by Crowe (epub)
“Where you going, old timer?” asked a gruff voice.
“Home.”
“Up there?” the shadow man asked, nodding toward the top of the Knob.
“That’s right,” Grandpa said. “This is my land. You got business here?”
“Maybe,” said the shadow man. For a moment, Grandpa thought he saw the stranger’s eyes glow red, but when he looked closer he realized that it must have been a trick of the light. Or the corn whiskey.
“If you ain’t got business, then you’re tresspassin’.”
The shadow man smiled and Grandpa shuddered. There were entirely too many teeth showing in that smile. “I hear you got a son up there.”
“Nope,” said Grandpa.
“Come on now,” said the shadow man. “I’ve seen you with him.”
“My son don’t live up here no more,” said Grandpa, growing agitated. “Don’t know where he is, but if your business is with him, then I wish you good luck in findin’ him and that no-account wife of his.”
The shadow man looked stunned. “Is this not the residence of Joseph Crowe?”
“Joseph Crowe?” Johnny asked.
“That’s right,” Grandpa Crowe said. “Your daddy. Folks mostly just called him Joe. Joe Crowe… how do you like the sound of that?”
J.C., thought Johnny. His initials were J.C., too.
“Anyhow…”
“It most certainly is not,” Grandpa Crowe said. “This property belongs to one Harlan J. Crowe. That’s me. Got the papers at home to prove it and another copy in my box down at the bank.”
The shadow man seemed to be processing what he had been told.
“Why you lookin’ for Joe anyways?”
“Oh, you know,” said the shadow man, “idle hands…”
Grandpa didn’t know what the stranger meant at all.
“What about that boy up there?”
“Who, Johnny?”
“Yes.”
“What about him?”
“Who is he?”
“That’s my grandson,” said Grandpa. “Not that it’s any business of yours.”
“Your grandson,” the shadow man said. “Joseph’s son.”
“What is all of this?” Grandpa asked, staggering closer to the shadow man. He stopped short, held in place by some invisible force.
“Well, if Joseph’s not around,” said the shadow man, “perhaps his son will do.” The shadow man started up the Knob, leaving Grandpa frozen in place.
“You leave that boy alone!” Grandpa shouted. “He’s a good boy!”
A white light burst forth from behind them, lighting up the whole side of the Knob. The shadows were gone and for a single moment Grandpa saw the face of the Devil, saw it turn and snarl past him. Grandpa turned his head, saw the cross at the top of the church bell tower all lit up, bathing the town and its surroundings. All at once the force holding Grandpa in place gave way. Grandpa turned, faced the Devil, and ran up the side of the Knob.
“I grabbed a hold of that sucker,” Grandpa Crowe said, acting out the struggle. “He was twistin’ and kickin’ and hollerin’, but I held on tight. Finally, he just jumped backward off the Knob, me still a holdin’ on. I remember hittin’ the ground, feelin’ all the air rush out of me, hearin’ bones break and feelin’ my guts all come undone. I knew I was done for then,” Grandpa Crowe said, “but I looked over and saw I still had a hold of a piece of that sucker, right there in my hand. He might’ve got me in the end, but I gave him all he could handle.”
Johnny sat in silence. He had never known. How could he have known? Grandpa Crowe didn’t just go out fighting, he went out standing toe to toe with the Devil himself, all to protect Johnny.
“It wasn’t about me at all,” Johnny said under his breath. He looked over at Grandpa Crowe, his eye wide. “He wanted my father. His initials are J.C.”
“That’s right,” Grandpa nodded. “No tellin’ what he’d have done to your dad if he’d found him.”
Johnny had a pretty good idea of what would have happened. He looked around the churchyard and saw that the number of spirits rising from the ground had slowed to a trickle. Pretty soon it would stop altogether, and he still hadn’t made it up to the top of the Knob to see what they were facing.
“Grandpa, I have to go,” Johnny said.
“Go? Where you goin’? We ain’t seen each other in fifteen years and you’re takin’ off already?”
“I got to get up there to the top of the Knob,” Johnny said, scrambling up onto Bart’s back. “The Devil’s up on the Knob, and I got to find out what we’re up against.”
“Hold on a minute.” Grandpa looked at the ghosts streaming up the side of the Knob. “Let me go up there with you.”
“No,” Johnny shook his head. “I can’t. I don’t know what he wants all these gho--- uh, spirits --- for, but it can’t be good. I had some soldiers with me, but they’re gone now. You’d better stay down here and see if you can help out. If they come back, tell ‘em to head over and join up with the rest of ‘em.”
“You sure?” Grandpa asked. “I licked him once, you know.”
“I know.” Johnny smiled.
Grandpa nodded. “When you see him, you give him hell and tell him it’s from me, you got it?”
Johnny dismounted at the foot of Devil’s Knob. He patted the mule’s neck and told Bart to go back and let the others know that he was on his own. Bart brayed once, then bounded off toward where Johnny hoped the soldiers were still stationed. Looking up, he watched the last remaining spirits spiral their way up to the top of the Knob. Whatever was going on up there was about to get ugly. Johnny needed to get up there and do it fast.
He had been up and down Devil’s Knob countless times in his youth. He knew the side of that hill better than he knew most anything else. He saw where the spiral seemed to end, where the ghosts reached the top of the peak, and ran around to the opposite side. Johnny knew that there was no natural path up this side of the Knob. No one would expect him or anyone else to come up this way. Johnny took a deep breath, steeled himself, and started to climb.
He passed through rings of ghosts on his way to the top, but none of them took notice of him. He scrambled up the steep face of the Knob; it would have been easier with his own legs and feet instead of the fence posts he had now. Rocks slipped underfoot while he used his good arm to pull himself along. Huffing and puffing, Johnny reached the summit and crawled behind the one room shack, careful to stay hidden in the shadows and out of sight. He took a moment to catch his breath, then moved to one side of the shack and peeked around the corner.
The Devil towered above the fires, his face lit from below, still conducting the flames as they pulsed and flared. The black imps were there, screeching out a song while they dragged large husks of something that Johnny couldn’t quite identify. These they piled on the opposite side of the shack. The spirits from the graveyard danced in a circle around the flames, each buoyed forward by the movement of the whole. The last of the spirits reached the top of the Knob and joined in the revelry. Everyone had arrived and it was time to get down to business.
The Devil stopped and lowered his arms. The flames died down in response, little more than bonfires now. He pointed to one of the fires and a team of gruesome surgeons emerged from within, not carrying those wicked blades this time, but long, curved needles.
Johnny heard movement at the front of the shack and ducked his head back. Two of the imps rolled an oak barrel toward the surgeons, righted it, and pried the top off. A noxious stench issued from the barrel and Johnny knew what it contained even before he saw the surgeon dip his needle into the barrel. When he pulled his hand out, the needle was coated in a black, tar-like substance, which hardened into a ropey string behind the needle, unspooling when he moved away from the barrel. Two more of
the imps dragged one of the husks from the side of the shed and dropped it at the surgeon’s feet.
The Devil chuckled. He bent down and plucked one of the spirits from the dancing circle of ghosts. The spirit’s face contorted, from an expression of joy to one of pain and horror. The Devil held his other hand underneath the spirit, letting it wiggle and squirm in an attempt to free itself. The smile disappeared from the Devil’s face and his eyes flared with infernal light as he removed his hand and released his hold. The spirit plummeted, landing in a heap next to the husk at the surgeon’s feet.
Johnny watched, stunned, while the imps pounced on the ghost and pulled it to its feet. The surgeon pierced the spirit with his long needle, the ghost’s face a rictus of agony. The surgeon made quick work of stitching the spirit to the husk lying at its feet. Once the ghost was bound, the imps stood the husk upright.
Johnny rocked back, knocking his head on the side of the shack. He held his breath, watching and waiting to see if anyone else had heard him. When he was sure that he hadn’t been discovered, Johnny leaned forward and peeked around the corner of the shack again. Seeing it again confirmed what Johnny had thought he had seen. Standing upright, it was clear that the husk was some sort of abomination, sewn together into the shape of a man from a multitude of discarded body parts. So that’s what they did with all those pieces they hacked off, Johnny thought.
The imps shoved the spirit into the husk through a slit running up and down its chest. The ghost tried to fight back, but with a final shove the imps forced the ghost inside and pinched the flesh closed. The surgeon stepped forward and, with a couple of deft moves, sewed the opening shut. Pulling a sinister-looking pair of scissors from his apron, the surgeon cut the thread and knotted it at the end, securing the stitches.
Did you know about this, Saul? Johnny wondered. Or did you even bother to ask what that stuff was that you were brewin’? Somehow, he didn’t think that it would have mattered to Saul, even if he had known.
The abomination stood on its own, slouching forward. The black stitches wove in and out and over its body, holding the different parts together. From what he had seen when he had hurried to cross the plateau and slip into the safety of the shed, Johnny knew that the abomination out there was only one of many. How many? He wasn’t sure, but it had looked like a lot. Johnny decided that he’d have to try and get an estimate of just how many husks there were up here before he headed back down.
So, this is the army that the Devil built for me to lead, Johnny thought. No, that wasn’t right. Not me. My father.
One of the black imps climbed up the abomination’s legs and seated itself on the husk’s shoulders. The surgeon handed the imp a long black whip, which it cracked overhead. The abomination opened its eyes and screamed in pain. Johnny recognized the look on its face as the same one that the ghost had worn when it had been shoved inside and sewn into place. The monster began lumbering around the plateau, crying in rage. The other imps laughed and screeched while the rider buried a claw deep in the creature’s hair and held on tight, continuing to crack the whip with the other. At last the imp was able to rein the monster in, letting it stop to catch its breath.
All around, other imps sprang into motion, dragging husks from the side of the shack and picking spirits out of the crowd while the surgeons bound the ghosts to the monstrosities of flesh and bone that they had created. More and more sprang to life as the imps mounted and formed into lines.
They’re about to move out, Johnny thought. I need to get back and warn the others.
Johnny started to slink back away from the shack when he stepped on something soft and squishy. Unlike the surgeon’s camp, it wasn’t a hand this time. It was a foot. And that foot was still connected to the imp that was shrieking out in pain. All eyes turned toward the commotion. The Devil looked down at Johnny in surprise. The look of shock departed and was replaced by a toothy grin.
“See what you missed?” the Devil asked, bending down so that he was nose to nose with Johnny. “See what you turned your back on? You could have been the leader of this army. You could have conquered the world with them. But you gave it all back, didn’t you?”
Johnny felt the imp grab hold of him, but managed to squirm out of its grasp. He bolted for the edge of the plateau, hearing the imp’s claws clicking closed behind him. Not this way, he thought, spinning around and running toward the bewildered imp. Got to draw them into the bowl. Reaching the southern edge of the cliff, Johnny pitched himself forward and leapt. Bouncing down the side of the Knob, Johnny rolled and tumbled a ways, then got to his feet and sprinted, his only thought was to reach the troops in time to do some good with the news of what he had seen and to draw them down with him.
From the top of the Knob, the Devil laughed.
Johnny tore up the side of the hill and out of the bowl as fast as his wooden legs could carry him. Reaching the top of the ridge, he found himself staring straight into a line of semi-transparent musket barrels. The soldiers lowered their weapons and cheered when he passed through them, searching for the officers.
“Hold your… lines,” Johnny shouted, his breath coming in great gasps. “They’ll be… coming… soon.”
The three Colonels, Morris, Ambrose, and Johns, rushed down the hill to meet Johnny, waiting while he stood with his hand on his knees and his head hung, trying to get enough air in his lungs to speak.
“Saw them,” Johnny managed at last.
“Saw what?” asked Colonel Morris. “What is it?”
Before Johnny could answer, a cry went up from the soldiers along the ridge. Johnny led the officers to the rim of the bowl and pointed through the cleared firing line. Waves of abominations were pouring down the side of the Knob, howling in pain and fury. An imp rode on the shoulders of each one, brandishing a long whip and tugging at the monster’s hair, driving them forward.
At least we kept ‘em from headin’ into town, was the only thought Johnny managed.
“Steady, men,” Colonel Morris called out. Johnny watched the soldiers raise their muskets, pointing them into the darkness of the bowl. “Wait for my command.”
The ground shook as the abominations surged into the clearing and began to claw their way up the side of the hill. The light of the moon illuminated the pallid skin of the walking corpses and glinted off of the claws of the imps. Colonel Morris stood still with his hand raised, waiting. They had to make this count; there wouldn’t be another shot at it.
Visibility is as good as can be expected, Colonel Morris thought, picking out an imaginary line on the hill. It’s a good plan. The seconds dragged by. The men were getting restless.
Almost there.
A fish-belly white hand reached forward and grasped a young sapling at the line that Colonel Morris had set in his mind. The hulking monster pulled itself up, the tendons in its neck straining while the imp on its back cackled and cracked its whip. The Colonel’s stare rose from the abomination to the imp. The two locked eyes, and that terrible moment was all it took to convince the Colonel that it was time to spring the trap.
“Fire!” Colonel Morris shouted. The hill erupted in musket fire. Smoke billowed forth from the guns and obscured the view down the hill. Below them, the soldiers heard screaming and crashing in the underbrush as the monsters tumbled and rolled to the bottom of the depression.
A night breeze stirred and the smoke lifted. The abominations had slid all the way down the hill and had started to pick themselves off of the ground. The imps riding straddling their shoulders looked from one to another, puzzled.
“I can’t believe I forgot.” Johnny dropped his head. “You can’t hit ‘em.”
“That explains why the Devil needed a flesh-and-blood army,” Colonel Ambrose sighed, looking over the ridge. The abominations were back on their feet and the imps were forming them back into a line.
“But they fell back…” C
olonel Johns pointed out, confusion written on his face.
“All you did was startle ‘em with the noise from the guns,” Johnny explained, his good hand rubbing his forehead.
All along the rim, the shadowy soldiers lowered their firearms. Below them, the sunken ground echoed with the clicking and clacking of the imps, who shouted catcalls and taunts up the hill. There was a stirring among the abominations as their line parted and the Devil strode through them to the head of their ranks. He was no taller than a man now, and a smile parted his lips, revealing a mouth with all too many teeth.
“Come on down, Johnny. You’ve lost.”
Johnny fixed his eyes straight ahead so that he wouldn’t have to see the faces of the soldiers when he walked past them and down into the bowl. He heard the imps clicking their tongues in front of him, teasing him. His head hung in shame, Johnny reached the foot of the hill and stood before the Devil, unable to look up at the old adversary.
The Devil raised a hand and the imps fell silent. Nothing stirred in the woods around them. “I said I’d make a new man out of you,” the Devil boomed, making sure that his voice carried. He wanted the ghosts on the ridge to hear everything he had to say, just in case any of them started to get any funny ideas. His victory needed to be complete, right here, right now. “And that’s just what I did. A couple of them, actually. An arm here, a leg there. Out of you and all your friends,” the Devil said, motioning to the line of soldiers up on the hill. Behind him, the imps cackled. “We made new men out of parts from each and every one of you.”
“Did you ever wonder why you hadn’t moved on?” the Devil called to the soldiers spread out along the top of the hill. “Why you can’t just rest in peace?” There was no reply from the ridge. “There were no corpses to bury. No ashes to scatter. Your mortal remains…remained.”
The Devil turned once more to Johnny, triumphant. “You didn’t think you could beat me, did you?” the Devil asked.
