My body was pulled through a vortex as Poppy began his story. I was sitting in a truck next to him as he drove down a dirt road; the smell of spring, coupled with the dust being kicked up by the tires on the dry dirt road, and the sound of rushing water was instantly recognizable. As we turned down the drive, we were there. We are there.
It was the farm, only with no gate at the end of the drive and fewer outbuildings. But the rest was unmistakable. The house looked the same as it does now. The main barn was there, just without the new metal siding we added my freshman year of high school.
As Poppy shut off the truck, I could see he was a few years older than the last time I saw him. We both got out, and he jumped into the bed of the pickup, grabbing bale after bale of hay and throwing them down to the ground next to me.
After he had finished unloading the hay, he began hauling them to the barn, where I could hear the familiar sound I've been able to place ever since my first 'See 'n Say' I got as a little kid – the cow says Mooooooo.
The barn had a dozen cows at milking stalls, and Poppy went up to each and added hay to their troughs. The smell was pungent, but oddly it was a smell that had always calmed my nerves. A smell that reminded me of being at Poppy's farm as a kid and not having any cares in the world. Well, you know, before I found out my hero was a psychopathic maniac.
Making his way to the back, time seemed to move faster. He handled tedious chores: shoveling manure, hooking the teatcups up to the cows, herding them back into the fields. There were a handful of other tasks he completed in a blur, before the passage of time returned to normal speed.
Poppy stepped through a plastic curtain to the butchering room. There was a carcass hanging from the ceiling and he wasted no time getting to work. He grabbed a hand saw and climbed a small ladder to begin separating the ribs. There was a gleam in his eyes that grew a little brighter with every thrust; the metal teeth cutting through the bone with ease. After cutting through the ribs, he reached behind himself and unbuttoned a leather strip that secured a handle within a large leather sheath.
Light glinted off the edge of his butcher blade as he counted the seven ribs needed for the primal rib cut. After reaching the 7th rib, he pressed the blade against the meat, slicing through it with ease. It was infinitely sharper than the last time I saw him use it.
He finished the cut between the ribs, stopping at the spine, and THWACK! he swung the blade down hard, splitting the bone effortlessly. I continued to watch him as he finished sectioning out the chuck meat, placing it on the bench next to the rib section. He carved out the boneless ribeye from the primal rib cut, then set the ribs to the side.
In front of him was only the ribeye section. Poppy raised his arm high above his head, his butcher blade in hand, squeezing so hard you could see the white in his knuckles. The sound around me faded out, all I could hear was Poppy at the end of a tunnel.
He inhaled sharply and deep, with a sudden exclamation not dissimilar to when I was in karate as a kid, HYAH! he swung the blade down. One strike. Clean cut. Each strike harder than the last, but not out of control. The blade, sharp enough to not require that level of force, left clear indentations in the work surface with each cut. THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! There was an intense aggressiveness with each strike, pent up anger trying to find its outlet. As he reached the end of the section of meat, a sense of calm washed over him, and he finished the last two cuts much more gently, pressing the blade into the meat and cutting like a normal, non-psychopathic killer would.
I watched Poppy finish the rest of the carcass with nothing excitable to report. He handled the cuts with a focused professionalism, packaging them in paper when done and setting them on the opposite worktable. He set one of the packages of steaks aside, and then made his way to a door I didn't recognize, on the back-left corner of the room where the cabinet was.
Yep. Secret safe under the floorboards in the closet. CHECK
Serial killer great grandfather who had never been caught. CHECK
Never before seen hidden room, concealed all my life by a cabinet. I mean, why the hell not, right?!
The door led to a short staircase that went underground to a cellar, and after a few steps we were in a small room, only about six foot from the dirt floor to the wooden ceiling, and ten foot by ten foot wall to wall. Correction, I thought, never before seen hidden SUBLEVEL LAIR! Like a god damn comic book villain!
There were 4 different wooden barrels, and he as he removed the lid, I held my breath. What would be inside? There were four barrels… One for each limb, to keep them all organized and separated?
Alas, it was nothing like that. It was simply a root cellar, and the barrels held potatoes, carrots, beets, and onions.
Poppy grabbed a few of each, then exited, grabbing the set-aside steaks and walked up to the house.
The farmhouse in front of us was breathtaking. It was in fantastic shape; being the early 30's the house was still new. There was no walkway up to the porch, just a beat down path from the drive to the steps. Poppy opened the screen door, announcing his arrival.
"HEY MA!" he yelled, walking to the kitchen and setting the items on the counter. "Finished up with the chores, and I gotta run the rest of Daisy up to the butcher before he closes down for the night." Pop's finished, staring at the ceiling, waiting for acknowledgement from his mother who was most likely on the second floor.
"Did you bring the dinner in?" his mother replied, walking down the steps in a light, plain blue sundress.
"Yes ma'am. It's over on the counter with some potatoes and the other vegetables."
My great grandfather and his mother zoned out as I walked around the living room, taking my new surroundings. There was a picture of Poppy and his family – his brothers, sister, mother and a new man (probably the owner of the farm/his new stepfather) hanging above the mantle. Underneath the picture was an urn with fresh flowers laid next to it, and an inscription on the mantle "C.E.M – Beloved husband and step-father". There were pictures of the man on either side of the urn posing with gigantic pumpkins, blue ribbons hanging off the corner of each.
Looking around I could see they had a solid wood cathedral style radio next to the window, chairs on either side. I could see my great grandfather and his family huddled around the radio listening to the latest airing of Amos and Andy, or whatever other program happened to be airing. I could hear their conversation seemingly coming to an end, as his voice got closer, until he came into view and walked outside.
While Poppy was loading the other half of Daisy into the bed of the truck, I finally took a moment to check it out. It was a beautiful truck.
Wow. It truly was. The truck was a green 1929 Ford Model A Roadster pickup truck. Red rims, lacquered wood extending the height of the bed on both sides. The truck shook as he lowered the carcass into the bed with the tractor. It was only a few minutes more until we were in the truck and he was in the complicated process of starting it up. With my truck, you put the key in, press the brake, turn the key, WHAM-O! It's now started.
In this thing he had to play with two different levers on the steering wheel, then turn the key on, then press a pedal down by the steering column to engage the starter. Rev up the engine, play with the two levers on the steering wheel again, then we were finally on our way. We made a left out of the driveway, turning north onto the dirt road and making our way to Cleveland.
Arriving in the city, we pulled up behind a building and Poppy backed up to a small covered loading dock. Following him out of the truck, he grabbed the chain hoist from overhead and hooked the carcass, lifting it out of the truck and walking it through the plastic barrier separating the outside from the cold warehouse.
"HEY THERE KID!" a voice rang out over the sound of band saws running. I looked around to see who was calling on us, to see a young man walking up to us. He was in his mid-twenties, about 6ft tall, brown hair combed to the side and kind, brown eyes, although one sported quite a large shiner. He had a cocky smirk on his face as he walked to us. "How ya been?"
"It's aces, Ned! Good seeing you!" Poppy beamed as he embraced the man. "Heard you were in the hoosegaw, what'd you do this time?"
"It's nothing, kid. Some wannabe brunos were trying to bleed me, so I pulled out the convincer and asked them if they wanted a Chicago overcoat. Well, wouldn't ya know one came up behind me and sucker punched me before I could get any shots out. I was swinging like crazy, took two, three men out before the Coppers showed up. Spent a few nights in the big house and I'm back at it now!" he said with a wink and nod of his head.
"I'm dropping the rest of Daisy off here and then gotta get home to dinner. Wanna come on over?"
"Awesome kid! That sounds swell! Yea, let me finish here real quick and I'll be ready soon."
Ned ran off to finish up whatever it was he was finishing up, and Poppy went to an office to collect the money for bringing Daisy in. Walking into the office, there were three men huddled around a radio, listening to the game. "You heard it here folks! Vosmik hit a single out to left field bringing Pytlak home. Scores 5-2, 1 out, Vosmik on first in the top of the ninth. It's Friday, May 4th 1934 and the Cleveland Indians all but have this one in the bag over the Washington Senators!"
"Yes!" cheered the short, portly man with pencil mustache and thinning combover. "I had a lot of cabbage riding on this one, boys! Girls are on me tonight!" The other men shouted and high-fived, clearly excited with the prospect of free women. They all looked up when Poppy cleared his throat, having been so engrossed with the game they were unaware of their guest.
"Hey, if it isn't Charlie's kid! Brought us another half?" the tall man in the middle asked. He had greasy black hair combed back, no facial hair, and what I guess you could call a baby face, if the face came off of an ugly ass baby though. "Got your money over here, sport." He opened a filing cabinet and pulled an envelope with C.E.M written on the front, walking over to Poppy and placing it in his hand.
The short fat man who just won some bet on the game chimed in, his voice very squeaky and not quite matching his girth. "You know your Pa only has 3 more orders on his contract. With him gone now, you gonna want to start up a new contract or are ya gonna be getting out of the life?"
"We are definitely going to continue bringing in to you guys, but I need to talk the terms over with my mother. It's her farm now." my great grandfather told the men.
"Ok, ok. We still got time, just wanted to check in with ya. We'll catch ya around next time boy," the short man finished, sending Poppy on his way.
Back at the truck, Poppy sat, waiting for his friend. I sat in the bed, peering through the back window as Ned got in the passenger side. He reached over and squeezed Poppy's shoulder, leaving his arm around my great grandfather as we drove off.
Time sped through dinner; everything in front of me went by in a blur, straight through Poppy dropping Ned back off in the city and coming back home.
As everything came back into focus, Poppy was arguing with his mother at the top of the stairs. They were having a heated discussion, being both loud and quiet at the same time, almost growling at each other.
"Keep quiet or you'll wake the other kids!" his mother said sternly with a slightly raised voice.
"I'm no viado mom! He's a FRIEND!" Poppy snarled back at her.
"I don't know with you sometimes baby boy. You spend an awful amount of time with that man, I don't like you bringing him over here. No more" she whispered, enunciating the last two words with a crystal-clear finality.
Poppy closed the door to his room, pacing back and forth, getting more and more worked up. He pulled at his hair with both hands, shaking his head back and forth with his face scrunched up in anguish.
"GRAAAAHHHH!!!" he shouted as he grabbed his dresser from behind and threw it as hard as he could, toppling it over and spilling the contents across the floor. He kicked a drawer across the room as hard as he could, as it hit the wall his door flew open and his mother barged in.
"What are you doing?!" she shrilled. "Look at the mess you've just made!"
As Poppy looked around, the color drained from his face and his breath caught. As I followed his line of sight, I noticed it too. At his mother's feet was his drunk ex-stepfather's belt, and a few feet away, scattered amongst the clothing were the teeth.
His mother also noticed his sudden fright, doing the same thing I had just done and followed his line of vision. She inhaled sharply, instantly recognizing the belt at her feet. Stooping to pick up the belt, she had a quizzical look on her face.
"Why – why do you have this? Actually, where did you get it from…." her voice trailed off as she noticed the multiple teeth on the floor. Looking into her son's eyes, her voice breaking as she asked, "What did you do boy?"
Poppy's lower lip trembled as he shook his head back and forth quickly. "I didn't do anything Ma. I didn't."
"What. Did. You. Do?" she asked again, allowing the belt to unroll and grasping the buckle in her hand.
"I didn't do anything Ma. I just found that stuff."
"Don't lie to me, boy. What did you do?" she asked one last time, before closing the distance between them.
Poppy's head was still hung, so he didn't see it coming. His mother brought the belt across his face. CRAAAACK rang out as he instantly welted, imprinting the inch and a half strip of leather across the left side of his face, just under his eye.
"MA!" he cried out, throwing his arms over his head trying to protect himself as she rained down swing after swing. "MA! STOP! PLEASE STOP MA!"
"Tell CRAACK! me CRAACK! what CRAACK! you CRAACK! did CRAACK!" she grunted between each strike. "I LOVED HIM, BOY!" she shouted, while maintaining her assault.
Poppy dropped his arms from around his head, allowing her full access to his exposed face, which she took full advantage of. His hands closed, clenching into fists, arms beginning to shake as she continued beating him.
"YOU LOVED HIM?!" Poppy shouted, throwing both hands forward and shoving her clear across the room. Stumbling backwards, she tripped over a pile of the clothes and fell on her back. He pounced on top of her, smacking her hard in the face.
"WHAT ABOUT US?! We are you CHILDREN! He was a lazy, pathetic, abusive DRUNK!" he spat at her, his face only inches above hers as he knelt over her. "You really want to know what I did, Ma? I followed him home from work and killed him. I stomped his stupid fucking face until there was nothing left, then cut him up into pieces." Poppy had wide eyes and a smile across his face as he relived the moment.
"No, no, no," she sobbed, turning her head to the side, refusing to look at her son.
"Yes, yes, yes!!! And I will be DAMNED if I let you dictate my life or put my brothers and sister in a position like that again." He snarled as he grabbed her around the neck with both hands, squeezing as hard as he could. Her face turned red, then purple as he leaned in, bearing his full weight down on her.
He lost his grip from her thrashing around, and as she scrambled to escape, he got ahead of her and slammed the door shut. He backhanded her back onto the floor, then grabbed the drunk's belt and knelt on her chest. Wrapping the belt around her neck he pulled as hard as he could, constricting her neck until she stopped shaking.
He stood up, looking down at his lifeless mother, the belt still wrapped around her neck. Her bulging eyes were still wide open, staring straight up before her head slumped to the side and drool poured out of the corner of her mouth, running across her cheek before dripping onto the floor.
A creak in the hallway caught our attention, and my heart skipped a beat as I watched my great grandfather walk to the door and crack it open.
His younger brother was standing in the hall. He couldn't have been more than 8 years old, with long blonde hair that stopped just short of his shoulders.
"Hey buddy," Poppy said softly. "What are you doing up?"
"I- There was lots of loud noises. What happened?" the young boy asked.
"Oh, nothing bud! I was moving things around in my room and the dresser fell over. Go on back to sleep, ok?"
Poppy walked out into the hallway and closed his door behind him, ushering his little brother back to bed. After he was tucked in and sound asleep, Pops went back to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He stood over his mother, looking down at her body with disgust.
"You whore," he muttered, spitting on her corpse. "This is your fault. If you just stayed out of my fucking business this wouldn't have happened."
He walked across the room, being as quiet as he could, as to not wake any of the kids up again and stopped at his window. Opening the window up, he stuck his head out and took a deep breath of the brisk night air. He turned around and leaned backwards, resting his back on the windowsill as he stared up at the full moon. Poppy started laughing quietly, standing back up in the bedroom and walking to his mother. He laughed to himself the entire short walk to the lifeless corpse, continuing laughing as he grabbed her by the ankles and dragged ger across the room. He dropped her legs, allowing them to thump loudly on the floor and grabbed a fistful of her hair.
"Guess you aren't going to be telling me what to do anymore, are you?" he sneered at her as he shoved her head out the window. He grabbed her ankles and unceremoniously dumped her body to the cold hard ground a story below.
Poppy opened his door a crack and peeked out to the hallway, making sure the coast was clear. He stepped out, closing the door tightly behind him, walked down the staircase and out the door. He walked around to the backside of the house and grabbed his mother by the ankles, dragging her into the slaughter room.
Picking his utility belt up from the workbench, he walked over and began cutting her nightgown off; starting at the neck, he worked his way down, past her breasts, past her crotch, until he reached the hem and the split gown left her fully exposed. Poppy looked around until he found a rope and tied it around her ankles. As I watched him securing the knot, I couldn't figure out why he was tying her up. I mean, not like she's gonna run away or anything. But after he reached above him it all made sense.
He lowered the chain hoist and hooked the chain to the rope around her ankles, hoisting her up. With each pull, her feet lifted a few inches higher, until her shoulders came off the ground and her nightgown fell away from the body. Another pull and her head cleared the ground, her hair still splayed out around her, not off the ground yet. Another few pulls brought her breasts above his eyeline and this is where he stopped hoisting her.
He walked over to the corner and grabbed a 5 gallon bucket and placed it underneath his mother, taking his time to line it up carefully. Reaching behind him, he unbuttoned the leather strip securing his butcher blade and unsheathed the tool. He placed the side of the cold steel against his cheek, closing his eyes as he ran the metal down his neck and stopping it at his chest. He held the blade over his heart for what seemed to be an extreme length of time, before breathing in deeply and opening his eyes.
He held his mother's hair tightly in his left hand as he placed he blade atop her right shoulder, slicing through the neck in a fluid motion. He carefully maneuvered the blade when it reached her spine, splitting between the vertebrae with ease and exiting above her left shoulder. In one smooth motion he removed his mother's head from her body, now dangling by the hair gripped in his hand. As the blood from the inverted body drained into the bucket, he carried her head down into the root cellar, making room for her on a shelf. He took one last look at her open, soulless eyes before closing the door on her and returning to the task at hand.
He and his butcher blade made quick work of disarticulating the arms at the shoulders, masterfully cutting with ease. He placed the arms on the workbench and then fetched another bucket and disemboweled the corpse, catching the organs inside and then setting off to the side. Poppy halted, cocking his head to the side with a look of concentration on his face. He moved the bucket of blood, only about a quarter full, over to the workbench, put a lid on it and wrote – FERTILIZER – in marker on top.
He moved a metal drum underneath her and lowered her down in unhooking the chain and untying the rope. He grabbed container after container of different chemicals, dumping them in and then filling the barrel the rest of the way up with water. Before sealing the drum up, he brought over a stool to stand on and relieved himself in the mixture. Using a handcart, he moved the barrel against the wall opposite the door to the root cellar.
He went over to the workbench and degloved the arms, pulling the skin back until it encapsulated her hands. Using his blade, he sectioned out the meat from the upper and lower arms, wrapping them in newspaper as he would any other cut. He brought his blade down hard, multiple times, cutting the bones down into smaller sections before throwing them out to the pigs.
Smiling, Poppy took the newspaper wrapped meat in his arms and headed inside, placing them in the refrigerator and then heading back upstairs. In his room, he looked down at his bloody hands. As he brought his hand to his face, he stuck his tongue out and placed it against his wrist, licking up the side of his thumb before putting the thumb inside his mouth.
As I could feel myself being pulled away, he closed his eyes and pulled his thumb out, clean now.
The present-day kitchen came back into focus, and I quickly looked at my phone.
11:16.