The April Special Guest Story is by

Deborah LeBlanc
Please feel free to visit Deborah at: http://deborahleblanc.com/

BOTTOM FEEDER
by Deborah LeBlanc

It wasn’t so much the smell of pig shit that got Nina’s attention, as it was the size of the pig shitting. It looked like a Volkswagen with a busted gas tank. A light breeze collected the scent of the brown stream squirting from beneath its looping tail and sent it her way. She slapped a hand over her nose but not quick enough to keep the putrid odor from drilling into her sinuses. It was like snorting a cocktail of warm rotted meat, vomit, and something metallic. She gagged, eyes watering.

The woman who’d introduced herself only moments earlier as Lervette Patin let out a hearty laugh, revealing pale pink gums with no teeth and a nicotine-stained tongue. Not a pretty sight on any woman, but paste it on four hundred pounds of blubber clad in a faded green housedress and tattered sneakers and you had downright gross.

Lervette clapped her hands twice, and the rolls of fat on her body jiggled in every direction at once. When her guffaws finally calmed to mild snorts, she said, “Ol’ Maudwan’s been havin’ de drizzles for a coupla days. Don’t know how long dey gonna last, so you bes’ learn to breathe out you mout’ when you come ‘round to feed.”

Nina gaped, one eye on the animal’s thick yellow tusks and what appeared to be a quarter-size mole on the left side of its snout. What was a sixty-plus-year-old woman living alone doing with a creature like that? “I-I’ve gotta feed that . . . that pig?”

Lervette arched a brow. “First off, dat ain’t no pig. Maudwan’s a boar. All de reg’lar pigs is out back, pas’ de feed shed.” She nodded toward a wooden building that stood four hundred yards beyond Maudwan’s pen. It looked like an abandoned garage in desperate need of paint. “And what business you got gettin’ all uppity anyways? Ain’t you de one was lookin’ for work?”

“Yeah . . . but I thought I’d be babysitting or cleaning something. You know, like your house.”

“Where de hell you got dat from, girl? I never said nuttin’ ‘bout you cleanin’ no house, and I ain’t got no kids.”

Lervette said ‘girl’ as though the younger sector of the female gender carried a contagious, disfiguring disease. Getting more nervous by the minute, Nina glanced over at the grunting Volkswagen and muttered, “My—my name’s Nina.”

“Don’t matter what you name is,” Lervette snapped, her eyes cold, brown marbles. “Work is work. What, you t’ink just ‘cause you young and skinny and got dem big titties you too good to slop hogs?”

Shocked by the tit comment that seemed to come out of nowhere, Nina stared at her, mouth open, unable to think of anything to say.

Lervette parked a hand on her hip. “Look here, I ain’t got no time to watch you just stand dere like a broke stick. You want de work or no?”

Nina bit back tears. She didn’t want to give Lervette the satisfaction of seeing her cry. What had seemed like a good idea two weeks ago was slowly turning into a bigger nightmare than the one she’d left back in Dayton, Ohio. Back then, though, leaving seemed to be her only option. Her mother had refused to believe that Rick, Mommy Dearest’s latest boyfriend, really preferred eighteen-year-old girls to forty-year-old drunks. He’d already forced himself on her once, threatening her life if she told anyone, and Nina knew if she didn’t leave, one of them would wind up dead. So she’d stuffed clothes into a knapsack, swiped seventy bucks from Rick’s wallet while he was in the shower, and left home.

Although she’d hitched rides and slept under or behind any outside nook she could find, the money only lasted four days. With no funds and no one willing to hire her, Nina learned to scrounge for food in trashcans behind restaurants. It was either eat garbage or go home. She chose the garbage. And the plan had worked well until three days ago when a trucker, heading into Louisiana, gave her a lift. They hadn’t put a hundred miles under the wheels of his big rig before the bastard shoved a grubby paw between her legs. She’d screamed so loud and long he’d wasted no time pulling off at the next exit and tossing her to the curb.

Too afraid to get into another vehicle, Nina had headed south on foot, and kept walking until she collapsed in a laundry mat in some remote Louisiana town. That’s where Lervette found her, dirty, starving, and huddled beside a Maytag. When the woman offered work, Nina jumped at the chance, never thinking to ask what kind of work. All she’d been able to think about when she got into Lervette’s rusted old pickup was money and the double cheeseburger and fries it would buy.
Nina weighed the cheeseburger against Lervette’s sudden anger and snide remarks—against the eerie feel of this place. Storm clouds gathered over the acres of barren fields surrounding them, tinting everything gray—Lervette’s shack of a house—the broken board fence that bordered her front yard—even Maudwan. The air felt too thick, the boar’s grunts too loud, and everything seemed to collect in Nina’s brain and insist she leave. But without food or money, where would she go? As if in response, her stomach grumbled loudly—Pick the burger . . .

So she did.

“The—the feed’s back in that shed?” Nina asked quietly.

Obviously taking the question as an agreement to the required work, Lervette smirked, then took off in the direction of the shed. “Come on, and I’ll show you what you gotta do.”

As Nina followed, she caught movement in the distance from the corner of her eye. She glanced over and saw a little girl standing just outside Lervette’s front door. She appeared to be no older than five or six, wore a faded yellow, shift-type dress, no shoes, and had disheveled, shoulder-length blond hair. Even from here, there was no mistaking the sad expression on the child’s small face. She just stood there, hands at her sides, watching Nina’s every step. Unless Lervette had some kind of miracle womb, the child looked too young to be her daughter. Granddaughter maybe? But Lervette had said she didn’t have kids . . .

Nina was about to ask the woman about the child when Lervette pulled open one of the shed’s double doors and an overwhelming odor yanked the question right out of her head. It was a thousand times worse than the stink near Maudwan. “Jesus, what’s that smell?”

Instead of answering, Lervette waddled into the shed and signaled for her to follow.

With a hand clamped over her nose and mouth, Nina stepped tentatively across the threshold. A single, bare light bulb hung from a cord in center of the ceiling, and it flickered on—off—on.

Pale white light jittered through the thirty-foot building as if hesitant to reveal what was inside.

Two metal barrels stood side by side in the middle of the room. Both were at least four feet tall, had lids with rope handles, and each barrel had bright orange, vertical stripes painted around its bulk. A long handled paddle and a metal bucket were propped between them. To the right of the barrels, a pyramid of plump burlap sacks with RICE-BRAN stenciled on them lay on the concrete floor. Beside the pyramid sat two, white plastic buckets, both looking like oatmeal had sloshed over their sides. The wall beyond the sacks supported rows of shelves, all of them filled with various tools, boxes, paint cans, and other assorted junk left to storage. A long, wooden table stood at the back of the building with a coil of garden hose on it and a straight-back chair propped against either end. The table had an abrupt lean to it, as if both right legs had been cut a few inches shorter than the ones on the left. Beneath the table, the concrete appeared stained with something dark, like oil.

After coughing up a loogie the size of a walnut and spitting it on the floor, Lervette walked up to one of the barrels and pulled off the lid. The stench that rose from inside the barrel gave a whole new definition to rot, and it plowed into Nina like a freighter hauling dead cows. She doubled over, dry heaving.

“You bes’ pay attention,” Lervette said. “’Cause I’m just gonna tell you dis one time.” She paused, waiting as Nina, still gagging, righted herself. “De sack feed is for de pigs out back. See dem plastic buckets? Fill half de buckets wit’ rice-bran, de other half wit’ water. De faucet’s out by de pens—so’s a broke shovel handle. Use dat handle to mix de bran and water real good, den dump the mix in de troughs. You understand?”

Afraid to speak lest she start dry-heaving again, Nina nodded. God, what had she gotten herself into?

“Good.” Lervette set the barrel lid on the floor, then grabbed the paddle. “Now Maudwan him, he don’t eat no bran. You gotta feed him what’s in de barrels.” With that, Lervette stuck the paddle in the barrel and worked it back and forth and around. Thick sloshing, gurgling sounds bubbled up from inside along with a stench so horrible, Nina felt herself grow faint. She had little doubt that even if she stuck her head in the swollen belly of week-old road kill it would smell better than this.

“See, all de good stuff settles to de bottom, so you gotta stir ‘cause Maudwan only eats what’s to de bottom. Now when you got dat all stirred good, take de bucket, fill it up wit’ swill, den pour dat in his trough. Four buckets each feed, and you feed t’ree times a day.” Lervette pulled out the paddle, propped it against the barrel, then picked up the metal bucket and handed it to Nina.

“You can go on and start now ‘cause I know Maudwan’s hungry. I’m gonna go back to de house. Got some clothes to get off de line before de rain comes.” Before Nina had a chance to protest, Lervette left the shed.

Nina stood, bucket in hand, her empty stomach cramping and roiling with nausea. She didn’t care if Maudwan starved to death or even if she starved, no way was she going to go stirring around in that gross-ass barrel. No amount of money was worth that.

“She won’t let you go.”

Startled, Nina whirled about. The little girl she’d seen earlier stood just inside the door of the shed, the same sad look on her face. “Jesus, you scared the sh—the heck out of me! You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

“She never lets any of them go.”

Nina frowned. “You mean Lervette? Is she your mama?”

The girl stared at her, but didn’t respond.

“Your grandmother?”

Silence, save for a sudden gust of wind pushing past the doorway.

“Who doesn’t she ever let go?”

After studying Nina for a moment longer, the girl finally said, “He was bad, and they were bad, so she punished them. That’s why he eats from the bottom. They’re at the bottom. Not all of them, though. Not all. You have to go—I can show you.”

Confused and thinking the child might be mentally challenged, Nina didn’t question her further. She set the bucket on the floor and had every intention of making a quick exit when the girl suddenly held out a hand.

“I’ll show you,” she said again.

“Show me what?”

“Money.” The girl lowered her hand.

Nina snapped to attention. “Money where?”

Instead of answering, the child turned and slipped silently out of the shed.

“Wait!” Nina sprinted after her, but when she reached the yard, the girl was nowhere to be seen. “Where are you?” When Nina didn’t get an answer, she raced toward the back of the shed. It was the only logical place the kid could have gone in such a short period of time.

Nina cornered the back of the building and came to an abrupt halt. She didn’t see the little girl—just twenty to thirty pigs corralled in three pens, each pen lined up one behind the other. The pigs were all small to average size, and not one made a sound. And they all appeared to be staring at her—with wide, blue eyes.

Blue-eyed pigs? Was there such a thing? Must be, stupid, you’re looking at them . . .

“Over here.”

The sound of the little girl’s voice jerked Nina’s attention away from the pigs. She pivoted on her heels, scanned the yard, but didn’t see her. In that moment, lightning split ragged seams through the western sky, and thunder shook the ground. A heavy gust of wind tangled her hair about her face.

“Over here.” The girl called again. “Here.”

Nina strained an ear, trying to get a bead on the direction of her voice.

“Heeeerrrrrre.”

The wind seemed to stretch the syllable into forever, or at least long enough for Nina to follow it back to the front of the shed. That’s when she spotted her. The girl was standing in the front doorway of Lervette’s house, one hand extended, motioning her over.

As Nina ran toward her, she considered the fact that she just might be losing her mind. What the hell was she doing? The kid said she’d show her where there was money, but in Lervette’s house? The old woman had said she had to get clothes off the line before it rained, but Nina had no idea where that clothesline might be. For all she knew, Lervette could be on her way back to the house now.

The girl waited until Nina reached the front steps, then she nodded, turned and hurried into the house.

“Wait for me,” Nina whispered through gritted teeth. So far, there’d been no sign of Lervette, which made her nervous. Unless hidden by a house, how did a four hundred pound woman manage not to be seen? Suppose the kid had some warped idea of fun and games, and Lervette was already inside, waiting?

“This way—now!”

The urgency in the girl’s voice drove Nina forward. She figured she had little to lose anyway. If Lervette caught her, she could always come up with a lie about what she was doing in the house. A loud crack of thunder made her jump, and when her heart settled back into place, she shot one more nervous glance over her shoulder, then went inside.

The living room was small and cramped and held too much furniture. Dark paneled walls gave the place an even darker, more claustrophobic feel. Not seeing the girl, Nina stood quietly, listening, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom. She heard a clock ticking somewhere in the house—the soft creak of wood—the plop-ploop of water dripping from a leaky faucet. Gathering up what little nerve she had left, Nina finally whispered, “Where are you?”

Lightning struck again, this time closer to the house, and bright white light flashed through the windows. That’s when Nina noticed the pictures, two dozen or more sitting on top of an occasional table near a hall entrance. All but one was small and framed, and they formed a semi-circle around one larger photo, which was that of a man with short, wiry hair and a wide nose with a large mole near his left nostril. It made Nina think of Maudwan, and she inched closer, curious.

All the smaller pictures were of women, most of them white and blond, like her—all of them with blue eyes, like her—like the smaller pigs—and not one was smiling. In fact, most of them looked frightened by something behind the camera, especially the pregnant one in the first picture on the right. Her image had been captured from the knees up, low enough to reveal the significant bulge in her belly, her hands pressed against it as if wanting to protect the treasure inside. Her eyes were red-rimmed and terror-filled, and she looked no older than Nina.

“He was bad.”

Nina gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth to capture the sound.

The girl stood in the hallway, her face veiled in shadows. “He was bad,” she said again. “Bad . . . touched them in bad places, so she punished him. Them, too. She punished them, too, but some got it worser, like my mama. A lot worser. Only some of them, though. Just some of them.”

With her heart hammering in her ears, Nina glanced from the girl to the picture of the man, back to the girl. “Lervette you mean? She punished the man in the picture?”

The girl nodded. “He was bad. She said words and punished him. Now he has to eat from the bottom ‘cause they’re at the bottom. Not all of them, though. Not all.” Suddenly the child’s small face cleared the shadows, her expression one of alarm. “Oh—oh, hurry! The chair!”

Nina whirled about, expecting to see Lervette standing behind her.

No one was there.

Lightning struck again, followed by a loud clap of thunder. Trembling now, Nina turned back toward the girl. “What—”
The hallway was empty.

Something creaked behind her, and Nina sucked in a breath. Every muscle in her body tensed, preparing for flight. She peered over her shoulder hesitantly and spotted a rocking chair with a dusty brown cushion on the seat tipping back and forth slowly—only no one was in it.

“Sh-shit,” Nina muttered, and took a step back. The chair rocked a little faster. She sidestepped to the right, and the chair rocked faster still, then faster—faster—until the momentum grew so frantic the cushion flopped up and down on the seat. Fear scorched its way down Nina’s spine to her legs, and she was about to bolt for the nearest exist when something white suddenly flew out from under the cushion of the chair. It sailed across floor and landed inches from her feet—a bank envelope, thick with content.

“Get it—go!” It was the girl again, only now her voice sounded like it was coming from inside Nina’s head. “Take it now—now—go! Go!”

Nina scooped up the envelope, shoved it into one of the back pockets of her jeans, and ran for the front door. No sooner did she clear the steps than she heard an angry voice roar behind her.

“What the hell was you doin’ in my house, you little whore?”

Nina didn’t need to look back to know it was Lervette. She willed more speed to her feet, heading for an open field, not sure where she was running to. A few fat raindrops plopped onto her arm, the back of her t-shirt. She chanced a peek over her shoulder and saw Lervette not far behind. The woman was red-faced and puffing, jowls and arm-flaps jiggling wildly, but she was keeping up—and brandishing a small hatchet in her right hand.

“Jesus!” Nina took an abrupt right, hoping to throw the woman off gait. It didn’t work. Lervette followed hard and fast and even appeared to be gaining ground. How the hell was that possible?
Swerving left, Nina spotted the little girl standing out by the open door of the feed shed, signaling for her to come that way. Was the kid nuts? There were no hiding places in the shed.

Just open space and junk and barrels of crap that smelled worse than crap—and tools. Nina suddenly remembered the tools on the shelves—sharp tools, pointed tools. If she couldn’t outrun this fat bitch, she’d need a weapon.

Nina raced for the shed, and as soon as she made it inside, she went straight for a pair of gardening sheers. Only after she had a firm grip on her newfound sword did it register that the little girl wasn’t anywhere around. She was about to call out for her when a crack of thunder shook the building. Rain pinged against the roof, and Nina heard her nemesis shouting from outside.

“Just as soon quit runnin’, you piggy whore, ‘cause I gotcha now!” Lervette suddenly filled the doorway, drenched, wild-eyed, and hatchet in hand.

With nowhere to run, Nina stood her ground and aimed the sheers at her. “Stay away from me!”
Lervette sneered. “What you gonna do wit’ dat toy, piggy whore? Cut my hair?” She pointed the hatchet at Nina and took a couple steps toward her, sneakers making squishing sounds as she walked. “I t’ink I’m de one’s gonna do a better job cuttin’.”

Nina quickly sidestepped behind the barrels so Lervette would have to go around them to get to her. If the woman attacked from the left, she’d go right and vice versa. Either way it would give her a few lead seconds to reach the door.

Lervette shook her head, and rainwater flew from her short gray hair. “I got enough of you whores prancin’ into town wit’ y’all skinny butts and big titties, always turnin’ my man’s head where it ain’t suppose to turn. I’m not gonna let it happen no more, you hear me? You hear me?”

Rage turned her face three shades of red.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Nina cried. “I haven’t even seen a man here.”

Snorting loudly, Lervette swung the hatchet like she meant to slice air. “Oh, you seen my man, and I seen you shakin’dem hips, too, so he’d look at you.” Then without warning, Lervette darted right and headed around the barrels.

Nina shrieked and sprinted left. Before she could reach the straight away to the door, Lervette swiveled on her heels and swung the hatchet out wide, missing Nina by mere inches.

With a grunt, Nina threw herself across the threshold like a runner bursting through tape at a finish line and tumbled onto the rain-soaked yard. She landed on her side, air whooshing out of her lungs. She gasped, struggled to get up, hands and feet desperate to find purchase in the wet grass. All the while she expected to feel the weight of Lervette’s hatchet crash into her skull any second, splitting it open. Just as Nina managed to get to her feet, someone grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her back to the ground.

“I told you you wasn’t goin’ anywhere, piggy whore,” Lervette said, a meaty fist wrapped in Nina’s hair. She jerked hard, then dragged her toward the shed.

Nina screamed and thrashed, back-pedaling with her feet so her body would keep up with Lervette’s pulling. “L-Let me go, goddammit! Let go!”

“Shut you mout’, tramp,” Lervette shouted over the whoosh of rain and wind. “I’m gonna let you go when I’m good and ready, and that ain’t yet.”

The next thing Nina knew they were inside the feed shed and she was being forced into one of the straight-back chairs near the table. She bucked and twisted as Lervette pinned her arms back behind the chair, then bound her wrists together with something thin and scratchy.

“Hold still, pig bitch!” Lervette slapped Nina hard across the face hard. The backswing from her meaty hand came by way of a fist, and silver sparkles shot across Nina’s field of vision as it connected with her left cheek.

The heft and mass of Lervette’s body pressed into Nina’s face as the woman leaned into her, making sure she was secured to the chair. No sooner did Lervette back away, then she slapped a piece of duct tape across Nina’s mouth.

Obviously satisfied with the job, Lervette grinned and brushed her hands together as if ridding them of dust. “Let’s see how much you gonna shake dat scrawny ass now, piggy-whore.” The hatchet appeared again, and Lervette slapped the flat of it against the palm of her left hand. “I t’ink first I’m gonna have to take a little bit off de top.” Her face hardened, and she raised the hatched so its blunt backside faced Nina. Then she pivoted, like a golfer, and slammed the block of iron into the side of Nina’s left breast.

Shock—fire—pain—God, so much pain—The scream forcing its way from Nina’s lungs got trapped behind the duct tape, making it sound like air whining through a tight-necked balloon. Black, pulsing orbs replaced silver sparkles—then came Lervette Patin’s sweaty face.

Lervette grabbed Nina’s chin and forced her to look up at her. “Now what I’m gonna do wit’ you, piggy-piggy? Bottom or top?” She pursed her lips and leaned closer until her nose nearly touched Nina’s cheek. “Hmm—hmm. Guess we gonna have to see . . .” She shook Nina’s chin roughly, then released it.

Stomping over to the storage shelves, Lervette grabbed a tin can, then marched over to the barrels and dunked the can into the one already opened. She carried the swill over to Nina and shoved it under her nose.

Unable to minimize the horrendous smell by breathing through her mouth, Nina jerked her head away and kicked out, trying to move the chair backwards with her feet.

“No, no, you need to get you a good whiff, piggy, a good one.” Lervette pressed the can firmly under Nina’s nose, causing swill to slosh onto her chin, slide down her neck, splash onto her t-shirt.

Gagging and retching behind the duct tape, Nina thought she’d surely suffocate when Lervette suddenly ripped the duct tape off her mouth. Nina gasped—gagged—gasped again, just as Lervette shoved the can of swill against her mouth and poured.

Hot, thick, vile liquid flooded Nina’s mouth, some of it traveling far into her gullet before she could spit it out. Her tongue felt coated with burning, bubbling decay. Her stomach heaved, spewing what little she’d swallowed onto Lervette. The woman grabbed Nina’s chin again, shoved her head back, then let go of her chin and pinched her nostrils shut. Nina’s mouth sprang open reflexively, and Lervette poured in more swill. This time, before Nina could spit it out, more duct tape was slapped over her mouth.

Trying not to swallow and desperate not to cry so her nose wouldn’t get stuffy, Nina kicked and managed to land a heel on Lervette’s right shin.

“Son-of-a-shit!” Lervette backed away, hobbling and hissing with pain. “Dat’s it!” she bellowed. “You goin’ to de bottom, you son-of-a-shit pig whore!” Standing upright, she lifted the hatchet. “I’m gonna cut—” Lervette’s eyes suddenly grew wide. “What de—” then her knees buckled and she dropped to the floor.

Behind her stood the little girl in the faded yellow dress.

The child smiled at Nina, then she lowered her head slightly, narrowed her eyes and stared at the open barrel of swill as though her gaze alone might burn a hole through it.

Lervette was still rolling about on the floor, grunting, cursing, struggling to get to her feet, when the barrel began to rock from side to side. It tilted left, then right, rocking faster each time, and swill the color of rust and mustard splashed over the side. Then, as though someone had given it a hard shove from behind, the barrel toppled over, spilling its thick—lumpy—crimson contents across the floor and over Lervette. What tumbled out of the barrel last—the good stuff at the bottom—the stuff Lervette said Maudwan loved to eat—numbed Nina’s senses. She stared in disbelief, whimpering. A foot, severed just above the ankle—part of hand with three fingers, each nail painted bright red—bones—long bones—

“Go!” The word blasted into Nina’s right ear. The girl stood beside her now, pointing past a slipping, grunting Lervette to the open shed door. “Go!”

In that instant, Nina felt her wrists suddenly freed, and her arms plopped to her sides. Not bothering to question or think, Nina jumped to her feet, ripping the tape from her mouth as she ran for the door—spitting—spitting . . .

“You come back here!” Lervette shouted, still scrambling to gain footing in the swill.

Nina ran into the rain, crying, confused, lost. Where to go? Where was the road that led out of here?

“Come.”

The command was simple and echoed, like it had been spoken in the vestibule of a cathedral. It came from the girl, who now stood beside the open gate of Maudwan’s pen. “Come,” she said again, only her mouth didn’t move this time. “This way.”

“Your scrawny ass is mine, piggy-piggy! Dem titties, too. Dey comin’ off! I swear to son-of-a-shit I’m gonna cut ‘em off!”

Lervette appeared at the entrance of the shed covered in slop. In a matter of seconds she was barreling toward Nina, teeth bared.

Nina took off for the little girl and Maudwan’s pen. At bare minimum, she’d have the same advantage she’d had with the barrels. A few seconds lead time. Only now she had a bit more to work with. If she went through the pen, then climbed over the rails to the other side, Lervette would be left with only two choices. She’d either have to back out of the pen and run around it to catch her, which would easily give Nina a decent running start, or Lervette would have to climb over the rails to reach her. The woman and all her blubber might be able to run, but no way would those wooden rails hold up all that weight without breaking.

Maudwan stood near the north end of his pen, grunting and snorting, obviously riled by all the action. He tossed his massive head from side to side, hooves pawing in mud and what looked like a thick, oozing puddle of his own shit.

The little girl took a step back as Nina rounded the gate and burst into Maudwan’s pen.

Maudwan let out a long, shrill squeal just as Lervette screamed, “Don’t you go in dere, you pig-bitch! Leave him be! Leave my man be!”

My man? Nina threw a glance at Maudwin—at the mole on his snout—remembered the picture of the man in Lervette’s house—the mole—the mole.

“Son-of-a-shit!” Lervette slid sideways into the pen, her arms waving about for balance.
Nina headed for the rails at the back of the pen. They were five slats high with enough space between each slat for a toehold. As soon as she lifted herself up on the bottom rail, she felt something claw at the back of her shirt.

“No, no, I said come here!” Lervette yelled, her left hand grabbing again at Nina’s shirt.

“Fuck off!” Nina threw a back kick and nearly lost her footing. She draped herself over the top rail of the pen, looped her arms around the first slat for leverage, then kicked with all she had.
The blow landed in the center of Lervette’s chest, and the woman fell backwards and landed on her butt with a loud, “Oomph!”

Still squealing and pawing furiously, Maudwan suddenly took off for Lervette, head lowered, tusks long—pointed—and aimed.

Lervette sat gawking, seemingly paralyzed as the animal charged—then drove his left tusk right through the center of her throat. He dragged her twenty feet or more, tossing his head, causing Lervette’s body to flop and jerk about. The woman’s eyes were open, so was her mouth, but both had that stuck look that only belonged to the dead.

Grunting—grunting, Maudwan seemed content to simply drag Lervette around the pen. The animal circled back toward the gate, his recent kill trailing blood, him trailing shit, just like the first time Nina had seen him. Only it wasn’t his shitting that got her attention this time—not even his size. . .

It was the little girl standing near Lervette’s house. She waved at Nina as though in greeting—her dress bright yellow and new—hair clean and combed. A smile lit up her tiny face, and that smile grew wider, brighter . . . right up to the moment she faded completely from view.

Deborah LeBlanc is an award-winning, best-selling author and business owner from Lafayette, Louisiana. She is also a licensed death scene investigator and has been an active paranormal investigator for over fifteen years.

She was the president of the Horror Writers Association, president of the Writers’ Guild of Acadiana, and president of Mystery Writers of America’s Southwest Chapter. In 2004, Deborah created the LeBlanc Literacy Challenge, an annual national campaign designed to encourage more people to read. Two years later, she founded Literacy Inc. a non-profit organization dedicated to fighting illiteracy in America's teens. Deborah also takes her passion for literacy and a powerful ability to motivate to high schools around the country.

You can see all of Deborah’s books HERE.

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