ARNIEVILLE

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Roy Dorman

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          Arnie Caldwell was born in May of 1933 on a produce farm in rural northern Maine. A neighbor, who acted as a midwife in the area, thought he might die that day, too. 

         Arnie didn’t die.

         The Great Depression was still a new thing, and at that time nobody had any idea how long it would last.

         Money was tight everywhere, and Arnie’s parents already had four kids. Arnie was born with some serious health problems, and would probably require the expensive medical care for the rest of his life that the Caldwell’s couldn’t afford.

         “Something has to be done,” said Joe Caldwell to his wife, Helen. “With Arnie, I mean.”

         Helen was sitting across the table from him and gave him a hard stare.

         “We’re not gonna kill Arnie, Joe,” she said. “He’s family even if he’s not quite right.”

         “We’ll see,” Joe said, sipping his morning coffee. “We’ll see.”

         Behind the roughly forty acres that the Caldwell’s farmed was dense forest for thirty or forty miles, maybe more, in three directions. Since nobody knew who owned it, it was assumed it was Federal Government property.

         There were a number of large lakes in that forest, and one was only a mile or so from the Caldwell farm. On that lake was a small island of about four acres. It was heavily wooded and it was about two hundred yards in any direction from its center to the opposite shoreline.

         Joe decided that island would be Arnie’s home, and they would move him there before the authorities stepped in.

         When Arnie was about a year old, Joe and Helen sat down with their four other children for a talk.

         “Listen up, kids,” Joe said. “Here’s what yer mother and I have decided. We’re gonna tell anybody who asks that Arnie died and he’s buried out back in the family plot with yer grandparents.

         “What with the farm strugglin’ cuz folks don’t have money to buy enough of our produce, yer mother and I can’t afford the medical care that Arnie needs.

         “What’s really gonna happen to Arnie is that he’s gonna live in that small shack I constructed on the island. Mary, you and Beth will take turns caring for him, one of you staying with him day and night until he’s old enough to care for himself. Or until he dies.  That could happen; he’s not in good health. Bill, you and Ted will ferry the girls back and forth in that old rowboat. Understood? Any questions? Okay, then, let’s make this work.”

         The pre-teen girls didn’t mind. They’d had no plans on going on to high school. They cared for Arnie, and when he was old enough, read to him from picture books. Arnie probably led a better life on that island than he would have had in one of the institutions available to him in Maine at that time.

***

         Twelve years later, things were changing. The Great Depression was history. Both of the boys had spent time in the Army during World War Two. They were home, were working fulltime jobs, and were looking to start families of their own.

         The girls were now young women, and had also spread their wings. They’d moved into town and had jobs at a small furniture factory.

        The produce farm was doing great. The post-war economy had given good paying jobs to everyone, and Joe and Helen took on a hired man to pick up the slack left by their boys and girls. 

        Helen’s sister, Anne, was recently widowed and was visiting. Without her husband’s income, and with no marketable skills of her own, her house would soon be foreclosed upon. Helen offered to let her live with her and Joe if she would help out with Arnie.

        Nobody except for Joe, Helen, and their four children knew that Arnie hadn’t died at age one.

        Now, Helen’s sister also knew.

        “He’s been alive all this time?” Anne asked. “Where is he?”

        “Joe built a small cabin on an island on a lake out back in the woods. The girls have been takin’ care of him and teachin’ him how to care for himself. He’s thirteen now, and though he’s a bit slow, he can make his own meals. I take fresh food out once a day and clean clothes once a week. And before ya ask, yeah, it had to be done this way. You’ll see.”

***

        The next morning over breakfast Helen was telling Anne how her other four children were doing.

        “Oh, they still visit often enough,” she said. “None of ‘em have strayed that far. The girls make an effort to visit Arnie. I know he misses ‘em.”

        “So, where’s Joe?” Anne asked. “Does he sleep late?”

        Helen laughed.  “Sleep late? Joe? Nah, he was up hours ago. He and Martin, our hired hand, are out picking apples. Our apples sell as fast as we can get them to the stand by the road. Help me pack some food and clothes for Arnie and we’ll go out and visit with him.”

        Anne offered a small strained smile. She was reconsidering her decision to move in with Helen and Joe. It was true that after her husband died she was at a loss as to how she was going to survive, but this Arnie business was a little much for her to absorb. 

        Her level of apprehension would have increased if she’d seen Helen slip the small pistol into her coat pocket as they were packing.

***

        Anne helped Helen load the little rowboat and the two of them took off for the island that Helen’s girls had years ago dubbed “Arnieville.”

        Arnie stood on the shore and jumped up and down waving both arms when they were about half-way to the island.

        “He often comes out to greet us that way,” said Helen. “He’s just a big kid.”

        But Helen and Anne were soon to find out that Arnie wasn’t welcoming them. He was trying to ward them off. Warning them of danger.

        Helen beached the boat and the two climbed out. Instead of helping them unload the food and clothes as Arnie aways did for the girls and Helen, he ran back in the direction of his shack, making loud grunting noises.

        “Well, that’s odd,” said Helen. “Ya know, it might be that he’s afraid of you, Anne. He’s never seen another person in his life except for me, Joe, and the kids. Maybe he didn’t know there were other people in the world. Who really knows what he thinks?”

        Anne didn’t answer. She was in shock.

        “Dammit, Helen” she said, watching Arnie retreat into the woods. “You might have warned me.”

        Arnie was about three-feet tall and had a hunched back. He had Joe’s handsome face, but nothing about the rest of him was attractive. His legs were short and bowed, and his feet were large and deformed. His arms were so long his fingertips touched the ground. He was wearing a red flannel work shirt and denim bib overalls that had been custom tailored by Helen. 

         Joe’s early plan to have Arnie live on the island had been a kindness. Arnie never would have been accepted by society. The island has been his safe, secure home.

***

        Helen and Anne gathered up the clothes and food and started toward Arnie’s shack. The closer they got to it, the slower Anne walked, and soon she was ten feet behind Helen.

       Helen stopped.

        “Anne.” she said softly. “Don’t say anything and don’t run. Just put the food down and slowly walk back to the boat.”

        “What in the name of god —” Anne started, staring at the creature that was standing next to Arnie by his front door.

        “Just leave, Anne. Slowly. Quietly.”

        There was an eight-foot-tall creature, a Wendigo, closely watching the two women. Though vaguely human-like, the Wendigo had long arms and legs, out of proportion to the rest of its body. Even twenty feet away it emitted a strong charnel house odor.

        When Arnie was about nine and the girls no longer had 24/7 watch over him, the Wendigo had swooped down on its way south from Canada and had taken up residence in the woods on the far side of the island. Arnie had shown no fear of it and had welcomed the company since the girls had then only stopped by for drop-offs.

        The girls had never seen the Wendigo, and only Arnie and Helen knew of its existence. She’d seen it fly over Arnie’s shack a number of times while delivering supplies. Arnie had always pointed it out and beamed with pride at its presence. Helen figured as long as it stayed in the air and Arnie enjoyed watching it, she would let things be.

        But now it stood in front of her and Anne, looking very protective of Arnie and he of it. It raised both arms out to its sides and webbed wings appeared.

        Unable to follow Helen’s instructions, Anne screamed and turned to run back to the boat.  The Wendigo took six or seven long strides and launched itself into the air. Arnie, obviously panicked, started running around in circles making cries of despair.

        The Wendigo was on Anne in seconds and hauled her skyward. It circled the shack and then headed north with Anne in its front claws.

        Helen took some time soothing Arnie. He was terribly upset that his friend had flown off with Anne. He probably thought the Wendigo should have taken him. Helen debated taking Arnie back in the boat with her, but finally decided it would be better if he stayed at the only home he’d ever known.

***

        That night, Helen was awakened by a voice that seemed to come from the sky above their roof.

        It was Anne’s voice.

        “I’m soooo cold,” Anne wailed. “It’s soooo awful cold up here.”

        Helen got out of bed without waking Joe. She looked at the clock and saw that it was just a little after three. He’d be getting up soon.

        As she went down the stairs with the intention of going outside to look up for Anne, she heard a thump that came from the lawn in front of their porch.

        Anne lay on the lawn. Even though it was still early September, she was covered with what looked to be frost. As Helen looked down upon her, the frost on her face started to melt.

        Anne groaned. Helen couldn’t believe she was alive. She helped her up and took her inside. She seated her at the kitchen table and started the coffee maker.

        When the coffee was ready, she put some of it with cream, sugar, and a shot of whiskey into a large mug.

        “Here, Anne, drink this.”

        Anne’s eyes were open, but it was questionable as to whether she saw anything.

        “Let me help you,” said Helen.

        She lifted the cup to Anne’s lips.  After just a small sip, Anne reached out and grabbed Helen’s arm, spilling the coffee.

        “Grrrr,” she mumbled.

        Helen pulled Anne’s fingers one by one from their grip on her arm.

        “Let’s just sit for a spell, okay?”

        An hour later Joe came down the stairs.

        “I noticed you were up,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Everything okay?”

        One look at Anne told him that, no, everything was not okay.

        “Wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?” he said, sitting down next to Helen.

        “It’s a long story.”

        “I got time. It’s four-thirty in the morning.”

        Helen told Joe about first seeing the Wendigo (she called it a “monster”) in the sky above Arnie’s shack a few months ago. And then how she and Anne had been confronted by it and Arnie yesterday afternoon. And how the Wendigo had grabbed Anne and flown off with her. And then an hour ago it appeared to have dropped her from the sky onto their front lawn.

        “Seems like you’ve been keepin’ me out of the loop here, Helen. When were you gonna tell me about all this?”

        Helen stared at Anne. “I don’t know,” she said. “I was just hopin’ everything would just work its way out like it’s been doin’ all these years.”

        “But a monster livin’ with Arnie? That’s just nuts.”

        “I know. I know. But let’s just give it today before we do anything. You and Martin pick apples and gather some squash for the stand. I’ll sit here with Anne until she comes out of it —”

        “If she comes out of it —”

        “You and Martin can stop in for second breakfast about nine and we’ll talk.”

        Joe had some coffee and toast and went out to the orchard to meet Martin. He didn’t like it, but he did it.

***

        At nine, Joe came back to the house. He didn’t know what he’d find there, so he told Martin to take a couple of hours off so he could attend to some personal business.

        Helen was still at the kitchen table. She was leaning forward onto the table as if she’d fallen asleep. Anne was no longer at the table.

        When Joe touched Helen’s shoulder to wake her, her head lolled to one side and he saw that her throat had been ripped out.

        He stood to look around the kitchen for Anne, and a butcher knife was thrust under his ribs and into his heart. Anne licked blood off of the knife and threw it to the floor.

        She went outside and started screaming at the sky. The Wendigo came for her from the direction of Arnieville. It picked her up and they flew back that way. 

        They stopped for Arnie, and the three of them then left for Canada.

        Anne and Arnie were going to be Wendigos.

***

        When neither of the daughters could get through by phone, they drove out to the farm to check on their parents.

        After finding them dead on their kitchen floor, they called the police. They could honestly say they had no idea who would do such a thing.

        But when their brothers arrived, the four of them told the officers about Arnieville. And about Arnie.

        A thorough search of the island turned up nothing but the empty shack and Arnie’s meager belongings.

        An All-Points Bulletin was put out for him, but his siblings knew Arnie couldn’t have done this, and they hoped he’d never be found.

        They shuddered to think of Arnie in a mental institution, or worse, a prison cell.

THE END

 

        Roy Dorman is retired from the University of Wisconsin-Madison Benefits Office and has been a voracious reader for over 70 years.  At the prompting of an old high school friend, himself a retired English teacher, Roy is now a voracious writer.  He has had flash fiction and poetry published in 10 X 10, Black Petals, Bewildering Stories, One Sentence Poems, Yellow Mama, Drunk Monkeys, Literally Stories, Dark Dossier, The Rye Whiskey Review, Near To The Knuckle, Theme of Absence, Shotgun Honey, Punk Noir, The Yard, and a number of other online and print journals.  Unweaving a Tangled Web, published by Hekate Publishing, is his first novel.

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Kevin D. Duncan was born 1958 in Alton, Illinois where he still resides. He has degrees in Political Science, Classics, and Art & Design. He has been freelancing illustration and cartoons for over 25 years. He has done editorial cartoons and editorial illustration for local and regional newspapers, including the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. His award-winning work has appeared in numerous small press zines, e-zines, and he has illustrated a few books.