The Rougarou - Part 1
Houma, Louisiana, July, 1985
Tara Stillman shouldered her black Guess purse, closed the door to her brown Pinto, and bent down to the side mirror to check her make up. She stood up, tucked her straight blonde hair behind her ears, and walked around the front of the car. Tara was a junior at Ellender Memorial, and she scored a baby-sitting job with the Miller’s this past year.
Mr. Miller worked for her dad, Don, who married Sandy Lockhorn back in 1964. A year later, he started a contracting business called Stillman’s Quality Painting and Contracting. He hired Tim Miller on as a project manager back in April of ‘84, and the two hit it off pretty well. Tim and his wife, Diana, wanted to start going out a little more, you know, rekindle the ole flame, so they were in need of a sitter for their seven-year-old son, Eddie. Don volunteered Tara, and the rest as they say, was history. Tara liked the gig okay. It was nice to have some money in her pocket, even though little Eddie could be a real snot at times.
She walked down the brick sidewalk and up the wooden steps of the dark stained porch and knocked on the door. She heard the pattering of little feet on the wood floor, as Eddie scurried to answer the door. She could hear him fiddling with the lock, which he was finally able to turn over. The door opened and a boy with a flat top and two missing front teeth was there to greet her.
“Tara!” Eddie ran and gave her left leg a tight embrace. Eddie was always excited to see her--at first anyway. Then after a while, he would descend into his cave of brattiness and not climb out til morning. One time, Tara decided to do the whole “breakfast for dinner” thing and made Eddie pancakes. When she was done serving him his food, she walked out to go to the bathroom. When she returned about three minutes later, there was Eddie, standing on the kitchen island with a bottle of empty syrup. Its contents were dripping from the ceiling. Eddie had wanted to see how far it would squirt out the bottle, and he thought the ceiling would be a good target. When Mr. and Mrs. Miller got home later that night, Tara told them what had happened. They assured her they would deal with it--yeah, right. Then there was this other time that Tara walked away from her glass of sweet tea. Eddie saw his opportunity. He poured baking soda in it and waited for her reaction.
“Hey bud!” Tara rubbed his head like she was petting a dog. “Where’s your mom and dad?”
“Tara? That you?” She could hear Mr. Miller from the kitchen.
“Yessir, it’s me.”
Eddie let go of her leg and ran to the kitchen. Tara followed, walking through the dining room to her left, and through to the kitchen to the right. Mr. Miller was there by the fridge, sucking down a Budweiser before they hit the road. He was a ruddy looking man with a nice tan and head full of brown curls.
Mrs. Miller was at the sink, loading the last of the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. Tara always thought Mrs. Miller was very pretty. She had strawberry blonde hair that seemed to wave at you when she walked. Her complexion was a little on the fair side, but her blue eyes were her most striking feature.
“Hey, honey.” Mrs. Miller reached for a dishtowel that was hanging on the oven handle, dried her hands, and gave Tara a hug. “I’ve got some spaghetti in a pot there on the stove for when y’all get hungry. We should be back around 10:30 or 11.”
Tara looked at her watch. It was 5:52 p.m.
“Also, Mr. and Mrs. Walker are home this evening, so if you need anything, just walk next door and ask.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Oh, and bedtime is 8:30,” Mr. Miller interjected.
Tara had been sitting for the Miller’s for just over a year now. She knew the routine, but they still deemed it necessary to spell it out for her. She guessed it’s just what parents did. Made them feel better about leaving their kids behind while they go out.
“Yessir.”
“Thanks, dear,” Mrs. Miller gave her a smile.
“You two run along. Don’t want y’all being late. We’ll have fun as always.” Tara smiled back.
Mr. Miller escorted his wife by the arm and out of the kitchen. Tara heard the door open and shut, and she could hear the sound of their voices flutter off into the distance.
That evening her and Eddie played basketball, He-Man, and watched an episode of the Twilight Zone. 8:30 rolled around and Tara proceeded to get Eddie ready for bed. Eddie wasn’t having it. He started to get into one of his little snotty moods.
“Eddie, you need to go brush your teeth. It’s 8:30. Time for bed.” Tara got off the couch, walked over to the television, and switched it off.
Eddie, who was sitting on the floor about three feet away from the television, started to mount his protest. “But I’m not tired! Please let me stay up and watch the next episode. I won’t tell mom or dad, honest to goodness.” It was more like “honeth to goodneth” with his missing front teeth. Eddie peered up at her and gave his best puppy dog eyes.
“No way, kiddo. I like the money I get for this gig.” Tara held out her hands to help him up. Eddie scooted on his booty, turned away from her, and crossed his arms.
“You’re mean. A mean buttface poo poo head.”
“Eddie, let’s not end tonight on a bad note.” Tara held out her arms again.
“Buttface poo poo head! Buttface poo poo head!” He chanted it over and over, and louder and louder.
“Okay, we will do this the hard way.” Tara grabbed Eddie and threw him over her shoulder. He kicked and screamed and flailed, all the while continuing his chant of “buttface poo poo head.” Tara walked out of the living room, into the hallway, and then turned and headed up the stairs.
“Are you ready to walk up the stairs on your own, or do I have to carry you like a baby.”
“Buttface poo poo head!”
“Okay, like a baby.”
Tara lugged him up the stairs and into his bathroom. She set him down on the bathroom counter next to the sink. “Are you ready to do the right thing and brush your teeth?”
Eddie blew a raspberry and splattered spit all over Tara’s face.
“That’s it, you little monster. I’m going to tell your mom and dad.”
Eddie grabbed the tube of toothpaste next to him, which was uncapped, and squeezed, hard. Toothpaste shot out of the tube in a blue snake, and slithered its way into Tara’s neck and hair.
“You freaking little brat,” she gasped. “I’m gonna bend you over my knee!”
“Do it and I’ll tell.” Eddie stuck out his tongue.
Tara stepped away from Eddie and whipped a towel off the rack by the bathtub. She wet the towel in the sink and began to wipe the blue goo off of her.
Eddie sat there on the counter, arms crossed and head down. She glared at him so hard, Eddie swore her eyes were burning holes in him.
“I hope your dad belts you so hard that your butt blisters and you can’t sit down and take a crap for a week.” Tara worked some of the toothpaste out of her hair.
Eddie let out a rebellious hmph.
“Better yet,” Tara paused. “I hope the Rougarou gets you.”
Eddie’s head popped up like a jack-in-the box.
“Roog-a-what?”
“Rou-ga-rou.”
“What’s a Roo-ga-roo?” Eddie scrunched his brow.
“You mean your momma and daddy haven’t told you about the Rougarou? Oh, you of all the little boys in this town should hear about the Rougarou.” Tara eased her way over to the counter where Eddie sat. She placed both hands out beside his, leaned in close and looked him dead in the eyes.
“The Rougarou is the dog of death. He’s pale white in color, and wanders the streets of small towns like this one, looking for someone to deliver him from his wretched curse. Once he picks you out, he will torment you until you kill him.”
“Ohhhh scary.” Eddie rolled his eyes and a sarcastic scowl came over his face.
“I ain’t done yet.” Tara grimaced. “When the first drop of blood is drawn from the deathblow, the Rougarou will turn back into a person, and will reveal to his attacker his real name. Before the dying person takes their last breath, they will warn their deliverer that he or she can’t mention a word of this to nobody whatsoever for an entire year. If you do, you will suffer the same fate and become the Rougarou.”
“It ain’t true.” Eddie’s eyes looked away.
“It is so. I heard that just last year over in Larose, a man reported being followed and pestered by a white dog while he was jogging one morning. The dog started to become violent, so he trailed off into the woods, got a big ole stick and went to town on that dog. Next thing you know, the man went missing.”
Tara could tell Eddie was getting scared. He started to twitch and fidget, and wouldn’t look her in the eye.
Good. Maybe he’s so scared, he’ll just go to bed.
“I think I’m going to brush my teeth and go to bed,” Eddie said
“Good.” Tara removed her arms from the counter and backed away.
Eddie jumped down, grabbed his toothbrush from the holder, squirted the blue goo on it, and then scrubbed away. When he was done, Tara walked with him to his room.
“Want me to tuck you in?” Tara asked.
“No, I don’t need you,” Eddie huffed.
“Okay, suit yourself.”
Tara watched as Eddie wobbled his way to the bed, hoisted his foot up, and climbed in. He pulled back his Transformer covers, nestled in, and rested his head against his pillow.
“Goodnight Tara.”
“Goodnight Eddie. Oh and Eddie?”
“Yeah?”
“You might want to leave your closet light on. I also hear that the Rougarou likes to sneak into bad little boy’s rooms at night and nip at their heels.”
“Shut up, Tara.” Eddie rolled over so she couldn’t see the fear in his eyes.
“Goodnight, sleep tight, and don’t let the Rougarou bite.” Tara giggled.
“Shut up! Goodnight and leave me alone.”
Tara backed out the door and shut it with a gentle click.
When he was sure she was gone, Eddie pulled out his G.I. Joe flashlight from under his pillow, flicked it on, and did a spot search of the premises from the safety of his Transformer sheets. Seeing all was clear, he lay down and tried to go to sleep. But all he could think about was the Rougarou.
(Stay tuned for part 2 next week!)
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