A Wistful Tale of Gods, Men and Monsters

by David Ruggerio

  “Joey, there is something strange out there. Maybe we should think about going back to the car.”

  “Ah, you’re just chicken.”

  “Fuck that, I’m just concerned for the girls.”

  “Yeah, right.” Joey stood up, stretched, and peered out the window He too could now hear the faint wailing, “Hey what the hell is a baby doing in the graveyard?”

  The weeping of the infant was now a few yards away. As the two strained to see what malevolence lurked in the mist, they could barely make out the outline of what seemed to be a woman. Through the mist, Bobby could see that something was covering her head. Joey hollered, “Yo lady, we come in peace.”

  “Joey shut the fuck-up! What do you think, she’s an alien?”

  Bobby now directed his attention to the vision, “Listen, lady, what are you doing out here with a kid at this time of the night. Are you stupid or what?” She retorted with a faint giggle that had a vacuous sort of humor, it sent chills up the brother’s spines.

  She was now closing in on them; her naked feet hovered inches above the earth, she was gliding along with the mist. Her head was covered by a white shroud; her face pale and pasty. They could see her darkened eye sockets, her lips were purple, teeth stained red, and she was now close enough that they could see that the face was darkened and puffy. She began to moan, not of pain or suffering, but seemingly of pleasure. It was an erotic transformation, from a woman of beauty to a fierce beast of uncontrollable hatred for mankind. She wrapped her arms around her own body; the ominous groan became deep and guttural. The phantasm began slowly writhing and convulsing. Its bones twisted and cracked; it was changing before their eyes. The moans morphed into faint growls. She was becoming the beast, a colossus of a monster. The great animal’s right appendage reached for them, it’s long bony fingers, a mere few feet away were now sharpened talons, while its left held a delicate, pure child. “Bobby, do you see what I see? Fuck this and fuck you lady; let’s get the hell out of here.”

  As they turned to make their escape, a heinous, gurgling noise that was human-like bubbled up from within the monster. It chilled the brothers’ blood; it was a frightening primitive sound. It mystically froze the two in their tracks. The rapid panting, the saliva dripping from its jowls signaled a beast that thirst for its next victim. “Bobby…Holy shit, does that woman have a wolf with her?”

  “No stupid, she IS the wolf!”

  The beast was nearly seven feet tall. It had heavy lumbering footsteps, its claws digging deep into the earth. It began circling them, its shadow blended in with the mist. They were now holding on to each other for dear life. The odor of the mist began to exude sweetness; it was sickening to the senses. Where was it? Was it close? They wanted to run, but every muscle was locked. Time became frightfully slow; what was only a minute or two seemed like an eternity. Suddenly the beast appeared in the shattered window behind them. Its fury was wild, uncontrollable. It was scratching and clawing to enter the mausoleum by the window. It took wild swings with its massive claws at the two brothers. This was a horror unlike any before; no man had ever survived such a terror and lived to tell about it. Now, time became a run-away-train, Joey panicked (along with the twelve beers), causing his bladder to break, spilling effortlessly out of him.

  It caught Bobby’s attention, “Jesus Christ, did you just piss your pants?”

  “What? Who? Me? Piss my pants? What are you crazy?”

  A sudden piercing snarl made Bobby forget about urine. They bolted from the semblance of the safety of the mausoleum and dashed as fast as they could towards the entrance of the graveyard. The fearsome cacophony was in pursuit; they could hear its claws digging into the dried autumn leaves as it pursued them. As they turned to see, Joey lost his balance and fell headlong into an open grave. His head slammed into the cold, moldy wood of a coffin, causing the lid to fracture. He was stunned, but then the putrid odor of the decaying body cleared his cobwebs. He desperately attempted to raise himself, but something seemed to be holding him. His scream was horrible and inaudible; echoing only in the corridors of his mind and the chambers of his soul. He felt it welling up into his throat and out of his mouth before he could stop it. It was high pitched and hysterical, “Ahh…Ahhh…Fuckkk!”

  He frantically turned his body around; all he could see were malignant roots protruding from the sides of the hole that seemed to be barring him from escape; collapsing earth had begun to bury him.

  “Oh my God!”

  As he desperately attempted to free himself, his hand broke entirely through the coffin lid; he could feel teeth and bone biting down into the flesh of his hand. He began to scream uncontrollably for his brother;

  “Ahhh! Ahhh! Please, Bobby, get me the fuck out of here!”

  Bobby, not realizing what had happened, whirled around to rescue his brother. He just stopped short before he, himself, went headlong into the grave. He fiercely grabbed for him as the panting of the beast grew ever nearer. Joey grabbed wildly at his wrist, and as his brother pulled him out with all his might. There was a long, bone-chilling howl that morphed into a scream of rage and pain. That was enough for them, arm in arm, they bolted, trying to put distance between them and the evil that was hunting them.

  Racing for their lives, both were now shivering uncontrollably, not from the cold, instead from the horrific fright. They peered back, and without any warning, the two ran smack into something that knocked them both to the ground. Joey had lost all self-control, screaming madly. It took a split second for them to gain their senses; a glaring light was blinding them. They had run headlong into Banger Doyle. His deep melodic voice, rolling tongue, vociferously exclaimed, “Who gave you two boyles permission to enter me cemetery? You’re both trespassing here. Tis a wee bit béal bocht!”

  Joey was frightened to death, “Fuck that, there’s an animal chasing us! We’d all better all get out of here!”

  Bobby still had his wits about him, “Wait a minute sir, there’s a baby back there, she’s crying, and a woman. And there’s a huge wolf!”

  “Let’s see here, we have a crying baby, a woman and a beast, all in the blooming bog? I suppose you also set eyes on a wee leprechaun too. Tis just a bit of begrudgery. I can smell the uisce beatha from here, like a blind cobbler’s thumb! Tis potent too! You two lads are coming with me; we’re going to the sheriff’s office.”

  “Sir, are you telling me that you didn’t hear the howl?”

  “Howl, bowel…bollocks! All sounds like a lot of gibberish to me. And with a blooming snowstorm on its way!”

  Joey just shrugged his shoulders, “Huh! I feel just like poor Minnie in Frankenstein” (Nobody believes me-alright, I wash my hands of it-let them all be murdered in the bed, for all of me).

  As he led the two through the now opened front gate, the Irish in Banger was getting the best of him, “Tis colder than a witch’s tit. I do suppose that you two were out for a bit of rúla búla. Sheriff Landtmann will deal with you two, but good.”

  Being arrested at this point seemed downright comforting. A town cell would be a hell of a lot lot safer than that damn graveyard. Besides Joey was covered in dirt, and the smell of his urine was too much for Bobby. The two were both spared partly due to their stupidity and foolishness.

  They tried their best to convince the caretaker of what they witnessed, but as they sped along in his old black Bronco truck, he was having none of it.

  “I’m telling you; my brother fell into an open grave.”

  “You two damn baloobas are half-langered. There hasn’t been a burial in that cemetery for over thirty-five years! What were you two planning to do out there?” Doyle then lowered his voice; “Dig up a body I suppose? Some bit of voodoo?”

  Bobby, the more lucid of the two, tried
hopelessly to explain that they meant no harm. He told Banger that they had a deep interest in the occult, and they had read about the graveyard online and were searching for the headless angel, “It was said that she bleeds at night.”

  “A damn bunch of tomfoolery. O be sure, a bit of boosties e’ beasties, and I suppose da liquor or maybe twas the funny flour that was to help along in da blooming adventure?”

  Joey jumped, “Flour? Are you talking about coke?”

  Bobby attempted to arrest the situation, “Sir, it was only a few beers.”

  Banger grinned, “I can sure enough still smell the reefer on you two bloody hooligans!”

  As Doyle made his way, the first snow of the year began to fall, while a foreboding gloom seemed to come over Banger’s leathery face; his wrinkles became deeper and more pronounced. His bulbous red nose turned greyish purple, he slowly licked his cracked and bleeding lips, ever savoring the sweetness of his own blood. His expression was not a look of solemnity; instead, an evil clouded his countenance. His face now was distorted, almost freakish, he seemed to lose his charming Irish brogue, his voice was now deep and dark. He swiveled his head around, “Have you boys ever seen an animal skinned?” He then cackled. The brothers looked at each other, what was going on? Banger’s head was now turned completely around, and peering right into their eyes, his gaze piercing their skulls, the two were in a trance-like state. “There are things that go bump in the night.” There were bad intentions in his tone, his eyes seemed to glow blood-red, his teeth sharpened, his tongue forked, “and sometimes, you fools, they are not merely figments of one’s imagination…”

  CHAPTER 7

  ANNE

  The expressions of their faces bears witness against them,

  And they display their sin like Sodom; they do not even conceal it

  Woe to them! For they have brought evil on themselves.

  -Isaiah 3:9

  Sarah Rempel met her beloved Joshua in Troy while visiting a relative who was a dairy farmer. She was born and raised in Ohio in the heart of Amish country. She and her family were Mennonites, a stout Christian group that belonged to the church communities of Anabaptist. The courtship between Joshua and Sarah was short, even though he was an Episcopalian (no bother that the Mennonites originated from a protestant religion), Sarah’s father gave his blessing, and they were married in 1908. Joshua had a work ethic that was extraordinary even for those hard times. Soon after their marriage, he purchased a hundred and sixty acres at the base of the Bald Mountain. An ancient and distinct path through the mountain was referred to as The Devil’s Path. It was said that it was once a holy place for the native Indians.

  He quickly went about building their home. Sarah was a strong woman who insisted on at least six bedrooms, one for each child that was planned for in their dreams of the future. Their folk house, as it was often referred to back then, had a rock-solid base of two levels that was constructed of local stone and timbered logs. His German- Palatine background provided him with unique masonry skills. The top two floors were built of pine; its windows were ornate with its frames trimmed in hand-carved wooden leaves and curls of gusty winds. The structure was capped with an attic that was covered with a sweeping roof supported by four rows of internal posts. The large barn door at the gable end opened into a spacious hall. He painted the exterior in a deep brown and the windows in pearly white. The house was connected to one of the two barns, forming a luxurious courtyard. The entire home was finished with a large porch to relax on during the summer months, and a deep, dark root cellar that was meant to store cider, apples, and vegetables during the frigid Brunswick winters.

  Before his passing, Joshua had added another sixty acres, along with a rather large corn crib. He was tireless even in his sixties, wrapping the entire 220 acres in a knee-high stone fence that incorporated rock that he had collected by hand. This was to be his family’s home, along with all the generations to follow. For many of the families of Brunswick, the Willowsby home was an estate to admire, but for others, it was an irritating symbol of immoderation.

  . . .

  James insisted that when he and Anne wed, they would move onto his family’s farm. Anne bit her tongue and moved in along with her prodigious collection of trinkets, clothes, and shoes. Brunswick women were conservative, and such a sin of excess was frowned upon. She took claim to one of the bedrooms solely for her possessions, transforming it into her own intimate changing room. James was disturbed by this; she was the antithesis of Lillian.

  At first, she fondled over her stepson, her actions seemed to reassure James that he had made the right decision, but as time went on, her hollow gestures would not last. Despite his dead mother’s wishes, Anne insisted on calling him Billy, a harbinger of things to come...

  The interior of the Willowsby folk house was unpretentious, rustic wood floors, shiplap walls, along with a duo of L-shaped staircases that were framed with a myriad of ornate spindles that curiously made Anne feel as though she was trapped.

  She had singular attire when she went angling for men, habitually donning a tight black turtleneck. It was rare to see her without a particular amulet around her neck. This turtle-shaped charm was garnished with tiny beading. It was made from an animal hide that contained an umbilical cord. According to the ancient Iroquois myth, such a talisman was nefarious and procured the wearer eternal life. Fortunately for Anne, few if any knew of its lore. Her daily routine was scrutinized by the local gentry who gossiped incessantly. Where there was smoke, there was fire, and Anne was an inferno.

  There was a discreet motel on the outskirts of Troy where Anne held her trysts, it was a safe distance away from scrutiny. Sex was like a drug for her. It was not passion; instead, it was a raging lust. She hungered to satisfy her insatiable feelings of fierce, deeply stabbing needs. She had a longing to sink her teeth furiously into these vivid males she pursued. They were all obscure men, her methods of picking these random males aided in maintaining her secret. When she was on the prowl, she would often snag her victim by shopping at places like Walmart in distant counties. She sought single men who had little or no attachments; she needed them to be young and vibrant. She was certain that James had no inkling of what she was doing (not). Sure, the sex was good with him, straightforward and conventional, just like Cosmopolitan had instructed the rest of America’s women for decades, although Anne’s preference swayed more towards Muscle & Fitness and Hustler.

  John Rogger was a beefy construction worker who wielded a substantial bulge in his Levi’s, whether real or not, it often worked. He was born and raised in Albany and had driven over to Troy to pick up a few bottles of Breeding Buck deer urine and 30-06 shells for his rifle that were on sale at the American Hunters Barn. Just two weeks prior he had picked up two salt licks from the Agway over in Troy and had placed them near his deer stands, the deer went bonkers for the salt. Although they were illegal, he thought laughingly, who ‘ll ever find them deep in the woods? He made sure the deer would, he dropped cotton balls around the licks that were soaked in the urine. This old trick had been a secret within his family for eons. The season was just around the corner, and he was planning to do some target practice with the new shells up in the hills in the coming weekend.

  He stopped at the convenience store next to the Barn; he bought a coffee, three small bottles of liquid energy booster and a protein bar. Since graduating high school four years ago, he had religiously worked out in the gym six days a week. He didn’t miss a workout; whether it was Easter, Christmas or the WWE Smackdown; religiously spending two hours daily. He had his splits all planned out; working out chest and triceps one day, biceps and legs another, back and shoulder to round out his routine. He arrogantly sauntered around the gym with gray sweats, a weight belt tightened around his waist and a worn-out sweatshirt with its sleeves cut above the elbow
. A constant was his water bottle filled with creatine and protein that was held in hands that always sported weightlifting gloves. No matter how hard he worked out, he didn’t want the lovely ladies to be turned off by callouses and rough hands. Unlike gyms in the city, there was rarely a girl worth a second look.

  Since his junior year in high school, he had been sticking steroid laden needles in his backside; he rationalized that if he was going to work out that hard; he wanted to get the most out of it. He lettered in wrestling, and those afternoon showers after practice gave him a wide angled view that his manhood could stand up with the best of them. By the time he turned eighteen, his arms were rock solid and massive, but his back was bestrewn with pimples, a byproduct of steroids. The high levels of testosterone caused by the steroid use gave him an uncontrollable urge to masturbate five to six times a day and he was on a constant vigil for a decent piece of ass. Despite that, he always kept a few blue pills in a ziplock bag for emergencies.

  He held the keys to his F-150 truck as he struggled with the lid on his hot coffee (damn foreigners can’t even put the lid on right). Just to his left, something caught his eye, prompting him to stop dead in his tracks. She was stunning and had a body that caused an insatiable addiction for men. This combination of beauty and sensuality in the mountains could only be found in a bathroom magazine. Before he could formulate his finest pickup lines in his head, she made the first move, “Is that bulge real? Or is that your gym sock in there?”

  (Holy shit, is she for real)

  “Listen, sweetheart, there is only one way to find out.”

  (Fuck, I have no condoms, screw it; I’m not chancing losing this one)

  That’s all the canoodling it took. She refused to get in his car; instead she gave him the directions to her love shack, and both were off to the races.