Simple Jack Simple Jack, call him any name you wish, but on that terrible night it was a crazy Jack, not a simple Jack that had gone completly beserk through the town. It was a maddened Jack that terrified the minions of the law and the good citizens of the town in a night of bloody horror. The townsfolk will never forget that time in the past year or so when the baying of the hounds was heard and the call of murder was sounded. Deep scars were left in its wake that never healed. Simple Jack they called him, due to his simplicity of his innocent childish behavior. The young man was harmless in his ways, always polite and friendly-like; nobody feared his presence. He was a youngish man in the late twenties, brawny in built, always with silly grin on near handsome features. The young man was always seen dressed in coveralls and in a denim patched shirt, shoed in high scuffed boots, and crowned on his reddish curly hair with a straw hat that had seen better days. The simpleton had been jailed following the death of Mizzes Bailey, his bed-riddened mother and was waiting for his appearance in court. The thought of his mother’s death and the coming trial confused him in his misery and backwardness. Simple Jack constantly paced back and forth in his narrow cell like a caged beast; he called out his innocence in slurred words time and time again. He called out that he only wanted to take away her pain from the curse of the cancerous rot, but instead he had unknowingly crushed her breath from her lungs. Rest for him came only at night when his tired body called for a pause. True, it was consider by some as an accident and to others it was a deliberate act; but it was up to the judge to decide and give his verdict. Yet, the case was never reviewed in the court thanks to a stupid trick played by a small group of ne’er-do-wells that led to a night of terror that followed. Ah didn’t mean to hurt me mum... Honest... She was a’ cryin’ in her pain all night n’ day too. All th’ time. Th’ black sickness waz eatin’ her por’ body causin’ her lots ov misery. Didn’t mean t’ hurt her. Honest. She waz a’callin’ all night in her miz’rable pain. It waz mighty hard t’ hear... So, ah took took her in me arms, holdin’ her real tight. Every time she cried, ah holt her tighter n’ tighter. Meant t’ take away the ache frum her body... Really tried.. Then me mum flopped in me arms still like. Didn’t mean t’ hurt me mum..." The sheriff, grey in years, seated at his desk, pivotted his bulky body on the comfort of his swivel chair and faced the cell holding its prisoner. He looked through his pale eyes with understanding at the husky young man sitting on the bunk in the dismal cell as he repeated over and over the pitying words, despite his efforts to placate him. The officer noticed that Simple Jack stared with eyes lifted as a possible sign to plead with the Good Lordy to accept his words. The sheriff noticed tears flowing on the innocent features of the daft creature as he thought of his dear departed mother. Simple Jack had lived with his mother, an aging widow, in a rough two room unpainted shack at the edge of town. Mizzes Bailey, her name to her kin and neighbors, was a good and attentive mother to her only son; she saw to his needs dutifully, being thankful for the blessing of a good and obedient son. Simple Jack, in return, repaid his mother in doing the varied farming chores about the yard, and running errands when needed. That was in the past as Mizzes Bailey in the recent year got the black sickness that ate into her meager body. The cancer was inoperable and she was put into her bed crying out in anguished pain despite the opiates prescribed. "Didn’t mean t’ hurt me mum... she be a’hurtin’.. jest took her in me arms... honest!" Simple Jack’s muscular body was needed at the general store; his strength lifted sacks of flour, seed and fertilizer; moved barrels of chemicals and tins of lubricants. When needed - reels of fencing wire were moved easily by him to the loading platform; and canvas rolls, hardware, and farming equipment were lifted without much effort on his part onto to the delivery truck. The partners of the emporium were attentive in their affairs, fair and correct in their business practices; part of their responsibility was in the proper payment in wages to their employees. Thus, Simple Jack’s pay packet was adequate to the needs of Mizzes Bailey’s household. But, to hangers-on at the pool hall cum bar, Simple Jack was an object of the fun and derision that broke the tedium of their endless, and sometimes boring games of pool. The small town offered little in amusement; there was a movie theater a way back, but it had been closed for some time. There were lots of guffaws when a trick was played on Simple Jack - even the poor simpleton laughed in mirth. There were lots of laughter when the gullible chap was sent on an errand to the garage for a pail of air - or the time when Simple Jack was sent to the minister of the church for a listing of the sins of Eve. But that all changed when Mizzes Bailey came down with the black sickness; then the young man had to rush home after his daily task to tend to the needs of his ailing mother. "Didn’t mean t’ hurt me mum. She waz a’callin’ in her pain t’ th’ good Lordy... Lordy, Lordy, she cried out t’ th’ emptiness.. Callin’ callin’ for th’ Lordy t’ take her... Holt her tightlike in me arms. Tried t’ take th’ ache frum her... Honest." Simple Jack continued to pace the limited space of his cell, pausing, now and again to stare through the bars of his window at the passing scene. Those who neared the jail, paused at the sight of the poor demented creature staring out, "The poor boy... he didn’t mean to hurt his mother," they spoke in agreement. They whispered in hush tones of the incident that caused the death of Mizzes Bailey, which they deemed was purely an accident, "They needn’t have to charge him with a crime of causing her death. After all he was comforting the poor dear from the pain of the black sickness. Didn’t know his own strength." Yet, there were others, the uncaring ones, who damned him for the death of that poor widow. "Thet dumb fool - should ov’ been put away yars ago. Yep, thet’s right. Right dangerous be walkin’ about," they condemned. "Breakin’ th’ bones ov por Mizzes Bailey, tis a bit of no good shame, yesiree..!" they tut-tutted in accordance. They showed no mercy in the meaness of their words, which they condemned in the loudness of their argumentative voices. But, on one fateful day, the bored ones from the pool hall wanted one more joke to be played on Simple Jack. Five conspirators were counted amoung the hangers-on. From the ignorance of their thoughts they decided to put the scare upon him with the threat of a ghost, demons and devils. "Jest a bit of laugh, thet’s all... Will do it t’night when nobody be about... even the sheriff jest locks up and goes home," they had explained in their stupidity. They planned and they schemed throughout their daily game of billards to the disgust of the bar owner: The poor man needed their custom and his protests were weakly expressed. That very night the jokesters had gathered near the back of the sheriff’s office with its small jail; one guised as a sheeted ghost and others were near to boo and jeer him on. The five of them crept steathily towards the barred window of the locked cell and the ghostly dressed figure peered in. He saw that Simple Jack was fast asleep on his bunk; then the farcial spirit inhaled a deep breath and let out a loud howling ghostly call. "Jack, Jack, I am the ghost of your mother, nyaaaahh," the voice cried, choking the need for laughter, "Nyaaahh, nyaaah." His chorus supported his spooking and opened with devilish noises that sounded like the yelp of hounds and the caterwauling of alley cats. Again and again the sheeted one had called out the prank backed by his chorus. Simple Jack heard the terrific sounds and jumped from his bunk. When he heard and saw the apparition of his so-called mother, he called out to the ghostly figure, "Maw, maw!" Then he ran to the window and gripped the bars with all his might. Fright ensued amoung the jokesters as Simple Jack shook the bars with all his strength as he cried out for his supposed mother. Fear increased as the bars rattled causing bits of mortar and brick to loosen and to fly about. The bored ones pulled back from the cell window as the joke fizzled to a frightened scene of sheer terror. The white covered figure’s legs entwined in the sheet as he tried to escape from the sight of the maddened simpleton; he tripped and fell hard on his back and head. The chorus didn’t wait to assist their dazed compatriot and their booted feet hastened them from the building; only quick looks over their shoulders witnessed the events, which ensued. Some said that the walls of the sheriff’s office with its one cell for holding culpirts, built in the turn of the century, was neglected in maintenance through the passing years. The venerable building was weakened by storms and by the poor attempts in repair; its bricks corroded with age and the mortar between was mouldy to touch. It only took the muscular effort of Simple Jack to tumble the outside wall. The daft creature had thought he was assisting the ghost of his mother when he helped it from the ground. Simple Jack held the white spirit tight and comforted it with a loving crushing hold. He thought that groaning sounds coming from under the white sheet was the miserable hurt of the black sickness that plagued his once living mother. The groans turned to gasping of air and the sound to Simple Jack meant there was more pain coming from his mother’s spirit, so he held it tighter and tighter to take away the so-called hurt. Some folks about town expressed their belief in the story. Simple Jack had no reason to harm the young fellah; they exclaimed that he simply was unaware of the power of his own strength. As the story continued, Simple Jack didn’t uncover the body from the tangled cloth, but just hefted it on his right shoulder. Then he ran like a man posessed through the town, raving in his madness, which exclaimed the presence of the ghost of his mother. The ones that had been driven from their sleep witnessed the escape and heard the hollering; some were terrified at the sight while others put it down to a prank or drunkeness. "Escaped, thet he did... ran away, thet he did.. frum th’ jailhouse... broke down th’ wall... that he did with..., " were the words spluttered to the sheriff by the compatriots of the sheeted figure. "Damn and tarnation," exclaimed the lawman as he tried to make sense of the spewed phrases. The sheriff had been at home enjoying a favourite television program from the comfort of his armchair when the group of excited young men rapped at the door. It was an exasperated man that had switched off the set and listened to jumbled news of the Simple Jack’s breakout. He quickly left his comfort, placed a few hurried telephone calls and made ready for his official duties. "Gone to be a long night," he cursed. Then he instructed the four fearful figures to "skit and skidaddle home and shet yer doors tight. See y’all in mah office come early t’morrow..." It took a matter of a few minutes for the sheriff to drive to the town jail, but it took a longer bit of time to grasp the sight that greeted him. "I’ll be horn-swoggled," he exclaimed as he lifted his stetson from the grey of his hair. "Thet Simple Jack be a mighty strong fellah," he grumbled as he inspected the fallen brick and crumbled mortar. Then the lawman searched through his shirt pocket till he found a crumbled pack of chewing tobacco. He pulled it out, fumbled with the wrapper and took a bite of the fragrant packed leaf. For a few moments he ruminated while he furrowed in deep thought. "Damn and tarnation," he grumbled as he spat out a glob of ‘baccy juice. Within time four called up deputies gathered at the office cum jailhouse; one had brought along a couple of unruly snuffly coonhounds. They expressed the same words of exclamation as they examined the fallen wall. "Simple Jack’s a mighty hefty fellah, shore is!" were the first words, which was said as they gazed in wonderment. "Mighty strong devil when thet’ crazed one is sore," exclaimed one of the posse. " Yor mighty right," replied his partners, "Mighty right indeed.". The deputies patted their rifles in assurance of their power and need. The sheriff just spewed out another bit of chaw and hitched up his gun belt. He called to his deputies for a pit of patience as he entered and searched through the debris of the ruined cell. "An’ keep those miz’rable hounds quiet-like," he shouted to the dog handler. The lawman searched about till he spotted the prisoner’s simple possessions. He found Simple Jack’s shoes and socks where they had been placed under the cot. "Damn and tarnation," he cursed again as he lifted the items from the floor, "stinks like hell." Then with an added thought he spat out another glob of juice and cussed "It’s goin’ to be a damn miz’rable night. Feel it in me bones." The sheriff stumbled on the brick and motar as he made his way on heavy feet towards the alley. He lifted the shoes and socks to the cold nose of the hounds and allowed the animals to have a good smell. With yelping and baying the hounds took the scent, sniffed the ground and pulled on their leashes. The handler was wrenched along, followed by other lawmen. The call of the chase was heard in the warm air of the night as the trail was marked in its freshness. "Th’ trail.. hits a-goin’ t’ th’ cem’tery," exclaimed the harried dog handler. The posse together with the baying of the coonhounds attracted a few of the sleepy townsfolk. Some, on slippered feet rushed to open windows and looked out. They saw the minions of the law in their chase and one or two called out in inquiry, but others bellowed out a foul curse for the disturbance of their sleep. The sheriff called a halt to the pursuers as they neared the entrance to the town cemetery. He crouched low as he made his way to the enclosing rusting fence; he searched through the gloom, but his attention was disturbed by the baying and tugging coon dogs. "Jem, keep your cussed hounds quiet.." he yelled angrily. And with a kick to rumps by the handler, the hounds yelped into snuffly quietness. Then with confidence in his stride, the sheriff opened the creaking iron gate that screeched in damnation. He walked about the haunt of the graveyard and searched with alert eyes through the grounds. He neared the mound of Mizzes Bailey’s grave and he saw a white-sheeted figure stretched out in a semblance of a sacrificial offering covered in floral tribute. The lawman hunkered close to the grave as he started his inspection. He was puzzled as to the purpose of the flowers strewn over it which, in his mind, was probably snitched by Simple Jack from the other gravesites. "But, hell and tarnation, why all th’ ceremony?", he ruminated as he tilted his hat in puzzlement. No answer came to his mind. After a moment or so of deliberation he turned and called out to his waiting deputies to come within the cemetery. "Take care... keep yer rifles handy, but no shootin’ till ah give the sign. Don’ think ‘hit would be needed. Simple Jack is jest a crazy loon, thet’s all. Kin handle him. He’s been h’yar, kin see ‘hit by th’ stuff on Mizzes Bailey’s grave... " Before he was able to finish his instructions, a hefty figure rose from a hidden tombstone. "Keep away frum me mum." he yelled. The starled sheriff jumped to his feet and held out a stopping hand. "Now listened hyar Jack, tis’ the sheriff only. Nobody gonna hurt your mom. D’ye hear. Jest take it easy-like." Simple Jack didn’t react to the sheriff’s words of entreaty. Instead he lumbered on his dirt encrusted bare legs towards the nervous, but ever-ready sheriff; a clump of wood was held high in the simpleton’s raised hands. The officer of the law pleaded with Simple Jack and told him to come quietly, "Nobody ‘ill hurt you or your mum.". The sheriff’s words were stilled as within a second the coonhounds yelped and raged upon the screaming of Simple Jack. The scent crazed dogs pulled loose from the grip of their handler; they bayed in snarling rage as they charged the simpleton. Simple Jack swiped at the first dog with his weapon, sending him yelping on a backbreaking fall on a memorial stone. The second dog snarled and tore at the skin of his feet, but two blows from the cudgel put a miserable end to his existence. "He’s a kilt me hounds!" the dogs’ master yelled as he rushed towards Simple Jack. But when he neared, he met a similar fate encountered by his animals. Then a rifle shot rang out. Simple Jack growled angrily from the pain of the driven bullet. Anger riddled his simple mind and he turned his maddish pace towards the other deputies, only to be hit by another shot. But, the crazed fool continued in his maddened charge. The lawmen looked on in terror and immediately took to their heels. Seeing the escape of the deputies Simple Jack then braked in the run and turned his feet towards the sheriff, seen by him standing near the altar to the ghost of his mother. With a scream from his blood-red frothy mouth, he lunged towards the lawman. The officer saw the raised clump of wood held high by the threatening figure and he quickly withdrew his colt from the holster. With a steady hand he directed the weapon and pressed on the trigger...
Copyright © 2002 Norman A Rubin |