Chapter 1

The moon was red the night that Earl died. Ma was the one who dug his grave because Pa was too busy down at the horsetracks and flirting with a dancer. Tennessee helped her by dragging his brother while Ma was the one who held the oil lamp, walking from the house and a fair distance from the backyard. Ranger barked, and Tennessee worried that if he was too loud when Pa came back, the poor thing would get kicked. Ma would get even more upset. Just the thought made anxiety stir. 

“Here should be alright,” Ma said, glancing up at the night sky. “Start digging, boy. Let me just have a moment with my son.”

Tennessee was a good Protestant boy, so he obliged. He glanced over at his brother in the wagon, looking at the big hole in his chest that was deep enough to cup water, and he frowned. Revolver, Pa said. Something about some owed money and Earl’s girlfriend. Before Ma could get mad at him for staring, Tennessee started digging. The dirt gave way easy under the spade of the shovel.

Ma cried. He listened as she brushed his hair and cooed something to him, calling him her favorite son and asking him to come back, that she hoped Heaven was nice and warm and filled with however much meat he could ever want to eat, and that she would be joining him soon.

“Ma?” Tennessee asked, glancing over his shoulder, “I’m done.”

“You go on inside, now,” she said. She nodded towards the house, her voice shaky, “Go to bed. I’m staying out here with your brother.”

“I wanna stay out with him, too.”

“Listen to your mother. Go to bed or I'll tell your father. And don’t you come out until morning, alright? I don’t care if the house is on fire, you don’t come out.”

So, he listened. He turned slowly and walked back inside the house, watching out the window as Ma held Earl in the wagon, his head tight to her chest and her chin on his head as she stared out over the rolling fields and whispered prayers under her breath. Tennessee went into his room. Then, he got up under the covers and stared at the ceiling and prayed to God to make everything okay.

When morning came, Earl was buried and Ma was gone. Pa didn’t care much. He said she was at the store, and that left Tennessee to do the cooking for the morning, and he made a bit too much by accident. He still put out a plate for Ma, though, and made sure to split what had been meant for Earl evenly between his sisters. He waited until Pa gestured for him to sit down to do so.

It was too quiet to be comfortable. He poked at the eggs with his fork. A small part of him wondered if Earl was really dead, but when he looked out the window and saw the fresh dirt, he felt worse.

“Hell’re you staring at?” Pa asked.

“Nothing, sorry.”

He took a big bite of the food. “How old’re you now, son?”

“Thirteen.”

“And you don’t got a job.”

“I help around here.”

“That ain’t the same and you know it. With Earl gone, you gotta start picking up his slack,” he said. Tennessee wondered how his father could care so little that his eldest son was dead. Then again, he didn’t really seem to give much of a damn when Beth died, so maybe this wasn’t too different. He wondered why he thought it would be. “I want you to go into town today. Go before your Ma comes back so she don’t lose her mind at me.”

“Ain’t she gonna when she learns I got a job, anyhow?”

“Nah. Then she’ll lose her mind at you.” He took another bite of his food and relaxed back into his chair. Pa was a big man. Always had been. He towered over everyone he met, woman or man, with light hair and a scratchy beard and beady little eyes that seemed to peer into Tennessee’s soul. He had a belly as big as a pig’s and half the time smelled like one. “Wash the dishes. Clean yourself up. Head out before your Ma comes.”

“Yes, Sir,” he said. Tennessee was still really hungry, but he knew better than to argue with Pa, so he put the food in the compost tub they had outside the backdoor and washed the plates. After putting them away, he went to his room, looking in the mirror. Earl had it set up so he would look presentable when he went in for his apprenticeship at Wills & Fink. Every day before he went, Tennessee would ask if he could come along, and Earl would always say “Maybe next time.” before running out since he was always late.

Tennessee tried his best to straighten his brown hair but it wouldn’t stay. He just grabbed a hat and put it on. Big hands scratched his jaw. His nose was crooked from when he fell off Clementine last summer.

The house felt a bit quieter without him. That being said, that meant that Tennessee didn’t mind getting on his horse and hurrying down the dirt road, feeling the summer wind hit his face, watching as the house became smaller and smaller in view. It was tiny and wooden; just big enough for Ma and Pa and him and his four siblings to have lived in. He shared a room with Earl, while Lorraine shared a room with Beth and Carol. Looked like he had the room all to himself, now.

Old Pine was small. It was originally a mining town, but a couple of people stayed when they dried up after only two years, which meant that there were a lot of abandoned and empty buildings. The roads were dirt and half of the establishments were saloons, with the other half being general stores. There was a bank— Wills & Fink. Deciding to test his luck, Tennessee walked in and took a deep breath. The place smelled clean and fresh and he didn’t like that very much.

“By God,” a man said. He looked over, it was Mr. Wills. He was a short and skinny man, with blond hair and green eyes and a smile that seemed just a bit too big for his features. Mr. Wills adjusted Tennessee’s starched shirt. “Now, just what’re you doing here? Is Earl sick?”

“No, Sir,” he said, “Earl’s dead.”

Mr. Wills’ face fell immediately. His eyebrows shot up and he flinched like he was the one who had been shot, but he leaned in closer as if he hadn’t heard him correctly. “Dead? What happened? He was fine yesterday.”

“Something about his girlfriend and money. He got shot,” Tennessee said. “Pa says I gotta get a job.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Whitlock. That can’t be easy. I know you and your folks just lost Beth a year ago. How’s your Ma holding up?”

“I dunno,” he said with the honesty only a boy his age could have, “She was gone this morning when I woke up. Ain’t there for breakfast. You got a job I could do?”

“You can grieve, boy,” Mr. Wills said, putting his hand on his back and guiding him into his office, “I ain’t your father. No one is gonna mind if you do.”

Tennessee was a good Protestant boy. He had been told he had to find a job and he was going to make sure he did. “Mr. Wills, really, I need some work. I don’t mind cleaning or anything. I gotta make up for Earl.”

“Your father tell you that?”

“Yes, Mr. Wills.”

He swore under his breath and put his hands on his hips, looking over his shoulder in disgust. People in town didn’t really like Pa. On one hand, it felt bad—after all, Tennessee’s father was his father, which meant that he was his son, and that was basically a reflection on him. Sins of the father, as Pastor Wright put it. He completely understood it, though. Pa wasn’t the easiest man to get along with.

“I ain’t got a job for you, Mr. Whitlock,” Mr. Wills said. Tennessee never minded that he called him that. It made him feel grown up. “Maybe talk to the Sheriff. He oughta have something you can do; I hear they need some help cleaning up the cells this time of year.”

“Alright. Thank you,” he said. Tennessee shook his hand firmly like he was taught to and left.

He walked across the street to the Sheriff’s office. It was moved right opposite to the bank after a gang came in and robbed them a few years back. It smelled like gunsmoke and vomit and was much more comfortable to be in. Sheriff Reeds glanced up from his newspaper, raising an eyebrow before tilting his head.

“Well, ain’t you that Whitlock boy? Earl’s little brother?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I’m real sorry for your loss,” he said, standing up and approaching. He put a hand on his shoulder, “Your brother was a good man, you know.”

“Only good thing to come out of that damn family,” a voice called from the cells, and Sheriff Reeds glared behind him before looking back to Tennessee.

“Ignore him, boy. He’s always drunk.”

Tennessee blinked. “It ain’t even noon.”

“You know how Rich gets. How’re you holding up? How’s your Ma?”

“I ain’t seen her since last night. I’m here looking for a job.”

Sheriff Reeds hesitated, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked ahead through the door before glancing down at the boy. “Your Pa put you up to this?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He swore under his breath, the same as Mr. Wills had. He turned away and kicked at the wood underneath him. “Now, you don’t got a damn reason to be working. You got a whole farm you gotta take care of. You’re the eldest now, and you gotta make sure those sisters of yours are alright.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“No, I ain’t instructing—God,” he mumbled, dragging a hand down his face, “I ain’t got a job for you, boy. Ain’t no one in town got a job for you. Your Pa got an issue with that, well, you just send him on up and I’ll talk with him, alright?”

“He’ll just hit you.”

“Aw, let the old bastard swing.” As Tennessee went to leave, off to one of the general stores, he heard Sheriff Reeds sigh. “Look at the bulletin outside the church. There might be some jobs you can look for there. Try and find one outta this town if you’re gonna do it.”

“I gotta be there for my sisters.”

“That’s your Ma’s job,” he said, “You go on, now. Stay safe.”

“Yes, Sir,” he said. Tennessee slipped out of the door, heading down the dust road. A dog barked at him and he barked back and laughed when it looked confused. One of the older women waved to him, realized he was a Whitlock boy, and quickly turned her head as if she hadn’t noticed. The town only really liked Earl. Tennessee didn’t blame them. Earl was a great guy and Pa wasn’t.

Standing in front of the bulletin, he furrowed his eyebrows as he looked over it. It was an old cork board that had been put up a couple of months ago. There were some posters about rights to vote, lost dogs, one or two bounties from nearby towns. He reached up and picked the one closest to him. 
Wanted: skinners and trappers for 3 month contract. Must supply own knife. Inquire with F. Biles at tannery in Redclow.

Redclow was just a mile or two over. Picking the paper from the board, he ran down the street back in front of the store he tied Clementine up at. Tennessee hopped up on the horse and quickly walked her through the town, breaking into a sprint when they got just outside the city limits. He held on tight.

Redclow was actually named Redclaw, but the guy who made the sign messed up, and everyone called it Redclow instead. Seemed more fitting, anyways. The dust kicked up as they rode. It was nice to feel the wind in his face—Earl would’ve liked it.

The town was bigger than Old Pine. There were only one or two abandoned buildings, with a much larger sheriff’s office and one or two banks. There was even a lawyer’s office. He hopped off and tied Clementine in front of a saloon, glancing around, walking down the dusty roads, looking up at the clean brick buildings around him.

Eventually, he came to the tannery’s storefront. There was the storefront, and then a mile or two out was the actual building. The place smelled like lye and boiled fat. As he walked in, he gripped the poster tighter, and a young man glanced up from the counter, having been reading yesterday’s newspaper.

“Ain’t you Whitlock’s kid?”

“Yes, Sir. I’m here for a job.”

“Oh, you saw that poster, huh?” he asked, “You got a knife?”

“Yes, Sir. Back home.”

“Let me get my Pa. He’s who you’re gonna wanna talk to,” the man said, standing up proper and waving his hand as he went around to the back of the store. Tennessee looked about. The walls were wooden and old, riddled with what had to have been old bites from termites. There were tanned hides that were hung up all over the walls. A register was at the front, atop the counter. The place felt too small and too big at the same time.

The floors creaked as Mr. Biles stepped out. He was a large man, with a mustache and a beard and a sharp look in his eye. He took one look at Tennessee before chuckling, his shoulders jutting quickly in amusement.

“You looking for a job, then, boy?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Who sent you?”

“My Pa.”

“You’re from Old Pine, ain’t you? I thought your brother had an apprenticeship he was doing.”

“Earl died last night.”

He hesitated. “Oh. I’m awful sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright. I wanna help you trap and skin,” he said, “What’s the pay?”

“You don’t waste words, do you?” he asked. “A dollar a pelt, a dollar fifty if you bring it back clean, and half that if I gotta fix your work. You get pennies if it’s a fox or rabbit. Maybe fifty cents if you get a deer. You ever skinned anything before, boy?”

“A deer. Couple of hogs.”

“Not the same, but it’ll do. Coyotes. You come back here tomorrow morning before sunrise, bring your own knife, and we’ll head out. I’m trusting you to do this proper. And put the paper back up when you get back home, you hear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And quit calling me that.”

He wanted to say “Yes, Sir,” but didn’t. He just nodded and left, getting back on his horse and riding back to Old Pine, putting the poster back up on the cork board before he went home. Tennessee ignored the shouting between his equally drunk parents and went into the girls’ room. Sitting down with Carol, he lifted up the doll.

“You’re too old to play with those,” she blurted. Carol pointed up at him, golden ringlets framing her face. “You’re a boy. You can’t play with those.”

“Now who says that?” he asked, “Where’s Lorraine?”

“Out with the Marsh boy. Lorraine and Danny, sitting in a tree—”

Tennessee covered her mouth with his hand. “Quiet, now. I got a job. I’m gonna go out and skin coyotes tomorrow. When I get back, I’m gonna keep some of the money, and I’ll go get you some candy, alright?”

“I want licorice. Earl gives me licorice.”

“Gave,” he corrected, “He’s dead now.”

“No, he ain’t. Ma said he wasn’t.”

“Ma buried him.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Quit your fighting,” he said, “You wanna help me feed the hogs?”

“Okay.”

Tennessee was up well before sunrise. He fixed himself up in the mirror, putting on his favorite hat and his best looking dirty clothes. He hurried out of the house, gently shutting and locking the door behind him so Pa wouldn’t wake up and shout. The crickets chirped and the lightning bugs danced and lit the way for him along with the moon. He rode.

When he arrived at the tannery, he got there just in time to see Mr. Biles locking the door. He looked up at him and blinked. “By God, you’re punctual, ain’t you?”

“Try my best to be.”

“C’mon,” he said, going to his own horse and getting on it. “I’ll lead the way. Now you keep quiet; I’ll kill them, you skin them. That sound like a fair trade?”

“Yes, Mr. Biles.”

“Alright. C’mon, boy. It ain’t a long ride.”

The fields weren’t too far from Redclow. All the kids were always told never to go out further than the hills, because if you did, you’d get dragged away and never come back, so he didn’t go aside from the one time Beth dared him to. The land had no tall grass and only the occasional tree. A lake was in sight. The sun was just beginning to rise; a red hot ball over the world. 

Mr. Biles glared at the fields. He hesitated, before bringing up his gun and letting one shot ring out. Then another. Then another. He had good aim. Three of the animals Tennessee hadn’t spotted dropped dead while the rest smartly ran. After a moment, Mr. Biles nodded to him, and he went over to grab the animals.

“Just skin ‘em?”

“I’ll show you how for this first one. Then, I expect you to follow me. It ain’t hard to skin a coyote.”

“Alright.”

“Work’s work, kid,” he said, “Fur or flesh.”

So, he dug the knife under the fur, tearing away at the flesh and leaving the meat and muscle. After a few moments of carefully following his instructions, the man huffed. It was a comparatively loud sound to the quiet that surrounded them. Tennessee glanced up, but Mr. Biles didn’t say anything, so he didn’t either.

“You got that?” he asked, holding up one of the thick pelts.

“Uh, yeah. I think so.”

“Good. I’ll load these two while you skin that third one. Go about it quick, we don’t got all day.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What did I say about calling me that?”

Tennessee wasn’t great at it. God, he was barely even good, but he did it quick and acceptable enough, despite the grumblings of Mr. Biles, and he was fast enough that he could keep pace with the man. By the time the sun was setting, they had collected about eight pelts.

“Now, tomorrow morning,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, “I expect you be here with your own gun, too. You’ll do the shooting, you’ll do the skinning. You ever shot a coyote before, boy?”

“No, but I shoot straight enough.”

“I sure hope you do.” Mr. Biles looked up at the sky, “You said your brother died. How’re your folks holding up?”

“They’re managing.”

“And you?”

“I’m doing alright.”

“You grieving?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You’re a bad liar, kid.”

“Sorry.”

They arrived at the tannery, and Mr. Biles gave him six dollars before sending him on his way back home. As he hurried along the dirt road, he gripped the reins tight, and made a stop at the general store before carrying on. As he passed the cork board, he saw that the bounties had stayed up. Tennessee tilted his head as he eyed them. There were three of them, of different men, each offering about fifty dollars each.  That would be good pay.

When he got back home, he quietly gave the licorice he got to Carol and Lorraine, and gave the rest of the money to Pa. He gave him back fifty cents. “You earned it,” Pa said.

“Hey, Pa?”

He grunted, looking over the money.

“Who killed Earl?”

“Some gunman. After his whore of a girlfriend.”

“Oh.”

Tennesseee hesitated, and Pa fixed him with a look, “Now, don’t you go getting any stupid ideas, boy. You ain’t going after that man so long as I’m living, you hear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Now go on,” he mumbled, walking out back, “I gotta talk with your Ma.”

So, quietly, he ate dinner alone, washed up his plate, and went to bed, staring at the ceiling. He shut his eyes and imagined the coyotes.

About the Author

Grant Williams is a second year student at the University of Iowa. With an International Relations major and a Spanish minor, he wants to go backpacking in Europe before law school. His work often falls under Southern Gothic and cosmic horror.

Cover design made using Canva design tools.