Old Man Gordon

Old Man Gordon

        The cigarette danced in place as a wide grin began to spread across his unshaven face. Gordon couldn’t help but smile to himself at the situation that fate had dealt him. He knew the would-be burglar couldn’t have gotten very far, but he never expected to find the thief snared in one of the many bear traps surrounding the cabin.
         The man was calling out for help, struggling to free himself as Gordon descended the steps of the cabin. He chuckled to himself as a slipped a shell into the shotgun he was carrying.
         “You shouldn’t have come here”, he called to the helpless looter, “Especially uninvited.”. As he approached the thief, Gordon noticed the young man desperately trying to crawl away from the experienced hunter. What nerve, he thought to himself, for such a coward to try and rob the legendary Mr. Gordon! He delivered a heavy kick to the thief’s stomach, which flipped him onto his back in the deep snow. Gordon took a deep breath from his cigarette and drew it from his mouth.
         “What’s your name, boy?”, He asked.
         “Br-Brian,” the thief replied with a bloody cough. Gordon glanced at the boy’s leg, stained red from the deadly contraption. The bleeding wasn’t too severe, but it definitely needed medical attention. In the freezing weather, Gordon figured, the boy wouldn’t last too long. With the gun trained on Brian’s terrified face, he continued with his questions.
         “Do you know who I am, son?”; Brian nodded.
         “I heard the stories,” the boy whispered, barely audible
         “Oh, have you now?” Gordon said with a toothy grin. The comment amused him greatly. Gordon knew he was somewhat of a local legend, something parents told their children to keep them obedient. Stay out of the woods, they would say, or you might run into Old Man Gordon. As far as Gordon was concerned, that was the way he liked it. He kept to himself, and people stayed away. At least they used to, he thought, perhaps they need a reminder to stay the hell away from my property. Brian then broke the brief silence;
         “I heard ‘bout your wife… is it true?” He said, shuddering all the while.
         “Is what true?” Gordon began to grow angry, “You got something to say, then you say it, boy!”. His hands began to tremble slightly, partly from the cold and partly from rage. “SPIT IT OUT!”, he screamed suddenly. Brian winced, shuffling farther back from Gordon.
         “Did she… Did you do her in..?” Brian asked, a pale look of shock frozen on his face. For at least two minutes, the two men simply sat and stared at each other. After a while, Gordon spat into the snow and sat down next to the burglar. Brian wasn’t sure what to make of this gesture, surprised at how quickly Gordon’s fiery wrath was extinguished.
         “We were never good people,” Gordon finally said, “and we never pretended to be.” He stared off into the woods a little while longer before turning to Brian “Why do you care, anyways? Ain’t your kind afraid of me?”
         “Terrified, sir,” Brian confirmed, “but I sometimes wonder why.”
         “They don’t want to mess around with a branded killer, I guess.” Gordon replied, glancing around at the trees. It was snowing now, tiny flakes beginning to distort the horizon.
         “But I only heard stories… did you really kill her?” Brian ventured. At this point, everything was silent. The forest now had a peaceful air to it, despite the grisly scene they were experiencing. Gordon stared long and hard at the woods behind the tool shed. He would visit later that day, he decided, he hadn’t been there in too long.
         “Most folks believe whatever you tell them.” Gordon told him. With that he got up from the ground, shotgun still in hand. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tiny key, which he threw to the injured boy. “That’ll open it up,” He said, “and if I ever see you here again, you’re a dead man. Understand?”. Brian said nothing, but nodded his approval. “Good.” Gordon said as he turned towards the cabin. He didn’t say anything else to the shivering boy, he simply walked back inside his cabin.

         As the sun began to set, Gordon’s boots crunched the fresh snow in the woods behind the tool shed. The boy was long gone, but the snowfall from earlier that day continued. He trekked through the woods for a couple minutes before reaching his destination; a small wooden cross, protruding from the icy ground. His wife’s maiden name was crudely scratched in the grave.
         Gordon knelt down in front of the cross, reached out and touched it. Without any gloves, he allowed his fingers to slowly trace the freezing inscription. Never one to feel heavy emotion, Gordon remained indifferent as he began to speak.
         “I did something good today, Lucy,” he said, “I saved a boy’s life. I coulda shot him, but I let him go.”. He continued to speak his mind to the cross. “Maybe there’s a spot up there for me too, Lucy. Maybe I still got a chance.”
         He sat and stared at the cross for what seemed like hours. A lone, emotionless tear left a cold trail of memories on his grizzly face. Memories of his life, of the things he had done. The man upstairs would forgive him, he thought to himself, he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t a bad man, just one who made too many mistakes.
         With that thought, he got back to his feet. He lingered at the grave a minute longer, then turned back towards the cabin. The snow still fell softly in the forest as Old Man Gordon walked back towards his cabin, paying no attention to the eight other makeshift graves he passed on his way back home.