Guys Night

This story contains graphic violence and sexual content that may not be suitable for all readers.

“Why did you bring her here!”

I’m hardly a tall man, but Beau is so big he has to crouch through doorways to get into places. The low ceiling of this little closet space only serves to force his head and shoulders to hunch forward, which has the unfortunate effect of making him loom over me, blocking the free hanging lightbulb in such a way that I can see light strands beaming from behind his head.

He’s in front of the door and, I feel intolerably warm and stuffy in this tiny space. The summer heat does nothing to help.

”Terry, answer me.” He says in that scratchy voice full of gravel he’s always had. My back presses into the wall behind me and I can feel the slightest imperfections in the chipping paint and the old wood. “She’s dealing with a family thing, aright?” I tell him. “She doesn’t wanna be around her parents right now.”

“So? She couldn’t have gone with a friend or something.”

“Beau, I’m her husband I can just ditch her to hang out with you.” A sudden vent of warm air rushes out of his nostrils and hits me in the face, making me squint and look away. “You could’ve called about it.” He says. “We could’ve rescheduled.”

“No, we wouldn’t.” I’m looking back at him again. “You would’ve badgered me about how I’m wrecking this trip for you and I wouldn’t have a moments peace after that.” It’s his turn to avert his eyes. We both know I’m right. He’s always gotta have his way with things, that’s how we’ve operated since preschool. “Fine.” He says, basically huffing out the word in that sulky tone he uses to try and make me feel bad. “Keep her away from my truck, and don’t let her near the pit.” I tell him he doesn’t have to tell me that, it’s a given that I’ll do it, and he just turns around and walks out of the door. I’m suddenly feeling much lighter than before, like I can really breathe. I step out into the living space of this old lodge, take stock of the sliding door leading to a porch overlooking the sparkling lake, and then I turn and shuffle toward and the front door.

The heat slaps me in the face as I step into the woods, hearing the loose, dry dirt crunch under my boots as I trudge my way over to the Jeep. The area is gorgeous at this time of year, with the looming old trees like jutting green arrows out of the earth, growing far past the admittedly charmless red building that we’ll be calling home for the next night or so. I spare a glance back at it and take in its rickety tallness and the sign reading ‘Camp of Many Colours’ mounted on the second story wall. In between the road leading in and the camp itself there’s a pair of enormous wooden poles, fastened with a pulley system in the rare going on non existent event that we catch a bear or moose and want to have a photo op with it. It distracts me enough that I nearly miss the fact that I’ve walked completely past where we parked, so I quickly double back and hurry to the passenger side.

It’s already open by the time I get there, so I’m given a front seat to watching Martha climb out and flinch against the wall of suffocating heat. It’s shocking, really, how beautiful she still is with that glint of wonder in her eyes as she looks up and around at the enormous trees against the brilliant blue sky, vibrant with the summer air. She looks beautiful even with the engorged, swollen bruise on her cheek, just below the puffy black eye.

“How are you holding up?” I ask her. “Doing a lot better now.” She doesn’t look at me as she says this, and I can’t really hold that against her. The sights of this place are something hardly glimpsed by city people like her, or even small town people like me.

I was about the same when Beau’s dad brought me up the first time, at his sons insistence. He was an avid hunter when he was still alive, so much that the stroke that made hunting impossible for him may as well have killed him, considering what he did afterward. That was ages ago though, Beaus accepted it, as have the rest of us, but the thing I can’t accept is how stunning it is. Colours that are dazzlingly bright against a backdrop of lush, leafy green trees and I’m still in awe of it. Duty calls though.

”Martha, let’s get unloaded.” I say, and so we started unloading, her taking the lighter things and I, of course, take the heavier things. I’m not a tall man, but Martha is practically microscopic with the musculature to match. I’m dragging the last of our gear up to the cabin - she’s already gone inside- when Beau steps into view. I’ve no idea where he came from or where he was in that time, I didn’t see him unloading at all. I look up at him and his face is marked with worry lines. “I saw Martha’s eye.” He says in a low tone, one that makes me feel like I’ve got ice under my skin. “What happened.”

“I told you already, she had a family thing.” I tell him, swallowing hard before I continue. “Her dads a sicko, you know that.” We don’t say anything for a while before he just nods and marches past me and too his truck. “Don’t let her see me unload.” He mutters as he passes by. I pick up the pace back to the camp, motivated more by the fact the sun is quickly disappearing past the horizon, taking its light with it.

It was the truth what I told Beau, about Martha’s dad. He’s a drunkard and a criminal and he’s got no use for a daughter besides a punching bag, at least, as far as she tells me when it comes to what he does to her. She refuses to move in with me even though I’m begging her at this point. She won’t budge. Too attached, maybe Stockholm syndrome or something, I don’t know. I do know she’ll go right back to him when we get back, and I’m fully prepared to shoot the bastard the moment I’m in eyeline of him. I won’t say I’m a saint, but I will tell you I don’t abide beating your own kid and that’s the honest truth of it.

I’m dreaming about hurting the bastard when she shakes me awake, muttering my name frantically in a hushed, whispered tone. It’s a second before I’m up, and when I fully awaken I’m assaulted by noise on all sides. I try to take stock of my surroundings. The roof is slanted over me low enough that my arm can brush it. My sleeping bag is halfway down my body and I’m naked, penis sitting limp against my leg. Martha is fully clothed; she’s wearing the same thing from this morning. My rifle case is under the bench that I call a bed. Someone is outside, screaming at the top of their lungs.

”It’s Beau.” She says, and she sounds like she’s crying. When I turn on the electric lantern beside my head, I can see that she is. “I-I looked outside and he-“ Her breath hitches in her throat and is released in the form of a sob. “We have to- We have to d-do something.” I’m out of the sleeping bag fully now, taking her face in my hands. “Ok, watch the stairs, I’ll get my gun out. Alright?” She nods, and she hurries off to the stairs while I get my rifle case out. “Oh, I can’t stand this.” She whimpers out as the screaming and pleading and retching outside hits a crescendo. “Hurry please hurry please he could be coming up any second.” She’s babbling, she’s hysterical, inconsolable. She turns to face me. “Ter-”

BOOM

Beau bounds up the stairs in a few huge stomps. He has a rifle in his right hand, carried by the barrel. He’s half naked with the only clothing he has on being his steel toed boots and a blood soaked tank top. He mouth is likewise covered in blood and he has a wild look in his eyes. I look down at Martha and see that her head has been reduced to a pulpy, chunky mulch on the floor. He looks down to, then back to me, seeming perturbed. “You couldn’t have been quieter about it.” I scold him, placing my smoking gun on my sleeping bag. He doesn’t respond, simply repeating his look between myself and what used to be my wife.

“I told you so.” Is all he can muster, though it sounds more deflated through his panting breath. Looking down, I can see that he’s still fully erect. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” I respond, slipping my boots on. “You get the wet end this time, help me move her to the pit.”

This has been the same song and dance we’ve done for a while, at least before I met Martha and he started his own family. His dad was an avid hunter and he helped us walk that path as well. I can’t say it hasn’t been rewarding, to be frank with you. We haul Martha down and out of the camp with out any real hassle and carry her over behind the outhouse. The pit is there, and Beau lets his end of the body fall onto the dried out ground beside it so he can pull the tarp off . For my part, I just slide her body toward it by pushing in the soles of the feet, letting it go as soon as I can feel it’s weight start pulling down.

The pit is three seconds deep, and it’s been at the Camp of Many Colours well before me or Beau or his dad started hunting. When we hear a meaty crunch at the bottom, Beau replaces the tarp and we start heading over to his fresh catch.

It’s a woman, as Beau is wont to do. I prefer bringing men up here for this, though I can’t really say why I do that. It just seems appropriate, you know? Symmetry or whatever. Anyway, the woman is basically half dead at this point, what with being naked and with her front flayed down to the pubic bone. The raw muscle and tendons exposed to the stuffy summer air like this tends to hasten hypothermia, which is what she is undoubtedly suffering from with her skin missing, among other things. Movement to my side draws my attention to Beau, who is now stroking a blood soaked hand along his similarly blood soaked penis, quite vigorously I might add. That’s when I remember that I’m also completely naked, so I tell him I’m going back to bed.

“Do you want a piece of her?” He asks me. “No, I’ve already had enough action for tonight.” I tell him. “Thanks for the offer though.” He tips an imaginary hat at me as I walk back to the cabin. The screaming starts up again before I’m halfway to the stairs. By the time I’m back in my sleeping bag, the screaming has stopped.

As I slide back in, I notice now that I’m fully erect.