The Booger of Swindle Creek

The sun was fading from the sky as Clyde James took the last swig from his can of beer and tossed it over his shoulder into the bed of his truck. The day had started off rough. It was the summer of 1975, and the town of Hollow Springs was smack-dab in the middle of a growth spurt. It seemed the folks from the flatlands had finally discovered the little mountain town because they were moving up here building their summer homes. With the influx of new residents and tourists came new businesses, and new businesses needed new buildings.

Clyde worked as a carpenter. He and the rest of his crew were working on a new truck stop they were putting up just outside of town near the lake. Clyde was happy to get the job. Something like that was good, steady work, or it should have been. Problem was, they'd been rained out after two hours. The boss had settled up with them for the time they'd worked, but two hours a day wasn't going to put food on the table.

Martha had been mighty perturbed to see him home so soon for the third time this week, and she'd started in on him as soon as he walked through the door. After three hours of arguing, he'd finally hopped in his truck and headed over to Bobby Mayhew's house to get some peace. By the time he got there, the rain had long since moved out, and Bobby suggested that maybe Clyde could catch dinner. So, they'd packed up their fishing gear, along with a fair amount of beer, hopped in Clyde's truck, and headed down to Swindle Creek.

As it happened, they ran into their buddy Tommy Benson on the bank of the creek. Lucky for them, he had brought his own cooler full of beer. Before long, the three of them were having themselves a fine old time drinking and bullshitting. Occasionally, they even did a little fishing. They did not catch dinner, but they did manage to go through the beer.

When dusk rolled around, they finally decided it was time to go home. Tommy's car was parked up closer to the road, and Clyde watched as Bobby stumbled toward it carrying his tackle box in one hand. His other arm was outstretched in an attempt to keep his balance as he climbed up the muddy bank. Tommy followed behind carrying both fishing poles, his tackle box, and his cooler. Bobby lost his footing and went down on one knee.

"Son of a bitch! This mud is slicker'n shit," Bobby said.

Clyde raised an eyebrow and fought back a smile. He was fairly sure the beer was more to blame than the mud. Bobby was a lightweight. Clyde was relatively sure that Tommy was thinking the same thing as he set his things down and helped Bobby to his feet. Tommy looked a little put out by the whole matter, but he didn't say anything.

"You sure you don't mind dropping him off?" Clyde asked.

"Yeah, no sense in you driving all the way back out to his place when I'm headed that direction anyway," Tommy said.

"Alright then, y'all take care," Clyde said as he slid off of the tailgate.

By the time he packed up his gear, the light was almost gone. He had a decent buzz going, and he wasn't in any hurry to get back home and let Martha ruin it. Instead, he stood on the bank of the river watching the lightning bugs blink in the tall grass at the edge of the creek. It was early June, and the weather was nice now that the day's heat had worn off. The sounds of the animals, bugs, and frogs hiding in the trees and grass filled the air around him. In the Ozarks, mosquitoes weren't much of a problem. The bats took care of that. So, on a mild night like tonight, a person could just sit out here and enjoy the sunset in peace.

Clyde's peace was broken by his bladder warning him that he'd had too much to drink. There was no one else around, but this was a popular make out place for the young folks around town so Clyde made his way into the forest to do his business. He had just zipped his jeans back up when a twig snapped in the darkness ahead of him. He froze, trying to determine what sort of animal might be out there. He listened for a moment but heard nothing. Alarm set in as he realized that the night had gone totally silent. Between the trees, he could still see the lighting bugs sparkling in the grass along the banks of the creek. Otherwise, nothing moved.