Sin Eaters

Stories

Caleb Tankersley

• Publisher: University of Alaska Press
• Year: 2022
• Print ISBN: 9781602234512
• eBook ISBN: 9781602234529
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Literature General
• Index: Literature

Winner of the 2021 Permafrost Prize in fiction
 
Magical, heartfelt, and surprisingly funny, Sin Eaters paints a tumultuous picture of religion and repression while hinting at the love and connection that come with healing. The powerful stories in Caleb Tankersley's debut collection illuminate the shadowy edges of the American Midwest, featuring aspects of religion, sex and desire, monsters and magic, and humor.
 
Tankersley's characters—including swamp creatures looking for love, pothead pastors, ghosts obsessed with TV, and a Jesus made of rust—arrive at the crossroads of pleasure and hunger in a world that is equal parts playful, hopeful, and dark. In "Never Been More in Love" a man must come to terms with his wife's degenerative illness. "Uncle Bob" explores suicide attempts as a family heirloom. And the titular story follows a woman who must accept her monstrous role to find redemption for herself and her small town.
 
Sin Eaters is a fight for authenticity in a world that is mysterious, muggy, and punctured by violence. This stunning collection full of complex themes will both challenge and delight.
 

Candy Cigarettes

The idea was to walk into every room as if the space itself were beneath her, already her own. This was how Mellie entered the shack behind the garage, each step resolute on the cold concrete. How to enter had been a good lesson. She scanned around, disapproved of what she saw. Like Grandpa always did. His smell lingered, cinnamon and engine oil. Wood shavings from his carpentry. The shack echoed empty without him, but Mellie liked to sit in his old chair and think, rework all the lessons he taught her.

Every afternoon before Grandpa died, Mellie ran into Grandpa’s shack for training. She loved these lessons, thought about them constantly as she squirmed in her desk at school. The trainings were different each day, exercises Grandpa said would make her “ready to face the goddamn world.” They’d been close, spent all their time together: chewing toothpicks, playing table tennis, or telling war stories, which Mellie enjoyed inventing. Even the hurried way they ate seemed shared, how Mom would yell at both of them for stuffing their mouths. Mom called Mellie Grandpa’s shadow, an image that thrilled her. Grandpa told Mellie she was a special kid, that she had “ice-water veins.” She didn’t fully know what Grandpa meant, but she desperately wanted to prove him right.

Mellie rubbed her hands along the chair, lifted her fingers to find the prints laced with dust.

Without Grandpa, Mellie tried to train herself by stalking around the house, learning which steps didn’t creak, listening in on conversations, a peek into that elusive adult world. She decided to sneak to her sister Janice’s room. Spying on Janice was usually dull and easy, not much for training. But Mellie was bored deep in her bones. Ever since Grandpa died, Mellie had been waking up less interested in the day. Everything was losing its color.

Mellie left the shack, crept into the house, and climbed the stairs without a sound. The static of her own brain hissed in Mellie’s ears, but Grandpa taught her not to distract herself, to tune it out. Janice’s door was usually locked, but Mellie tried the knob. The cold metal didn’t budge. Mellie pulled a Bobby pin from her hair. She wore a Bobby pin even when she didn’t need it. The lock made a soft click. Mellie opened the door a few inches, just enough to see.

Janice had a friend over, Tracee who was really tall, taller than most of the boys. Tracee had long hair she wore straight and back, the hair reaching all the way down to her thighs. Mellie thought the long hair made Tracee look even taller. But everyone looked tall to Mellie. She was small for nine.

The thing that struck Mellie about peeking in Janice’s room was the absence of height. Mellie looked up for a split second, expected Tracee there and found nothing. Adjusting her angles, she found only air and little particles of dust twisting in the sunlight coming through the window. Mellie’s eyes followed the sunlight down to Tracee, laid out flat on the bed. Some of her clothes were off, but Mellie couldn’t quite see Tracee’s body. Janice was in the way.

Tracee made a yelp when she noticed Mellie spying. Janice leapt up, shoved the door closed. But Mellie could see before she was forced back that Tracee hadn’t moved, enjoying what was happening to her even after it had stopped.

Mellie went back to her room and opened an old coloring book. She colored all the time, even though her mom never bought new coloring books. Mellie would scratch over what she’d already done, running blue crayons over yellow areas to make new colors that looked sometimes interesting and sometimes splotchy. She needed time to think about what would happen when Janice came into her room. Mellie needed to consider what she wanted.

---

* * *

Every day since Grandpa died Mellie had dragged her feet down the hallways at school, her sneakers leaving gray streaks on the tile. A month without training days in the shack—running through the lessons, listening to Johnny Cash on scratched cassette tapes, Grandpa carving blocks of wood into strange animals or slingshots—left her feeling hollow. No more ice water pouring through her veins.

But this morning had been different, fresh and exciting. During the science lesson, Mrs. London, told the class all about eyes. Rods and cones. Colors, corneas, and pupils. The projector screen was filled with gross pictures that made Mellie squirm, close-ups of sliced eyeballs. Then Mrs. London paused, walked over to the door, and flipped the lights off. Mellie had sat up at that, something unusual, the pale sunlight coming from the windows just enough to see. “Everyone, find a partner and look into their eyes.” Mellie sat for a moment. It was such a strange request. By the time she turned around everyone already had an eye partner. The only person left nearby was the desk in front of hers, Ronnie. Mellie never noticed boys, had never talked to Ronnie before. They didn’t discuss being partners, just found each other and stared. Ronnie had dark eyes, the irises such a deep brown they almost melted into the pupil. But after gazing long enough, Mellie could see it, the rich amber color, the way the little strands grew lighter on the outside, the intricate folds. It was all so complicated, hidden in the little moons of Ronnie’s face. Mrs. London flipped the lights on without warning. Ronnie’s eye—she could only really focus on one, the left—sunk somehow, faster than Mellie could track. Some of the students gasped when the lights returned. The class quickly adjusted and faced front, embarrassed by the intimacy of observing each other so closely. But Mellie held her stare after Ronnie turned around. She couldn’t stop watching him, didn’t know why. Mellie wanted to say something to make Ronnie turn so she could see his eyes again. But the day ended without Ronnie acknowledging her at all.

Something about this morning—glimpsing Ronnie’s beautiful eyes and then being ignored, rejected, silently challenged—woke Mellie up. For a moment, she remembered her training, the lessons forged from hard work in the shack. She wouldn’t fail him. She would take what she wanted, like Grandpa. She would face the goddamn world.

---

* * *

Grandpa believed people good at poker were good at life. He gave her lessons in the cards, flushes and pairs, what beat what, how to shuffle and deal like a pro. But mostly the training was on keeping your face still. Grandpa would bend down close, his wrinkled skin inches from hers, and say as many crazy things as he could think of. Mellie was supposed to not twitch a muscle. “I killed a dog today. Cute little Doberman. Beat his brains out with a shovel. What do you think of that? Want me to show him to you? There’s a boatload of ice cream in the freezer with your name on it. Rocky rocky road. You want some? You do don’t you. Well your mother won’t let you have any. She’s real mean. The other night she told me I was a useless old turd. You know you’re my least favorite grandkid, don’t you? You’re my least favorite. Or maybe you’re my favorite. Yeah, I think that’s the one. Favorite.” Grandpa would stop talking and move his face, make it funny and then angry, so angry his skin turned red and he looked like he might explode. Mellie had cracked some early on. But after a few weeks she got good, never flinched or reacted at all. The trick was to not look into Grandpa’s eyes.

---

* * *

Mellie was sifting through her 64-count crayon box for the right shades of yellow and brown. Janice usually stomped around the house, door handles flying open and denting the dry wall. But this time she tapped three times gently, stepped in with her head down. That’s no way to enter a room, Mellie thought. Janice was taking the humble route. Mellie had expected yelling. Instead, her sister had the posture of a submissive animal. This thing—whatever it was with Janice and Tracee—was important to Janice. She looked terrified.

Janice’s long hair fell around her face. Mellie just noticed Janice wore her hair the same way as Tracee. She’d been doing that for a while. “What did you see, Mel?”

Janice’s eyes were mostly pale green with bits of amber. She shifted her weight, crossed her arms and waited for an answer. Having found the right shade of brown, Mellie turned back to her coloring, began to scribble. “I saw you with Tracee.”

“What about me with Tracee?”

Mellie put down the crayon and faced Janice. She stilled her jaw, just like Grandpa. “You were doing things to her. Things she liked.”

Janice blinked six times before responding. “What do you want? To not tell.”

The question Mellie anticipated. Anticipating maneuvers had been another of Grandpa’s lessons. The wise thinker was always ready and waiting. Except Mellie didn’t know what she wanted. She wanted so many things. Chocolate oranges. A 128-count box of crayons. That poker set her mom wouldn’t buy. Ronnie to smile at her. Ginger back from the shelter. Grandpa to live again. Dad to show up when he said he would. A big beautiful pool. Janice happier. A put together world.

Mellie distilled these thoughts into one concentrated mass and blurted out the first thing that fizzled to the top of her brain. “Candy cigarettes.”

Janice narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“I want a lot of them. Three full cartons.”

“Those sugar stick things?”

“Yes.”

“Do they still make those? And do they actually come in cartons?”

“Why don’t we ask Tracee. Or better yet, let’s ask Mom.” Mellie stared her sister down. Janice’s mouth tightened to a thin rope.

“You’ll get your damn candy.”

“Tomorrow, please,” Mellie smiled.

“Okay.” Janice let out a breath and brushed back her hair. “Tomorrow.” The door slammed as she left. There was the anger Mellie had expected. She could feel Janice move down the stairs and through the house. Janice was always loud on the stairs. Mellie went to the window, watched her sister leap into her blue beat-up Neon. Tracee came out taking small, hesitant steps. She turned to the house, to Mellie, and they held each other’s faces for a while. But Tracee was too far away to see eye color. She slid into the passenger’s side, and Janice took off. Mellie hoped her sister would go try to find some candy cigarettes and be back before Mom got home.

Mellie sat back on the floor, lay herself out over the coloring books and crayons, watched the ceiling and imagined what was behind it. And whatever might be behind the sky. She put a hand up to touch it. Grandpa would be proud.

---

* * *

Along with face exercises and poker games, Grandpa gave Mellie a series of mantras. He’d teach her a phrase, and then they’d shout it back and forth until they were both hoarse and exhausted. Grandpa would have them sit in chairs across from each other, lean into Mellie’s face and scream, “I am not an animal!” He’d look panting and desperate, like an animal. She always thought that was funny. But she never told him, never flinched a cheekbone.

“I am not an animal!” she yelled back. Sometimes she ended it with a high-pitched squeal, a sound only a little girl could make. Grandpa nodded at that, Mellie playing to her advantages.

“I control my desires. They do not control me!”

“I control my desires. They do not control me!”

“I find what I want and I take it!”

“I find what I want and I take it!”

When the mantras were over Grandpa would sit back and sigh. “You’re ready to face the goddamn world.” Then he would open a rusty drawer and pull out a box of candy cigarettes. Mellie didn’t know where he got them. She never saw Grandpa go to the store. But the candy was always there. “They say these aren’t good for kiddos anymore. Horseshit, that’s what I say. Here,” he handed her a single white piece. Mellie held it to her face, examined it like a diamond. “Don’t go telling your mother.”

---

* * *

Janice returned five minutes before Mom got home. Tracee wasn’t with her. Mom walked in and chewed Janice out for not having dinner started. As the pasta churned in the boiling water, Mellie asked Mom, “Where is Grandpa now?”

“Heaven, baby girl.”

“Okay, but where is Heaven?”

Mom shrugged. “You know where. Up beyond the sky.”

“But Mrs. London told us it was all darkness and dead stars up there.”

“Go get your sister.”

Mellie wondered if this was what Grandpa had always been preparing her for, if all the training and the exercises and the obstacle courses were about what happened when you died, if the world she was meant to face was where Grandpa was now, floating through an infinite cold nothing. Maybe Grandpa was training for himself too. He could be up there now, struggling. The thought almost made her cry.

When she opened Janice’s door she was pleased to see two small boxes, each the size of a pack of cards and decorated in kitschy designs, horses and cowboys and sunsets.

“These weren’t easy to find on short notice.” Janice sat on her bed smoking a real one, the end sizzling to life.

Mellie glanced at the boxes. “You’ll need more.”

“I ordered more online. It’ll take a day or two. In the meantime, you got these. When your cartons come in we’re square?”

Mellie wrapped her fingers around both packs. “We will be.”

Janice’s shoulders fell as she exhaled. Mellie looked her sister up and down, as if for the first mysterious time. They watched each other until Janice shifted, folded her arms. “Fucking knock next time.”

“Lock your door better. Dinner’s ready.”

Janice puffed more smoke out her nostrils. Mellie didn’t want to admit it looked cool. “Spaghetti’s not dinner.”

“Tonight it is.”

“Why are you such a fuck of a sister?”

Mellie relaxed her facial muscles, kept her eyes straight. Like Grandpa taught her. “I know how to face the goddamn world.”

Janice fell back and laughed, her ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Contents
• Swamp Creatures
• Candy Cigarettes
• He Told Me a Story
• Apparitions
• The Feed Corn Sea
• Branson
• Never Been More in Love
• Ghosts on TV
• In the Clouds
• A Cross is Also a Sword
• Trains
• Uncle Bob
• You’re Beautiful
• Sin Eaters
• Acknowledgments