Billy: A Tale Of Unrelenting Terror Read Free

punishment on da lot of us for Lillian. We gonna bear dis cross, or He doom us all forever to dat hell you goin’ on about.”
    “We end up in dat hell already wit dat t’ing here. It gonna grow and den what? Little monster gonna be a big monster, and we all gonna regret it.”
    “Bwaaaa aaaa aaaaa!”
    “Ech! Dat goat child give me da mal au couer! I’m gonna ‘tro up,” T-Roy joked.
    “Dat ‘goat child’ is your brother, T,” Dorcelia turned her gaze to her eldest.
    “It ain’t no St. Pierre,” Poppie exclaimed. “I ain’t givin’ dat t’ing my name.”
    “It ain’t got a name at all,” Justin observed.
    “It ain’t an it; it’s a he. And he gettin’ a name or I’s namin’ him after you,” Dorcelia looked directly at her husband.
    “ Beck moi tchew , kiss my ass, woman! You ain’t givin’ it my name. You must be bracque !”
    “Baaaaa aaaa aaaa!”
    “Sounds like a goat ta me. We should name dat t’ing Billy,” said T-Roy.
    “ Ga-lee ! Billy it ‘tis,” Poppie laughed, pleased with the joke.
    Dorcelia fumed, but kept quiet. Even a name given in jest was better than no name at all. Billy wasn’t so bad. She could accept that. A name meant recognition. With a name, the child was no longer a thing, but a person.
    Dorcelia knew that the child would never be accepted into the family. He was a symbol of their shame, an unwelcome entity to be hidden from the world. That part would be easy. No one outside of the immediate family knew of the child’s existence, and as much as they all could help it, no one ever would.
    There was no certificate of birth for the child, just as there was no acknowledgment of death for his mother. The sad, little, unwanted creature would be banished from the outside world and forced to grow up surrounded by those who despised him. But, if Dorcelia had anything to do with it, he would at least have a chance to live. It was a chance denied to her own daughter by her father’s perversion and her own apathy. Dorcelia believed it to be their only chance at redemption and salvation, and she was determined to see it through.
    “Bwaaaa aaaaa aaaa!”
    “It’s okay, p’tit boug . It gonna be alright,” Dorcelia whispered to the distraught child in her arms. “You be strong little one. Celia’s gonna make sure Billy gets his chance one day.”
    She rocked the sobbing infant until his cries faded, and he drifted off to sleep. The little boy was disgusting to look at, she conceded, but he needed her more than ever. Dorcelia’s resolve to protect the child from the abuse he was sure to be subjected to would never waver, even if deep inside she wondered if her good-for-nothing husband’s dire predictions might have merit.
    As if Poppie could read his wife’s thoughts, he muttered once more, just loud enough for her to hear, “You let dat t’ing grow up, we all gonna regret it one day.”
     
     

Chapter Three
    Caimon Grand Papere
    T he St. Pierres played their cards close to their chests. They only ran into their scarce neighbors on occasion and almost never at their own home. The cabin in which they lived sat on wooden pilings long driven into the murky waters that surrounded them. They lived without a telephone and without electricity. A small hand-cranked pump supplied them with the only water supply not teaming with vermin, both seen and unseen. There was some muddy ground scattered about their property, though even this was generally only accessible when the water level was cooperating.
    Privacy was assured by the sheer remoteness of the location, the camouflage of moss-covered cypress trees surrounding them, and the large population of dangerous predators lurking about. The family possessed two pirogues , which are best described as small, wooden, canoe-like boats popular with the Cajuns who inhabit the vast wetlands of southern Louisiana. An old, rusted airboat was at their disposal – at least when it was working. More often than not it wasn’t. An