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    Skettleton's War
    Skettleton's War
    Skettleton's War
    Ebook157 pages2 hours

    Skettleton's War

    By Carl Reader

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    About this ebook

    Joshua Skettleton, a narcoleptic Confederate soldier, is bat-shit crazy. The hope that he'll see his son Josh again and the friendship of another soldier, Jeb Charles, help him to cling to some semblance of humanity while the rank butchery, race, religious hatred and greed of the rich tear his soul apart and nearly destroy his body. Two separate stories intertwine in the book, that of his arrival home and his fight to remain alive in some of the most horrific battles of the Civil War - with the help of Jeb Charles. In alternating chapters, we see Skettleton's progress as he travels the final six miles home and then flash back to his participation in the battles of the Wilderness, Spotsylvania Courthouse, Petersburg and more. His attempt to reach home is interrupted by Lester and Constance Engles, a mad couple who give him food and shelter in exchange for a sympathetic ear and the skill he exhibits with his Mississippi rifle, while exploiting him for their own ends. When the book switches to the battle scenes, Skettleton suffers from the uncontrollable urge to fall asleep in the middle of the horror, which allows him to cope and stay alive. Jeb Charles, who's been with him since the beginning of the war, keeps Skettleton alive despite the man's mental illness and propensity to doze off at the worst possible moment. Truly horrific battle scenes and the unfolding tale of his time coming home combine in the end as Skettleton discovers just how mad war has made him, but by then it's too late to salvage even a small piece of himself. War, religion and greed combine to plunge him into a Southern fantasy world where a racist horror is the norm and reality becomes a dream.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCarl Reader
    Release dateAug 21, 2015
    ISBN9781311129680
    Skettleton's War
    Author

    Carl Reader

    Carl Reader trained as a journalist at Temple University and has worked as a reporter, photographer and editor in Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Montana. He's published short stories in literary magazines and on the Internet and has self-published a children's Christmas story called THE TWELFTH ELF OF KINDNESS.That book was partially published in Russia under the Sister Cities program. He's also self-published a novella called THE PERSECUTION OF WILLIAM PENN, which has been well-received in several college libraries. He works as a professional photographer and freelance writer.

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      Book preview

      Skettleton's War - Carl Reader

      Skettleton’s War

      By

      Carl Reader

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright Carl Reader

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be

      re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with

      another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it

      with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased

      for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your

      own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      All characters in this novel are purely fictional.

      Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is strictly coincidental.

      Skettleton’s War

      By

      Carl Reader

      1

      Six Miles from Home

      When he saw the redbuds, he knew he was home. No other place on earth is as sweet as this is, he said to himself, gulping in a long breath of the sugary air. No other place but heaven is worth what I’ve been through. I would know this place anytime, even if I had died and come back from the grave, which nearly happened many times, or even if I had been shot in the face and blinded I would know this place by what I smell of it now. I smell home. I feel strange here.

      The trees barely shook with the breeze, but their fragrance was delicious to nostrils used to the acrid burn of gun powder and artillery fire. The gentle wind sent the blossoms floating down to the forest floor like pink fairies dancing in the air, and he laughed giddily at their strange performance while feeling like a jackass for doing so. I still got to be serious, he said to himself. I’m still a soldier. The flowers on the ground were like millions of shining dabs of paint reflecting those above. Their pinkish-red color was seeping into the soil as the weight of the falling blossoms buried those below and pushed them into the earth, but that was as it should be. Everything’s got to die, he thought, yet there ain’t no point in seeing the world like a soldier no more. Ain’t no need for it. I guess it’s all right to think about pretty flowers now instead, and not worry about the dead ones. Think about the flowers in the woods, and what’s at home ahead.

      The air was brisk because spring was still new and the road had not yet caked to dust under summer’s heat. He liked the way the overgrown path felt beneath his shabby boots, cool and welcoming. The earth here was hospitable after he had trodden through the fires of hell, but any place would be cool and welcoming after that hot walk, so it’s okay to stare into the woods for a while. You just go right ahead and appreciate it, Joshua Skettleton.

      A spirit walked toward him. The small being was a hundred feet away and was raising a stick high in the air and pounding the road with it as he walked. As soon as Skettleton saw the boy, his heart raced at his good luck. It was a sign of his continuing great good fortune that the first person he should see when arriving home was his son. He had survived to see his son again, he said to himself, nearly weeping with disbelief, and his boy was a much finer sight than even the flowers were. The child was practically dancing along toward him with joy, not seeing him, since he was preoccupied with the stick with which he struck the earth over and over. Each time the stick punished the ground the boy screamed, "Ha! The man heard that word repeated over and over as the youngster approached, ha, ha, ha, and it is good the small boy repeated it, for the large man’s eyes had watered over with happiness and he barely had more than a shimmering vision of the woods around him as he shook for joy. He knew this was his boy, his own son. His hands trembled and his legs nearly collapsed out from beneath him. He had to fight to hold the weight of the bayoneted Mississippi rifle on his shoulder and not stumble to one knee. Skettleton’s eyes had little life left in them most times, sitting in his great round face like dark blue stones, but now they grew into saucers with the sight of his son pummeling the earth with a stick.

      Joshua. Josh.

      The boy had come up to him without seeing or sensing his presence, so preoccupied was he with hitting the earth with his stick. At hearing his name he froze and stared up at Skettleton. He gaped at the soldier with an open mouth and wide eyes. He had a circle for a face and dark blue eyes, just as his father did, and he had strong narrow shoulders and big feet, also like his father. Otherwise, he was as delicate as any eight-year-old boy. It was not that he showed fear but he did exhibit a great surprise to find someone on the road other than himself and his stick. It was as though the man had dropped out of the sky like a dead bird and landed two feet in front of him.

      Nothing changed for a moment. The boy stared with his mouth agape and the man stood looking down at him with tears in his eyes, shaking down to his bones.

      Hello.

      Hello, mister.

      You’re Josh, right? My son?

      The boy looked through him as though he had lost his mind. He tilted his head and then shook it slightly from side-to-side.

      No … Does that gun fire? he asked, after a second of hesitation.

      It sure does. Raised hell amongst the Yankees with it, but now I’m home and I want to say hello and tell you how much I missed you, my boy.

      Who’s that? Who did you miss?

      Why, that’s you I missed. Joshua Skettleton, named like me.

      You mean me?

      Yes. Little Josh Skettleton.

      What are you sayin’?

      I’m sayin’ I missed you, Josh.

      Huh. No, no, no. The boy smacked the earth with the stick half-heartedly. I ain’t no Joshua Skettleton. Josh Skettleton died up north in some big battle, they say. Nobody heared nothing of him for years.

      Well, heck no, he didn’t die, because I’m him and I ain’t near dead. And you are my boy, Josh Skettleton, named like me.

      I ain’t your boy, mister.

      Sure you are.

      I am not. You’re crazy. I ain’t your boy.

      Skettleton let out a little uncomfortable laugh.

      Josh, now don’t say that to your old man at a time like this when he’s finally home. Come and give your daddy a kiss on his cheek and tell him you love him, for I’ve been waiting and dreaming for many years for this very moment of meeting up with my boy, my own sweet son.

      What? No, I’m not kissing you, mister, because I’m not little Josh Skettleton and you ain’t my daddy. My name is Early Thomas, and if you are Josh Skettleton, you’re dead and a ghost here before me, so bless me and save us all from you. Josh Skettleton died up north in some big battle.

      Early Thomas? The man felt confused, but nodded in agreement. I know that name. I remember it. I know you then. You was little when I went up off north.

      I’m still little, although somewhat bigger, and I’m still Early Thomas and I got a road to beat up here with this here stick, so don’t go askin’ for me to kiss you, because I’m busy. It’s been a bad road for taking away all the men from this town, including my own real daddy, so I beat it up every day.

      Skettleton nodded and looked away.

      It is always a bad road going away from home. I learnt that. Well, I guess I apologize then for my mistake, and I’m sorry you lost your daddy and I’ll be movin’ on.

      It’s all right. I’m constantly confused for someone I’m not. It happens all the time. I never knowed my daddy much.

      I’m sorry for that. I’ll be on my way then. I’m sorry I mistook you for my boy, but I am in a hurry to see him, so I’ll be on my way into Stock’s Ferry up ahead.

      What are you sayin’ now?

      I’ll be goin’ up ahead to Stock’s Ferry.

      That ain’t Stock’s Ferry. I told you, I’m Early Thomas and that’s Thomas’ Mill up ahead, named after my grand-daddy. You got another six miles to walk before you reach Stock’s Ferry.

      Another six miles?

      That’s right.

      But the woods is so much like those around Stock’s Ferry.

      Woods is woods around here. They’s the same everywhere. Woods is confusing because we don’t live in woods like the beasts or brutes. Tell me something.

      Yes, boy?

      Why in hell do they call your town Stock’s Ferry? There tain’t no river no where near that place, yet they say it’s a ferry town.

      Some man played a joke, I guess, many years ago when he named the town. My idea is he thought it was funny when folks would come to the town and ask for the ferry when there was none around. Imagine the looks on their faces.

      It seems damn stupid to me, mister.

      So maybe it is. You have a good day, boy. I’m sorry for my mistake.

      You, too, old man. I hope you find your way home without much more confusion here in the forest.

      Old man. He was only twenty-nine, but it seemed he had watched blossoms falling for much longer, many more springs, so maybe he was an old man. But what did that boy know? Joshua Skettleton’s eyes were still lit blue most times, but his skin was thick and wrinkled and dark, and his beard was streaked a little with gray and he did look like one of the walking dead, one of those walking dead that had been in too many battles. He was tall with narrow shoulders and powerful legs and that very round head that made him look stupid but also said he was not one to be messed around with. Well, my appearance will change once I get home and see my wife and boy and get some good food in me and a real night of rest in my own soft bed.

      He nodded to himself at the thought of the pleasures ahead and put one foot in front of another, as he had done for some hundreds of miles.

      Mister, what are you doing now? Why are you following me?

      I ain’t following you.

      Well, why are you walking two steps behind me in the wrong direction like some sick old dog that’s got knocked in the head and beat on the back?

      This is still the wrong direction?

      That way, the boy said, pointing with his free hand in exasperation. I told you Stock’s Mill is that way.

      Yes, you did inform me of that, son. I’m wrong again.

      You been shot, mister?

      What?

      You been shot?

      Why, yes.

      In the head?

      No, here in my shoulder. It was a long time ago. It didn’t hurt much and didn’t damage me permanently.

      I see the stitches in your shirt and stain of the dried blood. It looks old, like your shirt. Are you sure you ain’t been shot in the head more recent?

      Maybe I have. I don’t recall it, though. I been conked on the head plenty of times, but I always come out better for it.

      Well, if you don’t remember what happened to you, I guess maybe you have been. Good-bye. I ain’t your son, so don’t go following me no more. Go that way, please, mister, away from me.

      Joshua Skettleton knew enough of his personal confusion to turn on his heel and head toward home, his real home, six miles away through that damned woods that looked like the woods of his home but evidently were not. Woods is woods, as the boy said. That fact led to his confusion.

      Out of habit he checked his rifle while moving along to make sure it was primed and loaded, in case he needed it in this dark forest that was strange and not his own and could still be filled with enemies.

      That’s when he thought he heard gunfire break out up ahead, and instead of blossoms tumbling gently to earth, he thought bullets were whistling past his head.

      Then as he ducked it all stopped.

      Oddly, in the middle of the battle, he heard the boy behind him say, God bless you, sir.

      Skettleton turned to the child, ignoring the gunfire he thought he heard.

      Yes, son, it’s true. I have been in God’s presence, he said. No need to bless me. He has already has when we spoke.

      The boy turned away to go, shaking his head again. Skettleton collapsed onto the road and in one second was fast asleep.

      2

      Shooting the General

      Hey, Skettleton, you awake yet? You better be if you don’t want to get yourself stuck up with a bayonet and kilt.

      It was Jeb Charles, whom he hadn’t seen in days. Throwing aside his confusion at seeing his old friend when he dreamed him just now as dead, he quickly assessed the situation of the moment rather than wonder how the man had come back to life. His own life depended on knowing what was happening at every moment, so he had to wake up, and fast.

      "Why would I get kilt now? War’s

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