Who Caught the Child's Blood

Sam took me up to the Avalon pier in the summer of eighty-seven. He gave me a dollar in quarters and I played RoadBlasters while he talked to one of the anglers that ran the pier. He was trying to convince the old timer to give me a job for the summer. Sam shook his head in disappointment and then bought a box of Forbes Salt Water Taffy. He walked up, "let's get the fuck out of here. Come on, chop-chop." Sam and I walked under the pier to catch the shade. It was one of the hottest summers that I remember. Sam handed me a few pieces of taffy. He unwrapped the wax paper and stared off into the ocean. He was silent for what seemed like an eternity and then said, "My family owned a horse farm back east. By the time I was old enough to piss standing up they put me to work there." Sam took his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves. I could see at least thirty miniature skulls covering his right arm. I then remembered what his drunk Vietnam buddy said one night at the house. He said, "that every tattooed skull was for the Baby Sans he killed." Baby Sans were what they called Vietnamese children during the war. "Sam killed more kids than cancer, I shit-you-not". He also warned me, "not to talk back to Sam Hill. The son of a bitch made a Mephistophelian deal with the devil over there. There's no way he should still be alive. If you needed a tunnel rat or a job was too... extreme - you called on Sam Hill to kill." I didn't like Sam's friend. I didn't much care for drunks. The majority of my Mother's earlier boyfriends had been alcoholics. Most of them liked to kick our ass from time-to-time while on a bender. Maybe that's the reason I liked Sam so much. He never touched booze. He saw me looking at his arm. "Do they frighten you?" I shook my head no. I thought they were cool. The tattoos reminded me of Castle Greyskull. Sam continued his story, "One of my most important jobs around the farm was to help my father kill the tent caterpillars and their eggs. They would build these huge, thick, silk webs that covered everything - and when I say everything, I mean everything. Our stables were infested with them. There were at least a dozen caterpillars per square foot of pasture. Father and I would cut 'em down and put the little fuckers in a pile. Sometimes it would take all day. We'd throw 'em in old oil barrels and burn 'em. They would explode in the fires. Sounded like popcorn popping on the stove. You see, If we didn't kill these caterpillars the broodmares would feast on them in the pastures. They loved the way they tasted. Sometimes they would eat five hundred in a day. After awhile the mares started having miscarriages. We didn't know why they were losing their young ones in the womb. It's the hairs from the caterpillar. It's poison to them. I hated hearing the broodmares cry going through a miscarriage. They sounded like weeping children. In the beginning Father would make me catch the blood coming from the mare's body with a ceramic bedpan. The clots were the unborn calf. Father wanted to send the blood off to the veterinarian in Lexington. They knew their child was dead. All of this because of microscopic hair from an insect... When I was over there, I thought a lot about the tent caterpillars. The gooks were a lot like them. If I didn't eradicate the men, women, and children, they would end up destroying our wombs." Sam then looked at me smiling. He wiped away a few tears. That smile sent shivers down my spine. I'll never forget that smile and what he said next - "Wes, who will clean up the miscarriages? Who Killed Cock Robin? Birds eat caterpillars. Wasps prey on caterpillars. Who will catch the children's blood. I will. Don't worry. I will." Sam Hill murdered my Mother that summer... And almost killed me.

Who Caught the Child's Blood

A collection of short stories and photographs featuring, The Neuse River Witch, Meriday the Negro Child, Coat-hanger Allison, Elizabeth Hatley, and other horrifying haint tales.