"Damn, it sure is hot this morning." Randy Brown stood at the edge of the winding blacktop after walking a good three miles using backwoods paths and one extended road before making it to the muted stretch of steaming black graveled crossroad bordered on all sides by dense woods.
The lanky teen was a little apprehensive considering his late grandmother forbade him from traveling to the area because of its supposed history. Some of his cousins tried to visit the crossroad only to be apprehended by his uncle and beaten mercilessly with a knotted switch and razor strap by him and Randy's own father, now suffering from the effects of a double stroke in a home these days. Word around the campfire is that people came to the intersection to do shady things, on the weird side. There was talk and rumors of haints and other things that went bump in the night, but he didn't believe it.
It was enough that his granny believed it and wasn't shy about recounting the tales to whoever listened. The talk of wooded spirits running off with people were plentiful, but later in his teen years Randy got another version of the local legend involving this doe, which was actually half woman, half deer. Supposedly it lurked about these backwoods luring men away from their families never to be seen again in some cases. A lot of the guys at his school joked about men using that shit as an excuse to run away from their wives, but others said different.
"Aw shit, too many mosquitos this morning." He mumbled under his breath slapping his bicep killing the offending insect. Randy kicked himself for being in a hurry to get out to the road forgetting to slather alcohol over his exposed arms and legs. The eighteen-year-old wore a black homemade crop top and some matching basketball shorts with flip flops. The cheap sandals were the reason for his journey to the crossroads this early in the morning. Randy loved wearing crop tops to show off his defined abs.
He was a star running back in his last two years at the local high school but ended up benched because of his borderline failing academic record and penchant for ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time. The coach was forced to bench him even though it crippled the team and lost them a crucial playoff game. This also left him without a window for a possible scholarship leaving him to watch his teammates get drafted to various colleges while he struggled to get through summer school for a general equivalency diploma.
Randy was somewhat of a lay about around the house which was actually a rundown trailer. His family lived in abject poverty for generations, but made it work somehow until his father was found face down in a ditch. Later it was determined the man was murdered by a romantic rival that wasn't his portly mother. Randy was looked at as an economic savior in the family but became a pariah when he flamed out academically locking himself out of a better future for the time being.
Somehow his former coach finagled a try-out for some scouts from state. Randy was getting a second chance to be on top and found himself in those rarified waters of elevated respectability once again. His surrounding family members felt like he had it in the bag throwing a backyard party. During that party, Randy ran a game of football amongst neighborhood rivals, losing one of his sneakers after blowing by a jealous thuggo.
His shoe was promptly tossed into a neighbor's dog pen where it was torn to bits by the excited mutts. Today, he was going to do some handy work helping a neighborhood elder with the cleaning and clearing of a field for a few twenties for some decent sneakers. Still, he remarked on the specific instructions given by his mother and aunt, even down to the path leading to the crossroad. Granny was long dead now, but never would've allowed him to go.
"Ouch, damn there's a lot of these fuckers out today." He smacked another tiny annoyance to oblivion reaching into his back pocket for his cheap phone. It was a present from a former girlfriend intent on keeping tabs on his whereabouts up until they broke up when he cheated, igniting an epic parking lot brawl at the school. Randy glanced at the cracked face of his android, finding it glitching a bit.
"Damn, signals all messed up." He tried calling up one of his boys but got nothing in the way of a signal.
A car sped by at a clip earning his attention. Randy hopped across the ditch quickly, nearly being clipped by the rusty El Camino. Thoughts of his father briefly surfaced. People initially thought his death related to automobile homicide but found otherwise when deputy sheriffs from neighboring Maplewood scooped up the murderer. The guy thought he was being arrested for killing his rival, confessing everything and likely giving one of the officers a promotion. It was bittersweet for everyone.
"Huh? Oh, he's here already." Randy turned around finding the old vintage truck he as told to expect gathering himself as he hopped the ditch running up to the passenger side.
The door was locked.
The driver sat behind the large wheel staring straight ahead with his hands at the two and ten positions, unmoving. He wore a wide brimmed hat on his head with thick sunglasses covering his eyes and a bandanna about his neck. Other than that, this elderly man was dressed in a flannel shirt and coveralls.
"Mr. Wilson; hey can you uhm, open the door, sir. Oh yeah..." Randy remembered himself and the specific instructions about the eccentric old man familiar around these parts since his childhood. Randy couldn't remember a time when Mr. Wilson looked any different.
Randy hopped in the truck bed, finding a seat using one hand to balance himself as it started moving, albeit slowly at first. He was treated to a view of the old man's grayed over curled naps, glancing about at the surrounding woods. A lot of the trees had gone neglected overgrowing with their branches dipping low intruding out onto the blacktop road. There were no city services to speak of in this shanty town as Randy tried to enjoy the ride. He found the behavior of Mr. Wilson off-putting but stayed silent.
For as long as Randy could remember, Mr. Wilson had been a fixture around the small closeknit community drifting up and down its backroads in his vintage 1976 Ford F-100. He worked as a handyman when he could get work or hauled trash, but there was this unsaid, unaddressed malaise that seemed to radiate from him in open public.
Most of the residents used his services sparingly. Randy sat there riding in the truck bed recalling the times Mr. Wilson was seen drifting about town, sometimes ridiculed and mocked by its children. They used to call him a zombie, getting the comparison from the opening moments of George Romero's Night of the Living Dead which seemed to play on a loop during his younger days. There was a certain case to be made for Mr. Wilson's resemblance to the first zombie in that old movie which usually made kids bolt when he would appear in the park at the far end of town.
Some used to throw stones at him trying to get the embattled senior to chase them, but he never did. Randy heard that he used to be a tent preacher, but that was a long time lost. Now he was a hand for hire, and Randy his apprentice for an afternoon. Mr. Wilson made a sudden sharp left turn almost upending Randy as the truck crossed a dirt filled ditch onto a grown-over path. Things got bumpy and a little dicey as he tooled along the overgrown path at a decent clip ignoring randy holding on for dear life. There was this huge dip that nearly sent him over the side back first, if he weren't holding on.
"HEY!!" Randy shouted as the truck started to climb a grassy knoll full of tall reeds cutting a swath traveling as he stood up in the back finding a large unkempt fenced off field. Off in the distance Randy could see a small cabin on the far side as the truck slowed to an eventual stop. He was cursing himself for accepting the job as he noticed a mower off to the side in an already trimmed patch of grass.
"Aw shit, played myself." Randy mumbled as Mr. Wilson got out of the truck waiting mutely for Randy to join him. He jumped down finding the old man standing there, waiting.
"Uhm, are we doing this field?"
He knodded, but didn't do anything else seemingly waiting. Randy was at once befuddled, not knowing what to do off faced with a mute supervisor. He needed those sneakers.
"Mr. Wilson?" He didn't react, standing there stoically leaving Randy to ponder his next course of action.
Randy folded his arms considering a walk back but didn't want to go into the unfamiliar wooded path that led back to the nearby crossroads. He glanced back finding someone approaching from the far end of the field, a woman in this flimsy looking diaphanous white dress that caught the light breeze.
