Beneath the Shadow of the Moon

Beneath the Shadow of the Moon
A Novel By William Desiard
Part 1 (of 153 approximate)

He had never murdered a man before and he had not known he would drown somebody this evening. The man felt dizzy as he held on tightly to the cord wrapped around the victim’s neck, his knuckles stiffening with pain. He had not thought this would take so long and he regretted not preparing better. It was not finished yet, but he felt confidant it was over. He looked around at the night sky, and saw there was no moon to be found tonight. Small animals made small noises in the water near him and he was curious of their proximity. He had seen a smaller cottomouth snake as he walked to the bayou earlier.

Blood seeped from his forehead into his eye. The cut was painful and it was fresh. He couldn’t be sure when it had happened. Probably less than 10 minutes ago he thought, but as the adrenalin rushed over him, his grasp of time seemed to slip away. The mosquitos’ hum was incessant and complete in his ear, the bites too numerous to count at this point.
The man looked down at the water, he was submerged just slightly above his knees. He released his grip slowly from the man’s neck as he felt him stop struggling. He had never drowned a man before and had not expected to drown a man this evening on a warm night in august.

The man slowly reached down and put his fingers on his victim’s throat as he surveyed the bayou he was standing in. He felt no pulse from the man’s neck and he saw no alligators watching him from the bayou. He tried to catch his breath as he grabbed the man’s boot and cumbersomely tried to drag the drowned man back to the shore. The alligators would come soon enough, there had been to much commotion at the waters edge. He needed to get the body out of the water quickly.

It didn’t take long for the man to drag the body a few yards out of the water to the bayou’s edge. He stood on the bayou shore and stared at the dark water again. He could see waves and ripples in shallow water approximately 50 yards down the shore, but he couldn’t ascertain the origins of the movement. He felt confidant he was alone. The nearest camp or house was 3 miles to the east. There had been no screams as the man he had murdered struggled for his life. By dawn the body would be dismembered, the teeth pulled with pliers, Hair burned off with a butane torch till the scalp was black, finger tips removed and buried in a shallow hole with lye and cayenne pepper. He hadn’t decided yet what to do with the rest of the body, he felt confidant the gators would take care of that problem.

He hadn’t needed to search for this place. He was familiar with the area. He was born in the little town just 20 miles down the road and had often hunted and fished along and near this spot on Bayou Bijou in his youth. He had come here tonight simply to follow the man sometimes known as “Hammer” other times called “Slow.” The man had been called Slow due to his amblyopia or slow eye, and called Hammer because of the small indenture on the side of his skull that had been cleaved in with a ball peen hammer at age 13. The man worked methodically as he set about removing Slow’s left boot, then the right boot. He removed both socks and Slow’s underwear, stashed the garments in the left boot and rose to his feet.

He slapped at his neck in a futile manner to try and scatter the mosquitos . He wiped the sweat and blood from his face and eyes as he briefly scanned the bayou for any activity. It didn’t take him long to see the first alligator, 30 yard away, motionless, in the water, watching him, stalking him. Alligators are never far away in Louisiana. With a population of around 4.6 million people, Louisiana has around 2.2 million wild alligators and 3.5 million captive farm raised alligators, meaning alligators out number people in this small southern state.

The man knelt down on both knees and unbuttoned and removed Slow’s stained and wet long sleeve shirt. A long sleeve shirt was a bit unusual this time of year with the humidity and temperature so high, unless you were planning on going to an area heavily infested with mosquitoes, generally fisherman and hunters fit this category. The man rolled Slow’s jeans and shirt into a tight roll and placed them in Slow’s empty right boot, then he paused and lit a cigarette as he quickly scanned the water and bank again. He needed the cigarette, his heart was racing. He needed water. He needed to sit down. He felt dizzy, again. He stumbled backwards a few feet and and sat down heavily on the bare bank.