Ch. 6

The sun is red on the horizon as it slowly lowers itself downwards, deep into the desert. Not too far above it, a blanket of indigo and a smattering of stars. A lonely cricket has begun chirping into the barren wasteland as if calling for company. And in an old house that sits alone, Cook has returned and is already chasing Leatherface around the basement again.

"There're four coats, y'big oaf! Why'dja bring back jus' three, huh?

Leatherface's yowls of attempted explanatins drifts upstairs, where Aunt mae sits in the spare room with Nails on her lap.

"Now, what'd you go around doin' all day?" she asks, in the manner of an adult animatedly asking children what they had been up to.

Nails, in her own manner of speech, gestures holding a chainsaw and cutting it through the air.

"So you up an' went with Bubba into the woods?"

"Uhn!"

Aunt Mae chuckles. It's not been a week and she's already grown fond of the girl. "Din't your Momma ever give you pigtails, honey?"

Nails does not know what that is; instead she looks at Aunt Mae's reflection on the mirror across the room and smiles. It is a genuine, toothy, childish smile, and Nails does so crookedly; she had never smiled with Daddy or Mommy or Boy or anybody else before the Sawyers.

"Well, we'll see 'bout that, darlin'," Aunt Mae reaced for a comb in a nearby dresser, "then we'll see if Cook'll treat you more like a nice 'lil lady now. This place could use a nice young lady like you."

Downstairs, the kitchen becomes hot as the smell of furiously boiling meat steams up, over and out the stove. Cook can be heard berating Leatherface as he perhaps tries in vain to help out.

"Don't touch that! Git back down there, boy; I can hear one of 'em kids tearing up the ice box again, dammit."

Footsteps: of Leatherface rushing to the basement, of Nails rushing down the steps and a third set out on the porch.

"Dag'nammit, you sunovabich you!" Cook, for the first time, ignores Nails as he fumbles in the drawers for a weapon. The footsteps in the porch had already gone quiet and the new doorknob was turning and the locks jiggling. "Y' fucking said there were three kids!"

Nails watches as the panic-stricken Cook ambles about the room. He rams his fist into the basement door and motions for Leatherface to come up.

"Whaddahell is wrong with you, boy? Can't you count with even one hand" Cook grabs Leatherface by the scruff of the neck and Leatherface cowers, whimpering.

"Eee. Eee!" Leatherface whimpers, holding out three fingers. Apparently he is trying to say three, but Cook refuses to hear him out.

"Git to that door boy." Cook literally kicks his rump towards the front door, "Mash them noggins 'til they can't kick no more. Go!"

Leatherface hesitates, but poises his hammer up as he reaches the door. Nails follows him, anxious at the tension, and Leatherface lifts her up and hides her under the stairs.

Leatherface poises and slowly reaches for the doorknob; breathless, Cook watches from the kitchen. Nails stares at all the action in anticipation. She could see through the laced window beside the door that the people outside, two of them, were not the kids that Cook had assumed. But in the ensuing panic, nobody but her cared to check.

Slam!

A woman screams first. Then Leatherface, then a man, then Cook, then, thinking it was a new fun game since everybody was joining in, Nails. The frenzied chorus of screaming attracts Aunt Mae from upstairs and she comes downstairs, yelling "What in heaven's name is this madness?"

Everybody stops screaming except Nails. Feeling Aunt Mae's heated gaze, Leatherface goes and muffles Nails' mouth with the apron he has on.

And then there is silence.

The man on the front porch lets himself in, laughing maniacally and reaching out his arms in joy. He isn't a very pleasant sight to behold; his skin is pale, even for a white man, the teeth in his smile are all big and yellow and crooked and he looks, lank unkempt, and unbathed. He is skinny, bony; Nails tries to remember if she had ever seen anyone so thin. And he looked like one of those people Boy used to hang around and smoke with, ergo the hippies, albeit this one surpassed beyond all Hippie standards and actually did manage to go on years without combing his hair. But he did have a hat. People with hats, Nails concluded, could be quite interesting.

"I's great to be home!" He then proceeds to hug everybody in his path.

"Chop Top! Why, you 'aint 'sposed to be home til next month; the mil'tary said so," Aunt Mae remarks in surprise.

"Yeah? Yeah? Well...I 'dun wanna listen to the mil'tary no more." Chop top returns to the porch and, even after he had already hugged him, seems to notice Leatherface for the first time. "Bubba! Heh, heh...I got you back some...some of 'em cheddar knives. Sound good? Yeah, yeah...cheddar knives I got 'em in my—"

"Don't you mean Swiss knives, Chopper?" says the woman. She was a complete contrast to Chop Top; slender and pretty, wavy blonde hair, she too had a hat on and round purple shades; her tight shorts revealed long, plump legs. She had a shrill, girly voice. "I mighta' not gettaround as much as you do, but I ain't dumb!"

"Cheddar, swiss; they all cheese, honeysticks."

"But Swiss knives ain't about cheese! It's Swiss, named afta' the place some folks live in!"

Chop Top considers it. "Where's that?"

"Swisserland." The woman says sweetly.

"Who's this, Chop-top?" asks Aunt Mae.

"Meh? Oh, this is Mariah, mah girl." Chop-Top giggles, and Mariah does too and they push against each other like an excited little couple.

"I'm his girl," Mariah giggles.

"Who's that?" Chop-Top points to Nails sitting by the stairs, anxiously chewing her nails again.

"Pet rat." Cook grunts.

"That's no rat, silly." Mariah says. Under normal circumstances, anyone saying something so cheeky might have angered old Cook, but nay, instead Cook blushes and pats back wisps of his hair.

"Anyfing small an' squeaky is a rat, I always say." He grins.

Chop-Top takes a close look at Nails. "Looks like something Nubbins an' a Nam woman woulda' made. Heh, heh." He cackles awhile, then as if remembering something, tears up, "Nubbins! Nubbins! Where's my Nubbins?" He scoots off into the basement like all hell was set loose after him, yowling and wailing in the process.

"Well now, aren't you pretty?" Aunt Mae says as she comes down the stairs. The woman, Mariah, giggles coyly at the compliment.