The Black Water Keeps Its Secrets: Under the Halo Moon

There is something special about Florida, especially her northern counties. Her swampy, sandy land is paradise to her children. They are comfortable there, amongst the creatures that inhabit her woods, or the black water of her rivers, creeks, and swamps. Never are they once scared of walking through their enchanted land, with her haunting sounds and strange eyes that seem to always be staring back at you in the dark. But if you’re not from there, and you have come to cause trouble, you have picked the wrong place, and the wrong type of people to anger. 

From their earliest recollections, Earl and Ronald had been friends, peas in a pod. They met in the third grade and became fast friends. Although they came from different backgrounds, they complemented each other, just as the right hand does its left-handed twin. As a matter of fact, many in this sandy little Florida town called them “The Twins,” always with a smile and a laugh, and the boys just played along with the jest. To them, it was an acceptance of their friendship in racially segregated times. 

Earl was from a poor white family, made poor by the death of his father, killed in action in Southeast Asia. Ronald came from a middle-class black family, owners of a small restaurant at the edge of the colored part of town, and just over the train tracks from the White side. This was how people lived, separate, but not antagonistic. There was no racial animosity that kept anyone from enjoying the fine food that Ronald’s family provided to their community; mash potatoes and gravy, fried chicken, collards cooked right, and banana pudding have a way of breaking down apprehensions and make us all a little more inclusive in our manners. Contrary to Yankee mythology about the South, things were a little more integrated and even less hostile than the headlines from some big city newspaper would have you believe. 

Through the years, Earl and Ronald did what boys did in small towns, they played, had adventures, and fought with other boys, always as a tag team. Those that picked on one, would soon find out that they had picked a fight with two. Whether it be baseball, football, and basketball, it didn’t matter what sport, they were always on the same team. But what the boys loved to do most was spend time walking the banks of the river. 

The river was mysterious, its black water winding through town and into a thick swamp, full of cypress trees, snakes, gators, and, of course, secrets. Secrets that the black water never gives up, it holds its tongue, and just smiles back at you. Earl and Ronald were about to become part of that lore, one unexpectedly, and one most deliberately. 

It was late October, just a few days from Halloween, and what would be considered a nice autumn day north of Atlanta was a cold one for the people of Darbyville. And, more unusual than the cold weather were the strangers – arriving mid-morning, on a Saturday, three colored men in a black 1967 Chevy Impala with Illinois plates. They took a late breakfast at Ronald’s family restaurant, making themselves the center of attention with their political rhetoric. Dr. King had been assassinated earlier that year, and there had been lots of trouble throughout the country, although none in this sleepy little town, until today. 

The boys set out toward the river in the late afternoon, just before dusk, as was their custom. They talked about the strangers as they walked by the Darbyville Motor Inn, which was at the edge of town and backed up to the river. The strangers were staying there, and one was outside smoking a cigarette as the boys walked past. He said nothing, but looked at them queerly, watching where they were going. 

Along the bank, where the river bent and the sand was high, the boys built a small fire, and did a little catfishing as the night came on. Catfish seemed to bite better just after nightfall, and the boys were catching a stringer full. Now, County Road 121 ran along and off the river about 30 yards from the banks, and the boys noticed headlights pass slowly by as they were fishing, then rolling by again in the opposite direction a few minutes later. They both thought it odd, but that was the last they spoke about it. 

As the time got late, Earl pulled in his line for the last time, they split the catch, and made plans to meet up after church. He headed back home, as his momma had asked him to be home by nine o’clock. As he walked home, Earl noticed the car again, it was the black Chevy with the Illinois plates. He felt something bad was going to happen, something sinister in the air, but he had to get home to keep his momma from worrying. 

Ronald enjoyed the fire a little more and gazed at a spectacular halo moon that lit up the night sky over the river. He thought to himself: what a perfect night, what a beautiful place, and how blessed he was to have a lifelong friend like Earl.

But that friendship would end tonight, in a horror that was unspeakable.

To Be Continued…