Redneck Eldritch

by Nathan Shumate

  REDNECK ELDRITCH

  Edited by Nathan Shumate

  Published by

  Cold Fusion Media

  http://www.coldfusionmedia.us

  REDNECK ELDRITCH

  This collection copyright © 2016 by Cold Fusion Media.

  All stories copyright © 2016 by their respective authors.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  Cover illustration by Carter Reid

  Cold Fusion Media

  http://www.coldfusionmedia.us

  Smashwords Edition

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  “A Hole in the World” by Ian Welke

  “Recording Devices” by D.J. Butler

  “Mine of the Damned Gods” by Sarah E. Seeley

  “Blood” by Steve Diamond

  “Ostler Wallow” by Nathan Shumate

  “Nightmare Fuel” by David Dunwoody

  “The Swimming Hole” by Theric Jepson

  “It Came From the Woods” by Jason A. Anderson

  “Lake Town” by Garrett Calcaterra

  “Taxed” by Scott William Taylor

  “The Gears Turn Below” by SM Williams

  “Slicker” by Robert J Defendi

  “A Brown and Dismal Horror” by Jaleta Clegg

  “The People of the Other Book” by Robert Masterson

  “The Diddley Bow Horror” by Brad R. Torgersen

  “At the Highways of Madness” by David J. West

  Contributors

  A HOLE IN THE WORLD

  Ian Welke

  The glass is empty, apart from a foamy film in the bottom. I set it down on the bar next to my lighter and my pack of smokes. I’d like to order a fourth beer right away, but I figure I better pace myself. Remembering the task at hand, I tilt my head to get a gander around the Jager display, past the pull-tabs, to where you and your friends are holding court.

  I’ve seen your type plenty. Time was you were few and far between, but now you’re all over the place like ants. It started with a trickle. Scouts looking for new territory. You came here ’cause houses were cheap, at least compared to the city. But our houses weren’t good enough. So you knocked them down and put up those condo buildings. Then your businesses figured they could come out here as well, lower their overhead. And so more of you came out and bought houses and apartments, and the prices went up, and then the folks that lived here before couldn’t afford it anymore and had to move away.

  I always thought this bar would stay true. The Hole was a local dive for decades. But now it’s more of a typical sports bar and most of the locals are gone. I see they have beers with names I’ve never heard. Some are dark and thick as syrup. The menu even has a veggie burger. The Hole I knew would never have stooped to this before you lot showed up in your Subarus. Sometimes I wonder, If this bar goes where will we find the people we need? The bar’s original owners are long gone; do their grandchildren even know where the bar gets its name from?

  You and the after-work crowd have moved four tables together like you’re expecting a large group, but there’s just six of you, and I’m guessing most of you are too pussy to keep drinking, so that number will dwindle soon enough.

  “Another beer, Ray?” Abby wipes down the bar and takes my empty glass. She’s new, but I’m not one to complain about her. She’s too good-looking to complain about and besides, she gets it. When one of the old gang is here, we get our drinks before any of you geeks.

  I nod, though I should really slow down. It’s not even dark out and I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night. I reach for my pack of Winstons and the lighter sitting on the bar. Abby frowns. I know, I got to take it outside. Fucking gentrification. I’ve twisted a cardboard beer coaster into a totem-man. I leave him standing guard over my place at the bar. “I’ll have that beer when I get back.”

  The sun is setting as I pass by the faded Monday Night Football Bud Light display and step out to the parking lot where they’ve relegated anyone who might want a smoke.

  I wince at the glow topping the tree line. Do I have the right day? Late summer in the Cascades, the days aren’t as crazy long as they were just a week or two ago, but they haven’t given in to the dark months yet.

  The whispers said this was the right day, or at least this would be the right night. I could swear it. Though who knows? It’s not like they’re known for their clarity. They expect that we’re able to interpret. Sometimes it’s more of a feeling than an understanding that guides our hand to appease them.

  Once I’ve killed my cigarette, I reach into my kit bag for the bone pipe, carved from the femur of my predecessor’s predecessor. I run my finger down the runes lining the pipe and then I trill a few notes. There’s no response. Nothing. Not even birds singing. All I can hear is the dull murmur of the jukebox through the glass. I trill a few more, but still get no response.

  Here goes nothing. I pull the shaker out of my jacket pocket. It’s an old Indian prayer stick. It’s got juju, but I’ve always sort of liked the rattle, magic or not. I play the notes with the flute again, this time with an accompanying percussion from the rattle. Smoke rises from the ash tray to my side and begins to swirl around me.

  Quiet. And then in answer I hear it in the distance, a low rattle of a large, nasty, oil-burning engine. A beast of a GMC Suburban lurches into the parking lot otherwise filled with German sedans and your fucking Subaru.

  They’re coming. The apostles of the soil are on their way. Knowing I have the right date, I head back in for my beer.

  ***

  Ricky and his brothers come into the bar with a full head of steam. Ricky’s cap is pulled to the right side. His older brother, Austin, has put on some pounds since the last time I saw him. His gut hangs out from the bottom his shirt, sticking through his denim vest. The youngest, Wade, has never been a light one. Now he’s pear-shaped. Touched in the head even more than the rest, Wade waddles side to side as much as he moves forward.

  Your table hasn’t noticed the new arrivals. I suppose that’s for the best.

  Ricky and I make eye contact through the gaps in the beer taps lining the bar. He grins, but doesn’t come this far back. He takes a table at the front of the bar on the other side of the pool tables. They’re far enough away that I can’t hear when Nancy, the waitress working the tables, takes their order. She returns a moment later with a pitcher of beer. They all sit on the same side of the table, keeping their eyes on your group.

  Even over the jukebox, I can hear Wade’s donkey-bray of a laugh. For a moment, I’m worried it will give the game away, but either no one at your table notices or you don’t get that he’s laughing at you.

  Ricky’s too cool. He keeps his brothers in line, long enough to make sure that you finish your drinks and that you order again, before he goes to your table. Sooner or later Ricky will take my place. None of the others have the wits left to do it.

  I can imagine what he says. The boy has a charm about him, but I notice that you cast wary eyes toward his brothers at the next table. When the waitress returns, Ricky does the talking. This should help fashion the lure. You’ve been looking at her tits all afternoon, and it’s clear he knows her. Maybe he’ll help you to get to know her. Ooh! He’s ordered a round of shots. Good. This should speed things along nicely.

  Two more rounds and you’re playing pool with Ricky and his brothers. There are a couple of empty pitchers next to the pool table, and the waitress is returning with a tray of shot glasses.

  The sun is down now and time is moving. You might have somewhere to be, I catch you glancing at your watch, and I sure hope Ricky catches it too. You say something to him. Probably something like, “It’s getting late.” Or “I gotta work in
the morning, even on a Saturday.”

  This is it. Ricky’s gotta give you the sell now. He’ll size you up and figure what it’ll take. A party somewhere with free drinks? Girls? Maybe he’ll even lure you with the waitress and her friends, tell you they’re coming after their shift ends. He’ll take your comment about having to work Saturday and tell you to live a little. If you work hard, you’ve earned the right to play hard too.

  You’re considering and I don’t think you’re going for it. I’m out of my chair wondering if I’ll have to step in when I see the look on your face change. You shrug and probably say something like, “I’ll go for one drink.”

  I can tell he has you hooked. It’s just a matter of time now.

  ***

  We’ve lost two of your friends. Did they sense something? Or did they just have someone waiting at home for them? No matter. We can get this done with three of you, and we have four.

  I wonder what you talk about on the way there. It’s easy enough for him to get you into the great big Suburban. A bit crowded maybe, with seven adult men, but Ricky knows the way to the party. Besides, you’ve had too much to drink, don’t want to risk getting pulled over, but it’s okay for the redneck.

  The race to get there will be close. You all are in the GM truck, but you have a longer route. I’m going on foot, more or less as the crow flies, but of course I can’t fly and there are a mean couple of hills between me and where we’ll meet up.

  The hilly terrain, loose rocks, and fallen branches are all I can deal with on the moonless night. Time was, I could’ve seen the stars. But in recent years with the way your people have encroached on the land, spreading the halo of the city with you, the night’s sky is dull background for my climb. At a clearing at the top of the first hill I have to struggle to make out the stars we need tonight, counting to make sure they’re all in the place we thought they’d be.

  The first of the sigils of concrete mixed with cigarette ash mark the ground, letting me know that I’ve reached the outermost perimeter. The breeze picks up and I hear the clanking beer cans and other totems hanging from the trees.

  I turn my ankle in a dry creek bed on the downslope and have to limp and hop my way up the next hill. By the time I reach the site, you’re already there and the boys have a fire going. You each have a beer in hand, and judging from the cans on the ground—nine, ten, thirteen—you’re into the second twelve-pack.

  Your voice carries to my vantage point at the edge of the clearing. “So you said something about a party…”

  “In a while. There are more coming.” Ricky snickers.

  I worry the laugh will give it away, but you’re pretty damned drunk now. You stagger and wave your beer can for balance. I almost wonder if you have an idea what’s waiting beneath you, but no, if you did you’d run. I would guess you’d be the sort to panic and make a break for it. Though I have seen your kind freeze up. Stand there waiting for it to happen. Some even welcome it, I think. At least they don’t have to go back to their desk come Monday.

  You sit back on the half-stone. Do you notice the other stones in the ring? Most of them are broken and overgrown with moss and ivy, but you can’t be so numbed that you’re unable to feel the power in this place.

  Your hands come off the stone. Electrical charge or just cold? Before you get a chance to ponder it, the first of the voices whispers across the wind. Your head snaps back and forth. Yeah. You caught that all right, loud enough that you wonder what it said.

  The words are never in English, nor any human language, but as the language of the empty side, you’re sure to feel its effects. The hairs on your arms must be upright. That twinging pinch on your intestines might be too much. We need to keep you here; if you start worrying you’re going to shit yourself, you’ll want to leave.

  I remember the first time I was brought here, before I’d begun the training. The first time I heard them speak. I blacked out. I lost a week, like a bad binge. It left me with the same sort of damage. The shakes, bugs on my arms no one else could see, and it was days before I could stomach even broth.

  “Hey, man, it’s been great meeting you all, but I think I’ve got to get going.”

  Crap. You’re clutching your gut. I knew it. The whispers, the great hollow empty spirit in the pit, have that effect even on those of us that are used to it.

  Ricky steps forward, another can of beer in his hand. “No, man. Stay. Have another beer. The girls will be here soon.”

  You reach forward for the beer. Holy crap, it’s worked. But Wade stumbles up behind Ricky, blocking the path. I watch your eyes look him up and down and at the path. “I… I am free to leave when I want, right?”

  “Of course,” Ricky says. He hands the beer to you with one hand and smacks his brother in the gut with the other.

  You don’t look convinced, but you take the beer anyway. “One more beer, I guess.”

  “Good man. And trust me, by the time you finish that beer, the girls will be here and you’ll want to stay.”

  I still don’t think you’re convinced. You tilt that can back like you’re hoping to down it, but you’re not ready for normal beer, it doesn’t have that flowery taste like the beers your kind usually drink, and it almost comes back up. That’s good. You’ll need a nipple for the second part of that can, you’ll be drinking it so slow.

  It seems like everything’s cool, but when you step back the branches under you crack and you look down at the ground your standing on and you go pale. Shit. It’s too soon.

  ***

  Running through the woods in the dark is a good way to get yourself killed. Normally, I wouldn’t advise it. But given what you’re running from, I can’t say I blame you.

  And it didn’t take you more than a moment from hearing those branches snap to taking off. I have to credit you with that much sense. I doubt you have any idea what’s down there, but you have sense enough to know that you don’t want to find out. You left your friends, doubled over and drooling on themselves. They don’t have your sense of self-preservation, but the strong don’t always survive. The strong are the main course.

  The terrain is rocky as hell, but that don’t mean you can spend all your time worrying about tripping. There are also plenty of low-lying branches to whip you in the face with those conifer needles, so you have to look up as well. Hard to do when you’re running in the dark. I have an advantage over the rest of you. I need to hang back anyway, but I’m still doing my damnedest not to trip on loose rocks. Paying too much attention to my feet, I get swatted in the eyes with a dose of those pine needles.

  I hope to hell the boys have a spring in their step. Ricky’s spry, but Austin and Wade ain’t exactly going to win any footraces. I’d tell Wade to stay put and keep an eye on your friends, but they’re too out of it to go anywhere under their own power. You, on the other hand, might just get away.

  Shivers shoot through me as I understand what will happen if we don’t get you down that pit tonight. I wouldn’t claim to understand it all or know what would happen if it went on indefinitely, but I’m the only one left that remembers what happened last time the hole wasn’t fed. The effects on the world grew nastier and nastier. It started with just tremors. You ever been in an earthquake? You know how it reaches that point where you wonder if it’s ever going to stop? At some point you start doubting you can take any more. The fear of that fear gets so bad, you actually do begin to go mad. It was like that. The tremors were followed by waking dreams and visions, and then the worst of the visions began to come true. We thought the world would end. We hoped it would end. It got so bad we wanted anything just to make it stop.

  And that was when it was easier to get the sacrifice together. As more of your kind move out here, there are more cops to contend with, cameras everywhere. Time was, our sacrifices weren’t missed any. But we catch you, you’ll be missed. There’ll be an investigation. We’ll be lucky if it blows over in time before we need to do it all over again. And of course that’s assuming we get
this done right tonight.

  A rock gives under my foot. I find myself sliding down the hill on my ass for several feet, then I burst through low-hanging branches and onto the grassy floor of a clearing. At least with the clearing I can see the stars over the city halo below. Cygnus and Aquilla are right where I’d expect them. Hot damn, would you look at that? The stars are right. And that means we haven’t much time.

  As if on cue, the world shakes and there’s a primal shriek from the pit. My vision flashes rapidly, like someone switching channels fast on the television. When I can see again, those same stars shine red in the sky above and a layer of cloud funnels through the sky twisting and contorting into pictographs and words spelling doom in a hundred forgotten languages. One thing is clear, the pit is demanding to be fed.

  Branches ahead of me break and you come plunging through. Doubled back? Clever, but not clever enough. It takes just seconds for me to grab a handful out of my juju bag and fling a blast of enchanted stripper’s glitter into your wide eyes.

  You writhe on the ground screaming while the boys return. This little excursion is over. It’s time for the main event.

  ***

  We’re back at the pit for a while before you come to. Your eyes have been open, but there’s no light behind them at first. Then I catch it. Clarity crossing your expression. You see where you are. You see what’s happened to your friends. And you have an inkling just how fucked you are.

  Your friends are draped across the branch screen covering the pit. They’ve been cut in the designs of the traditions, red runes mark their bare flesh, bleeding from as many spots as they can to whet the pit’s appetite. But your friends are just appetizers. You’re the entrée.

  The tree totems clatter, dangling together on the fishing line suspending them. Just the wind? Or catching the spirits, dreams, your fleeting hopes? The hubcap is the best spirit catcher I’ve found. It’s knocking against the air filters and the Skoal cans I enchanted to try and provide a final perimeter for the whispers from the pit.