The Hoppwood Tenant
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The Hoppwood Tenant
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"What the hell kind of critter makes a hole like that?
This damn thing goes way back into the hill. The mouth alone is big enough for a man to
squeeze through, 'though I'll be damned if I'd be one to try!" exclaimed Delbert.
His younger friend, Pete, stared into the fissure that retreated
into the dark interior of the mounded hillock. The pair had discovered the tunnel by
accident as they tore through a fall of dead brush in search of game.
"I doubt you'd likely fit what with all them extra pounds
you've put on since you was married," Pete joked. As he cleared more shrubbery from
the narrow entrance, he noted that the top of the slit-like opening rose more than five
feet above the ground.
"Don't know who or what made this," Delbert offered,
"but it goes right through rock that's weathered smooth, so it's been here for some
time; I'd hazard it dates way back to when the red skins lived here. We all know the
Hoppwoods never 'llowed no huntin' in these woods for better'n three generations. Maybe
that critter ol' Miss Hoppwood was always rantin' about lives right in this here
hole."
Pete ignored Delbert's last remark.
"There used to be bears around here, they say. Maybe it's
nothin' more than an ol' bear's den—or maybe Big Foot lives here!" Delbert
suggested.
"Bears don't dig caves, Del," Pete observed, "they
only squat in ones they find, natural ones. This one ain't natural, though, 'cos the
entrance is lined with rough cut stones. Must o' been Indians that made it 'cos the
Hoppwoods just let all this grow wild—wouldn't even hunt 'round here
themselves!"
The pair had been trespassing since dawn. The owner of the land,
Miss Hoppwood, had passed away two days earlier, and the men simply could restrain
themselves no longer; they had to be the first to hunt the virgin wood. Their fantasies,
involving hordes of pheasant, rabbit, possum, and quail, had proven altogether
unrealistic, however; as they had failed to sight any game at all despite traipsing
through miles of tangled undergrowth and waist-high brambles. As dusk approached, only
their fascination with the curious tunnel kept them from realizing their exhaustion.
"I bet this is where Miss Hoppwood meant her tenant
lived," Delbert insisted.
His friend's gullibility struck Pete as absurd. "Don't hand
me that! Ever'body knows the Hoppwoods was all nuttier than a squirrel's lunch and just
made up all that stuff about a monster living here to scare off trespassers."
"Well, we're trespassin' right now," Delbert snickered.
"But they couldn't o' made it all up 'cos the Indians declared this land off limits
long before any settlers got here. My grandpa said it musta taken something pretty awful
to drive red skins out. He swore even the most fearless braves'd rather o' been skinned
alive than set foot in these woods."
"And you believed him?" scoffed Pete.
"Well," Delbert responded, "what with you
delivering Miss Hoppwood's supplies for so long, you musta heard more of her tales than
anybody else. What did the old witch have to say about her 'tenant'?"
Pete suddenly struck a fighting stance. "Don't be callin'
Miss Hoppwood a witch! I mean it." He gritted his teeth as he attempted to calm his
sudden fury. "She may have been an old woman who never got married, but that don't
make her no witch!"
Delbert, realizing he had gone too far, apologized, but felt
obliged to add that it wasn't natural for any woman to remain a virgin all her life. He
believed such things lead to off-color gossip.
The apology seemed to satisfy Pete, who spoke of the deceased
beldame with a certain reverence in his voice. "She weren't no witch; she was a real
nice old gal once you got to know her. Truth is, I felt sorry for her, living alone out
here for all these years. She was awful lonely; that's the only reason why I listened to
her wild tales. It was her grandfather who told her all she knew about the Indians and
their dealing with the monster, and she believed ever' last word of it."
"Okay, so what'd she say?" Delbert queried impatiently.
Pete tested a sapling birch to see if it would support his weight
before he chanced to lean against it. "Her gramps was real friendly with a big shot
Hopewell called a 'shaman.' Grandpa Hoppwood wanted to settle on this land somethin'
fierce, but this shaman claimed the place was bad medicine. He said some kind of monster
had dug itself into the tribe's biggest burial mound and wouldn't leave. When the tribe's
best warriors tried to drive it out, they was wiped out to the last man quick as a flick.
So this shaman feller, he got himself all doped on magic weed, figuring he'd fix things up
'tween the monster and his people. He took on the form of his animal soul, whatever that
is, and dropped right in on that there monster for a visit.
"The critter put pictures and noise in the shaman's head to
show him its home on a dark world located way the hell out from the sun where it was
colder'n a witch's tit. It called the place 'Hugot,' 'Hugoth,' or something like that. Its
kind lived there underground 'til some things that was part insect and part crab came from
another star and dug him up. The insect-crab things were small but powerful strong and
mean. They slapped great big wings or sails on the monster's back and rode him clear
through space 'til they got to Earth, using what the shaman called 'winds of the sun.'
They landed right here in these very woods. The passengers were lookin' for some metal
they was fixin' to mine, and when they didn't find it here, they up and tore the
wing-sails off the monster and just left it here to fend for itself while they went on up
North. Since it couldn't bear the light, the monster climbed in the nearest shelter, which
turned out to be a hollow burial mound, and made itself right t' home."
Delbert, who didn't believe a word of what he was hearing, felt
compelled to scoff at such silly superstition. He ventured, "And it's been holed up
here ever since, right? Well, what's the damned thing supposed to look like anyway?"
"Accordin' to the shaman feller, it was big as hell with
slimy black, rubbery skin. But mostly, he said it stood on four great big leg posts and
'minded him of an elephant that'd been squashed flat; it didn't have no eyes nor face; it
depended on its sense of smell and on hearing vibrations through the ground. And seein' as
how it was so rubbery, it could squeeze through small places or stretch out like an
umbrella when it was of a mind ta."
Pete paused as if he had completed the story, but Delbert wanted
more. "Go on," he called, "tell me how the Hoppwoods ended up with the
land. Did they kill off the shaman guy and just steal it, or what?"
"They didn't kill nobody, you jackass. The monster'd been
driv' out of one home, though, and wasn't about to 'llow that again. The shaman made a
deal with it, so's it promised not to kill no more as long as it was left in peace right
where it was. Old Man Hoppwood had to swear an oath never to allow nob'dy to bother it,
otherwise the Indians wouldn't o' sold him the land, which they 'ventually did. To seal
the deal, the shaman gave Grandpa Hoppwood a vision of the monster just ta put the fear o'
God in him so's he'd keep his oath. Must o' been some vision, 'cos the Hoppwoods all made
it their sacred duty to keep ever'body out of these woods. Wonst her parents died, Miss
Hoppwood was a-feared to marry lest her husband dishonor the oath. She made it her mission
to ensure her tenant wasn't never bothered."
Delbert gave Pete a skeptical look. "So what do you
think?"
Pete paused before replying, "Well, mostly I just tried to be
polite and listenin', actin' like I believed all she was sayin'. She was a sweet ol' gal,
a little off maybe, like the rest of her family, but that dodn't make 'em bad people.
That's why I get a fire in my gut ever' time you call her a witch."
A full minute passed before Delbert deigned to ask, "What
with Miss Hoppwood gone, I guess that makes you the expert on her tenant. So tell me, how
much of her story do you believe now that we've found ourselves a mound right here where
she said it was, probably a burial mound too? Do you s'pose there's a big rubber alien in
there waiting to gobble us up for botherin' it?"
Pete contemplated the possibility for a moment before answering.
"I sorta doubt it, but if you're right and this is a burial mound, we might find
ourselves some treasure in there You hear tell of the gold folks say the Indians fished
off the bed of the Madd River?"
That prospect had not occurred to Delbert. He suddenly had visions
of making a fortune selling Indian gold. Only Pete's next declaration disturbed his
reverie.
"I'm going in there and take a look-see," Pete said. He
leaned to one side, allowing his backpack to slip over his shoulder and to the ground.
Next, he squatted down and searched through the pack until he located a traffic flare and
a lighter. Smiling as he rose, Pete asked his friend if he would like to accompany him,
knowing full well the chubby Delbert could not possibly squeeze through the slight
opening. He was also aware that Delbert was the type to let others do all the work for
him.
"Well, I sure as hell ain't stickin' my head in no hole so's
I can 'howdy-do' a damn bear or Lord knows what else. You're the brave one, so go on. I'll
stay right where I'm at, thank you very much." It suddenly occurred to him that Pete
might become lost or injured inside the tunnel, in which case it would be up to Delbert to
rescue him; the thought made him uneasy.
"Hold on a tick," Delbert insisted. "Seein' as how
you'd get lost in an outhouse, I've got an idea." He leaned his shotgun against a
nearby rock and removed his backpack. After rummaging around inside, he removed a length
of sturdy rope. Offering one end to Pete, he tied the other end securely about his own
waist.
"Wrap that tight 'round you and make a good knot 'fore you
take another step," Delbert directed his companion. With a joking smile, he added,
"That way, if you get into mischief in there, I can pull your skinny ass out and be a
hero without even gettin' my hands dirty!"
Pete laughed and shook his head. Realizing the sense of the plan,
however, he applied the rope as instructed. He then turned to Delbert with a feigned look
of sadness on his face and teased, "You'd miss me more'n you can say, wouldn't you,
Del Honey?"
He jumped back to avoid the fist that came flying in his
direction. Both men laughed uproariously. Delbert began to make a deprecatory remark in
response to Pete's joking flirt but found he was laughing too hard to get it out. Calming
a bit, he said, "Now cut the sweet talk and get your fanny in that hole if you're
a-going—Honey."
Pete chuckled as he approached the cave's entrance, lit the flare
with his lighter, ducked his head low, and thrust one foot into the crumbling portal.
From behind, Delbert called out in all seriousness, "Watch
yourself in there, now!"
Pete smiled and replied, "Will do, ol' buddy."
As Delbert watched his friend disappear into the darkness, he
wondered if greed had overridden his better judgment. Pete was his best friend, after all,
and he certainly did not want to lose him or see him hurt. He decided he was worrying too
much, so he abandoned himself to imagining the fortune in gold that would soon be theirs.
Standing on his toes and weaving from side to side, he managed to follow the faint glow of
Pete's flare as it traveled inward, then disappeared.
"Do you see anything yet?" Delbert shouted impatiently.
A muffled, unintelligible response drifted back to him. "I can't understand what your
sayin'!" he responded. "Speak up, damn it!" He held his breath, realizing
the slightest sound would drown out Pete's answer. Reluctantly positioning himself closer
to the opening, he yelled, "What?" into the darkness of the hole.
"I said the tunnel opens up real big --this whole damn hill's
hollow!" Pete shouted. "There must be at least half an acre of open space in
here, and it's all one big room. I can't determine how far up it goes 'cos the light from
this flare's too weak to cut through the pitch dark. There's four great big, slimy, black
columns holdin' something up, but I can't define just what." A choking cough
followed. "The smell in here's 'nough to gag a maggot!
Delbert anxiously pushed for further details.
"It's full of graves too, Indian graves like we thought.
Looks like they just dug shallow circles down about a foot and a half into the ground and
threw the bodies in. None of 'em's covered over or nothin'. Sure wish I had a better
light." His voice sounded much farther away now. "There's things in some of the
graves that sparkles ever' time the light passes over, but...hold on!"
Delbert held his breath, excitement coursing through every inch of
his body. Surely the sparkles meant some of the graves contained gold, although mica would
sparkle as well. He, or rather they, were going to be rich! Unable to bear the suspense
any longer, he cried out, "Hey there, Pete! Whatcha doin' now? Do ya see any fer-sure
gold anywhere?"
"There must be a hundred or more skel'tons laid out in
here," came the faint answer, "most of 'em just thrown in ever' which ways in
the graves. Something 'bout 'em don't look right though, not right at all."
"Whatcha mean?" Delbert called back.
"The bones, 'specially these here skulls, is all mashed, like
they been run over by a steamroller." There was a pause. "I don't mind tellin'
ya, this place is beginnin' to make me feel a mite skiddish. I'm startin' to think I best
get outta here!"
"Don't leave! Not just yet," Delbert called out
impatiently. "You've gone this far, you might as well get something for your trouble.
Take yourself a minute more and see if you can find some gold gewgaws, then trot your
prissy ass right back out here." When no response was forthcoming, he called out
worriedly, "Pete? Hey, Pete! Tell Del what's goin' on!" Before he could help
himself, he added, "Did you find any gold yet? Dammit, Pete, answer me!"
"I hear ya!" echoed back to him. "Yeah, some of
these bones is wearin' trinkets that are prob'ly gold. But it don't exactly put me none at
ease that they's all squashed, same as the bones.
"All the while I'm tryin' to look around, I'm feelin' more
and more nervous 'bout what's above my head. I built myself a little fire over at the foot
of one of them big round columns I told you 'bout; there's a lot of loose brush that's
built up over the years in here, so I figured I'd use some of it to help see better. Soon
as the blaze gets big enough to light things up a bit, I'll feel a whole lot better. That
damn coal black ceiling gives me the shivers and quakes.
"You know, if I didn't know better, I say it looks
like...huh? What the hell! Columns can't move! Oh, Jesus God Almighty Christ! No!
No!"
Delbert turned white, his ears assaulted by a hail of
throat-wrenching screams abruptly cut off yet still echoing through the mound's interior.
He knew this was no prank, as only unimaginable agony could cause such shrieks. He tried
to call out to his friend, but he could not get the sound beyond the thick lump of terror
that now lodged in his throat.
"Pete?" he finally managed to whisper; his second
attempt was somewhat louder. A sudden jolt of adrenaline made him cry out Pete's name over
and over hysterically. It occurred to him that he should go in there after Pete, but his
body refused to obey that command; his overloaded brain had simply shut down.
The next moment, Delbert heard something emanating from deep
within the mound, a sniffing or gurgling sound—he could not be sure. Whatever it was,
it ripped the last remnants of hope from his heart, leaving him short of breath and in a
panic. He had no idea that a stream of urine was running down his leg.
"Pete," he called again. "What's wrong? Are you all
right, Pete? Somethin' in there with ya, ain't it? Come on, answer me, Pete!" He was
sure he now heard an additional sound from within the mound, a lapping noise like a cat
makes as it eats. On top of that, he was sure he heard breathing, really big breathing.
Recalling the rope tightly wound around his waist, Delbert began
to pull its length toward him, reluctantly at first, then more quickly. He soon gathered
more than enough rope to account for the distance Pete had traveled, credible proof that
Pete was no longer on the other end. He dropped the rope as if it were red hot.
He felt his body growing cold, icy cold all over. Involuntary
whimpers began issuing from his throat. "Petey boy," he mumbled.
"Somethin's got my Petey boy and I gotta help him." He repeated those same words
over and over until they rose to a screeching crescendo.
The rope suddenly rose up from the ground and stretched itself
taut. Before thought could spring into Delbert's confused mind, his body lurched forward
several feet, slamming into the narrow entrance of the cave.
He struggled, frantically fumbling to untie the rope before it cut
his wedged body in half. He had no doubt that whatever held the other end of the rope was
not human.
A second mighty draw on the line somehow managed to pull Delbert's
entire body through the tiny entrance into darkness. He twisted wildly in an effort to
gain solid purchase, but his torn and bleeding form flipped mercilessly against the dirt
floor and jagged walls. For one instant, he seemed suspended above an empty, lightless
abyss, but shooting pain returned him to the reality of the moment as his head, arms and
shoulders struck unseen obstacles again and again.
An eternity later, he came to an abrupt halt. Broken and bleeding,
he lay face down on the cold, damp ground, savoring even its rough unevenness. A few feet
away, he recognized the stub of Pete's still burning flare; reaching out despite his
agony, he pulled it to him. The comfort he received at having light instantly faded when,
after forcing himself to rise, he recognized the source of the unevenness beneath
him—he had been lying on the bloody, horribly shattered bones of a human being.
Amongst the bones of a crushed hand, he recognized the friendship ring he had given Pete
several years before.
He screamed and jumped to his feet, mindless of the protests from
his damaged limbs. Trembling, he raised the burning flare upward in an attempt to
illuminate the darkness above his head, the likely source of whatever had murdered his
friend. As he squinted into the shadows, his body began to convulse as he stared fixedly
into the incredible mass of teeth set firmly in the face of the huge round pile driver
that was furiously descending upon him from above.
* * *
A peculiar pilgrimage took place in Hoppwood County shortly
after Lyla Hoppwood passed away.
Nate MacGregor, whose pasture directly sided the Hoppwood
property, telephoned Sheriff Boyle to report that a "foldin' card table, black and
'bout forty foot tall" was crossing his land at a slow lumbering gait, heading due
north. His fields, he claimed, were littered with tons of boulders, sod and uprooted
Sycamore trees that had fallen from the earthen mound set atop the headless, faceless
intruder.
Sheriff Boyle knew the only Sycamores in the area were on the
Hoppwood property. He had also received notice that same day that two young local men, now
missing for two days, had been last seen walking in the direction of that same property.
Putting two and two together was not hard, especially after the Sheriff discovered a huge
patch of newly uprooted earth in the woods near the Hoppwood mansion. It looked as though
someone had used a cookie cutter to impress six-foot circles into the ground, circles
containing the mutilated skeletons of apparently hundreds of long-dead Indians, plus two
very fresh corpses. The Sheriff could not help but recall the queer tales Miss Hoppwood,
her daddy and his daddy before him had told concerning their unique "tenant."
As word of the exotic traveler spread, people turned out in
droves, hoping for a glimpse of the outlandish spectacle that had the whole town talking.
All had heard, although few had truly believed, the stories the Hoppwood family had told
for generations. In light of this new evidence, however, skepticism quickly waned. Initial
reactions to the strange loping oddity were a mix of fear and amazement, but once folks
recognized the bizarre creature as a long term resident and one of their own, a degree of
sympathy for it began to develop; after all, it had lived in their midst for decades
without bothering a soul until a couple of shiftless poachers had invaded its lair. Surely
they had deserved whatever fate they had received. The poor creature was obviously only
tramping across the land now in search of privacy and a more secure shelter.
People traveled from farm to farm just to catch a glimpse of the
wonder, their awed whispers becoming cheers of encouragement as the bizarre being paraded
before them. Although its newfound fans were convinced Miss Hoppwood's displaced tenant
meant no harm to anyone, one unfortunate incident did occur. A young couple, outsiders
without connections in Hoppwood County, were instantly crushed flat by a previously unseen
appendage that telescoped down from the creature's torso. They were strangers to the
community and had foolishly ventured too near the mammoth, column-like legs, so they only
had themselves to blame for their deaths.
Despite a seeming lack of eyes or ears, the unearthly pilgrim
marched on, mile after mile, unerringly headed toward the only suitable refuge in the
area, the unexplored subterranean caverns on Nub Jenkins' farm.
By the time the spectacular creature arrived and eased itself into
what was believed to be the largest the of Jenkins' caverns, it had been unanimously
accepted into the hearts of the citizens of Hoppwood County. The cavern was voted an
historic landmark the next day, and the beast itself pronounced an endangered species to
be kept secret and protected at all cost. Nub and a handful of volunteers encircled the
cavern area with barbed-wire fence, dotting its length with signs that alternately
declared, "No Trespassing" and "Do Not Disturb Tenant."
As Nub put it, "Mind ya, the critter may look like some black
titan's unmade bed, but that ain't no call for actin' prejudice to'rd it!"
FINIS
You can contact Stanley directly at his email address, demoneye@earthlink.net.