"Lotta strange things happening around these parts lately." The voice seemed to be speaking right in my ear. Eric and I turned, startled. A man stood before us, framed in the burning light of the rising sun. The effect made him look like an angel from a Sunday school painting.

"Where the hell did you come from?" I snapped.

"Friend, I'm from the same place as everybody else, my mama's warm womb. But I came here by way of Louisiana. Born and raised, and I assure you that strange things are the norm in them parts. Lot stranger things than flesh eating cows."

The stranger took a couple of steps forward and lost whatever resemblance he had to an angel. He looked and smelled like he'd spent the last year on a shrimp boat, and his rotten brown teeth indicated he'd forgotten to pack his toothbrush. He was dressed entirely in green. Green long sleeve shirt, green denim pants, and green cowboy boots made of some unrecognizable reptile scales. Every inch of his squat frame was covered in green except for his talon like hands and perfectly round head. A few gray hairs clung desperately to the skin just above his ears, but otherwise he was completely bald.

"Boys, you wouldn't believe half the things I've seen and done." The man smiled broadly and clicked his teeth together when he spoke. "The witchin' is strong in them parts, strong enough to stick to you. Them cows, that's probably just a little piece of witchin' that followed me here and took a liking to em'. They'll be alright."

"We're kind of busy here, case you ain't noticed," said Eric.

"Understood, friend. I've taken up enough of your time with pleasantries. Let's get down to business."

"Who the hell are you?"

"My lord, I forgot to introduce myself. Folks call me Papa Crawler." He reached up and absently rubbed the top of his head. His eyes sparkled, but not in a friendly sort of way. "Now, how much will you take for your dearly departed Daddy?"

"'Scuse me?" Eric took a step forward, his face ashen under a thin layer of dust and beard stubble. Little trails of sweat left clean white lines in their wake as they traveled from forehead to chin.

"How much money do you want for the body?" Papa Crawler continued. "I'm prepared to pay a fair sum."

It was more nonsense than I was willing to bear first thing in the morning. I pushed Eric out of the way and started slowly advancing toward Papa Crawler. "Mister, I don't know how they do things in Louisiana, or your mama's womb, or wherever the hell you come from, but around here we bury dead folks. I'd advise you to leave."

"I'll give you five hundred dollars for him. You'll finish removing him from the plow, of course." He seemed unaffected by my opposition to his plans, and continued to stand there grinning like some nut escaped from the State Hospital in Big Spring.

I was preparing to grab him by the shirt collar and escort him off my property when I felt Eric's hand on my shoulder.

"Make it a thousand," said Eric. His red eyes were razor slits and a faint smile had formed on his face.

"I'll not go higher than seven fifty."

"Deal," said Eric and he swept past me to shake the man's hand.

Papa Crawler took a quick leap backward and his eyes bugged out of his sweaty head. "Don't be touching Papa Crawler, now. We got us a deal, but you touch Papa Crawler and I can't be responsible for what's likely to happen."

Something inside me snapped. "Look here, I've had enough of this horseshit! You're riding my last nerve. Now I'm telling you again, go the hell away."

"But what about our deal?" he asked. He had quickly regained his composure and was standing there rubbing his head again.

"We ain't got no deal."

"That's not what your brother seems to think, friend."

"We ain't friends."

"Oh, I see now. You're thinking that Papa Crawler is one of them pervert types. Type that likes to have sex with dead folks and dogs and all. Gentlemen, let me put your troubled mind to rest. My interest in your daddy is strictly scientific. Papa Crawler ain't no sex freak and that's a promise."

Before he could continue, I delivered a hard right cross to his jaw that buckled his knees. He hit the ground with a dusty thump. I let a few seconds of silence pass before speaking.

"I don't care what your reasons are for wanting him, you ain't getting him. He wasn't the finest soul ever to draw breath but everybody deserves at least a little dignity when they die. Even him. Now I won't stand here and listen to this anymore."

"Most discouraging," groaned the fallen man. He climbed to his feet and began brushing off the dirt and grass burrs that covered his shirt. "I hate to see scientific advancement thwarted by one narrow minded fellow. I suppose your brother got what good genes that old man had to give."

"He's dead," said Eric as he put his arm around me in a drunken attempt at brotherhood. "What does it matter? It ain't him, it's just a body."

"It just ain't right."

"Right? Seven hundred fifty dollars is what's right. He was a mean bastard and I don't owe him shit. We need this money." He was tightening his hold on me and I could tell that we were probably going to come to blows over the matter.

By this time, Papa Crawler had gotten the message. He was quickly walking toward the highway that ran along the East end of our property. For the first time I noticed a drab green pickup truck parked in the distance with a rusty metal cage stored in the bed. A dark brown shape lumbered about inside it but the distance was too great for me to make out what it was.

Eric released me and took off running after the man. "We got a deal. Don't we got a deal?"

"Sorry, friend," he replied never breaking stride. "Your brother made his wishes very clear. I can't have him causing trouble for Papa Crawler." Eric continued to pursue him and plead his case until finally, they were out of earshot. Seconds later, they had reached the truck where Papa Crawler took his seat and slammed the door. With a wave of his hand he started off, leaving Eric to sulk amid a cloud of dust.