The Night of the Hanging  pt.3

         A sordid Saturday evening caught Stanley and me glued to the tube, watching another episode of The Wild Wild West, our bestest cowboy show ever! Mom and Pop were dressed to kill, that’s cowboy speak- if you didn’t know. ‘Said they were headed out for the evening and wouldn’t be gone long. Hearing this, Stanley straightaway pressed his face against the clouded window… “They're leaving!! That ol’ red pickup truck is headed down the driveway. Let's play cowboys and rustlers in the barn!” “Okay,” I remarked. Knowing full well that we weren’t supposed to be in the barn unless Pop was with us. Stanley already had props set up, just like a scene in our favorite western, plus he had a script written in detail of how to act… heck, he even fashioned a noose from bailer twine, and we rigged it over the barn beam. I helped him up onto a bale of straw, then tied his hands behind his back. I slipped the noose coarsely about his neck. Now, I was the sheriff, and Stanley was my deputy, and the rustlers were going to hang him because he witnessed them trafficking stolen cattle. I was to hide behind the stanchions, then on cue, “You scoundrels better not hang me!” I would do a sneaking sprint aided by a tumble or two in his direction, jump up, and fight off the outlaws, then cut him loose with Mom’s paring knife, which I had stuck up my sleeve beforehand...

Now what? Stanley’s a-goner!!!

           (Quivering violently) Whilst trying to harness the nervous quips and keep my wits bottled up inside! Thinking, I’m caught in this quandary… had it been my idea to play cowboys in the barn? No! I would surely accept the blame for this dreadful accident. But now fate holds my neck in its vice. Will I be put on trial for murder? I’m not an outlaw! Isn’t this guilt enough?

           But I’m a conniver at heart… So, I devised a foolproof plan. I set the scene to appear as a whim gone wrong, only because I wanted to save face and finally be adopted by Mom and Pop Harendale.

 I set up another bale of straw, close to where Stanley was hanging. I used a spare noose which he had tied earlier, looping it over the splintered beam, then slipping it over my head, while loosely tying my hands together. Now, when I hear Mom and Pop entering the gravel driveway in the ol’ red pickup, I will gently lower myself off this bale; Pop will see the barn light on, and through the doorway, he will notice Stanley and me hanging. He will sprint to save me, because I will be the one thrashing. Pop always totes a pocketknife. Now, I know there are many variables… but I think the scheme will work as outlined. Suddenly, the crunch of gravel under tires. So, I’ll wait till the pick truck comes to a stop and the headlights dim.

          “Oops,” off the bale… sucking for air, flailing arms, panic-stricken, I freed my hands, as I grasped at the twine choking me… ‘Oh no, that’s not Pop’s RED TRUCK!! My bad… No, frig’n way! It can’t be, it’s the caregiver’s car!! In one final attempt for Clouser, I reached out my right arm towards Stanley, wanting to grasp his hand… ‘but only emptiness, darkness, and void in life,’ was left!!!

Stanley never took notice of the overgrown sign at the entrance to the gravel driveway… ‘Mom and Pop’s Harendale Cemetery, family-owned & fostered by the caretaker.’          The end