OCR Text |
Show Ferguson Lives Butch and Fenn Stories 30 "But not forgotten," Fenn says. "Now, let's get some air and hit the pharmacy for a root beer before it closes." "Listen!" Butch hisses and we stand scared still. "What?" "Just listen." And there is a scampering behind me toward the furnace room. "It's him!" Butch cries. "Ferguson!" There is more scampering against the lumber pile and past the fruit jars. "That's him, Fenn! That is Ferguson!" But Fenn is gone, scared up the stairs, outside facing Tiny by now. "You think it is, Butch?" "Oh, yeah!" He is triumphant. "That's him. I'll show you; come here." I move back to the former television set. There is more noise behind us on the floor, and Butch laughs aloud he is so happy. "Now look." We lean into the back of the old cooked t.v. and Butch scratches a match. In the flare, I see the washpan Ferguson was wired into. "See this," Butch points to a tiny claw print on the side of the dish in soot. It is above the edge of the dish, as if something had crawled out. "This is what we know about deatn, ngnt nere: Ana tnat is all we know except for old Ferguson living it up behind us." His match burns out, but Butch finishes: "All that we know about being dead. The rest is a bunch of fucking hearsay!" |