Bottom Feeder Read online

  BOTTOM FEEDER

  Deborah Leblanc

  Published by Deborah Leblanc at Smashwords

  Copyright 2010 Deborah Leblanc

  It wasn’t so much the smell of pig shit that got Nina’s attention, as it was the size of the pig shitting. It looked like a Volkswagen with a busted gas tank. A light breeze collected the scent of the brown stream squirting from beneath its looping tail and sent it her way. She slapped a hand over her nose but not quick enough to keep the putrid odor from drilling into her sinuses. It was like snorting a cocktail of warm rotted meat, vomit, and something metallic. She gagged, eyes watering.

  The woman who’d introduced herself only moments earlier as Lervette Patin let out a hearty laugh, revealing pale pink gums with no teeth and a nicotine-stained tongue. Not a pretty sight on any woman, but paste it on four hundred pounds of blubber dressed in a faded green housedress and tattered sneakers and you were looking at down right gross. Lervette clapped her hands twice, and the rolls of fat on her body jiggled in every direction at once. When her guffaws finally calmed to mild snorts, she said, “Ol’ Maudwan’s been havin’ de drizzles for a coupla days. Don’t know how long dey gonna last, so you bes’ learn to breathe out you mout’ when you come ‘round to feed.”

  Nina gaped, one eye on the animal’s thick yellow tusks and what appeared to be a quarter-size mole on the left side of its snout. What was a sixty-plus-year-old woman living alone doing with a creature like that? “I-I’ve gotta feed that . . . that pig?”

  Lervette arched a brow. “First off, dat ain’t no pig. Maudwan’s a boar. All de reg’lar pigs is out back, pas’ de feed shed.” She nodded toward an old wooden, paintless building that stood four hundred yards beyond Maudwan’s pen. It looked like an abandoned garage.“And what business you got gettin’ all uppity anyways? Ain’t you de one was lookin’ for work?”

  “Yeah . . . but I thought I’d be babysitting or cleaning something. You know, like your house.”

  “Where de hell you got dat from, girl? I never said nuttin’ ‘bout you cleanin’ no house, and I ain’t got no kids.”

  Lervette said ‘girl’ as though the younger sector of the female gender carried a contagious, disfiguring disease. Getting more nervous by the minute, Nina glanced over at the grunting Volkswagen and muttered softly, “My—my name’s Nina.”

  “Don’t matter what you name is,” Lervette snapped, her eyes cold, brown marbles. “Work is work. What? You t’ink just ‘cause you young and skinny and got dem big titties you too good to slop hogs?”

  Shocked by the tit comment that seemed to come out of nowhere, Nina stared at her, mouth open, unable to think of anything to say.

  Lervette parked a hand on her hip. “Look here, I ain’t got no time to watch you just stand dere like a broke stick. You want de work or no?”

  Tears stung Nina’s eyes, and she bit them back, not wanting to give the woman the satisfaction of seeing her cry. What had seemed like a good idea two weeks ago was turning into an even bigger nightmare than the one she left’d back in Dayton, Ohio. At the time, though, leaving seemed to be the only way out. Her mother had refused to believe that Rick, Mommy Dearest’s latest boyfriend, really preferred eighteen-year-old girls. He’d already forced himself on her once, threatening her life if she told anyone, and Nina knew if she didn’t leave, one of them would wind up dead. So she’d stuffed clothes into a knapsack, swiped seventy bucks from Rick’s wallet while he was in the shower, and left home.

  Although she hitched rides and slept under any hideaway she could find, the money only lasted four days. With no money and no one willing to hire her, Nina learned to scrounge through trashcans behind restaurants for food. It was either eat garbage or go home. She chose the garbage. And the plan had worked well until three days ago when a trucker, heading into Louisiana, gave her a lift. They hadn’t put a hundred miles under the wheels of the big rig before he tried shoving a grubby paw between her legs. She’d screamed so loud and long he wasted no time pulling off at the next exit so she could get out.

  Too afraid to get into another vehicle, Nina had headed south on foot, and kept walking until she collapsed in a laundry mat in some remote Louisiana town. That’s where Lervette found her, dirty, starving, and huddled beside a Maytag. When the woman offered work, Nina jumped at the chance, never thinking to ask what kind of work. All she’d been able to think about when she got into Lervette’s rusted old pickup was money and the double cheeseburger with fries it would buy.

  Nina weighed the cheeseburger against Lervette’s sudden anger and snide remarks—against the eerie feel of this place. Storm clouds gathered over the acres of barren fields surrounding them, tinting everything gray—Lervette’s shack of a house—the broken board fence that bordered her front yard—even Maudwan. The air felt too thick, the boar’s grunts too loud, and everything seemed to collect in Nina’s brain and insist she leave. But without food or money, where would she go? As if in response, her stomach grumbled loudly—Pick the burger . . .

  So she did.

  “The—the feed’s back in that shed?” Nina asked quietly.

  Obviously taking the question as a positive response to the work required, Lervette smirked, then took off in the direction of the shed. “Come, I’ll show you what you gotta do.”

  As Nina followed her, she caught distant movement to the right out of the corner of her eye. She glanced over and saw a little girl standing just outside Lervette’s front door. She appeared to be no older than five or six, wore a faded yellow, shift-type dress, no shoes, and had disheveled, shoulder-length blond hair. Even from here, there was no mistaking the sad expression on the child’s small face. She just stood there, hands at her sides, watching Nina’s every step. Unless Lervette had some kind of miracle womb, the child looked too young to be her daughter. Granddaughter maybe? But Lervette had said she didn’t have kids . . .

  Nina was about to ask the woman about the child when Lervette pulled open one of the shed’s double doors and an overwhelming, rancid odor yanked the question right out of her head. It was a thousand times worse than what she’d picked up from Maudwan. “Jesus, what’s that smell?”

  Instead of answering, Lervette waddled into the shed, signaling for her to follow.

  With a hand clamped over her nose and mouth, Nina stepped tentatively across the threshold. Lervette flipped a switch near the door, and a single, bare light bulb that hung from a cord in center of the ceiling flickered on—off—on. Pale white light jittered through the thirty-foot building as if hesitant to reveal what was inside.

  Two huge metal barrels stood side by side in the middle of the room. Both were at least four feet tall, had lids with rope handles, and the bulk of each barrel had bright orange, vertical stripes. A long handled paddle and a metal bucket were propped between them. To the right of the barrels, a pyramid of plump burlap sacks with RICE-BRAN stenciled on them lay on the concrete floor. Beside the pyramid were two, white plastic buckets, each looking like oatmeal had sloshed over their sides. The wall beyond the sacks supported rows of shelves, all of them filled with various tools, boxes, paint cans, and other assorted junk left to storage. A long, wooden table sat at the back of the building with a large coil of garden hose on it and a straight-back chair on either end. The table had an abrupt lean to it, as if both right legs had been cut a few inches shorter than the ones on the left. Beneath the table, the concrete appeared stained with something dark, like oil.

  After coughing up a loogie the size of a walnut and spitting it on the floor, Lervette walked up to one of the barrels and pulled off the lid. The stench that rolled out from inside the barrel gave a whole new definition to rot, and it plowed into Nina like a freighter hauling dead cows. She doubled over, dry heaving.

 
“You bes’ pay attention,” Lervette said. “’Cause I’m just gonna tell you dis one time.” She paused, waiting as Nina, still gagging, righted herself. “De sack feed is for de pigs out back. See dem plastic buckets? Fill half de buckets wit’ rice-bran, de other half wit’ water. De faucet’s out by de pens—so’s a broke shovel handle. Use dat handle to mix de bran and water real good, den dump the mix in de troughs. You un’erstand?”

  Afraid to speak lest she start dry-heaving again, Nina nodded. God, what had she gotten herself into?

  “Good.” Lervette set the barrel lid on the floor, then grabbed the oar. “Now Maudwan him, he don’t eat no bran. You gotta feed him what’s in de barrel.” With that, Lervette stuck the paddle in the barrel and worked it back and forth and around. Thick sloshing, gurgling sounds rose from inside along with a stench so horrid, Nina felt herself grow faint. She had little doubt that even if she stuck her head in the swollen belly of week-old road kill it would smell far better than this.

  “See, all de good stuff settles to de bottom so you gotta stir ‘cause Maudwan only eats what’s to de bottom. Now when you got dat all stirred good, take dat metal bucket, fill it up wit’ swill, den pour dat in his trough. Four buckets each feed, and you feed t’ree times a day.” Lervette pulled out the paddle, propped it against the barrel, then picked up the metal bucket and handed it to Nina. “You can go on and start now ‘cause I know Maudwan’s hungry. I’m gonna go back to de house. Got some clothes to get off de line before de rain comes.” Before Nina had a chance to protest, Lervette left the shed.

  Nina stood, bucket in hand, her empty stomach cramping and roiling with nausea. She didn’t care if Maudwan starved to death or even if she starved, no way was she going to go stirring around in that gross-ass barrel. No amount of money was worth that.

  “She won’t let you go.”

  Startled, Nina whirled about. The little girl she’d seen earlier stood just inside the door of the shed, the same sad look on her face. “Jesus, you scared the sh—the heck out of me! You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

  “She never lets any of them go.”

  Nina frowned. “You mean Lervette? Is she your mama?”

  The little girl stared at her, not offering a response.

  “Your grandmother?”

  Silence, save for a sudden gust of wind pushing past the doorway.

  “Who doesn’t she ever let go?”

  After studying Nina for a moment longer, the girl finally said, “He was bad, and they were bad. She punished them. That’s why he eats from the bottom. That’s why they have to feed from the bottom. Not all of them, though. Not all. You have to go—but I can show you.”

  Confused and thinking the child might be mentally challenged, Nina didn’t question her further. She set the bucket on the floor and had every intention of making a quick exit when the girl suddenly held out a hand.

  “I’ll show you,” she said again.

  “Show me what?”

  The girl lowered her hand. “Money.”

  Nina snapped to attention. “Money where?”

  Instead of answering, the child turned and slipped silently out of the shed.

  “Wait!” Nina sprinted after her, but when she got outside, the girl was nowhere to be seen. Not in the yard that stretched between Maudwan’s pen and the shed, not even by the house, which was a few hundred yards away. How could a little girl disappear that fast?

  “Where are you?” Nina called. When she didn’t get an answer, she raced toward the back of the shed. It was the only logical place the kid could have gone in such a short period of time.

  Nina cornered the back corner of the building and came to an abrupt halt. She didn’t see the little girl—just twenty to thirty pigs corralled in three pens that were lined up one behind the other. The pigs were all small to average size, and not one made a sound. And they all appeared to be staring at her—with wide, blue eyes.

  Blue-eyed pigs? Was there such a thing? Must be, stupid, you’re looking at them . . ..

  “Over here.”

  The sound of the little girl’s voice jerked Nina’s attention away from the pigs, and she pivoted on her heels, scanning the yard, but didn’t see her. In that moment, lightning split ragged seams through the western sky, and thunder shook the ground. A heavy gust of wind tangled her hair about her face.

  “Over here.” The girl called again. “Here.”

  Nina strained an ear, trying to get a bead on the direction of her voice.

  “Heeeerrrrrre.”

  The wind seemed to stretch the syllable into forever, or at least long enough for Nina to follow it back to the front of the shed. That’s when she spotted her. The girl was standing in the front doorway of Lervette’s house, one hand extended, motioning her over.

  As Nina ran toward her, she considered the fact that she just might be losing her mind. What the hell did she think she was going to do, rob Lervette? The old heifer had said she had to get clothes off the line before it rained, but Nina had no idea where that might be. For all she knew, Lervette might be on her way back to the house now.

  The girl nodded, then turned and went into the house as soon as Nina reached the front steps.

  “Wait for me,” Nina whispered loudly, trying to look everywhere at once. So far, there’d been no sign of Lervette, which made her nervous. Unless hidden by a house, how did a four hundred pound woman manage not to be seen? Suppose the kid had some warped idea of fun and games, and Lervette was already inside?

  “This way—now.”

  Hearing the urgency in the girl’s voice, Nina figured she had little to lose. Besides, if Lervette caught her, she could always come up with a lie about what she was doing in the house. A loud crack of thunder made her jump. When her heart settled back into place, she shot one more nervous glance over her shoulder, then went inside.

  The living room was small and cramped with too much furniture. Dark paneled walls gave the place an even darker, dank feel. Not seeing the girl, Nina stood quietly, listening, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom. She heard a clock ticking somewhere in the house—the soft creak of wood—the plop-ploop of water dripping from a leaky faucet. Gathering up what nerve she had left, Nina finally whispered, “Where are you?”

  Lightning struck again, this time closer to the house, flashing bright white light through the windows. That’s when Nina noticed the pictures, two dozen or more sitting atop an occasional table near a hall entrance. All but one was small and framed, and they formed a semi-circle around one larger photo, which was that of a man with short, wiry hair and a wide nose that had a large mole on the left side of it. It made Nina think of Maudwan, and she inched closer, curious.

  All of the smaller pictures were of women, most of them Caucasian and blond, like her, all of them with blue eyes—like her—like the smaller pigs—and none of them smiling. In fact, most of them looked frightened by something behind the camera, especially the pregnant one in the first picture on the right.

  “He was bad.”

  Startled, Nina slapped a hand over her mouth to hold back a scream.

  The girl stood in the hallway, her face hidden in shadows. “He was bad,” she said again. “Bad . . . touched them in a nasty place, so she punished him. Them too, she punished them, too, but worse. Only some of them, though. Just some of them.”

  With her heart hammering in her ears, Nina glanced from the girl to the picture of the man, back to the girl. “Lervette you mean? She punished the man in the picture?”

  The girl nodded. “He was bad. She said words and punished him. Now he has to eat from the bottom. They have to feed him from the bottom. Not all of them, though. Not all.” Suddenly the girl’s face appeared, her eyes wide, frightened. “Hurry, the chair!”

  Nina whirled about, expecting to see Lervette standing behind her.

  But no one was there.

  Lightning struck again, followed by a loud clap of thunder. Trembling now, Nina turned back toward the girl. “What—�
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  The hallway was empty.

  Something creaked behind her, and Nina held her breath, muscles tensing, all of them ready to send her body bolting with one command. She glanced back and saw a wide-seated, cushioned rocking chair, tipping back and forth with no one in it.

  “Sh-shit,” she muttered, and took a step back. The chair rocked faster—faster still—until the momentum grew so frantic the cushion flopped up and down on the seat. As she tried to figure out how to get out of the house without having to go near the chair, something white flew out from under the cushion and sailed across floor. It landed inches from her feet—a bank envelope, with something in it.

  “Get it—go!” The girl again, only her voice sounded like it was coming from all directions. “Take it now—now—go! Go!”

  Nina scooped up the envelope, shoved it into one of the back pockets of her jeans, and ran for the front door. No sooner did she clear the steps than she heard an angry voice roar behind her.

  “What the hell was you doin’ in my house, you little whore?”

  She didn’t need to look back to know it was Lervette. Nina willed more speed to her feet, not sure where she was running to. A few fat raindrops plopped onto her arm, the back of her t-shirt. She chanced a peek over her shoulder and saw Lervette not far behind. The woman was red-faced and puffing, jowls and arm-flaps jiggling wildly, but she was keeping up—and brandishing a small hatchet in her right hand.

  “Jesus!” Nina took an abrupt right, hoping to throw the woman off gait. It didn’t work. Lervette followed hard and fast and even appeared to be gaining ground. How the hell was that possible?

  Swerving left, Nina spotted the little girl standing out by the open door of the feed shed, signaling for her to come that way. Was the kid nuts? There were no hiding places in the shed. Just open space and barrels of crap that smelled worse than crap—and tools. Nina suddenly remembered the tools on the shelves—sharp tools, pointed tools. If she couldn’t outrun the fat bitch, she’d need a weapon. She lowered her head and raced for the shed.