Rickets

I will preface this story by saying that I probably deserve the torment I have endured over the last year. I am not a perfect person and the mistakes I have made throughout my life have hurt those I care about most. The truth of the matter is, I am an alcoholic, and living with those behaviors is what led to this. I have lied, I have manipulated, I have stolen, and I have misused the trust of people that care about me most. For those I have wronged, I hope that this can also be a way of repentance. Those I have not, I hope it can be a warning.
It was late May 2022. I cannot remember the exact day because that would require me to be in a sober state of mind for more than one day at a time. I am assuming because, on my night drives, several teenagers were cruising the roads. This meant summer was upon us and when you live in the middle of nowhere in lower Alabama there is very little to do other than ride around or congregate in the parking lot of the local Wal-Mart. It was annoying. Their happy banter and joyous laughter only reminded me of my age.
The sun had long since hidden behind the horizon and the air was unbearably humid so I had the A/C cranked to max in my little Chevy S-10 but kept the windows down so I could still serenade people with my dashboard karaoke between sips. It had to be a Saturday because I had worked the day before and had started drinking at 8 AM. It would be hard for me to prove to anyone I was sober. I was truly lucky I had never been pulled over for DUI or killed anyone while swerving through the various areas I would travel on my escapades.
I am 37 and with two failed marriages, children I rarely spend time with, and the fact I am stuck living in this repetitive cycle of self-destruction, I truly feel as though I have failed at life. Country artist Luke Combs comes over the radio and I sing along with "Beer Never Broke My Heart". By all accounts, alcohol has always been there for me but the truth of the matter is it has caused me more pain than anything. I was driving intoxicated, screaming the words to the song, and wiping tears from my eyes that night when it happened.
The lights of the town had disappeared, which meant I could take another gulp of the whiskey I had poured into the sealed container I hoped no one would notice. Never mind the fact that anyone who approached my vehicle would have no problem smelling it all over me. The tires of my truck cracked across gravel and dirt as I found a secluded backroad to hide away my shame for a while. My headlights danced between two deep ruts on each side of the very narrow pathway. The trees stacked tight adjacent to them, the boughs hanging low almost as if they were warning me to turn back. I could hear the branches scratch at the paint on the roof of my vehicle as they tried their best to slow me down. I was unphased.
My glazed eyes scanned the tree line in hopes of finding somewhere to pull off and finish my one-man party. A mile turned into two and the wood around me seem to get thicker. Soon the canopy covering this private road had blotted out the moon. I had absolutely no idea where I was and in my state truly did not care. My speed had increased far higher than anyone should ever go on such a narrow pathway and when the sudden curve arrived I panicked. Discarded cigarette packaging, trash, and my cup went hurtling through the air as I drunkenly shoved my foot onto the brake pedal and jerked the wheel to the right.
The tires grasped at the road for purchase but found only loose red clay that had been turned to sand in the Alabama sun. I expected to land with a thud in the ditch to my left but instead, a clearing appeared on that side. I thought I was saved. My now sobering sight then fell on the small wooden cross that had been driven into the ground at the base of a large oak tree before my truck crumpled against both of them. Those last few milliseconds came slowly. I can remember them as vividly as any childhood memory. It was red clay, grass, a small wooden cross, and a tree. The grass had overgrown a bit but I could still make out the reds, yellows, and pinks of flowers growing around the cross. Most importantly, I remember the name carved into the cross.
Now I have had my share of hangovers. None were what I would consider pleasant experiences but when my eyelids fought their way open the next morning I was truly in another realm of pain. Bright light permeated the room and when I tried to raise my hand to shield them I noticed I could not. I was handcuffed to a hospital bed. My body ached in places I did not know it could and there was this terrible ringing in my head. A nurse entered shortly after, turning down the lights and explaining where I was and why. The crash had fractured my left foot, a few ribs, broken my right wrist, and separated a few discs in my back. Needless to say, even without the cuffs, I was not going anywhere anytime soon.
I was charged with driving intoxicated, reckless endangerment, and destruction of private property. The judge admitted they would have tacked on more charges if they could prove I had driven through populated areas in my condition. They wanted me to spend time in jail but considering my recovery and physical therapy would have been confined to the hospital for the next few months I was simply ordered a year probation after my release. I know some stories like this skip forward a bit and you are probably expecting me to pick up after I was home but the trouble started the day after my video-call hearing.
I had no visitors. My behavior had alienated me from most of my friends and I had used up my favor with my family. My parents had bailed me out of so many bad situations and given me so much money over the years they could not stand seeing me. They were sure I would be right back to the bottle and subsequently in jail before the year was up. So, I was very shocked when a nurse pushed open my door and entered with a large wicker basket full of flowers. She placed it neatly on the rollaway dining tray and adjusted the bouquet. I asked who they were from but she said that it did not say and that it had been left at the nurses station with simply a card that had my name scrawled across it. No one I knew would have done this and the basket seem a bit much.
The day was filled with pain, scanning through reruns on the television, and reliving the events of the crash. The doctor would come by periodically and the nurses a little more. They would give me a once-over and ask about my pain levels. The staff had been instructed not to give me anything stronger than I needed to manage it, which was not much. Despite the damage to my body, the ringing in my head was what bothered me most. Like a splinter wedging its way into my brain slowly. It was not until one of the nurses decided to open the curtains of my room and let sunlight splash across the room that a realization hit me as hard as the crash.
Those bright beams quickly splashed across the flowers in the basket. My eyes darted toward it to see red, yellow, and pink flowers dotted between grassy foliage. I felt a chill creep down my pained spine and a cold sweat began to bead along my forehead. I began to shake violently and the nurse scrambled to stabilize me while calling a code that echoed in my ears right before my vision blurred to black. The muffled sounds of footsteps rushing to my room echoed in my ears before they were replaced by a whisper from a strained and gravelly voice, "Rickets".
I did not wake up until the following day. The doctor tried to explain something about a concussion, stress, and possible withdrawal symptoms but none of it really sank in. My eyes were intent on the wicker basket. Visions of pulling myself from my wreck truck ticked by in my mind. Blood mixed with dirt as I clawed my way across the grass and came to rest by the little wooden cross and the bed of wildflowers. My hands pulled at the blossoms of color as I tried desperately to flee from the scene. When I could no longer move my eyes stopped on the cross again and as I gasped for breath I read the name that had been haphazardly carved into the grain, all capital letters, and with a dull blade - "RICKY".
My next few months were a nightmare. I struggled to do the simplest of things and even when I was finally able to walk I stumbled through every motion but as soon as I could I made my way across the room. Quaking hands reached for the basket. I am not sure if it was out of fear or just another symptom of withdrawal. It was handmade and worn as if it had been weathered by time. Some people would say it was chosen for its character. I knew better. The flowers had faded by this time and the nurse had asked repeatedly to throw it out. I refused. My fingers clasped at the card tucked between the dying foliage. My name had been printed just as the sign had been. Large dark strokes as if done by a knife instead of a pen and strangely more crimson in hue than anyone would expect from a handwritten token.
When a nurse came to check on me later I was back in bed, holding the card in my hand, and my thumb slowly passed back and forth across the textured ripples in the paper. Her voice clapped away as she chatted about her day, her boyfriend, and how ready she was for the day to be over. I think they were trying to give me some sense of normalcy. They did not know what I was slowly learning. I could not wake up without the ringing in my head. I could not sleep without the whispers and as the days passed the vision in my head became clearer. My pupils vibrated furiously as I stared at the basket. Then one day a nurse came closer asking me a question I did not hear at first.
She repeated herself, "What did you say?"
My dry lips parted again, "R-r-rickets..."
That night I had a fitful sleep. It was already difficult for me to sleep in the hospital, then the pain made it impossible to adjust myself to a comfortable position, and finally, the nightmares started. It was always the same. I was walking through a field of uncut grass and weeds. It was warm and there was a breeze. The night sky was clear and the moon gave plenty of light as I approached a tree, the tree. The cross was gone but in its place sat a boy. His back was to me now but I could see his clothing was tattered and he wore no shoes. His feet were almost black from walking through the dirt and he hunched over with his face in his hands.
A rational me would have turned away but I slowly stepped toward the sobbing child. The closer I came the more I could see. His skin was drawn tight and wrinkled in places and his legs bent in strange ways. The hands cupped over his face seemed small at first but then I realized that it was, in fact, his head that was a size larger than it should be and oddly shaped. The small tufts of hair that managed to cling to his scalp were scattered about between big patches of wrinkling bald scalp. My foolish subconscious mind bent at the waist and reached out to place a hand on the boy's shoulder. As my palm rested on the worn cloth the child's face turned to me with a snap.
"Rickets," he cursed as I could now see his eyes. Obsidian-like orbs rested in fleshy sockets and ominous grey-white light danced in them like faeries. The nose was slim and crooked at the bridge but the nostrils were wide in a cartoonish manner as reems of snot dribbled from below. The words repeated again and again from an unreasonably wide smile with cracked and peeling lips. The teeth that sat within were turned in unnatural ways to where they overlapped each other and were seemingly held in place by the mats of grime that clung to them which forced the gums to pull back away from them in fear. A slimy tongue licked at the gathering drippings from its nose between speaking.
The boy slowly rose from his seat and I began backing away. His hands began clawing at the hair that remained on his head and pulled large clumps away until he was almost completely bald. He just kept chanting, "Rickets," as he followed me. Trampling through the make-shift grave that had appeared below the two of us. My lips quivered in horror as I attempted to scream but nothing escaped my throat. The boy, no this creature then started pulling at his clothing and ripping the fabric. Within a few moments he was naked in front of me and I could see how deformed he truly was. His upper half was wide and his arms drooped far lower than they should or it appeared that way because his legs bowed outward in a very grotesque manner. Once his entire form was visible to me began to laugh maniacally and claw at his own genitalia.
My mind could not fathom the monstrous sight I was witnessing and my backward steps picked up in pace. My body shook violently as if I had been plunged into the deepest of cold. I wanted to run. I wanted to go anywhere but here. I wanted to never see this thing again so I turned and when I thought I could be free my body gave way under me. The scars and pains from the accident fell upon me in an instant and I crumpled to the ground. My battered fingers clawed at the grass again in an attempt to pull myself away but it was no use. Rickets was faster now. Within seconds the ghoul was upon me like a rabid monkey, his hands grabbing at me in various places. Fingers pressed against my cheeks, poking at my eye, and when he began to fondle me in places below the waist I was finally able to scream. I woke in my bed, gasping for breath, and the gown and hospital sheets were soaked in my fear-laden sweat.
At this point in my story, I would like to say that the nursing staff was amazing. Somehow they were able to help me out of my bed, change my sheets, and replace my gown between my quivering, nervous twitches, and jerking sobs. I can honestly say I have not cried like that since I was a child. I felt like someone had reached down deep into places I had buried under copious amounts of alcohol and drug from the depths of despair that only a few knew of. I wanted to die. The first two nights afterward I attempted to cut into my wrists with parts of the hospital bed. I did not want to exist in this pain anymore. I was quickly put on suicide watch and it took a week for me to calm down to a point the psychiatrist on staff felt I was safe to be in a regular room. I was still monitored closely but I did not need to be completely restrained.
Despite the original request to limit my medication the staff of the hospital petitioned the court to allow me to have antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication. This cocktail allowed me to remain calm during the day despite the cloudy haze it also placed in my brain. It was a welcome reprieve at first because I was finally able to relax and sleep. Two nights. Two nights are what I was given. Then the nightmare returned and within the cloud of medication was far more vivid. The humid air was thick enough to taste. I could smell the flowers and grass. The warm breeze on my face would have been nice if I did not already know what would come next. The fear it incited was unlike anything I have ever known. Even as a child I never lost control of my bladder but that first week the orderly had to replace my sheets almost every night.
I could see that drooling face every time I closed my eyes. I could feel those dirty hands on my body in every quiet moment when my mind would not stay silent. "Rickets, Rickets, RICKETS," it repeated in my head. Louder and louder. Even the day I was discharged from the hospital I could not even focus on the information the nurse was trying to give me but I was glad to have another voice in the room. I had to lie to the staff about having someone to pick me up. I was placed in a wheelchair and guided out the front door. I thanked them and assured them someone was on the way. I pulled out my now cracked cell phone and scrolled down to find my parent's number. My thumb hovered over the call button for what seemed like forever before I shoved my phone back into my pocket. I knew they would not trust me and more importantly could never believe what I was experiencing. I could barely believe it and it was happening to me.
Part of my conditions of probation required me to attend Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. The local meeting was held in a building a couple of miles away so I just started walking. It would be hours before the meeting started but I had little else to do. I arrived an hour early and there happened to be picnic tables outside so I took a seat. I had always thought AA meetings were held in churches and the like but the place seemed to be some sort of municipal building. A few people walked by and the road was not far from the structure so it was not what I would consider quiet. The problem I faced was the tables were positioned right under a large tree. Normally, this would mean a nice shady spot to rest. For me, it was a reminder. Every shuffling of the leaves overhead was like a warning signal in my head, "Rickets". I kept peering over my shoulder at the base of the tree and something in me expected a disturbing creature to peer around the trunk.
I was preoccupied with the whispers and imagining the horrors that could occur when a heavy hand clapped down on my shoulder. I would be lying if I said I did not completely jump out of my ripped jeans but relief washed over me as a large bearded man began to apologize profusely for scaring me. My nerves were on edge anyway but as soon as I reached a moderate level of calm I was able to hear his apology. I tried to assure him that I was fine and I had just been lost in thought. He chuckled a bit and asked if I was here for the meeting. I reluctantly confirmed and he smiled before inviting me to come on in before pulling out a set of keys and opening a door on the side of the building.
Earl, not his real name, by the way, would make you think lumberjack or trucker. He was six foot, probably 250 lbs, and a plaid shirt, and boots that make you think "blue collar". I am not the smallest guy around but I would not want to get into a bar fight with Earl. That being said, he was a teddy bear. He had an infectious laugh, was kind, and was able to calm my unease about the situation within minutes. To this day I appreciate Earl, even if he does not completely believe my story. He asked me if I would not mind making the coffee while pointing to the station where the supplies rested. I nodded and headed over while he began pulling books out of a cabinet. A few others filtered in of various looks and backgrounds as Earl handed out books and a sheet of paper. As I finished preparing the coffee and took a cup for myself I found myself taking note of the fact that this group of people just did not fit together. As I came to learn, those rooms are where the differences fall away. You learn how alike we all are in the ways that truly matter.
The meeting started with people reading from the sheet of paper, affirming their beliefs. Then they opened what they called, "The Big Book" and read passages that surprisingly touched places I had experienced over and over again. Then each of them took turns sharing things that had happened to them that day and discussing how everyone felt about it. Stories and advice circled the table. I knew these stories. These were my stories but told by other people. Eventually, the moment I had been dreading arrived. Earl asked if I would like to share and everyone turned their eyes to me. I was unsure and when I started my voice cracked but I was able to state my name and that I was an alcoholic. Soon the details of the last ten years fell out of me like a faucet and before I knew it I was in tears discussing the crash.
No one was hurtful, gave false pity, or laughed at me. I stopped talking and I received applause and my tears choked in my throat as it turned into a laugh. I thanked them for their support before Earl asked if there was anything else I felt I needed to share now that I knew I was safe to do so. I shook my head at first but then just remarked on how I wished the nightmares would stop. Some people understood, some reassured me, and others had questions but I was not ready to drop the bomb of what I had been experiencing. I did not even want to share the details of the dream itself. It sounded crazy to me and I knew it would to anyone else. Someone handed me a tissue and as I blew my nose I cursed under my breath, "Fucking Rickets". The scrawny old man to my left shifted his eyes to me and asked me to repeat myself. I shook my head and told him it was nothing.
After the meeting, I helped clean up as everyone talked. Earl thanked me for the assistance and walked with me out the door. He thanked me for coming and told me he hoped I would come back again. I went to shake his hand and without warning he pulled me in for a hug. It was uncomfortable at first but I realized it was the first hug I had received since I was maybe twelve or thirteen. He patted me on the back and just said, "It's ok brother." I honestly did not know what to say. For the first time in a long time, I thought I just might be. Then Earl made his way to his lifted Ford F-150 and drove away. The fact that I still had nowhere to stay for the night had not sunk in yet. Then the old man from before lit a cigarette and drew my attention to the tree again. He was leaning against it in the dark and waiting on me.
"So," he said as he began his approach, "Rickets?"
The word sent a chill down my spine as my eyes focused on the dim light under the tree. He was probably my height but he was slightly hunched over to seem shorter. The hair that draped in a horseshoe around a patch of bald was turning white. His face was wrinkled and worn from his years. I never asked but I would have guessed he was in his late 60's or early 70's. The shirt he wore had originally been white but was so stained it was more of a tan hue and his jeans showed evidence of him being a farm hand. He took a long drag as I weighed his question and scanned the area to see if anyone else was listening. I laughed nervously as he offered me a cigarette. I took his gift and borrowed his lighter.
Through my puff of smoke, I answered, "Yeah, Rickets."
So, I started giving the real story behind my crash and the nightmares I have been having. Surprisingly the old man did not even blink. In my mind, he either thought I was completely crazy and was just enjoying the story or he had heard this all before. At the time I did not know which of those two would be worse. I shuffled back and forth while taking rapid drags from the cigarette the entire time I tried to fight my way through the tale. I just kept repeating the mantra in my head, "Don't lose your shit." The old man had already finished his smoke, crushing it under his boot then I did the same as I finished recounting all the events that lead me to this point.
And without skipping a beat he replied, "Damn."
I sighed, "Yeah..."
He looked around and noticed that his truck was the only one left in the parking lot and asked if I had somewhere to go. I knew it would be hard to come up with a lie he would believe. He honestly had a no-bullshit air about him. So, instead of trying I just told him the truth. He pointed to the truck and told me to come along. A normal person would refuse. A person who had not been through everything I had been through would have said no. I had no options so after a few minutes I was riding shotgun with a man I had just met a couple hours prior and headed to a location unknown. Hal, not his real name either, assured me that he lived in a single-wide trailer right outside the city limits, and though he did not have a spare bedroom I could use his couch as long as I needed. The only caveat? He did not like liars or thieves. So, I promised I would be honest and that my days of taking things that did not belong to me were behind me. At the time, even I believed that myself. I just had no idea what awaited me in the weeks to come. No one could have.
Hal was right. He had a couch and not a lot else as far as material things. He was a simple man and did not require much. Cabinets with no doors were stocked to the brim with canned goods though and he had an affinity for Coca-Cola. I counted at least three 24-count cases of soda as I peered into the kitchen. There was a tv, a side table with a lamp, a couch, and a coffee table with an overflowing ash tray on it. The news blared as he turned on the screen and he quickly changed the channel to a show about fishing.
"Hate the news, always so negative," he scoffed.
I plopped down on one end of the couch and he took the other. I was sure he would start questioning me as soon as it got quiet but he could tell I was not ready for that. We watched tv quietly, smoked a few cigarettes, and he even often me a ham sandwich at one point. We ate in silence and eventually, I fell asleep sitting on my side of the couch and Hal turned off the television before heading to bed. I slept, for a time, in peace. The nightmares began but I had not taken my medication for the day and I was able to shake myself awake for the first time since the horrors began.
"Mornin' Sunshine," Hal said as he sat a fresh cup of coffee on the table in front of the couch.
My eyes shot open and shifted side-to-side. It took a few seconds for me to remember where I was. Stale cigarette smoke hung in the air and mixed with the warm scent of the brew before me. I nodded in response to Hal before picking up the mug. I pressed it to my lips and sipped vigorously despite the temperature of the liquid. In my younger years, I had always used plenty of sugar and creamer but something about that bitter taste satisfied a craving. I knew what my body wanted even though it had been months. A deep sigh escaped my lips after downing most of the cup. There were so many things going through my mind. I had to see about a job, a place to stay, and beyond all that I would need to figure out what was going on in my head.
Hal broke the silence, "Do you know what rickets are?"
The word shook my train of thought, "W-what?"
"Rickets," he repeated, "do you know what the word means?"
"Oh," I paused for a moment to think, "it's some sort of bone disease right?"
The old man nodded as he clarified that it was a condition that had been witnessed in children for a long time. He had only known a couple of people who had ever had it. Apparently, by 1945 the condition had all been eliminated. Those who still suffered from it after modern medicine were those who simply could not afford proper medical care. I pulled out my phone and did a quick search. Hal scoffed at my technology but as I pulled up a black-and-white image of some examples he nodded again to affirm that was what it was like at one time. I scrolled through several images. I found some similarities to what I had dreamt but nothing as grotesque. He watched me for a few minutes, his hands turning over on themselves. His fingers rubbed at his palms and it soon drew my attention. Hal was watching me intently, his eyes glassy as if he were fighting back tears and his lip quivered.
I shoved my phone back in my pocket, "You ok?"
Without blinking he responded, "No and neither are you, boy."
It was like a stone dropped from my throat to my stomach. I felt sick suddenly. Hal had not seemed dangerous but the way he said that was ominous. My foot began to tap at the floor as the silence lingered. Dread filled the room as I waited for more but Hal just sat contemplating. I slowly placed the cup on the table and rose to my feet. I started mumbling about how I should be going and thanking him for letting me crash on his couch. The old man stood slowly almost in time with me and his eyes stayed locked on me. My heart was a drum in my chest as I noticed that tears were streaking between the wrinkles on Hal's face. I backed toward the door and he followed and began shaking his head.
"I'm sorry," his worn lips shook out the words.
My hands fumbled for the doorknob, "For what?"
"I can't let you go, boy," he replied in almost a sob.
My vision began to blur and the room began to spin, "W-hat...why?"
"I can't let him get me again," he said weakly as he revealed a rope from beside the couch and my world went black.
In the darkness of my mind, it formed a world around me. I could smell fresh wood and dirt. The ominous whispers echoed in my ears, "Rickets, Rickets, RICKETS." My hands shifted about in my blindness to feel that I was in a wooden box just big enough for my body to lie in. I opened my mouth to yell but nothing came. I could feel warm salty specks roll down my cheeks as I began to hear the clumps of dirt being dropped on my makeshift grave. I wanted out. I wanted to go home. I missed my family. I missed my friends. I was so sorry for all the things I had done. I begged God to save me. I promised I would never go back to the way I was. I pleaded the way all of us do when we are so close to death. We scream we claw, we beg, and we fight to survive. The thin strands of white light began to push through the lid of my coffin. Rustling of dirt could be heard from above. A feeling of relief washed over me. I was saved. Wood splintered as the lid was removed and I almost lept out of the hole. Above me was the creature. Its eyes of coal peered down at me for a moment as it licked its lips. I curled back into my box and shook my head violently in protest before the goblin dove onto me screaming, "RICKETS!"
I jerked awake and almost overturned the chair I was now tied to. It took a few moments for me to collect myself but it was apparent I was still in Hal's trailer, just in another room. There were piles of discarded trash, old newspapers, and boxes of assorted memories along the walls. There was a small bed tucked to one side and a nightstand with a lamp. Despite the windows had been covered with newspaper, I saw no light permeating the pages. I had been unconscious for a long time. The sound of me rustling drew Hal back to the room. The old man shuffled passed me as I tried to call out for help but there was an old rag wrapped around my mouth. He stopped by the lamp and a click was heard before the amber light painted the room. I cried and pleaded while recounting my trip here. We were outside of town. I had not seen any neighbors. The last house was at least a mile away. No one could hear me.
I did not want to die. So many things filtered through my mind. I tried to find a solution to my plight by searching the room again. I screamed as my tears formed a repeated wash over my face. My body quaked in terror as warmth erupted in my pants. My bladder emptied onto the matted brown carpet of the room. A resounding phrase in the back of my mind built a crescendo, "rickets...Rickets...RICKETS." Hal stepped back to the doorway and revealed another chair from his kitchen table. He placed it a few feet in front of me before taking a seat. There was a pain in his eyes as he reached back to a box and revealed a bottle of whiskey. Removing the cap he simply dropped it to the floor before turning the bottle up for a long swig. His free hand reached back to the waistband of his worn blue jeans and returned with a revolver. Cold washed over my body and sweat poured down my back. I begged for my life behind the gag as my eyes focused on the silvery glint of the weapon.
"We were just kids," Hal sobbed as he took another drink.
The old man tapped the barrel of the gun on his knee as he continued to drink and cry. His eyes were gripped tight as he relived a memory. Hal's pained voice began to recount it as he experienced it all again. Three boys are on their way back from fishing at the creek. They talked baseball as they whipped rocks into the tall grass to their side. They were headed to their favorite spot by the large tree. One suggested a race. Dust kicked up as they made their way to the tree. When they arrived they noticed someone sitting in the shade. Ricky Sorrells was from a poor family. His mother worked in the fields to help keep them alive while his father spent his money on liquor. Ricky spent most of his time away because his father tended to get violent. The evidence was all over his body. His father hated having a deformed monster of a son. Ricky had been born with rickets and they were too poor for treatment. Everyone in town knew about the Sorrells and their oddity of a son but most just avoided them. The children had always mocked Ricky, so he kept to himself.
"It was our spot, he knew we did not like him being there," the old man said as if trying to validate what came next.
My fear was replaced with sickness as I listened to Hal recount how the three boys tossed rocks at Ricky until he was crumpled into a ball. Then they kicked and spat on him before tearing out his hair. Hal had told the other two that it was enough and as they argued over it a rusty old Chevy rambled down the road toward them. The boys dove into the grass to hide as the vehicle came to a stop. Ricky's father stumbled drunkenly out of the driver's side and walked to the tree. He stopped over his son and stared at the damage that had been done before checking his surroundings. He muttered, "Probably deserved it," before kicking him as well. Ricky begged for his father's help as he tried to get up. A large boot stomped into Ricky's groin to push him back to the ground. Then another and another. His father finished off his bottle before breaking it over Ricky's head. The boys watched in horror as the drunken man pulled down his zipper and began urinating on the near-lifeless body of his son. Then just as he came, the man returned to his car and continued down the road. The boys exited their hiding places and ran back to town. They had all swore to secrecy and Hal had not spoken a word of the event until this very moment.
"I don't know what happened after or how he came back but he is here and I know he is angry," the old man said as he finally looked at me, "And you brought him here."
The barrel of the gun might as well have been inches in front of me with how large it appeared at that moment. The wrinkled finger took a place on the trigger and his thumb pulled back the hammer. I closed my eyes and prepared for what was next. In my mind, I said a prayer. I begged for forgiveness. I told the Lord that I wished I had time to right all my wrongs and to make things right with my family. So many thoughts swirled about like a tornado encased in my fear. There was nothing I could do but wait. Then there was a rustling and a crash. I winced as the shot fired then Hal began to scream. My eyes opened to witness the old man crumpled on the floor trying desperately to breathe as a deformed creature hovered over him. It clawed and bit at the old man who was clawing and trying to reach the weapon. It was no use, Rickets was too strong and Hal was old.
I began shuffling backward in the chair. I rocked and swayed as hard as I could until it finally toppled over with me in it. By luck or God's grace the old wooden seat cracked and fell away from me. My eyes focused on the scuffle in front of me while pulling at my restraints. Once I was free I staggered to my feet. Rickets stopped to peer at me as he clasped a gnarled hand over Hal's face, "RICKETS." I pulled the old rag from my face and wiped the tears from my eyes. My steps were slow and deliberate. I held my hands out as if indicating I was not a threat to the thing that now stood in the room. I knelt even slower to retrieve the revolver but the ghoul did not attempt to stop me. It only pointed toward Hal and began repeating that familiar phrase, "Rickets, Rickets, RICKETS."
I slowly approached, "Rickets, is that what you all called him?"
Hal simply shook in terror, eyes wide but Rickets nodded to affirm my question. My stomach turned looking down at the old man. In that moment I knew I had been wrong about who the monster truly was. My hand shook as I raised the revolver and my index finger applied pressure to the trigger. With a crack, the room fell silent and Rickets was gone. Hal lay lifeless on the floor and I brushed at my cheeks again. I pushed the gun into my waistband before stepping over Ha'ls body. I rifled through his pockets and got the keys to his truck before shutting the door to the bedroom. A few lit matches later I stepped off the porch and climbed into the truck. The trailer caught fire quickly and was out of control long before anyone noticed. I made sure to be far away from the site before the authorities arrived. I could not risk getting caught while still on probation. Before long I stopped at the entrance to a dirt and gravel road. I looked up at the sign that read, "Old Indian Road." I turned in and headed for the tree.
I took the narrow pathway slowly. Everything looked different with a sober mind. The trees even seemed to bow back in the soft summer breeze as if beckoning me forward. The thick brush began to fall away on the left side of the road and I knew that the clearing would appear soon. The faded yellow headlights cast an eerie glow upon the tree but that is not what caught my attention first. A man crouched beside a newly erected wooden cross. He seemed to be placing flowers on the grave as I approached. He rose slowly and his head peered over his left shoulder. He was crooked over slightly and despite his baggy attire, I could tell he was frail. His skin was very dark but worn. His long braided hair was white but peppered with gray. As I focused on his eyes I could tell the white haze that rested over the pupils. I stopped short of the man and parked the truck. I eased my way off the seat but even a blind man would have heard my approach. He turned to face me, resting his hands on a hand-carved walking stick. Feathers had been braided into his locks and his garb was adorned with several colorful accents.
He nodded in a slight bow, "You come to pay your respects?"
My voice cracked as I spoke, "No...I mean yes. I did not know him though."
He gave a slight chuckle, "Oh, but you do."
My mouth fell open but my mind could not decide on the proper words to respond. The man shook his head slightly and turned away. He started into the brush and as I went to call out he disappeared behind the tall grass. Without thinking I darted forward. I swerved around the makeshift headstone and dove into the trees after the man. He knew something and I needed answers. I followed the trail of moving limbs and bushes. He was inhumanly quick for an old man and before I knew it I had lost track of him. I jutted back and forth between trees until my foot caught a loose root and stumbled forward. I cursed at my luck and grabbed at my knee which had landed on a fallen branch before noticing I was now in a clearing. I rolled to my knees and my eyes automatically locked onto a fire flickering in the center and the man sitting beside it. I slowly rose to my feet and stepped forward. As I approached I noticed that all greenery faded away the closer I came. Soon I was standing on a circle of packed red clay.
The old man was seated on the ground and he gestured for me to take a seat across from him. I scanned our surroundings but it appeared we were alone. As I sat I noticed that he was silently chanting. The words made little sense to me but it was evident it was a Native American language. I tried to explain that I did not understand and suddenly the old man thrust forward a handful of dust. The particles scattered across the flame and it shifted into a strange hue of bluish-purple. The ashes pocked across my cheeks and I had to close my eyes abruptly. I rubbed at my face because I was sure some of the embers had entered my eyes. I cursed the old man as he started to laugh but when I opened my eyes he was gone. My eyes darted from side to side for a moment before his hand clasped down on my shoulder to startle me.
"You should be able to understand now," he said with a smirk.
I jerked away from his grasp, "What the hell was that?!?"
"Just a little help from the spirits," he replied before beckoning me to follow him.
Again, any sane person would not follow. Considering my track record so far I should have just gone back to the truck. The truth was, I still had no other options and I needed to know what was going on. So, I rose from the dirt and continued after the man. He stayed within eyesight this time as we pushed further into the trees. As the foliage thinned we approached a creek. I could only assume it was the same one from Hal's story. The old man stopped at the bank and lowered to cup some water into his hand. He raised it to the moon, gave a quick prayer, and then brought it to his lips. He turned to me and motioned toward the water. It was easy to guess what he intended so I gathered water as well and raised it to the sky. He repeated the words and I drank. I had no idea what I was doing or why but something told me I would not get answers if I did not go along with the ritual.
"Good, now he should leave you be for us to talk," he said sharply before taking a seat on a stump.
I turned to the old man, "You mean Rickets?"
He gave a quick huff in amusement, "That's just the name he chose from the boy. It comes from a place of the child's pain."
My brow furrowed in confusion, "Then who?"
"He has had many names, none of them matter. It's his purpose that matters," he said with a knowing nod.
The old Native American began weaving a tale of how he had been walking that trail many years ago when he happened upon a boy who was clinging to life. He tried all he could but there was little to be done. So, in the boy's final moments, he gave a small prayer and once Ricky was dead he buried the body. He knew the area well and what had probably happened. He also knew that little would be done considering the area. As night fell upon the area he gathered his things to depart but as he did so he could feel a cold take hold of what should have been a warm summer night. The trees began to whip violently as a wind that had not been there seconds ago took over the small patch of grass. A spirit shrouded in darkness descended on the grave and gathered there. It took the torment and pain of an innocent death and used it as fuel. The following day the boy's father was returning from work and saw the disturbed patch of dirt and flowers. In his mind, he knew what it was and decided to stop. Again, in a drunken anger, he kicked away the flowers and spat on the dirt.
"And that man was tormented until his death," the wise old man ended his story.
I turned it all in my mind before speaking, "What about me? I didn't mean to disturb anyone's grave."
"Not sure, maybe that's why you're alive or maybe you appeased it somehow," he shrugged, "but he's not done with you I'm sure."
The wind whipped up again, making the firelight dance even more. The sound caught my attention and my eyes looked up to the trees. The branches rattled above and I could have sworn they were chanting, "Rickets, Rickets, RICKETS." I needed more answers. I needed to know what to do. I did not want to die, especially not for a stupid mistake. Then the fire went out as if someone had flipped a switch and when I turned toward the stranger, he was gone. I spent the next hour searching the trees for him but he had left no sign. Eventually, I returned to the truck and plopped into the driver's seat in defeat. My face rested in my hands for a moment before I started pulling at my hair. This was insane and I had no idea what to do. I kept retelling the stories in my head. There had to be an answer to this. There had to be a way out. Then I looked over toward the wooden cross. The Indian hadn't mentioned a cross. Someone else had put that there, but who and why? Someone else knew the story and I had to find out. I started the truck and headed back to town.
The next morning I woke up to the sun peering through the windshield. I had decided to pull into a 24-hour gas station to sleep and luckily no one had bothered me. I only had one dream that night and it was of Hal's fear-filled eyes right before I pulled the trigger. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed to be the only answer as to why I was still alive. This spirit or whatever it was, wanted me to find these people and make them pay. I just did not know where to start looking. I mean, I had no idea when this happened. Judging by Hal's appearance it had to have been at least fifty years ago. There was no real way of knowing if those boys even still lived in the area. My train of thought was tossed from the tracks by the heavy grumble of a stomach that had not eaten in almost a day. I groaned because I knew I had no money and nowhere to go. Then I remembered that during my meeting Earl had given every newcomer a card with his phone number on it. I had just shoved it in my pocket, not expecting to use it but soon I was dialing the number.
I ditched the truck. I did not want to get caught driving a dead man's vehicle. Earl picked me up not long after and took me to the local Waffle House for breakfast. He generously paid as I explained my living situation. He said he could make a few calls about getting me in somewhere and maybe even a job. I thanked him profusely. Earl just smiled and told me not to worry about it because he had help when he was climbing back out of his hole too. He asked if I had heard about Hal but I pretended to know nothing. The police were ruling it as suicide but I knew better. Earl went into a lengthy conversation about how even those who had been sober for a long time still struggled with those feelings of hopelessness. Then he made me promise to call him before I did anything that extreme, so I did. The whole idea of lying to him made my stomach churn and I was sure I would be revisiting the breakfast I had just eaten. We talked for a while but I did not bring up Rickets. Eventually, someone called him back about a hotel room I could stay in temporarily so we loaded up and headed that way. I did not deserve his help but I was grateful.
As we arrived my first thought was that it was one of those places you paid by the hour, not the night. However, beggars could not be choosers so I feigned appreciation. Earl gave me one of those big hugs that seemed inappropriate to me and told me that he would be back to check on me the next day. As the door opened and there was not a crime scene waiting for me I counted myself lucky. The television only had three channels, the water was rust-colored, and the bed smelled of mildew but it would have to do. I instinctively tossed the bedding considering I had no idea what was on it and flopped on the mattress. I pulled out my phone and my finger hovered over the number for my parents again. I thought about the promise I made when I thought I was going to die. I wanted to keep it but at the same time, I just was not ready to hear their reply. Something in me said they just would not believe me. I tossed my phone on the bed and stared at the ceiling fan until my eyes finally were too heavy to keep open anymore.
My mind sifted through tall grass again before my feet came to rest at the base of a familiar tree. My quivering hand rested on the worn wood of a handmade cross. The wind whipped around me and forced the boughs of the tree above me to bend to its will. Again the sound mimicked a voice I knew but my eyes were intent on the grave. I had somehow cheated death and now death was all that surrounded me. From the cold dirt gnarled fingers began prying free. Rickets its way from the makeshift coffin and brushed away debris. Once again my feet shuffled backward into the tall grass away from the demon. It cried and wailed before bounding into the brush after me. I turned and ran but in my panic, I tripped over something below me. The air forced free from my chest as I woke to the sour smell of the motel room. My body jumped to the edge of the bed as my lungs begged for oxygen. It was morning and I was safe, for now. I rose from the mattress and peered out into the street. I had slept long and the sun was nearing noon. I needed to find answers.
It took some effort to pull the door open to the room. The humidity in the air had caused the old wood to swell. I groggily made my way to the office where we had checked in. I knew that there would be a pot of coffee waiting there. The college-aged guy behind the desk was intent on his phone, scrolling through some social media as I entered. I grasped hold of a small styrofoam cup and poured the dark liquid into it before exiting back into the light of day. As I walked back to the room I noticed that a newspaper had been abandoned on a bench nearby. I rested myself on the bench, taking a deep gulp of brew before grasping the paper. So much negativity in the news. I flipped through the pages but an image caught my attention. He was far younger in the image but I could not mistake Hal. His obituary told a story of a lonely man who had few living relatives. It was almost as if the ad had been placed to notify anyone who might care of his passing. The viewing was to be held that night and I wondered if I might find answers while attending. I made it a point to ask Earl about it when he arrived. There had to be a cure for my sickness.
When Earl arrived I presented him the newspaper. He simply nodded, noting he had seen it earlier that morning and had intended to ask me if I wanted to attend the service. I agreed which put a smile on the burly man's face. He said that Hal had not had many surviving relatives and that any friendly face at the service would be welcome. If only Earl knew that I was no friend to the recently deceased he would not have bothered to invite me. If I did not think that I could benefit from attending I would not have gone at all. Hal deserved to rot in Hell for what he had done. I just had an overwhelming need to find the other two boys who had been there that day. We had a quick lunch at a local burger joint and my new friend introduced me to a few business owners in the town. He had hoped some of them could use some help because he knew I would need a job. I lucked out when a small-town grocer had just placed a help wanted sign in the window. Stocking shelves for minimum wage would not be glamorous but it was a paycheck. If not for the curse that had befallen me I would have been well on my way to turning my life around. I had to feign excitement for Earl's sake when he promised to pick me up for my first shift the following day. I could not focus on tomorrow yet. That night was more important.
The white button-up shirt my new friend lent me was a couple of sizes too large but it looked better than the ratty T-shirt I had been wearing the last few days. Earl sported a suit that seemed to beg for help over his massive form. I fought to hold back my laughter as he informed me that it had been a few years since he had needed something formal. The two of us entered the small church a few minutes after the viewing had been scheduled to start. I had not expected a full house but I was truly shocked when most of the room was empty. The pastor stood near the casket speaking to two older men, a small group of women adjusted flowers nearby, and an elderly woman sat behind a piano to play a soft somber tune. If I had not known Hal's dirty secret I would have pitied the scene before me. Earl ushered me forward and we approached the pearl white box that held Hal's body. Earl shook the hand of the pastor and the two men before leaning over the recently deceased. I could hear whispered comments of sorrow between silent sobs. I felt bad for the burly bear of a man. He simply did not know Hal like I did.
One of the other men turned to me, "So how did you know Halford?"
My eyes shifted toward the voice and made a gesture as if taking a drink and the man seemed to understand. I asked the same and learned that he was a coworker of the recently deceased. I asked how long he had known Hal but it was only for a few years. The man then directed me to the other gentleman, who had returned to the first pew and was resting his face in his hands. I was told that Bill had been friends with Hal since childhood and was very upset with the news. I nodded in thanks and turned to talk with the other man. It was time for answers and hopefully, Bill would have them. The wooden seat beneath me creaked as I let my weight down upon it. Bill cut a gaze through his fingers in my direction, scanning my face for recognition. There was confusion there as he searched for words. He did not know me and I knew being blunt with mixed company could prove tricky. My hand clapped on Bill's back and I offered my condolences in a hushed tone. He offered thanks in return and asked how I knew his friend. I began telling the story of the crash and then attending the meetings. I explained that Hal had invited me to stay with him when he noticed I did not have somewhere to sleep. He nodded knowingly and commented that it was nice for me to show up even though I did not know his friend very long. I reassured Bill that I knew enough before passing him a small sliver of paper that I had prepared ahead of time.
Earl and I exited the church soon after and I gave Bill a final glance before pointing in his direction. We stepped out into the evening air and I told Earl that I wanted to walk since it was such a beautiful evening. He nodded and reminded me to get some rest before my first shift at the grocery store. I promised I would as he started his truck. With a wave, he was gone. I waited for the truck to be out of sight before I stepped back toward the church. I leaned against the structure patiently awaiting Bill. His reaction would be all that I needed. After a few minutes, the old man came scrambling through the doors as his eyes searched the area. I watched from the shadows as he descended the steps. His frail voice whispered into the night air the single word that I had written in scratched letters on the piece of paper. The same word that had haunted me over the last few months. The word that called for vengeance. I could see the light from the postlamp reflecting in the salty specks of Bill's cheeks. I stepped forth from the darkness and whispered the words in tandem with him, "Rickets, Rickets, RICKETS." The old man almost jumped out of his skin as he turned toward me. His eyes quickly focused on the shiny metallic object in my hand. His mouth began quivering and begging for mercy. I placed a finger over my lips to instruct him to be silent as I guided the man into the trees behind the church. This had to end.
Bill begged for his life for a while but when the gruesome figure emerged to lay claim to his life he knew it was useless. I asked about the third boy but cancer had already taken him a few years prior. Rickets appeared disappointed at this. Bill had been tending the flowers and replacing the headstone for years in an attempt to atone for his sins. The scales were not even however and Rickets pounced upon the screaming man. I watched for a time before I continued onward through the forest. As I approached a creek I tossed the revolver into the murky water and exited the trees opposite the church. I did not want to be spotted near the body and I was sure Bill's wails of pain had drawn attention. It took about an hour for me to walk back to the motel so once I was able to flop onto the mattress in my room I gave a deep sigh of relief. Justice had been done and hopefully, I would be able to rest. My mind replayed the events of the last week on repeat as my eyes followed the slow turning of the fan blades. It was not long before I drifted off to slumber. I was able to sleep peacefully for the first time since the crash.
The next few months were spent working during the day, sleeping at the hotel, and attending regular meetings. When I was able to save enough money Earl helped me buy a used car and suggested we celebrate the occasion. We had pancakes. My next milestone was finding my living situation. Earl reassured me that he was fine helping pay for the motel until I could. I was just ready to be self-sufficient again. Despite the horrors I had endured my life was looking up for once. Everything was falling into place, little by little and I finally worked up the courage to call my parents. My mother was ecstatic to hear from me. She cried as I told her my story and invited me over for dinner that night. My father even surprised me by congratulating me on my sobriety. It was a dream come true. I even mentioned it to my fellow AA members and they were happy for me. So, when night fell I gave myself a good shave, put on something decent, and headed toward the house I grew up in. The smile on my face could not be hidden. I could not remember the last time I was that happy. My tires came to a stop in the driveway and all I could think of was how lucky I was to still be alive and to be able to come back home. That was when my stomach began to churn. An awful sickness rolled in my belly and those words started playing on repeat in my head again.
As I approached the front door I tried to shake off the feeling. Tonight was supposed to be a good night. I was back home. That fowl demon would not ruin this for me. My knuckles rapped on the door and within seconds my mother pulled it open. I was pulled inside and drawn into a tight hug. She squeezed me tight and began to cry which, in turn, caused me to break into tears as well. My father then patted me on the back while fighting back his urge to sob. They pulled me into the dining room where a feast had been presented on the table. My father pulled out a chair and beckoned me to sit. My mother began spooning heaps of food on my plate while commenting on how skinny I had become. My father began telling stories from work. I forced a smile as their words became muffled by the slow chorus of chants in my mind, "Rickets, Rickets, RICKETS." It was maddening but I was determined to not let it ruin this reunion. It grew louder and louder until it was deafening. My parents noticed the growing furrow on my brow and started asking if I was alright. That was when the lights began to flicker wildly and a roaring wind caused the shutters outside the windows to clamor wildly. My father rose from his seat and headed to inspect the ruckus while commenting that the forecast had not called for a storm. My eyes followed his form and I noticed the shadowy figure looming on the front porch. Then the lights went out.
Some of us are not entitled to happiness. Some of our sins can never be forgiven. Hal and Bill paid their price. I thought I had paid for mine. The truth is I do not think I ever can. As I write this I am drunk for the first time in so long but it is the only thing that numbs my pain and deafens the noise in my mind. Earl keeps trying to get me to come back to the meetings but I am too afraid to. I do not know who will be next and I do not want to be responsible for the death of anyone else. My parents did not deserve it. It was part of my punishment though. I am not sure how long I can go on this way. The nightmares come and go. I am afraid to get close to anyone else. The voice comes anytime I have a moment of levity. It waits in the shadows of my mind. After saving enough for this pistol in my hand I quit my job. The only answer I can think of resides in the bullet chambered in it. As I said, maybe this will be my salvation. Maybe it will be a warning to the rest of you. Be careful who you cross. Rickets, or whatever this demon is, waits patiently and this seems like my only way out. I am sorry.
Category:Beings
Category:L0CKED334