All I wanted to do was go out with Danny Sullivan. He might not be the cutest boy at Pokey High, but he is the tallest, and he has his own four-door Chevy, which is a plus, because there’s just nothing to do in Pocatello. I’d been giving him hints ever since school started last month, but he must be too tall to hear how hard I was laughing at his only-kinda-funny jokes. Today I just got so tired of waiting around for him to do anything (he’s not the smartest boy at Pokey High, either) that I marched up to his locker and I said to him, “Danny Sullivan, are you taking me out this weekend or not?” And he looked all shocked in a way that made his cheeks light up as red as the letter on his sweater and his buddies all standing around were laughing at him. But I didn’t care, because all I wanted was just to go out and have a good time. So Danny coughed into his hand a little and he said, “Okay. I’ll pick you up at seven.” And I kinda put my hands on my hips and I said, “Excuse me, Mr. Sullivan, but that was not asking, and I am a respectable young lady,” because I am. And his eyebrows looked mad, but I saw his mouth smiling a little when he asked, “Sylvia Grindall, would you go out with me tonight?” And I pretended to think about it but he already knew that I was gonna say, “I’d love to. Pick me up at seven.”
But when I told Mama about my date she went on and on about reputations and “that whole Sullivan family is trouble.” She even called him a cad, if you can believe it! She asked why I didn’t go out with Boyd Neddermeyer because his dad was the second councilor in the bishopric and he was a respectable boy with a sense of propriety, and I calmly told Mama that I am a grown woman (almost) and that she can’t be making decisions for me, especially decisions about affairs of the heart because she could never understand what it’s like to be in true love, plus Boyd Neddermeyer eats orange peels. Then she yelled at me and she swat me with her wooden spoon, even though I was being perfectly reasonable about the whole situation. I told her that Lettie’s mother let her go out with Danny Sullivan three weeks ago and the sun still rose the next day. And Mama’s eyeballs turned red and her hair stood out straight and she said that Lettie is a little harlot and that she knows that Danny took Lettie parking up Roller Coaster Hill and that she’d bury me alive herself before she let me go out with a boy who goes parking. Then she made me go to my room and read the scriptures for an hour, and that’s the truth. All the parts about depravity and sin and destruction. Only I didn’t, because they have nothing to do with my situation. I’ve never even thought about what it would feel like to have his wet, pink mouth on my neck while his fingers wander along the edge of my blouse. Not even once! Mama makes out like Pocatello is the next Sodom and Gomorrah, but we can’t even have a jukebox in town for fear that that wicked rock-and-roll music might stir up our souls and awaken in our bowels a lascivious nature.
Anyways, I pulled on a fresh pair of socks and I laced up my saddle shoes (because I asked for some of those strappy slingbacks for my birthday, but Mama said loose ankles meant loose morals) and I sneaked out the bedroom window just as soon as Danny pulled up in his green Chevy. And I know, I know, Mama’s gonna have a fit when she finds out. At the time, I simply had no room in my brain for such negativity. But when I opened the car door, I was surprised to see Helen and Ernest sitting in the backseat, because I hadn’t agreed to a double-date with those two. Helen is a gossip and also everyone knows she’s fast, and Ernest is nice enough, but he already had one hand on Helen’s thigh before the date had even begun. I eyeballed them real good as I sat down in the front seat. “Where we headed?” I asked while I buttoned my sweater closed.
“There’s a Flash Gordon picture playing at The Chief,” Danny smiled at me and it was then that I noticed that what I thought before was a dimple was actually just a scar on his cheek. But I’m not so superficial and I thought I could get used to it.
We drove downtown and Danny bought us both a root beer before we headed into the theater. Good thing I’d seen the picture before, because Ernest and Helen were very distracting throughout the whole movie. They were shifting and groping around in the dim light of the movie theater, and at one point Ernest’s hand slipped so far up Helen’s skirt that I could see the tops of her knees! And any of my attention that wasn’t stolen by their wrestlings was devoted to the warm feeling of Danny’s shoulder pressing against mine. At the end of the show, Flash Gordon saved the day and pulled Dale in for a warm embrace, and I felt a demure blush rise in my cheeks when I caught Danny glancing at me.
After the picture, we all four of us walked back to Danny’s car. Danny sneaked his hand into mine until our fingers were all laced up together and I hadn’t planned on holding hands with him, but there wasn’t any harm in it, right?
As soon as we were all of us in the car again, I said, “Thank you for the picture and the root beer, Danny Sullivan. You were quite the gentleman tonight.” And I said it while clearing my throat so Ernest would know that he was most certainly not a gentleman tonight, but he didn’t seem to take the hint because the next thing he said was “Let’s go parking.”
I whirled around in my seat to glare at Ernest, but he’d already buried his face in Helen’s neck. So I quick turned back and pretended I didn’t see anything and before I even knew it, Danny was driving away.
My heart was beating like a drum, but I could still hear the sloppy noises coming from the back seat of the car. So I tried making conversation. “Where we headed?” and I followed up my question with, “It’s already pretty late, so we should probably be getting home, don’t you think?” But Danny just laughed and said, “It’s a nice night. We’ll swing by Roller Coaster Hill for a quick stop.” He smiled at me again, and the scar on his cheek looked bright, like it was soaking up moonlight, and I didn’t have that happy excited feeling I had at the beginning of the night anymore.
I wanted to tell him that I didn’t want to go to Roller Coaster Hill, that he should turn this car around and take me right back home. But I also didn’t want to have to face my Mama and tell her that she was right. Because I wasn’t feeling great about the direction things were headed, but Mama was still wrong about Danny. He hadn’t done anything untoward. I was sure we’d just sit at the top of Roller Coaster Hill and enjoy the view of the town and then we’d head straight for home.
When we reached the edge of town, the moon was all covered with clouds and all I could see was the headlights on the asphalt road in front of us. And then we pulled off and we were on a washed-out dirt road. Danny drove slowly on the dirt path that wound up to the top of Roller Coaster Hill, and I felt my stomach lurch into my throat with every worn rut we bumped over.
Danny inched his Chevy up to the peak of the hill and his headlights showed us that we weren’t the first car to have this idea tonight, cause the beams bounced off the fogged up windows of Boyd Neddermeyer’s dad’s pick-up truck, still loaded with the hay bales that he was no doubt supposed to deliver that day. (Mama would be shocked to learn what Boyd was up to in the dark of night.) Danny kept driving until the front of the car was angled down, pointing toward a drop-off. We couldn’t see the river down below because the dark was just thick, but when Danny turned off the car, I could hear the rush of the overfull river down below and the rustle of leaves as the possums crawled around in the trees and the hum of June bugs whizzing by. For a minute, I forgot why we were there at all, but then I heard Ernest and Helen shifting around in the back seat. There was a smack of lips and a rustle of clothing and Helen even made a sound like she was a sick cow.
I tried to think about something else, anything else, and I was just wringing my hands there in the front seat. But then Danny scooted over until he was sitting right next to me. He started to lean in close, and I could smell the root beer and chocolate on his breath. I know he wanted to kiss me. And probably do those same things Ernest and Helen were doing, too. And boy, in that moment did I wish I had read the scriptures earlier when Mama told me to. So that I could tell Danny and the rest of them some of the verses in it. About “pure in heart” and “evil nature,” and all that. But I didn’t have any of it in my head, and even if I did, I’m sure I wouldn’t have been able to remember it because surely the Holy Ghost fled the scene the very moment that Helen’s kneecaps made an appearance.
And I never intended to kiss him, but I wondered for a moment if I should just let it happen, just like I let him hold my hand before. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt anything. Maybe, despite what Mama and Bishop Clancy and President Heber J. Grant have told me, it would even feel quite nice. But before he could reach my lips, I glanced out the front window of the car, and that’s when I saw it: the lantern. It was far off in the distance, just a pinprick in the dark, but it sparked a memory in my head. I gasped and said, “Look!”
Ernest and Helen were occupied, but Danny looked, so I continued for his edification. “You see that light? It’s the light on Hatchet Man Bridge.” Danny squinted through the front windshield and I pointed him in the right direction. “Hatchet Man Bridge. Right over there. You know about the Hatchet Man, don’t you?”
Helen must have unlocked her mouth from Ernest’s at that point, because she piped up from the back seat, “My sister told me that story. It’s not real.”
So I said, “Oh yes it is! A cousin of mine died there,” which of course isn’t true, but I’m sure the legend is actually real, and I think both God and President Grant are okay with a small untruth to avoid sins more vile than murder.
Danny asked, “When was that?” and I knew he was getting suspicious, but I have to say I think I’m a pretty good liar. Or actress, if Mama asks. (I was cast as the lead in the school Christmas play last year.)
“Something like fifteen years ago. Or ten. He was my oldest cousin on my Papa’s side. We try not to talk about it cause it makes my Granny cry.” And I thought about my Granny crying and it almost made me cry and I just thought if only the moon was brighter everyone would be able to see this great acting.
“You’re a liar, Sylvie,” Ernest said, and I got excited because I could tell my story was working in their hearts.
“I am not, and I’d thank you not to call names. His name was Samuel and he had taken his girlfriend to the bridge because she liked the way the stars reflected in the creek. Said it was romantic. And they started to get, you know, amorous, in the car but then there was a terrible thumping sound, so Sam (that’s what we called him) Sam said ‘I’ll go see what it is, and whatever you do, don’t open this door for nothing until I get back.’ So he got outta the car and his girlfriend locked the doors and waited and waited and waited. And soon she fell asleep and when she woke up it was daylight and the police were there. They took her from the car and told her not to look but she did and she saw poor Sam hanging by the neck from that big old cherry tree that spreads out over the bridge. His feet swung just inches from the top of the car, God rest his soul.”
“Why is it called ‘Hatchet Man Bridge,’ then, and not ‘Hanging Man Bridge?” Danny asked, and it was a good question. But I’m a good answerer.
“Because the Hatchet Man chopped him up a bit before hanging him from the tree. He was all sliced up and dripping blood onto the roof of the car.”
“Why would a murderer chop him with a hatchet and then hang him up?” Helen asked, and I could almost hear her eyes roll.
I started to feel a little nervous, but not too much, because Helen is a little miss smarty pants and everyone knows it. She even corrects Brother Burrows in Sunday school and he always makes a face about it when he thinks no one’s looking. So I just acted all cool and collected. “You don’t have to believe me if you don’t wanna. I know what I know, and I’m just trying to protect all of you from befalling the same fate. Sam’s poor girlfriend was simply wracked with grief after she saw him in such a state.”
“What was his girlfriend’s name? Maybe we can find her and ask what really happened,” Danny suggested. I could tell he was trying to be helpful.
“You don’t know her. She was so sad that she moved to Canada to become an old maid.”
And then I heard some sloppy sounds from the backseat and Helen’s insufferable giggle before she said, “Stop telling tales, Sylvie. You’re not impressing anyone.”
And Danny leaned in real close and whispered, “I thought it was real scary. But don’t worry. I’ll protect you from the Hanging Man.”
And I sat back kinda mad because I just spent all that time spinning an excellent and morally upstanding yarn and he couldn’t even bring himself to remember the right name. “It’s the Hatchet Man,” I said, and Danny said, “Right, I’ll protect you from all those guys. Hatchet Man. Hanging Man. The Idaho Wild Man,” and before I could turn away he pressed his mouth against mine. And I gotta say in that moment, there was a tingle down in my stomach that felt quite pleasant, but I also know that it was actually Satan tickling me with his pitchfork, metaphorically. The pitchfork, I mean. Satan was real.
So I jumped out of the car just as fast as I could and started to run back the way we came. I know it wasn’t safe for a virtuous young lady such as myself to be out alone in the dark woods, but at that point, it was safer outside with the raccoons and the stray dogs than it was in that car. I made it down to the bottom of the hill and I sat there a while, catching my breath and figuring out what to do. And eventually it came to me that it was pitch black out and I was at least ten miles from home. There was simply no way for me to get back on my own, but I certainly didn’t want to go back to Danny in that Chevy. I thought maybe if I sat there long enough, someone might drive by and give me a ride home. Maybe Boyd Neddermeyer would finish whatever God was watching him do in his truck up there and see me as he drove back toward town.
But a lot of time passed and no one came. So I realized that I just had to go back up there and demand that Danny drive me home immediately. I stomped resolutely up that hill and I was so focused on what I was going to say to Danny that I tripped on a tree root about halfway up and that’s why my glasses are shattered (Mama’s gonna kill me). And then, because the glass in my glasses was all cracked up, there was a big rock I just couldn’t see and I scraped it and got this big long tear in my sweater and a gash on my arm. And then these prickle bushes scratched up my shins. But I pushed forward, and just when I got to the top of the hill the clouds parted and the moon shined bright and I saw the most terrible sight!
Every car window was smashed, and the doors were torn open. Blood was streaming from the open cars, pooling and running down the hill. Just rivers of blood. I saw Boyd Neddermeyer slumped over on the steering wheel of his dad’s truck. There was a girl I didn’t recognize hanging half out the passenger-side door. Then I saw poor, sweet Danny, and I clutched at my chest and ran towards the car. Helen was lying on the ground nearby, her body draped over Ernest’s larger one. Underneath the curve of her chest I saw Ernest’s white letterman sweater was spotted with bloody, red holes. But Danny was still in the car, sprawled out across the front seat, his throat slit open and his eyes looking glassy. I cradled his still-bleeding head in my lap and there was blood all over my new blue skirt and I could feel my bottom lip quiver and my nose start to run as my eyes filled up with hot tears. But then he reached back and grabbed my arm. And he looked at me with those glassy eyes, and with his dying breath, he whispered to me and I couldn’t tell exactly what he was saying, but it sounded like Sh’Claw.
And I didn’t really know what that meant, but it sure sounded bad, so I hopped out of the car and there he was, standing right in front of me. The tallest, thickest man I ever saw, with shoulders as broad as two farmhands standing together. He looked strong enough to tackle any one of those boys, and his head was big and square and his skin looked grey, and he had a big pink scar running down one side of his face. The left side. And he was wearing one of those big white straitjackets, so I think he was one of those guys who lives at the asylum, but the strait jacket wasn’t tied, so he must have escaped or something. The buckle ends hung down to the ground and covered his hands. And I looked around for some way to defend myself because I’m just a petite young lady and this brute was the size of a bear, and I quick reached into the back of Boyd Neddermeyer’s dad’s pick-up and held up his rusty old hay hook. It wasn’t super sharp, but it was heavy and felt like it could get the job done. I held it out in front of me and I said, “Don’t you come any closer!” and I thought I might have the upper hand because he didn’t have any weapons on him. But then he lifted up his left arm and the end of the jacket fell away and I saw, instead of a hand, a hook, razor sharp and covered in blood. And there was blood on his jacket and his pants, too. Way more blood than is on me right now. Just buckets of it. Like, I could tell he’d been doing something really nasty with that hook there.
So I ran, of course. Back down the hill, only I didn’t stop at the bottom, because I knew he had to be right behind me. So I hit the asphalt road and I kept on flying. And that’s when I saw you driving up the road with your lights going and boy was I relieved to have found an officer. Cause I know this guy’s right behind me and I got to get out of here. Then you can go back and take care of all those lecherous teens up there on Roller Coaster Hill. Only you won’t find Boyd Neddermeyer’s hay hook, cause I dropped it when I ran and I think I heard it fall into the river. And you probably won’t find that Sh’Claw guy, just because you know how squirrely those asylum guys can be. Probably disappeared into the trees and never will be heard of again. Anyway, I’ve really been through something tonight. Would you mind just dropping me off at home? You don’t even need to come to the door or anything. I’ll just sneak back in my bedroom window. I’m still a respectable young lady, and there’s no use worrying Mama about anything that didn’t happen.
Jeanine Bee is a writer and the fiction editor for Wayfare Magazine. Her writing has been featured in places like Fourth Genre, Dialogue, Exponent II, and Inscape. In her free time, she likes to watch true crime documentaries until the sun goes down, at which time she regrets knowing so much about serial killers.
