Of Mothmen and Menthol

Before we talk about the that cougar took Rory, you need to know what shamos are. To those who have never seen one, they’re tall, shadowy beings with vaguely human bodies that flicker and buzz like radio static. It makes them look weird in their usual forms, but it helps when they shapeshift.

There’s a family of them that follows mine. The shamo my mom grew up with is called Larkin. She’s just about as old as my mom and has a child around my age, too. Larkin’s child is called Veery. He’s my closest friend, and we do just about everything together. That’s why I remember him being there when I found out about Rory’s disappearance. I was sitting with Veery, loafing in a camper chair while he sat halfway up a tree, trying to fish birds from the foliage.

It was after church, and everyone was lounging around after the mid-morning meal. Our little village was in a clearing, and like everything else, was on the mountain. Our house was two stories, but it wasn’t a house so much as it was an accumulation of things like a half-century’s worth of wood and stone, beams scavenged from old barns, glass cut from abandoned storefronts, and whatever else we’d scavenged over the years.

Our house was at the edge of the clearing, rising in uneven layers. Two stories stacked, but it had an extra attic where a few people lived, and one of our crazy uncles had built a cabin of sorts under the porch. A bunch of others who might or might not have been family lived in trailers or sheds that were plopped onto the property. We liked to keep close. Monsters lurked in the woods all around.

Veery’s spindly arms shot out and snatched a bird. With it caged in one fist, his other hand clung to the tree, digging gorges in the bark as he slid down. Before reaching the floor, he pushed off and ducked into a forward roll, a gangly mass of limbs tumbling toward me. He jolted up, hands shooting out. The bird writhed in my face.

“For you,” he plainly said.

“Let it go!” I shrieked.

Jostling my cup around, some moonshine spilled across my lap, seeping into my jeans. Veery laughed in his bell-like way and hoisted it in my direction, taunting a few more times before setting it free. I watched the bird fly away, disappearing into the leaves and sunshine.

“Shit-ass. Leave the animals alone. You’ll catch bird flu.”

“We don’t get sick like you humans do,” he said, almost taunting. His voice sounded as all shamos’ did, warbled and dissonant and coming from everywhere yet nowhere. It never failed to send shivers down my spine.

I bit my tongue. I was about to say something snarky instead when a horrible chorus carried heard further down the road, a sputtering engine and creaky shocks with rattling bolts. Nobody had to look to see whose rusted old truck came prattling into the clearing. We knew from the sound alone.

Missing a bumper and same-colored doors, the thing was a pile of shit on wheels, so even if it was shocking at first, it wasn’t all that surprising to see that the roof was ripped clean off, revealing a ragged, sweaty, soot-covered man who looked to be on the verge of a break down.

“Hey, Jem,” I said, looking away from Veery as the truck jerked to a stop. “What in the holy fuck happened to your car?”

“Ran into a moth man at the Refuel Station,” he grumbled, retrieving a shotgun and flamethrower from the backseat. Slamming the door shut, he set off, stomping up the winding staircase leading to the porch. With a stern nod at us, he threw open the door and stormed inside.

I looked up at Meemaw. Staring into the distance, she took a final drag from her cigarette and threw it to the floorboards before stomping it out. Chugging the rest of her beer, she tossed the can at Aunt Birdshit.

Muttering curses beneath her breath, Meemaw snatched her cane from where the crook rested on the arm of her chair and used it to guide herself inside.

“Guess that means we’re having a family meeting,” said Aunt Birdshit, crushing the can against her thigh. She followed after Meemaw, then so did everyone else, my three uncles, then all nine cousins in a marching band of plaid and denim and feet hitting against the floorboards.

When I stirred, Veery dismissed himself, quickly disappearing into the shadow of a tree. From everywhere and nowhere, he said, “I’ll see you later.”

Nodding at nothing, I climbed the stairs and went into the kitchen, sliding the door shut behind me. The table was still piled with plates from breakfast. I nearly knocked them over as I squeezed between my cousins on the long bench. As usual, Meemaw sat at the head while the adults sat across from us.

The quiet between us wasn’t uncomfortable, only odd. Somewhere upstairs, Jem was running around and knocking things over. I saw him pacing along the split-level walkway, peeking into every room, then knocking on the door frames before resuming his routine. His behavior was usually erratic, but he seemed more squirrely than usual.

“What’re we waiting on?” I asked.

Uncle Leeks yawned. “Just letting the boy run himself tired. Better to let him get it out now so he doesn’t take it out on us later.”

Aunt Birdshit pulled a deck of cards out from under the table. Without much else to do as we waited for Jem, we played a few rounds of blackjack and poker with a stash of medicine tabs as poker chips until he busted into the kitchen, huffing and out of breath, still with a shotgun in hand. I had spent some time away from this mess, so I remained rigid and silent.

Before anyone could’ve questioned him, he shouted, “Cousin Rory’s gone. That cougar that’s been prancing around finally got him. I saw him being dragged into the woods and knew I should’ve shot her! But that moth man got in the way and blocked my shot.”

“I can’t see how he was possibly taken,” Uncle Bonnie said in utter dismay, likely because it was his shop from which Rory had been kidnapped. “The shop’s not close to the mountains. How did he get pulled away so easily?”

Jem thickly swallowed. “That ain’t it. We think he…” He trailed off, struggling through each word. My stomach churned at the terrible speculations swirling around my mind. “We think he left willingly.”

Silence swept over the room. The air felt electric. All eyes landed on Meemaw, who was the reason Rory had come to live in Mt. Ballina in the first place.

Although she seemed to be blaming herself, there was a red-hot rage and razor edge to her gaze until she slumped over.

“That stupid boy,” Meemaw wailed. Her banshee sobs rattled the windows. I covered my ears.

“Speaking of stupid boys,” cut in Auntie Birdshit, lighting a cigarette. “If anyone would know what to do, it’d be that smart-ass son of Rosalyn.”

My head perked up. “How’s Ritzy gonna help all the way from the city?”

“I dunno. Call the kid and get him down here and let that law degree figure the rest out. For now, let’s do what we can by looking at clues.”

It was as if a candle ignited in everyone’s eyes. Without another moment’s pause, Uncle Bonnie tore out of the room, and the rest of us played another round of blackjack to see who’d have to stay and wash up the dishes while the rest of us ventured into the woods.