Tall Grass

By Steven Mangold

They found the boy on the side of the road, sitting and easting grasshoppers in the tall grass. His face was dusty, but the dirt was loose. His coveralls were torn and he wore no shirt. His fingernails were cracked and bloodied black. His good arm was burnt by the sun, as were his shoulders. His untidy blonde hair shielded his face. Though he laughed like a child but his talk was the quick whisper of snakes.

When they pulled out his soul, it was no bigger than the three year old’s heart. It looked like ivory, with small hooks running the equator of the smooth white stone. They hid it, after much argument, on the Pruitt farm. During the pyre, Pruitt cried as he swallowed the boy’s fingernails.

Afterwards, Pruitt walked with a slight hunch and his large muscular shoulders stooped. The farm flourished.

Things were forgotten with the migration of families and jobs. Pruitt, the Markham’s, and Mr. Leevy watched fact turn to myth and finally forgotten, all within a generation. Mrs. Markham often vented her bitter surprise that history could fade so quickly, but she was rarely listened to.

At almost eighty-six, Pruitt died vomiting up yellowed fingernails. He never saw them hit the floor. For Mrs. Markham it was blue eyes, Mr. Markham, the blonde hair, Mr. Leevy, a small swollen tongue. These parts, found by the police, were never identified and left out of the coroners report.

This omission cost the coroner and sheriff Hester their jobs when the graves, and what was left inside them, were found on the Pruitt property. The Markham property. The Leevy property.

Myth and truth flooded back into Yissip County. Stories told by grandparents and parents. Surrounding counties talked of missing children. The main roads were becoming pockmarked. The vehicles of the press, the authorities, and the families of the missing children rolled in at all hours.

The bodies were moved to Shepard’s Hill Cemetery, a roadside cemetery in disrepair, but the only plot of land large enough for the task.

The flurry was done and the fuss soon left. Over the next year or so, much of the town filtered out as well, leaving behind ninety-four unmarked and half sized graves sinking into the tall grass on the side of the road.