Chapter 3: Debt in the Dirt

After lunch,

Grandpa told me to go cut bamboo in the woods behind the house. He handed me the old hatchet, its handle smooth from years of use, and told me to bring back the straightest stalks I could find. His voice was gruff, but I could tell he was worried.

In the woods, I ran into Old Man Jenkins again and offered him a cigarette. He took it with a shaky hand, eyes darting around like he expected someone—or something—to be watching us.

Old Man Jenkins took the cigarette, hesitating as he said, "Mason, what happened to your Great-Uncle is really strange."

"A snake coiled around a raccoon—it’s come to settle a score."

"And judging by how your Great-Uncle died, I’m afraid one life won’t settle it."

"In other words, your family might lose more people."

"You’d better not give anything of yours to that fortune-teller your Grandpa brought in."

"You watch out for those fortune-tellers. They know how to mess folks up."

"You need to keep your wits about you."

Jenkins’ words made my skin crawl. He spoke like he was passing down an old wives’ tale, something folks mutter when the wind picks up. The kind of warning you only get when someone’s truly scared.

"A snake coiled around a raccoon is here to collect a debt?"

I frowned. "Even if it’s here for a debt, what does that have to do with me?"

"Oh, right, Jenkins, Grandpa cut my hair."

"Old Man Hank put my hair into the pit where Great-Uncle Ray suffocated."

"Why would he do that?"

"What did you say?"

Jenkins’ face changed instantly. He grabbed a handful of dirt from the ground and smeared it on my forehead, saying:

"Mason, from now on, don’t wash your face."

"This path sees a lot of feet; the dirt’s got some luck in it."

"No matter what you encounter, don’t panic."

"Oh, and don’t tell anyone you saw me."

Before I could respond, he turned and hurried away. His boots crunched on the leaves, and I watched him disappear into the trees, moving faster than I’d ever seen him go.

But after a few steps, he looked back and said, "Whatever you do, don’t buy shoes these next few days."

I asked, confused, "Why not?"

But he didn’t answer and practically ran down the hill. The cigarette he’d taken was still tucked behind his ear, forgotten. He was gone before I could say another word.

Watching him go, I was a bit stunned. The woods felt quieter than before, the shadows stretching out long and cold.

But I didn’t really take his words to heart. Jenkins was famous for his odd stories—half the folks in town just called it folklore and shrugged it off. I figured this was just more of the same.

After cutting bamboo,

I got back to Great-Uncle Ray’s house—it was already evening. The sky was streaked with orange and purple, the porch light flickering as I climbed the steps. The house felt different, like it was holding its breath.

Suddenly, Grandpa said to me, "Mason, go to town and buy a pair of black dress shoes."

"Black dress shoes?"

My heart skipped a beat. I frowned and asked, "Grandpa, why do you want shoes right now?"

"Who are they for? What size?"

"Why are you asking so many questions?" Grandpa’s face darkened. He wasn’t in the mood. "Size eleven. Go buy them now."

"Uh, okay."

I hesitated, then quickly said, "I’ll head to town right away."

With that, I hurried out of Great-Uncle Ray’s house. My mind raced with questions, but I kept them to myself. No point arguing with Grandpa when he was like this.