Some Dark Holler (The Redemption of Ephraim Cutler Book 1)

by Luke Bauserman

Nancy gave a screech when he entered the clearing surrounding the Laura. Ephraim didn’t bother to slow his pace as he reached the door; he crashed right into it, falling inside.

  Turning, he saw Nancy’s face contorted in rage as he slammed the door shut in front of her. He fumbled with the bar, dropped it into the latch, then turned his back to the door and slid slowly to the floor, heart pounding, ticking away the seconds until daybreak.

  The gray light of dawn seeped through the gap beneath the door. Ephraim hadn’t moved for the better part of an hour. After the night’s events, he had lacked the will.

  But when the light brightened, he rose and opened the door a crack.

  There was no sign of Nancy. Snow fell in thick flakes. Earl was nowhere to be seen; hopefully the goat hadn’t crossed paths with Nancy during the night.

  Ephraim stepped outside and walked to the woodpile. Several minutes later he had a fire roaring in the stove. He fetched water, filled the iron pot, and added cornmeal.

  When a knock sounded at the door, he jumped. “Who is it?” he called.

  “It’s me,” came the sound of Reuben’s voice.

  Ephraim opened the door.

  “You got the book?” Reuben asked.

  Ephraim nodded and stepped aside, letting the man in.

  Reuben sniffed the air. “Smells nice in here.” He moved to the stove and opened the lid of the pot. “Cornmeal mush. Something hot sure does sound good. The cold is ten times worse on an empty gut.” He patted his stomach. “Any sign of Isabel or Nancy?”

  “I ran into Nancy last night.” Ephraim related the night’s events to Reuben as they waited for the cornmeal mush to finish cooking.

  “Well, my night wasn’t nearly as excitin’ as yours,” Reuben said, shaking his head. He moved to a shelf and took down two bowls, spoons, and a ladle. “After we separated, I thought I heard someone following me. So I found myself a nice thicket and holed up there until dawn.” He took the pot from the stove and placed it on the table.

  They each ladled steaming portions of the gruel into their bowls and fell upon their breakfast in silence. Ephraim wolfed his down, appreciating its warmth and the weight in his stomach. Reuben cleaned his bowl, licked the spoon, and sat back in his chair.

  The sun was fully over the mountaintops now. With a sinking feeling, Ephraim wondered where Isabel was. If she didn’t turn up soon, he’d go looking for her.

  He got up from the table, opened the door, and peered out. Something moved among the trees—a person walking toward the Laura. Ephraim’s heart leaped. Maybe Isabel was safe after all.

  Reuben stood and moved to the doorway with Ephraim. He leaned his head out and looked around, drumming his fingers on the door. “Who’s that?” he asked, squinting.

  Ephraim studied the approaching figure. It was a woman hunched over, arms wrapped around her shoulders. She walked with her head bowed, loose hair obscuring her face. The excitement Ephraim had felt a moment before curdled to dread in the pit of his stomach. “Looks like Nancy.”

  His heart began to pound as the granny woman drew near. He gulped. She’s fine now, he told himself. She said the Black Madness would be gone by dawn.

  Reuben stopped drumming his fingers and drew back from the doorway. “She look all right to you?” he whispered.

  Ephraim shrugged. “Nancy,” he called. “How are you?”

  The old woman stopped walking and looked up, her right eye visible through the curtain of hair. She raised a hand in greeting and continued moving toward the Laura.

  Reuben rested his hand on the butt of his revolver.

  Nancy walked up to the doorway and stopped again.

  “Mighty cold this mornin’, ain’t it?” Reuben said, tightening his grip on the pistol.

  Nancy nodded. “It is.”

  “You haven’t seen Isabel anywhere, have you?” Ephraim asked.

  Nancy shook her head. “No.”

  They stood in silence for a moment.

  “I’ve got some cornmeal mush on the table,” Ephraim said. “Come on in and have some.”

  “I cain’t,” Nancy said. She pointed to a spot above the doorway.

  Ephraim looked up and saw the horseshoe hanging there.

  “You’ll have to take that down afore I can come in,” Nancy said.

  Reuben shot Ephraim a sideways glance. He gave a slight nod to his gun.

  “Y’all goin’ to stand there lookin’ spook-eyed, or are ye goin’ to take down that horseshoe?” Nancy said, an impatient edge to her voice.

  “I’ll take it down,” Ephraim said.

  It took a moment to wiggle the shoe off the spike, but it came free. He tossed it out into the snow.

  “Thank ye.” Nancy came inside as Ephraim and Reuben backed away from the door. She moved silently over to a shelf and took down a hand mirror. Turning away from Reuben and Ephraim, she flipped the hair away from her face and looked at her reflection. “Lordy, they don’t call it the evil eye for nothin’,” she said, clicking her tongue. “It’s as ugly as…” She looked up in the air as if searching for the right words. “Well, I don’t reckon I ever seen one this ugly.”

  She turned around, and Ephraim suppressed a gasp. Her left eye was blood red. Its pupil had transformed into a horizontal black dash, like a goat’s eye.

  “What do ye think?” Nancy asked with a wry grin. “Me ’n’ Earl got matchin’ peepers now, don’t we?” She reached up and tied her hair back into a bun. “I had to see it for myself first. There’s nothin’ worse than havin’ folks gogglin’’ at your face and not knowin’ what the fuss is about.”

  Reuben was looking at her suspiciously.

  “I’d feel better if ye wasn’t a-squeezin’ that pistol so tight, Reuben,” Nancy said with a frown. “The Black Madness has left me. There ain’t nothin’ to be afeared of.” She sat down at the table, pulled a bowl of cornmeal mush toward herself, and shoveled a spoonful into her mouth. “Not much taste, but I don’t care. I’m as hungry as a fresh-waked bear.”

  The almanack lay on the table. Ephraim’s hand twitched as her gaze fell upon it. “I see ye got the almanack,” she said, “but no Isabel. What happened?”

  When Ephraim and Reuben still hesitated to speak, she glared up at them from her bowl. “I’m a witch now, boys. You’re bound to feel a tad jumpy ’round me, but best push it from your minds and be done with it.”

  Ephraim took a seat at the table but remained on the edge of the chair. He opened his mouth to speak, but found his gaze inexorably drawn to the goat’s eye planted in Nancy’s face. The granny woman now looked as if she were two beings rolled into one. The Nancy he’d grown to trust, and a caged demon staring out of a shared set of eyes.

  “Ye goin’ to tell me what happened, or sit there and ogle?”

  Ephraim’s ears grew hot. He stared down at the table and cleared his throat. “We all split up last night to throw Boggs off our trail. We agreed to meet up here in the mornin’. Neither one of us has seen Isabel since then. Reuben just got here, and I…” He paused. Did Nancy remember what she had done last night? He decided it would be best not to mention it. “I got here first,” he finished.

  “Well, no sense waitin’ ’round for Isabel afore ye open that book. Go ahead,” Nancy said. She shoveled another spoonful into her mouth.

  “What if Boggs has her?”

  “If he does, I reckon we’ll hear ’bout it afore too long.”

  Ephraim glanced out the window. “We should still look for her. She might be lost out there.”

  Nancy shook her head. “All she has to do is head downhill to get back into Sixmile Creek. I’m sure folks will be glad to blame us for corruptin’ her instead of throwin’ her in jail. Besides.” Nancy pointed to her evil eye. “Gettin’ that there almanack cost us a hefty price. Go on and open it.”

  29

  Sellout

  Isabel sat in Boggs’s kitchen, where Jake and Clabe had gagged her and bound her to a chair.

  “I have some matters to a
ttend to,” Boggs said. “Clabe, I want you to stand guard while I’m gone. Jake, go find Ephraim. I can almost guarantee he’s at the witch woman’s home on the other side of Flint Ridge. Find him, tell him I have his girl, and that if he values her life, he’ll meet me in Butcher Holler with my almanack at midnight, in two nights’ time.”

  Isabel stiffened. Boggs was using her as bait to catch Ephraim. Her eyes prickled with tears of shame. They’d worked so hard to get the almanack. She couldn’t allow Ephraim to sell his soul to the Devil on her account.

  As Boggs walked to the door, a knock sounded.

  Boggs cursed and spun around, fishing his tomahawk out of his coat. “Make sure she stays silent,” he hissed, pointing to Isabel.

  Clabe and Jake moved to Isabel’s chair. Clabe pulled a knife from his belt and tested his thumb on its edge. He leaned in close to Isabel. “One sound out of you and I’ll carve out that pretty little tongue of yours.”

  Isabel met his gaze with hatred. Once her daddy, Mason, or any other good man in this town heard what Clabe Fletcher did behind closed doors, he’d be lynched for sure. She hoped she lived to see that day.

  She also knew that whoever was at the door was her only chance to escape. So she prepared herself to scream. It was worth the risk.

  Boggs opened the door a crack and peered out.

  “Time is growing short, William,” a voice from outside said. It was deep, oily, and unfamiliar, but something about it told Isabel that this visitor wasn’t going to be her savior.

  “Master, please, come inside.” Boggs tucked his tomahawk back into his coat and opened the door. He glanced at Clabe. “Put that knife away. It won’t be necessary.”

  A man in a black suit and top hat stepped inside. He tapped his snake-headed cane on the floor as his dark eyes swept over the room. “Let see, who do we have here?” He scrutinized Isabel and the Fletcher boys in turn. “Clabe and Jake Fletcher, and Miss Isabel Coleman.”

  “How do you know my name?” Clabe said. “I ain’t never seen you before.”

  The stranger raised an eyebrow. “Well then, Mr. Fletcher, allow me to introduce myself. I am the anger you felt the first time your father struck you. I am the greed in your belly. I’m every lustful, lecherous, covetous, vengeful thought you’ve ever had. And, I’m the reason that folks love the way your whiskey burns going down.” He removed his hat and bowed. “I’m the Devil himself. At your service.”

  Behind the gag, Isabel’s breath quickened.

  Clabe snorted and took a step back. “The hell you are, mister!”

  The Devil smiled. “The hell I am.”

  Clabe glanced at Isabel, wide-eyed.

  She jerked her head toward Boggs. I told you so.

  “William, forgive me for eavesdropping,” the Devil said, turning to the reverend, “but did I hear you say that the Cutler boy has your almanack? That could be the end of you.”

  “I have survived longer than any other mortal man, Scratch. This will not be my undoing!” Boggs’s voice quivered with rage.

  “So what’s your plan, William? You’ve got two days left. Should I start searching for your replacement?”

  “You never asked to see my plan before,” Boggs replied. “But if you must know, it’s right here in front of you.” He pointed to Isabel.

  The Devil sauntered across the room and stood over Isabel. “Ah, yes. She’s a hostage then.”

  Isabel’s heart pounded beneath his gaze. She looked away, avoiding his eyes.

  “Yes. Ephraim Cutler is quite close to her. If I know the boy well, and I do, he’ll sacrifice anything to save her.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time a deal with me has been motivated by love,” the Devil said. “I sincerely hope it works, and not just for your sake. I told you that Death is growing quite rebellious.”

  The Devil sighed and tapped his cane against his boots. “I’ll leave you then. Don’t let me down, William.”

  “You have no reason to doubt,” answered Boggs. He offered a thin smile and walked the Devil to the door.

  Isabel felt a wave of relief when Boggs shut the door behind his unexpected visitor. He turned back to the Fletcher boys, eyes blazing.

  “You,” he said, pointing to Jake, “find Ephraim, Reuben, and the granny woman.” He looked at Clabe. “And you stay here and guard the girl. I have preparations to attend to. I will not be able to return here, so you two bring her to me in Butcher Holler in two days, at midnight.”

  Clabe waited until the reverend had left, then spoke to his brother. “Do you think Boggs is goin’ to pay us? He hasn’t shown us a solitary dollar yet, and I bet he disappears if things don’t go his way. Folks around here ain’t goin’ to take kindly to the idea of a preacher kidnappin’ a girl.”

  “I reckon you’re right,” Jake said. “What do you figure we ought to do?”

  “Well, he might still pay us, but I’m thinkin’ we rustle up another payroll in case he don’t. And if he does, we’ll just have more money.”

  “You thinkin’ of the Hensons?”

  Clabe grinned. “Yes indeed. You run on along and deliver the message to Cutler, but get on back here quick. I’ll arrange a meetin’ for us and Peyton. We’ll tell ’em where and when Ephraim’s supposed to be meetin’ the preacher—if he hands over the reward in advance.”

  It was Jake’s turn to grin. “I like your thinkin’, brother. All of a sudden, Louisville ain’t lookin’ so far away.”

  30

  Iron Balls for Ruination

  Reuben passed Ephraim the torn fragment of the title page, and Ephraim lined it up with its other half. As the torn edges touched, a bead of soft light ran along them, reuniting the fragments.

  “Well don’t that beat all you ever saw,” Reuben said, leaning in to examine the healed page. The half that he had carried was still far dirtier than its mate.

  The page read:

  The Record of Abel Eckerlin

  For the year of Christian Account 1757 and all years hence.

  Containing a calendar of every season and the time for every purpose under heaven.

  Nancy stood up and moved behind Ephraim to get a better look. The hair on the back of his neck prickled under her evil eye. He couldn’t resist turning and glancing at it, then suppressed a shudder at the sight of that living, blinking goat’s eye in the old woman’s face.

  “It’s my pappy’s book, sure enough,” she said. She looked almost tearful.

  Ephraim turned the page. The next page showed a drawing of a man, his arms and legs outstretched. Symbols were sketched around his body: a ram over his head, a bull by his neck, a lion and crab on either side of his chest.

  “So… what exactly are we lookin’ for?” Ephraim asked.

  Nancy scowled. “What do ye think, boy? Find a page with ‘Hellhound’ written on it! You can read, can’t ye?”

  “Yeah, I can read.”

  Ephraim flipped through the book, page by page, until he found what he was looking for: the word “Hellhound” written in curly letters. The corner of the page had been folded down. “Here it is,” he said.

  Reuben and Nancy both leaned over him. “Read it for us,” Nancy said. “My eyes ain’t what they used to be.”

  Ephraim ran his finger down the page: “To create a hellhound, you must build a box of locust wood—”

  Reuben snickered.

  Nancy frowned. “A hellhound is hardly a critter to laugh at.”

  “No, it’s not that,” Reuben said. “Sorry. Go ahead and read it, Ephraim.”

  Ephraim cleared his throat. He skimmed over the rest of the instructions on creating hellhounds and settled on a paragraph detailing their nature. “The soul of a person bitten by a hellhound is slowly poisoned as the moon grows full.”

  Reuben erupted into laughter.

  “What on earth has got ahold of ye?” Nancy asked.

  Reuben doubled over, shoulders shaking, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he wheezed, “but you just said your
eyes ain’t what they used to be!”

  Nancy chuckled. “Well I’ll be, that’s what’s got ye tickled. I s’pose that is pretty funny now, ain’t it?”

  Ephraim looked at the both of them and shook his head. “Are you two ready for me to read this?”

  Reuben wiped his eyes. “Yes, Ephraim. I apologize. I ain’t had enough sleep and I’m ’bout half crazy.”

  Ephraim tried to muster a smile but couldn’t. The last line had left him sick with dread. His soul was being poisoned.

  He turned back to the almanack. “With the settin’ of the full moon, the spirit of a bitten person leaves the body and becomes trapped between the lands of the living and dead.” Boggs had been telling the truth.

  “The moon’ll be full tomorrow night,” Reuben said.

  Ephraim continued reading. “Hellhounds are wild creatures, indestructible, and tamed only through the use of iron, which causes them great pain. And those that seek to be healed of their venom must also use iron. On the day of—” Ephraim paused to sound out the next word. “Abdannsdag?” He looked at Nancy.

  The old lady shrugged. “Sounds like Dutch.”

  Ephraim looked back at the page. “On the day of Abdannsdag, they must pierce the heart of a hellhound with iron, and rub its blood over their wound.”

  Ephraim pushed back from the table. “So, I’ve got to kill this thing and rub its blood on my arm.”

  “You have to kill it on a special day,” Reuben said, leaning over the almanack. “What was it called?”

  “Abdannsdag,” Ephraim said. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

  Nancy shook her head. “I cain’t say I have either. Look around in there though. It is an almanack.”

  Ephraim thumbed through the pages until he found it. Abdannsdag, The Cut Off Day. “Looks like Boggs dog-eared this one too,” he said.

  He began reading. “The Cut Off Day was included in the almanacks of old. It was originally discovered that weeds, thistles, and thorns cut off on this day wouldn’t grow back. Evildoers found that much more than noxious plants could be killed on the Cut Off Day. Man, beast, and spirit alike could be pushed from this world into the land of death. On this day, supernatural adversaries, not usually vulnerable to the weapons of man, can be laid low through the use of iron.