Moonshine Memories

By Fred L. Funk

More than forty years have passed since Matt and Beth Reynolds lived in the small East Texas town of Pruett, where he served as pastor of the Methodist church, and where they got an eye-opening education about human nature. Some of those lessons resulted in lifelong friendships, and others became the stuff of nightmares---quite literally, in Matt’s case. As a homecoming celebration at the old church approaches, Matt relives in his dreams one of the most harrowing experiences of his life during that time: the murder of a troublesome moonshiner and the conviction for that crime of a man Matt had looked upon as good friend.
Convinced that there was more to the story, Matt and Beth take the occasion of the homecoming to ask questions of the surviving cast of characters in hopes of finding out the truth and stopping the nightmares. What they discover only raises more questions, as they learn how much their friends and fellow citizens had withheld from them by “looking out for their own”. . . and how both the victim and the convicted murderer, like most of the peculiar folks in Pruett, were not who they seemed to be.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fred L. Funk
• Release date: Aug 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311342225

Fred L. Funk

Born and raised in North Texas near Denton. Graduated Denton High School 1960. Attended what is now The University of North Texas and transfered to East Texas State College to pursue a pre-theology degree. Served as pastor of numerous churches in North and East Texas. Later switched career to accounting and finance. Worked thirty-five years for a national retail furniture chain. Now retired and started a new career writing novels.Married to Dana for 52 years. Have two daughters and one son and seven grandchildred. Dana and I live in North Texas with two crazy cats that have agree to let us share the house.

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SMASHWORDS Edition

Copyright © 2015 by Fred L. Funk

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the copyright holder.

For information, contact:

Tattersall Publishing

1155 Union Circle #308194

Denton, Texas 76203

www.tattersallpub.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover and interior design by Crystal Wood

Print Edition ISBN 978-0-9911515-5-4

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my wife, Dana; my mom, Vernice Funk; and all other wives of ministers who have experienced the hardships as well as the joys associated with their husband’s ministerial pursuits.  The life of a preacher’s wife is never easy, but at least it’s rarely dull.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Numerous people have been instrumental in my literary pursuits and without them, none of my books would have ever become a reality.  First, I wish to acknowledge my wife, Dana. As an expert researcher she has helped with an excellent perception of people and lifestyles in specific locales. Her support of my telling events that she would just as soon forget made the narrative possible. A couple of times she has discovered real people in the area where the stories take place that had the same last names that I had assigned to my characters. Needless to say, those names were changed. Dana listens as I read each chapter aloud and makes invaluable suggestions.

As always, editing by Dr. Ray Stephens keeps my grammar, tenses, and construction in proper order. Dr. Stephens’ help as an editor and mentor is of inestimable value and without his insistence I would never have written the first book...and now there are five.

The final edit by Crystal Wood of Tattersall Publishing insures that everything is in tip-top condition. Crystal’s cover and interior book designs are without question as good as it gets.

Finally I would like to acknowledge the human family for all the character traits that I have observed  and incorporated into the good guys and the not so good.

Fred L. Funk

FOREWORD

In Moonshine Memories, Fred Funk relates a smooth tale of a twisted culture in the Piney Woods of East Texas as a parade of characters, some salt-of-the-earth types and others who are best described as hopelessly perverted, act out their versions of the American Dream. A church homecoming that occurred forty years after church officials assigned Matt Reynolds to another Methodist parish brought back some pleasant memories and some honest-to-goodness nightmares for Matt as he sought to learn the truth about long-ago but not forgotten events. Conversations on front porches and around dinner tables provided opportunities for Matt to delve deeply into the collective memories of his former parishioners as the preacher pieced together the essential parts of the puzzle that had plagued him since he left that bucolic neck of the woods. 

The search for the slayer of Cliff Brown, a nefarious scoundrel of the first order, took many twists and turns to identify the person who did the dastardly deed as well as the motive for it. Along the way, the reader is introduced to a bevy of Matt’s former friends and antagonists who each had good reasons, or so they thought, to send Cliff Brown on a one-way trip to the cemetery. Fred is clever in the way that he went about learning the murderer’s identity, and his desire to present colloquial speech as the East Texans pronounced words.  As is his custom, Fred weaves together the fabric of local history and country wisdom, combined with his interesting assessment of human behavior during stressful as well as playful times. 

All in all, Moonshine Memories is an enjoyable read of this slice of Americana.

Dr. Ray Stephens

Professor of History, UNT, retired

More Books by

FRED L. FUNK

Ministry and Moonshine

Moonshiners’ Revenge

Life and Death on Cannon Creek

The Throwaway Son

1

It ain’t over till it’s over.

Charles Hayes

Moonshiner’s Revenge

THE INVITATION

A horrific stench filled Matt’s nostrils as moonbeams from the bright yellow globe that glowed brightly in the night sky formed a spotlight on six badly decomposed bodies that lay on the long, low bridge that spanned Six Mile Creek. The dead men had been neatly arranged in a straight row with their hands tied behind their backs, and it appeared that each one had been shot in the back of the head. Matt knew that the six guys had been intruders in the local moonshiners’ territory and had been murdered under the bridge. That mean bunch did not tolerate encroachment in their area by anyone. Residents of the region believed that the ghosts of the victims haunted the bridge and the creek bottom in the immediate vicinity.

Matt pulled his .22 caliber pistol from the waistband of his jeans, released the safety, and took off through the woods at a dead run. He had no intention of staying near the bodies or their ghosts, and he feared that the perpetrators of the killings might come after him.

As the young man ran from the horrifying scene, a foul musty odor replaced the ungodly stench of the rotting bodies. He recognized the smell as that of copperhead snakes, and he realized that hundreds of the serpents surrounded him and he feared that one bite would cause his demise. He cleared the path with numerous shots from his gun as the snakes coiled and struck at his legs.

Matt ran like a crazy man for what seemed like hours; he had to get away. As he got deeper into the forest, the thick canopy formed by the tall timber concealed the moonlight, and total darkness engulfed the young man. He heard his shirt rip and he felt a deep burning pain in his back when low lying branches struck his torso repeatedly and tore his shirt to shreds until its ragged remains fell to the ground. Blood ran down his forehead and filled his eyes as tree limbs slapped him in the face. The terrified young preacher heard dogs yapping in the distance as he trudged blindly through the forest. The sound of the barking dogs drew nearer and he knew instinctively that the canines belonged to Red, the moonshiner, and his compatriots. Matt had seen the murder victims on the bridge, he knew what the ruffians did to intruders, and he had encroached on their territory.

STOP, PREACHER, STOP, Red hollered. WE’RE COMIN’ FER YOU! The booming voice echoed through the trees. WE’RE COMIN’ FER YOU! WE’RE COMIN’ FER YOU! WE’RE COMIN’ FER YOU.

The panicked preacher saw Red’s face all around him, in whatever direction he ran Red appeared with a fiendish look. His bushy, fiery scarlet hair and beard accentuated his penetrating eyes and made the madman appear as a demon. Matt ran faster through the dense forest and as he stumbled into the creek the sound of the dogs seemed close at hand. He heard their growls, snarls, and gnashing teeth and he saw their demonic eyes as they glowed in the darkness.

As Matt fired a couple of rounds in the air in an effort to scare the dogs away, he thought, That wasn’t too bright. They’ll just follow the direction of the gunshots until they catch up to me. Might just as well stood up and said here I am. Might as well just give up. I’m gonna die tonight. Resigned to the hand that fate dealt him and his untimely death, Matt lay down in the flowing stream and the cooling waters soothed the cuts on his back. He scooped up a double handful of the cold liquid, splashed it on his face, and washed the blood from his eyes.

As he wiped the blood and water from his face he realized that Red had caught up to him. The terrified preacher lay trembling in the stream as the fierce moonshiner stood over him and stared at him with a funny grin. It did not appear to Matt as a devilish smirk, but rather a friendly smile. Whatcha runnin’ fer, Preacher? I told yew we was comin’ fer yew. I was afeard yew’d git lost or hurt out here in the woods by yerse’f.

I thought you was gonna kill me for invading your territory.

Now why would we do a thang like ’at? Red quizzed. After all we’ve been through together. You know, when we put a stop to them marijuana growers and put Steve Potter away. We been comin’ to yer church, sometimes, and we’re all yer friends.

Matt let out a long sigh of relief, Ah, heck, Red. Reckon I’m just a little crazy from all the shenanigans that go on around here.

Red reached down and pulled Matt from the water with a strong reassuring grasp. Come on, Preacher. We’ll git you home.

The group walked back through the woods to the long, low bridge where Red had parked his old truck. As they walked across the bridge Matt saw no sign of the dead bodies and he thought, I must be going crazy. Those bodies were here just a while ago and now they aren’t anywhere in sight.

As Red’s old truck rumbled along the Farm to Market road toward Pruett, thoughts of Steve Potter invaded Matt’s mind. Steve had been Matt’s friend, but that friendship seemed to have crumbled when the man was convicted of the murder of Cliff Brown, a player in the local marijuana trade. Red, you think Steve was the only one involved in Cliff’s murder? I’ve always felt that there was more to it.

Don’t really got a clue, but he don’t seem like the kind a feller that a do sech a thang ’atall, let alone by hisse’f.

Don’t expect we’ll ever know the complete truth, Matt replied as they pulled into the driveway of the old parsonage.

I reckon not, Red responded. But if anybody ever gits the whole story, it’ll be Miss Emma. That ol’ gossip seems ta know ever’thang ’bout ever’body.

As Matt headed up the steps to the front door of the old parsonage, the bright glow of a fire caught his eye. He glanced across the street at the church, and flames fully engulfed the building. The blaze ascended high in the sky and filled the atmosphere with thick black smoke. He thought he saw Steve Potter run from the fiery building, jump in his flashy red pickup, and drive away. The confused preacher also imagined that he saw a shadowy figure in the darkness near the fire. Can’t be happening, he thought as he entered the house. My imagination. Just like the bodies on the bridge. I think I’m goin’ crazy.

Matt took one last look across the street and determined that the church was not on fire, but what appeared to be an angry mob had gathered in the parking lot. The men carried guns and were in hot pursuit of a lone individual that ran toward the buildings of the old downtown area of Pruett. As the young preacher ran out the door and approached the mob he realized that Lloyd Hawley, the town drunk, was the object of the group’s conquest.

You can’t do this. It ain’t right, Matt shouted.

Stay outa it, Preacher. We take care a’ our own, the men hollered. We take care a’ our own.

It’s all right, Preacher. I’m already dead. Been dead fer some time. Bad moonshine done me in. They can’t touch me, Lloyd shouted as he disappeared into the darkness.

Matt detected the familiar sickening sweet smell of marijuana when Leona Brown, the young town slut, grabbed him by the arm as he ascended the steps to the porch of the old parsonage. She stared at him with half-shut sleepy eyes, and declared, Mr. Preacher man, you’re my kinda feller. Bet you know ’xactly how ta satisfy a woman. You’re a real man and a full-growed young gal like me needs a real man. You ain’t like all them boys ’round here. They’re jest kids out fer a quick thrill, but you’re the real thang. Have a drag offa’ this, Leona offered as she handed the preacher one of the weird little cigarettes that he had seen in the hands of many of the young folks in the area.

Matt pulled away. Get away from me, you slut. You’ve caused enough trouble around here.

Matt ran through the dark house toward the kitchen where he heard the phone ring. Miss Emma’s voice declared, You gotta go, Preacher. We can’t have a preacher what lets that slut chase after ’im and you done seen too much on that bridge. You gotta go. We can’t be having them moonshiners in our church. It’s for good folks. We gotta get rid a’ you.

But we ain’t supposed to leave till we get at the whole truth. We ain’t supposed to leave, Matt replied.

The East Texas heat and humidity seemed worse than normal as Matt and Beth loaded their belongings in a U-Haul trailer. The VW Beetle could not pull the trailer, so Beth’s father, Cole, loaned them his pickup for the task. Matt appreciated the gesture and it gave them room for larger furniture pieces in the bed of the truck. As the young man sought relief from the weather he removed his shirt and Beth, the young man’s wife, spotted the injuries on his back. How’d you get those horrible scratches? They’re real red and raw and oozing blood. You’ve got some on your face and forehead, too.

Matt seemed puzzled as he answered, Don’t know where they came from. But they do hurt and burn somethin’ fierce. It appeared that he did not remember the horrifying experiences from the previous evening, but thoughts of Steve Potter remained in his memory. Beth, I still doubt that Steve acted alone. I have trouble believing that he’s guilty of murder. He was my friend.

I have trouble with it, too, Beth responded.

I think the whole situation will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Probably will and the sooner we get away from this godforsaken place the better. Then maybe we can forget about everything that’s happened.

What is that awful smell comin’ from the kitchen? Matt quizzed as he walked out the back door and headed toward the truck with one last box.

Don’t know, Beth replied. I’ve smelled it the whole time we were loading the trailer.

Gotta figure out what it is. I ain’t gonna leave till it’s taken care of. I want to leave this ol’ place better than we found it when we moved in.

The couple had removed all their belongings from the old parsonage and had loaded them in the trailer. Only one task remained as Matt searched for the source of the smell, since he felt that it must be cleaned up. It seemed to Matt that the horrible stench emanated from the refrigerator that stood near the window at one end of the kitchen. He discovered a package of chicken that had spoiled. The putrid meat caused him to gag and he nearly upchucked as he carried the stinky bird out to the back yard. The young man dug a hole with an old rusty shovel that he retrieved from the shed that stood near the back of the lot. He buried the offensive meat and returned to the house. Matt looked around in the trailer until he located a box that contained household cleansers and rags. He took the items to the kitchen and scrubbed the ice box until it sparkled. He figured the odor had been removed, but still it remained.

Open the window, Beth suggested. Maybe some fresh air will get rid of the smell.

Good idea, Matt responded as he raised the window. Good Lord, that makes it worse. There’s a smell comin’ from outside.

As the preacher peered out the window he discovered the source of the irritant. The septic tank located just outside the kitchen window had overflowed and formed a large pool of watery, blackish-grey gunk on the ground around it. On their first day in Pruett, Lloyd Hawley warned them about just such an occurrence; they managed for two years without incident, but on their last day in the place it happened.

Just forget about it, Beth suggested. Let them worry about it.

I ain’t gonna leave it like that, Matt responded. I don’t want to give Miss Emma or anybody else any reason to talk bad about us.

Doesn’t matter, Matt. She’s going to badmouth us anyway.

I don’t care. I’m not gonna leave it like that.

Matt remembered the instructions that Lloyd gave him on their first day in Pruett. If thangs start ta drain slow or stop all together, jest remove the lid from the septic tank, git the bucket that’s hangin’ in the shed out back, dip out the septic tank, and dump the dippin’s at the back of the yard. There ain’t no houses behind the parsonage so nobody’ll care.

The young man took the bucket from the shed and headed around the house to the location of the septic tank. He struggled as he attempted removal of the heavy lid from the container, his hand slipped, he fell backward into the mess, and the terrible odor caused him to throw up. Vomit streamed down his bare midsection and soiled the front of his pants. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, covered his nose and mouth, and tied the rag behind his head. It did not fully block the smell, but it helped. He pulled and tugged on the lid, fell into the awful gunk several times until he was covered with the offensive stuff, but finally accomplished the task. What a way to end our time in this place, Matt thought as he dipped one bucket full after another and carried the gross sludge to the back of the yard. An hour or so later he completed the job and replaced the lid on the tank with great difficulty.

Matt, you can’t get in Daddy’s truck like that, Beth exclaimed. You smell like poop and you’ve got stuff all over your entire body. Your pants are covered in vomit and sewage. There’s even stuff stuck in your hair and eyebrows. It’s all over your face. The only thing showing is your eyes and teeth. You’re a terrible mess. You’ve got to take a bath and put on clean clothes.

I reckon you’re right. Suppose I’ll have to take one more bath in that grungy old tub. Good thing I left a bar of soap in there. Go get me some clean clothes out of the trailer while I bathe. Matt entered the old bathroom for the last time, stripped off his clothes, threw them in a pile, filled the tub with hot water, slipped in, and lathered up his body. This thing is real comfortable even if it does look horrible, he thought as he reclined in the old-fashioned tub.

Matt, the trailer’s empty. All our stuff is gone, Beth shouted as she ran back in the house.

What are you talkin’ about? Matt questioned as he jumped up from the tub covered in soap suds and emerged from the bathroom to investigate Beth’s allegations.

Beth stopped Matt as he headed out the back door to check the trailer. You can’t go out there like that. You don’t have any clothes on. You’re stark naked and those soap suds don’t cover much.

Matt looked down at his bare body and realized that in his excitement over the missing belongings he had opened the