Sea of Nightmares

Heartburn

Narrator: Far away from everyone and everything was, a small log cabin in the mountains hidden by the forest. It was ragged and torn in spots. Damn sure wouldn’t withstand a storm with all the holes in the roof. Lucky for its occupants the rainy weather was over and the sky was blue and clear. The air was hot and dry. The wind was lukewarm and the ground was blistering in the sun but cool in the shade. Inside the cabin was an old-fashioned wooden stove, and a table made from a fallen tree (meant for preparing food). A small collapsible eating tray held a hand-crank radio with the volume knob broken off, a tattered quilt lay in the center of the floor, and across from the table was a dingy sofa chair that’d light you up with dust if you were stupid enough to flop down.

In the sofa chair sat an old man with a fleece blanket wrapped around him. His skin was wrinkled, freckled, and tanned with age and years of hard work. He donned a salt and pepper beard that touched the base of his neck and no hair on his head. The silver salt part of the beard was now encroaching on the black pepper part of the beard. There were layers of bags under his eyes and rings from not sleeping. He wore a green flannel shirt, jeans, and black boots. The man grunted as he pulled one of his arms from under the blanket to pull a stump on the left side of the chair to the front of it. He removed his boots and propped his big feet onto the wooden stump. The brown socks on his feet looked like they’d been through some things. The right sock had a hole just big enough for the pinky toe to pop out and wiggle. The man harrumphed in his chair as an old dog slowly walked behind the chair to sit on the blanket lying in the center of the floor. The poor dog whined its back legs shaking as it finally laid down. The dog was a special Plott hound. A large beautiful dog with soft brown eyes and a rich dark brown fur coat with light brown patches. It was a gift for the man from his older sister in North Carolina on his nineteenth birthday. The dog had been with the man through everything.  The old man looked at the dog with sorrowful and empathetic eyes and said: 

Big Daddy: (Sigh) It’s alright, baby girl, big daddy is gonna get you back home soon. We just gotta wait here till Sheryl comes to her senses and comes home. It’s okay, girl. It’s gonna be alright, Sallie.

Dog (Sallie): (Whines) (whimpers)

Narrator: The man leaned over a little in his chair. An expression of pain seized his face. He clutched his heart and mumbled:

Big Daddy: (Grunt) Mm, must be heartburn…  

Narrator: A little vein pulsated right above his left temple as the man got up, still clutching his chest. He shuffled his feet across the wooden floor to the door. The front door was the only way in and out. To the right of the door was a styrofoam cooler. He pulled out a water and chugged it. He placed his free hand over his chest where his heart lay. The man propped himself against the wall and took deep long breaths. Sallie lifted her head and whined, worried about the man. Her head shook involuntarily. Like any old woman’s head, I’d imagine.

Big Daddy: Oh you hush now, big daddy gonna be fine. He just needs his pills.

Narrator: The man walked to the food prepping table. On the table lay a half-eaten can of beans and giblets from a small creature proudly caught by Sallie. She brought it back to the man after he’d shot it with such a triumph; as if to say, ‘I still got it’. The man looked down beside the table where a first aid kit was placed. He slowly bent down, opened the box, took out two round white pills, and chewed them. He shuffled his feet back to his sofa chair turning on the radio right before he sat down. 

Around two hours later The man and Sallie were both asleep. The radio droned on. A man was on the radio crying and whining about some girl over a guitar. The volume knob was gone so the little radio always played loud country when it was charged. Both the man and Sallie were hard of hearing so neither minded. The man stirred a little in his chair clutching at his heart again. He moaned and groaned over the country music playing as Sallie sat up and whined. He was mumbling the name Sheryl over and over again in his sleep. For a brief moment, the new country song playing with a woman yodeling over a banjo was interrupted by radio static. Through the static came a whisper in an old forgotten language. The man’s eyes shot open. The thumping of his heart sounded like it was on speakers placed all over the tiny cabin. His breathing grew loud and panicky. In front of him sat Sallie tilting her head curiously at the radio. She had one paw up pawing at the air and whimpering. The static grew loud, the voice disappeared, and back came the yodeler. 

The Man: Sallie, baby girl I don’t think this is heartburn no more. (Grunt and whimper in pain and fear)

Narrator: The man ripped his shirt open to see his heart glowing neon red and orange through his chest like a late-night open sign. The veins running through grew a dark red and began to sear. Low smoke started to creep out of his chest like he was hiding a fog machine. It was as if God decided to throw the man’s heart in a heated-up cast iron skillet. Burn lines etched around his chest outlining his heart. He fell out of the chair on his hands and knees begging God, Jesus, saints, angels, and any divine being he could think of to intervene and stop the pain. As his chest smoked and his heart glowed he begged for forgiveness of past sins. Hard to see your chest lit up like the Fourth of July and not think you’re dying. The man’s heart began to thump loud and slow. He choked and grasped at the air, trying to reach for Sallie. Salie whimpered and cried in front of her human unsure how to help him. She could smell his flesh burning and damn sure knew that ain’t normal. She got to the door as fast as her old legs would carry her. Sallie passed a now lifeless man lying on the floor, arms stretched out. She pawed at the door and howled.

After about a minute of Sallie howling at the door, the radio static came back. When it faded a soft familiar voice was on the radio and it cooed at Sallie.

Sheryl: Now now Sallie baby none of that, it’s okay. You have always been good to me. You tried to protect us. It’s time for you to rest now honey (hums you are my sunshine). 

Narrator: Sallie wagged her tail and came to lay closer to the radio. She laid her head on the belly of the man and faded into sleep as the radio voice hummed. The man was stretched out like he was making a snow angel. Black soot surrounded a hole in the man’s chest where his heart literally burned out of his body. A pile of ash lay by his left armpit.

In a windowless grey room sat a woman on the edge of a twin bed. She slowly rocked and hummed you are my sunshine. There was no furniture besides the bed. The floor was cold grey concrete and the ceiling flooded the room with fluorescent lighting. The air in the room was foul. It smelt like burnt fabric and death. The woman looked to be in her mid-thirties. She had fiery red curls that came to her shoulders. Her pale skin was riddled with purple and blue bruises. Deep red claw marks slithered up her thighs, starting at her calves. Her left leg shook furiously as she clutched a lighter in her left hand and something in her right that was still smoking. After a couple of minutes, her leg gradually stopped shaking, her humming ceased, and she took two deep slow breaths. The woman opened her right hand to reveal a hand-sewn fabric doll. The doll had on a green flannel, jeans, and black boots. The doll had an impressive salt-and-pepper beard made out of yarn. She placed the doll on the bed beside her, stuffed the lighter under the mattress, placed both hands over her face, and sobbed. It wasn’t a sob of grief, but one of relief.

Sheryl: (Sobbing) I’m free. I did it. I’m free. (Sobbing).

Narrator: There was a knock on the door. The woman wiped her face quickly, doing a poor job of hiding the fact that she’d just been crying.

(Knocking on door)

Narrator: A tiny woman opened the door. There were dark circles around her eyes and her thin blonde hair was carefully pulled back. Her voice was soft and barely over a whisper.

Katie: Sheryl, it’s time for the group. Did you call Detective Rainos here again? He’s in the lobby. Thought of new places Big Daddy could be hiding?

Sheryl: Yes Katie, yes I did.

Narrator: After the detective and Sheryl had a quick discussion, the police hightailed it to the mountains. They found a small log cabin right where Sheryl told them to look. The air around the cabin was absolutely foul. Some officers put on a mask. The police officers opened the cabin and were greeted by an old Plott hound. An old man in green flannel, jeans, and black boots lay dead on the floor. Originally they thought the smell was coming from him, but a loose floorboard led to the officers unearthing a mass grave dug right under the cabin. The bodies seemed to all be female and all of them were in different phases of decomposition. One of the newest had on a once-white shirt that said Baby Girl in pink font. The same shirt Sheryl was found running alongside the road. The couple that found her said that she was screaming Big Daddy’s coming repeatedly. Sheryl was a hitchhiker who got into the wrong car a while back. When a man, who called himself Big Daddy, picked her up in his truck, why he ain’t want to let her go, so he didn’t. She became his next baby girl until she was brave enough to escape. 

None of the policemen knew what to think of the hole in the man’s chest. The pile of ash beside him confused forensics, no one could figure out what exactly happened. The official report says some type of shotgun. 

As the police were wrapping up, a young rookie cop was staring at the body trying to maintain the sub sandwich making its way back up. An older cop patted him on the back, giving a slight chuckle, and said, “Evil son of bitch. Half these girls we’ve been looking for for years. (Chuckle) Talk about a helluva case of heartburn.”