I wrote this story in 1993 for a class project. Through the years it has gone under several revisions. This one is the final version. 

Written 1993 copyright 1993-2025

HATTIESBURG TRIBUNE

August 17, 1993

The Forrest County Sheriff’s department was notified early yesterday morning by the Mississippi Highway Department who found a 1987 Chevy Mini van pulled off the road with a flat tire. While in route, Deputy Sheriff Josh Hanes, and Sam Cline, received another call from MDH who found the body of a man in a wooded area approximately one hundred yards off highway 29 in the Desoto National Forest south of Hattiesburg, Mississippi. According to the driver’s license found on the body is that of Gorge Carter, 42 of Memphis, Tennessee. 

It is believed Carter abandoned the vehicle in search of assistance and was likely unfamiliar with the area. According to Forrest County Coroner Author Smith, there were unusual markings found on both hands and what seems to be a significant wound to Carter’s left wrist, no foul play is suspected in Carter’s death. The body was taken to Forrest County Coroner’s office for autopsy.

                                                                                      ****

      George Carter whistled along to a tune on the radio as he urged his mini van past another eighteen-wheeler. He hated interstate travel, the endless stretches of highway, the traffic and driving for hours through the pine hills of Mississippi on I-55. Carter sped past another semi and coughed as he drove through a black billowing cloud of exhaust. He pressed his foot on the accelerator attempting to get past the convoy of vehicles and when he passed them, he kept his foot down, ignoring the fifty-five mph speed limit sign. He flew down the interstate as he drove on to his destination, and popped the remaining honey roasted peanuts into his mouth, tossing the package out the window. Littering didn’t bother George. The way he saw it, everyone did it and that one little wrapper was not going to take up much space in a landfill let alone clog the highway. 

     Coming into Hattiesburg city limits the town was going through a growth spurt, highway construction slowed his progress and now he had to take a detour. He wished he’d have flown to Mobile, Alabama, instead of driving, but the company budget didn’t have the funds. He was told if he wanted to fly, he would have to pay for the flight. What a way to honor top salesman of the year, he thought. 

     As dusk settled in George swung onto highway 49.  He thought about why he was going to Mobile and swelled with pride. For the third year in a row, he was being honored as top salesman of the year. The company he worked for manufactured air conditioning parts; a vital necessity for sweaty people who couldn’t stand the heat. He was great at convincing his customers how AC 4 U air conditioning parts could make the units run efficiently and minimal noise. He had the gift of gab and could talk to a stranger into giving him his last dollar if he wanted. However, money wasn’t the motive; it was recognition and respect he craved. He told those who asked how he was able to rack up the sales, it was knowing how to manipulate the customer; even if it meant intimidating them during the pitch in a subtle way, they didn’t know they were being coerced. He wanted everyone he came in contact with to know they had been in the presence of a great man

     Although he wore glasses, George squinted at a sign looming up on the right, informing him he was now on highway 29. He slowed his vehicle down when he passed the sign. When did I get on 29? He thought. Another sign told him he was ten miles from the nearest town; one he didn’t recognize on the map he’d poured over when he left Hattiesburg. He thought about pulling over to check the map, but it was a dark highway, no streetlights and no obvious signs of civilization, he made up his mind to stop in the next town and recheck the map then. 

     It was a small town boasting a population of one-hundred-fifty citizens. Barley a spot in the road as George searched for a gas station or some kind of convenience store. He spotted one but was met with darkened windows and an empty parking lot. He hated small towns. There was never a place to stop to eat or pee. Just another pit stain that rolled up its sidewalks by sunset. He pulled into the parking lot and pulled out the map. He searched for the town’s name and of course, it was so small it wasn’t listed. “Well, ain’t that just a happy la-te-da crock of shit!” George growled as he folded up the map. He would have to drive on until he came to the next town on the map and maybe get back onto the right highway. 

    He needed to pee. An hour passed by, and he had no idea where he was. Now he was on a two-lane nightmare in the middle of Mississippi that was dark and unfriendly and in dire need of road repairs. He had no idea how he got on the cow path and whether he should turn around. George was not an outdoor enthusiast; he preferred the bright lights and concrete of city life. He lived in an apartment just so he didn’t have to take care of a lawn or paint the house. He kept driving, lost in thought until his bladder screamed in protest for relief. He hadn’t passed through a town in a while, and it was close to 2 a.m. There had to be a town nearby. He sure didn’t want to pull off the road to pee. God only knew what was lurking in the woods that lay on both sides of the road. He could feel his bladder swelling, if he can make it just a few more miles…..then the van lurched nearly whipping the steering wheel from his hands. 

     He nursed the hobbling vehicle off the road and got out. It didn’t take a moon lit night or the flashlight he held in his hands to see he had a flat. He switched the light on and realized it wasn’t a simple flat, he’d blown out the tire. There were shreds of rubber littering the road and thankful he didn’t crash since he’d been speeding trying to find a way off the narrow road. He walked to the back of the van muttering about his turn of events and searched for the spare tire and jack. He’d almost forgot about the urgent need to pee as he tugged on the storage area ring until it gave way. When he opened it, there was no spare tire and no jack. He punched the side of the van and kicked the bumper. 

     “Now isn’t this just a fine mess! Son of a bitch!” He shouted into the muggy night. Nothing but bull frogs and cicadas answered him back. He started to sit down in the back of the van when his bladder reminded him, he should urinate before he wet his trousers. So, he did.

     He studied his situation. He had no idea where the road led to, but there had to be people who lived on it. He couldn’t recall seeing a porch light as he sped down the road or remember the last time he’d seen another vehicle. He could sit there and hope someone would drive by which did not guarantee it would stop. If he still wanted to make it to Mobile in time for the ceremony he had to start walking and find a house and hope they would be trusting enough to let him use the phone to call for roadside assistance.

     Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he removed his jacket, tossing it on the seat, and slammed the door. He made it a hundred yards before he thought it might be a good idea to leave a note on the van in case someone did stop and walked back to the vehicle. He was halfway to it when he rationalized it was obvious what happened, and it wouldn’t matter to anyone in the area who he was. 

     Ten minutes later, George was wishing for a drink of water. His breath rasped from his parched throat and sweat ran into his eyes. The high humidity and his large belly only exasperated the situation as he plodded down the deserted road. His slick soled shoes weren’t made for hiking, and it felt like he’d walked for miles. He didn’t care for the scuttling noises he heard in the woods. He didn’t want to know what caused them and no desire to find out. He reasoned it was probably opossums or skunks or some other small nocturnal creature; but if he heard anything crashing through the woods toward him chances were good he’d be eaten. He wasn’t a runner and the possibility of running away from a blood crazed beast only spurned him to keep walking. 

     A few minutes later, he found a place to rest; it wasn't much; a boulder at the edge of the road. He unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, but it didn't cool him off. He felt like he could collapse in a massive heap and go to sleep and pray he wouldn’t be assaulted by a bear. He searched the area hoping for some kind of sign telling him how far to the next town, but then he spotted a light up on a small hill nearby. “Of course it’s up a hill, why make this easy?” He spoke into the darkness. But it gave him resolve to push on. 

     George was weary and frustrated. What he took to be the driveway to his salvation was a road long forgotten. Weeds and kudzu grew thick and choked the path. What light the moon provided was now blocked out by the heavy vegetation. He stopped and looked above him where trees fought to gain nourishment from the sun and rain. He wondered how long the road had been abandoned; and judging from the current surroundings a long time. He cocked his head and listened, hoping to detect some kind of noise like a motor or human voices, but only his labored breathing filled his ears. George wiped the sweat from his face and wished for a hot bath and an ice cold drink, preferably beer. The road he took was no longer distinguishable and he had no idea where to go from where he stood. His feet hurt like hell and his back screamed in agony; he glanced around to see if there was something he could sit on and think.

     He turned back from where he climbed off the road. Running a hand through his hair he decided the best option was to walk back to his vehicle and wait until someone came by. He started down the path when he heard something rustling in the underbrush not far from where he stood. He stopped short; nearly slipping on debris from the trees above and attempted to stare in the direction he’d heard the noise. He could make out little of the dark cloaked area but saw movement and then what sounded like a growl. More scuttling over the ground and closer to George. He wasn’t about to walk near the creature and when heard another growl he turned around and ran up the tangled path. 

     Breathing hard, his heart hammering in his chest, George came to another rise in the terrain but didn’t have the strength to go further. He put his hands on his knees and took in deep breaths. If the animal was pursuing him, he couldn’t hear it because his pulse drummed inside his head. It took a little time, but his breathing began to slow and the pounding in his chest subsided. He stood straight and put his hands on top of his head and turned to take in the surroundings. The path was now obscured, nothing but dense, heavy-shadowed, underbrush and tree saplings were visible. He wondered what happened to the creature that scared the beejesus out of him. Hopefully it went on its way. If George thought he was lost before he could only reason the predicament he was in now was “Screwed,” he whispered into the dark. 

     If he was going to make it back to the van, he had no other alternative but to go down and hopefully get back on the overgrown path. Pray that he wouldn’t encounter another animal; he still had no idea what spooked him but in the dark one never knows what is out there. Waiting.

     He didn’t see the felled pine in the middle of his path, but he felt it when he stumbled over the log. His large stomach hit hard enough to knock the wind out of him which caused him to eat leaf mold and moist earth. Spitting out bits of leaves and twigs he tried lifting his body off the ground and after writhing around on the ground he finally managed to get halfway up on the log that tripped him only to have his hand break through the rotted wood. He didn’t know there were a pair of copperhead snakes coiled together inside. When he tripped over the log, they sensed danger and waited to strike the intruder. Then George’s hand broke through the soft wood, inches away from the snakes, they took it as a sign of aggression and struck George in the hand and wrist, sinking their fangs deep into the soft flesh in rapid-fire succession. The threat was dealt with; but the log was damaged, they left the confines of the rotted wood in search of another place.

     When George's hand broke through the log he felt strong pressure then pain. He cried out and yanked his hand from the interior of the log. He didn’t realize he’d lost his glasses until he tried to see what happened to his hand. He groped the ground around him, hoping and praying they were close. He was on the edge of blubbering like a baby when his hand closed on the glasses. He placed them on his nose and inspected his hand. He found four puncture wounds so the mystery of what bit him was solved but what kind of snake was it? He heard the rustling of leaves through the underbrush. George stood up and tried to walk but exhaustion and fear made him stumble over tree roots and slick leaves. Once again, he sprawled face first onto the ground. He lay there for a few minutes wondering why he thought it had been a good idea to find help. Now he needed medical attention. He managed to sit up, but a wave of nausea hit him, and he vomited. 

     George held his rapidly swelling hand in his lap, wondering what to do. He didn’t think he’d make it back to his vehicle. What little he knew about snake bites was long forgotten, but he’d seen movies and they cut open the wound and sucked out the poison. A numbing sensation climbed up his arm. Another wave of nausea washed over him. If he didn’t do something soon, he didn’t think he’d live to see another day. He remembered he had a pocketknife and fished around in his pockets. It was hard to see without light, but he thought he could make a small cut, but he didn’t know if he had to do it with each puncture. His sixth-grade health class didn’t mention how to treat multiple bites. He tried to swallow but there was no spit. He tasted rubber and couldn’t figure out why. He was having trouble seeing the wounds but he focused on one of the punctures and put the tip of the small blade near it and pressed down. His vision blurred and sweating made the knife slick. What he didn’t anticipate was his hand slipping and plunged the blade deep into the flesh. He yelped and yanked the blade out. Maybe he should try the wounds on the wrist and use the bigger blade. 

     George tried making an incision in the punctures on his wrist. His hand slick with perspiration and blurring vision the knife sliced open the wound, but it also nicked the radial artery, one of two arteries that supplies blood to the hands. “Son of a bitch!” George screamed into the night and flung the knife into the woods. 

     He was dying. No two ways to see that as he lay among the decaying leaf matter. His large frame shuddered as the latest series of spasms reverberated through his muscles, blood flowed onto the ground from the damaged artery. 

     “George,” a hollow, distant voice floated into his ear. “George, son; look at me when I’m speaking boy!”

     He opened his eyes; only the dark canopy of trees met his gaze. 

     “Over here boy! Turn your head this way.”

     Slowly, George turned his head. He knew the voice. It came from the depths of the earth, from a man long dead. “Pops?”

     A shape concealed in mist came into focus. “Yeah son, it’s me.” The figure moved closer to the man lying on the ground and floated above him. “Guess you wasn’t expecting to hear from your daddy huh?”. The apparition grinned. 

     George wanted to scream but his throat was closing, his organs were shutting down. This couldn’t be his father, he was dead. He died eight years earlier in a nursing home from Alzheimer's disease. George did what he could to take care of him but when the sickness progressed to the point he could no longer help, it was the easiest thing to do, at least there would be people who could see after his father. But try as he might, George couldn’t shake the image as it hovered above him. It wavered in front of his eyes, but this was not the man who raised him with an iron fist. No, the thing in front of him had tatters of flesh hanging from its face, things crawled over the skull and a huge worm popped out of an eye socket. 

     “I’m not looking my best these days, but I’m not here to get your approval. You got to stop the bleeding boy and get to the highway. You’re only a few feet from it.” 

     George tried sitting up, but a wave of nausea hit him, and he vomited. He tried rolling over and stand up using his good hand to brace himself but he was too weak. He shook his head, “Can’t do it pops.”

     “Fight death son! You got to defeat it!” His father spoke. “There is no rest in peace. It’s not pleasant, no white light, no singing angels to greet you. It’s dark and cold. Things crawl all over me, I can’t see them but they’re there. I can feel them slithering, wiggling around, eating me. The pain doesn’t stop.” 

     He barley heard his father because he couldn’t wrench his eyes away from the flap of skin dangling from his cheek, threatening to fall off and land on his face. “Help me daddy!” He whispered. “Lord help me!”

    “That ain’t gonna happen boy, you have time son, fight it! Get your fat ass up and get to the highway! You won’t die if you can get up and walk. Daylight is coming, and someone will help you. If you stop the bleeding you can live another day. Take off your tie and wrap it around your arm.” 

     He got it loose enough to slip it off his head, but the feat left him exhausted, and he was having trouble breathing. His tongue felt like it was ten sizes too big for his mouth, how he wished he had some water! He tried once again to slip the tie up his arm but lifting it was like lifting a hundred-pound weight. “I-I can’t!” He whimpered. “Help me please!”

     “Ain’t a thing I can do for you son. This is your battle. You got too damn fat, too damn proud and too damn stupid. All I can do it tell you to fight it boy! If you don’t, things will get far worse than they are now.”

     George slipped the tie around his arm and managed to get it tightened but it was too late. Had he paid more attention he would have known not to cut open a snake bite. His left arm was doubled in size. He could feel his heartbeat slowing down. He laid back down on the ground, he inhaled as deep as possible then spasms shook through his body. 

     “Boy, you better try harder!”

     “Can’t.” 

     “WAKE UP GEORGE!”

     Carter’s eyes snapped open. He tried to move. His stomach lurched but nothing came out. His father’s face still hovered above.

     “Ain’t a thing I can do for ya boy. I gotta go.”

     “WAIT! Come back!” George whined; spittle bubbled from his lips. “Pops!” He reached toward the image, but it vanished in tattered whispers. “What do you mean it gets worse?” He croaked. Fog moved through the woods as the first tinges of daybreak crept up the horizon. He tried to lift his head when the mist began to swirl as another shape manifested itself.

     “Daddy?”

      The fog whipped into a funnel. He screamed when two huge snakes came out of it and towards him. Forked tongues slithered over his body Their jaws unhinged, and two sets of fangs dripped milky white venom onto Carter’s face. His eyes bulged, close to bursting from their sockets. He struggled to get up, but he was paralyzed, his mind no longer in control of his body he urinated followed by more spasms. 

     “Fight son! Fight! He’s comin’ for ya boy!” 

     George couldn’t fight. What was left of his rational mind wondered who “He” was. He didn’t want to know the answer. But he knew. Yet, the dark clouds that closed around him felt good, soft, inviting. He watched as it enveloped him. So soft, so tired. 

     “Hey fat boy welcome!”

      George opened his eyes. At first he couldn’t see anything, it was dark but then light started creeping in around the edges, he didn’t recognize the voice. “Who’s there?”

      It answered him with a thick, guttural laugh, slow and agonizing as it squirmed in his mind. He could smell it. Gaseous fumes of dead flesh filled his nostrils causing George’s gag reflex to kick in. 

     “Aw come on. You know who it is!” It answered in a singsong tone. 

     Yes, George knew. It is DEATH here to greet him. He could hear the maggots falling as It moved closer. Before he is consumed in the darkness of Its cloak, Carter got a good long look at DEATH. Black eyeless sockets stared back; Its smile hard and cold. 

     “I’m the Salesman of the Year, why me?” He asked DEATH. 

     The figure leaned far enough that Its face touched George’s. It grinned. “Well, I’ll tell ya fat boy, shit happens and now you’re mine!”