Kudzu

The farmer's name was Smithson, and he had a big harvest this year. The corn had grown wonderfully, and tall, and full of ears, and the carrots were growing deep and thick. The cabbage and the lettuce were great, and he couldn't have asked for more.

Of course, this was what you got when you worked hard, and sweated your way through the day, as he said to his sons on countless occasions. Two of them were going to be farmers, he thought, and the other one had aspirations to be a businessman in New York. The thought was a good one, but Smithson didn't think his son actually had a chance at that (but that was an opinion he kept to himself).

Another reason the harvest was so big, was because his fields were so big, increasing his chances of pulling in healthy fruits and vegetables. The fields stretched back 500 or so acres long, and about 700 wide. He was quite proud of that.

I don't know whether you could say he knew about the problem or not. He certainly had to have had some knowledge of it. Perhaps not the extent of the problem, but he had to know of it. The scars on his hands attested to that. If you had the misfortune to catch him with his shirt off, the scars crisscrossed, and laced across his back and shoulders, the way they would sometimes just spontaneously bleed, or ooze, you would be convinced he had to know something about it.

He never spoke about it though, and occasionally, he would wake up screaming about the plants, the plants, oh sweet mother of mercy, the plants were going to get him! Those nights, he would wake up screaming, and his wife would bolt upright in bed, and hold him to her, and let him know everything was alright. The plants weren't after him, and they weren't going to get him.

She had harbored some secret fears that he might be going senile early in life, but she would never mention them out loud. During the day, he was as sharp as he had ever been. It was only during the night that his fears assailed him.

She wasn't sure when it had happened, but she had a good idea. It was that day he had come running in, bleeding, and swearing. His arms and hands had been lacerated by what looked like a whip bite. She had asked him what had happened, and what he had said...

Well, I don't think it would qualify as raving, but it was somewhat farfetched. He had always been a levelheaded man, and what he claimed had happened had been impossible. Still, he insisted it had happened, even to the point of overlooking the (she thought) obvious explanation of what happened.

But that was in the past, just before their first son had been born and they didn't talk about it much. Whenever they would even come close to that subject, he would get cold chills, and start trembling.

This story though, my friends, has nothing to do with Farmer Smithson. I promise you that everything I have said thus far does have something to do with the story, though, so be patient.

This story, is the story of three brothers. Not the three sons, but three other sons. Who they are the sons of is not important, nor is where they came from, but if you must know, they came from a small town in Alabama, one whose name I have forgotten, but as I said, it isn't important.

The oldest's name was Willie Bobb. With two B's. Bobb. I don't know why he was named that. Some sort of Alabamaism, I guess, I really couldn't say, and I'm not at liberty to guess, but I suppose I should just move on with the story, instead of rambling like this.

The second oldest was named Billy Bobb, also with two B's. The third's name was Bubba. Well, that was his nickname anyway. His real name I have forgotten, and for that I am sorry, because it was a good name. A strong name, but everyone called him Bubba. Perhaps I shall rememer it someday.

Willie, Billy and Bubba were brothers, and they were hard workers. When they lived in Alabama, they worked for their father, and he was a hard man to live with, let alone work for.

For instance, one day, when Billy was seven, Willie nine, and Bubba five, Billy was helping his mom bake a cake for their father's birthday. You know how the children can be, i suppose. At least you mothers in the audience can. Children love to help their mother's bake. It's like an inherent trait in children. Eventually they grow out of it, and it's sad thing when they do, 'cause that usually marks the end of childhood, and the beginning of their seperation from their parents.

The floor was linoleum, and Billy was in his socks. Or so I had heard it told. There could have been something spilled on the floor for all I know, but I heard the socks on the linoleum version, so I tell that one. He had socks on, no shoes, and he was on a linoleum floor when his mother asked him for the frosting they had whipped together earlier.

He walked carefully across the floor and picked up the bowl of frosting. He began to carry it carefully back to his mother, taking slow steps.

Bubba and Willie had been playing some sort of game outside at the time, probably cops and robbers, and there must have been some sort of event that required throwing. Perhaps Bubba the Bandit was hurling Dynamite into the First National Bank of BackYard City, or something like that, but a stick collided with the window of the kitchen, and broke off a little bit of it, and spiderwebbed the rest.

Billy, who would have been okay had the stick hit thirty seconds earlier, or thirty seconds later, got the scare of his young life, and jumped at least a foot in the air. Unfortunately, the bowl of frosting didn't go up with him. It did quite the opposite actually, and fell to the ground. The next thing his mother knew, there was frosting all over the floor like some sort of vile life form, a broken window, a broken bowl, and a broken heart, all courtesy of his younger brother.

When their father heard about the event, he was furious, to put it mildly. He took each boy aside seperately into the master bedroom, and railed on each of them privately. He took Willie in first, and lectured him long and loudly about how he shouldn't have wasted his time playing such childish games with his younger brother, ESPECIALLY games that involved throwing sticks, and how could you be so stupid? The lecture was followed by a healthy dose of not sparing the rod, and then he was released to his room to think about what he had done.

Billy was called in next, and, though the more innocent of the the three, his lecture was every bit as loud, and every bit as long as Willie's had been. He should have been more in control of his actions, and he shouldn't have jumped. Be a man, you little baby. Grow up. Show some responsibility, etc etc. Billy started crying, but his father didn't care. When he was done with the lecture, the rod was not spared again.

Bubba was called in next, and his lecture was possibly the worst of the three. In his lecture, there was no yelling. There was no decrying. here was simply his father, eyes blazing, big hands clenching, and unclenching, eyes closed, muttering.

"My son. My own flesh and blood. My own son... is a stupid... asshole." This remark, delivered in a quiet voice, made Bubba feel as if he was a failure to his father.

Still quietly, "Why on earth were you throwing sticks around in the backyard?"

"We were juh-just playing-"

"Just playing? How many times do you see me 'Just playing'? Someday soon, you're going to have to pick up some responsibility. You can't be a lazy little shit forever."

This is what was said, so I beg those of you who don't like coarse language to forgive me.

Bubba was deeply affected by this proclamation of his father's. Not for the first time, nor for the last (the last would come two years later, after a lecture regarding why you don't tease stray animals, after which, his father died in the middle of the night from a heart failure), Bubba swore to himself, he would make his father proud. He would do something that would make his father happy.

His chance would come, but not for another twelve years, and when it did come, Willie and Billy would both be dead.

Well, as you all know, life went on, even when fathers called their sons "Lazy little shits," and soon, Willie, Billy and Bubba were off on their own. The three brothers would wander around the state, doing odd jobs, helping with farmwork. They knew how to work. When a man like their father said to do something, you did it, until it was done. And you did it well.

They weren't paid well, but they were paid enough to get food, and nine times out of ten, they were given room and board in the house they were working at.

Twelve years after the incident with the stick and the cake, the three brothers, in their journeys, crossed the state line from Alabama to Georgia.

In a couple of days, they met up with a farmer named Smithson, and they were signed on for the harvest, which, as I said before, was plentiful.

They were set to work in the field closest to the house, and they really flew. Some of the other migrant workers just stood around and talked and joked and just got enough work done to keep their job and pay. The three brothers, however, worked more then their fair share, sometimes working over four or five acres in one day.

Smithson noticed, and in a couple weeks, had them assigned to be in charge of a certain area. Willie was assigned to a couple of acres near the house, Billy was given another couple of acres further away, and Bubba was given the area way off on the edge of Smithson's land, next to the forest.

And things went smoothly. The other workers didn't mind working with and for the three brothers, in fact they even had some amount of respect of them.

Yes, everything was going smoothly, and the Harvest was definately going to be in in time.

And then it started up again.

One of the foreign workers came to Bubba one day, and held out his hand, showing a deep red angry looking cut on his hand.

Bubba examined it and asked what happened, and how he did it.

The man told him, in halting mangled English that the plants on the other side of the fence bit him. Bubba looked over at the fence, and the stand of trees beyond, covered in kudzu.

"It bit you?"

"Si, señor."

Bubba silently wished that all people would speak English or get out of the country, and then sent the man back to the farmhouse to get bandaged up.

He looked around at the other workers, who were paying no attention, and working diligently. "Jeremy," he called, "Come here...."

Jeremy, a tall lanky fellow, but very strong, walked over to Bubba. "Yeah, what's up?"

"We need to go examine the fence over there, where Raphael was working. He hurt his hand on something, and I want to get it removed before it hurts someone else."

"Okay."

They headed over to the fence, and began looking through the tall grass, and the creeping vines of kudzu. Jeremy went north along the fence, and Bubba went south.

As he searched, he heard Jeremy rooting through the kudzu, looking for any sort of sharp rock, or perhaps broken glass. He continued walking slowly along the fence, and suddenly a flurry of activity caused him to look up.

He looked over at Jeremy, but Jeremy was no longer there. Bubba turned and looked back over the field, but didn't see him.

He walked over to where he had seen Jeremy last, but there was no sign of him. There were the vines, hanging silently on the other side of the fence, and the fence itself, and the grass at the edge of the fence, but no Jeremy.

He turned and walked back into the field, and addressed the workers.

"Did anyone see where Jeremy went?"

No one did.

Well, that night, Bubba was in the room he shared wth his brothers.

"Hey, you guys ever had a worker run out on you? Just leave, without a word o' warnin'?"

Billy and Willie exchanged glances.

"I ain't," Billy said.

"Not me, neither," Willie said.

"Well," Bubba said, "I did. Guy ran off on me today."

The two brothers laughed. "Golly, you must be a real loser..."

Bubba glared at them, but said nothing. Then, they went to sleep.

The next day, they were back at work, in charge of their areas, and doing their jobs. Billy was watching his area, when he heard some shouting far off. When he looked up, he saw a large crowd of people scattering in the distance. There was a man running directly toward him.

As the man drew near, he saw that it was Bubba. He moved to Bubba, and was shocked by what he saw. Bubba's face was cut, and bleeding, and his hands were black and dirty.

"Bubba... what happened?"

"The Plants! Oh God, the plants.. they're... they... they're alive! They grabbed Ramón! They tried to grab me! They-"

"Whoa, whoa whoa... calm down there, Bubba. The plants tried to kill you?"

"Yes! The vines just reached out and grabbed Ramón, and then tried to grab me. They wrapped around my face, and started pulling me toward the fence... I struggled, but... I couldn't get away. Jillian.. her knife... freed me...

"Then, oh God... then.... the plants whipped out, and.. struck me across the face, like they were angry at me! Plants ain't sposed to be like that, are they?"

"No, they aren't..." The whole story sounded farfetched to Billy, Bubba could see it in his eyes. Plants coming to life? Not possible. Still, there had been that big flurry of activity, and all the people scattering. What did that mean?

"Alright," he said, "let's go check it out." Bubba let out a sigh of relief. Billy turned to his workers, and appointed one of them in charge, in his absence. He pointed to two others and told them to come with him.

"Bubba, this is Kelly Tanasy, and Jesse Moore. They're going with us." Bubba nodded, happy for any company.

They walked across the field, and came to the area that Bubba had been put in charge of. As they neared the fence, the plants behind it shifted in the breeze.

Billy froze, and put his arms out, holding everyone back. "Bubba, did you see that?"

Bubba looked, but didn't see anything. "No, I didn't. What was I s'posed to see?"

"The bushes." Bubba looked again, but still didn't notice anything about them. Just bushes moving in the breeze.

Jesse was the first to notice. "Wait a sec..." he said.

"You notice it too, don't you?"

"I do. There's no wind..."

That was when Bubba noticed it too. There was no wind. The bushes were moving on their own. "See? I told you, Billy! There's no wind! The bushes are alive!"

Billy regarded the Kudzu bunch with wary caution. "Yeah, I think you may be right."

Jesse watched it, and stepped closer to the bunch. Kelly came up behind him, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. She stepped forward.

"Hey, look at thi-"

Before Billy, Bubba or Jesse knew what had happened, a vine had darted out of the tangle, and wrapped itself around her. It started pulling her toward the fence.

Long seconds later, Jesse's paralysis broke, and he ran to the fence, hacking at it with a pocketknife he had. He cut the one strand that had a grip on her, but two more darted out, one wrapping itself around her arm again, the other latching onto his arm. He swung with the knife, cutting it again, but more vines darted out and grabbed him. Kelly pulled with all her might against the one vine that had grabbed her, and snapped it, falling backward. She used the momentum to roll away from the fence, and curled up into a ball, making strange sobbing noises.

Jesse continued to attack the vines, but more and more leapt out at him, and with a strangled cry, he was pulled viciously against the fence. The old wood snapped in the impact, and he disappeared into the bushes.

For several seconds, there was still some thrashing where he had disappeared, but they stilled in a few seconds. From the dark recesses of the wooded area, a belch of satisfaction rolled on the air.

Bubba and Billy, who had seen it all but done nothing, blinked, took several steps back, and then ran for their brother.

Well, Willie looked at them like they were crazy. He had always been the rational one of the group, and so he didn't believe them.

"Plants? Just straight out of the blue grabbed him and drug him in? Ain't possible."

Bubba and Billy shook their heads an emphatic yes.

"Nah. I don't believe you. Why ya'll so riled up? what's got you shakin' in your diapers?"

"The plants!"

Willie looked closely at them, and thought about it. Could it be possible that they were telling the truth?

"Alright. Let's go look at the plants." He dropped his hoe and walked out to the field where the plants had grabbed Jesse. He looked over the fence at the plants, and nodded.

"Just plants. LIke I said. Now, why are you two runnin' over here and tellin...." His voice trailed off as his eye caught sight of something.

He bent forward, and looked closer. Yes, that was definately what it was.

"Oh my God." He said.

"What? What do you see?" the brothers intoned.

He pointed, and they immediately saw it. How had they missed it earlier? It was the final clinching proof of what they had been claiming. Willie gulped.

Billy took a deep breath. "Bubba, go get the smaller hoes, and a couple axes. Better make it three or four. Willie, I need you to go get some matches, and a tank of gas."

In the deeper resseces of the wooded area, a growl was heard, as if whatever was back there could her them plotting. But they're just plants, aren't they? They can't hear or think for themselves- just dumb plants without a shred of sentience or intelligence.

Aren't they?

"We're gonna nuke and pave."

Bubba ran back and grabbed three of the miniature hoes, and four good size axes. He looked around, wondering if there was anything else he might need, and chose the shotgun that was mounted on the wall. It never occured to him to question just why there was a shotgun in the equipment shed, and even now, I don't have the answer for you. But there was, and he grabbed it.

He also grabbed three or four boxes of shotgun shells, and returned to his brothers. He handed an axe and a hoe to his oldest brother, and an axe to his other brother. They hefted them experimentally, and found them good.

Willie Bobb had a can of lighter fluid in his hand, and a lighter in the other. He flicked the lighter experimentally, and it lit up.

He nodded. The preparations were all made. The time was now.

They stepped over to the fence, and immediately, the kudzu stretched out viney limbs to snare them. Willie stepped forward, and sprayed gas over the vine, then lit the lighter. The vine burst into flames, and a squeal was heard back in the recesses of the wood, where the things proimitve brain lurked.

The brothers no longer doubted that it was alive. The squeals and groans were enough to prove that. And the hand of course. That was what they had seen. That was the final clinching proof. There was a hand sgticking out of the bushes, nto connected to anything, just sitting there, mocking their efforts to figure out what was going on.

They continued their slash and burn, driving the plants back until they were far enough away to climb over the fence.

Billy looked around at the others. "We need to get to the center. Into that grove of trees there. That's where the thing is, I bet. From where all the sounds are coming from, I'd say that was it's brain."

WIllie seemed kind of iffy about that, and Bubba didn't say anything. They began to move forward, and the plants moved in front to stop them.

Flash, went an axe, and the plants fell in half. There was another squeal of pain, but rage seemed to be mixed in with it. Behind him, Bubba heard the fwoosh of flames as Willie lit up some of the Kudzu sneaking in behind them.

They continued to move forward.

Creepers came flying at them all at once, and the axes flew, hoes slashed, the fwoosh of flames was the loudest sound on the quiet night. There were no more sounds of pain from the wooded area, no more belches of satisfaction. This would be one meal that would give it indigestion.

The creepers continued to fly, and grab, and the brothers continued to hack and slash. They were getting seperated, and they knew it, but they fought on, calling to each other, keeping track of each other's position.

Bubba was forced forward, and toward the wooded area. Willy was dragged off to the left, and Billy to the right.

Their calls became fainter and fainter, and then they were hardly to each other at all.

Bubba whirled, slashed a vine that was creeping around his leg, and then continued his spin, slashing upward into a vine that was wrapping around his arm.

Something whipped out and smacked him above his eye. Blood began to flow from the cut, but he didn't stop. He continued to hack and slash, working his way forward.

Out o the corner of his eye, he saw the light brighten as Willie lit up the night. He reached around behind him, dropping his axe, and grabbed the shotgun he had. He pointed it straight forward, and pulled the trigger.

KA-BOOM. The sound was deafening in the enclosed space, and Bubba fell back, thinking that now was when the plants would get him, and it would be up to his brothers to stop them.

But they didn't. All of a sudden, the plants just ceased their attack, and were gone. He opened his eyes, and looked around. Billy and Willie were several yards away on either side, and looking around. The kudzu had vanished, and they were left alone. They regrouped, and began to march forward again.

Willie held his lighter out, lit, in front of him, ready to burn anything that came at them, and that was probably what got him killed.

Billie was the oldest, leading the way, and that was probably what got him killed.

Bubba was right in the center, and why he should have lived and the others didn't, I don't know. The Fates saw fit to deal with him that way, I suppose. But he lived, and here is how it happened.

The kudzu left them alone until they were well into the wooded area. The kudzu wrapped aroudn this place like some sort of tapestry, like curtains, hanging over windows, and over stair ways. It looked almost liked some sort of throne room.

They walked on, the Kudzu drawing away from them as it went, and they were brought before a massive tree, that was covered in the vine. It was a hoary old oak, and it must have been the tallest of the trees in the wood. The kudzu around it writhed and twisted, and the sound of it's rustling was almost like speech of a kind.

The three brothers approached it, in a single file line, and looked at it. This, they sensed, was where it would all end. One way or the other.

"What the hell are you?" Billy demanded.

We are.

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, and it seemed to be in the rustling of the leaves, and the soughing of the wind. Like al of nature was stirring itself up for vengeance.

The brothers looked around, but there was noone to be seen.

Here. Look here. The voice said again, and almost immediately, the oak began to crack, and to open.

Sitting inside, like some sort of gob of snot that a giant had sneezed out and left inside the tree, was a huge writhing, twisting mass of kudzu, all of it grouped together into a ball. The front of the ball stopped twisting, and it opened, and an eyeball stared out at them.

An eyeball, out of the plant, stared at the three brothers.

You are the three who would ruin my plan.

The brothers had no reply.

You are very strong with each other, but if we seperate you, you will all fall.

The brothers looked around at the twisting masses of voine, hanging all around them. The way behind them had closed up, and they were in a twisting, roiling cave, with walls of green vine.

Bubba lifted his shotgun, and pointed it at the eyeball, and tightened his finger around the trigger. A vine shot out of nowhere, and grabbed the barrel of the gun, twisting it upwards with titanic strength, and hurling it away into the trees.

Vines came flying out of nowhere, streaking toward the brothers, and Bubba jumped back, swinging his hoe at the vines incoming at him.

Willie turned, and squeezed his gas can, shooting a stream of gas out at the vine, and an arch of fire flew forward, and lit the vine up.

The sound of screaming came from everywhere and nowhere, and then Bubba was slashing for his life.

The vines parted momentarily, and he got a glimpse of Willie, the last glimpse he would ever get of him, as he raised his gas can to fire again. The vines closed up, and then there was the sound of an explosion, and a huge fireball rose up above the masses of vine, scorching the uppermost loops.

Bubba knew almost immediately what had happened. Willie had squeezed the gas can, and instead of the gas arching out, something had gone wrong, and the fire had traveled backward along the stream, and into the gan, where it ignited the whole can of gas, causing a huge explosion. Willie was dead.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Bubba cried, and renewed his attack with ferocious vigor. The vines were falling all around him, but still more kept coming. All he needed was to get close to that eye, and he could end it. One swipe with his axe, and he could-

You've lost your axe, idiot. He had, hadn't he? Tossed it away to get his shotgun. Which was now also gone.

But he still had his hoe, and that would have to do. Either way, he needed to get close enough, and the vines weren't allowing that.

He was being driven backward, and then the vines parted again, allowing him a glimpse of Billy. He threw himself forward, in between the gap in the vines, and rolled acorss the ground. He came up next to Billy.

"C'mon," he said breathlessly, "we gotta get to that eye!"

"I know," his brother replied, hacking at a few stray creepers, "But they won't let us."

"Then we make them," Bubba said, and began to press against the vines in the direction of the eye. Billy hurried after him, fighting right by his shoulder, and soon they were within five feet of that twisting pulse mass of plant.

They struggled toward it, but the plants were massing, blocking their way.

Billy hacked at a plant, but it twisted at the last second, and wrapped itself around his hoe, squeezing, and twisting the edge, blunting it, and curving it.

"Wait," he cried. "Let's talk!" The plants froze in midmotion, and the voice spoke again.

There will be no talk.

"Alright, alright, I understand, no talk, but I mean, I'm gonna die here, I know that. Ya'll too powerful for us to fight alone. Not without Willie. He's dead. You know that as well as I do. But for the love of God, at least let us see him one more time, and say goodbye."

I will allow you to do so. Then, you will die.

"That's fine. I've accepted it."

"Billy... what are you..."

"No, Bubba. Just let it go. It's over. We lost."

"But Billy..."

Billy silenced him with a wave of his hand. The plants parted, and revealed the blackened, charred body of Willie. It was amazing that he had remained intact after the blast, but here was the proof. The plants must have received the brunt of it. Indeed, many of the vines and creepers were black, and unmoving for yards around.

They approached and knelt next to him.

"The shells." Billy whispered.

Bubba looked at him. "What?"

"Give me the shells. I have a plan, and for God's sake, be quiet, we want it to think we're saying goodbye, not plotting." Bubba reached down, and pulled out the box of shells. He handed them to Billy, who hid them under hsi shirt, tucked inside his pants.

He stood up, and stepped toward the unblinking eye.

"Alright," he said. "I've made my peace. Go ahead and kill me."

The eye seemed to brighten, and then the creepers moved forward, twinging themselves around him, forming a human shroud. At the last, though, Bubba thought he saw the flicker of a flame in Billy's hand.

He glanced down at Willie's body, and noticed that the lighter he had was now gone.

Suddenly, Bubba knew what he was planning, and he didn't like it one bit.

Then, the creepers had him in their grip, and were beginning to wrap around him, dragging him toward the gaping hole that had appeared underneath the eye. Billy had already disappeared inside, and he was going to be next.

Billy, he thought, Willie, I loved you guys.

There was an other explosion, this one more muted then the last had been, and the mass of plant in the middle of the tree exploded outward, showering him with leaf, stem, and, unbelievably, ichor. There was chunks of gore, and gouts of blood flying everywhere, and still the explosions continued, sending more and more chunks of plant flying.

There was an incredibly loud roar of pain, and rage, and frustration, and then silence, and the plants that had held him just... dropped.

Fell dead at his feet.

He shook off the rest, and ran towards the tree in the center, where that ball of vine had been before, but was no longer.

He tossed plants aside, needing to find his older brother, but only found his arm, and part of his hand. The rest of him had been vaporized in the explosion of the shells when he lit them with Willie's lighter.

The explosion had killed the thing though. The thing that was the vines.

It was over.

I don't know for sure what became of Bubba after that. Perhaps he moved on, found another job, a less hard one, and worked at that. Perhaps he killed himself in grief and remorse, and perhaps...

Perhaps he travels around to small towns like yours, and sits in the library, and tells his story to children, and mothers, and fathers, like all of you. Perhaps he finds that by telling people what happened with his brothers will somehow make it seem less tragic. Perhaps, though, he just feels the need to talk about it to people who will listen. To people who don't need to believe. To people who will appreciate it for a story, and not for the truth I know it to be.

Well, I've talked a fair stretch now. I thank you all for listening. Be sure to have a safe evening, and always make sure you tell your family that you love them. Some of us will never get the chance again.