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Cornsilk
By JDG
Her name was Rebecca Ann Simpson. She looked to be all of seven years old.
She wore a worn blue gingham dress with tattered little Red Ball Jets tennis
shoes. Her eyes were a sun washed blue, and her hair was that rare yellow/white.
Like cornsilk. It was from her hair that she got her nickname. Cornsilk.
Not many of the people from the sleepy South Georgia town of Wellsville
knew her nickname, or much else about her. She lived on an ol' ramshackle farm
on the outskirts of the county of Macon. It was a blazin' hot August in 1962
that this happened. I know because I was there.
Everyone was happy about the prosperous times and all. We had a handsome
young president in the white house, and the coloreds were shoutin' about civil
rights and all. Now Cornsilk, she lived on the old farm with what everyone
assumed to be her grandmother and grandfather. Everyone was wrong. But then,
they was wrong about a lot of things when it came to Miss Rebecca Ann Simpson.
Now, I know the truth. Me and Bubba Lee Jones. But ain't either one of us ever
gonna' tell anyone. No Sir, not me, and certainly not Bubba.
See that hot August day, it was the 6th of August; it was the hottest day
on record. 105 degrees in the shade. They didn't do that fancy stuff with
humidity back then. No that was an honest 105. Bubba and me, we was workin' on
roadside reclamation for the Macon County Correctional Facility for Wayward
Youth. A fancy name for a reformatory. Bubba was 18 and I was 17. He was big and
meaner than a snake. When he turned 21 they was gonna transfer him to the State
Correctional Facility for adult offenders. Me, well if I had kept my nose clean,
I could of gone free when I was 21. But I was young, and stupid, and full of
myself.
Bubba was in for robbing a liqueur store and killing an old colored man
who he ran into as he was leaving. It was Bubba's fault that he ran into the old
man. Knocked the old fella right on his keester too. But Bubba didn't care. He
shot him dead anyway. A 12 gauge Mossberg, fired into a man's face, from point
blank range, tends to do that. Least ways when it is loaded with .00 buckshot.
In a way it was the old man that got Bubba caught though. See when Bubba ran
into him, his wallet fell out of his hip pocket. In his rush to kill the old
colored man and get away, Bubba never noticed that his wallet had been left at
the scene of the crime. If it had been a white man he had killed then Bubba
would have probably gotten the death penalty. Instead he got 25 years at hard
labor.
I had been runnin' moonshine with my Uncle Jake. Uncle Jake was a great
driver and no John Law could catch him. I wanted to be just like him. I thought
I already was. I wasn't. I got caught and I got sentenced to 5 years in the
State Correctional Facility. Provided I kept my nose clean and did my time
sweet. That was where I met Bubba. Guess I always had a problem with hero
worship.
Anyway we was out doin' roadside reclamation, which is really just pickin'
up trash and cuttin' weeds and such, down on a dusty clay back street near the
south Macon border when Bubba suddenly tells me to grab my stomach and fall over
moanin'. Bubba wasn't one to argue with, and I wouldn't have crossed him anyway,
so I did like he told me.
Bubba hollered for the guard and he came strollin' over like he had
nowhere to go and all day to get there.
"Whatsa' mattah Bubba?" He says. "Yore little Girlfriend gone off sick on
ya'? She got her period or sumthin'?" He seemed to think that was real funny. He
liked to rile Bubba sayin' how I was his little faggot and all that. That made
Bubba go all black eyed. Maybe if that big fat guard hadn't taunted Bubba like
that then Bubba would have let him live. I guess we'll never know now though.
As the guard bent down to look at me Bubba brought the shovel he had been
usin' down across the back of his neck. The edge of the blade bit into his big,
sweaty, red neck and cut through his spine as clean as a knife. Bubba grabbed
his keys and his shotgun. The other guard was facin' the other way. Watchin' the
other boys. He never knew what hit him. One shot and his head was gone too.
Bubba liked shotguns.
The other boys scattered like scared rabbits or somethin'. They was all
scared of Bubba. Especially when he had the black eye on him. He yelled at me to
get in the work truck and we was on our way. We figured we would have a few
hours before anyone found out. We would have too, if the new Warden at the
Correctional Facility hadn't decided to pull a surprise inspection of the street
work crews. Guess it was a real surprise all right.
Anyway it was less than a half hour before we heard the alert go out over
the radio. We needed to find us a bolthole and quick. Them State boys wouldn't
care that we was just a couple of kids. All they would care about was that we
was cop killers. That's when we saw them rollin' fields of corn and the old
farmhouse. I wish to God we had taken our chance with the State Boys. I surely
do.
Bubba wheeled the truck into the dirt path that led to the old
outbuildings of the farm. He pulled up behind an old barn and we used pitchforks
to shovel hay all over the truck. Then he had me go sweep out the tracks while
he took the shotgun up to the house. As I was sweepin' I remember seeing the
most God awful scary lookin' scarecrow I had ever seen. It was hangin' out in
the middle of all that corn. Just hangin' there. Nothin' to scare a big
strappin' 17 year old kid like me. But it gave me the sweats I tell you. It
surely did that.
When I got done I went up to the house. I peeked through the screen door
and saw Bubba standin' there with the shotgun in his hand and an old, and man I
do mean O-L-D, couple sittin' on the couch in front of them. A little golden,
haired girl stood nearby. She was lookin' at Bubba like she wasn't scared at
all. It made me feel all protective toward her. This tiny little thing just
standin' there and lookin' at big old Bubba. Her eyes all wide and innocent. Not
a trace of fear in them. I suddenly felt like I wanted to grab her and take her
away from all this ugliness that was gonna' be comin'. But I couldn't. Nobody
crossed Bubba.
Well Bubba he was layin' down the law to them old folks about how we was
gonna' be their guests for a few days and they was gonna' be quiet and do what
they was told and all. He told them that if any law dogs came around we would
hide in the cornfields with a shotgun to the little girls head. One wrong word.
One wrong move, and no more little yellow haired granddaughter. Somehow though,
this really didn't seem to shake them up so much as I thought it should. I
figured they was just too old to be as shook up as someone more in possession of
all their natural faculties might be. But I was wrong. They wasn't scared of
what we would do to the little girl, and she wasn't their granddaughter. Of
course I didn't find this out 'till later on.
Oh, would you like a bit more chamomile tea. It is so soothing on the hot
August days to have a cooling glass of chamomile tea I always say.
NO? Ok then. Now, where was I? Oh yeah, now I remember. Well Bubba and I
settled into a kind of routine. We got no trouble from the old couple and no
trouble from the kid. She never spoke, and they spoke damned little too. Bubba
made the old folks sleep in the root cellar at night, and the kid he kept
between us. A kind of insurance against them causin' any trouble I guess.
We had been there about a week I guess and Bubba was gettin' itchy about
movin' on. He figured the heat might have died down enough for us to make it
into Florida. See he had this idea about goin' down to the Keys and then gettin'
on a sponge boat and killin' the crew after we got out a ways, and then takin'
the boat to Mexico. He said we would be home free then.
Every day I sat watch up in the barn. Watchin' the road for John Law. And
watchin' that damned scarecrow. It seemed like the eyes followed me wherever I
went. They was almost like human eyes. A deep brown. It gave me the willies, I
tell you. Maybe that's why I never wondered why John Law never came around.
Anyways Bubba he gets itchy feet and wants to move on. He has the old lady
pack us up some food and such and then he takes them and the little girl out
into the cornfield. Now I was gettin' scared along about now, but I seemed to be
the only one. The old folks seemed to be happy, like they didn't have a care in
the world. Almost like they wanted to die. The little girl just skipped ahead
and hummed to herself.
"Bubba?" I said to him, in a low whisper so they couldn't hear me. "We got
their old truck. We done tore out their old telephone. It's a good five miles to
the nearest town and old as they are it would take them at least a day to make
it, even assuming they could. Couldn't we just leave them here and take the car
and supplies and go?"
"Don't you be talkin' so gall darned stupid Billie Joe." Bubba hisses at
me. "We need more than a dang day. Besides I don't believe in leavin' loose ends
around. They may not talk much to us, but you can bet they will sing real sweet
to John Law. No, they got to die."
What? I'm sorry I didn't hear your question clearly. My name? It is
Abigail Simpson. But back then it was Billy Joe Taylor. Don't worry; I'll get it
all explained to you.
Anyway Bubba gets them into the middle of the cornfield, right beside that
damn scary scarecrow and tells them to kneel down. The two old folks kneel down
just as sweet as you please. Then they did somethin' real strange. At least
strange for two old people, kneelin' in a cornfield and lookin' up the barrel of
a 12 gauge shotgun. They smiled at Bubba. And Bubba, well he shot them in the
face. And then they was dead.
The little girl just goes on skippin' around the scarecrow and hummin' to
herself. She weren't scared or nothin'. Bubba then calls her over to him. She
comes over and smiles up at him too. He starts to swing the shotgun over toward
her head and I snapped. I screamed at him and jumped at him. Boy was that a
stupid thing to do.
Bubba clunked me upside the head with the barrel of the shotgun and I saw
stars. I hit the ground and I could feel the dust of that powdery clay grit in
between my teeth. My head swam and then I saw the barrel of the shotgun pointin'
in my face, and I knowed I was gonna' die. I tell you I was so scared I wet my
pants. Not because of the shotgun pointin' at me, no... that didn't bother me
near as much as the little girl did right then.
See she was laughin'. Cacklin' would be closer to it I guess. And her hair
was standin' up all around her head like there was static electricity in the air
or somthin'. You know, like right before a big ol' electric storm? Then she
started sayin' some of the eeriest words I ever heard come out of anyone's
mouth. Much less a little golden/white haired girl in a southern Georgia
cornfield. Bubba must have been unnerved to, 'cause he just froze there. Not
doin' nothin'. Just standin' there with his teeth clenched and the sweat runnin'
off his forehead.
Then she started to dance around me and Bubba. Chantin' in a singsong
voice some kind of eldritch words that no human tongue was ever meant to speak
and no human ears was meant to hear. It felt like the words scorched my brain. I
saw Bubba's eyes fair to bulgin' out of his head. See that was the thing about
Bubba. He was a handsome rascal. With the prettiest blue eyes you ever saw in a
man's face. Right then them blue eye's of his was lookin' like they was gonna'
explode out of his face at any moment.
I thought I must have fallen on a red ant bed because I felt like I was
covered with them critters. All crawlin' on my skin. But when I glanced down
there wasn't no red ants on me at all. But my skin was crawlin'. And so was my
flesh. I could feel my insides churnin' and changin'. I felt liquid run out of
me and I thought I saw it steam from the fever heat that had taken' me. It felt
like my whole body was changin'. Then the pain hit. Just as I blacked out I
noticed that my hair had gotten real long and gone all golden/white... just like
the weird little girls.
I woke up back inside the farmhouse, on that very couch you are a sittin'
on. I was wearin' a nice gingham dress, and some, I think the word is sensible,
shoes. I had on no stockin's, but I could feel strange undergarments on me. At
least strange before that moment. Not so strange now... not after 36 years of
wearin' them. I know... I know I don't look a day over 25 even now. Just let me
finish. I'm almost done now. You see I had woken' up a woman. A young woman.
Just about old enough to be the little girl's Mother. She was standin' there
smilin' at me. I was still too dazed and confused to be as shook up as I guess I
ought to have been.
It felt funny to stand up and be so short, I'm only 5'5" inches you know.
I had been 6' before. It felt funny to move around with things movin' around
where there hadn't ought to be anything, and an emptiness where there had ought
to be somethin'. My butt felt too big, and my chest swung around some even with
a bra on. Course with a chest as big as mine I guess I had to expect that. See
we didn't have no cow, and the girl she likes fresh milk. If you take my
meanin', and I see you do. The girl took me by the hand and led me out into the
cornfield. Out to where the scarecrow hung. Only now there were two of them. And
one of them had blue eyes. The prettiest blue eyes you ever did see on a man
like thing. As for the two dead old people, well they was just gone. Who they
really were I never did find out.
Now I can see you don't believe a word I have said, Mr. Fuller Brush man.
No you think I am just some looney young woman, with a cute little girl, livin'
out on a run down old farm in south Macon county. But you see there was a reason
you came here today. There was a reason I told you all this. See little Rebecca
Ann, or Cornsilk as everyone who ever sees her is like to call her, wants a baby
brother to play with. A nice little 5 year old boy, with washed out blue eyes,
and golden/white hair. Here now. Don't you cry none sugar. Your gonna' be just
fine here. Let me get you out of those big ol' man clothes and get you into a
nice clean jumper. Cornsilk's waitin to play hide and seek with you in the
cornfield.
But mind the scarecrows when you play. I don't want you to have bad dreams and,
sometimes, if you get too close and it's real quiet, you can just hear Bubba
whisperin' with his straw filled throat, "Help me. Someone... anyone... help me
please."
The End
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