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The boy with no name was dragging a body under his arms towards a massive lake a hundred yards away. Wind swirled around him and the rain poured down in sheets. He heaved with the strain, but pushed on anyway. After all, there was another corpse to dispose of. He had killed them in cold blood. It was an impulse, really… he hadn’t meditated on it in any way. The way they talked was just starting to grind his gears. They had gone on this road trip together as a way to escape, have fun, but the boy with no name was not having fun with his friends. They wouldn’t stop talking about Lake Pontchartrain, some curse… and the crawfish they’d had earlier.
“It was good as hell, man. You shoulda had it. Why’d you get the chicken anyhow?”
If he had to do it all again, he would in a heartbeat.
They were ignorant fools, Darius and Noland. The two of them only ever thought about themselves, or their weed, or their girlfriends. The boy with no name didn’t do drugs, or have a girlfriend. Frankly, their lives were of no interest to him. If he’d thought about that before agreeing to take this trip, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up in the position he was in. Maybe he wouldn’t be dragging Noland’s bloody corpse toward the shore of Lake Pontchartrain in a torrential downpour.
It didn’t matter now. He was in this. How would he get out of it?
He pondered his plan as he hoisted Noland over the rocky side of the shore towards the water. Well, how did it happen? Well, they were driving down the Louisiana 55 when they decided to get food. After that, they kept driving, until they got lost and had to pull over to reorient. That’s when it all went down. That’s when he snapped, pulled out his pocket knife, and attacked his two best friends. Only friends, really. So much for friends. What are they even good for?
This truth would be important to keep in mind when telling his story. A sprinkle of the truth would make his lie far more believable… of course, would they believe him either way? He was a dumb kid without even the flakiest of alibis. He scoffed at the thought and hoisted Noland off the bank into the choppy water. His body sank, and he hoped it would stay that way. He was an amateur when it came to murder, so how was he to know for sure?
Crawfish. He couldn’t stop thinking about the crawfish. Maybe that had some part in his story… That’s when he remembered a jingle he’d heard on the radio for some kind of tourist agency.
Come down to Lake Pontchartrain! Rest your soul and feed your brain!
It had a nice ring to it, and the boy muttered it to himself a few times, leaning against the wet rocks and trying to catch his breath. Come down to Lake Pontchartrain. Come down to Lake Pontchartrain. He could work with that. Suddenly, lightning struck the middle of the lake and the boy with no name jumped up and away from the shore. Eyes wide, he stared out into the lake, wondering how such power could be possible. He was pathetic compared to that lightning. It killed without thought, and it was easy and absolute. He was still wondering if he was even going to get away with it, or if he would live a life in prison.
Shuddering, he focused his attention on the second corpse. Darius was a fairly large guy, and he knew it was not going to be easy moving him. He decided instead of dragging the body, he would try rolling it towards the shore. As he began adjusting the body’s position for easy rolling, he kept thinking of his story. He remembered the lightning and all its glory, the raw power. It made him feel as though a god itself lived within the estuary. A god… or a monster.
He couldn’t help but stare at the drenched, dirty corpse of Darius as he pushed him towards the shore. He looked disgusting; the dark skin of his neck was peeling where it had been cut, his eyes were yellowish, and his teeth were covered in mud. An idea struck him and he closed his eyes, playing it out in his head.
They’re driving down the highway in the pouring rain… they stop to read the map… a man comes out of nowhere and slams the car, screaming… screaming what? He hummed to himself, stopping to grunt and shove Darius a little further, then continued his tune. Suddenly, the words placed themselves onto the tune.
Come down to Lake Pontchartrain! Rest your soul and feed your brain.
“Nananana na na na…” He mumbled repeatedly, mulling it over in his mind. Somehow the phrase didn’t seem complete.
Another bolt of lightning struck the lake, and the boy with no name jumped. He was awestruck by how the water was so horribly roaring, even lightning itself couldn’t stop it. He shoved Darius up to the edge of the rocks and collapsed, exhausted, against them. A wave crashed near him and he shut his eyes as the water jettisoned over the rock outcropping, only missing him because he was behind the rock. It was amazing what the water could be, in a thunderstorm. What a wonderful place, Lake Pontchartrain.
Come down to Lake Pontchartrain! Rest your soul and feed your brain! That’s where you will get to see everything the water can be.
The boy with no name leapt up in the rain, throwing his fist in the air. “Yes!” he screamed. He’d figured it out. That was the mantra. That would be his story! Invigorated by his realization, he hopped up onto the rocks and began pulling Darius’s massive corpse over them. He imagined a man—no, a creature—coming out of the swells. Darius and Noland are beckoned in by its call and swallowed by the roaring lake, but the boy with no name doesn’t fall for it. He chuckled— maybe it was the crawfish. Crawfish till the bitter end.
It took considerable effort, but he managed to hoist Darius’s corpse over the rocks and roll it into the water. Darius and Noland, together again. Two fools living a fool’s life, only to die a fool’s death. Resting at last with the “terror in the swells”— devoured by the lake itself.
“Farewell, friends,” said the boy with no name. “I hope the road trip was worth it.”
He wandered back to his car, dazed, but unsure if there was anything else he could do to save his hide. If he was caught, at this point, he was caught… and if he wasn’t, well, all the better. He could return to Missouri, console his friends’ grieving girlfriends, and maybe even have a happy life. Anything would be better than the life he had before. Even prison. A man doesn’t kill unless he’s ready to risk it all.
Briefly, he wondered if he needed to come up with a reason for why his car had been so far out in the woods… well, perhaps the road was flooded so he took back roads, but they flooded too. The rain was heavy, after all. He was sure there were some floods in the area. He hopped, drenched, into his Camry, and figured he should do something about the bloodstains in his back seat. Well, that was a problem for another time. For now, he would hide the car, and when the police came looking for him, he knew what he would say. He stuck his key in the ignition and smiled, gazing out at the lake.
He would tell them all that he knew. If they had any more questions, they could go and ask Lake Pontchartrain.