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Carnage House

– this is your trigger warning

Gator Batin’ and the Pukwudgie

by Sutter Kang

EARL HADN’T MEANT TO shoot Jake in the face with his sawed off twelve gauge, he only meant to put a little bit of fear into him after hearing he’d been fooling around with Janice, a girl Earl was sweet on. Earl called him over with the false promise they’d have a couple beers. As Jake entered the trailer, Earl grabbed him by the scruff and pressed the barrel of a shotgun under Jake’s chin. Earl managed to get out one word, “You,” before he accidentally squeezed the trigger and what had been a human face—and a fairly good looking one—became a bouquet of gore resembling raw hamburger meat and cherry Twizzlers.

Such was life. You lived and you learned or, in Jake’s case, you didn’t.

After a change of underwear and a couple more beers, Earl got to work wrapping what remained of his friend in a blue tarp from Walmart. He scooped the lumps of flesh and bone from the wall and floor into a grocery bag, scrubbed every blood soaked area until it looked brand new, and stuffed the bag of bits where Jake’s face had been. After all that he secured the thing in duct tape and dragged the body outside, laughing as the back of his buddies head bounced off each of the front porch steps.

After loading him into the back of his pickup truck they were off, destined for the swamplands, where snakes grew as long as the trees were tall, and the alligators made things that needed to be gone disappear.

He parked the truck and left it with the lights on. The woods could be treacherous at night, and he wanted to be able to see his way back, should he get lost.

Jake was heavy. He had gained quite a few pounds over the last year. Beer was more than likely to blame for that. Both of them enjoyed a brew or two --or three. It was what bonded them as friends. They could guzzle gallon after gallon while playing pool, or talking about women. Earl sure would miss that.

He dragged him by his boots. The leather was made from ostrich. Earl couldn't remember how much he’d said they cost, but he was sure it had been a small fortune. He would have to remember to keep them for himself before ditching the body.

Reaching the edge of the water, he wiped the sweat from his brow and took a breather. The frogs were ribbeting in unison, and they were loud, so loud he didn't hear the alligator rocketing out of the water until it was on him, snapping its jaws like a set of wind-up walking teeth.

He dodged the best he could, but as his Dear old Dad would say, he “Weren't no spring chicken, no more.” The gator got ahold of his boot at the tip and tore it away. It shook its head violently, sending that Doctor Scholls insert soaring. Rolling away as if he were a bowling ball, Earl's brain sizzled as it calculated the next step to keep him from becoming the gator shit.

The first thing that came to mind was punching the thing right square in the nose, which wasn't as good a thought as you'd think. An alligator's mouth has the biting capacity to crush a man's skull, not to mention hand, and if he missed his mark by even an inch, he'd be feeling plumb awful. Its eyes studied him with a coldness usually reserved for murderers and children. Earl didn't like that too much, with the speed of a cat he poked that bleak orb dead center. The gator's response was to close the affected eye, hiss, turn tail, and slide back into the water, which was a great relief to Earl.

“Good golly, miss Molly,” he said, reaching for the vape he usually kept in his shirt's pocket. It was gone. He would have scanned the ground for it but figured it wasn't worth the hassle. He'd dispose of the body, being extra careful this time, then pick up a new vape at the gas station on the way home.

Using his heel, he pushed the corpse rolling it over. He hoped that would be the end of it. It would fall into the water and sink or the gator would come back and snag it. Either scenario would’ve been fine with him. Instead, it rolled once and stopped. A vast chasm of grotesqueness greeted him. Various shades of reds, blues, and purples hung in jagged pieces. They reminded him of cookie cutter shapes. Blood thicker than molasses oozed onto the earth, and a stray chunk of bone shifted, revealing another layer to the mound of meat. The tongue lolled out like a gigantic gray worm. How it hadn't been blasted off along with everything else was beyond him.

“Sorry, old buddy,” he said as he gave him another push, this time being sure to use enough force. It landed in the water like a constipated turd, floated on the surface for what seemed to be a preposterously long time then sank. The gator's tail swiveled as it swam to observe what had invaded its waters.

"Well, shit," he said, hands on his hips as he watched bubbles spring forth along the water's surface. “Forgot the boots.”

He gave himself a brief once over to make sure the gator hadn't snagged him in some unseen way. It would really suck if he was bleeding out and passed out on the way back. All appeared to be in order, there were ten fingers, ten toes, and no new holes, so he turned and headed for the car.

~~~

Earl had heard it was easy to get turned around in the swamp, especially at night, but this was ridiculous. He could see the truck's lights, ergo, if he followed them, he would make it there. That was the problem, he’d been following the lights for a solid thirty-seven minutes--he had checked his watch--and still hadn’t gotten there. In fact, it seemed that every time he glanced up, they were the same distance away. If the night continued this way, he’d be watching the sunrise before long.

Laughter erupted around him, causing him to stop dead in his tracks with his sphincter tighter than a hangman’s noose. It chilled him to the bones. What was going on? Some teenagers, playing a prank? No, the laughter was strange with a primal undercurrent to its tone. It was as if something was imitating laughter with the knowledge that it would unsettle him.

He had already been moving pretty fast but now he was running, which wasn't the smartest of ideas in the swamp. There were too many tree roots to trip over, too many venomous snakes, and most assuredly, too many what-the-fuck-ever was pursuing him.

A shadowy figure lurched from behind a tree a hundred feet or so in front of him. He skidded to a stop. Holding his hands out in a don't mess with me, I know karate gesture, Earl said, “Whoever you are, you'll be entering a whole world of hurt if you take one fucking step. You hear?”

Though he had taken karate lessons, that had been before he had gained the ability to grow his trademark mustache and sideburn combo, and he had forgotten the few things he had learned. They didn't know that, so he stood his ground, hoping the threat would keep them at bay.

“Aww, c'mon, buddy, is that any way to talk to an old friend?”

There was something strikingly familiar about the voice. He tried to put a face to it, but couldn't. It wasn't until they took another step and the moonlight hit them that he recognized who it was, which was quite the shock, on account of them being dead for nearly ten years.

“Charley?” Earl said, gulping down the fear that constricted his throat.

Charley nodded.

Earl’s skin was a waterlogged mess of bloat, and when he moved even an inch, there was a squishing sound similar to a shoe with a hole in it that's been caught in a bad storm. When he smiled, there were barely enough teeth to call it that. “Been a while, buddy. Was wonderin' when you'd be comin' back for a visit... Get's a mighty lonely out here, it does.”

Charley was the reason Earl thought to bring Jake out here. He had disposed of his body after that accidental overdose, and to be honest about it, had pretty much forgotten about the creep until the dead man was standing in front of him. The dead man took a step towards him and Earl leapt back.

“You stay the hell away from me, you sum-bitch!”

The roadrunner itself couldn’t have caught up with Earl. He made a mad dash back the way he’d come, hoping he could make it to the car before he shit his tighty-whities. The more he moved, the more it seemed that wasn’t going to be happening. That was more than likely due to the face that popped out from each tree he passed. It was the same face, he was sure of that. Charley’s face. He was being fucked with.

Out of breath, he skidded to a stop.

It was tough to talk, but he did his best. “This… Ain’t… Funny…” A laugh echoed through the swamp. It seems to be coming from all directions at once. “Goddammit, what is it you want, Charley?”

Two hands sprung out of the ground at his feet and grabbed him by the ankles. Earl let loose a shriek that would’ve rivaled any ‘80’s scream queen. The ground loosened as his legs were pulled under. He clawed at the earth, trying to find purchase, but it was too soft. He tried digging in deeper, but that only led to broken nails that dangled off bloodied skin.

“Oh, Lord, please help me! I may be a lowly sinner, but I don’t deserve this!”

Once he was waist deep, the hands that gripped him stopped dragging him down. He could feel movement in front of him. Whoever, or whatever it was, was clawing their way up and out. A troll-like face erupted from the dirt. It was about an inch from his crotch, which was bad for it, considering he’d just pissed himself. It licked its lips and winked as though it could read his thoughts.

“Tasty syrup you got there, m’boy. Sweet as can be. I wonder if your blood will be even sweeter.”

“Pukwudgie?”

If asked, Earl could not explain how the realization came to him. It was almost like the creature itself had telepathically planted the thought in his head. He hadn’t heard about the creature since he was a runt stealing beers from his Daddy’s cooler in the garage. He remembered the day he was caught as though it had only happened last week: He tiptoed down the dark steps, foregoing the light so he would not be caught. He was young; his eyes adjusted to darkness well enough. As he lifted the plastic top to retrieve a can of hoppy goodness, a voice boomed “You shouldn’t steal, boy. The Pukwudgie’ll find out, and those things don’t take kindly to thieves.”

Earl ran up those steps two at a time. He didn’t stop running until he dove into bed and under the covers. Of course, he’d never thought about The Pukwudgie since then, but he assumed if it punished someone for the meager act of stealing, then surely it would make a murderer suffer.

Earl closed his eyes and silently prayed.

A hand touched the side of his face. It was as soft as silk and smelled of shea butter and coconut. “It’s okay, silly,” Janice said in her raspy smoker's voice. Hell, he could smell the menthol. “You're having a bad dream, that’s all.”

He opened his eyes to find her face staring into his. They were in bed. There was a full bottle of whiskey and half a pack of Marlboro’s on the nightstand. She ran her fingers through his thinning hair, then tugged his wispy beard. She opened her mouth for a kiss. He wouldn’t, no, couldn’t keep her waiting. They swapped spit as though the trailer was on fire and they were trying to put out the flames.

The snake entered Earl’s mouth and plunged down his throat. The pressure felt akin to puking in reverse. Earl broke free from the hallucination and grabbed its body before it could slither any further. It was choking him though, and he swore he could feel its tongue flicking the inside of his belly. If it traveled any further, it would be well on its way out the other end, assuming it didn’t take up residence in his bowels.

Earl yanked hard. Its scales dug into the palms of his hands and his esophagus. They were as sharp as razor wire and planted themselves securely. It wasn’t going anywhere if it didn’t want to, and what it wanted was to continue down his throat, so it did. His stomach swelled until he looked eight months pregnant. With his throat clear, he could finally scream, and scream he did.

A childish giggling got his eyes to divert from his distended gut. It was the troll thing that had sprung out of the ground. It stood about three feet from him, clapping its hands in glee. The sick monster was getting quite a kick out of the whole situation.

“You—” Whatever Earl was about to say was abruptly ended by the worst pain he’d ever endured. Glancing down, he was greeted by the sight of a forked tongue flicking the air. It appeared that the snake was attempting to bore its way out of his stomach via Earl’s belly button. He wanted to look away, yet couldn’t. Pure terror had taken hold of him, and it kept his eyes glued to the horror that was unfolding. Flesh peeled back, and a head emerged. It was not the head of the snake. This was the head of the thing that was laughing at him, the Pukwudgie. The hairs dotting the sides of its head were thick as straw and tickled his insides uncomfortably. It split the seam that ran up to his chest, then erupted from the hole, his organs following its example spilled out at his feet. It shook loose bodily fluids as Earl’s vision faded, then winked at him once more before death carried him away.


About the Story:
The seed for this story came to me while researching cryptids for a podcast I was going to do with some friends. I read up on the Pukwudgie and thought it was a pretty cool creature, but didn’t know what to do with it. I started writing a story about a guy accidentally murdering his friend. Right around the moment the alligator attacked, I knew where the story should go, and that brought in the Pukwudgie. Thank you Carnage House for giving this tale a home!