The truck, completely oblivious to its effects on the local ecosystem, continued to lumber down the quiet highway blasting out gray exhaust into the night air. The make and model of the vehicle, both unidentifiable, were further obscured by the rust and ice which covered the body. Inside the cab, the smoky air reeked with B.O.
The man behind the wheel had about a rat hair's length of growth on his face, and his teeth were long overdue for a visit to the dentist. Tattoos worked their way up his right arm, but nothing there was worth a second glance. His hair was thinning on top, but he still chose to comb it over, thus continuing his own private war against baldness.
"Sure beats walking, huh kid?" he rumbled to his passenger, a young man with string-like blond hair and reddened ears. The truck had picked him up about five miles previous, when the driver saw him walking down the road with his thumb outstretched.
The driver had tried to make some conversation with his companion, but the young man mostly nodded and blew air onto his hands. He had also declined a cigarette when it had been offered.
Pulling up to an old wooden shack, the driver bellowed out, "Here she is. She ain't much, but it's 'nough to keep us warm." He turned the truck off and got out into the night air. The young man followed his lead.
As they both walked into the cabin, the sparseness of the place was immediately evident. Along with the burning candles, this cabin's technology roughly predated the Constitution. The driver tended the fireplace, and pointed to one of the interior doors. "Bed's in there," he instructed him, "Probably beat to all hell from walking on that road. Go ahead, let you take it tonight."
A barely audible thanks was mumbled from the young man as he made his way into the bedroom and shut the door.
"Boy sure looks like a good one," the driver said to a picture of a little girl, as he brought the fireplace to life. Taking off his jacket and unbuckling his belt, he took a quick look at his watch. "Give him a few minutes," he said laughing quietly, "Just love that look of surprise on their face when they see me."
The young man's eyes had been shut momentarily, when the door creaked open and the driver came walking in, clad in nothing but a pair of mud-covered work boots. He walked over to the end of the bed, and upon looking down at the young man, his smile turned into a frown, "You don't look too surprised to see me." Pulling out a hunting knife, he smiled again, "Now, we can do this real easy or we can do it real hard. How you want it?"
"Easy, of course," the young man said, still remaining motionless on the bed.
"Course," the driver said, "turn over then." When the young man did not move, the driver raised his voice a little more. "I said, turn over!"
"I'd rather stay on my back," the young man simply said.
The driver looked at him, and the anger began to disappear. "If that's how you want it, that's okay with me. Get ready boy, here I come."
The driver climbed onto the bed, and the young man waited until he was almost face to face with the foul-smelling man before he reached up and jammed his hands into the driver's armpits.
"What the hell?" came out of the driver's mouth, followed by a quick groan, as the young man brought his left knee up into the driver's groin and crushed the pervert's testicles. The force of the impact from the young man's knee combined with his push to the driver's armpits, caused the driver to lose balance and hit face-first into the wooden headboard.
Like a horse regaining its alignment after a fall, the younger man rolled off the bed and darted out into the main room of the cabin.
"I'm gonna slit your freakin' throat!" the driver roared from the bedroom. He came stumbling out, one hand holding his groin and the other one wielding the hunting knife. Consumed with anger and pain, he failed to see the young man crouching down by the door and waiting with a chunk of firewood.
Two hits, one to the knee and the other to the shin, dropped the driver to his knees. Another hit to the bridge of the driver's nose knocked the man onto his back, and nearly unconscious. The young man climbed on top of the driver, holding him down a knee to the chest, and then punched him in the face to finish the work the wood chunk had started.
The young man picked up the hunting knife, which by this time had dropped to the floor. With one deft move, he jammed the knife straight through the driver's throat with such force that it lodged down into the wooden floor beneath. The driver convulsed several times as blood flowed down the sides of his neck, coating the floor and comforting his head.
The scrape of another door being opened caused the young man to turn and look behind him. A girl, about nine or ten years old, stood there and just looked at him. Her black hair was in pigtails that had begun to unravel.
"Hello, Jenny," the young man said to her, as he let go of the knife and stood up.
"Hello," she said to him, in a weak voice.
He walked over to her and crouched down in front of her. "I've come to take you away from here."
"There's another girl," she told him, "in the other room."
"I know," he assured her, "But she isn't coming with us."
"Okay. What about Henry, is he coming?" she asked.
"Jenny, do you see Henry standing in the corner?" He pointed to the driver who now stood in the corner, white as a ghost.
"Yes."
"Do you also see Henry lying on the floor."
"Yes," she answered, "he's hurt."
"No Jenny," the young man told her, "Henry is released. Now do you understand about the other girl?"
"I'm released too?" Jenny asked.
"Yes. Would you like to leave here and go with me?" he asked her and smiled with his eyes. She giggled a little as she shook her head yes.
He stood up straight and walked over to the fireplace. Reaching into it he pulled out a smoldering log and threw it into a corner, and almost immediately the fire had begun to spread throughout.
The young man came back to the little girl, and held out his hand. She reached up and took it, and when she did, a change came over him. His blonde hair became more radiant and grew down to his shoulders. His shoulders grew wider and his chest became larger. The muscles in his arms and legs increased, and his clothing changed. He was now clad in a white robe, and leather sandals were on his feet. And hanging from his side was a large glowing sword.
Hand in hand, the two of them walked slowly to the front door and opened it. As they passed over the threshold, and stepped out into the darkness, they continued to walk into the surrounding woods.
Hans D. Christianson: "I'm a drummer and a writer, not necessarily always in that order. And like so many other great people before me, I pay my bills by working as a carpenter. With luck, God, and hard work, this will change. (I hope)."
E-mail: hans@texasinternet.com
Visit Aphelion's Lettercolumn and voice your opinion of this story. Both the writer and I would love to read your feedback.
Return to the Aphelion main page.