A Forgotten Word

If you are a weather forecaster in the South, July is an easy month for you. Your job is simple. Stand in front of the green screen, look at the teleprompter for your words and smile. You have just one word to share with your audience. On cue you point to your city on the weather map and tell the people, Hot! Each day will be just like the days before, it will be Hot!

Hot is what drove us to get out of our houses in search of some manner of relief. We needed relief from our houses because this was 1972 and many houses still had no air conditioning, ours was one of the many. An older friend had a car so, transportation was no problem although it had no air conditioning either. The benefit of being in the car lay in the fact that we could use the 4/45 method of cooling ourselves. Here in the South 4/45 simply meant that we rolled all four windows down and hit 45 m.p.h on the highway. If the driver was brave we could turn the cooling system up to 4/60 or 4/65.

Our destination that day was the Antioch Missionary Baptist Church and the fishing pond that was out back of the old worn out church. The facility had seen better days and was presently unused. It was so worn out that to fix it back in worshipping condition would require drastic measures. To fix the, church the first order of business would be to either set the building ablaze and burn it to the ground or find some other means to level it. Starting from scratch was the only way to build a decent house of worship. For the time being the white clapboard walls, the sagging roof and the steeple that leaned to the right would remain as is. It had not been used for church services for thirty years anyway.

We favored the old Antioch Church pond for fishing for a number of reasons. It had fish in it, it was secluded and hidden from the road, we had never seen evidence of other anglers fishing there. We also liked it because of the source of food nearby, Baucoms Gas and Food was just a few miles away. Four hot dogs and a large fountain soda for $1.25. If you wanted eight hot dogs and not another drink, just add $1.00 to your tab. One of our tribe of outdoorsmen would down eight dogs in no time. After polishing off his entire lunch and soda he would always settle back, give a burp loud enough to scare the cows in the pasture next door and then be ready to fish.

The pond was nothing spectacular. It had cat tails growing on one side and the opposite side was covered with a white topped bed of water lilies. Across from our preferred fishing spot stood an old worn down bench that looked to be the same age as the Antioch Missionary Baptist Church. They were both in the same state of disrepair. The only way to reach the bench was straight across the pond, any paths to it were overgrown eons ago. We were content to stay across the pond and watch the old bench rot away.

Hot was the reason that we had gone fishing and that same Hot was the fish’s excuse to not partake of our baited hooks. Our bait of choice was big fat juicy night crawlers. If you have never shared your fishing trips with a cardboard cup of these beauties, allow me to introduce you to them. Nightcrawlers look like earthworms that had a diet of human growth hormones. Imagine earthworms that are 20 times bigger, fatter and longer than you’ve ever seen. One nightcrawler can be cut into 3 or 4 pieces of bait.

It was still Hot, with no respite from the heat in sight. No fish to catch and hot dogs consumed we were almost ready to call it a day. As several of us were debating our next move, we heard an immense explosion of water behind us. We turned just in time to see ripples of water with a head breaking the surface and shouting, “C’mon this feels great!” With that formal invitation shoes, socks and shirts began flying through the air followed by unintelligible shouts of joy. The Hot had finally been defeated.

The water was amazingly refreshing and became the favorite part of the day. One of our group was so happy with the cool turn of events in our day that he thanked the fish for not biting. A loud “Thank’s little fishies!“ shouted above the water became a large burst of bubbles when shouted under the water. Evidence of a small underwater disturbance went unnoticed as it slowly traveled to the surface.

Not only was the pond water cool and refreshing, the mud on the bottom felt even better. Sunlight had never reached the the pond floor so the muck and mud stayed cool, almost cold, year round. When our feet realized that they could find frigid relief in the mud, they told our brains that they wanted to stay buried there and so we did not move around much.

It was while our feet were being comforted by the mud that one of our posse hollared at us to, “Hey, look at this!”. Hoisted above his head he showed us a perfectly flat rock that would have been great for skipping over the water if not for minor details. The rock was four inches thick and about twelve inches long and it was heavy. Our rock holder tossed his find into the water creating another explosion of water.

As the first rock was sinking back to the bottom, another rock arose in the hands of another member of our troupe. His rock was thinner and lighter than the first specimen and as our friend turned the rock over in his hands. “Dudes, this rock has writing on it and it’s in good shape, I can read it!” An instant reply came back, “ You can’t read dumbass. Why don’t you try anyway?” “Shut up, you freak. It says B. 1865 and D. 1907. What does that mean? It looks like there was some other writing on it but I can’t figure what it says.”

As soon as the words were hanging in the air, an unfamiliar voice sailed across the pond. “Y’all ain‘t real bright now are ya?” It was good that we were in the water, I feel certain that a couple of us peed when we heard that deep bellowing sound. Well I know for sure that one of us had a urinary accident and that was me! That secret will go to the grave with me. Little did I know what the future held.

By this time we were focused on nothing but the old bench and the source of the voice. The source revealed itself when an old man spoke. “You young bucks ain’t got no idea where you are do ya.“ “Y’all bring ya little idiot tails over hear so’s you can hear me, I‘m tired o’ shoutin’! While every muscle in my body wanted to turn around and run through the water or on top of the water it was not to be. My body started to turn but, starting was all it did. I could not move back to the shore, the church or the car. There was something or someone keeping me from turning back.

As I turned to face the old man and slowly walk beside my friends, something moved beneath my feet and then another moving object and with each step something else was moving as I made my way towards the man. Suddenly I had a plan that could only be hatched in a mind overcome with fear. I told no one about my plan.

Once I was through rationalizing what I wanted to do, I prayed. For the first time since fourth grade Sunday School, I prayed. My head was bowed and, under the water, my trembling hands were locked together. Inside my head I spoke to someone that I hoped was Jesus. “Dear Jesus, I’m scared and I think that I’m trapped. Sir, I don’t know if I need to ask you this or ask God. I’ll start with you and work my way up. Sir, Jesus, Sir I remember when I was in Sunday School our teacher told us that you walked on the water one time. She also said that you can do miracles. If you did walk on water would you teach me how? I really need to learn right now.”

Before I could add the “Amen” to my prayer the man on the bench spoke again, “C’mon we gots bidness to settle.” I forgot about my conversation with Jesus and moved towards the voice. As I walked objects continued to move under my feet and now, it felt as though something was scratching at my skin. A glance at my friends told me they felt something else as well, their faces were as white as the Pilsbury Dough Boy’s.

By now I could see who was ordering us. It was a man older than any man I had ever seen. Were it possible I would guess that he was two hundred years old. His hair was gone, his eyes sunk deep into their sockets and his hands trembled constantly. He looked to be only skin and bones as if he had not eaten in years. The skin attached to his old bones looked like old parchment paper. Odd, with all of that frailty his voice boomed when he spoke. It was at that point that I wished that I had never looked at him and more than that, I wished that I had Amened my prayer.

Walking in murky pond water with something moving under my feet with every step was terrifying but not as terrifying as the things scratching at my legs. The further I walked, the higher up on my leg the scratchy thing was. At that very moment all that I wanted was to go back home where the Hot was. No matter how, I wanted to go home. As I was missing home the old man spoke once more. I really wanted to go home now.

Mr. Old Man’s voice boomed again as if he was speaking into a microphone with speakers. “C’mon boys I‘m gonna tell you whas’ happnin’. Y’all betta git yo‘self ready. Now walks! That there water done gone git’s worster da longa‘ y’all takes!” The water getting worse was an understatement. I knew that with the next step that I took. With fear and trembling I spoke to the old man. “Excuse me Mr. Sir, it would be easier to walk if stuff wasn’t moving under our feet.” My answer came in the form of a toothless smile and a quick word, “Young buck, them are the grave markers that y’all been fooling with. They’s gonna be wit you for awhile, maybe a long while.”

.My right foot moved forward, stepping on another moving object. Whatever it was scratching at my legs now had wrapped itself around my legs. It had a tight grip on both legs and moved along as I walked. One step closer to the rotting bench and the rotting old man brought my heart to a standstill. Up out of the water came two hands covered in gray, rotting skin with arms showing bone and muscle with that putrid skin hanging loose in some places. Each boy in our fishing party screamed in unison as the same style rotted hands gripped our arms like they had no intention of letting go. I looked into the water hoping to see what those strong arms were connected to. The water was so murkey that I couldn’t see any further than those strong biceps.

The old man laughed so hard that it seemed that all of his bones were just going fall to the ground. “I dun tol’ you boys that thangs was gonna git worster. Y’all best jess’ git on over here.” With that the grip on our arms was loosened but that scratchy stuff was still digging into our legs and when we stepped forward ground under our feet kept moving, sort of a slip sliding move. We were almost to the old man and the old bench. The closer we got to the old man the more we trembled with fear, hoping that we weren’t going to be dead fishermen.

We were all moving closer together now, walking side by side. The old man shuffled on the old bench and smiled at us as he did. We took one more step and we discovered the source of the old man’s smile. As we put our foot down to take another step the water around us erupted. Out of the dark water coffins now floated on the water and slowly as if on cue, each coffin lid opened. One coffin for each boy as if planned. At once each body sat upright in each coffin and the decayed corpses each said, “Please help us, only you can do it. No one else has been in this water in years.”After that they lay back down, coffin doors slammed shut and the coffins disappeared back into pond. We were whiter than before, so scared that when our hearts beat the water around us rippled.

The old man was howling with laughter now, “I bet you boys done and messed yo britches this time.”, he said. “Y’all most ‘bout here, come on they ain’t but a few mo’ steps.”

We covered that short distance in no time at all. When we arrived at the old man sitting on the old bench, the rotted arms let go of us and in the shallow water we could see that the scratchy things were, in fact bones of skeleton hands. They let go of our legs. The pond floor stopped moving beneath our feet. The old man spoke.

”You boys lissen up good, I gots somethin‘ ta tells ya. Hit was one hunnert years ago today that the last one of my people done and died. We ain’t had no preacher back then, jest whoever felt moved ta preach spoke on Sundays. We had a old good fer nuthin Elder in our church that was hung over mos’ Sunday mornin’ and he wadn’t in no condition ta preach. But when somebody done gone and died, he’d show up and say a few words over tha coffin and we’d lay that box in tha grave. He did that sose’ he could get a few dollars off the next of kin. That old thief ain’t never consumated our deaths, he done jest left is in our graves. When tha rains flooded this area all the graves done sunk down lower and this here pond done appeared. You boys is gonna consumate our deaths cause theys one of ya knows what that ol fool Elder done left out. If y’all can‘t remember, y‘all jes gonna stay with us a while longer.“ His voice boomed again,”Now, go on and git ta comsummatin’.”

Our brains went into overload trying to figure out what that old man was talking about. For what seemed like hours we bounced ideas off each other but the old man just sat their still and quiet. I began to wish that my prayer to walk on the water had been answered and I would have been long gone. In my feeble mind I knew that probably if I had amened that prayer, none of this would have happened. “Amen”, I mumbled to myself, just one little word, ”Amen.” I said out loud to my self.

The old man stirred and looked me in the eye and asked, “What was that you jess said boy. Was it what I think I heard. Tell me what word you done and said to yo”self. Go on now boy.”I shouted the last word that I had spoken, the word that leaped from my mouth was Amen and as soon as the word left my mouth the old man was gone. No more sliding objects under our feet, water that was calm and still and an old bench that was empty once again.

A light had descended over the pond and instantly our entire fishing group was on the bank in dry clothes. Even our hair was dry, as if we had never been in the pond. In a flash we were in the car headed home as quickly as the old car would get us there. No one said a word on the way home. We never talked about that day, ever again. Even at school or playing ball, it was as if the day never happened.

When I was a little older I drove by the Antioch Missionary Baptist Church and I stopped and walked to the pond. It was calm and placid the surface was a mirror reflecting the blue sky. As I was lost in my memory, an old man standing by a tree said, “It was you wasn’t it. You said that consummatin‘ word to the old man. Now your going to tell me that word” I turned and bolted towards my car. The old man shouted, “Boy, git back here, I know it was you! You best obey me boy, I’m the Elder of this church and you ain’t gonna ignore me.” His word faded as my tires met the asphalt, I never even looked back at him.