Hanging Mary

Joe Stout

Jim Parker aimed his taw at a red marble near the edge of the circle drawn in the dirt behind the church. With a practiced motion, he thrust his finger forward, firing the big blue marble across the dirt. It picked up speed, before an unseen dip sent it off course, grazing the red and sending the taw rolling out of the circle.

Across the circle, his opponent, Henry Varsen, breathed a sigh of relief and picked up his own taw, a swirl of green and yellow known around Erwin as “The Booger.” Getting down on his belly, he lined up his shot.

“Hey!”

Varsen looked up. “I’m shooting a dead duck here!”

The new arrival, a boy named Amos Little, shook his head. “Not when you hear what I just heard. They’re going to hang an elephant!”

“You’re lying.” Andy Wise had been leaning against the wall of the church, waiting for his turn to play.

Amos shook his head. “I ain’t. I was down at the Clinchfield station and heard Mr. Eldritch talking about it.” 

The other boys looked at each other. Eldritch, the stationmaster, was a stern, serious man who wasn’t known for making jokes.

“How in the hell do you hang an elephant?” Andy asked. “You’d have to cut down half a mountain to build the gallows!”

Amos shrugged. “All I know is the murdering beast is coming in on a circus train, and they’re going to hang it down at the rail yard.”

Henry reached for his taw and stood, slipping the marble in his pocket. “Reckon we ought to go see what’s going on.”

“But if you’re lying, Shrimp,” Andy stared down at the younger Amos, “You’re going for a swim in the Nolachuckey.”

Amos pulled himself to his full height. “I ain’t no liar!”

The entire town seemed to be heading for the rail yard. As the boys arrived, a circus train was pulling in, parking at the edge of the yard by one of the massive work derricks. “Sparks World Famous Shows” was painted on the yellow cars, along with pictures of various animals and performers. On the last car, a large elephant was painted.

“That’s her,” Amos said, pointing as they ran across the network of tracks. 

As they got closer and weaved through the crowd, they picked up scraps of conversation from the adults around him.

“Killed her trainer in Kingsport…”

“Threw him fifty feet, then stomped his head like a grape…”

“Went crazy and tried to trample the crowd…”

“Had to call in the National Guard to get her under control…”

“Tried to shoot her, but her hide is too thick…”

“Eight dead, four of them kids…”

“No one will let Sparks come to town if she’s in the show…”

The crowd crushed tighter around them, and the boys looked at each other.

“We ain’t gonna get to see nothin’ at this rate,” Jim said.

Andy nodded toward a nearby boxcar. “Let’s climb up there.”

They scrambled up the ladder, taking seats with their legs swinging over the side. The doors on the last car were opened, and the elephant was led out to a chorus of boos from the crowd.

“There must be a thousand people down there,” Henry said.

“More like two,” Andy replied, leaning forward for a closer look at the elephant.

The trainer led the elephant to the massive crane used for lifting engines back onto the tracks, and a pair of yard workers wrapped a chain around her neck. As the crane’s engine started to chug, Amos covered his eyes with his hands. Henry elbowed him.

“Come on, you sissy.”

Mary slowly rose off the ground, her front legs lifting first. As her back legs moved off the yard’s gravel, she started to kick, realizing her predicament. The chain began to swing, her body moving under the crane’s boom. Then came a snap, and the giant elephant crashed to the ground.

Under them, the boxcar shook from the impact, and Amos bounced toward the edge. Henry grabbed his shirt and pulled him back, holding him until the shaking died down.

“What happened,” Jim asked.

“Chain wasn’t strong enough for the job,” Andy pointed at the crane, a ripped link dangling from the end of the swinging chain. Already, yard workers were running toward the warehouse to get a replacement.

“I thought if the rope broke, it means they’re innocent,” Henry said.

“That’s only for humans,” Andy replied. “This here’s a man-killing elephant. They’re gonna make sure she’s good and dead.”

The new chain was rigged, and the elephant lifted into the sky again. Dazed by the previous fall, she didn’t fight this time, her weight slowly swinging the chain until the big gray body went limp.

After the crowd left, the boys climbed off the boxcar and walked toward the elephant’s body. A man was standing next to it, studying the dead animal.

Amos recognized him. “It’s Doc Harvey, the vet.”

The trim young doctor looked up. “Hello, Boys. I was just having a look to see if I could figure out what caused her to kill that man.”

He beckoned the boys closer, and they crowded around as he lifted the elephant’s lip and pointed to an area on the gum. “That’s an abscess, tells me the tooth was infected. Probably hurt like the dickens.” He put the lip down and pointed to a mark on the cheek. “I think what happened was the trainer prodded her right here, right over that abscess. It caused her so much pain she went a little crazy.”

“What does that mean,” Andy asked.

“Means the chain was right,” Henry replied. “This old elephant was innocent.”

Joe Stout is an east Tennessee based emerging writer who focuses on short stories and flash fiction. His work has appeared in the anthology, “Halloweenthology: Trick-or-Treat,” from Wicked Shadows Press and the Non-Binary Review. When he’s not writing, he enjoys exploring the mountains and spending time with his children. You can follow him on Facebook at Joe Stout Writing or Instagram @joestoutwriting.