Chapter 7 – Messy Configgerations

JOEY KESSLER, LOCAL RESIDENT, FARMER: A brush hog blade is about 25 inches. This thing that we found was like twice that length. But sure enough, that’s what it was—brush hog blades—just two of ‘em. You could tell by the holes in the metal and the general shape of them. It was like he had welded two of them together in a messy configgeration.

STEPHEN PARKER: There was a scream. We had seen Hailey fall over the fence. I could only hope that neither her nor Skye had been hit by the blade. Nick kept shouting and screaming at Big Baby, calling him every name in the book, trying to get his attention. Well he did alright. He turned and started walking towards us in big strides that would close the gap in no time.

SKYE BRIGGS: This fucking blade was buried right in Hailey’s back. She was sprawled facedown on the ground and I was screaming her name and she wasn’t responding. I crouched down by her, could feel her breathing. It didn’t look like she was bleeding a whole lot. The blade was wedged into her lower back

HAILEY ADAMS: The last thing I remember was the impact…the breath knocked out of me…falling forward to the ground, my face in the mud and leaves. Unable to breathe or move for a few seconds, I was thinking I was dead. I thought that this is what it was like to die. You just retained all consciousness and would see the world move by all around you, but without you. Everything went dark.

JOEY KESSLER: The motion lights were on, the dogs were barking, and there was banging and crying at my front door, all sorts of racket. I grabbed the nine from my nightstand and made my way to the front door. I could see her from a window that overlooked the front porch. It was this girl. She was in hysterics and her clothes were all muddy and torn.

STEPHEN PARKER: We crossed the creek and clawed our ways up the other side. He stood and watched us from above, his giant figure casting an imposing silhouette in the moonlight. Even without his blade he still looked very dangerous. I had no doubt that he could break us in half or crush our skulls with his bare hands if he got a hold of us.

Nick—athlete that he was—was faster than me, but not by much. I had always been a skinny bastard, skinny but quick. I just followed his lead. We were crossing an empty field of dead corn, trampling bent and wilted stalks under our feet. In the distance on a hill we could see a house and barn. We headed for it.

OFFICER DANIELS, MOMADAY COUNTY SHERIFF’S DEPUTY**:** The homicides occurred in about a two mile radius from the initial point of the Walnut Creek Bridge. I guess it’s locally known as The Crybaby Bridge. There was the bridge itself and the field belonging to the Kessler residence. There was also the Loveless residence.

ALLISON SWANSON, GIRLS’ CHEER HEAD COACH AND PHYSICAL SCIENCES TEACHER, SOMERSET HIGH: It was a shame what happened to Hailey Adams…just a gosh darn shame. Pardon my French. But it was though. We were going to take state. She was going to have a scholarship and everything. This world…it’s just not fair. For most of us, yeah I guess we get by ok, but is that really the case? Are incidents like Hailey’s just the price we pay for getting to experience the good Lord’s blessings? I guess he has a plan, but sometimes it’s hard to see. Oh Lord it’s hard to see.

SKYE BRIGGS: All this was God’s plan? Psh. He sounds like an asshole.

STEPHEN PARKER: My lungs and diaphragm were burning, a burning stitch in my shoulder. Nick was my coach and cheerleader, urging me onward. I hadn’t had to run this much in a long time and certainly not at this speed. Behind us was Big Baby, standing in the field like a giant scarecrow on steroids.

We jumped a barbed wire fence and crossed a gravel driveway. There was a porchlight on and I could see the glow of a cigarette’s ember hovering somewhere in front of a darkened face that belonged to someone sitting on the porch. We started yelling and hollering and waving our arms. The sitting guy stood up as we neared. It was an old looking farmer guy, in overalls and a trucker cap, face all leathered and weathered.

“Can I help you boys with something? What in the Sam Hill are y’all doing out here at this hour? Dont’cha realize you could get shot coming up here like this? You’re lucky tha—-”

“Sir, sir. We need help. We don’t got much time there’s been people killed. He’s after us right now!”

“Y’all slow dow—”

A T-post is a type of fence post that is an essential building material for the rural farmer and homesteader. It is a steel rail that is shaped like a T when you look at the end-on view of it. They are typically painted red or green with white tips on the top and are instrumental in stringing up barbed wire for vast stretches of land. Go for a drive in the countryside and you will likely see these fence posts. They often require a fence-post driver to set into place and the post itself is quite stout. They could be helpful in cordoning off part of your yard for your various needs. -The Country Mouse’s Guide for the City Mouse: A Handbook on Urban Farming

STEPHEN PARKER: He never finished another sentence for as long as he spent on this earth. A steel t-post had whizzed past both of our heads with a magnificent fury and momentum. Its speed fluttered my eardrums. The long rail sprouted out of the poor farmer’s neck, a gurgling sound escaping his lips. His head lolled over as blood ran down the bib of his overalls in a steady stream and he toppled to the porch in a thud, the t-post chiming along with him like a clock ringing his final hour.