When those three men had seen Jim standing in his patrol boat with the barrel of his revolver pointed into the air, they gave him a look that had left my grandfather feeling more than a little uncomfortable. It was the same kind of look they had probably given those stranded deer right before the men dropped anchor and started loading their rifles.

One of them, the oldest, mumbled something to the other two and just like that the look was gone from their faces and the men proceeded to pull up anchor and leave, heading in the direction of a local Houma Indian reservation. The men didn’t look Native American, which was reason enough for Jim to follow them, though he admitted that he would’ve trailed the men regardless of which direction they had gone.

That look had left him with an almost sickening feeling and a voice in his head had been telling him to follow these guys the moment they started to leave. Jim was smart about it, though; he waited until they were just around the bend and out of his line of sight to begin pursuing them.

Jim let the sound of their motor guide him while staying far enough back to keep out of their rearview. After about 10 minutes, the sound of the men’s engine suddenly cut out and Jim quickly pulled back on his throttle. He killed his engine and let the patrol boat coast silently forward on its own momentum as Jim rounded a bend in the coastline to see his targets docked outside of what appeared to be a tiny hunting-cabin.

Jim managed to maintained enough of a distance that the men had already gotten out of their boat and were almost to the door of the cabin by the time he spotted them. One of the younger men (the one in the camo-vest) was the first to reach the door to the tiny shack and as he pushed it open, a naked girl no older than 20 lunged out at him and tried to claw at the man’s face. Camo Vest simply laughed and grabbed her by her wrists before headbutting the girl and driving her to her knees.

Jim almost had to bite his tongue to keep himself from yelling out when he saw this. He reached to unholster the radio-receiver mounted to his dashboard, but then remembered where he was. The men had led Jim pretty deep into the Houma reservation, which wasn’t anywhere near his jurisdiction and technically what he was doing was trespassing. And that meant there would be no calling for backup. If Jim was going to help this girl, it would be on his own.

Camo Vest hoisted the dazed young woman over his shoulder and then started inside the cabin, followed by his two cohorts. Once they were all inside, Jim switched his boat’s engine back on and started toward the small ancient-looking dock where the men had left their vessel. As an insurance policy, he pulled up behind the men’s boat and removed the sparkplugs from their outboard motors before docking beside them.

Jim approached the cabin, moving as quietly as possible, and did a quick sweep of its exterior. The windows on either side of the tiny shack had been boarded over, making it impossible for Jim to get a sense of what was waiting for him inside. He took a deep breath as he circled back to the cabin’s entrance and unholstered his gun.

Thankfully, no one had thought to lock the front door, which meant Jim wouldn’t have to kick it down (something that, at 52, he really wasn’t looking forward to attempting). He slowly turned the knob until it was disengaged and then quickly swung the door inward with his pistol raised, fully expecting to find the three men standing there. Instead, what Jim found was an empty room with a large square hatch built into the floor.

After giving the bare room a cursory scan, Jim pulled open the hatch, revealing a staircase leading down to a fluorescent-lit hallway lined in what looked to be narrow prison cells. He bent down and craned his neck to try and get a better view of what was down there but all Jim could see was more hallway. After a few moments of internal debate, Jim started down the stairs.

The hall was, in fact, lined with several cells complete with bars but at the moment they were all vacant. The hallway itself led to a large room with cement walls and a tank of dark water at its center that resembled an oversized above-ground swimming pool. Camo Vest and the other younger man were each dumping a bucket of leeches into the tank.

The girl was now gagged and suspended from a small crane mounted to the ceiling above the water tank. Her hands were cuffed behind her back and her ankles were bound with nylon rope. The older man was operating the crane and lowered the girl into the tank of water while she tried to scream around her gag.

It was then Jim realized that, for all of his forethought, he had forgotten to reload his service revolver after firing it into the air earlier. He had shot off three rounds and his little .38 only held five, which meant that he had charged into the lion’s den with two measly bullets in his gun. This was going to take some quick thinking and the girl’s muffled screams weren’t exactly helping.

The men were all facing the tank and watching as the shivering girl was lowered into the black water and slowly submerged up to her neck. Camo Vest said, “Think Mr. Red Bear really believes this shit can divert a hurricane?”

The older man replied, “No, because he don’t pay us to question his beliefs.”

“Yeah, he pays us to kidnap and torture bitches,” Camo Vest muttered in a snarky tone.

“That’s right, young man. And business is good. Now, I don’t know how you can be so chatty when there’s still two more buckets of leeches over there that need dumpin’.”

Camo Vest turned and scanned the corner of the room as he said, “Over WHERE?”

Jim dumped the bucket of leeches onto the older man’s head and then fired the two remaining shots in his .38 at Camo Vest and his companion beside the tank. The first round tore clean through Camo’s throat and the second (which was more hastily aimed) just barely clipped the other man’s testicles but that was enough to reduce him to a writhing ball of agony.

By the time the older man was able to frantically pull the overturned bucket off of his head, both of his cronies were incapacitated and Jim was aiming his (empty) .38 at the guy’s face. Jim nodded toward the girl and said, “Get her out of there.”

An awkward smirk spread across the man’s face as he responded, “Silly boat cop… You have NO IDEA how bad you’re about to fuck yourself.”

Jim used his thumb to pull back the hammer on his (still empty) .38 and screamed, “NOW!”

The man pushed a lever and the girl was slowly lifted out of the tank, her naked body covered in hundreds of slimy black leeches. The sight of her was enough to momentarily distract Jim and the man he was holding at (empty) gunpoint took this opportunity to reach a hand around to the rear of his waistband and grab the glock concealed beneath his shirt.

Unfortunately for him, the man wasn’t quite as slick as he thought. Jim caught sight of the man’s movement in his peripheral vision and quickly chucked his .38 at him. The tiny gun spun through the air like the world’s most awkward ninja star and struck the man square on his nose.

While the man was still reeling from being long-range pistol-whipped, Jim closed the distance between them and yanked the man’s gun from his dazed grasp. Jim then shot the man with his own weapon, firing two rounds directly into his wide-eyed face.

Jim took three deep breaths and then started over to the girl, who was still covered in leeches and suspended over the tank of water. He managed to get her down from the crane and, after about 30 seconds of rummaging, he found a pair of handcuff keys in the older man’s back pocket. After unlocking her wrists, the girl quickly pulled the ball-gag from her mouth and said, “We need to hurry! The worst one hasn’t come back yet!”

Jim helped her to her feet and then caught the girl in his arms as she immediately collapsed. He knew it was the leeches and that they would have to be removed soon or she would die. But the feeling that they needed to hurry out of there had been nagging at him since he first entered the shack. The girl had simply given his mounting dread a justification. Jim began to carry her towards the hallway and then up the stairs leading to the hatch.

Just as he was reaching for the knob on the hunting shack’s front door, it swung open to reveal a large man wearing only a loincloth and a mask that was basically just a hood sewn onto the back of a bear’s face, the face itself having been painted blood red. Jim deduced that this was the infamous Mr. Red Bear just as the mysterious figure let out a frustrated scream and slid a stained machete from the belt holding up his loincloth.

The bear mask must have obscured the man’s vision because he didn’t seem to notice the gun in Jim’s hand, which was currently tucked beneath the knees of the unconscious girl in his arms. Jim quickly hip-fired two shots at Mr. Red Bear. The first one missed but the second cut through the bear mask and into the man’s now-exposed left eye.

Mr. Red Bear collapsed to his knees and Jim started to jog past him when suddenly, the kneeling man shot out a hand and grabbed him by the ankle. Jim tripped face-first onto the ground, his unconscious escort spilling from his arms. Jim looked back to see Red Bear scream, “Return her to me or you will regret it for an eternity!”

Jim started kicking him in his masked face, hoping to hit his injured eye in an effort to get Red Bear to let go, but it was no use. His grip was like a vice on Jim’ ankle. Finally, Red Bear said, “Very well… Dee fay quall ey dun slaw dun!”

Clear as day, Jim could hear the English translation in his head:

“When you die, your soul is mine.”