The Barn, the Barrel, and Mr. Hicks

My Town

Palmetto Town’s not that big of a place, and most of it’s covered in swampy marshes that stink to high heaven. And if the rancid mud wasn’t enough of an assault to our tortured noses, the town’s two biggest employers are a paper mill and a chicken processing plant. Growing up there, we used to joke that someone could kill a man and dump the body in the marshes, thinking that the already stinky land would be enough to mask the smell of rotting flesh.

I never did test that theory, but folks around town speculated for years that Bill Hicks did.

Bill

Bill was our town’s most famous meth head: a washed up high school has-been who knocked up his cheerleader girlfriend, dropped out of high school to work at a gas station, and lived rent free in his old man’s rickety barn.

Back in his heyday, Bill was one hell of a linebacker—perhaps the best Palmetto Town ever had. Bastard even got an athletic scholarship to Clemson and could’ve possibly gone professional someday. Instead, he stayed put and married Megan; making not only their own lives miserable, but also the lives of everyone who ever crossed their paths.

Remember the dad I mentioned a moment ago? They stole from him. They also stole from Megan’s grandpa, Bill’s sister Lily, and even the sweet old lady next door who babysat their little boy on days when they both had to work. These shitheads are the whole reason I broke down and bought a security system for my trailer. I’m not a wealthy man, nor do I own much; but I didn’t want to lose what little I did have to Bill and Megan Hicks.

I never made eye contact with them. And even when they called me all sorts of nasty slurs, I didn’t take the bait. I avoided them at all costs, even to the point where I gassed up my truck in the neighboring town just to limit my interactions with them. I know it’s not very Christian to wish somebody dead, but words cannot accurately describe how much I hated these people. If I haven’t convinced you of that yet, then I don’t know what will.

The "Incident"

Then, in 2002, something happened that shook Palmetto Town to its very core. Bill’s dad mysteriously “went to Myrtle Beach” and never came back. Less than a week later, Megan bought a crap ton of jewelry and the couple moved into Mr. Hicks’s house. They also decided to convert the barn into a “party barn” and invited every redneck addict in the tri-county area over for beer pong and live music.

I didn’t go to Bill’s party, mind you, but my boyfriend (who’s a much braver man than I am) did. According to him, some guy tried to steal Megan’s jewelry and Bill ripped out his nose ring. Then he pulled out his dad’s old butchering tools and told everyone how he and Mr. Hicks were both avid hunters and knew how to chop up any kind of carcass. And if anyone at that party ever fucked with him again, then he’d hack them to bits and dump the pieces in the marsh.

“Ain’t no one gonna smell you out there,” was what he said. “Ain’t no one gonna come lookin’ for you, neither.”

Suffice to say the rumor mill ran rampant after that. Everyone had their own theory as to what happened to Mr. Hicks, but almost all of us agreed that:

1. Theodore Hicks wasn’t in Myrtle Beach and
2. His junkie son had something to do with it.

The cops investigated, of course. They searched every last inch of that house, as well as the barn and other parts of the property, but nothing ever turned up. The dogs found nothing in the marsh and Bill swore up and down that the threat he made at his party was just a sick joke.

Years passed. Folks never forgot, nor did Mr. Hicks ever return.

The Auction and the Barrel

Megan overdosed in 2011, Bill’s kid got hit by a drunk driver in 2013, and Bill’s dumb ass died during the pandemic because he refused to wear a mask. Since he never wrote a will and his sister was his only remaining kin, everything went back to her.

Lily Hicks, unlike her brother, had her shit together. She was an electrical engineer and worked at the paper mill, so it wasn’t like she needed her daddy’s property to get by. She wasn’t attached to anything inside, either, so she decided to hold a public auction and invited the whole town to attend. When I found out, I couldn’t help myself. I called in sick to work and drove over there as fast as I could.

The auction was held in the barn: the same one where Bill made that threat almost twenty years ago. Metal folding chairs were laid out in neat little rows, just like they’d be for church functions and school plays, and Lily said we could explore the whole property for five bucks apiece. I wasn’t the only person who gave her money. A whole gang of us searched high and low for any signs of foul play, but everything was so dilapidated and covered in graffiti that it was impossible.

Once the bidding began, the whole barn went into an uproar. We fought each other for the spicier items—like a locket Megan stole from Lily and the pewter charm bracelet she liked to hit people with during bar fights—but the whole room gasped when Lily rolled out something nobody expected to see: a large whiskey barrel with three words painted on the top:

Happy Father’s Day

Nobody cared about jewelry, antiques, or kitschy trinkets after that. From that point onward, every last one of us wanted to buy that barrel just to see if Mr. Hicks was inside.

“This barrel isn’t for sale,” Lily told us firmly. “I just know how obsessed this town has become with my daddy’s murder and, like you, I’m wondering if my brother stuffed him in here. If he did, then I want the rumors to stop from this point onward.

“Daddy was a good man and deserves better than to be treated like a punchline to a sick joke. He loved to hunt, make his own whiskey, and go camping with Bill and me. If he’s in here, then I’ll let everyone know when the funeral will be. And if this is just whiskey…well…I guess everyone who paid to explore the property can have a drink on Daddy. He would’ve liked that.”

We all sat there, watching with unblinking eyes as Lily opened that barrel. When it did, we smelled booze…and nothing else.

We all drank a toast to the late Mr. Hicks, drank a second “fuck you” toast to Bill, and every last one of us told Lily that we never meant any disrespect. We all loved her daddy and just wanted to find him.

But we never did.

To this day, Mr. Hicks is still on the books as a missing person. I’ve since moved out of Palmetto Town, but still visit family from time to time. When I do, and that all too familiar bouquet of dead birds, paper mill, and ploof mud reaches my nose, I can’t help but think back to what my boyfriend told me Bill said at that party.

“Ain’t no one gonna smell you out there. Ain’t no one gonna come lookin’ for you, neither.”