Chapter Seven

Jeb Hogg Hell

S everal days had passed since his worthless daughter had put up her last fight. Jeb woke up this morning with an odd tingling sensation on his arm where the bitch had bitten him. His throat felt dry, and when he drank water from the jug, it felt uncomfortable to swallow. It didn’t help that his head ached, and he was tired. He had a big money fight coming up and it would be a long day working with the dogs. He didn’t have time for this shit.

“Boys, where the hell are you?” he yelled as soon as he left the bedroom.

The youngest stuck his head around the corner. “We’re here, Da. We already fed and watered the dogs. Ma has breakfast made.”

He turned the corner, and his wife, her face tear-streaked, didn’t look up. It irritated the shit out of him, and he walked over and smacked her on the back of the head. “What’s your problem?” he growled.

“Nothing,” she muttered and wiped her cheeks. “I made your favorite.”

“And it most likely tastes like shit because all your food tastes like shit.”

She visibly trembled, and that pissed him off more. His arm swung out, and he caught her on the jaw. She went to her knees, completely overreacting, and covered her face and cried.

“Get the hell out of here,” he yelled. “I want to enjoy my meal even if it’s dog slop.”

She ran, and that gave him something to smile about. If she wasn’t careful, she would end up like Carrie.

The boys stayed quiet through the confrontation, and for some reason, even that irritated him. “What you starin’ at?” he demanded.

“Nothin’, Da,” they said in unison.

“Nothin’, my ass,” he grumbled. One of the boys dropped his cup on the floor, and the sound rang through Jeb’s head, digging the headache in deeper. He ate the slop and left his plate and cup behind.

When he walked outside, the sunlight seemed too bright. He squinted to avoid it and blamed it on the headache. The brindle met him at the door. Jeb didn’t bend to pet him as he usually would. He went outside and took a piss over the side of the porch.

The dogs started barking when he approached the barn, and the sound was too loud. It increased his agitation even more. He opened the barn and had to step back at the smell. If he didn’t feel better after an hour’s work, he would go to bed, and his sons could handle the rest of the day. They weren’t good for much, but he was most likely coming down with something, and they could make do.

He fed his dogs just enough to keep them in fighting shape and, at the same time, keep them hungry. A few hours before a fight, he gave them gunpowder wrapped in a piece of meat to make them meaner. When they won, they got a good meal. Sometimes, they weren’t hungry after eating part of the dog they killed. The dogs were very aware that Jeb didn’t like to lose.

He kicked a couple of the lower cages, deciding which dog he would bring out first. He chose one to start the morning’s training and pulled him out, slip-knotted the leash, and put it over his head.

“Grab one of the bait dogs,” he told his sons, “And let’s see if this one lasts a few rounds.”

When he stepped from the barn, the light attacked his eyes again. He felt someone watching him, spying and minding his business. He gazed around the property without noticing anything unusual. His irritation spiked higher .

“It’s probably that old bitch,” he muttered under his breath. The woman had been a thorn in his side since he moved here. She was one of those do-gooders, and she was the reason his daughter deserved what she got. If the old woman wouldn’t have meddled, he wouldn’t have had to beat Carrie. He thought about the bite on his arm. No way did she grow a backbone without help, and he knew exactly who helped her.

As the day dragged on, beads of sweat covered his skin, and he felt chilled. He made it a few hours before he went inside and fell into bed fully clothed. He had no idea how long he slept when the nightmare started. A surreal image of Carrie flashed in and out. The dogs attacked her and took her to the ground. He cheered them on until they were covered in blood, and Carrie’s body was gone. His eyes popped open. There was movement in the corner of his room. He sprang from the bed and grabbed his shotgun, firing it at the shadow.

Nothing was there. His head ached for real now. No one in his worthless family came to check on him. He drank more water, but it didn’t go down right, and he threw the jug against the wall. The noise of the plastic hurt his eardrums, and he swore.

Where the fuck was his family? He fell back into bed. On the edge of sleep, a sense of dread crept in, and his eyes opened. The old bitch stood over him, her expression haunting .

“I’m going to kill you,” he whispered before closing his eyes.