Skip to main content

A Crazy Old Man and a Stinky Old Fish: A Short Story by cam

Chris has written more than 300 flash fiction/short stories. Working Vacation was 21st out of 6,700 in the 2016 Writer's Digest competition.

Three boys stared at the bloated body as it baked in the searing, midsummer heat of Indiana. Flies crawled around the eyes and mouth looking for a good place to lay their eggs.

“Who’d just leave a fish that big layin’ on the ground?” asked Rodney, who at age ten was the youngest of the three boys and brother to Rick.

“Ever since I first seen that fish jump one day, the thought of catchin’ him’s been the only reason I keep comin’ back to this pond,” said Rick.

“Twenty-one inches and five pounds, I bet,” said Tom. “Probly’ll never be another large mouth bass like that one in this quarry pond. If we’re still campin’ out, then I’m buryin’ that fish. I ain’t smellin’ the rotten thing all night.” Tom found a soft patch of ground and began digging with his bare hands.

“Just kick it into the water,” said Rodney.

“I don’t wanna bump into that maggot farm when I’m swimmin’. Help me dig this hole big enough so we can cover him up good.” The boys soon had a sizable hole, so Rick began nudging the bass toward it with his sneaker. Blow flies rose from their feasting and egg laying, but kept hovering nearby, hoping to reclaim their prize.”

“That’s the nastiest thing I ever seen,” said Rodney, holding his nose.

“Really?” asked Tom. “Did you forget about that dead cow back by the creek? She was blowed up like a hot air balloon.” The bass tumbled into the hole, and the boys pushed the dirt on top, patting it down firmly.

Rick and Rodney lived near the farm owned by Tom’s mother and father. The three spent most of their time playing in the big barn and fishing in the creek that ran through the property. The pond was about a half mile away and belonged to a neighbor who didn’t like the boys hanging around. When he knew they were fishing in his pond, he’d grab his shotgun to shoot a few shells into the air. Then the boys would run off, laughing and shouting, calling the farmer a crazy old man.

The trio walked into the woods that bordered the south side of the pond and picked a campsite where the crazy old man wouldn’t be able to see their fire from his house. They caught several, small bluegills which they filleted, then put into an old skillet over the hot embers. After they finished eating, the boys sat around their fire, talking.

“What must it have been like to catch a fish that big?” said Rick. At that moment they heard a vehicle driving toward the the opposite side of the pond, coming in from the road.

“Quick, put the fire out,” said Tom. Rick and Rodney kicked dirt into the flames while Tom brought water from the pond in a rusty bucket. After the smoke and steam died down they turned their attention to whoever was ruining their evening.

“Think it’s the old man?” said Rodney. “I hope he ain’t got his shotgun with him.”

“Let’s grab all our gear and hide back there in the trees,” said Tom. The boys gathered their sleeping bags and frying pan and fishing poles, then ran deeper into the woods. They ducked down behind a fallen tree just in time. Two men stepped out of the trees into the campsite the boys had just vacated.

“Told you I seen a fire over here, Jess. Wood’s still wet and warm,” said one of the men.

“Probly just some kids who is hightailin’ it back to wherever they live right now,” said the one named Jess. A flashlight beam passed along the dead tree that hid the boys. They stayed low and quiet, resisting the urge to run. The light moved on, panning the area for several more minutes.

“Shut the light off, Billy. We don’t want old man Simmons seein’ it,” said Jess. “Let’s get back to the truck. We got plans to make if we’re gonna steal his money tonight.”

Scroll to Continue

Tom, Rick and Rodney didn’t move after the two men had left the campsite. Rodney was close to crying, so the other two waited till he was breathing steadily again. They put their heads close together so they could whisper and not be heard.

“Let’s git outa here now before they come back for another look around,” said Rick.

“We can’t just let them rob that old man. We may not like him much, but we gotta do somethin’,” said Tom. “Heck, they might even kill the poor guy.” They sat in silence, pondering the possibility that a murder might be about to happen. Finally, Tom rolled over and began crawling along the length of the tree.

“Where you goin’?” said Rodney.

“We gotta get close enough to those two losers so we can hear what their plan is,” said Tom. He continued crawling in the direction the men had gone. Rick and Rodney looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders and fell in behind their friend.

The three boys crept along as quietly as they could. After a few minutes, the aroma of roasting rabbit reached their nostrils. Low voices were mumbling as burning wood cracked and popped ahead of them. A battered old pick up blocked and covered their approach. Looking under the truck, they could see the campfire, four denim covered legs ending in two pair of worn out brogans and a growing pile of rabbit bones. They could hear the voices of Jess and Billy very well.

“I sure wish we was eatin’ that bass I caught this mornin’,” said Jess. “I hate rabbit. But you had to go an’ leave the fish layin’ on the tailgate of the truck when we left. It bounced off and there went our dinner plans.”

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” said Billy.

“A fox or coon must’ve drug it away, cause I didn’t see it when we drove in here tonight,” said Jess. “But forget about that, we need to make up our plan for stealin’ the old man’s money. Tell me one more time everything you heard at the barber shop last week, Billy.”

“Well, I was waitin’ for Sam, the barber, to cut my hair. While he was busy cuttin’ old man Simmons’ hair, which he ain’t got much of, they was talkin’ about money an’ banks an’ stuff like that,” said Billy. “Simmons said he didn’t like banks since he lost all his money in one durin’ the Great Depression. Sam asked him what he done with his money if it wasn’t in a bank an’ Simmons says he has a real good hidin’ place. Sam asks him if he’s gonna tell him how much money he’s got in that good hidin’ spot an’ Simmons just laughs an says he ain’t gonna say nuthin’ ‘cept that he’s been savin’ since the depression.”

“Hmm, It’s been forty years since the Great Depression,” said Jess. “That’s a lot of savin’. An’ he didn’t say nuthin’ about where his money was hid?”.

“Nope, not one word about it,” said Billy.

“Well, by the time we is finished with him, he’s gonna be beggin’ us to take his money an’ leave,” said Jess.

“This is gonna be fun. I ain’t never beat up an old man before,” said Billy. “We headin’ over to his house right now?”

“No. We’ll wait a couple of hours till Simmons is sleepin’ real good,” said Jess. “Then, when we wake him up, he’ll be all confused. We’ll just say our truck broke down on the road, an’ we want to use his telephone to call for help.”

“That’s when we beat the old man up, Right? An’ when he tells us where the money is, we grab it an’ leave. Oh, we is gonna get rich tonight, ain’t we, Jess?”

“We’ll kill the old man before we leave, though,” said Jess.

“Huh?” said Billy. “I ain’t never killed nobody before.”

“We’ll dump the body in the pond with one of them cinder blocks I got in the back of the truck tied to Simmons’ ankle. Then we’ll leave.”

“Jess, your plan just keeps gettin’ better ’n better,” said Billy.


Tom, Rick and Rodney began crawling backward into the trees where they stood and ran as fast as they could run.

On the far side of the pond, Tom stopped.

“Why’d we stop?” said Rick. “We oughta keep runnin’ all the way home.”

“An’ let those two good-for-nuthins kill old man Simmons an’ steal his money?” said Tom. “You two go on if you want, but I’m workin’ on my own plan now.”

“What plan?” asked Rodney who was on the verge of tears again.

“First thing we’re gonna do,” said Tom, “is dig up that stinky old fish.”

“A couple of hours later, two figures stole away from a beat up old truck parked on the road, toward a farmhouse where no lights burned in the windows.

“Let’s nose around a bit before we wake the old man up,” said Jess. The two men entered a small tool shed, looking around for a good hiding place for forty years worth of cash. The shed was half filled with wood boxes containing old parts for farm machinery. On a workbench along one wall, Billy found a pocket knife he fancied and Jess pocketed a nice pair of clamping pliers. “Ain’t no money in here,” Jess said. “Let’s go to the house and wake up old Mr. Simmons.”

They stood on a cement slab outside the front door.

“What about the shotgun, Jess?” asked Billy.

“He’s an old man. I think I can manage to take a shotgun from a little old man,” said Jess.

Spring peepers chirped in the darkness as Jess raised his fist to knock. The door flew open and Jess found himself staring into a pair of three quarter inch black holes, the bores of a double barrel 10 gauge shotgun. The old man walked boldly forward while the two, would-be thieves stumbled backward. Jess and Billy turned and ran as Simmons emptied the first barrel into the air above their heads. In the truck, Jess shoved the gearshift into drive, tires screeching as they spun on the paved road. Another blast from the shotgun took out one of the tail lights.

“Those look like cop car lights comin’ toward us way up ahead,” said Billy.

“I’ll take the next side road,” said Jess as he shut off the truck’s headlights. “We’ll be long gone by the time that cop talks to old man Simmons and comes lookin’ for us.

“How’d the cops get here so fast?” asked Billy.

“I don’t know,” said Jess, “but what’s that goddam smell?”

“Smells like rotten fish,” said Billy. “An’ it’s gettin’ stronger, like it’s cookin’.”

“It’s burnin’ my eyes,” cried Jess. “I can’t see where I’m goin’.”

The pickup weaved back and forth across the narrow, country road, into the ditch on the left, then turning sharply, crashing into the ditch on the right, just as the Sheriff’s patrol car rolled to a stop.

Back at Simmons’ house, the old man waved a wrinkled, but steady hand toward the tool shed. Tom, Rick and Rodney walked out the same door that Jess and Billy had just used and crossed the gravel driveway. Simmons handed two, one dollar bills to each boy.

“Did those two scoundrels take anything when they were in the shed?” asked Simmons. The boys told him about the pocket knife and the clamping pliers. “That and trespassing should be enough to hold them for a few days,” he said.

“From now on, as long as you stop by and ask for my permission first, you boys can camp by the pond and fish whenever you want. It’s the least I can do in return for what you did for me tonight.” Simmons looked down the road as the Deputy Sheriff pulled Jess and Billy out of the wrecked truck and cuffed them. “I wonder what made them lose control of the truck like that?” He shrugged it off and turned back to the boys. “Now git goin’,” he said, “You stink like rotten fish.” The corners of the old man’s mouth turned up slightly, brightening a weathered and wrinkled face.

The boys walked down the road as the patrol car slowly passed them on the way to Simmons’ place. Jess and Billy glared at them from the back seat. When they reached the pickup, Tom stepped into the ditch and lifted the hood. By the light of the moon, they could just make out the smoldering carcass of a very large fish on top of the engine block. The smell hit them in the face, and Tom let the hood drop with a crash that momentarily broke the silence of the summer night.

“Which do you wanna do before we sleep?” asked Tom. “Swimmin’ or fishin’?”

“Swimmin’ for me,” said Rodney.

“Me too,” said Rick. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat fish again as long as I live.”


John Hansen from Gondwana Land on September 14, 2019:

I loved this story Chris. Can’t believe I missed it when you firs published. The ending still has me smiling.

Chris Mills (author) from Traverse City, MI on July 12, 2016:

Shyron, that fish was already ripe before they put it under the hood. very effective weapon. Glad you liked this one. Thanks for stopping.

Shyron E Shenko from Texas on July 11, 2016:

I knew the boys would save the old man, but I did not know how and did not suspect the boys put the fish under the hood, not even when they smelled the fish burning.

Fantastic Chris, I loved it.

Blessings dear friend.

Chris Mills (author) from Traverse City, MI on June 07, 2015:

Thanks Deb. I base these stories on my own childhood, but I can't stop the little rascals popping into my head now and then, as well as Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer.

Deb Hirt from Stillwater, OK on June 07, 2015:

What a great story! It reminded me of the Little Rascals adventures.

jgshorebird on May 07, 2015:

Thanks. Great story.

Chris Mills (author) from Traverse City, MI on May 01, 2015:

lawrence01, glad you liked the story and that you were able to get back and finish reading.

Lawrence Hebb from Hamilton, New Zealand on May 01, 2015:

Loved this story and just had to come back to finish it off

Great read


Chris Mills (author) from Traverse City, MI on April 29, 2015:

Frank, I know you do a great deal of reading here on HP. That you took time to read my story twice means a lot. Thank you and I appreciate the comments.

Frank Atanacio from Shelton on April 29, 2015:

Cam this fiction was indeed a superb yarn.. I couldn't help it but to reread it again loved it..:)

Chris Mills (author) from Traverse City, MI on April 28, 2015:

Jo, thanks for stopping by today and reading. Yes, there was something very unlikable about that fish. But it did come in handy in the end.

Chris Mills (author) from Traverse City, MI on April 28, 2015:

Ann, thanks for reading and for y our input about this story. It was fun to write because was reliving some of my childhood as I did so.

Jo Alexis-Hagues from Lincolnshire, U.K on April 28, 2015:

Cam, this is a wonderful read, loved the humour, definitely not a dead fish. :) beautifully done.

Ann Carr from SW England on April 28, 2015:

Just the sort of thing kids do, isn't it? Most, too, would make sure the 'baddies' didn't get away with it.

Great story well told. I love the humour in it. I know a few people who've used a fish in the exhaust pipe for a prank!

You had me absorbed all the way.


Chris Mills (author) from Traverse City, MI on April 26, 2015:

Don, nice to see you here today. Thanks for the comment. Life on a farm in Indiana in the sixties and seventies, in retrospect, was a Tom Sawyer kind of existence for me. We had guns and horses, built rafts for the creek and caught catfish that we cooked over campfires. I wouldn't trade all of that for anything.

Don A. Hoglund from Wisconsin Rapids on April 26, 2015:

This was a very good story. I've been a city dweller most of my life but I used to know a guy who told stories about the ways of farm kids that were much like this.

Chris Mills (author) from Traverse City, MI on April 26, 2015:

Venkatachari M, Thanks for reading. The old man and the boys are from my childhood. The character, Tom, was me. The pond, actually two ponds were real, but have since been filled in as farm land. The old man really did chase us off by shooting his shotgun into the air.

Venkatachari M from Hyderabad, India on April 26, 2015:

Interesting story. It seems real events and people. Enjoyed much.

Chris Mills (author) from Traverse City, MI on April 26, 2015:

Shauna, I've had a variety of experiences and should take more advantage of them in my stories. Yes, get the King book. I'm going slow, so you can catch up.

Chris Mills (author) from Traverse City, MI on April 26, 2015:

Faith, really, sometimes it's just a place or a single experience or a person. Everything else might be complete fiction. Maybe it gives the story a little more authenticity.

Shauna L Bowling from Central Florida on April 26, 2015:

Foiled by a fish! I love it, Chris! It seems your life has given you plenty of fuel for story-telling. I look forward to more.

Someone else I know recently read King's book on writing. I just may have to pick up a copy.

Faith Reaper from southern USA on April 26, 2015:

Really, I think the best of the best writers do that in their writing, which makes a lot of sense to me. I look forward to reading more of your stories mixing in your childhood on the farm experiences. Hope you are enjoying a peaceful Sunday. God bless

Chris Mills (author) from Traverse City, MI on April 26, 2015:

Faith, I'm reading Stephen King's book on writing. He begins the book just by telling about his life because that is where he draws a lot of his material from. I thought I'd try to do more of that. I had an interesting childhood on the farm.

Chris Mills (author) from Traverse City, MI on April 26, 2015:

Thanks, Will. I appreciate the visit.

Faith Reaper from southern USA on April 26, 2015:

Loved this story, Chris. You're a great storyteller no doubt, and from reading the comments, I see it is autobiographical, which I love how you mixed your true account in with this story. I think most of us add a bit from our experiences in life, even in fiction in bits here and there.

Up awesome and interesting

WillStarr from Phoenix, Arizona on April 26, 2015:

Excellent story, Cam! I really enjoyed it!

Chris Mills (author) from Traverse City, MI on April 26, 2015:

Thanks Ruby. This was autobiographical regarding the farm, creek, pond and Mr. Simmons shooting his gun to chase us off. Rick and Rodney were real too, but I haven't seen them for 40 years. Oh, and I didn't catch a bass that large until about three years ago. :) Thanks for reading.

Ruby Jean Richert from Southern Illinois on April 26, 2015:

I really liked your story, esp. the way you told the story using kids and punks dialogue. Well done..

Chris Mills (author) from Traverse City, MI on April 25, 2015:

Becky, thanks for being the first to comment on this story. The process was hilarious as it began with a simple free write. I had the early part about burying the fish, but nothing after that. Then the imagination took over. Most of this, without all the murder, was autobiographical to a large extent.

Becky Katz from Hereford, AZ on April 25, 2015:

Really good story Chris. I was laughing before we got to where they hid the fish. I had it figured out by then.

Related Articles