The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

We’d stopped for a picnic lunch at this little wayside along the river up toward the mountains, just us and one other vehicle. While I hauled out the cooler and the box of groceries, my wife walked over to the restroom. A minute later these two guys come over and ask me about accommodations up the road, what the hotel was like they’d seen, how one of them hadn’t slept in 24 hours, where was I going?

Maybe you never had one of those moments when the hair on your neck literally stands up, one of those premonitions of imminent horror about to unfold before your very eyes, but this was one for me. Something about these two men radiated, I can’t think of any other way to describe it, evil. And I use that word evil, not loosely, but with some precision of meaning, even though I have really never personally encountered pure evil in any real sense. But these two hombres were trouble. I had all our stuff on the picnic table and I was nonchalantly moving things around without really unpacking anything. In the silverware bag I took out a big collapsible hunting knife and laid it there between us, not in any threatening way, just another knife with the forks and spoons next to it. I wanted Karen to come out right now. I wanted her to stay inside. Mostly I wanted these boys to walk the hell away from me.

The one who hadn’t slept asked all the questions. Didn’t make much eye contact. Wasn’t friendly, wasn’t unfriendly. His partner stood beside him but never said a word, just watched in a slightly menacing way, a little wound tight, ready for god only knows…. Killer Joe smiled occasionally at some of my answers to his inquiries, some joke only he could hear. I thought, wanting to make it happen, Karen will stay in that bathroom until these guys leave. Then she’ll walk over and we’ll get in the car and drive away, no lunch, to hell with lunch. My appetite was long gone.

Just then the van they were driving opened its panel door and a woman sat there looking at us as she sat in the back seat. Nobody said a word. We all three stood looking at her for what seemed like a very long time. Then the silent one nodded at Killer Joe and the two ambled back to the van. I palmed the hunting knife and from behind the cooler I opened it up to reveal its full 5 inch blade and locked it in place. Karen appeared from the restroom and sauntered toward me. Time stood strangely still although the river behind me ran down rapids and made a sound like burbling blood. I watched the van across the parking lot and the two were talking to the woman in the seat.

“Grab that box and get in,” I said quietly in a voice that probably scared her but didn’t allow for much questioning. “We’re leaving right now. Fast as we can.” I threw the cooler into the trunk and she put the box in the backseat. The trio watched us from across the parking lot. I was estimating the time it would take for one or both to cross. It wouldn’t be much. No other cars were coming in to picnic. No other cars were coming at all on this road.

When we got inside, Karen asked what was up? I shook my head and turned the key. “Lock your door,” I said, feeling like a bad movie, then rolled out past the van and stopped at the stop sign. No one was on the road. We pulled onto the highway. That hunting knife sat between us, open. They might have just been tired travelers, I know that. They might have just been stopping to picnic too. Maybe. But I never felt such bad vibes talking to anyone before or since. I’m a trusting sort, maybe too trusting. This time I decided to trust my instincts.

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This entry was posted on Thursday, July 14th, 2016 at 6:03 pm and is filed under rantings and ravings. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.