Cousin Ronald and the Dead Man

by Ryan Michael Hines

About the Author: Ryan Michael Hines is a novelist, screenwriter, and podcaster living in Los Angeles, CA who loves the Southland sun but misses the beauty and mystery of the Appalachian mountains every day.

Excerpt

Pa run off years ago, I never knew his face. Consumption took Ma twelve winters back, yet her face refuses to fade. It’s just me and Cousin Ronald now, and this ol’ mountain feels cold, even in August.

Cousin Ronald said the silver in his pocket came from work in the valley, but I knew he ran liquor. Ma prayed he’d stop, but the mines were played out and the cow wouldn’t give milk. It was moonshine or starve. God forgive me, but I hate a rumblin’ belly. And Cousin Ronald, God love him, couldn’t stand to see me down low.

Cousin Ronald could drive. His corn liquor was fine, but his 1940 Ford coupe with the flathead V8 under the hood was the best there ever had been. It cut mountain roads like a huntin’ hawk rides the sky. Ronald would take corn liquor from his still by the crick and fly to town, leavin’ Revenue Men floating behind like so many autumn leaves caught in winter wind.

Cousin Ronald liked to say he was self-employed. His operation was small, but it kept us alive and attracted little attention. That was, it did until the summer I turned fourteen. That was the year Ronald taught me to drive. It was also the year the Dead Man came down to Grant County from his lair up in Wheeling.

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