Little Kid's Horror Stories

The Beanstalk Parallel - Bad Decision

He relaxed his grip and the wheel pulled to the right. A spray of gravel from the shoulder of the road peppered the undercarriage, adding to the clamor of rattles and bangs the old truck already possessed. John steered back onto the macadam and cursed aloud at the road ahead.

It was an hour's drive to the next township where the buyer his mother had made the deal with waited for delivery. John had argued but lost in the face of the facts his mother presented. They were broke and they needed money.

He remembered when the farm was a clean, going concern. It provided a modest income for the three of them and even managed a tiny profit from local sales of dairy and produce. Then his Pa died suddenly and they found out that he was in debt all over town for feed, supplies and even some of the utilities. John's Mom did the best she could, selling off all but two cows and several hens, a mangy rooster, most of their implements and now the truck.

Without money, she'd said, there would be no feed and without the feed there would be no animals and without the animals, she and John would likely starve. They thought of selling the small farm but where would they go? John's mom was getting too old and tired to start tracking all over the countryside looking for a place they could afford; besides, the farm wasn't worth much anyway.

The soil was dead; there was no water, except what a grumpy old well provided and the sky when it had a mind to rain. Still, John felt that without the truck they would be much worse off. How would they get supplies? How would they go anywhere? The buses only passed by twice a day in each direction and if you missed one . . . well.

The sun was setting behind him and the sky ahead became a velvet backdrop for the glow from Wisher's Waterhole, a bar cum diner that attracted mostly farmers, truckers and lost souls. John heard his stomach rumble and he chewed his lip as he considered the five dollars his mom had provided for extra gas and a bus ticket home.

He checked the gauge, calculating how far he'd come, how far he had to go and how much gas was left. The glow in the sky brightened and John could see the silhouette of the building beneath the gaudy lights. He made up his mind. He'd push the truck the last few miles if he had to; right now he was going to treat himself to a pitcher of beer.

*****

Burt Wisher gave John's shoulder a rough shake and yelled into his ear. "C'mon there John, Irene and I are closin' up. It's late."

John shook himself awake and gazed around blankly. His head throbbed just over his left eye and his mouth felt stiff and dry. "Wha- what's goin' on?"

"It's what's goin' off, John. The lights, that's what. Were closin' for the night. You gotta git."

"Huh? How long- where's my keys?" He swept his hand across the empty table.

"Your friend took 'em.

"What friend?" John sat up rubbing his eyes into focus.

"The guy you traded your truck to. Geez, John, you musta really had a lot to drink." Burt took him by the arm and started dragging him up from the table.

"Traded- what?"

Getting annoyed, Bert stood him against the wall and held him by the shoulders. "Listen. You started drinkin' with this guy and pretty soon both of you were up to your gills in beer. He gave you that envelope that's stickin' outta your pocket and you gave him the keys to your truck."

John fumbled the envelope out of his pocket as Bert hustled him across the room and out the door. He just had time to read the word deed at the top of the page before the Waterhole's lights went out. The night was pitch black with barely a visible star and John suddenly felt very frightened and very sick.