no, no!!!

“What do I have in the crypt? I have a terrible and terrific, terrific and terrible treat for our saints and sinners alike, lending their ears and locking into ghost radio. Tall tales seething in the deepest, darkest, depths of death and deception—a delight for connoisseurs of the wicked, the cursed and the wonderful weirdos shining lights in our dark world. A jaw-dropping, coming-of-age story heralds our way like a horde of zombies—tonight on Ghost Radio.”

“I’d be lyin’ stiff as a corpse if I didn’t declare my heart skipped a beat or two when my eyes peeped the weary words scribbled across the plethora of pages of Ben Proudmoore’s letter from weeks ago.”

“Few stories on this show have ever broken my spirit and stained my soul like the story standing by to thrill and chill us all to the bone and back. Don’t worry, Ben. If you’re out there listening, I’ll do my best to tell your story word for word as it was written although I might have to keep it clean. I’m just the messenger so please don’t shoot me. The FCC will fine my rent money. Maybe my lunch money too? That’s neither here nor there, my spooks.”

His right foot stopped his chair from swiveling any further right. He gripped a bottle of Lucky Snake Whiskey from inside the top cabinet drawer next to the microphone. DJ DEAD returned to the left side of his studio booth where a pair of glasses and a fresh bucket of ice waited for the Lucky Snake. The quick, soft pouring of an ounce or two of Snake filled the airwaves for a few seconds.

“Of course, I’m not here to ramble aimlessly about sweet nothings. My liquid courage is floating on ice, so let the suspense out of the bag and hear all about Ben’s Slammin’ Tree.” DJ DEAD sat the bottle off to the side of his chair, near the glass and ice station. DJ DEAD took a slow sip, as ice softly clinked the glass.

Dear Ghost Radio:

Forgive me, I’m not proud of what I’ve done but I don’t usually write to strangers and offer them a glimpse into the world of Ben Proudmoore–an oxymoron of sorts—my last name, but not irony or a coincidence. I relive those days in my mind, my thoughts and my nightmares daily. I could paint a dozen canvasses telling my story. My story starts when I was 12 years old, living on a farm a few miles past the Shackle County line, on County Road 10, just outside Ozark Falls, Arkansas.

I remember it was Tuesday. April 12th, 2013, I think. That was a bad day for me. The worst I had in a while. Sure, I got a B on my history assignment and an A on my science lab experiment. I was surprised to say the least. I didn’t think I’d score such good grades. That bit of good news made me smile inside, but only for a little while—until lunch at least.

Tuesday was chili dog day. I didn’t mind a good chili dog, but I appreciated my mothers’ cooking when she was able. Her chili dogs were superior by a long shot. I walked through the long line step-by-step, during our first lunch, like soldiers going off to war. Katie Gufford, a girl in my grade, was in front of me. Katie and I weren’t exactly friends-friends, although I thought she had a pretty smile when she smiled at me, walking past each other in the hallways in between classes.

I finally made my way to the front of the line, paid my two dollars and picked up a tray full of baby-sized food portions. I remember saying to myself, “I have more food than this at home.” Finding a seat at lunch was tough for me. Where we sat and who we sat next to was more important than the actual lunches. I didn’t like climbing over anyone only to be told I wasn’t cool enough to sit at a certain table. I gave up long ago and sat on the outside tables. Alone most of the time. That made me a target, of course. In fact, I was the main target for one jerk in my grade–the one kid who received the front end of the wrath of the school bully, Jimmy Tabler.

Jimmy had a history of bullying, good enough not to get caught. He often lied to teachers—often saying he was trying to help me or he’d laugh it off with a quick compliment to the teacher. Jimmy was good at both kissing butt and saving his own at the same time. Jimmy was a bully plain and simple. I never forgot the first time Jimmy made fart noises during a math test in fifth grade and pointed at me when the other kids looked around the room. The whole class laughing echoed in my mind every time I walked into Mrs. Crowley’s math class. Part of me had the sudden urge to turn around and go to another classroom. Or the time he stole my gym shorts in P.E. class. Doing those exercises in my jeans wasn’t comfortable at all. His hair color or freckles, or the way he combed his hair, nor who his parents were isn’t important to this story. Of course, telling our principal, Mr. Baldy—Mr. Femerson, didn’t do a lick of good. I got used to calling him Mr. Baldy, which caught on throughout the school. He knew what we called him but we didn’t care. Mr. Baldy had his favorites–the few students that could do no wrong. And I wasn’t one of them. Jimmy Tabler was the main one.

I sat down at the edge of an empty table on the second row of tables, next to the trash cans and tray drop-off area. A few drops of chili fell on the table as I took my first bite of lunch.

Jimmy threw down a ketchup packet next to my tray, on my right side.

I didn’t see him put it on the table, nor hear him sneak up on me, due to the loud chatter of the other students.

A loud bang on the table sent me flying a few inches out of my seat. I raised my head just in time as a squirt of ketchup landed on my right cheek, and my shirt, just under my right shoulder. “Jimmy!!” I yelled. I grabbed the only napkin I had on my tray–the one I was saving for chili dog sauce on my chin or upper lip.

Jimmy laughed. “Gotcha, ass wipe!!!” He belted out and rushed past me aggressively, headed back to his table.

I wiped off the ketchup from my face without hesitation. My shirt had a red picture of Spiderman on the front, so I wasn’t too worried about the darker stain on my right side. I slowly levied my eyes on Jimmy as he walked away from my table, smiling like the Joker. My angry gaze followed Jimmy to his table.

Other kids laughed as Jimmy turned around and pointed. His friends loved it when he pulled shenanigans at lunch or during our activity periods outside.

Moments of getting my revenge on Jimmy crossed my mind more and more each time he turned into Jimmy Jerk. I realized I couldn’t do anything within the rules, although they didn’t work for me or a few other kids. I found myself calm as I thought of what my revenge would look like on Jimmy.

I threw the napkin in the empty space where my milk sat after I moved it to the front of my tray. “Stupid idiot,” I muttered under my breath. I didn’t have such thoughts in my head for only a few seconds—we only had so much time for lunch. Luckily, I snapped out of my head as students rushed past my seat. Screw Jimmy Tabler! He’s just an annoying side effect of medicine for diarrhea. I don’t know if my story is any better, but this isn’t Jimmy’s story.

I had a few minutes left before the bell rang when I got outside. All five of the aluminum tables were occupied. Some kids were playing basketball and some were standing in their own little social groups. I was a bit of a loner, as if anyone couldn’t tell. I liked it that way. I was always nice and polite to my classmates. I didn’t want to end up like Jimmy. I leaned myself against one of the yellow poles leading out to the bus drive. Our school colors were blue and gold. The rest of the day went by quicker than I hoped. Luckily, not too many students saw Jimmy’s ketchup trick and gave me a hard time about it in class that afternoon.

Three twenty-five came and out the door I went after the bell rang. My ten-pound backpack didn’t help my posture any. I was the next to last school to be picked up, before high school. Then we traveled out into the rural parts of Shackle County. The bus ride home was like the other days when Jimmy did his ignorant bidding. I didn’t even say anything to my sister, Anny —just passed right by her, as she waved at me. I think that was the first time I ignored her. I usually tugged on her ponytail or made a funny face at her and her friends. I usually sat near the back wheel well on the right side of the bus–opposite of Anny, who sat five or six seats up. The bus ride home was loud—windows down with 18-wheelers and tractors passing us on the highway.

I noticed Anny glance back at me, in between me looking out the window and inside the bus. Our bus finally stopped right in front of our house. Our driveway wasn’t that long, maybe half the length of a football field from CR-10 to our front door. I thought it was the longest walk ever both to and from our front door, especially on cold or rainy days.

Anny took the walk much easier than I did on most days anyways. She saw it as getting home to our mother, Shelby, to check on her and splash a big hug on her. “Race ya, Ben,” Amy said as she stopped, leaned forward and smiled at me.

“Not now, Anny Bananny,” I replied.

“Don’t call me that, Benjamin,” Anny said.

Ben smiled. “I swear you eat more bananas to make a monkey jealous.”

“Fine. Tomorrow, loser,” Anny said as she took off in a sprint to the house. Her blue jeans and green backpack shook with each bounce. Her unicorn backpack got smaller, the farther she ran from me.

I ignored her “loser” comment and kept pounding the dirt road home. “Bananny. Bananny,” I said again. I took my steady steps and counted down the wooden fence posts every six feet until I reached the front door. Thirty posts. The walk from the bus stop to the front door was more worrisome than anything Jimmy could ever dish out. A thousand thoughts ran through my head. Thoughts no twelve-year-old should have. I finished the roughly 167 steps on CR-10 and turned right at the big magnolia tree at the edge of the fence. Forty more steps to reach the front door.

I paused under the shade of the magnolia tree, on the self-made trail Anny and I walked back and forth to the road and back over the three years we’ve lived here. My thoughts paused as I felt the slight breeze rush under the trimmed Magnolia tree. I looked back down the road and took a deep breath. I shivered to think my dad, Paul Proudmoore, would be home later that afternoon. Don’t think for a second I didn’t want my dad to come home. I didn’t want him to bring his work home with him. His work became my work and I didn’t care for such a chore one damn bit. But I did it. Not sure why. My blind eye? Me thinking this kind of work was common in the world? To make my dad happy and proud? To keep the peace? It wasn’t the money, unlike Anny.

I took my steps towards the house but stopped a few feet from the front porch. I slowly turned towards the open pasture that led to the back thirty acres of our property. I didn’t like going back there at all. That whole area gave me the willies.

Anny had already made her grand entrance and kept the door open for me, I guess. Anny and I usually got home right around four o’clock.

The screen door twanged loudly, as I pulled the handle and stepped inside. Anny sat on the end of the couch, near our mom’s recliner. Anny and our mom, Shelby, spoke about her day. Anny was never bullied in school. Not that I ever saw anyway. She never told me or our parents.

Mom didn’t notice me coming in and I skipped hugging her that afternoon.

I went straight to my room. My backpack was too heavy—walking that long driveway, so I skipped the welcome home hugs and bolted up the stairs, straight to my room, on the right of the stairs. I still had the baggage from school running through my mind. I slowly pushed the door open and threw my backpack down my arm and roll-landed in the middle of my bed. I had other things on my mind—besides what I should have done about Jimmy Tabler. Maybe next time I won’t have to face his wrath.

All Mom heard was my door slam. “What’s wrong with Benny boy?”

Anny shook her head at mom’s question. “Not even the world knows. Didn’t say a lick to me when he got on the bus.”

“Something’s wrong with him,” Mom said.

I heard my mom laugh, from my bedroom, with the door closed. I loved hearing my mother laugh. I opened the door wider so I could hear her laugh. The chair rolled backwards when I plopped down in front of my desk. My eyes wandered slowly around my room, wondering if I should redecorate anything or everything in my room. I always felt the need to redecorate when I had a bad day at school. Somehow I thought that would make me feel better. Instead, I sank into the chair by my desk and listened to the silence upstairs.

The words my mother and sister spoke downstairs pierced the silence as faint whispers.

“Gez!!” I stood up and quickly rushed downstairs to get my suggestions in because I didn’t always like where my sister chose where we had dinner, outside the house.

Anny didn’t miss a beat. “Call Dad and ask him what he wants. Dad’s a good supper picker.”

Mom smiled and shook her head. “A supper picker, huh?” Mom looked at me as I plopped down at the end of the couch. “Nice of you to join us, sweetie.”

“What do you want—” Mom asked suddenly.

“Call Dad—” Anny barked. “Ben always picks junk to eat.”

Mom gave Anny her cell phone. “Call your–” Mom pointed at me. “Dinner?”

Anny sat down on the couch and touched a few numbers. “Dad, dad.” Anny thumbed her way through Mom’s call list. “Call–” Anny smiled, as the phone rang.

“Mommy asked me to ask you what you wanted for dinner, Dad.”

“Tell you what, Anny girl, you and Ben decide on Supper. Whatever you want, we’ll do.”

Anny looked at Mom with wide eyes and smiled. “Dad said me and Ben can choose.”

“Okay,” Mom said.

I pointed upstairs. “Homework,” I said as I got up off the couch–sure of the dinner decision.

Mom shook her head.

I partially closed my door for some privacy. I was still a little upset about the spat with Jimmy Tabler to worry about dinner. I retrieved my books from my backpack and slammed them on the desk. I stared at my history and science books for a few seconds. “My best and worst–” I mumbled.

I thought about how chipped Dad sounded on the phone. I liked that version of my father. But that didn’t ease my growing dread. I didn’t know if Dad would bring—I thought to myself, sitting straight up in my chair with my hands between my legs, glaring at the far wall in front of me. That afternoon seemed like an eternity. Watching the numbers on the clock get bigger before they reset to zero. Homework, homework, homework!!! I reminded myself.

A soft knock snapped me out of my thoughts.

“Two hours until dinner probably,” Mom said, as she strolled into my room quietly.

“You’re too sneaky, Mom,” I said. “Didn’t hear you coming up the stairs. I would have come down—”

“I’m your mother. I can still tell if something’s—” She said, sitting on my bed.

“Eh—” Gloom filled my eyes as I stared at my books.

“Is it school?” Mom asked.

“I’ll do my homework sometime tonight,” I said. “Good grades.” I handed her my history quiz and science lab study guide.

She glanced at my grades and told me she was proud of me.

That made me feel a lot better. But that wasn’t enough to hide what really bothered me.

“What’s wrong, Ben?”

What isn’t wrong? I thought to myself. “No, I’m just tired.” That’s all I could think to say to my mother. I think my mother had the same conclusion about me. I couldn’t tell her what was really bothering me. I didn’t like her worrying about me, given her health problems.

“Okay! I can’t make you tell me. I hope the trust is still there for you–” She said.

I nodded in agreement. “Sure, mom.” You’re the only one I trusted, I thought to myself.

Mom smiled before her coughing fit erupted what little sweet of a moment we had together. She finally pounded her chest. “WHEW!!” She coughed again.

“How about the Silver Buffalo?” I asked softly.

“Really? That place—I haven’t been there in a while,” Mom said.

I shook my head. “Yeah, why not?” I asked for no reason.

“Okay! Buffalo it is.” Mom slapped her right knee as she stood up. She smiled at me before cautiously making her way down the stairs.

“Thanks, Mom,” I whispered, standing in my doorway.

I didn’t have time for my nine-year-old sister that afternoon. I sat back down on my bed. My thoughts turned to the terrible things flashing through my mind before Dad got home. Not Jimmy Tabler. I hated being stuck with that burden. Not knowing if I would have to visit the cave when Dad got home or not. Most kids were riding bikes or playing video games. Collecting anime cards. Girls even. Not Ben Proudmoore.

Sure, it would have been easier to call Dad and ask him if today was feeding day or not. But I didn’t have the nerve to call him.

Dad pulled into the driveway about an hour and a half later. His gray, four-door Toyota Tacoma had a few mud dobs and streaks near the tires from CR-10 leading to the highway. Plenty of truck bed space and inside the back cab for unexpected cargo. Dad did his best to keep his truck smelling like a gallon of fresh cut lemons, for obvious reasons.

Anny looked out her upstairs window and out at Dad’s truck sitting in the driveway. Anny smiled and ran downstairs to the front door. “Dad’s home! Dad’s home,” she called out. She flew outside, as the door rushed open, almost hitting the side of the house. “Hi…Dad,” Anny said quietly. She flipped her head side to side.

Dad didn’t answer. He wasn’t on the porch, nor in his truck. He stood in the doorway of his weathered, red barn with white trim exterior. The paint had faded away from years of rot and tree overgrowth. He glared deep into the dark barn well beyond the short, angular strands of sunshine and clouds seeping in the doorway. The darker areas near the back of the band held the secrets he desperately tried to keep hidden, especially from Anny. Let alone the entire world. Luckily, Dad always blamed the foul, putrid smell on that of being an old, dusty barn. His empty excuse was all he had and all he needed.

Anny and I stayed out of the barn for the most part. Anny was scared of the snakes in the barn, which were probably few and far between but she wasn’t going to find out. Anny took a seat on the porch and waited for our Dad.

I stayed out of the barn because I wanted absolutely nothing to do with what was inside on certain days–an everyday thing for me.

Dad relished the view from the barn doors, overlooking the wide pasture where a few cows grazed and one horse often trotted among the sunny spaces. That was his one place of peace and comfort on the entire farm.

At the back of the barn were the pile of several sandbags Anny and I had shoveled and hauled in from the sandy shores near the Caddo River Bottoms. The sandbags were piled up like a brick wall—each one overlapping the one below and above it, minus the mortar between the bags. Four feet tall, twelve feet long, give or take, was a hell of a lot of sand to soak up the blood from the autopsies and embalming process. That’s what Dad told Anny anyway. Dad also pretended the sandbags were for protecting the farm from rain or the rising creek during flood season.

Dad stood in the doorway a few more seconds before returning to the house.

Anny sat near the front porch swing, where she noticed Dad walking back to the house. “Hi, Dad!” Anny smiled and waved.

Dad quickly looked up and noticed Anny. He pointed at Anny and smiled. “There you are, Anny girl.” My shadow, my shadow! “What’s going on?” Dad asked as he slushed up the stairs.

Anny stood on his right side watching him get taller as he approached the front door. “Well, I got a high B on my science test today.” Anny smiled at her Dad.

“That’s how you do it, Anny girl.” Dad gave Anny a big hug on the porch.

“I do it well, Dad.” Anny laughed.

“I know you do. You decide on dinner?” Dad asked smoothly.

“I said tacos but I think Ben overruled me. Bully!” Anny said.

“Tacos! Mom knows, I’m sure.” Dad came inside the house and hung his hat on the wall where he had a few others hung.

Anny sat down on the couch next to Mom’s recliner.

He quickly looked around the living and dining rooms, from the front foyer. Dad ignored the TV infomercials–medicines that sounded like a space alien named them or were named after planets in distant solar systems.

“Hey darling wife,” he said, bending down to kiss Mom’s forehead.

“Glad you’re home, Paul. Kids are having a battle with dinner,” Mom said.

“Nothing new around here. Better get used to it, Shelby,” Dad replied. “They’re growing up!”

“I’ll be glad if that’s all they fight about,” Mom said, with a side eye at Anny.

Dad froze for a few seconds. His mind hovered around the thought of his kids growing up and how our guest might shape their upbringing in our teen years. Ironically, Dad was more than okay if I handled our guest but not Anny. NEVER ANNY!!! Call it rude or an overactive imagination of an overprotective father. “I second that. We’ll be lucky parents.”

“Whoa–wait!! I’m a peach, Mom. Ben’s the grumpy one,” Anny declared, pointing upstairs. “Tell her, Dad!”

“Hear that Mom, Anny’s a peach,” Dad said, giving Mom a confused look. “I think she’s in the wrong state.” Dad looked at Anny. “Guess we have to send her back–”

“Funny, Dad! I’m not from Georgia.” Anny sighed and shook her head.

Both our parents laughed.

“I’m going to look up jokes–” Anny was fond of prancing up the stairs to her room when she was in a good mood, like a ballerina on stage. She had her fair share of solemn walks as well as jolly climbs.

“She’s coming into her own, that girl.” Mom smiled, despite not knowing if she’d even be around during our teen years. Mom tilted and rested her head on her left arm. “Long day?” She asked Dad. A quick distraction from her “doom” as she came to call her health troubles.

“Ehh, so-so. Took care of the funeral arrangements for Mrs. Tulney. After lunch, I won a few solitaire games on my computer.”

“Yours or ours?” Mom asked.

Dad pointed at himself and nodded. “Mine!”

“Death doesn’t always arrive on time,” Mom declared.

“Sometimes it’s too early,” Dad said. “But never late, Shelby.”

Mom took dad’s comment to heart as she squeezed his hand hard enough that he held my mother for a few minutes in silence.

“Loving you, Shelby, has been one of God’s miracles,” Dad said.

Mom smiled. “Love is a miracle for sure.” She laid her head on Dad’s shoulder.

My parents sat on their couch as if they had just bought the thing. In silence.

I attempted my math homework first, but didn’t get past a few pages of my pre-algebra book. I didn’t care about my math but did the bare minimum to get by. At least they can’t say I’m cheating - grades are c+ level. I paused for a moment as I thought I heard my dad’s voice. I went downstairs to check on mom and saw them sitting on the couch. “Hey, Dad,” I said, at the edge of the couch.

“Ah, Benji, how was school?” Dad asked.

I sighed behind my father. “Fine...yeah, good.”

“You sure, Benji? That cute girl in your class didn’t say hi to you today?” Dad asked.

“No! None of them ever say hi to me,” I said.

“Well, there’s always tomorrow, Benji,” Dad said.

I didn’t give my father’s encouragement another thought. “I was thinking we could all go to the Silver Buffalo later. They have everything for everyone,” I said.

“Pork chops?” Dad looked at me weird through his glasses.

“Sure! One of the specials, I think.”

Mom shrugged her shoulders. “Compromises and progress.”

“Point well taken, Shelby,” Dad said. “Guess we’ll slay the Silver Buffalo tonight.”

With a quick shake of his right arm, Dad looked at his watch . “Half past six. We’ll wait half an hour so people won’t think we’re too old.”

Mom laughed.

“I’ll wear my hat to cover up my gray hairs,” Dad added. “Ben, distract your sister for a while with cat videos on those app thingies.”

Anny stepped off the staircase just in time to answer her dad’s sarcastic comment. “Those gray hairs on your head are Ben’s fault, dad. Can’t blame me,” Anny said, with a quick giggle.

“Nevermind, Ben,” Dad said.

“Anny, hush it, shorty!” I demanded. “Go do your homework.”

“Already done, Benji,” Anny said. “I’m an A-plus student.”

“You’re the teachers’ pet–sucking up to the teacher,” I said.

“Easy, Ben,” Mom said.

“She’s got you there, Benji,” Dad lowered his glasses at me. “Your report card, remember.”

“Benji, Benji,” Anny laughed.

“Fine. Homework. I get everyone’s point,” I stated.

“We just want you to be as smart as me, Benji,” Anny said.

“You’re not smarter than a sixth grader,” I added, as I high-stepped it to my room to finish my homework.

“I am so,” Anny whispered.

Mom scooted to her right a little ways to make way for Anny. “Sit!”

Anny sat down next to Dad on the couch.

Dad propped his feet on the coffee table in front of him. He looked over his shoulder and up the stairs as I faded out of sight.