Bringing Home The Rain: The Redemption of Howard Marsh 1 (The Jubal County Saga)

by Bob McGough

  Movement caught my eye to the right, and looking close, I could see the mangled body of the turkey disappearing into the tree line atop the embankment. It was a hobbling mess, but I was just thankful it wasn’t flying. If it had flown off, I would have been well and truly fucked.

  I was already moving towards it the moment I realized I’d spotted the damned thing. I was halfway across the road when I realized I would need something to carry the Pooka back in, assuming I managed to catch it.

  Racing back to the van, I tugged open the back hatch and began frantically looking for something, anything that was even vaguely like a container. My heart soared when I saw a familiar yellow color, and with a cry of victory, I pulled out an old plastic Country Crock butter tub. It had heft to it, I found, and I popped it open.

  I almost gagged. If I wasn’t fairly numb to all smells at that point, thanks to the Pooka’s vomit, I would have thrown up, surely. There was some sort of moldy mess inside that might have at one time been spaghetti. It was impossible to tell under all the fuzzy blue-green mold, however. I didn’t take time to investigate though, I just dumped it empty then took off once more for the embankment.

  Splashing through the water of the far ditch, I reached up to grab onto a root to try and pull myself up. My boots struggled to get any sort of traction on red clay hillside, and the root itself was slick with rain. I had to toss the plastic tub up ahead of me so as to be able to use both hands, as my one-handed fumbling wasn’t getting me anywhere.

  I made it halfway up when my boot, which had managed to get a little grip on some sort of rock, decided it no longer believed in things such as traction. My foot slipped, and my shin crashed into the rock, hitting with enough pain that I let go of the root. I fell into the ditch ass first, splashing into the water like a clumsy kid.

  The anger I had felt earlier was a pale shadow to my state of mind in that moment. If I’d had the spell and the power, I’d have burned the whole world to ashes. The rivers would have run red with blood, and frogs would have fallen from the heavens.

  I hadn’t thought I could really get anymore wet, but falling into a rushing muddy stream proved me wrong. I was soaked from head to taint now, and I could already feel echoes of chafing from the future ruining my night. I’d left my dead phone in my back pocket, and now I was certain it was dead for real. Walmart cheapo phones don’t tend to have much resistance to, well, anything much at all.

  With a snarl, I leapt to my feet and let my anger propel me up the embankment. I practically floated up on a cloud of barely constrained rage. The recalcitrant earth clearly knew better than to fuck with me now, and my rebellious boots were no doubt in fear for their life, so within seconds, I was atop the bank and scooping up the tub.

  I set off into the woods at a trot, following in the direction I’d seen the Pooka/turkey staggering. It would be a good bit ahead, but I knew the condition the van had left that carcass in, so I knew the damn thing couldn’t move too fast. If I hurried, I could have it popped out of there in no time.

  I’m not sure what, over the course of the past few hours, would lead me to believe that would be the case, but hey, luck’s gotta turn sometime. I mean that’s what I’ve heard at least, not that I would really know from personal experience.

  Within the woods, the rain was lessened by the tree limbs overhead, but the wind was still whipping the limbs to and fro. Coupled with the frequent lightning strikes, I was a little worried for my health. If the Pooka was manipulating this storm, then who was to say it wouldn’t try calling down a bolt of lightning to fry me right up? Though the way the wind was blowing, a falling tree limb seemed just as likely to take me out the game.

  Dark forest surrounded me on all sides. I was in the midst of what looked to be mostly pines, and the ground was thickly blanketed with a bed of dead needles. What little undergrowth there was consisted mostly of briar thickets, which I did my best to avoid, but running through the darkness didn’t make that easy.

  I stopped, looking around me, trying to see if I could spot the pooturka. Mouthing a few words and flicking my fingers, I summoned up a ball of blue flame in the palm of my hand. It didn’t do the best job lighting my way, but it was better than nothing. Wheeling around, I caught a glimpse of reflected light coming from a set of eyes near chest level to me.

  Hunched on the side of a pine was a squirrel, its rat-like body clinging to the bark, its tail flicking back and forth angrily. Beady little eyes stared at me, and before I could react, the damn thing launched itself through the air at me. Its small mouth was open wide and its tiny little claws were grasping at me as though it aimed to rip my throat out.

  Jumping back, I smacked the squirrel out of the air, knocking it to the ground in the process. Its little teeth had hit my hand, leaving a tiny gash I could feel, but the squirrel had gotten the worse outcome. It was dazed, stunned by the force of my blow.

  I screamed as something latched onto my calf. Kicking out wildly, I slung another squirrel skyward as it shook loose. It took a small chunk of flesh with it as it hurled through the air. It stopped when it hit a nearby tree. It managed to hang onto the bark somehow, turning and chittering at me wildly.

  The one I had dazed was starting to try and chew into my boot now, which caused me to jump back. I could see that there were at least several more fucking squirrels skittering their way down a tree towards me, their beady little eyes all filled with blue flame and mayhem. I have a soft spot for small woodland animals, but fuck those squirrels.

  The closest caught an orb of blue flame to the face as I turned and took off running. Before, I’d been jogging, but now, I wanted space between me and those damn squirrels. I called up another orb, feeling it burn through more of my high, using up my carefully hoarded and drug-fueled power. Turning a squirrel into a tiny bonfire was one thing, but doing the same to a forest worth of squirrels...well, I’d need a lot more drugs. And it suddenly occurred to me that I had left my box of oblivion in the van beneath the seat.

  A quick glance behind me showed the squirrel-b-que was sputtering out, the tiny rodent having not provided much fuel for the magical flames. In the dying light though, I could see at least half a dozen or more squirrels and wood rats go scuttling past. “Well, that’s not good,” I muttered, my smoker’s lungs protesting at the wasted breath.

  Boil And Trouble

  I held out my hand which held the orb of flame, using it to light my path. It caused shadows to flicker ominously on all sides, and I found myself staring at nothing. I was convinced that every shadow and windblown branch was a rodent hurling itself at me. I’d heard that story about the man who got his nipple bitten off by a beaver. No way in hell was I going down like that.

  A flapping noise reached my ears, and turning my head, I caught sight of the gray under feathers of a turkey flailing about. Turning, I struck out towards it, but that took me straight into a thick bramble patch. The gripping thorns ripped and tore at my shirt and bare flesh, leaving countless tiny gouges in my skin.

  When a rabbit chomped down on my calf, I realized my tactical error. Briars do a real good job of tangling up big things, like clumsy humans. Small creatures, however, could just bebop close to the ground and run right under most of that mess. I had no doubt there were a dozen or more small critter-sized trails through this bramble patch.

  None of that was really on the forefront of my mind at just that second, however. Instead, my focus was on the fucking rabbit with its pointy little front teeth trying to tear a chunk out of my leg. I kicked out, hoping to have similar results to my first kick, but this rabbit was much fatter than the squirrel, and when I kicked, I kicked right into the briars. I shook the rabbit loose, but in turn ripped my leg right up with thorns.

  Spinning, I flung the fire orb and it hit the bunny with a glancing blow. Being magic, however, that was all it took, and in spite of the rain, the blood-thirsty critter went up in an instant. Magical fire doesn’t fuck around.

  The fire quickly spread to the surrou
nding briars, blue flames catching the thorny boughs alight. The magic spent itself quickly, however, and within a heartbeat, all that was left was mundane fire, which the wet and rain smothered. Regardless, I was already on the move, trying to rip through the last of the bushes before anything else could attack me.

  I broke free, and as I ran, I summoned up yet another ball of fire. I could feel the drain on my system, not enough yet to be really worrisome, but enough to remind me that my power, even drug-fueled, was far from unlimited. Once summoned, I glanced back behind me, holding the orb aloft. What I saw caused me to stop.

  Peering out from the edge of the briars were dozens of sets of eyes. They were reflecting the flame of my magic, and dozens of smaller blue orbs were peering back at me. They weren’t moving, having stopped at the spot where the ground began to clear.

  Over my pounding heart, the wheezes of my breath, and the storm, I heard a sound that instantly caused me to freeze in place.

  Wind chimes.

  And if they were close enough for me to hear them in this storm, then they were far, far too close. Turning slowly, I raised my eyes, looking around for the chimes. I fed a bit more power into the flaming sphere, to both increase the light and to prepare. Just in case.

  I spotted a set of the chimes a dozen yards away. Made of bamboo we’d cut from the backside of the property, they were old and heavily weathered. Thick cords of twine held them to the limb above, and as the wind blew, they twirled and slammed into each other. Their hollow clanking echoed bleakly through the trees.

  There was no way to tell what the Pooka had done to the minds of the rodents to get them to attack me. Maybe it had made me out to be a predator after their offspring, or an extra tasty nut. But whatever it had done, it wasn’t enough to get them to enter the area around the witch house. I didn’t blame them. I certainly didn’t want to be there.

  Sliding over to beside an oak tree, I carefully leaned against it. I couldn’t decide whether to snuff out the light, or keep it around for protection. It certainly drew the eye, but then it took a few seconds to summon up. A few seconds could be all the difference.

  The storm was still raging, but it seemed to be relenting ever so slightly. The clanking of the chimes was not as frantic, and there in the lee of the tree I wasn’t actively getting more soaked. Though to be fair I had already reached maximum wetness, I figured. Glancing back to the briar patch, I saw fewer eyes looking back at me.

  Whatever magic the Pooka had woven was weakening, I figured. The creatures were fading away into the forest, and the storm was going back to normal. That meant it was focused on something more important than trying to keep me from catching it.

  A shriek tore through the night, inhuman and horrible. It seemed to be coming from all directions, carrying on the swirling eddies of the wind. It was a cry of pain and terror, and it chilled me to the bone, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

  I snuffed my orb right the fuck out. I wanted no part of whatever that was, and decided that discretion was the better part of valor. The Pooka was out there, and even though I needed to get it gathered back up, being dead wouldn’t help matters none.

  The darkness was terrifying. With the storm blocking whatever moonlight there would have been, it was inky black there in those woods. I listened hard, but after that one scream, all I could hear was wind and chimes. I took to peaking around the tree to either side, trying to get some sort of feel for what might be happening.

  Lightning cracked, sending electric blue light to split the darkness. As the light faded, I caught a glimpse of bone-white. It was a split second, just short enough to leave me doubting that I actually saw anything, that maybe it was just an echo of light on my eyes. I knew better though.

  The bark of the oak I was clinging to was digging painfully into my skin, so tightly was I holding on. If I could have melded into that wood, I’d have done it. Instead, I carefully glanced around, looking for signs of the Pooka. It was so dark that I couldn’t see more than a score of feet away.

  Lightning scarred the night sky once again, a long forking blast that struck so close that the thunder was almost deafening. In those scant seconds though, I found what I was looking for, and regretted that I had.

  The reanimated turkey was dragging itself across the ground, flopping horribly on broken bones. Its one remaining wing flapped weakly as though it was trying to take flight, but was failing miserably. Its head hung limply on a broken neck, bobbing with every shuddering motion of the corpse.

  Several feet behind it lumbered a rough amalgam of bones in the shape of a man. The bones were clearly not human, being hodge-podge of varying animal bones and capped with a black painted cow skull. Its long horns looped outwards, ending in golden points.

  Silently, it stalked forward, raising a boney fist. The fingers of its hand were more like sharpened spikes than actual digits, and even curled inward, it looked lethal. Then the light faded and I was left in the dark once more.

  I heard a meaty thwack, like someone tenderizing a steak. It was loud enough to be heard over the tail end of the thunder, which left me feeling sick to my stomach. I had no idea what effect a blow like that would have on the Pooka, but I suspected it was now having an even worse night than I had been.

  White light split the sky and I could see the figure in bones had gripped the corpse of the turkey by its wing, and with one spinning twirl, sent it hurling through the night. The carcass sailed over the brambles, out of my line of sight. The creature was already turning though, not bothering to watch.

  As the darkness fell once more, I kept my body as still as possible. I knew in spite of the lack of eyes in that skull, sight was no problem for the monster. I hoped he thought that he’d successfully driven the interloper from his home turf, and would go back to doing whatever it was that soul-bound piles of animal bones did at night. So long as it let me be.

  I heard its heavy footsteps coming closer. It wasn’t running, or moving especially quick, but at a steady pace that contrasted with the quick pace of my heartbeats. Each lumbering step brought it closer to me, and as silently as possible I got ready to cast a spell. It wasn’t until the damn thing had passed by that I realized I had been holding my breath. I let it out as slowly and quietly as I could, in case it was closer than I thought. Then I slipped from behind the tree and in a crouchy, scuttly run took off for the briar patch.

  I didn’t dare light up another ball of flame, so it was slow, delicate going when I reached the brambles. Not being pursued, at least none that I was aware of, I was better able to navigate the thorny mess, only getting a few more small cuts to add to my collection.

  The Pooka was lying there unmoving. I wasn’t sure if it was sort of knocked out, or if the body of the turkey had finally taken enough damage to become immobile. Either was just fine with me, I thought, as I crouched down beside it.

  Pulling out the empty butter tub, I popped off the lid and set it beside the carcass. “I shoulda done this from the word go,” I muttered, cracking my fingers in anticipation. “But you can never tell how Granny might react to somethin’ and I figured it would be best to return you the way I found you. But you changed the game now.”

  Putting a hand on the head of the turkey, trying my best to ignore the blood that covered it, I started muttering a few words. I no more knew what they meant than you would, but I knew what they would do: pull that Pooka up out that turkey.

  A faint golden glow began to spread under my hand as the spirit entered my grip. It felt cold and slimy-like, as most trickster types do, but the fact that it wasn’t fighting me or trying to wiggle loose told me it was solidly dazed. With it in a firm grip, I slammed it into the tub and slipped on the lid.

  I took a little of the blood on my hand and etched my sigil on top of it. With a few more words, and a little more wiggles, that tub was sealed up in such a way that only me, or someone a lot more powerful than I was could open it.

  All that had taken a good bit out of me, and with the rai
n still pounding down, I staggered to my feet and started the walk back to the van.

  Special Delivery

  It was maybe an hour before dawn by the time I made my way up the dirt road to my family’s houses. The rain had subsided, thankfully, having drizzled to a stop an hour earlier. My thighs however were so chafed that every step caused me to flinch in pain as my jean shorts rubbed against my skin.

  Coupled with dozens of rather nasty cuts from my run through the briars, it made walking a pain. It didn’t help that I was crashing hard from the drugs, leaving me feeling strung out and weak. I either needed to do more, or get some sleep. I was pretty sure how I would decide.

  I could feel the Pooka stirring in the tub I held under my arm. It was drifting around in there, testing the limits, seeing if it could weasel its way out. At least that’s what I figured. Who knew what it was really doing.

  It had made my life hell last night, but easy come, easy go. Being honest with myself, I felt sorry for the damn thing. It would be going back in Granny’s basement until such time as she found another use for it. Which knowing her wouldn’t be at all pleasant.

  Grimacing, I squatted down and sat the tub in the mud. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a handful of old, ruined blackberries. They were dried-out husks mostly, turned rock hard with age. I’d had to go a little out of my way to snag them, but one thing about Jubal County, is there is no shortage of thorn bushes.

  I tapped the lid, sending tiny little jolts of power in. “Now you behave yourself, I got a treat for you.”

  Carefully, I cracked the lid just enough to slip the berries in one at a time. There was no doubt in my mind that the damn thing made a move to bolt out, as I was sure I felt the container rock a bit. But the moment that first old berry fell in, the Pooka settled down. It might have been a shock, for all I know.