The Jar of Nephren-Ka

KAYREVLA

Lacomb, Louisiana: 3:08 AM, Thursday, June 7th, 1984

I rolled past the driveway in the woods. The brief glimpse I got of the gate reassured me that everything was as I had left it. I drove over a hill, then pulled off the side of the road and cut my headlights.

I sat there for another ten minutes, counting the number of cars that passed. There were two, both heading north, and neither were cops.

My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, the waxing moon providing just enough light to see if I drove slowly. I made a U-turn and eased the big car back towards the entrance.

I arrived without incident, and pulled the car into the drive, cutting the car at an angle to leave room for me to maneuver between the car and the gate.

I got out, stumbled back to the trunk as quickly as my leg would let me, and dug around for my little leather bag and a set of bolt cutters.

I hobbled back around in front of the car, and examined the padlock on the other side of the gate. The give in the chain wasn't enough that I could pull the lock back through, and the space between iron bars was too narrow for me to squeeze my meaty mitts through.

I stuck the bag with my picks back in my pocket, and maneuvered the bolt cutters up to the chain. I leaned into the cutters, applying pressure slowly but steadily, until there was an intense pop and the chain separated, jingling loudly as the ends slid through the gate and fell onto the ground.

I noticed headlights on the highway, coming north, about a mile away. Less than a minute, I thought to myself. That's how long I have to get through this fucking gate and close it behind me.

I shoved at the gate. Despite it's obvious age and lack of use, it swing easily, emitting a high-pitched screech as the hinges protested.

I hobbled as fast as I could towards the cruiser, jumped in, and pulled it through the gate. I put it in park, then jumped out and hobbled back to the gate.

I could hear the vehicle now. Sounded like a car, something with a V8. I looked around the pillar at the edge of the gate, and saw headlights, only a quarter mile away and coming fast. I shut the gate, then jerked myself behind the pillar.

The car burst past, and as it did, I could just make out the glint of a light-bar on the roof. I let out a sigh of relief and stood behind the pillar for a second, waiting for the jitters to pass.

If the cop turned around and examined the gate, the jig would be up. I thought for a second, then hunted for the remains of the chain. After a little experimenting, I found that I could still chain up the gate with the little length I had left, I just needed to pick the padlock.

I got out my bump-keys again and popped the lock. I then rechained the gate, lock back on the inside. My trail covered, I reached into my car, donned my gloves, and retrieved my weapon. Then I began trudging up the dirt drive towards the house.

The branches of multitudes of cypress trees made a canopy overhead, with long streamers of Spanish moss hanging down. Moonlight was valiantly trying to filter through the trees, but the going was rough, and not much of it made it all the way to the ground.

The night was alive with sound. Bullfrogs and crickets were in full voice, and now and again I heard splash of something larger entering a body of water off to my left. I gripped my pistol tightly and continued on.

The drive was dirt and mud, with occasional spots where the gravel had not washed away. I tried to walk in the graveled areas, but couldn't help stepping in a puddle now and then, wet mud sucking my boots and making slurping noises as I pulled them free.