The Spitting Post

by Jason R. Barden

  “Are you crazy?”

  The man opened his mouth wide and without moving his lips, he said, “Precisely.”

  Then he began to cry tears of blood, yet still he played. The blood rolled down his face and pooled on the grass. Then I came to a grotesque realization. He was not playing for amusement; he was calling the beast.

  My thoughts were muffled by the sound of heavy feet striking the ground like a herd of stampeding cattle. Then the beast raised its massive head over the horizon. Over the hill and behind the musician the beast charged fearlessly while the violinist continued playing his instrument of death. The beast was a jackal, but it was no ordinary jackal. It was the size of a lion with teeth to match. It had long midnight black fur, but there was no mistaking its jackal ears.

  My first instinct was to run, but the jackal would easily outrun me in no time flat, so I drew my pistol and fired. That was a mistake. I had forgotten the pistol was a short-range weapon. The shot came nowhere near the giant jackal. I immediately began to reload with gunpowder and inserted the silver ball into the barrel. I packed them down with the ramrod that was attached to the underside of the barrel. The beast was now in close range. My hand trembled as I held the pistol. I fired but missed. It was too late to reload; the beast was within a few feet.

  The jackal leapt on me and knocked me to the ground. The smell of rotted flesh hung on its breath, and it spewed forth the foul odor like a biological weapon. I grabbed my dagger, and as the beast was about to chomp down, I thrust the dagger forward. The monster tasted cold steel. It howled and winced as it backed away. I stood and lunged at the creature with my dagger, but it sidestepped the attack. It turned and fled in the opposite direction while still groaning in agony.

  I searched the ground for my pistol that had been knocked from my hand when the jackal threw itself onto me. I couldn’t find it, so in frustration I turned to the violinist.

  “Why?” was the only word I was able to speak.

  “Why?” echoed the violinist, and then he released a sinister laugh. “There is no why. Nothing more than pure enjoyment. You see, I cruelly trained that animal for the hunt by tormenting it since it was a cub, and it has served me well.”

  “You are sick!” I yelled, still out of breath from the fight.

  The mad musician turned away and began to follow the route of his pet while I directed my focus back to the pistol. If I could find it, I could reload and target the beast’s master and end this once and for all. I frantically searched, but when I finally located it, the violinist was nearly out of sight. I pursued him with one thing in mind, to end the beast’s reign. I would have to destroy both the master and his minion. The jackal had developed a taste for human blood, but I felt sorry for the beast. The poor animal was only reacting to its cruel training and the maddening melody of the violin. Nonetheless, I would have to put it down.

  I quickly followed the pair, and I was gaining ground. I could see the great canyon just ahead with the bridge filling the gap. I was running as fast as my feet would carry me. They began crossing the rickety bridge that was held together by ropes at each end. When the mad musician reached the other side, he stopped and turned in my direction.

  “You seek The Green Maiden, but she is mine!”

  Before I could protest, he drew a dagger and started cutting the ropes holding the bridge in place. My mind searched for a response. I started to run so I could make it to the other side before the bridge fell, but the speed of his hand was too much for my feet. I watched the violinist and his jackal on the other side of the canyon, knowing I could do nothing. I observed them until they sauntered out of sight. Now there was only one way to the other side, the passage through the crypt.

  Chapter Five

  A Crypt for Me

  With the beast and its master on the other side of the canyon, I determined it was time to rest before my uncertain journey to the crypt. I settled into the grass and slept with words that hung heavy on my tormented heart. What did he mean by saying The Green Maiden was his? Was this the reason she fled from the blue forest clearing? Was she afraid of him? Or is she with him? Just who is The Green Maiden? I was fixated on finding the answers to all of these questions. I woke the next morning and was glad the horrors of yesterday were behind me. But I also knew I would encounter the beast and the violinist again.

  I started my quest with a destination in mind but no clue as to where the crypt was. I hadn’t thought much about it as I had planned to use the easier route of the bridge. But with the bridge gone, I supposed the best course would be to follow the canyon edge and keep a sharp eye open for any man-made structure.

  The canyon was carved deep into the ground with sharp boulders jutting from its floor. It would be certain death if I lost my footing. I could imagine the canyon’s depths harbored a massive graveyard for the unfortunates who had attempted to descend its menacing cliffs. As I traveled near the canyon’s treacherous walls, I diligently scanned the area but saw nothing of significance. After a while I began to wonder if I was going in the wrong direction. I grew more frustrated and drained with every step. I was about to explode with anger. Then I stopped. “Why don’t I go back home, settle in, and forget this entire charade?” I yelled as loud as I could.

  I was tired of being tired, and I was tired of being frightened. But deep down I knew why I couldn’t stop. I had too many questions that needed answers. Why was I chasing a beautiful green-haired woman in monster-infested territory? Why was I looking for a silly swan sculpture? Why wasn’t life simpler? Why? Why? Why?

  After my tantrum subsided, I felt a little better. I picked up my sanity and trudged on. As I peered at the gloomy horizon, I noticed something strange. It seemed the sky was moving toward me. I stopped to investigate. Indeed, a wall of thick gray matter was creeping ever closer to me, but I stood my ground. The eerie matter oozed along, blanketing the grass. But it was not the horizon; it was an odd fog rolling through the meadows and engulfing the entire area.

  I couldn’t see a thing. This changed my mood to one of gloom knowing I could be targeted so easily, but I was glad of one thing. The beast was on the other side of the canyon. If he were here I would never be able to spot his approach through the fog. I entered the mist with the dagger in my left hand and the gun in my right.

  I crept slowly in an effort to be ready for anything. I crept and crept but neither heard nor saw a thing. After stealthily inching along for about a mile, the back of my legs started to ache something fierce, so I stopped to rest and stretch. After a short exercise routine I pushed forward, the fog clearing only slightly. I could see something ahead but couldn’t tell what it might be.

  When the fog lifted further, I stopped and gazed upon a huge necropolis—a city of the dead. Before me was a huge cemetery with countless aboveground structures. I could only guess that the crypt was close. Continuing on, I couldn’t help but think that if only the bridge had been available, I could have foregone this dreary part of my quest. It would have been much more pleasant crossing that wonderful, rickety conveyance than trying to explore this dismal place of despair.

  When I drew closer to the necropolis, I realized how closely it resembled an actual city. There were horrific stone structures in the shapes of small houses with only a couple of feet between them. Some featured pointy roofs while others sported domes or oddly twisted columns. Each structure was unique in its own eerie way. A dirt path wound its way through the center and occasionally branched left or right to demarcate small city blocks. It was impossible to count the number of blocks; they continued for what seemed like forever.

  Most cemeteries have an air of peace about them, but not this one. Instead, it reflected chaos and horror with the fog adding to its evil intensity. Supplying the dismal scene with even more gloom were black vines that clung to a few of the buildings while an occasional rotted tree sprang from the earth. Scared out of my wits, I followed the center path, not daring to veer either left or right.

  With my senses on
high alert, I overheard a man whistling, but I couldn’t pinpoint his direction. I listened intently in an effort to uncover his whereabouts. My inner radar finally determined the whistling was coming from my left. I didn’t want to deviate from the center path as I was fearful I might get lost in this horrid labyrinth. But I knew I could search for eternity and never come across the crypt I sought, so I hoped that this man, whoever he was, could direct me to it.

  I gathered my courage and turned left at the path that seemed to lead toward the whistling. There stood a man who could have been Mr. Fimbley’s evil twin. Although he resembled Fimbley in appearance, his attire was not at all a match. His clothes were tattered, yet he whistled contentedly in contrast to the surroundings.

  “Excuse me,” I said, startling the whistler.

  “Ah, a visitor,” the whistler said. “I am the caretaker of these grounds. How can I be of service?”

  “I’m looking for a crypt with a passageway that leads underground to the other side of the canyon.”

  “A passageway. Ah yes, a passageway. What about a passageway?”

  “A certain crypt contains a passageway. That is what I’m looking for.”

  “Crypts. Yes, we have plenty of those. Just take your pick,” answered the whistling caretaker while looking all too cheery.

  “No!” I shouted. “I’m looking for a particular crypt with a passageway inside.”

  “Okay. You don’t have to shout.”

  “Sorry,” I said, feeling embarrassed.

  “Now let’s start this over, shall we?”

  “Okay. I’m looking for a crypt with a passage leading to the other side of the canyon.”

  “Never heard of such a thing.”

  “But you’re the caretaker. Haven’t you even heard of a legend on this subject?”

  “No, can’t say that I have.”

  “Do you mind if I look for myself?”

  “Look for what?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  We turned to take our separate ways when I heard him swivel around.

  “I almost forgot to warn you,” he said with a suddenly distressing tone and solemn look upon his confused and twisted face.

  “What is it?”

  “There is a joyless lady roaming about. She is in perpetual mourning and wears a solid black funeral dress with a veil shading her face.” His eyes bugged as he spoke, as if he were telling a scary campfire tale. I expected him to yell Boo! at any moment. “It is said that, if you cross her path, you will suffer a great misfortune.”

  “So where is this lady so that I might avoid her?” I asked, wondering if he was simply pulling my chain.

  “She roams about between the paths. If you spot her, you are okay as long as you do not cross in front of her.”

  “Or what?”

  “Who knows?” He laughed. “That is as far as the legend goes.”

  And he turned away to resume his whistling.

  I stood pondering whether to believe him. Then he turned to me again.

  “Ah, a visitor,” the whistler said. “I am the caretaker of these grounds. How can I be of service?”

  “No, thank you,” I replied knowing I didn’t want to go through that lunacy again. And I hurried away. I could hear the man whistling as I left, and I wondered if he really was the caretaker.

  So I restarted my so far unsuccessful search for the crypt. I didn’t even know what it looked like. Trying each one would take forever. Or I could keep searching for a marker or tomb that was different. I chose that option.

  As I walked I looked for the grim lady dressed in black. I wasn’t sure she was real, but felt better trying to be safe than ending up horribly sorry. I walked slowly so I would not rush in front of her by mistake. I was wandering along my cheerless way when I caught a glimpse of something in the corner of my right eye. I focused, but nothing was there.

  “Vincent, your mind is playing tricks on you,” I uttered aloud. Then I laughed and tried to shake the uneasiness, but it lingered heavily. I turned right and headed down more pathways of despair, the fog still thick.

  “This is useless,” I said aloud as disappointment grabbed at me. “There is no way I will ever find the crypt but by pure accident.”

  Even though the circumstance seemed hopeless, I kept going. I caught another glimpse of something in the corner of my eye—this time the left one. This convinced me that what I had seen before was real. What were the chances of seeing the same thing twice unless it was actually there?

  I wanted to leave for sure, but I was so far into the city of the dead that I had no idea how to escape. I had to keep going, and if I found an exit before I found the crypt, I would leave and never look back. I continued my slow approach and there, at an intersection, she was passing before me. I stopped just before crossing her path.

  She was hovering forward as though something propelled her, her feet not even touching the ground. She wore a black veil and a black funeral dress, just as the whistler had said. Her hands up to her elbows were covered with obsidian gloves. She paraded straight in front of me without turning her head in my direction. It was as if she were completely unaware of my presence. I felt frigid air rush in as she floated by. My spine shook from the chill.

  “That was close,” I said while gently rubbing my head. “Too close.”

  I walked even slower from then on and with an even greater sense of awareness. It became difficult to search for the crypt and keep an eye out for her in the dense fog, but somehow I managed. I crept along like a tortoise when I approached intersections, hoping to avoid her ghastly path. All the while wishing I were somewhere more pleasant. When I did reach an intersection, I shook with nervousness and found the urge to run almost uncontrollable. What if I did cross her path? What would happen to me? What if she saw me and turned my direction? When I reached another intersection, would she be there, waiting?

  Cringing as I approached the next crossing of paths, I was shaking every which way. My nerves were coming apart. As I peered at the crossroads, she glided in my direction, twisting her body this way and that. I stepped back to give her the right of way. She stopped suddenly and turned toward me. My heart sank into my stomach. She lifted her wiggling hand and pointed to an enormous tomb I had overlooked.

  “I cannot take your mind because it belongs to another,” she said with a malevolent voice. “There is the path you seek.”

  She then returned to her devilish dancing and slipped out of sight, leaving me traumatized. “What did she mean she could not take my mind as it belonged to another?” And I held my hand to my chest as if to keep my heart from jumping through it. Then I directed my attention to the tomb she had pointed out. It was bigger than most of the others, and more deranged as well. It had no definite shape; instead, it twisted in every direction. I approached and noticed words etched into the stone above the door, Here lie the ambitions, dreams, and hopes of Vincent Carpenter. May they rest in peace.

  “It is my tomb,” I observed aloud, feeling frantic. “Or at least the tomb of my desires—whatever that means.” I was reluctant to enter such a place. It had my name on it, after all. But with much dread, I knew I had no choice, so I opened the double stone doors, and a sickening smell of rot poisoned the open air, leaving visible traces of its vapor. Inside, candles illuminated the interior that sloped downward. I walked into the musty structure and was blasted with putrid fumes. I slowly made my way into a huge room with a few candles dimly lighting it. There was a stone sarcophagus bolted to the floor. To the right of the sarcophagus were words hand carved into the stone wall.

  Requiem

  The flesh of two broken creatures twisting

  in horrifying deceit

  The vile pungent stench of my demoralized body

  lying at your tormented feet

  I question the abhorrent methods you use

  to devour my loving heart

  For you dance upon my chest then rip it apart

  I h
ave become tangled in this ever growing

  obsession that I have for you

  I can no longer realize what I thought was true

  I have become weakened by the venom that

  trickles from your once precious lips

  I have been blackened by the darkest eclipse

  So now I weep alone without my most cherished

  friend and lover by my side

  You, My Love, gazed upon my tormented face as I died

  Now I lay buried where red roses lie

  Where once there was a river of love, it now runs dry

  So I bid farewell to you my seductress of misery

  Our minds have become undone and now mine is free

  R.I.P.

  I remembered those words because I had written them. But I didn’t recall being in this place before, so how had my words gotten here?

  To the left of this mysterious writing was more scribble.

  If you wish to enter, pull the green lever.

  This inscription didn’t appear to be mine as the letters were shaped in a much different fashion. Who would have constructed this tomb and left a message on its walls? Was it meant for me to discover?

  I looked about the room and located the green lever on the opposite wall. The lever was covered in dust and cobwebs and looked as though it had not been used in quite some time—maybe never.

  “Well, here goes,” I said, and I gave the lever a forceful pull.

  When the lever was finally in the down position, a scraping, creaking noise could be heard, the sound of something being opened—the sarcophagus. It was slowly sliding open and revealed a staircase beneath. More putrid air shot forth, engulfing me. The fumes made me gasp. I gazed at the staircase that led down into the perpetual unknown with only a few torches here and there. I could not see what lay ahead, but I sensed it was not good—not good at all.

  Before entering the passage I knew I must rest to have my fullest capabilities available. I descended to the tomb’s first level and lay on the cold stone floor, shutting my eyes to the horrors around me.