Masquerade (standard:drama, 9439 words)
Author: Billy Jack Baxter	Added: Mar 25 2002	Views/Reads: 3535/2761	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
An eerie red glow in the New Mexico night sky sheds a whole new light on a close-knit group of friends.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

I sat down in my rusty old lawn chair to watch the evening light show.  
The old lawn chair creaked and moaned with my weight but the raveled 
nylon straps still supported me – somewhat.  A gentle breeze out of the 
southwest ran invisible fingers through my hair, which hung in thick 
waviness to the center of my back. 

I had a nice buzz going on and a cold Coors in hand.  Life at the very
moment could not have been any better.  The purple and syrup-colored 
sky was conceding graciously to the inevitable darkness of night.  
Venus twinkled brightly, hung low in the western sky like a searchlight 
from outer space. 

I heard the familiar creak of the screen door spring and watched Jan's
unmistakable silhouette step out onto the stoop.  The porch light was 
off, but I could see her threadbare, faded Levis moving quickly in my 
direction.  They were illuminated by the streetlight down the road a 
ways and reminded me of how backlights made anything white glow an 
eerie blue.  Her shirt was dark brown, but little rivers of light were 
reflected in her long, straight, honey-colored hair. 

Jan moved silently behind me.  I caught a faint whiff of sandalwood
essential oil that she dabbed on her wrists for perfume.  I always 
associate that scent with that crazy, wonderful era in time. 

She placed her hands on my shoulders right where the muscles branch out
from your lower neck.  Her hands were warm and delicate, her fingers 
long and full of knuckles. She squeezed. Gently at first, finally 
increasing pressure to a delightful shoulder massage.  The kneading and 
rubbing went on for about two minutes.  Not a word was said.  After her 
fingers got tired, or my moaning chased them away, she went directly 
for the hair like a homing pigeon. 

I've often been told, by a variety of females, I have the kind of hair
women can't keep their hands off. 

Jan started at the hairline where the hair meets the brow and pulled
back with her fingernails, gently scratching my scalp as she went.  Her 
fingernails were moderately long.  The feeling they produced was 
erotic...and felt good, too. 

After her nails reached the nape of my neck she continued down the full
length of my hair, using her fingers like a comb, working out the 
"rats" as she encountered them – always careful not to liberate too 
many strands in the process.  A small price, I might add, for having 
hair this woman couldn't keep her hands off. 

"How does that feel?" Jan asked, in a throaty, sexy voice. 

"Ummm," I replied, then added, "I'm gonna give you exactly fifteen
minutes to stop that." 

"Hrump," she grunted. 

Now, I can grasp what you're thinking; a married man, a married woman, a
beautiful desert evening, good smoke, and cold beer. Makes for the kind 
of situation seedy romance novels are notorious for. 

I'm happy, and sad, to say that's just not the case with Jan and me. 

I love Jan, always will and she reciprocates the love – but not in a
sexual way.  We were pals, buddies, soul mates, you could say, 
extraordinaire.   We ran together, as to say.  We enjoyed each other's 
company.  My wife, Nett, and Jan's husband, Don "The Roach", had their 
bouts of jealousy at first, but came to terms with our relationship for 
what it really was – somewhat. 

Hell, Jan preferred my company on shopping outings to the city, over her
closest girlfriends.  We skinny-dipped, hiked, camped and even slept 
together without any sexual innuendoes what so ever. 

Not that Jan wasn't an attractive lady, au contraire; she was one of the
most beautiful women I have ever known.  But, our relationship was 
simply platonic. 

I remember the first time I met Jan. 

I had recently moved to Eveningville, dissatisfied after two years of
fruitless college life.  I had finally been invited to one of the 
parties the "clique" used to have every weekend.  I believe they had 
been secretly watching me for some time by then.  They were funny that 
way.  I must have been given the okay, a big step for them, because 
Roach himself made a point to drop by my house to invite me personally. 
 The party was to be at his and Jan's house on the following Saturday 
night.  I accepted and asked Roach if I could bring anything.  Roach 
thought about it a moment, then said, "Naw.  Just beer, man." 

I showed up at their house early, a gutsy move on my part, in hopes to
lay to rest any personal suspicions of being uncool. Coolness was a 
very important thing back then. 

It worked.  I hit it off great with Roach and Jan – especially Jan.  It
was like Jan and I were life-long friends getting back together after a 
lengthy absence. 

After the main party was over and all that was left were stubborn
diehards, Roach suggested we all load up in his pickup and take a dip 
out at Old Man Gentry's stock tank.  There were six of us left 
including Roach and Jan. 

We loaded a cooler of beer and ourselves into the pickup and rode out to
the tank. Jan and a girl named Lara rode up front with Roach.  Lara's 
husband, Jim, and Scott, the human beer funnel, rode in the back with 
me. 

We arrived at the stock tank, unseen by Old Man Gentry, at about 1:30 in
the A.M. 

I stood around now knowing what to expect since none of us had thought
to bring along cut-offs or swimming trunks. 

Finally, Jan said, "Well, guys, what are ya waitin' for?" 

She pulled her T-shirt over her head.  I wasn't surprised to see she was
braless, as most of the young ladies in that era were. 

Off came her Levis, then her panties.  She streaked for the metal tank,
hesitated at the top of the ladder, then ka-splash, in she went; came 
up gasping, but soon recovered.  Lara followed suit.  Us four guys 
remaining took a bit longer, making a much bigger deal about it than 
the girls. 

We splashed around for after fifteen minutes, got out and put our
clothes back on.  Jan stood very close to me. 

The night was complete now, leave it to guys to have a one-track mind –
or maybe it was the girls.  Either way, the night was complete. The 
show was over.  I got into the back of the pickup. To my surprise Jan 
and Lara climbed into the back with me.  The guys crammed into the cab. 


We started back to town, my back against the cab. The girls sat on the
fender wells, their hair blowing freely in the mild night air. 

About halfway home Jan asked if she could sit beside me.  I could tell
she was getting cold. 

I said, "Sure, be my guest". 

She cheerfully moved towards me but instead of sitting up next to the
cab at my side, she surprised me by saying, "Spread 'em, J.B., I'm 
freezing." 

I was cold, too.  My legs were pulled up practically to my chest, but I
quickly spread them open for Jan.  She nestled right in, grabbed my 
legs and pulled them against her sides.  I could feel the dampness of 
her skin through her shirt – her skin felt extremely warm.  The bulge 
of her braless breasts pressed comfortably against my inner thighs.  
I'll never forget the feeling that T-shirt made as it moved freely 
against her breasts as we bounced down that old oilfield road that 
night in September, 1976. 

She slid her hands down my forearms and wrapped them around her and
said, "There – that's much better."  And I have to agree, it was.  At 
that very moment I knew I loved Jan unconditionally. The feel of her 
breasts through her T-shirt and the coppery mineral smell of her damp 
hair as it licked at my face were the most erotic and stimulating 
moment of my entire life.  And I wouldn't be much of a man if I didn't 
admit that I was very much turned on. 

I started to ask about Roach, thinking to myself she must certainly feel
my predicament, but she cut me off short, saying, "Roach'll get over 
it, J.B.  We're not like he thinks." 

And she was right, I suppose.  We weren't like that, at least in this
lifetime.  And Roach did get over it, to some extent, and from that 
moment on, Jan and I have been inseparable – soul mates extraordinaire. 


Darkness had invaded Eveningville.  The purple bruise turned to black. 
On that night there was no moon, only trillions of brilliant stars in 
the unfathomable blackness of the heavens. 

Jan moved around and she sat cross-legged in front of me, facing the
northwest.  I was still in my rickety old lawn chair.  We laughed, 
talked and sipped our beers.  Butt Butt had replaced Janis with Led 
Zeppelin.  Jimmy Page's prominent, acoustical lead at the beginning of 
"Stairway to Heaven" paused our conversation.  Jan leaned back, placing 
her hands slightly behind her on the cool grass and sighed contentedly. 
 We breathed deep the song's timeless beauty, our eyes closed in 
reverence. 

After the song's last line Jan opened her eyes, slapped her thighs in
finality, and asked if I would like another beer.  I told her, "Sure." 

She was beginning to rise when she stopped abruptly.  A look of
confusion washed across her face.  A look I'll never forget. She 
pointed a trembling finger toward the northwest sky.  She tried to 
speak, her mouth only miming the words. 

A moment later she said, "OH, MY GOD – LOOK!" 

I shifted my position in the chair and followed her finger to the
northwest sky.  In total horror I saw the sky to the north- northwest 
aglow, a gory red. 

It covered a mammoth portion of the sky.  It wasn't the glow of a fire
or an oil refinery flare, but a neon crimson-red splotch that just hung 
there.  It was like the very gates of Hades had yawned open and all 
hell had spilled out.  It had the aura of damnation, a harbinger of 
death.  On the upshot, it reminded me of a giant glowing blood blister. 
 I was dumbstruck with terror, and a creeping feeling of impending 
doom.  Nothing ... nothing seemed to matter anymore expect to be 
someplace that horrible omen in the sky wasn't. 

Trying to collect myself (I was trembling badly), I asked Jan, "What in
God's name do you think that is?" 

She solemnly replied, "The end of the world." 

I rose on feeble legs and offered Jan a hand up.  We stood facing the
red beast a moment longer, its glow actually reflecting off Jan's face 
– painting a feverish mask.  Her eyes shown red as blood in the 
darkness giving her a malevolent air like a vampire lurking in the 
shadows.  I shuddered at the thought. 

"We need to get the others," Jan said in a voice that founded foreign
and far away. 

We hurried to the screen door and I shouted over the music, "You guys
need to come out and check this out." 

"See what?" Roach shouted. 

"Turn the fucking music down and get out here – now!"  Jan yelled,
almost in tears. 

That got their attention.  Butt Butt carefully lifted the stylus from
the record and replaced it in its cradle.  Slowly, but with some alarm, 
the group got up and filed out the door.  Once outside they followed 
Jan and me.  We had moved out in the front yard, away from the faint 
glow the two lava lamps in the living room produced.  The lamps were 
refugees from the 60's. 

We stood arms crossed tightly at our chests as if to shield ourselves
from the thing in the sky.  The group quickly noticed what we were 
staring at.  Silence followed them to our side. 

In growing horror we watched as the red thing slithered like a snake, or
maybe an amoeba, in the sky.  It expanded and contracted as if it had a 
pulse.  So, there it was, slithering in the New Mexico sky – the end. 

To me, the fear I felt that night was the most numbing fear I'd ever
experienced.  Oh, yes – far worse than any childhood fear. 

As a child, I remember being afraid...well, maybe more like petrified –
of the cold, slimy, liver spotted hand that might – just might – reach 
out from under the bed and clamp hold of my ankle as I prepared to get 
into bed.  Or, the boogieman that hid in a dark corner of my childhood 
closet.  What about the crazy insane thing that lived all the way in 
the back of the coat closet under the staircase – all the way back to 
where the angle of the staircase came to a point like a wedge of 
cheese.  Even more frightening than the dream I had, more than once, 
about the head of one of my sister's dolls (one of those old-fashioned 
child-sized ones) that would pop up like a jack-in-the-box at the foot 
of my bed, eyes unblinking and shining, rosy plastic lips peeled back 
exposing two rows of jagged misplaced teeth. In some of the dreams 
there was just a phantom weight at the foot of my bed – kind of like 
you forgot and left your baseball glove down there.  Just something out 
of the ordinary.  Then it would move.  My eyes would fly down and I'd 
scream and scream and scream.  Boy, that dream caused a few sleepless 
nights. 

Or, how about the fear that would seize you if, let's say for instance,
your Mommy came in tuck you in bed and she had on a Halloween mask?  Or 
just the simple fear of vampires, mummies, werewolves, the "white 
lady", or the "crackle man" that stomped around outside of raised 
summer windows at night way out in the country down in South Texas. 

Deep down inside I knew those things were not real.  They only lived in
my mind.  But this thing, this thing in the sky over our pleasant 
little town of Eveningville was different.  It was real.  And it was in 
the sky.  There was no place to go to get away from it.  You can run 
away from monsters or even the thing under the bed, but there was no 
getting away from that red death in the sky.  Nosirree Bob!  It would 
simply swoop down on you like a hawk after a prairie dog, sink its 
crimson talons into your back and carry you off to...to nothingness.  
Blank, cold, forever, nothingness. 

But as I stood with my closest friends on what might have been our last
hours, or minutes, of our life on this earth, staring in utter terror 
at that thing in the sky, there was something...something vaguely 
familiar about the strange glow I couldn't quite put my finger on. 

Roach had moved next to Jan and slipped his arm around her waist.  Nett
stood slightly behind me, arms akimbo in defiance. Dale and Connie took 
a place next to Roach and Jan.  Bob Fletcher and Huntsville stood next 
to them, beers in hand.  I could make out Butt Butt's face from the 
spontaneous quick glows of the joint he was toking on.  The smoke hung, 
suspended, in the cool night air.  It was sweet, exotic and very 
Mexican.  The glow from his joint made an eerie combination when 
combined with the glow from the red thing in the sky.  We were a 
crescent moon of hippies, one half of a weird fairy ring. 

Suddenly Jan dropped flat on her butt, her cupped hands covered her
face.  Seeming like the right thing to do, we all – one by one – sat 
down on the cool grass of my front lawn. 

Connie spoke first: 

"What do you think it is?" 

"Probably just some sort of secret test or somethin'," Dale replied. 

"Man, I don't think so – that thing's spooky as shit."  Fletch said. 

Fletch was more of a drunk than a stoner and had a fresh six- pack
setting in front of him like a well trained dog. Huntsville was silent, 
apparently in deep concentration. 

Butt Butt remarked, "Well, I think it's cool.  I don't know why ya'll
are getting' so uptight, man." 

"It's got to be the gas plant's flare," Roach said. 

"There's no gas plant in that direction, Roach.  But I guess it could be
a big fire," I replied. 

Jan said, "You guys know that's not any gas plant or big fire. We've
seen those kinda fires hundreds of times.  Look, there aren't any 
clouds in sight." 

And she was right.  The only thing in the sky was the Milky Way, a
jillion stars and that goddamn red thing.  We are looked around hoping 
– hoping we might spot at least one stray cloud – something that might 
reflect the red glow, but the night was clear as a bell. 

Without any warning, Nett got up and started for the house, at a more
than hurried pace. 

"Hey, where are you goin', I asked. 

"To get my keys." 

"For what, Nett?  Where the hell could ya be going at a time like this?'


Nett paused on the stoop.  Streams of tears reflected by the lava lamp's
light sparkled on her cheeks. 

"I've just got to go." 

She started inside.  I quickly got up and started after her. She heard
me coming and turned on her heel, half in – half out of the door and 
shouted, "Just let me go, J.B...there's somebody...someplace I have to 
go to". 

"Where?" I asked.  My mind was a million miles from the red thing now. 

She rested her arm on the door trim, her face buried in its crook.  I
could see her body hitching as she sobbed uncontrollably.  I approached 
her cautiously and placed my hand on her shoulder.  She jerked away, 
startling me.  Tears were running down her face.  She said, loud enough 
everyone could hear, "I have got to go to Terry." 

"What?" I asked, momentarily trying to place Terry.  Then I remembered. 
Terry was a tool pusher salesman who, come to think of it, always 
seemed to be around at the Highway Bar where Nett bartended.  I had 
walked in on them more than once and caught Nett leaning over the bar, 
her face stuck in his, laughing and staring into his eyes like a 
schoolgirl with a crush.  I had even asked her parents about it a time 
or two, but she just blew it off, saying, "Oh, he comes in all the 
time.  There's nothing to it." 

Well, there was definitely something funny about it alright...like funny
business.  The realization hit my like a ton of bricks. 

"So how long you been seeing him?"  My temper was starting to flare,
pride hurt. 

"About three months now.  J.B., I don't want to hurt you...but...it's
just...I love him." 

"Love him?" I yelled.  "The whole fucking world's about to fry and you
got to run off to be with that ...that prick!" 

"Don't call him that." 

"Well, that's why he is.  Anybody who'd hit on another man's wife is
nothing but a low-rent prick." 

"J.B., I've got to go to him.  Please don't make a big scene." 

"Fine, "I said.  "Go then." 

Roach, concerned, had gotten up now and took me by the arm trying to
lead me away. 

"Come on, man – just let her go." 

I stopped abruptly and looked into Roach's eyes. 

"You knew.  Talk to me, Roach.  You knew, didn't you?" 

Roach's eyes darted to the ground.  I jerked my arm from his grasp and
looked at the others. 

"You all knew, didn't you?" 

"Yeah, we knew, J.B.  Jan was gonna tell you tonight...until (Roach
pointed at the sky) that.  You know how it is; we just didn't want to 
get involved in your love life.  Jan'd be the only one you'd listen to 
anyway." 

"I was gonna tell ya, J.B. – that's one of the reasons I came out when
you did earlier." 

"One of the reasons – what was the other?" 

"I don't have to answer that ...you know how....close we are." 

"Boy, do I."  Roach added. 

Jan put her arm around my neck like a childhood pal and said, "Come on,
Sweetie, let's go sit down." 

We returned to our places in the crescent. 

There was silence for a few minutes as we all contemplated the angry red
splotch of doom in the sky and the events that had just transpired. 

Connie broke the silence. 

"You know?  I think if that thing in the sky started making a
noise...I'd go insane right here and now.  Oh my God...don't you all 
realize we're all gonna die?  Die, right here?  I'm not ready to 
die...it's so unfair." 

Then she cried... 

After a few moments we heard the slap of the screen door.  Nett hurried
out of the house.  She had a brown paper sack in her right hand and her 
purse strap slung over her shoulder.  She reached her car, paused, her 
hand on the door latch, and turned to look at me.  Soft red light from 
the angry sky shimmered in the pools of tears in her eyes.  She mumbled 
an apology, got in, started the car, and drove away.  Her brakes 
squealed and the taillights brightened briefly as she slowed for the 
stop sign at the end of the block.  Then she was gone.  I never saw her 
again.  She didn't even return for her belongings. 

A moment later, which actually felt like a hundred years of disquieting
silence, Fletch popped the top on a fresh beer, held it out to me at 
arms length, and said, "Well, what goes around comes around.  And you 
know as well as I...you can't stop a woman that's out of control.  
Drink a beer, J.B.  Hell, it can't hurt. 'Sides, it may be your last." 

I took the beer, said thanks, and downed better than half the first
drink.  It wasn't ice chest cold but it made me feel better anyhow. 

We sat in silence for the better part of five minutes, watching in awe
and fascination, as the red thing squirmed, ebbed and waned in the 
northwest sky.  Some of us sipped our beer and smoked our cigarettes.  
Butt Butt smoked his pot. 

Connie broke the silence:  "Hell, J.B., she'll be back.  It's not the
end of the wor...well; it's not the worst thing that can happen.  I'm 
sure ya'll know about that one night fling I had with that drummer that 
played in the band down at the Oil Patch Bar some time back?" 

"I didn't love that guy...hell, I didn't even like him very much. I was
just pissed off at Dale for running off deer hunting two weekends in a 
row.  I guess I just wanted to hurt him." 

"Well, you certainly succeeded in doing that," Dale added, obviously
feeling uneasy Connie was airing dirty laundry...even though it was old 
news. 

"Yeah, we know all about your fling, Connie.  It was a pretty low-rent
thing to do to Dale.  He treats you like a princess," Jan said. 

"Well, we worked through it and Dale knows I would never do a thing like
that again."  She placed a delicate hand on Dale's thigh and leaned her 
shoulder against his arm.  Dale was fiddling with the grass in front of 
him trying to act like he had it together.  We could tell he didn't. 

"Well, guys, since this has turned out to be night of fessin' up...I
feel I should tell ya I slept with that blonde cashier that was in town 
about a month...it's....it's been a long time ago.  You know the one 
I'm talking about.  She worked evenings down at Lony's 7-11." 

"You did what?"  Connie yelled.  She wasn't leaning against his arm
anymore.  And the hand that had been on his thigh a moment earlier was 
now a clenched white fist. 

"Shit, honey, it was just a one time thing.  We didn't even do it in a
bed...if that means anything." 

"Just where exactly did you do it, Dale?" 

"In the storeroom...kinda on a few crates of Van Camps Pork and Beans." 

"I'll kill you, Dale Gates...just how long ago did this take place?" 

"It's been over a year ago," Dale said, in his defense.  "I guess deep
down inside I was just paying you back." 

"That's a crock of shit, Dale.  If that...that thing in the sky hadn't
decided to swoop down from God only knows, and I mean that literally, 
and threaten to wipe our cozy little planet, you would have never said 
a word.  It's been over a year and I didn't suspect a thing.  How could 
you...just how in the hell could you do a thing like that?" 

Dale's head was bowed.  He had stopped picking at the grass. 

"I don't know, Connie.  How could you do it?" 

"Hey, guys, you both lived through it.  Let it lie," Jan said. 

"I think you people are forgetting one very important thing," Fletch
added. 

We all looked at him and asked in semi-unison, "What's that?" 

"That," Fletch answered, pointing a finger at the sky. 

"It seems to be getting bigger," Dale said, trying to redeem himself. 

"Yeah, seems like it," I replied. 

The phenomenon seemed to have spread.  It now covered an area from
roughly the handle of the Big Dipper to Cassiopeia, and hung nearly to 
the horizon.  It was still pulsing and squirming like a jellyfish in a 
glassy sea.  We sat quietly regarding the unaccountable glow in the sky 
until Fletch spoke up.  His voice was distant and laced with shame. 

He said, "I killed my momma's cat, Felix." 

"Felix?"  Butt Butt laughed.  "Her lap-cat?" 

"Yeah, and don't you laugh at my Mother." 

"I'm not laughing at your Mother," Butt Butt replied, "I'm laughing at
you.  What in God's name would possess you to do a stupid thing like 
that?" 

"It shit under my bed," Fletch replied.  He was well into his beer now. 
At some time or another he had slipped away and carried the ice chest 
out to where the group was sitting.  And plopped his big ass down on 
its top. 

"That son-of-a-bitch snuck into my room while I was asleep and shit
right under the head board.  It stunk so bad it woke me up. Couldn't 
figure out what it was at first.  Then I saw Felix sneak out the door 
and down the hall.  I guess I was still half asleep 'cause I got down 
on my hands and knees and started feeling around under the bed.  The 
next thing I knew I grabbed hold of something warm and...and soft.  I 
pulled my hand away fast, stuck it to my nose.  Oh, God, I've never 
smelled anything like that before.  I puked all over the side of my bed 
and without thinking wiped a handful of cat shit on my leg.  I don't 
wear pajamas!  Man, did that wake me up.  You know?  There's nothing as 
bad as cat shit." 

"Well, I just kinda freaked out after that.  I washed the cat shit off
my hand and leg, got dressed and grabbed my gun." 

"Your Mini 14?"  Huntsville asked. 

"Yeah, and a thirty round clip." 

"I found Felix cowering by the back door.  I don't know why he was
there. Anyway, I grabbed that sucker by the neck.  He was hissing to 
beat hell.  Clawed shit outa my arm, too." 

"I went straight for my car, opened the trunk, threw the fucker in, and
slammed the lid." 

"I got in and drove.  I had no idea where I was going.  I was just
driving.  I ended up out at the dump ground." 

"I parked and left the car running with the lights on.  I got out and
opened the trunk...very carefully, spotted Felix, grabbed him by the 
neck again, and headed for the front of the car.  I reached through the 
window and grabbed the Mini 14.  I'd already slapped the clip in and 
chambered a round.  I walked out into the headlights, old Felix clawing 
and screaming to high heaven. I threw him as far as I could.  When he 
hit the ground it musta stunned him a little, 'cause he hesitated just 
long enough for me to get off that first shot.  The bullet caught 'im 
in the back legs, fur shot twenty feet into the air.  That's when he 
really started wailing.  Then I just shot and shot and shot. Kinda went 
crazy, I guess.  When the dust and fur settled there wasn't much cat 
left.  I didn't go out and inspect, but I could make out several bloody 
lumps of fur scattered around." 

"Holy shit, Fletch," Huntsville said.  "Did your Mother ever find out?" 

"Hell no – no one knows...except you guys.  I really felt bad for a
while – even had nightmares 'bout it.  What scares me the most is, I 
hardly remember doing it.  Like it was a dream or somethin'.  Man, I 
don't know why I'm telling you guys this shit." 

"Yeah, you do", Jan said.  "It's because you think we're gonna die.  You
think that red thing in the sky is gonna come barreling down on Earth, 
maybe just Eveningville, and fry us all to hell." 

"Yeah, maybe so," Fletch replied. 

"You wanna know what else?" Fletch asked. 

I hesitantly answered, "What?" 

"I find myself now with the most uncontrollable urge to... kill cats. 
It usually happens when I'm driving around – you know, just cruising.  
The first time it happened I swerved all the way across the center line 
trying to hit a cat." 

"You missed it?"  Connie asked. 

"That one, I did.  But I've hit 'em before.  Oh yeah, squashed the
living shit out 'em.  I don't know the exact count but I know I've hit 
well over ten." 

"Why the hell are you doing shit like that for, Fletch?  I mean, what do
you have against cats?" Roach asked. 

"I don't know, Roach.  I zone out.  You know – if I see one, I just
freak out...I have to kill it...or at least try." 

"You know old man Jernigan that moved here from Florida somewhere?  He
lives next door to Mom.  Well, he has this old calico female cat.  She 
had a litter of kittens under our house. I could hear 'em under there 
mewing to beat hell.  Well, one night I zoned.  I couldn't take it 
anymore.  So, I got up, put on my clothes and went out to the garage to 
find somethin' to put 'em in.  I found an old potato sack full of junk 
left over from when Dad died.  He hated cats, too.  So, I dump the junk 
out and grabbed a flashlight off the workbench.  We have a cut out in 
the back yard that leads under the house.  I crawled under there.  Man, 
that place was spooky.  I found the kittens. I don't know where the 
momma cat was – but she wasn't there.  I gathered up the kittens – 
eight of 'em in all and put 'em in the tow sack.  Hell, their eyes 
weren't even open yet.  I crawled back out and tossed 'em in the front 
seat of my car.  I didn't know what I was gonna do with 'em at that 
point, but I knew one thing – I was gonna kill 'em." 

"I drove around for a good thirty minutes, those little kittens mewing
and squirming around in the tow sack sittin' right beside me.  The next 
thing I knew I was out at ol' man Gentry's stock tank.  I parked, cut 
the lights, snatched up the sack full of kittens and got out.  Man, was 
I freaked out – I was biting my lip so hard I could taste blood in my 
mouth.  I went crazy, man." 

"I climbed up the ladder on the stock tank until the rim was about waist
high.  I tossed 'em in.  No hesitation or nuttin – just tossed 'em 
right in.  The sack floated on top for a few seconds.  I could see the 
tow sack squirmin' – the kittens were really moving a lot – and 
screamin' – not mewin' – but screamin'.  I could have reached out and 
grabbed 'em, thought about it, too.  But about that time the sack 
started sinkin'...real slow like.  It sank and sank until there was 
just a wad of squirmin' sack left.  Then it went under.  Bubbles came 
up for 'bout a minute...then nothing.  I don't even remember driving 
out there, guys – I just zoned out." 

"That's the sickest fucking thing I've ever heard, Fletch. Damnit man –
how could you do that?" Jan hollered, in tears. 

"So – what you're telling us, Fletch....is you're some kind of a
felinicidal maniac?" I asked, in complete shock at Fletch's confession. 


"I don't know, man.  I guess I had to tell somebody 'bout it. You
know... with that thing in the sky....I just wanted to clear my 
conscience before we.... die.  Or whatever happens to us." 

"But what if we don't die, Fletch?"  Jan asked.  "What then?" 

"Then it's off my conscience...I guess." 

"This is totally nutso, man."  Jan said, shaking her head in disgust. 
"I mean, everybody spilling their guts 'bout weird shit they've done." 

Fletch had his head bowed as if in prayer.  Butt Butt spoke up, "Man – I
don't think I can top that.  But, yeah, I guess I've done some things 
...bad things, I guess you could say, but not like Fletch, the cat 
murderer." 

Butt Butt continued:  "You guys remember that fire at the high school a
few years back?" 

Everybody "yeah-ed" in unison. 

"Well, guess what happened." 

"Why don't you simply tell us, Butt?  You're going to anyway", I
replied. 

"I burnt it, simple as that.  Took a five gallon can of kerosene, picked
the lock on the gym door...like we've done hundreds of times before – 
right, guys?  You remember how we'd sneak in and go swimming in the 
natatorium?  Anyway, I got in, poured about half of the kerosene on the 
basketball court and the other half down the hallway where the library 
was.  Then I lit it and left." 

"That old hardwood basketball court generated a fire so hot it melted
the I-beams in the gym.  Didn't do the rest of the high school any good 
either." 

He fell silent; eyes lowered in shame and embarrassment for a few
seconds, then added, "They shouldn't have kicked me out. That old 
shithead principal ...it was all his fault.  I know I'm not that smart, 
but they really didn't give me a chance.  I wanted to graduate with my 
class.  But because of that old shithead I won't ever have a high 
school diploma.  Shit, man – I don't even care anymore.  Him and all 
his precious library books – I don't remember any of 'em anyway." 

"Butt?" I asked.  "You didn't have anything to do with Mr. Bronson's
(the principal) house burning by chance?" 

Butt just kind of smoothed the grass down with his foot and nodded. 

"They didn't even suspect me, J.B. – hell, I'd been out of school damn
near seven years by then.  They knew it was arson, but couldn't figure 
out who done it." 

"Shit, Butt Butt", Huntsville said, "you could go to Santa Fe for shit
like that. " 

Huntsville looked around at all of us and said, "We've got to keep this
stuff quiet, you guys.  Ya'll know that – don't ya?" 

Roach said, "Man, nothing that's said tonight gonna go any further than
right here – right, guys?  Man, ya'll got to promise." 

There was a sprinkling of mumbling.  Basically, everybody saying they
understood. 

If the truth be know, we all thought we would never leave my front yard.
 We were all somehow brainwashed into believing the red glow in the sky 
was – well, the end. 

Huntsville spoke.  "Now, you guys – I'm gonna tell you somethin' I
did...." 

Jan broke in, "We all know you did time in Huntsville on drug charges –
that doesn't matter to us." 

"No, it's not about prison, man!  It's about somethin' that...I've done
since.  J.B., remember when we were working out of town over at Big 
Lake, Texas and that guy in the bar, the Cozy Inn, I believe, mistook 
me for somebody else and cut my face up with that beer glass?" 

"Yeah, the one that took over a hundred stitches to close up your cheek
and jaw.  How could I forget that?" 

"Remember how I wouldn't let you take me to the hospital in Big Lake? 
And made you drive me all the way back to Eveningville?" 

"Yeah, I never understood that, man." 

"Remember the next day you came by my house and I wasn't there? Later I
told you I had gone up to Hobbstown to see my folks?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I didn't go to Hobbstown, guys." 

By this time all eyes were aimed at Huntsville, mainly because he had
spent over six years at Huntsville State Prison in Texas. He did not 
mess around.  Huntsville was tough – he meant business. 

"I have an old duct-taped .38 pistol, no serial number, no registration,
no nuttin', man.  Totally illegal – a Saturday night special if I've 
ever seen one." 

"Well, I got it and drove up to Big Lake.  I waited around all day, out
of sight, of course, for that asshole that cut me to show back up at 
the bar we were at.  'Bout nine that night, he showed up.  He was by 
himself.  Unlucky for him, lucky for me. I had me an ice chest full of 
beer I'd bought before I left. So, I waited.  I was hoping he'd come 
out along.  I didn't want to hurt anybody else, just him." 

"Well, about one that night he came out.  I could tell he was drunk – he
was staggerin' and all.  He got in his car and drove off.  I followed.  
I figured he was headin' home.  He did.  He only lived a few blocks 
from the bar in a ratty old trailer house." 

"He pulled up in his driveway.  I pulled in behind him blockin' his car.
 He got out – he was squintin' at my headlights, shieldin' his eyes 
with his hand.  I got out, with my gun, and forced him into my car.  We 
drove out of town the opposite direction from the road to Eveningville. 
 It was late; nobody was on the road.  So, I pulled down an old black 
top oil road just to make sure.  We stopped and I forced him out of the 
car. He was really scared by that time.  He even started cryin'.  I 
hadn't even thought about killin' him.  I was just gonna pistol whip 
the shit out of 'im. You know, cut 'im up good, like he done me.  But 
when I saw that bastard standin' there cryin' all to beat hell, beggin' 
– I don't know what happened.  I blanked out – like you do, Fletch – 
with the cats, I guess". 

"Anyway the next thing I knew I smell gun smoke and I see the guy lying
on the ground, blood spurtin' out of a large hole in his head.  There 
were smaller holes all over his chest and stomach.  All the rounds in 
the pistol had been fired.  I knew he was dead.  So I left him lying on 
the side of the road.  He was kinda down in the bar ditch anyway.  I 
drove back to Eveningville." 

"I stopped about half-way home, no cars were coming in either direction
for as far as I could see, got out, walked out 'bout two hundred yards 
in the desert and buried the gun – about a foot deep.  I drug a 
mesquite branch back to the car to help cover my tracks.  Hell, I knew 
they'd never find the gun.  I buried it at a totally random spot.  I 
also knew nobody was gonna search all over Texas and half of New Mexico 
for a gun that kilt some low-down white trash like that.  And I was 
right. Nobody ever associated me to him – for some reason.  Nobody in 
that town knew us, J.B.  It was our first night there.  We hadn't even 
got a motel room yet.  Nobody knew.  But if they find out...I'll do a 
lot longer than six years at Huntsville. Shit, man, they'll give me the 
death penalty.  It was premeditated, you know." 

Not a one of us said a word.  We were all in total shock.  I thought the
cat-murdering thing was bad, but this made us all accessories after the 
fact.  That's a felony! 

Jan yelled at Huntsville, "Why'd you have to tell us about that shit?  I
think that would have been somethin' I'd just as soon taken to my 
grave.  What in the name of God is wrong with all you people?  You're 
not the people I know.  This is sick – plain sick!" 

The whole group, including Roach, was staring at Jan and I, expectant,
waiting like a group of buzzards.  Jan and I sat alone, together.  It 
had started out Roach, and me, Jan in that order, but now Roach has 
eased away from us, taking sides with the rest of the group.  They 
looked – well, hungry.  For knowledge, a confession – I presumed. 

Jan spoke first. "Why are ya'll staring at us like that?" 

She was very angry and upset.  I wasn't far behind considering
everything that had so far transpired that evening. 

The whole cabal hit us with a barrage of questions, suggestions and
accusations.  It went something like this: 

"What's up with you two?  Ya'll are more than friends, admit it. Why do
you always want to hang around with him?  How many times you lay her, 
J.B?  Come on, admit it." 

I was utterly dumbfounded.  Jan had her hand cupped to her ears, crying
uncontrollably. 

"Stop it, you guys, NOW!"  I said, trying to regain some degree of
control.  It was as if the group had gone mad, fueled by the preceding 
testimony.  I moved closer to Jan and put my arm around her shoulder.  
She reluctantly conceded laying her head on my shoulder.  I held her 
for a few moments, then said, "I don't know what you guys think Jan and 
I are doing...No!  That's not true.  I do know what you are thinking.  
That much is apparent by your ill-timed, out-of-line, totally bullshit 
accusations.  As a matter of fact, you have always made them and 
believed them.  Secretly, always behind our back.  I shouldn't be 
having to make this speech." 

A quote by Mark Twain kept popping into mind:  "When in doubt, tell the
truth." 

"What I have to tell you numbskulls now is the God's honest truth." 

"Yes, mine and Jan's relationship looks.... like something it's not. 
It's sad when two people of the opposite sex can't be close – real 
close – without everybody thinking they're screwing each other's brains 
out.  And we are not, never have, never will.  We love each other, 
yeah.  But it's a brotherly-sisterly love, maybe even closer than that. 
  Why can't you guys get that through your pretentious skulls?" 

"And...not you, Roach, or anyone of you are going to soil the love that
Jan and I have for each other." 

"I wish – no, that's not true.  I'm sorry I don't have any deep, dark,
juicy secrets stashed away inside me that, for you enjoyment, I could 
reveal for you tonight.  But I don't". 

"Yeah, I've stolen candy bars, bubble gum and once a toy lizard from a
kid down the block.  Stuff like that when I was younger. I've lied to 
my parents, mainly to avoid an ass whipping – which I usually got 
anyway, and deserved it.  I took a handful of change off my Dad's 
nightstand one time.  Got caught, too.  I've kicked a dog or two, tied 
Black Cat firecrackers to locust, lit the fuse and set them free to 
explode in mid-air.  I've ran a little grass from the Rio Grande to 
here, which you all know about.  But, guys...I just don't have anything 
so horrible to confess that it might save body and soul from damnation. 
I offer my apologies." 

I looked at Jan and asked her, "How about you, Jan, anything nasty you'd
like to disclose to our 'friends' tonight before that red thing blanks 
us all out – which by the way, I doubt very seriously will happen." 

Still sobbing, she answered, "No... I don't.  And even if I did,
well...well, screw them all.  I have had it with the bullshit." 

Well, they all seemed to be studying their hands, feet or the grass. 
Not a one of them met our eyes.  I started to lay into them again, but 
heard the telephone ringing in the house. 

I got up and told the group, sarcastically, "I'd better answer that.  It
may be my last."  I rolled my eyes dramatically. 

I walked briskly to the house breathing deep lungfuls of cool night air,
trying to get myself back under control.  The phone was still ringing 
when I entered the house.  I quickly picked up the receiver. 

"Hello." 

"Hello, honey." 

"Hi, Mom.  What's going on?" 

"I don't know if you can see it down there in Eveningville?  But you
ought to look up in the northwest sky.  I was just watching the news 
when the newsman advised everybody to step outside and observe a 
phenomenon that only happens once or twice a century. We can actually 
see the Northern Lights!  We can see them good here in Lake Tyler.  
They're really beautiful – such an eerie shade of red." 

"The northern lights?" 

"Yeah, you know, the aurora borealis – like they see up in Alaska.  The
newsman said the atmospheric conditions have to be just right to see 
them this far south.  Have you seen them, hon?" 

"Yeah, Mom, we've seen them.  We thought it was the end of the world?" 

"You mean like the Second Coming?" 

"Yeah." 

"Well, they are kind of scary looking but I don't think it's the end of
the world.  I just thought I'd call and let you know.  Is Nett there?" 

"Uh...no, Mom.  She went out." 

"Oh?  Well, tell her I said hello.  I love you, Son." 

"Love you, too, Mom – I'll talk to you later.  Goodbye." 

"Goodbye, Hon." 

After I hung up the phone I stood there for a few moments feeling happy,
sad and disgusted, all at the same time. 

I moved towards the door to go back outside, paused, then switched on
the porch light.  Our pitiful little group was still sitting on the 
lawn.  All of them, except Jan, were gazing expectantly at the Northern 
Lights.  "Hmmm, the Northern Lights," I mumbled to myself.  A smile 
broke out across my face. Then I ambled out to the group. 

Jan glanced up at me when I walked up.  She asked, "What's so funny,
J.B.?" 

"You guys aren't gonna believe this.  That was my Mom.  She called about
the light in the sky." 

"Yeah?"  Jan said. 

"Well, guys, I've got good news for you. It's not the end of the world. 
It's the Northern Lights." 

"The Northern Lights?"  Huntsville exclaimed. 

"Yeah, the Northern Lights – you know, polar lights, merry dancers,
northern lights...the fucking aurora borealis, like up in Alaska, man!" 


Connie asked, "You mean we're not gonna die?" 

And I replied, "Well, Connie, eventually we are, but not by those lights
in the sky." 

And that was it, folks.  Kaput. Finished.  Over and done.  It was the
strangest thing – well, the second strangest thing I've ever seen.  The 
aurora borealis over New Mexico being the strangest, so far. 

It was like when the movie is over at the motion-picture theater, after
an exceptional flick, and everybody simply gets up and quietly files 
out the doors.  No talking, everybody still captured in the movie's 
ending and the finality of it all. That's just the way it happened that 
strange night a quarter of a century ago. 

Everybody, Jan included, simply got up and filed silently to their cars
and drove away, leaving me bewildered and very much alone. 

I walked over to the door, opened the screen and switched off the porch
light.  Then I went over to Fletch's ice chest and got a cold beer, and 
sat down in my old rusty lawn chair.  I thought to myself, "Well, it's 
ending where it all started, in my chair, cold beer in hand."  The only 
thing missing was my soul mate, Jan. I sat meditatively, sipping my 
beer and watched as the misconceived red thing in the sky slowly faded. 
 It was like it knew the show was over – no more secrets tonight – have 
to wait another fifty years or so.  I also watched, in appreciation of 
witnessing such a rare sight, until the red menace was only a small, 
lingering red dot. 

Then as if it never was, it slowly faded to heavenly blackness. 

And now as I think back on 1976, the stream in time of months, weeks,
days...flow into one big pond: 

The fall of Saigon was a year past.  Just four years after the U.S.
Supreme Court ruled the death penalty unconstitutional, the U.S. 
Supreme Court in 1976, ruled the death penalty to be a constitutionally 
acceptable form of punishment.  The nation celebrated it's 
bi-centennial.  Jimmy Carter, Democrat, was elected the 39th President 
of the United States, Walter Mondale, Vice-President.  In 1976, roughly 
125,000 Vietnamese became permanent residents under the Refugee Acts.  
NASA'S Viking 1 and 2 became the first spacecrafts to land on the 
surface of Mars. Peter Finch won the best actor award at the Academy 
Awards for "Network", best actress:  Faye Dunaway ("Network"), best 
picture was "Rocky".  Johnny Rutherford won the Indianapolis 500.  The 
Cincinnati Reds beat the New York Yankees 4-0 to win the World Series.  
The Boston Celtics beat the Phoenix Suns 4-2 to win the NBA 
Championship.  The Pittsburgh Steelers beat the Dallas Cowboys 21-17 to 
win Super Bowl X.  Bold Forbs won the Kentucky Derby.  Bjorn Borg won 
the men's singles at Wimbledon with Chris Evert winning the women's 
singles.  And Richard M. Nixon was disbarred just a year after former 
Attorney General John N. Mitchell and ex-presidential advisors, H. R. 
Haldeman and John D. Ehrlichman were found guilty in the Watergate 
Trial.  One year later, September 15, 1977, Tim (Huntsville) Watkins 
was killed in a freak oilfield accident.  As far as the rest of the 
group...well, Jan and Don (Roach) Swenson worked out their differences, 
as did Dale and Connie Gates, although I'm certain they both continued 
to have extramarital affairs. Bob (Fletch) Fletcher, by the end of the 
year 1976, boasted six successful cat murders.  Nett never married that 
tool pusher she ran away to be with that night, but did, four years 
later, give birth to a baby girl.  She still uses my last name.  And 
me, well, three months after that night in September I moved fifty 
miles north to Hobbstown.  If asked now to reveal any dark 
secrets....well, I might be able to come up with a couple. 

But as I look back on that magical night a quarter of a century ago I
realized I learned an important moral lesson: that gory, glowing menace 
that hovered like an instrument of death over Eveningville, as if it 
appeared especially for our insular little world, (and maybe it did) 
was actually a thing of beauty, of fascination and awe.  It was how we 
perceived it that was contrary.  And, subsequently, how we perceived it 
caused the atonement of our consciences.  Unfortunately, after the 
setting right, or 'fessing up, of our transgressions, be they moral or 
unlawful, our perception of our comrades changed.  Like it or not.  
Those confessions affected each and every one of us present that night 
no matter how hard we tried to bury it deep in our souls. 

It was sad how those good friends expected mine and Jan's confessions to
be of adultery, sins against our mates.  It was sad how they, deep down 
inside, actually did not believe us as we spoke the truth.  It is also 
sad how the world in general perceives deep, true, honest relationships 
between two people of the opposite sex who are not married to one 
another.  Most people's conception of who we are and what we're about 
comes from our physical bulk and appearance, almost never what is 
within us.  Sad, but true. 

To sum it up, whether it has to do with an apocalyptical betokenment in
the night sky, dark secrets of the heart, or perception of others at 
face value...things are not always as they see.  Life is a masquerade. 

The End 


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