by Pete Kahle
The horse thumped its way down the dirt path, and Judah felt swallowed by the night. The illumination from his house faded behind him, and now he saw only with the aid of stark moonlight. The whirring sound of the crickets grew louder, punctuated by an occasional owl hoot.
It reminded him of home. He hailed originally from the backwoods of Pennsylvania, where he’d misspent his youth helping his pa brew moonshine, and though he never firmly believed in it, he took part in his ma’s bastardized powwow ways.
Out west, in the rich fields of Nebraska, very little reminded him of the peaceful, almost lazy ways of home. Only the night made him feel like a child again, when darkness shrouded the fields, and he could close his eyes and pretend to be in his native woods.
Before long he reached town, where the sounds of drunken debauchery dispelled his reverie. Civilization tended to do that to a man. Had he never gone to Philadelphia, he would never have become enchanted with the ways of the Christian church. He’d still be an ignorant yokel, sinning with his old man and practicing empty and meaningless magic with his mother.
He never would have met Rachael, either. He never would have found true happiness.
He rode past the rows of saloons, ignoring the raucous, tinkling music from within. Harder to ignore were the sounds of revelry. Laughs, cries, shouts, declarations. The rhythmic stomping of dancing boots.
All of the stores were closed. The only other building that showed a sign of life was the sheriff’s office. A candle burned in the window, and someone made a loud, metallic rattling sound. A disgruntled prisoner, perhaps?
Judah turned a blind eye to it all, and as he reached the end of town, where only the church resided, its white steeple in sharp contrast against the sackcloth sky, the noise of late night city living passed away. In fact, he could hear nothing but the deafening ring of absolute silence. Though the church had a huge yard out back, no crickets could be heard.
The horse slowed. Judah hadn’t given any commands, so he nudged the animal forward. It stopped, a small whine in the back of its throat.
“Come on, Sue,” he whispered. “Get going.” He dug his heels in a bit, and the horse continued. Its head shook back and forth in a skittering way. Though it was night, Judah figured Sue had wind of a snake.
He tethered his horse to the hitching rail and made his way up the steps into the church. Inside, a few candles burned, but he found no one around, not even the reverend. Thinking Jordan was in the rectory, Judah walked down the aisle, pausing to take a quick knee before a statue of the crucified Christ, and made his way around back.
Before he reached the rectory, he felt kind of funny. His arm hairs stood up uncomfortably, and the back of his neck tingled. He hadn’t felt this way since childhood, when his pa’s still was about to be raided by the local deputies.
And then he sensed an odd animal smell, almost like a bear’s, yet muskier.
He heard a loud thunk as something fell over in the rectory. Someone wearing heavy boots clopped along the hardwood floor. He wanted to call out the reverend’s name, but his throat seemed suddenly small. He couldn’t even squeak as he moved toward Jordan’s private chambers.
The smell in here was worse. It mixed with the deep, gassy smell of shit and something else. Something . . . coppery, like when Rachael was on her menses.
A light breeze pushed his hair back as he realized that the window had been broken. No, that wasn’t quite right. The window had been torn clean out of the wall. The sill stuck out in all directions, a splintered mess.
And then Judah saw the reverend—what remained of him—and the hulking beast hovering over him.
At first his eyes refused to process this unholy thing before him, but after a moment, he started categorizing it in terms his mind could comprehend. A diadem of horns—akin to a buck deer’s antlers—topped its bear’s head. The rest of its seven-foot-tall frame was a shaggy pelt not unlike a buffalo’s. It had no feet but hooves, exactly like a goat’s.
But its face and hands were pure human, and evil shone from its almond eyes and razor-toothed grin. Its taloned claws—opposable thumbs and all—rooted around in the reverend’s body, or so it seemed at first. Judah peered past the mess of blood and sundered flesh to see that Jordan’s legs had been broken and twisted away, giving the beast easy access to the reverend’s most private of parts.
The beast had dug its hands into Jordan’s groin—deep—and now it uprooted his genitals in one awful scoop. It brought the handful of obscene flesh to its mouth and bit into it, yanking its head back like a dog working a bone, and chewing its prize with the sloppy, slobbery chaos of a hungry animal.
In that moment, as Judah watched this horror, he knew that there was no God. No all-powerful being would ever consent to the existence of such a monster.
It lowered the final piece of Jordan’s genitals into its mouth like a delectable morsel and chewed, blood slipping down its hairy chin. Its eyes closed in ecstasy as it smacked and slurped until it swallowed. Then, it looked directly at Judah and grinned, showing off teeth that belonged to a mountain lion.
Fear flushed through Judah’s system, and his consciousness fled him. The next thing he knew, he woke in his own bed, body slicked and sticking to the sheets. Relief flooded his thoughts as he realized that the horrors of last night couldn’t have been real. The beast had been a fevered nightmare, perhaps brought on by a bad piece of food at supper.
But then he found Rachael in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. As he sat down to a plate full of eggs, toast and bacon, she asked how he felt.
“A bit shaky,” he said. He thought he might mention the nightmare, but perhaps the subject matter would be too strong for the fairer sex.
“You came home an absolute mess,” she said. “I don’t know what you got into, but you were terrified out of your mind. All you wanted to do was hide in bed. You trembled so much I thought you’d break the bed. What happened last night?”
Judah didn’t tell her anything. He had to have dreamed the whole thing. Monsters didn’t exist, and if they did, God would protect him from them. So not wishing to seem like a fool to his own wife, he remained reticent on the matter.
Yet when he went outside to begin the usual chores, he found his horse outside the barn, breathing heavily with its flanks practically whipped away. Had he done this to the poor animal in an attempt to flee . . . something?
Then he heard the news. A neighbor stopping by for some water and a quick jaw told him that something had gotten to the reverend. “Must’ve been an animal. Tore him to pieces, it did. Ugly sight. Even the undertaker puked.”
Judah felt something move uncomfortably in his guts, and breathing became difficult, as if he wore an ever-tightening girdle. He flashed back to last night, to the beast reveling in the reverend’s severed works. He felt that horrible fear again and fought the urge to look around just to make sure the beast hadn’t snuck up on him.
That night, his fear became more real. As he closed up the barn, ready for dinner, he smelled the unmistakable musk of the monster, and he felt like he was back in Jordan’s rectory. His heart flailed against the inside of his chest as he whipped around, deathly afraid that he would see the monster a split second before it did to him what it had done to the reverend.
Nothing. No movements. No sound. The musk faded, but he took his pitchfork with him back to the house. Once more, he barricaded the door, and when he went to bed, he kept the pitchfork close at hand.
When he did this a third night in a row, Rachael said, “What’s gotten into you?”
Judah fumbled with words, trying to express confusion at her question. It was a futile attempt, and she made sure to let him know with her next breath. Finally, he said, “I can’t explain it. Something… happened. I—”
“You don’t say your prayers anymore,” she said. “Whatever happened’s been eating you pretty bad.”
He blanched at her choice of words. An image of the beast eating Reverend Jordan came to mind, and he shoo
k his head, trying to banish the gristly scene.
“You’ve got to tell me what’s wrong,” she said. “I’m your wife, Judah.”
She looked so concerned, but he knew she’d never believe the truth. As for himself, he didn’t want to believe, but it stuck in his thoughts like a piece of corn between his teeth.
But the truth had to come out of him. It was all he could think about, even as he toiled at work on the farm. It poisoned him, and if he didn’t talk about it, it would wither him into a man old beyond his years.
“I saw what happened to Reverend Jordan,” he said.
“How—?”
“I went to see him that night, remember? And . . . and I saw the thing that et him. It was… ” He trailed off because something didn’t seem right. Though it was a calm night, he could hear nothing. No crickets, no birds, not even the grunting sound of pigs in the pen out back. His neck tingled, and he sniffed the air for any kind of musk.
“Judah,” Rachael said. “What—?”
His eyes darted to the window, and for a split second he saw the face of the beast leering at him through the glass. It grinned, eyes twinkling, and then vanished from the pane.
Judah grabbed up the pitchfork and rushed to the window. The whole thing had happened so quickly he wondered if he’d imagined it. He didn’t know what he feared more, catching a retreating glimpse of the monster, thereby confirming his fears, or nothing at all.
“What’s wrong?” Rachael asked.
Swallowing, he forced his hands to stop trembling. “They’re saying a bear mauled him. Well, it weren’t no animal that done it.” He then described the monster as he stared out the window, looking for any sign of it.
Rachael couldn’t look at him when she asked, “Did you stop by the Lady Gaye that night?”
This remark hurt him, and then he realized it shouldn’t have. Sin couldn’t exist if God didn’t. “You know I’ve never had a drop to drink.”
“You came home in a state that night. You don’t even remember it. Maybe—”
“It wasn’t drink, Rachael.”
Silence. Then: “Why do you keep looking out that window?”
“I’m afraid that creature might’ve followed me home.”
She didn’t look at him quite the same since then. His demeanor thereafter didn’t help, either. As soon as the sky started to darken in the east every day, he barricaded the house and refused to let their kids outside. He stood vigil at the windows with a newly purchased rifle. Before, he wanted nothing to do with guns. Now he stayed up late in his chair, his rifle across his lap, a finger in the trigger guard.
All of this had a bad effect on Jeb and Jubal Crenshaw. The former, older by three years, hated his old man for this new tyranny. He wanted to see his friends after supper and maybe do a little hell-catting. At fourteen, he’d just begun developing an interest in things in which his parents would disapprove. The nightly lockdown inspired anger and sulking in him. However, the latter bought into Judah’s paranoia. It got so bad he spent his evenings hiding in the bed he shared with his brother.
Rachael couldn’t tell which of the two had it off worse. As for herself, she couldn’t bear to sleep next to her own husband. He screamed a lot while dreaming and shivered so hard the bed shook. At times, he would flail out and accidentally strike her.
She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but in this present state, he was dangerous, not just physically but emotionally. Who knew how badly he’d already stunted Jubal’s growth?
One morning, while the boys were already at their chores, Rachael sat at the table next to Judah and said, “I want to leave, and I want to take our kids with me.”
He gazed at her through heavy-lidded, sleep-deprived eyes. More veins than iris looked out of their puffy cocoons at her, the whites covered in a red, cobwebby film. He said nothing.
“Darn it, I don’t want to go, but you’re making this impossible. Have you even seen that… whatever it is since that night?”
He ignored her and turned his attention to the window. Even though the sun shone down on every inch of the farm, he still felt concerned whenever the kids were outside.
“You’re not going to fight me on this?” When he said nothing a third time, she uncharacteristically cursed. “I want to protect them. From you. But if you just talk to me, maybe we can figure this out.”
He jerked, as if someone had startled him from behind. “From me? Why? I’m trying to keep them alive.”
“From a figment of your imagination. I’ve never seen that thing, Judah. And I think you see it, but only in your nightmares. Sometimes you scare me.”
He stared dumbly at her. It hurt that she thought for a second that he would do anything to hurt his family, and he wanted to burst out at her. But then he thought that this might work out for the best. By taking the kids away from here, she’d be saving them from the thing that killed Reverend Jordan. He swallowed hard, forcing his indignation back into his guts, where it festered like an infected boil.
“To hell with you, Judah. I don’t know why you’re doing all of this, but I’m not going anywhere. From your silence, I have no choice but to think you want us to go. Maybe now that you don’t live up to your religious beliefs, you want to play around a bit. Maybe go to a few saloons. Maybe even find a new woman. But I refuse to let you do this. You won’t get out of this easy.”
No. She couldn’t stay. She and the kids had to leave, even if he had to make them. Yet he didn’t know if he could. He’d never raised a hand to her in all their years together. What if she called his bluff? Would he really have to hit her?
“Get over yourself.” His voice was hoarse and dirty, and it hurt his heart to utter these words. But he knew her very life depended on it. “Don’t you get it? You’re not wanted here. You want the kids? Take ‘em. Get out of here, you no good cunt.”
The last sentence came out awkwardly, as he was not used to cursing. But as he watched her face wilt at the words, he knew he’d gotten the job done.
He let his eyes glaze over, and he did not acknowledge her for the rest of the morning, not as she packed her bags, not as she wept in the kitchen, not even when she tried to say goodbye. It took all of his power to not break down in that moment. His heart yearned to break through his chest, to take back his awful words, but he refused to let himself give in.
Finally, the door closed. He stood and rushed to the window, where he watched her and the boys on the wagon, headed for town and the stage that would take them to her folks in Kansas. The sun still hung in the middle of the sky, so he knew they would be safe.
As he watched the backs of the heads of his children, he wished he could have said goodbye to them. He wished they would at least turn around to give him one last glimpse of their faces, something to hold with his memory as he tried to go to sleep at the conclusion of each day.
They did not comply with his wish.
That night, just before the sun slipped from the sky, Judah went to the barn to lock up. He stepped inside to make sure all of his animals were present when he nearly keeled over from the powerful odor of beast. It normally smelled bad in here, but now it overwhelmed him, causing his eyes to water and his chest to hitch. Then, just as the stench became the most unbearable, he remembered what it signified. His blood juddered to a halt in his veins, and he gasped, desperately trying to breathe. He didn’t have his rifle because such monsters could not walk in daylight. Now he had no means of defending himself.
He turned to run, but his feet tangled up against each other, and he fell to the straw-covered floor. He did not hesitate to push back up to his feet and sprint for the safety of his house, to his rifle. As he went, he could have sworn he saw a pair of eyes glittering out at him from the darkness of a stall.
Judah spent the entire night going from window to window, clutching his gun at the ready. He routinely sniffed the air for the telltale musk of the monster. At every sound, even those as quiet as the house settling, he jumped like a frightened
child, but he kept up his vigil until dawn. Even then, he waited for sunlight to bathe his entire property before he ventured out to the barn.
Outside, he could smell the musk, but it was so faint the beast couldn’t still be around. Inside, he discovered all of his animals slaughtered, their bodies split and torn, their blood painting the walls and straw, now drying to a rusty shade. Had it been this way last night, and he’d been too scared to see it? He didn’t remember hearing the animals, and wouldn’t the presence of the beast have driven them mad with fear?
Then, he realized it had eaten none of them. At least, not entirely. While all the females had just been torn asunder, all the males had lost what made them male. All that remained were ragged holes surrounded by teeth marks.
There was no way he could clean up this unholy mess, so he got some kerosene and razed the barn. He watched from his porch as the fire billowed up, licking at the light blue sky like fingers reaching for Heaven.
He thought back to his youth, to the powwow he’d practiced with his mother. Had she ever heard of an animal like this? Was there something in her books that could explain this monstrosity? He wished he’d kept his copy of The Long Lost Friend. Maybe then he could do a little research of his own.
His sister Ruth had taken over for his mother after she passed away. Judah considered telegraphing Ruth, but he knew he’d never get an answer soon enough. Even so, any telegraph agent entering those woods would be shot for a federal officer by Old Man Crenshaw, who still moonshined in those parts.
No, Judah was on his own. If only he could gain mastery over his fear. Then, perhaps, he could shoot the beast and find out if bullets could vanquish it.
He considered going to town for help, but he dismissed the idea. Who would believe him? Besides, he thought about all that open land with no shelter and shuddered, even if he would be making the trek in daylight. Home it would have to be.
