Redneck Eldritch

by Nathan Shumate

  Dust motes coalesced into a flat disk, sparkling against the backdrop of black energy. Any light that penetrated the outhouse hole was sucked inside, smothered and devoured by the strange emanation. The disk spun and grew into a portal just above the brown streaks on the crumpled page.

  A slender tentacle tip emerged from the disk once it had enveloped the bottom of the shaft. The tentacle twisted, probing delicately at the dirt lining the sides of the hole. It rose like a swaying dancer towards the sprinkling of dust still floating in the late afternoon light leaking through the crescent moon cutout of the door. The suckers lining one side of the limb slid upwards, tasting and sampling the organic matter of the hole. The tip of the tentacle paused to inspect the round wooden seat. It slipped over the polished wood, barely touching the surface, before riffling the pages of the book.

  Three other tentacles emerged from the portal, swaying as they rose beside the first. All four twisted their way up the narrow shaft. The first reached for the crescent moon on the door of the outhouse while the others felt their way up the dirt shaft. They writhed as they moved, sinuous and undulating through the spreading pool of inky dark.

  All four tentacles stopped abruptly, their dance rudely interrupted by the constricting ring of wood. They surged upwards, straining to break free, only to jerk to a halt again without making progress. They pulled back, becoming thicker, squat and fat just above the hole. Their bulk blocked retreat.

  The limbs stilled while the the agency behind them thought through the dilemma. Dust motes danced over their purplish gray and green mottled skin. The last rays of the sun flickered through the crescent moon, splattering over the monstrosities in freckles of light. A hiss, like escaping steam from a kettle, rose from below. The tentacles slithered to the back of the outhouse in a vain attempt to escape the light. A vapor of darkness leaked out between the tentacles, but the constricting hole limited how much could escape between the fat lengths of suckered flesh. Light and dark battled in the outhouse while the appendages writhed helplessly and the sun slowly sank below the horizon.

  The light vanished into a twilight glow. The tentacles relaxed, then began to curl through the space. They slid along the wood of the seat and felt the bench to either side.

  The door banged open. Skipper stood outlined against the sunset, his head turned towards the cabin. “Check the boiler. Should be all clear.” He turned to face the outhouse as Cletus shouted a muffled reply.

  The tentacles reached towards Skipper. The suckers puckered open and closed at the scent of his warm, human flesh. They stopped short, plugging the narrow opening. The tentacles flopped in a desperate attempt to break through the wooden ring crowning the seat. A pink flush crept into their flesh.

  Skipper froze at the sight of the flailing mass. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide. He slowly closed the outhouse door on the horror. He peered inside through the crescent cutout, his eye glowing white in the dusk.

  “Cletus?” His voice broke like a teenage boy’s, squeaking high into soprano range. His eye disappeared from the cutout. Rapid footsteps headed away in the direction of the cabin and the still.

  The tentacles redoubled their effort to emerge from the hole. They shot upwards, straightening with an almost audible snap. The wood of the outhouse creaked but held firm. They jerked back, then up, repeating the sequence rapidly. The outhouse trembled, but Skipper’s granpappy had built solidly.

  The tentacles coiled around each other, their tips exploring the outhouse and everything they could reach. One riffled the pages of the book, but without a mortal to read the words and provide the sacrifice, it held no assistance. Cletus had provided a very low-quality sacrifice, not nearly powerful enough to break free of the outhouse prison.

  The tentacles stretched, thinning as much as they could. The lowest one pulled back through the seat, straining to slide past the other three. Slime oozed from the pores of the rubbery skin. A thick sucking noise filled the outhouse. Writhing flesh and suckers twisted and bunched until the boneless limb finally slithered back into the hole beneath the seat. The other three tentacles followed in quick succession.

  Dust motes floated above the hole, swirling lazily in the fading light. The toilet seat rested above a pit filled with impenetrable blackness that now oozed anger and frustration. A sense of impending doom built in the gathering night.

  Lights bloomed in the woods behind the cabin as Skipper and Cletus fired up the old kerosene lanterns in the open shed that housed the still. Their voices floated through the evening air.

  “I tell you, it was one of them giant squids, like Bobbie Lee saw on that TV show last month.”

  “How would a giant squid get into the outhouse?” Cletus’ voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “We ain’t drunk yet, so I know it weren’t no hallucination. Maybe it swam up the river and crawled inside. Octopuses and squids can do that, you know.”

  “No they can’t. How ’bout you show me this giant squid? Prove it ain’t no shine talking.”

  They fell silent. The darkness in the outhouse churned faster.

  “You chicken?”

  “All right, I’ll show you I ain’t no liar and I ain’t no chicken, neither.”

  Two sets of footsteps crunched along the path to the outhouse. The door was flung open. Skipper and Cletus both stared inside.

  “Idjit.” Cletus slapped Skipper upside the head, but not very hard. “Let’s get back to business. Those valves was leaking. Maybe tightening them will fix it.”

  “It was there, I tell ya. Tentacles as big as my legs sticking up out of the seat.”

  “Pull the other one.” Cletus turned away.

  Skipper followed, protesting and waving his arms as he described the horror he’d encountered. The door banged shut on their argument. Their voices retreated in the direction of the still.

  A single tentacle rose above the seat, sliding in a circle as if tasting the wood. The darkness beneath boiled up in a froth of not-light. It spilled over the seat, engulfing the tentacle and the interior of the outhouse. Scrabbling noises came from the hole accompanied by squelching and squooshing. A hairy limb with too many appendages emerged from the inky blackness. Fur bristled then settled into a thick coat over ropy muscles. The rest of the creature emerged from the hole, sliding through as if molded from jelly. Once free, it solidified into a thick torso, four short limbs with stubby toes, and a head heavy with jowls and teeth. Red eyes burned in deep sockets. It fumbled with the door a moment before tearing it off the hinges with clumsy paws.

  Rosebud, the hunting hound, let loose a long howl from her hiding spot under the porch. She bolted for the truck and leaped over the side to cower in the back.

  The creature drew in a long breath, sniffing deeply of the mountain air. It wuffled once before answering Rosebud’s howl. The sound was laced with centuries of despair and loneliness. It was the cry of a soul, lost and tormented, doomed to wander the cold wastes of the netherworld forever. But this soul had found a way to the mortal realm, and a body of semi-flesh. The body jiggled as the creature moved, as if the flesh were not fully solidified.

  “What in tarnation was that?” Cletus crept from the back side of the cabin, lantern held high.

  “That giant squid, I tell ya.” Skipper followed with a shotgun clutched in his hands. He aimed at the outhouse and the shadowy form hunched in front of the still open door.

  “Don’t shoot, idjit. It’s ’Bud.” Cletus knocked the shotgun barrel just as Skipper squeezed the trigger. The blast tore through the bushes to one side of the outhouse. The creature dove into the trees on the other side.

  “What did you do that for?” Skipper glared at his friend. “That wasn’t no dog!”

  “It wasn’t no giant squid, neither.”

  “You saying I’m a liar? I saw a giant squid in there!”

  They turned to face each other as they continued to shout. Skipper waved the shotgun for emphasis. Rosebud whimpered in the back of the truck. The creature melted into
the shadows of the benighted forest.

  The not-light swirled once more inside the outhouse. Twists and spirals of mist coalesced into flapping wings, a murderous beak, and glowing yellow eyes overflowing with hatred and evil. A giant bird flapped through the dangling door into the night. Skipper and Cletus were too involved in their argument to notice.

  The mist gave a final swirl, flinging a cloud of stinging, biting flies into the mortal realm. The portal beneath the seat sputtered. The tentacles slithered back into the netherworld. The opening gave a final spark of not-light before snapping shut with a loud sucking sound. The sacrifice, after all, had been small and of low quality. The evil bird screeched as the hairy beast let loose another howl. They, at least, were free in the mortal realm. The cloud of flies descended on Skipper with bloodthirsty vigor.

  “What in tarnation? Dadgummit!” Skipper smacked flies with reckless abandon. His wayward hand slapped Cletus upside the head.

  “Idjit!” Cletus slapped him back. “Put that gun away before you blow your fool head off. Let’s go. We need to get new valves for the still or the shine is just gonna run out onto the ground. Unless you want to stand there and fill each bottle by hand all weekend.”

  “Why ain’t these flies biting you?” Skipper’s voice slurred as his lips swelled from bites. He bit one unlucky insect in half as he talked. Ink-black smoke puffed from its corpse and swirled out between Skipper’s teeth. “Gaw! That was foul. What are these things? Ow!” He smacked another into oblivion as it bit his ear. He also hit himself in the head with the barrel of the shotgun.

  Cletus yanked the gun free from Skipper’s hand. “Get in the truck. I’ll drive.” He whistled for the dog. Rosebud stuck her nose barely over the edge of the truck before burrowing back under the piles of old tarps and random junk that covered the bed.

  The two men climbed into the cab and slammed their doors. The engine roared to life. Gravel peppered the clearing as Cletus gunned the truck up the hill out of the little hollow. Their bickering voices faded into the distance. Silence fell, punctuated only by the buzzing of the swarm of evil flies.

  The monster slunk out of the shadows into the moonlight. Fur bristled along its back. It sniffed the air, then loped after the truck. The bird waited only a moment before flapping after, heavy wings beating the night air.

  The flies remained in the clearing, a buzzing nexus of evil holding vigil over the outhouse.

  ***

  “It’s watching me.”

  “What?” Skipper turned his head towards his wife. Or where he guessed she would be. The fly bites had swollen grotesquely, pulling his face into a puffed and distorted caricature, and his eyes were bare slits.

  Bobbie Lee gestured out the door with the bag of frozen peas in her hand. “That bird. Gives me the shivers. Just sitting in the tree, staring.” She plopped the bag of frozen peas on Skipper’s face.

  “Probably just a crow. They do that sometimes.” Skipper settled back in his worn recliner. It creaked, but held.

  “Too big for a crow. Maybe a turkey? My da used to tell stories ‘bout hunting turkeys with his granpappy.”

  “If it’s a turkey, we should shoot it. Turkeys make good eating.”

  “Maybe I should.” Bobbie Lee crossed her arms as she stared out the window at the bird.

  The creature ruffled its wings, raising them slightly so the breeze caught the feathers. Its eyes glinted red even in daylight. It shifted on the branch, which bobbed under its weight. Clawed feet with wicked talons clutched and flexed on the wood. Malevolence hung in an almost palpable cloud around the manifestation of the Elder God’s servant. It flicked tail feathers and hissed.

  Bobbie Lee flipped it the bird before turning her back. No oversized crow was going to intimidate her. She returned to her dish washing, but kept half an eye on the plants in the vegetable patch beneath the kitchen window. Crows liked to eat her garden. She wasn’t going to stand for that. No sirree. Those birds could go eat what grew natural in the hills. Or they’d find themselves on her dinner table, crow or not.

  Something thumped on the roof. Claws scrabbled over the shingles. Bobbie Lee paused, dishrag dripping soap bubbles onto the counter. Whatever it was screeched, not a noise a crow usually made. It was more like fingernails scraping across a blackboard, except much louder. Made her skin crawl, that was for certain.

  Wings flapped and snapped, heavy and huge. The evil black bird dropped into view right in front of her. It fluttered and glided to an ungainly landing right in her strawberries. She threw the rag into the sink.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” she muttered as she swiped bubbles from her hands.

  Skipper kept his shotgun loaded and ready near the back door, just in case. This was a ‘just in case’ if Bobbie Lee had ever known one. She stomped over to the door. Her hands closed over the worn wooden stock of the gun. Buckshot should take down that oversized crow, or turkey, or whatever it was. She yanked the door open and stepped outside.

  Her apron flapped in the breeze, ruffles dancing in the sunlight. The bird twisted its head to stare. Bobbie Lee raised the shotgun as she took two steps forward. The thing hissed, beak gaping unnaturally wide. A long round thing emerged from the bird’s throat, green-black scales glistening along its length. It raised a snake head, complete with forked tongue and fangs. The bird hopped towards her. The snake coming out of its mouth swayed side to side, eyes black as sin locked on her face.

  Bobbie Lee shivered. The thing was an abomination, that was for sure. What kind of crow or turkey kept a snake in its beak?

  One of the bird’s clawed feet ripped up her cucumber vine, the one that almost had enough ’cukes for a batch of brined dills.

  “Don’t you touch my garden,” she ordered. She sighted down the muzzle of the shotgun.

  The snake head hissed. The bird deliberately raised one foot, claws spreading over her pepper plants. The eyes of both snake and bird watched her, baleful pits of absolute madness. Some part of Bobbie Lee’s brain noted that the bird had three eyes in its head, but that didn’t matter, not when her peppers were on the line. No one and no thing touched her prize bells.

  The claw raked down towards a plump green pepper. Bobbie Lee’s finger squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked back into her shoulder. Buckshot sprayed her garden. The snake head exploded. The bird thing squawked as it flopped backwards.

  Bobbie Lee advanced on the bird, stepping delicately around her plants. She paused long enough to check the pepper. Buckshot had grazed the topmost bulge but the rest was intact and unblemished.

  The creature fled into her corn patch, wings flapping as it ran. Leaves rustled as it barreled through the stalks. The clawed feet tore up chunks of earth in its haste. The dead snake flopped and bounced out the side of its beak.

  Bobbie Lee recocked the shotgun, loading the second round. No crow, no matter how bizarre or creepy, was going to destroy her garden. She’d defended it from raccoons, weasels, rabbits, pigeons, deer, and even a bear once. This one wasn’t going to succeed either. She followed the trail of squawking destruction through the corn and out the other side.

  Trees clustered along the bank of the creek below her garden, wild plum and willow mostly. They made a thicket of narrow branches impossible for anything so large and ungainly to smash through. The bird turned to face her, backed against the hedge.

  Bobbie Lee raised the gun and took aim.

  The thing fluffed up its feathers, drawing in all the power of the Elder Gods. The mere sight of its gaze should have reduced the mortal woman to screams of panic. The touch of its mind should have invoked insanity. But the power was weak. The sunlight flickering on the water and through the leaves distracted it. And bird thoughts kept intruding on the mind of the servant of the Elder God. The body that should have been immortal dripped blood from numerous wounds. Pain twisted like thorns in its flesh. It pulled in power and released a feeble attempt at controlling the simple mind of the human woman.

  The gun barrel lowered slightly. Bo
bbie Lee watched the bird-thing, sympathy growing in her heart. It was hurt and almost cute. An urge to drop to her knees and snuggle it wandered through her mind.

  No. She shook the errant thought from her head. It was butt-ugly and it had ripped up her cucumbers. The gun snapped back up and fired.

  Buckshot tore through the creature’s face, obliterating the three eyes and the rest of the snake. The feathers flapped raggedly as it staggered backwards. The clawed feet snagged on a root. It tumbled backwards, sprawling in the dirt under a plum tree. Its claws reached up, grasping at nothing. The dark evil that had spawned it shuddered free, dissipating into the glare of the afternoon sunlight. The bird shivered once more before lying still.

  Bobbie Lee lowered the shotgun and squinted at the carcass. It wasn’t shaped like any bird she’d ever seen before. But it was close enough to a turkey.

  “Waste not, want not.” She grabbed the feet and hauled the body up. The neck flopped loosely. Blood dripped from the mangled remains of the head. “Definitely a meaty one. This should cook up real nice.”

  She whistled as she strode back to her house, apron flapping around her, shotgun in one hand, dead embodiment of evil in the other. Black feathers drifted on the breeze, forlorn and lost.

  ***

  “Momma, there’s a stray dog out there.” Billy Joe pressed his nose to the screen door.

  “You hush. Probably some fool thing your daddy dragged home.” Lucie Mae flicked the TV volume up another notch. Jeopardy! would be on any moment. She didn’t want to miss a single question. “Where is your fool daddy anyway?”

  “Took the truck back to Skipper.” Billy Joe’s voice was mushy, distorted by his lips moving against the screen. “Looks like a hunting dog.”

  “Cletus won’t be home ’til long after sunset then. Stand around jawing all day, if’n I don’t smack him into moving.” Lucie Mae settled her house dress around her pudgy knees as the opening theme song played on the TV.