Didn’t realize what I had done. I lied; it was only one little lie. And then it grew; it grew into a monster. It became my life, it overtook me. The one little lie I told began to control my life. What caused me to tell a falsehood? That my friend, is what I will tell you.
In early October of 1883, the hunting season was beginning. Pa loved to hunt, but when I asked to go with him, he just said, “Sorry son, but yer too young. Yer Ma would kill me. Maybe next time.” I would hang my head and sadly say,
“You sure?” He would then give me a friendly grin and a wink and say,
“Caint say fer sure.”
So, that one day in October, Ma and Pa said I could go on my first hunting trip. I suspected that I would be allowed because Pa put on a heck of a storm about getting me a gun for my birthday that year, which I’m glad he did.
“Son, would you like to go on a huntin’ trip this weekend with me?” Pa asked me Monday evening at supper.
He has got to be joking, I thought. I glanced at Ma. She nodded her head and smiled, “Your Pa and I have discussed the matter, and we think you are ready.” I beamed. I probably looked like a little boy getting a piece of candy at that moment, and I said,
“Well of course!”
The entire week, I daydreamed about coming home with bear meat, or deer meat, or something like that. I imagined Ma admiring the quality, my sisters crying the dead animal, and my Pa patting me on the back and saying proudly, “we have here a true hunter!” I daydreamed so much, that my teacher at school was concerned. Not that I ever listen, but I can fake it pretty good.
On Saturday, we woke up especially early, about 3 a.m., and Pa and I loaded our tent, supplies, and clothing into two packs to carry. Ma made us pack some food (just in case we had bad luck), and we trekked up into the woods.
It was an amazing hike, and I had never been so far into the woods before. As the day dawned, I gawked foolishly at the beauty around me. We journeyed all day before Pa said,
“Yep, this’ll be the spot.” It was the ugliest patch of mud I had ever seen, but I gazed at it in awe and carefully plodded on it as if it was holy ground. I helped Pa pitch the tent, and we ate a supper of bread and cheese. (I was now glad that Ma made us pack extra food. I hadn’t eaten all day!)
After supper was done, Pa said, “Well son, I was thinking that we could go night huntin’ tomorrow night since we didn’t get to today. One less day of huntin’ equals one less day of gettin’ food.
I thought about it, and, although this was my first hunting trip and I knew Ma would for sure not like the idea, I sad excitedly, “Of course Pa! That sounds like a grand idea.” I then quickly changed the subject to night hunting techniques before Pa could even think of what Ma might say. “So, how do you hunt at night?” I asked him.
“Well,” he started, “first off, you don’t shoot at nothin’ unless you’re one-hundred percent sure it’s an animal.”
“What else?” I asked.
“Well,” Pa said, stroking his beard, “stay where you’re at, ‘specially since this’ll be your first time night huntin’, don’t make any loud noises and although they’re a rarity, watch for bob cats.”
“Is there anything else?” I said.
“Well, son, I can’t think of anything else, but I’ll tell you if I think of any more. Those are the good ones, though,” he sighed, “Whelp, son, we’d best be gittin’ into those tents fer some shut-eye, and I’ll wake you up in the mornin’ so we can begin.”
We woke around five, and we finished our bread and cheese while watching the sun rise. We hunted all day. Pa and I each shot a deer, and I also shot a raccoon. That evening, we trekked back to camp and prepared to night-hunt. We had skinned and gutted the raccoon. Pa roasted the meat over a fire and packed it up so we would have something to eat, “Remember,” Pa reminded me, “don’t shoot at anything you think ain’t an animal.” I nodded my head,
“How will I know?” I asked.
“You just know,” he shrugged back,
I wondered if that was true, that you would know if it was a human or an animal. I mean, a mistake could be fatal. But I didn’t say anything about my doubts to Pa.
“Okay, Galen, we’d best git on the trail so we can find some good trees to sit in,” Pa said.
I made sure I had everything, my gun and my food, and then we walked off into the wilderness.
A half hour later, we reached a tall oak with decent climbing branches. I scrambled up. Pa peered at me from the ground.
“I’ll be nearby, son,” he said.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“I’m gonna go to a nearby tree. You’ll do best without me. Figure it out,” he grinned at me, “Trial by fire, son. You’re related to a respected hunter, so you’ll do fine. I did on my first night-hunt.”
I stared down at him. What if I fail? I was so focused on my thought that I didn’t notice that Pa had disappeared. Darkness was almost upon me. I propped my gun up on a nearby branch and ate some of my coon meat. The sun beams warmed me, and I soon fell into a deep sleep. When I finally awoke, it was dark and cold out. Idiot! I thought to myself, what’ll Pa think now?
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dark shadow, and heard the branches rustle on a tree about 20 feet away. It looked like some large animal was sitting on a thick branch. I only had the moon and stars to see by, but the figure’s silhouette looked absolutely strange. It most certainly couldn’t be a human, and I quickly shot at it.
That was the biggest mistake I ever made.
Right after my bullet hit the figure, it gave out a blood curdling scream. But it didn’t sound like any sort of animal. I sounded like a man.
I panicked and jumped out of the tree I was in and made a mad dash towards the tree figure had fallen from. I hoped to God it wasn’t a man, but in my gut seemed to tell me otherwise. To my horror, I discovered the man I shot wasn’t just a man, it was Pa. His clear blue eyes stared blankly at the sky, and a thin, scarlet trail of blood trickled out of his mouth. I shouted, “Pa!” and shakily knelt by his side, tears filling my eyes, gripping his shoulder, and pleading for him to wake up. No answer came. No movement was made. His chest looked still. I listened for a heartbeat, but all was silent. I had killed my Pa! What would I tell everyone?
Suddenly, I heard shouting, saw a radiant light, and heard the crunching of boots on branches. Two men appeared out of the woods, their faces etched with concern. When they saw my tear-streaked face, and the corpse next to me, they knelt down beside me and said,
“We heard a shot and a scream, so we came to make sure everything was okay. What the heck happened?”
How would I answer that? I had obviously shot and killed him, but could they even guess that from my state? “Someone came and shot my Pa,” I lied.
“Did you see him?” they asked.
“No,” I lied again.
“Come with us,” the first man said, “and you can stay in our camp for the night and we’ll go into town in the morning. I got up, my legs shook with fear of them suddenly figuring out I was lying. I had to go with them, or else their suspicions could be raised.
The two men led me to their camp. I learned their names were Habakkuk and Barnabas, or Hab and Barney, did their best to make me feel comfortable. They set up a tent for me with their sleeping bags, and slept in their tents without anything to keep them war. I was grateful for their hospitality, but I had a sleepless night. I couldn’t stop hearing my Pa’s scream, feeling my dread and fear, seeing his eyes staring blankly at the sky, the blood trickling down his chin, and the eerie, milky glow of the moon reflecting the whole scene.
Hab and Barney rose before daybreak. What should I do? I thought to myself, should I tell the truth? No. No one must know the truth. Ever. If they found out, my family’s, and my dead Pa’s, reputation would be ruined. Their son would be a convicted murderer.
“Wake up,” Barney said into my tent, “we need to get goin’ if we want to reach town by evening.” I sat up and rubbed my eyes. It was going to be a long day.
“We never learned your name, son,” said Hab. Pa used to call me son.
“Galen,” I whispered.
“I’m sorry son,” Hab said, “I didn’t hear you.” There it was again. Pa was coming back to haunt me!
“Galen,” I said. “Please Mr. Hab, don’t call me son.”
“Sorry, Galen, you won’t catch me callin’ you that again,” Hab said. After a small breakfast, Hab and Barney packed up their supplies on the back of a scrawny mule. “Do you remember where your camp was? If you do, would you like to git your stuff from your camp?” Hab asked.
“No thanks.” I said. I t would just be another way for Pa to haunt me.
We walked all day, non-stop, and reached town as the sun was beginning to set. People payed no mind to us, and I was sincerely grateful for that. I was sure that within hours, my family and I would become celebrities. When we reached the house, Ma came rushing out with a mixture of fear and dread. “Where is your Pa,” she asked urgently.
“He…” I said, “…He was shot.”
“Is he alive?”
“No.”
“Oh, Galen!” Ma wailed, and she rushed towards me and enveloped me uncomfortably tight in her arms, sobbing. I, on the other hand, was terrified that Ma might guess that her husband was killed by me, but at that time, I think she was too overcome with grief. Hab and Barney left without saying goodbye. I thought that was the last time I would ever see them.
A few days after Pa’s funeral, life was very tense for me. My guess was correct about becoming famous in town, and there were a lot of rumors going around. One rumor I heard while I was getting some flour for Ma was this;
“Did you hear about the McMullen’s?” I heard our neighbor, Mrs. Friar, whisper loudly.
“Yes! I can’t imagine why someone would want to kill Charles McMullen. He was such a good man.” whispered Ms. Asher, my school teacher.
“Sometimes, I wonder if the son did it and lied about it,” Mrs. Friar murmured and giggled.
“Galen?” I heard Ms. Asher say, a hint of mortified astonishment in her voice, “he would never do such a thing, Mrs. Friar. Good day!” she swept out of the store.
As soon as I bought the flour, I prayed Mrs. Friar wouldn’t notice me running out of the store, and I made a mad dash back home so scared that she might have guessed my lie.
“Galen, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Ma exclaimed when I arrived.
“Oh!” I said, “I’m fine.”
A few hours later, I saw three men and a mule. Two of the roughly held back the third. It turned out to be Hab and Barney. I ran out of the house and greeted the two familiar faces.
“Hello,” I said.
Hab and Barney looked quite disturbed.
“Good afternoon,” Hab brushed off my greeting, “we found this here man near your huntin’ spot, and he says that he’s been there since October 1st. When did you arrive at your camp?”
Should I tell the truth? Maybe this man could take the blame. How bad could murder punishment get? It could only be prison, probably. “I can’t remember,” I said. In reality, we had arrived on the 5th of October.
“Did you see this man at any time besides now?” Hab asked.
“Yes, I think I did now that I recall,” I lied, “I saw him from afar earlier that day. I don’t think he saw me, but he looked like he was snooping, and we found a gun nearby where your Pa was shot.” Truthfully, I had never seen this man in my life. And that gun? Probably mine, cast off in the rush.
“Why didn’t you tell us this when we found you?” Barney questioned.
“Because, I forgot all about it after I found…” I trailed off.
“Understood,” Hab said. The other man’s face contorted with fear and rage.
“I never saw anyone!” He yelled, “I swear it! This here boy is lyin’!”
“That’s what all liars say.” Barney glared at him.
They took him to the sheriff’s office, and the trial was set to be in a week, giving the sheriff time to look for some evidence.
This made me more tense. What if they guessed my tall tale? What if the evidence pointed towards me? What if they found me guilty?
Ma made me go to the trial. My sisters went to Grandma’s, because Ma said a trial would be too graphic for them. I didn’t want to go, but she said I had to testify as a witness. When we arrived it looked as if the entire town had come to see this event.
He man was brought in, and the questioning began. It was a long day.
“Mr. McMullen,” the defense asked me, “you say you saw this man spying on you and your father near your camp, but he claims he did not know that there were even newcomers.”
“I swear!” the man shouted, “I haven’t seen this boy in my life! Let alone his Pa!”
“Order!” the judge yelled.
The questioning wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be, but remembering everything that I said, and lining it all up, was the most difficult thing I ever did.
Mr. Weatherby was questioned, but all he would say was, “I didn’t do it!” or “this boy is a liar!” The whole courtroom gasped when he said this. When the gun was entered into evidence, all Ma did was innocently whisper to me how she thought the gun looked a lot like the one I owned, whilst Mr. Weatherby yelled at the top of his lungs, “That ain’t mine!”.
Truth be told, in everyone else’s eyes, Mr. Weatherby was already convicted.
After three hours of deliberation, the judge pronounced the verdict.
“I pronounce thee, Jabez Weatherby, guilty of murder and to be hanged tomorrow at sunset.”
Ma began to cry with joy. “He will rest in peace now!” she sobbed. I wasn’t ever going to, but at least I wasn’t going to be hanged. But at the pit of my stomach lurked something dark. Maybe guilt? Or remorse? I can’t say.
The next day was full of dread. Ma said we would attend the execution, in remembrance of Pa. The whole town gathered in the plaza to watch the hanging. I was mortified that anyone would want to watch an innocent man die. Or at least I knew he was innocent.
Mr. Weatherby was driven to the gallows on a cart, while the townspeople mocked him by throwing rotten tomatoes and meat at him. He spotted me, glowered, and muttered a foul name at me. It was what I deserved.
“Friends,” the reverend said, “”Let us give Mr. Weatherby a chance speak.” The townspeople quieted. “Do you have anything you want to say, Mr. Weatherby?” he asked. There was a moment of complete silence. Then, Mr. Weatherby, looked straight at me and said,
“May justice be served.” He was led to the gallows and executed swiftly.
A few days after, I couldn’t take it, and I confessed. I confessed to the judge.
“Are you telling the truth, Mr. McMullen?” He asked.
“Yes.”
“We will have a trial in a few days time,” he said “you will be detained until then.” I nodded my head. I knew what was coming.
The next few days were miserable. I was treated a teeny bit better then the other prisoners since I was the youngest, but not by much. I was the gossip of the town, and Ma was disgraced. I never wanted to look into her eyes again, for shame. Some of my former friends would dump anything putrid into the tiny, barred window into my cell. It smelled terrible.
The day of the trial, I was roughly led to the courthouse. People shouted at me and mocked me. I knew now how Mr. Weatherby must have felt. The trial was horrifying. The evidence pointed straight towards me. I told the truth about the day we arrived, that I had never seen Mr. Weatherby until the day Barney and Hab brought him to the house.
I was found guilty of manslaughter in the case of Jabez Weatherby, and sentenced to be hanged the next day. In the death of my father, it was pronounced an accident, and I was declared innocent.
“Git up, scum bag,” the sheriff said, “we’ve got somewhere to be.” He grabbed me roughly at my arms and handcuffed them behind my back. I didn’t resist. He tugged me out the door. The entire town was there, screaming insults and throwing rotten tomatoes and animal meat at me. I didn’t know what to do except march stone faced into the cart. About five minutes later, I reached the gallows. I felt like crying, but I made up my mind not to show any weakness whatsoever may come.
I marched slowly up to the platform and stood onto the stool. I felt the rough rope slip around my neck. I broke into a cold sweat. My body tensed. 
“Galen,” the Reverend said, “do you have any last words?”
“No.”

And you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.