Gravel Switch: the black goat chronicles book 1: a Weird Tale of Extreme Horror

by Davidson, Aleister

  Amy had always wanted to see a ghost. She had often wondered at the fanciful tales other kids would tell at school recess and lunch. Tales about their own experiences with the supernatural. She never believed any of them because she had never known anything of the sort herself. She had always figured that the sight of such a horror would be quite a life changing experience and in that moment Amy knew she was not wrong.

  With her mind racing a thousand miles per hour Amy instinctively stepped backwards, then took another step and another. Trying desperately to put distance between herself and that weird spirit before her she did not notice the body on the floor any longer until it was too late. Amy tripped over the corpse and fell backwards onto her back. She hit the floor with a loud thump, reminiscent of the sound of the body falling from the chandelier only minutes earlier.

  The ghastly presence moved toward her and for the first time Amy noticed that she was holding a very familiar doll under her arm. That same doll that she demanded Hank throw out. That same doll that the landlord Bernice had come to collect at such an odd hour, with no explanation. Amy’s mind raced yet again, trying to put together all of the connections, trying to piece together a puzzle which she knew she was being shown the pieces too.

  “You can’t save Matilda! You can’t save any of us!” the ghost screamed at Amy as it flew toward her, its face barely an inch from her own.

  Amy closed her eyes tightly and prepared for the worst. Nothing happened. She sat for several minutes next to the corpse on the floor before she opened her eyes and in terror remembered where she was. The face of a rotted and maggot eaten corpse stared at her from mere feet away. Still, she was able to tell it was an Asian man. “How odd,” she thought aloud.

  Amy got up off of the floor, determined to figure out what it was that was happening. She began to feel heavy headed and groggy and as she approached the stairwell she collapsed, blacking out. As she plummeted down the stairs she fell into total darkness.

  Amy awoke with a start, sitting up slowly and deliberately. Her head was pounding and it made her dizzy. She was sweating profusely. She found herself back in her own bedroom, next to Hank, who was still snoring loudly. She climbed out of bed and went to the kitchen to get some water. This time going through the living room on the way. She noticed Jared there on the couch, snoring deeply himself. She was partially relieved, partially terrified. She did not know if she was awake or asleep. Amy was certain she was awake before, but it had been the most stressful day of her life and she knew her mind was quite capable of playing tricks on her. As she got into the kitchen and got her favorite mug out of the cabinet she decided to have a quick cup of water, but to also make a pot of coffee. She’d have a cup and then there would be a fresh pot for Hank and Jared to enjoy in the morning.

  As the coffee brewed she grew impatient with the pot. Mr. Coffee had always been too slow for her. She lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. And then it happened again. A loud thump. A sharp thud and then the house shook. Like it got hit by a wrecking ball. Amy couldn’t believe that Hank and Jared were sleeping through the commotion. This time it came from the basement and not the attic.

  “I don’t give a damn what it is this time,” Amy said out loud to the house as if it could hear her. For all she knew it could. She then took her cigarette and a cup of fresh black coffee outside with her and watched the sunrise from her front porch.

  8

  The Hunter and the Beast

  After Hank returned home from the hospital he found that his seizures became much more regular and severe. His quality of life was deteriorating quickly and his mental health was all but a shattered glass on the floor of sanity after his vision of Sheridan and Matilda, the rebel soldiers and The Beast; which was the term he came to adopt for that horrible nightmare that he had encountered both within his own mind and that first night in Gravel Switch…those eyes in the barn…it had to be the same thing.

  His relationship with Amy seemed to be growing rockier by the day. They never had any fun together anymore and they had drifted apart quite a bit emotionally, but on some strange, unspoken level they were more dedicated to each other than ever. Hank prided himself on that even though he never discussed it with Amy. His marijuana growing and his glass blowing were all he was focusing his time on. Amy seemed to work fifty to sixty hours a week at Walgreens and Hank mostly had the house to himself. Because of this he often invited some of the locals over to hang out with him, which they were glad to do because he kept them stoned on the best cannabis around. The real reason for Hank was just to have company with him in case he had a severe seizure and hit his head or bit his tongue. He had chipped some teeth the night he went to the hospital and he didn’t want to bite his tongue off.

  One such friend that would regularly visit Hank during those long days was Alan Fox. He had grown up in Gravel Switch but he lived just down the road in Bradfordsville. It was only a few mile drive for him to come visit and he and Hank spent much of the late summer and fall together becoming fast friends. Alan was nowhere near as intelligent as Hank when it came to book smarts, which wasn’t saying much since Hank was a tenth grade dropout, but Alan had a level of awareness about country living that he was eager to learn from. He was a little taller than Hank was, about five foot ten and he had sandy blond hair that always appeared to be greasy and dirty at the same time. He had the face of a weasel and his two front teeth on both top were stacked one right behind the other making his mouth appear to be almost a snout, accentuating the already pointy features of his nose and high cheek bones. Alan always wore the same camouflage hat and often wore a camo shirt as well. He was a third generation tobacco farmer and marijuana grower, though he raised chickens and goats and grew corn in one of his fields. Hank liked Alan’s relaxed view of the world and was inspired by him to carve some of the complexity out of his own life. After all he had moved to Gravel Switch just for that. Just to relax.

  He took Hank bow hunting a few times, but it soon became obvious that Hank was too loud, too concerned with smoking weed instead of hunting and when he did manage to get a shot off…well he was no marksman. Still Hank was enthusiastic and would always help Alan field dress his kills and haul the meat back to the dark blue cargo van that was Alan’s favorite hunting vehicle. They both ate well that fall. Lots of venison sausage, which kept their grocery bills down quite a bit.

  After deer season was over and Hank had built a strong level of trust with Alan he took the local man upstairs and showed him the grow room. Alan was a cannabis grower himself, but he did an outdoor crop. He had never seen such a beautiful sight as Hank’s gorgeous, well cared for, high grade indoor. He stood with his jaw slack and open just staring. “I’m impressed as hail buoy!” he eventually stated in his thick country accent that was sometimes a little much even for Hank to fully understand.

  “Thanks. It’s been my life’s work to do this. Been working on this strain for ever now, but everyone tells me it is the best shit they ever had,” Hank said with obvious pride. It was one thing to get a compliment about his weed. It was another thing entirely to get a compliment from another grower, especially one that he looked up to.

  Over the course of the day Hank and Alan bonded over growing cannabis, smoking cannabis and talking about cannabis. Eventually Hank had a seizure, but it wasn’t too bad. It lasted all of a minute and he was for the most part back in control of his mental faculties quickly. Alan had never seen anyone have a seizure before, but Hank had warned him about them and Alan knew what to expect. Still after Alan had seen him in such a compromised state and didn’t seem to look at Hank any differently Hank found a new level of comfort with Alan and their friendship. Mostly because Alan didn’t seem to show any sign of looking down on Hank about it, or perceiving the epilepsy as a weakness. Still, even though Alan didn’t show Hank the level of concern that Amy might have shown him, Hank was glad to have Alan there as he recovered. Unlike most of his seizures at that time it was unaccompanied by any sort of out of body exper
ience, vision or hallucination. Hank wasn’t really sure where it was he was going when he had his worst episodes, but he was intent to keep a journal of what he was experiencing…especially because he had seen those red eyes in his barn that first night. He decided to ask Alan about them.

  “Hey Alan, you ever see anything out here that has huge red eyes? And I mean huge. And they sorta glow bright, especially in the moonlight,” he asked shyly, expecting that he’d be met with a mix of ignorance and rejection on the subject, but he couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Alan almost came out of his seat he was so shocked. Hank immediately knew he had hit a nerve. Alan cleared his throat, took a long swig off of a bottle of water that was sitting in front of him, then took a deep drag off of the joint they were sharing. He put his right index finger up to indicate that he needed a second but had an answer.

  “Hank, you saw them red eyes…buoy you in danger. They been seen around here for over a hundred years, probly more’n that. They always come ‘round before death. They’re a local legend down here, the older folks swear they’re real. I will admit that I seen ‘em myself once, back in the day…” Alan trailed off and became distant and morose.

  Oblivious to Alan’s emotional state Hank glibly asked, “Anything happen? You said they always come with death?”

  Alan sobered up quickly, Hank’s voice jarring him out of the trance he was falling into. “Yeah. I seen ‘em eyes out in a field, I wuz drivin’ back from Danville, comin’ home with dinner and they was just starin’ at me. I stopped and got my gun off the rack and spotted down my scope. What I saw wudn’t nuthin’ like nuthin’ I ever saw. I didn’t even shoot at it, even though I done know’d the farmer whose field it was and he wouldn’t mind none. I wuz just scare’t, scare’t shitless buoy. I got in my truck and that fuckin’ thang wuz chasin’ my ass. I hit a tree and totaled my truck. Spent a week in the hospital…that’s why my face is like ‘is,” he motioned at his jaw, which until then Hank had assumed was just the mutated result of generations of inbreeding, but in that moment could easily see it had been smashed.

  “Some local legends…well…they ain’t just legends. Know whut I’m sayin’?” Alan continued. Hank stared, transfixed by the tale. “There’s weirder shit out here in ‘ese woods’n you could imagine buoy!” Alan changed the mood, busting into hysterical laughter. Hank joined him, more out of discomfort than mirth.

  Over the course of the next hour they smoked a couple more joints and shared their descriptions of the physical form of The Beast. The conversation would often jar things in Alan’s memory from childhood, things he’d heard about The Beast. It was much to Hank’s chagrin when Alan informed him that there was not one but several of the accursed things, that they all did not look exactly alike and that they must be appeased. Alan seemed as shocked to remember these tales as Hank was to hear them. When Alan revealed the source of the fanciful stories as his great aunt, the local historian, Hank immediately knew it was Phyllis, the woman Amy had met. The woman who had warned them to leave the house. For some reason he didn’t mention his familiarity with Phyllis’ stories to Alan, but kept a mental note that they were kinfolk.

  It dawned on Hank that everyone in the small community, hell everyone in the county, probably knew each other or knew of each other’s families. He hadn’t grown up in a small town and as such didn’t quite understand what it was like. Making a mental leap that was a bit unusual for him when he was so thoroughly stoned Hank began to realize that if your aunt is thought of as the crazy old lady to be avoided then you probably didn’t go around advertising your kinship.

  “Hank, if them thangs don’t eat…well, son…there’s hell to be paid around ‘ese parts,” Alan reiterated to Hank in his slack jawed lackadaisical way. Too stoned to know he had already gotten Hank’s paranoia up with a similar statement earlier.

  “Anyone ever kill one?” Hank thought he’d ask with the hope of getting to hunt something that could hunt them back. He felt his adrenalin surge a bit as he asked.

  “You can’t kill death itself man. Them thangs ain’t of this world. They can walk through walls, come through dimensions or something. They say its fear that calls ‘em here. I dunno myself. I do know I was attacked once, in the creek not half a mile from here. Had two dogs with me, coon hounds too. They would’ve noticed anythang with them snouts they got on ‘em. Still, something jumped off the creek bank onto my back and tore me up from behind; somethin’ fierce. I’s knocked out, but when I come to one of my dogs was ripped to pieces. And I mean, literally. Two of its legs tore right off, thrown down the creek a ways,” Alan had to stop and collect himself, the memories obviously stirring up horrible emotions that brought him into conflict with his own rational mind.

  “The other dog?” Hank asked meekly and at a lowered volume, scared to offend Alan in his distressed emotional state.

  “Never did find it,” Alan said under his breath in a low voice, choking back what Hank knew were tears. He knew Alan was a redneck country boy and damn sure wouldn’t want another man to see him cry, so he stood up and walked into the kitchen and got them both a soda. It gave Alan time to collect himself and restore his macho front. As he got the Pepsis out of the refrigerator Hank knew that he was starting to understand the country mentality.

  “Well, I’ve seen one in my barn, the first night after I moved in. It stood there staring at me, and well… Hell yeah I was afraid! Every time I moved it mirrored me. I panicked and ran inside. But then I had this dream, or at least I think it was a dream. Honestly it was as real as sitting here with you right now, but then I woke up in the hospital after it was over. They said I had the worst seizure I ever had, but it seemed so damn real to me. Not like where my mind goes when I seize,” Hank rambled on and on, but Alan was used to it. People out in the country had a way with stories and Hank took to that tradition quite well.

  “Anyway, in this dream or vision or whatever it was…a nightmare? I dunno, but I saw the thing again. It had the same eyes. Them red eyes. But I saw the whole thing. It was like some sort of goat thing or something. It had features from all sorts of different creatures and made the most horrible noises I ever heard in my life. It had two tails and thick fur. Razor sharp claws as long as butcher’s knives and they folded back like a straight razor. Its head was hideous. A horse, a ram, a jackrabbit? I dunno, maybe all of them. It couldn’t be stopped, it couldn’t be hurt and it couldn’t be killed except when it was shot right in the eye. It just fucked up a bunch of soldiers and left as the house… This house! Or at least what it used to be like, burnt down.”

  “Hank that is not good. If you seen it, well…probably it seen you too. If it is coming to you, even in dreams, you need to appease it. If it don’t feed, it will take you or someone you love from you. Leave it an offering. Seriously. Raw steaks, chicken. I know they love goats. Granny used to put a goat out for it every spring and it always seemed to leave us alone. She’d just put the meat on the threshold. The next day it would be gone and granny would say we wuz safe for the time being. Then she’d just put a big ole door mat over ‘em blood stains, nobody would know nuthin’,” Alan rambled on too, half to let Hank know it was alright, but half because he was stoned and liked to talk.

  “Yeah, I’ll do just that.” Hank said, but even as he did so he thought that it all sounded too crazy. Leaving out meat or animal sacrifices to keep some sort of mythical creature at bay seemed silly and superstitious. He laughed to himself and thought, “I guess country life really is way different after all.”

  9

  The Monster and the Medicine

  As the summer gave way to fall the fall gave way to one of the harshest winters in as long as anyone in Gravel Switch could remember. There were days when it was so cold that Hank and Amy shut off the entire house and huddled in the master bedroom, off of the living room which they had turned into a den. It was where they gathered to smoke marijuana and listen to music, where they entertained friends anyway. It also had a set of mahogany d
ouble doors to seal it off from the living room and the rest of the house, with only the front windows and the door to the foyer letting in any of the wretched cold. With some thick plastic sheeting and a few tapestries and blankets they were able to keep the room comfortable with just a kerosene heater through the worst of it, even the ice storm that nearly destroyed Marion County that January.

  On one of the coldest days of the ice storm Amy bundled up in her pajamas and bath robe and put on her pink bunny slippers for the arduous trip to the kitchen. As she walked down the hallway toward the back of the house she felt a strange and irresistible compulsion to go to her old bedroom. The room where she had made love to Jared. The room where, unbeknownst to her, Quan had used Yuri’s body to rape Ana Sophia. As Amy entered the frigid room she could see her breath. It seemed to hang in the air as she shivered. She sat on the bed and sighed. She sat there in the cold for a long while. Hank wouldn’t even seem to notice with the state he had been in. Amy knew it was getting bad, that it might be a situation where she had to dedicate the entirety of her life to taking care of a gimp who was incapable of pleasuring her. Not in the ways she wanted to be pleasured.

  Amy just wanted a moment to soak in all of the mental and emotional baggage that she carried with her at all times, but seldom directly addressed for fear of having a total breakdown. As she got up to finally make her way into the kitchen she stepped on something which immediately made her jump in pain and hop on one foot. Looking down she saw that it was the bottle of pills which Jared had given to Ana Sophia when Yuri hurt his knee. She picked up the large bottle, which looked to contain a couple of hundred pills, and smiled a deep smile. This would help her get through her hard times and would keep her numb while she dealt with the horrible deaths of her friends.