More Than a Hashtag

By Penny Poulsen Watson

A teen discovers a dark secret . . .
 

Can he do what's right, even when it all goes wrong?
 

High school freshmen, Tee and his best friend Chilly, depend on each other against bullies and girls that keep them guessing.
 

As sightings of a dangerous Cajun legend turn up, the boys must find the truth everyone else fears. When they uncover a threat to Chilly's brother, they're determined to save him. But can they unravel the mystery before it's too late?
 

Tee must trust in his friendships and found family to navigate the murky waters of the bayou

. . . or become another victim of its shadows.
 

A modern classic in the tradition of Tom Sawyer and To Kill a Mockingbird, More Than a Hashtag transports readers to the charming and unique Louisiana Bayou, where Watson captures the essence of the South and tells a journey of courage, grief, and broken homes.

Grab a paddle and join Tee and Chilly today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: PPW
• Release date: Sep 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988763604

Book preview

Prologue

Uncertain, Texas, February 2011

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Uncertain, Texas. If there was a name for a place I just might belong, I couldn’t think of one that described it better’n Uncertain. I tried keepin’ my eyes lookin’ anywhere but at the two people arguin’ ‘bout my future outside the car. I felt better, ‘cuz the windows were startin’ to steam up and it made me kinda invisible. Their voices were gettin’ hard to ignore ‘cuz ever’ few seconds, they got louder. It was like havin’ somebody with their thumb glued to the TV volume control, pressin’ and pressin’ ‘til your eardrums were gonna burst. The longer the discussion went on, the more I wanted to get outta the car and run. Run and run ‘til I dropped and never got up again.

After a while, I had to see what was happenin’, so I wiped a little circle in the steamy window. Yup, they were still goin’ at it almost nose to nose.

To distract my mind and calm my poundin’ heart, I looked over to study the funny, crooked old house that would become my new home. I could tell somebody had tried to restore it to its beauty of a hundred years ago. I could see the forest that started a ways back behind the house and the overgrown path that led to a lake filled with cypress trees. Their old crooked knees looked like they had the arthritis, and their droopy branches matched the mood of the dark, cloudy day.

The hard rock of sadness that lived in the space ‘tween my belly and my heart shifted when my belly started grumblin’ with hunger. I looked up at the saddening sky growin’ even darker, and I knew a storm was ‘bout to burst. The clouds made curtains for the lightnin’ that was arguin’ with the thunder. Big arguin’, just like the man and woman standin’ at the bottom of the saggin’ stairs.

The stairs led to a porch that stretched out ‘long each side of the giant, double front doors. Those huge doors hid whatever lurked inside the old house, waitin’ to swallow me whole. In the time I’d been lookin’ at it, the house began to resemble an old witch who’d put on her makeup to try coverin’ her hundred-year-old warts and wrinkles, thinkin’ she could lure in a victim to cook in her oven.

Miz Thomas rapped on the window of the car and scared the devil right outta my soul and the witch outta my head. I was ‘bout to meet somethin’ far, far worse.

Thomas Edison, come on out here and meet your grandfather.

My grandfather . . . oh Lord, send me your angels, ‘cuz if looks could kill, that man’s gonna send me right on up to meet y’all in Heaven.

No fear, no fear, I thought as I got outta the car with my head down. I could hear his thunderous boots walkin’ closer to me.

Look at me, boy, he commanded. I could hear the Texas in his voice. Scary, redneck Texas: gruff and loud and soundin’ like a bone caught in a meat grinder. I looked up and stared into the face that’d become my own in ‘bout sixty years or so. He was tall and burly with wavy, iron-gray hair and a face that was a mountain range of wrinkles.

But there was no mistakin’ that nose. A big old boudin sausage growin’ on his face right ‘tween his hazel eyes. Eyes that looked no older’n mine. Mais! Those eyes could shoot lightnin’ and send a soul straight to the afterlife.

Thomas Edison, this is your grandfather, Thomas Eugene Hopper. Be polite and shake his hand.

I held out my hand and looked up into his eyes ‘cuz it was the polite thing to do, but only for a second. My hand just hung there for ‘bout an hour, and then he took it in his giant fist and gave it one shake.

Didn’t your mama teach you how to give a proper greetin’ when you meet your elders? Or don’t they have manners down there in the swamp?

My eyes were startin’ to sting. Why did he have to mention my mama? Oh, please don’t let me cry. The angels heard my plea, ‘cuz just then a clap of thunder and a bolt of lightnin’ struck ‘bout a hundred feet away. Down poured the rain. A southern deluge was never more welcome.

Get on the porch everybody; no need to stand out in the rain and get soaked! my grandfather commanded and hustled us up on the porch where we huddled ‘gainst the side of the house.

I heard Miz Thomas say, in a voice loud ‘nough for my grandfather to hear over the rain, I told you he is unable to speak because of the trauma he suffered.

I guess I didn’t have to say a polite greetin’ after all. My grandfather made a huffin’ sound like he was a great, wild bull blowing air through his nostrils, but ‘stead of chargin’, he just shook his head.

Well, Mr. Hopper, all the paperwork is in the file. His medical and school records and a few pictures along with a few things they saved from the fire. He’s a fine boy. You can call me if you have questions. I will be checking in from time to time, but a Texas social worker will be assigned to your case.

Miz Thomas turned to look at me. Thomas Edison, you will be fine. You just remember all the things we talked about.

She paused for a minute and then hugged my neck like she was sendin’ me to the gallows, then turned again to face my grandfather. May I have a few more words with you in private, Mr. Hopper?

Guess I don’t have much choice, do I? You hold all the cards. Boy, you go on inside. Up the stairs, and the first room on the left is yours. Juniper put sheets and towels in there for y’all. Go on now and settle in.

I went inside, tryin’ to go slow ‘nough so I could hear the last words Miz Thomas was goin’ to say to this fearsome man. The rain was too loud on the roof to hear her, but there was no mistakin’ my grandfather’s voice. He would have the final word.

"Hell, woman, I’m seventy-seven years old, and I didn’t even raise my own son right. I guess this here situation will mark the title of my life’s final chapter: ‘Tom Hopper Gets Another Chance At Fatherhood.’ Then what do they write these days? ‘Hashtag, I’m a Daddy again!’ "

He laughed bitterly, turned, and yanked the door open so fast I didn’t have a chance to run for the stairs.

Get on upstairs, boy, I have some thinkin’ to do.

Just like that, I was a burden, a leftover thought, a hashtag in someone’s life. It is what it is.

1

Chilly

Cypress Bend, Louisiana, July 2010

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When I was small small, I learned ‘bout consequences from pickin’ poison ivy. I’d wanted to give my mama a real present, so I’d decided to pick a big bunch of wildflowers and give ‘em to her like the men did on Mamere’s TV stories. I learned real quick from a bad case of poison ivy that sometimes, even when you do the right thing, ‘stead of gettin’ a reward, there may be bad consequences to deal with. Life wasn’t always fair.

Mamere once told me, Well, it just goes to show, no good deed goes unpunished.

I was too young to wrap my brain ‘round that bit of wisdom. It would be a few years ‘fore I fully understood, but when I did, it would be carved in my heart.

If lawn mowin’ was a sport in the Olympics, I’d just won the gold medal. I was up early and had our yard and Miz Johnson’s mowed ‘fore the thermometer even reached ninety-five degrees. I hadn’t slept much last night ‘cuz I was so excited. Today was the third of July, and me and Chilly had planned a ro-day.

I didn’t even mind mowin’ Miz Johnson’s yard for once. Mama’d volunteered me to do her yard work ever since Miz Johnson twisted her ankle on the garden hose in May. Sometimes Miz Johnson had to use two canes when she walked ‘cuz she felt poorly. I think she felt poorly all the time, but I didn’t dare say that to Mama.

Mama and Miz Johnson had been friends forever. They were roommates at the college in Lafayette and been best friends ever since. Their friendship was the biggest mystery in the whole world. It was like tryin’ to imagine a gator bein’ good buddies with a house cat. Mama was the nicest lady I knew, but Miz Johnson’s face’d crack like a boiled eggshell if she even tried to smile. ‘Sides that, Miz Johnson was older’n Mama. I didn’t know any of the fellas at school older’n me. It was one of those things that made ya go, "Hmmm."

Miz Johnson musta finally recognized my mowin’ skills after half the summer, ‘cuz today was the first time she didn’t sit inside and watch me outta the window to make sure I didn’t miss cuttin’ a single blade of grass. Ever’ yard day, for no reason at all, she’d raise up the window and holler at me in her loud teacher voice. That woman could holler so loud that, even over the mower, I could hear her voice.

Thomas Edison, you missed a whole patch over there!

Which I hadn’t missed at all.

But I just said, Yes, ma’am, and mowed over the exact place I’d already done. When my back was turned, I would mumble, Y’all need to borrow my glasses.

I knew better’n to sass a lady, ‘specially an older lady, ‘cuz if I got caught, Mama would cream my corn.

Thank goodness the mowin’ torture was over. I was done now and waitin’ for Chilly. I’d been waitin’ forever, it seemed. First, I tried to pass the time messin’ ‘round in the house watchin’ Mama and Mamere work on a quilt blanket for the church. I couldn’t watch TV in there, ‘cuz the wood frame boards that stretched the quilt took up all the room in the parlor. The women got mad when I walked in there and bumped into things.

I thought it’d be interestin’ to crawl underneath the quilt, lay on my back, and watch the needles and thread go up and down. Guess my feet kept gettin’ in the way, ‘cuz after a few minutes, Mama got all frustrated and asked, Thomas Edison, did y’all get your chores done? Did you mow our lawn and Miz Johnson’s, and did you sweep the front porch?

Does a one-leg duck swim in a circle? You know I did, I answered very unwisely.

What did I just hear come outta that mouth? asked Mama in a voice you don’t wanna hear in your worst nightmare.

I mean yes, ma’am, I humbly rephrased my answer. I always love to do my chores and make you happy. Nobody was lookin’, so I gave an army salute.

Now that’s the way a young man should answer, but if y'all push that head up against this quilt underside one more time, I’m gonna make you go clean out Mr. Dupuis’ chicken coop!

That did it. I grabbed Treasure Island and scooted on my belly out from under the quilt and over to the front door. I was scared to death of chickens. I couldn’t get outta the door fast ‘nough.

I dropped down under the chinaberry tree on the only piece of not-dead-yet grass for a session of Chilly-waitin’. I wasn’t really in the mood to read, so I put Treasure Island over my face to shade from the sun and started to fall asleep.

Usually, I could tell when Chilly was comin’ from ten yards away. Everybody always knew where he was ‘cuz Chilly never quit whistlin’. Never ever. Somehow today, I didn’t hear a thing. All a sudden, he was just there, standin’ over me like some big, giant tree. He scared me so bad I almost peed my britches. I hadn’t wet my pants since Billy Bob Tucker made me laugh so hard ‘cuz he ate a dog turd in second grade. He’d thought it was a Milk Dud candy.

The funny thing ‘bout Chilly and his whistle was he never whistled a song or a tune. It was like a suck-air-in-and-out kinda thing. He just changed the rhythm now’n then. Like he was the drummer in a whistler’s band. Mamere said it was a tic, like a foot wiggle or finger tappin’ a person does without even knowin’ they’re doin’ it.

One time at the church, we tried matchin’ Chilly’s whistle to a piano key, but it didn’t match nothin’. It’s a note ‘tween a note. It’s Chilly’s own musical creation.

His whistle drives most people crazy crazy. He claims he only whistles when his brain’s wanderin’ or he’s bored. But if that’s the truth, Chilly’s got the most bored, wanderin’ brain in town. Everybody likes Chilly and nobody wants to hurt his feelin’s, so they just let him keep on whistlin’.

Chilly’s my best friend in the whole world. His given name is William Charles Boudreaux, but nobody calls him that (‘cept his mama when he gets in trouble). Everybody calls him either Chilly Willy, Chill-Man, or just Chilly.

Chilly is BIG. Ain’t nothin’ fat ‘bout him; he’s just big. He’s like a big old, slow-movin’ steam engine. His plain face full of freckles’ll never let him win a beauty contest or stick out in a crowd. He has one of those naturally serious faces that needs a big effort to make his smile muscles work. But when Chilly smiles, it pushes those big cheeks up so high his eyes disappear. Mamere says that when he lets go of his smile, it lights up the world.

Ain’t nobody in the world who has a heart big as Chilly’s.

Then there’s Jovie.

Oh, boy . . . Jovie. She’s Chilly’s twin sister, but you’d have to dig deep down to the bone to find anything twin ‘bout those two.

Mary Jovinne Boudreaux’s older’n Chilly by five whole minutes. That there was a real source of pain and anguish for poor Chilly. She held that over his head like a woodcutter’s axe.

Me and Chilly and Jovie were born on the very same day almost fifteen years ago, October 4,1995. It’s like me and Chilly held hands in Heaven, said goodbye to Jesus, and jumped together into the world. The only problem was Jovie jumped too, somehow pushin’ ‘tween me and Chilly. Ever’ angel in Heaven sang for joy when Jovie was gone, ‘cuz now it was somebody else’s turn to deal with her.

Jovie’s as skinny as Chilly is big. If she stuck out her tongue and turned sideways, she’d look like a zipper. She has red hair and a face full of freckles that, on her, look like an angry rash or somethin’. She says they’re angel kisses, and if you disagree, she’ll punch you. I still have a bruise on my back where she punched me for takin’ a bite of her Laffy Taffy last week.

Jovie never smiles unless she’s doin’ her evil Cruella de’ Vil grin, and that’s usually when she gets Chilly in trouble. Causin’ Chilly grief seems to be her goal in life. She’s meaner’n a wet panther with his tail in a knot.

Chilly plopped down by me on the grass and didn’t say nothin’. His face looked like the clouds that come out right ‘fore a tornado. I suspected somebody forgot to feed him breakfast this mornin’. I squinted my eyes in the sun and looked closer at him from my place on the grass.

Dude, why y’all lookin’ so hangdog sad? Did Kellogg’s quit makin’ Froot Loops? Drew Brees sign with the Cowboys? Jovie borrow your toothbrush?

I was desperate to get to the bottom of the problem, ‘cuz Chilly’s bahbin was wastin’ our ro-day.

Worse’n y’all can even imagine. I broke Jovie’s arm.

It took me a minute to wrap my brain ‘round that bit of information and get a mental image in my head. When I finally did, Jesus forgive me, but I started to laugh so hard I couldn’t breathe. Tears ran down my face, and once again I almost peed my pants. No way could I stand up laughin’ hard as I was, so I just lay there, rollin’ on the ground. Chilly sat takin’ it all in.

When I finally got control, I hiccupped out my first thought, Go to bed! That’s awesome! How’d y'all do that? It’s ‘bout time Chilly got some licks in on that little demon.

"Was an accident. I was in Pinkie’s room fixin’ to snoop inside that old cigar box he tries to hide from us. You know, the one he told us if we ever touched, he’s feed us to the gators? Well, Jovie came sneakin’ up behind me, grabbed it, and ran. Little peeshwank can run faster’n poop through a goose. I was chasin’ her ‘round the table when Mama came in the door yellin’ for us to stop. Jovie tried to stop, but I kept goin’, and we ran into each other. She skidded on the rug and fell on her arm. I swear, her scream was loud ‘nough to scare old man Kessler to death, and he can’t hear a drumline playin’ in his parlor. ‘Course it’s all my fault, ‘cuz it’s Jooooovie, he mocked, so Mama said since Jovie can’t use her arm, I’m gonna be her right arm for the next six weeks."

What the heck does your mama mean by that? Do you have to follow her ‘round like a butler and do everythin’ for her? I asked, obviously not laughing anymore.

"Ohhh, yeah. Mama pretty much told me to give my soul to Jesus, ‘cuz my be-hind is Jovie’s." Chilly lay back on the ground in total defeat.

So how deep does this torture go? Do y’all have to wash her hair and floss her teeth for her?

"Mais, no! I gotta make her bed, clean her room, do the dishes . . . all her chores and mine too while she lays ‘round bein’ Queen Jovinne for the rest of the summer. She’ll have me bringin’ her popsicles and Kool-Aid, fluffin’ her pillow, and whatever else she can think up. She’ll make herself ‘bout as useless as a steerin’ wheel on a mule. I’m doomed."

Chilly was still makin’ a bahbin, but now I didn’t blame him at all.

How’d y’all manage to get away today? I asked.

Mama took her to the clinic to get her bone set and the cast on her arm. I snuck outta my room when they were goin’ down the road. Jovie was still squealin’ and squawkin’ and havin’ a duck fit, so I was the last thing on Mama’s mind.

We sat for a moment just starin’ at nothin’ and tryin’ to take it all in.

I sighed. Somehow, we had to deal with this death sentence.

Get on up then, and let’s make the most of the time we have today and hope your mama lets me come over to help you serve the Queen.

I sighed again. Life as we knew it was over. If Chilly got stuck with a jail sentence, it was mine to share with him. That’s what ya do for your very best friend.

2

Ro-Day and the Rougarou

Since poor Chilly’s days were numbered, we were determined to shake off the Jovie trouble and make the most of our last day of freedom. Ro-day, here we come!

We decided to check our crawfish and shrimp traps ‘fore the big July Fourth crawfish boil the Boudreaux family had ever’ year. Nobody threw a fais-do-do like the Boudreaux clan. I had an envie for Miz Marguerite’s gumbo that was drivin’ me wild.

We were lucky to live on Bayou Pierre where you can sometimes catch crawfish up ‘til early July. The best ones were caught in the spring, so this’d probably be the last catch of the summer.

We loped down the trail ‘side the bayou to Chilly’s house to get the cooler. Lucky for us, the shed that held all the fishin’ stuff wasn’t close to the house, so we didn’t have a very big chance of runnin’ into Miz Marguerite, Chilly’s mama. If that happened, we’d have to spend the rest of the day babysittin’ Jovie. I caught a frisson just thinkin’ ‘bout it.

Chilly and I learned how to make crawfish traps outta plastic nettin’ and zip ties in Scouts a while back. Our favorite bait was bacon, but if Mr. Bubba’d caught some catfish, we’d cut up the heads and use ‘em too. We grabbed the cooler and some bacon outta the old frigidaire and headed north.

Last night we’d set our traps in a slow-movin’ creek that fed into Bayou Pierre. The banks were rocky, and crawfish loved livin’ in the rocks ‘long the edge of the creek. We’d tied our traps with nylon string to some tree roots so they wouldn’t float away. As many times as we’d gone crawfishin’, I never got over the excitement of pullin’ out the trap to see how many we’d snagged.

Bayou Pierre was a stone’s throw from Chilly’s house, so it didn’t take long to get there. ‘sides that, we were super excited to see what we’d caught, so we hustled fast fast. Chilly got to his trap first.

"Cho-co, Tee! Help me pull this in. It’s hea-vee!"

I helped Chilly drag it up onto the bank and, sure ‘nough, it was chock-full of wiggly, snappin’ crawfish!

By the time we’d pulled in all the traps, our cooler was full and heavy with tomorrow’s supper. We put new bait in and put ‘em back in the water. It took ever’ muscle we both had to pick up the cooler for the walk back.

Daddy’ll have a happy hissy fit when he sees this haul! Chilly was grinnin’ like a dog who’d treed a squirrel. Once we drop off this cooler, we’ll get ‘nother one for the shrimp. It’s gonna be a bear gettin’ this home.

How ‘bout bein’ a little quieter when you breathe, Chill. You sound like Mamere huffin’ and puffin’. Y’all’s mama’ll hear us for sure.

I don’t huff and puff!

Do too!

Not.

Yup.

I breathed in and out like a wild boar, imitatin’ Chilly. We got to laughin’ so hard we almost dropped the cooler.

Pay attention, Tee! If we drop this, they’ll all get away, and it’ll take us an hour to find ‘em.

We got serious then, ‘cuz we was gettin’ closer to the fishin’ shed.

Shh! I hushed, I hear somebody movin’ ‘round in there! We’re gonna get caught!

It’s just Daddy messin’ ‘round with his fishin’ gear. He’s gonna go after some catfish in the mornin’ to fry for the party.

Sure ‘nough, Mr. Bubba was the one in the shed makin’ all the noise.

Yo, Daddy, look what we got for y’all to boil tomorrow!

Well hey, Chilly. Hey, Tee! You comin’ tomorrow with your mama’n ‘em?

We wouldn’t miss it for nothin’! It’s almost better’n Christmas!

Mr. Bubba laughed and shook his head. "Don’t know ‘bout that, but let’s see what y’all got in the cooler. Cho-co, cho-co! Look at that! Nice job! We gonna have ourselves a mean fais-do-do tomorrow! Y’all check the shrimp traps yet?"

We’re fixin’ to head that way now. I was just ‘fraid Mama’d see us and start rantin’ ‘bout Jovie again.

Mr. Bubba just shook his head. Y’all gotta be more careful with your sister, boy. She’s a scrawny little bit, and you can’t be so rough with her.

Aw, she started the whole thing! I was only tryin’ to get Pinkie’s stuff back from her. ‘Sides that, she’s meaner’n a gator and could probably take me down easy.

I heard the story from Mama. Y’all know how she is ‘bout Jovie. But I’m dang good at puttin’ a translation on the stories Mama tells. Be more careful next time. Now, go get those traps checked.

Mr. Bubba was a good man. Just like with Chilly, nobody called him by his given name, William, ‘cept his wife. To everybody else he was Big Bubba. He was big like Chilly, with the same face and eyes that disappeared when he smiled. His hair was dark brown and grayin’, but he didn’t have any of the freckles that Chilly and Jovie had. His skin was tanned dark and rough from the cane fields and livin’ on the bayou. His hands were a workin’ man’s hands.

Mr. Bubba’s hands were the biggest I’d ever seen, ‘cept for his twin brother’s. Biggun’s hands were like huge supper plates. They were strong, too. Biggun could wrap ‘em ‘round a small tree and snap it in half without breakin’ a sweat. Strange somehow, ‘cuz those hands could peel shrimp and crawfish faster’n anybody I knew. He could finish off a pile of crawfish, cob corn, and taters and be goin’ after more ‘fore the rest of the family got settled and took their first bite.

You boys better get on ‘fore it gets too dark. Y’all gotta get to those shrimp ‘fore they been caught too long.

There’s a rule in the bayou: you had to collect your catch within twenty-four hours. We said goodbye, put on our hustle, and headed out to the pond.

Trahan’s Pond was ‘bout a half mile from Chilly’s house and the best shrimp catchin’ place ‘round. Not too many people were brave ‘nough to set traps on Trahan’s Pond, ‘cuz most folks believed the whole place was haunted.

The pond and the land ‘round it had been in the Trahan family for long as anybody could ‘member. Finally, in 1901, Joseph Winkle Trahan built the fish camp on its west bank. Accordin’ to all the stories people told down through the years, it’d been a fine place in its day.

The property passed down through the family ‘til it got to brothers, Bobby Ray and Billy Joe Trahan. They were the last generation to use it, ‘round the time the Vietnam war was endin’. Both of ‘em had been in the army, and Billy Joe lost a leg from a grenade. When they came home, they just up and left their house in Lafayette and moved out to the camp for good. I guess they wanted some peace and quiet after hearin’ all those bombs.

The brothers pretty much lived off the land. They didn’t have a phone or a TV, just an old radio. They came into town only if Billy Joe was havin’ trouble with his leg and needed Doc Munroe to get him some relief or to make groceries at Gautreaux’s.

One day somebody noticed they hadn’t been to town in a while, so Sheriff Eugene Lloyd Sr. went out to see how they was doin’. He’d been a brave man, ‘cuz everybody knew those old boys’d shoot first and ask questions later.

What the sheriff found was terrible. Their bodies had been slashed and pulled apart, and poor old Doc Munroe had to do an autopsy and put ‘em back together as best he could. He said it was a wild animal attack, but everybody knew there weren’t no animals wild ‘nough to eat the Trahan brothers.

That all happened ‘bout fifty years ago, but even today, nobody goes out to Trahan’s Pond who’s heard the story.

Chilly and I loved shrimp, so we took our chances. We’d say a prayer and do our good luck handshake. Even though our hearts was poundin’ and hands was shakin,’ we could empty those traps fast as lightnin’.

Chilly laid the big boat light we’d brought on the rocks so we could see what we were doin’. We never, ever looked over at the old fish camp. It was covered with kudzu vines, and the roof was sagging under their weight. It looked like the perfect home for a few haints. We’d seen it before in the daytime, and we didn’t need to take a chance seein’ a haint over there at night. No sir, we had more brains’n that.

Just as we was pullin’ out the last trap though, we heard it. Chilly dropped the trap and we looked at each other.

What’s that? I asked Chilly. I don’t live in the bayou, so he’d be the one to know. I heard a growl in the bushes. Listen! Don’t move!

The growl came again, only louder and fiercer. We shot up, scramblin’ to get outta there fast fast. Chilly grabbed the boat light as we started to run. We bumped right smack into each other and fell backward on the squishy ground. We were goners for sure.

Then we heard the laughin’. Not just any laughin’. A laugh that starts in the belly, just like Chilly’s. Only Chilly wasn’t doin’ no laughin’. Outta the bushes jumped Pinkie Boudreaux, Chilly’s older brother, still tryin’ to growl ‘tween fits of laughin’.

Well, looky here! I done got me two peeshwanks! Y’all want a noonie? asked the evil Pinkie, holdin’ his achin’ sides and hardly able to stand.

Me and Chilly had a hard time sittin’ up off the ground ‘cuz our hearts were poundin’ so hard. We were both so relieved, we couldn’t even holler at him.

I heard what y’all did to Jovie today, Chill-Man. ‘Bout time that little peeshwank got put’n her place, Pinkie said happily while he tried to high-five Chilly.

I hate you, Stinker Boudreaux! choked Chilly, swattin’ Pinkie’s hand away. Pinkie didn’t care. He just brother-punched Chilly on the arm.

What? You gonna tell Mama on me now? Or y’all gonna try to break my arm too?

Y’all almost killed us with the fear, said Chilly. We thought you were the rougarou! I wanna punch your ugly face and sit on you ‘til you puke.

We finished helpin’ each other up while givin’ Pinkie the stink eye. It took a while to catch our breath. I wanted Chilly to make good on his threat to sit on Pinkie. He deserved to be punished.

Then, for no explainable reason at all, Chilly turned and stared right over at the fish camp—on purpose! He got real quiet, even his breathin’ was quiet. Me and Pinkie looked at each other in amazement.

Y’all havin’ yourself a ‘think,’ Chill? asked Pinkie.

Yeah, gimme a minute. 

Pinkie and I sat down on a rottin’ log and waited. Chilly didn’t get the thinks very often. When he did, you knew there were some serious thoughts goin’ on in his head. It was no use hurryin’ him.

His thinks reminded me of the kidney stone I passed last Christmas. ‘Spite of the worst pain in the world, it took its own sweet time to work its way out. Just like that stone, Chilly’s thinks couldn’t be rushed. Sometimes I wondered if his brain felt like it was passin’ a kidney stone.

I kept myself occupied watchin’ Pinkie get out his knife and start whittlin’ a stick. Pinkie was mostly a real good guy and a pretty decent brother to Chilly. He was Chilly’s protector, even though Chilly probably matched Pinkie’s weight pound for pound.

Pinkie had the red hair, fair skin, and blue eyes of his mama. If the truth be told, he looked more like Jovie’s twin’n Chilly did.

I never understood how scrawny, freckle-faced Pinkie forever had girls fallin’ all over him. I’ll admit, when Pinkie smiled and his blue eyes lit up, he was a regular charmer. He had a laugh just like Chilly’s, a laugh that made everybody else laugh. I guess that’s what made him handsome. As Mamere says, handsome is as handsome does. I think she heard somethin’ like that in a movie.

Pinkie worked at Gautreaux’s and then helped his daddy gator huntin’ during the season in September. Gator season was when the Boudreaux clan made most of their livin’. Gators were big money in the bayou. Between Big Bubba and Biggun Boudreaux, the family owned a whole lotta gator tags. Gator tags meant money.

The sad thing was Bubba and Biggun had a bad fight over those tags a few years ago. The brothers hadn’t spoken to each other since.

Finally, Chilly was done. He turned ‘round with a most serious look on his face and sat down next to us on the log. He rested his head in his hands like it was too heavy for his neck to hold up. He still wasn’t talkin’ even then, so we had to drag the thoughts outta him.

So, Chilly, y’all gonna tell us ‘bout your ‘think,’ or do we have to hold ya down and beat it out? threatened Pinkie.

We was still sittin’ on scary ground and had waited long ‘nough. I got ready to stand up and help Pinkie make good on the beatin’ threat. 

Okay, said Chilly, but it might make us all regret this night, he paused one second longer to take a deep breath. It’s time me and Tee learn the truth. We’re almost men, and tellin’ us is the right thing to do, Pinkie. You’re my big brother, and y’all have an obligation to me to tell me ‘bout life.

The truth ‘bout what? Whadda ya want to know? You already know everythin’ ‘bout the Trahans and their killin’. There’s nothin’ left to tell.

"Nah, I’m not talkin’ ‘bout that. We need to know the truth ‘bout the rougarou. Mama always tells us to ‘hush up’ and not even say the word, so nobody ever talks ‘bout it. We heard at Bible Camp the rougarou is what killed the Trahans. Sister Abigale heard some fellas talkin’ ‘bout it, and after she crossed herself ‘bout a hundred times, she sent us all home for the rest of the day.

She told us not to come back ‘til we could keep our thoughts on Jesus. There’s gotta be somethin’ we don’t know if the grown-ups won’t let us talk ‘bout it or answer our questions.

Me and Pinkie picked our jaws up offa the ground at this whole slew of words comin’ outta Chilly’s mouth. We always teased Chilly ‘bout bein’ a man of few words, and he’d just said ‘nough to last the rest of the year.

Now it was time for Pinkie to do his own thinkin’. I’m sure he couldn’t believe Chilly’d asked him that question. His whittlin’ knife disappeared into his back pocket. He fiddled with the stick while he thought ‘bout how to deal with this dilemma.

Well, then, Pinkie finally said, let’s start by y’all tellin’ me what you already know. That way I can fix what you get wrong, and I’ll know where to start tellin’ the rest of the story. The true story.

Chilly and me stared at each other, both darin’ the other to go first.

Finally, Chilly said, Mama’s crazy and won’t whisper a word ‘bout the rougarou. Tee, you gotta go first. Mamere has more sense in her little finger’n my mama’s got in her whole arm. ‘Sides that, Mamere’s a Creole lady, and they know everythin’ ‘bout the swamp. She musta told you somethin’.

Chilly was right. Mamere was wise, and she probably coulda told us all ‘bout the rougarou if she had a mind to. She was, in fact, the one who’d told me the little bit I knew. I tried to keep my voice from shakin’, ‘cuz this was serious business.

Okay, but Mamere warns not to speak too loud, or we’d get the rougarou’s attention and bring him down on us. A person never wants the rougarou to notice ‘em.

Pinkie and Chilly scooted close to me ‘til our shoulders were touchin’. My voice was barely ‘bove a whisper, and the bullfrogs were raisin’ a racket. I hoped they could hear me, ‘cuz I wasn’t gonna risk talkin’ no louder.

"I heard some older boys talk ‘bout it at Bible Camp when I was ‘bout five. I was so scared, I didn’t go back in after lunch and ran all the way home. I ‘bout scared Mamere to death when I ran into the kitchen, bawlin’ like a baby and hidin’ my face in her dress. She thought I was bein’ murdered the way I was carryin’ on. I finally told her what those boys said. She had to take me out on the porch and sit me in her lap to stop my shakin’ and cryin’.

"She said not to listen to anybody but her ‘bout things like that. The rougarou is not somethin’ to talk ‘bout outside your own house, and never somethin’ to make a joke ‘bout.

"Mamere told the real reason we put thirteen buttons on the stoop outside all our doors durin’ a full moon. Up ‘til then, she had told me the buttons were for the tooth fairy just in case she needed to mend her dress. But that wasn’t the reason at all. The buttons helped to keep the rougarou from gettin’ inside the house.

"I don’t know how, and I didn’t ask. She said I was safe long as I always kept Lent and was home ‘fore dark on a full moon. She said there was nothin’ more I needed to know, and—for dang sure—I wasn’t gonna ask her any more questions.

I slept with the light on in the parlor the whole next week, and for a long time, I ended up in the bed with Mama after a really bad dream. That’s ‘bout all I can tell you. I guess I couldn’t handle hearin’ no more details back then. But if it’s somethin’ Chilly and I need to know now, ‘cuz we’re almost men, tell us, Pinkie.

Pinkie’d been