Thursday, April 2, 2026

Smolder

 


 

The birds were screeching.  I knew my life was over the moment I heard those damn birds screeching.  The canopy grew so close together at the base of the mountain that I could barely see the sky from the lair’s threshold. The fog from the river cast a haze over the thicket that never lifted.   But I knew morning when I felt the lightening of the gloom, and the softening  wind. Then came the screeching those fucking birds.  

Soon the sun would rise but Mother had not yet come home.  It was not in her nature to be out in sunlight.  I had never, in my fifteen summers, seen her step out into the sun.  I’d waited here, in the nest, like a milk suckling pup, because she’d told me to.   I hadn’t slept, only waited.  She’d gone out there to fix my mistake . . . but was she coming back?  Doubt dawned in the screeching of the birds.  

Our hunting trail loops from our nest at the base of the Great Gray Mountains, through the swamp, to The Holy Shack and back again.   The day before, Mother had found a young boy near the Holy Shack.  She had brought him home to show off.  She said that he looked just as I did at his age.  She sat the thing in my lap.  She wrapped my arms around it, so gently, as if it were a newborn pup.   Then she disappeared into the lair to escape the rising sun.  

It took me nearly an hour to kill it.  My claws were as thin as fish scales.  I had the blunt ugly face of a human, with the same flat useless teeth.  The little beast tried to fight back.  In the end I had to use these broad stupid hands to twist its windpipe closed.  Nearly an hour, just to end up killing him in a human way.

She was trying to raise the rage in me.  

“One day you will be stronger than me, my dear.”  She said this often.  When I was young she’d say it to inspire me to fight.  As I grew older she’d say it to sooth the agony I felt at my own reflection.    “One day you will find your fire.   Then the Guia will bless you too.  You will stand on twos as our prey does.  You will look them in their eyes.  When you speak, your words will drive them to madness!”  

Her little pet disgusted me, but I knew her tricks.  So it hadn’t worked.  I caught a reflection of myself in the dark waters of a puddle.  I sneered with broad blunt teeth and smashed it’s surface.  I didn’t share her allergy to sunlight.  So I went out to hunt on my own, to loose myself in the haze of the forest.  

   For a more skilled hunter the fog of the Smoldering Forest is an advantage.  The mists from the swamp mixed with the smoke from the Holy Shack to create smog that curtained the already gray, and crumbling forest.   But for me, with my weak watery eyes, the haze hinders my sight.  I must lean on my nose as Mother taught me.   

I killed a deer by Whisper Creek.  It had been a young buck with his first pair of antlers.   He’d fought well, but I had to kill him with my meaty human hands again.  Even when it was dead I couldn’t sink my flat teeth into its carcass without pain in my jaws.  I braced my head against the whispers in the fog.  The Guia were laughing at me.  Jeering at my uselessness.  Even this meat was better than I could be.  Why had they blessed Mother with such beauty, only to curse her with me.   I howled in frustration and regretted every note of it.  If Mother were awake she would have heard it.  She would have listened from the safety of the shadows and pitied me.   The thought of it made me ill.  I determined then to not go home until I was something she could be proud of.  

I didn’t even hear the trespassers until they were nearly upon me.  A male was leading a female through the brush.  They came up my walking path and paused. 

‘Kill them all.’ I could hear Mother’s command as clear as the trickling water.  It was as though she was right there beside me, breathing heavy with bloodlust.  It was her number one rule for finding humans in her territory.  “Kill them all.  Let none live!  Fore humans are a gossiping breed!” 

The male had lifted a dry branch of one of the old twisted trees and showed the girl the path before them.  “See this should be the way.”  He said.  

“Are you sure he went this way?”  the girl had asked.  The male smiled  

“Positive. I showed it to him.” A hot acrid odor emitted from the female then. “What’s the matter?” The male’s voice became shrill.  “I thought you wanted to find your brother”.  

“You brought him here?   What is wrong with you!”   She nearly shouted. 

“I’ve been out here plenty of times.”  The boy gestured to my trees and to my path.  “I know this place like the back of my hand.  There is no danger here.  Come on.  It’s not that far.”  I followed them through the trees.  Without them noticing I cut off their path back towards their own territory as they journeyed deeper into mine.  

“The Witch’s Shack is right past here.  We’ll find your brother and get back before dark!”   The girl froze in her tracks.  She withdrew her hand.  He looked back at her.  Her scent thickened from sweet anxiety to biter anger.  It made my mouth water.    

“Wait.   The Witch’s Shack?  You took John-John to the Smoldering Forest!?”  She looked about herself, recognizing for the first time, the mist building among the trees.  She stumbled backwards, yanking her hands away from the reach of her guide.  “Nicolie!  What have you . . . done?  You left my little brother in the Witch’s Shack?  Overnight?!  He’s only ten years old!  How could you!?” 

“The male, Nicolie, added hastily.  “My buddy Freddy is there with him!”  

“This isn’t a game Nicolie!  Quit acting like a fucking child! I’m going back to the village!”   The girl turned, and might have seen me if the boy had not grabbed her arm.  

“Why?  Margaret!  We’re almost there!”  Nicolie grabbed the female, Margaret. “We can bring Johnny home ourselves!  We’ll be heroes!” 

“Get off of me!  I’m going to get The Huntsman!”

“And tell him what!?  That fat sorry sod won’t get off his ass without proof the demons are real!  Johnny will be our proof!  We’ll be heroes!  Not him!”  

“Get off my Nicolie!  Your father-”

“That pig is NOT my father!”  Anger burned bright in Nicolie.  It mixed with his arousal, forming something crude and sour odor.  His pulse raised pumping the forest with his scent so it almost overpowered the girl’s angry cocktail.  The pair of them were making my mouth water.

  “We’ve come so close!  We need proof to make the Huntsman do his job.  John was the bait, ok!  But if he stayed hidden like I told him to, he should be fine!  We’ll take him back and he can tell everyone if the demons are real!” 

“Bait!?!  You are mad”  She broke free of him.  “You’re sick!” 

“He wanted to do it!” Margaret broke away, charging back towards the village.  

He caught her by her shoulder and slung her into a tree.  She cried out as she hit the blackened trunk.  They both fell.  Before she could recover Nicolie slithered across her body, straddling her and holding her under his weight.   She whimpered and kicked.  Nicolie’s ill disguised lust for her body blossomed in full in this dominating position.   

“Shut up!”  he barked.  He punched her. Her head snapped back and she  fell silent but not because she’d been ordered too, nor from the shock of the blow.  It was because she’d seen me.  The smell of her anxiety doubled into horror..  It was an intoxicating cocktail.

  Nicolie did not notice.  He was too engrossed in taking his chance to feel her body, than to pay attention to what she was trying to tell him.  “Do I look like a fucking child now?  Huh?  Do I?”

She screamed!  A sound I had never heard uttered from any other animal.  The shrillness of it stunned me.   Nicolie must have been expecting it.  He punched her again.  She reeled from the shock of it, but her eyes kept groping towards me.

   Nicolie was my target.  He was sitting atop her distracted by his own needs.  Suddenly, in an attempt to save her-self, she shoved with all her strength and pushed Nicolie away.   Just as launched for his throat.

I caught her instead before she could regain her balance.  My teeth sank into her flesh with remarkable ease.  I relished the moment, the blood flowing freely into my mouth.  The gasps of her attempts at a scream; the quiver of her lungs struggling to draw in enough air to stay alive.  She reached towards the male for help, but I met his eyes, daring him to come closer to my prey.   He stood there, frozen, and staring as I drank the life out of the same woman he’d moment’s earlier restrained.  I almost choked from the mirth of stupid face.

I withdrew, I boring my burgundy smile in his direction.  But he was already running.  He lacked the speed or the agility of the deer.  But he had a head start.  I’d lingered too long in my bloodlust.  By the time I reached him he’d scrambled up the ditch that separated the human territory from the Smoldering Forest.  

“Let none live!”  Mother’s voice hissed like lightning between my ears. 

I took the ditch easily. Within seconds I closed the gap between us.  I fell on fours in order to swipe his legs from underneath him.  When he fell it was like setting him on fire.  He squirmed and screamed.  His fear delighted me.  

“What are you?”  Nicolie gasped.  “You’re not . . . human!”  

 I paused, his words echoed in my mind.    I examined my hands.  My fingers were longer, my nail curled and sharpened.  My arms were covered in a thick chestnut fur.  In fact my whole body, was blanketed in fur where this morning I’d been a pale naked human shaped thing.  I could hear the moan of the tree spirits through large angling ears, I could see the rabbits that quivered in the bushes nearby waiting to see who’s bones they’d been eating next.  When I smiled at Nicolie, I knew he could see his own reflection in my newly sharpened teeth.  I dug my cat like claws into the socket joints of Nicolie’s shoulder.  Mother had a voice that could drive men to madness.  I tested my own voice now.  I leaned into his ear and and growled the only word I could think of

“Moooottthherrr”.  His eyes shrank into pinpoints.  The terror ripped his face apart.  I gave out a howl that was pure excitement.  

Nicolie punched me in the throat.  The shock of it sent me gasping in pain. . I staggered even as I tried to hold him.   He ripped himself apart to escape my grasp.  By the time I regained control of myself the bastard was gone. 

 The sun set before I reached the village.  I left Nicolie’s arm where it would be found.  Mother was howling for me.  I collected his female and returned home.

Mother had been waiting for me at the entrance of the lair when I made my way around the last leg of the path.  The wind was against me as I approached her.   Her ebony form melted into the shadows all around her.  Her golden eyes were like fireflies in the gloom.  For a moment I saw pride in those eyes.  I saw her jaws relax at the sight of her son, larger and more muscular than the morning before.   She rose to her hindquarters to get a better look at the carcass of the deer I drug behind me.  She marveled still at the bobbing body of the female I held over my left shoulder.  She circled me, her tail wagging in pupish excitement.  But then the wind told her the story I’d hoped to relay myself, the story of a third body.

“Where is the male?”  Was the first thing she said. “I smell three bodies, but I only see two.  This female was with another.”  She sniffed me.  “And you fought him.  Where is he?”

I thought in an instant to lie, to say that I left him because he was too much for me to carry.  But then she would ask to be taken to him.   

“One got away.”  I admitted.  Her golden eyes became sharped.  She fell back to all fours, a lethal pose with her hackles up and her white dagger fangs bared.  

“Away?”  she growled.  “Back to his village?”  Her tongue was too thick to form a complete sentence.    I nodded, dropping my spoils at her feet.  She dodged them as though they were shit.  

“None may live!” She barked, her fangs snapped so near my neck I thought I would bleed.  “HUMANS GOSSIP!”  She shouted.  She circled me as though I were her enemy.  “Do you know what you’ve done?   You have invited the human pack here!  That boy, even now, is telling them of the monster that attacked him!  He is telling them of the girl he lost and do you know what they will do?   They will see it as weakness!  They believe us to be vulnerable.  They will now hunt us and they will not stop hunting us until they kill us!”

“But Mother,” I still remember the way my voice quivered as I spoke.  “We are not vulnerable!  We will-”

“Hush!”  She hissed.  “You know nothing of their determination.  Now that they have hope they will not stop coming for us.”  

“Let me go to the village Mother!  I’ll kill him for you!”

“No.”  Her anger cooled.  The haze drew her gaze away from me and into the distance “It’s too late for that now.”  She sat with her back to me and began speaking softly, so softly my ears could not detect her tones.  I knew she was speaking with the Guia then.   

After a time, she stood and started towards the path.   I rose to follow her.  “No.” Still she did not look at me.  “You stay here.”  She left me then.  And like a simpering pup I obeyed.  The mist fell between us.  She stepped through it, like a veil.  And I just watched her go.  

*   *   *

I sat at the threshold of the lair all that night waiting for a call, listening for any cry for help or the roar of battle.  But the wind was against me that night.  I heard nothing.  Not even the river.  Not until the sky began to lighten, and then only the screeching of birds.  

It still makes me sick to think of  the time I wasted.  I set my nose to the trail and followed the still fresh scent of her along the path.  I closed my eyes so I could focus.  I could damn near see her sleek black form moving through the mist like a serpent in water.

I came upon all the same markers that I’d left the day before: the tree I’d pissed on after missing the rabbit; the rock where I’d killed the deer.  Mother had circled here no doubt studying the scent of my battle with it.  She’d pissed near the same rock but her judgment of performance was impossible to read.  

At last she came to the place by the Whispering Creek were I’d first witnessed the humans in their skirmish.   The sun touched the flattened Earth where Nicolie had wrestled with the girl.  Mother had sat where I once sat. Where I was sitting.  Had she replayed the day?  I had expected her to follow the steps of this attack.  I had expected to detect her following the prints to the girl’s blood, and then beyond into the woods where I’d lost Nicolie.  I’d hoped to find her here still sitting with her back to me, her eyes on the brightening horizon counting the time it would take before I was smart enough to find her. I’d braced myself for her punishment.  The worst I could imagine was to be exiled.  

“You are human, Khon.  That is all you will ever be.  So go now and live with the humans.  If I ever see you again . . . I will kill you.”

But her tracks stopped here.  She had not followed me as I gave chase after Nicolie.  It seems, that she was distracted.     I studied the ground where she crouched close to the Earth, her body emitting the faintest excitement.  She gave off the sweet heat of a clever mind, calculating the next move, controlling quick and eager muscles.  Her claws dug into the Earth preparing for a pounce.  Saliva stained the sand where she kneeled.  

And just off to the right, not far from where she’d lain crouched in the shadows, I detected the unmistakable odor of humans, lots of them.   Men accompanied by lifeless fires, hot metal, and a trail of fear.  They marched towards the Holy Shack.   Mother had followed them, parallel with them, into the ashen wastes. 

The air was colder here.  Not the wet cold of winter, but a cold that chills the heart without touching the skin.  Their naked branches wave boney knuckles at the heavens.  The trees there were scorched by fire that still smolders beneath the ashes fifteen winters after the fire. The smoke, and fog filter the lights of the sky and seemed to take shape against the darkness.  This is the dwelling place of the Guia, our holy place.     

I imagined Mother’s advantage here.   Here of all places, among the very thickest of the smog she would be invisible to their weak senses.  The movement of the smoke should have distracted them.  The ever-present shadows would have hidden her easily.  It should have been a game for her.  

But something had given her pause, something she’d seen, or smelt had stalled her in her tracks and  . . . I could barely believe my nose.  She’d pissed, just a little, out of anxiety.  Her sweat turned foul and she gripped the ground quaking.  Mother had been trembling!  What had done this?  If she had not been so close to them, might she have retreated?  Might she have called for me? I huffed, blasting the ash away to reveal some clue as to what had frightened her.  But all I could smell was her anxiety.  I leapt onto the trail to study the traces of the men but all I smelt were humans.  There was nothing special about any of them.  I followed the trail blind making up the picture in my mind of what each man looked like.    The only remarkable figure was perhaps the Alpha.  He was the only one who walked with sure steps.  He wasn’t the tallest amongst them, nor the strongest.  But he was the only one who walked without fear.  In fact, he seemed to be enjoying the hunt.  I growled a little as I studied this man.  There must have been something about him that upset Mother.  

I was so focused on my tracking that I had not realized where I was until its shadow cooled my soul.   The sudden presence of the still burning cabin cast a shiver down my spine.  

This structure had once been Mother’s home.  She’d lived as a villager, as a human, but apart from them.  She’d been their healer.  Once she traded with them, food in exchange for healthy babies, healing herbs, and access to the miracles of the Guia.  

Her secret was that she’d been here before them.  None of them were old enough to remember that she had not settled the village with their families.  Then came the Huntsmen and his men.  They’d brought teachings of a new God, from a foreign religion.  They’d cast fear and doubt into the hearts of the very families she’d helped countless times.  They came to bring her into their order, into their way of being.  But she refused.  So they attacked her.

She’d prayed to the Guia for the strength to face them should they come again.  And the Guia saw fit to hide her in the fog.  Women of the village came to seek her advice, long after the Huntsmen had left.  They discovered her pregnant with me.  They did not understand how such a thing could occur when she lived out in the wood alone.  So they called the Huntsmen back, now convinced that he was right about her. .  The humans came in the dead of night, but she was not in the shack.  She was deep in meditation, watching them through the eyes of darkness.  They set fire the shack where she lived, and the flames caught the leaves, the trees, and the forest around it, uncovering the very bones of the Guia for them to see.  The flames surrounded them, and filled Mother with power so that she could possess their every nightmares.    Between her and the flames none of the Huntsmen’s men survived the flames.  

Or so she’d thought.  This had been my suckling story when I was a babe. Her most important lesson: Kill them all when you find them.  Let none live fore humans are a gossiping breed.  She’d thought, all these years, that Huntman had been killed that night fifteen years ago.   But Nicolie and Margret had mentioned his return.  And Mother’s reaction to the Alpha concluded that he must be the same beast that had attacked her so long ago.  

The great blackened structure stood, ominous and seething from the flames of that night.  It seemed to breathe my name, every inhalation was a question of my worthiness; every exhalation a warning to the weakness in me.  Smoke still curled from its roof, from its floor.   I bowed to the holy place respectfully.  Its ego eased. I continued to follow the markings from the night before.

The humans had paused here before the Holy Shack for conversation, still unaware that Mother was in striking distance.  Their Alpha left the group to walk right up to the Holy Shack.  The odor of his urine radiated from the blistered wood.    

That must have been when Mother attacked.  She had done so senselessly.  There were too many of them for a head on attack.  Why had she not waited and picked them off one by one?  The depth of her tracks told her range, and her speed.  She’d launched herself into the circle full of men.   She’d attacked their Alpha while his cock was in his hand, the trail of urine shot across the wall and puddled in the ash near where he had landed.  She might have ended him if she hadn’t been interrupted.  One of the weaker males came up with something sharp.  Her blood left purple patterns in the gray ash.  The remains of the attacker decorated the walls of the Holy Shack.  

The intervention had given the Alpha a chance to recover.  Burning metal marked the end of coherence in the smells.  Now there was only chaos and blood.  Battle markings cleared ash to earth in one concentrated circle as the entire group assaulted one victim with crude weapons.  

The Guia watched from their crumbling tower as I read the markings.  Mother was full of the hatred that feeds the Guia, but the humans outnumbered her.  Their fear was also an excepted offering to its great darkness.  They’d overpowered her.  Her earthy aroma was drowned out by the sharp searing sting of hot iron.  

The Smoldering Shack purred as a well fed panther might.  The Guia had feasted well, and Mother’s foolishness had lost her their favor.   Her heart was still beating when they tied her up.  The remaining men had rested, and fed on some foul-smelling brew.  Then they carried her away.    

Why hadn’t she called for me?  Was I so useless?!   Maybe it wasn’t too late.  Maybe she was just unable to call for help.  I called to her.  I sang out her name in a cry that would echo from a distant moon and be heard by her wherever she lay.  

The sun heard my promise and hid its beams behind fat black clouds.  The air heard my song, and answered with a chilling wind thick with the scent of roasting meat on an open fire.  The human village was celebrating their victory.  I felt the energy of the Smoldering Shack watching me as I turned my back on it.  In its darkness there was mirth.  The fog of the forest grew thicker.  But it did not hinder me as I ran.  

  *   *   * 

The forest heralded my arrival into the village with the aid of a giddy wind.  It might have been a warning if the humans had ears to hear such voices.   I did not hide.  I entered walking on two legs uncovered and ready for battle.  But no one was near.  Their mounds of stone and thatch were empty; their pounded pathways were bare.  I might have thought I’d come here in error if not for the stench of them.  

It didn’t take long to find them.  The masses had gathered, like lowing cattle, in the center of their township around a holy building of their own.   I caught a glimpse of myself in a reflective bit of glass.  No tail, no claws, no more fur than that which covered my penis.  Hideous. I moved to the shadows and listened.  

“My friends! Come!  Gather around!” 

A man stood on a stage above the others.  By the smell of him, he was the Alpha.  I could see right away why Mother had become so enraged at the sight of him that she’d lost her senses during her hunt.  He looked like me.  He was a male of the same chestnut skin, and tight black curls, only his had grayed with age. The bones in his jaw and face, the furrow of his brow, his broad flat nose, even the way he smiled were reflected in me.  He was what I was doomed to become.  I growled at the idea of it.  The nearby humans might have heard me, but the Alpha chose that moment to speak.     His voice reached to the back of the crowd where I hid behind barrels of some foul smelling liquid.  

“My friends!  Come!  And see!  Long have we been plagued by fear of the forest!  We shy away from the mists of the wood!  We cower at the haunting howls of the night.  We do not risk hunting past the river.  We do not risk fishing in the pond.  We do not risk being outside our own huts past nightfall.”  The crowd fell silent in reverence. “Because we know that there was a danger in our forest!  We know as sure as the smoke that never cleared that there was a demon among the trees!  

The Witch of the Smoldering Forest once lived here.  Right here, in our village!  We cast her out when we discovered her evil nature.  But we failed to put an end to her.   And for fifteen years she has made us pay for our failure.  She has hunted us.  She has severed our contact with traders.  She has barred our way of leaving this valley.  She has slowly smothered us in the smoke of her very existence.”  The Alpha paused.  He raised his hands to someone in the distance.

“Bring the boy forward!”  The Alpha shouted.  His call was repeated by other male voices and soon the women were whispering his name.  Off from a corner of the crowd an elder woman guided the fragile figure to the stage.   The thin gaunt face stared at the ground.  I could just make out his unique cocktail of fear and loathing.  He was weak, and wrapped up like a butcher’s parcel to keep his guts from falling through the hole where his arm had been.  They’d dressed him in robes to appease the public.  But his skin was an oily dark husk turned sickly green from lack of blood.  

“Why did you go into the woods that night boy?”  The Alpha demanded of him.  The crowd leaned forward to hear his reply.  

He whispered “To see it for myself.”  His voice was too low for weak human ears.  I heard him.  I’m sure the Alpha did too.   But the Alpha raised his roar to the crowd and said.  “This brave boy went looking for our little Johnathan!  He knew the woods were dangerous but he went anyway!  We all know how headstrong and willful young Margaret was!  When she set out in search of her brother our brave son volunteered to escort her into the den of the devil!  They were attacked and before his very eyes sweet beautiful Margaret was slaughtered!”  Nicolie’s face pickled against the memory.  The Alpha continued.

“You saw the horrors with your own eyes.  You saw it kill dear little Margaret ... didn’t you!?”  Nicolie did not speak.  

“You saw the thing that took your arm, didn’t you?”  Still he did not speak.  

“What do you think I have here?”  Nicolie and the crowd looked for the first time at the bundle of blankets hanging on the rafters above the stage.  My heart leapt forward.  It knew what my mind would not dare imagine.  The crowd gasped.  

“There is no way.”  Nicolie’s voice crackled as the words fell out.  He, like the rest of us, stared transfixed at the blanket.  

“No way?”  The Alpha chuckled.  “When this boy returned to us, he was dying!  His arm was gone! He was bleeding nearly ripped apart!  But he didn’t even notice!  His soul task was to make it back here.  He had to come to us, to deliver a message!  That message was “I am alive!”

The crowd rumbled.  “I am alive!” the Alpha bellowed.  The crowd cheered.    “When Nicolie  . . . this young innocent boy returned to us . . . bleeding, dying, but still alive, we knew that the witch’s powers were weakening!  We knew that it was now or never!”

“We, the men of Leatherback, formed a party!  Our aim was to go into these dark lethal woods and finally bring the Wife of Satan to justice!”  The herd cheered raising their weapons above their heads.   

“Do you know what we found?!”

The crowd silenced, every last bull and cow holding its breath.  The Alpha stepped back to his bundle.  He waited a moment longer soaking in the suspense.   Then he gestured to his hunters to lift the blanket.

There was Mother.  She was hanging from the rafters by her legs.  Her black coat absorbed the light.  Over the din of gasping idiots there was one sound that very nearly drowned out even my own horror, the screams of Nicolie.

The attendance fought to restrain him but he was thrashing about in a lather of madness.  They wrestled him off the stage, and covered his face with a ragged sack.  An older woman, possibly his mother cooed to him that all was well.  “The monster is dead now.” 

“NO!”  He screamed “You idiots!”  He fought them, but large men held him.  “That’s not the one!”  But no one could hear him through the sack over his head.  “Mother!”  He shouted as they drug him off.  “Mother!”  

The crowd was not looking at him any more.   On the rafters of the barn Mother’s fur was smoking.  Her sleek black coat was pouring off her body, burned away by the evening sun.  Beneath it her bones were churning, her waist resetting, her mouth flattened.  She hung now as a honey skinned human, with black wool hiding her crown and privates.  Her cone shaped breasts sloped off her chest, dangled in the open air until the restraints loosened and she fell behind the heads of the on lookers.

I was moving forward out of my hiding spot before I could think.  I hadn’t even noticed the mist rising from the ankle level until it began to curtain the crowd.  It was as though the Guia wanted to shield her nakedness from the spectators, or perhaps, to shield the spectators from me. 

Even now it wasn’t hatred for them that drove me forward.  The first human face to clean my claws meant nothing to me.   The blood of the crowd that I bathed in as I swam forward towards the platform meant nothing to me.  I kept my eyes on the stage - on the melting form of Mother laying there in the filthy piss scented straw.  This was my fault!  I’d failed her.  

I reached her body where she lay in a heap beneath the stage.  

“What have I done?”  I whimpered cradling her in my arms.  I wanted to howl, to release the overwhelming despair, but I couldn’t.  The memory of Nicolie’s attack kept me silent.  Instead the pain curdled and became liquid fuel pouring over the white-hot furnace of my heart.  My body caught on fire.    

Something hard struck my head.  I barely felt it.  My fury rose and my body grew to fit it.  I stood over the men who fought me.  I swam through them to their Alpha, the one whose gun had destroyed my world.  A touch of my claw and the man’s skin cooked.  His flesh sizzled against my tongue, my teeth, and down my throat.  

  After that I remember nothing.

*   *   *  

When I returned to my senses the village was still smoldering.  I knew in my heart that the Guia had claimed their new home in my honor.  They danced in this space like gleeful children.  I understood Mother’s attitude towards them now; love and dismissal.   Annoyance laced with respect.  Perhaps they had not come to her aid last night because they knew what I was capable of.  They knew what I would do to avenge her.  They wanted me to.   

I sit now near the River Mists examining my claws.  Bronze fur bristles like flames across my strong muscular frame.  A thick heavy tail keeps me anchored even as I sit on my haunches by the water.  The moon glows gold like a firefly in the void, a single eye of sorrow and pride.  

I’d be human forever if it would bring her back.  

A warm breeze caressed my muzzle.  It rolled over my new long ears.  I breathed it in finding her sweet familiar aroma within it.   It was unmistakable.  “Kill them all.”  She whispered.  

Her scent became something different, a unique cocktail of fear and loathing heated by the steam of a still pumping heart.   Nicolie.  I hadn’t found him in the village.  His hut had been empty except for his mother.  I ware her skin now around my waist. 

“Let none live.”  His odor comes to me via messenger wind from the West.

He is running away, again.  But now he is racing back through the Smoldering Forest.  He is hiking up the Great Gray Mountains.  He will be seeking refuge somewhere beyond.  He has a day and a half head start on me.   His continued existence echoes my everlasting failure.  

“Let none live,” Mother’s voice commands.  

The birds are screeching.  The sun will rise soon.  For now I rest.  Tonight I will track him down.  Nicolie and anyone that helps or hides him.  Anyone he tries to warn will die.  

“ . . . fore humans are a gossiping breed.”  

End


Heaven is a Twilight Sky

 The golden path to Heaven opens twice daily

Over tranquil waters
Is seen by few before then dies.
Away so only an enchanted few will find
It's peace a comforting glow
And know
. . . that Heaven is a Twilight Sky.







Tuesday, December 30, 2025

Remember December

Remember December

 

 

Remember the scents of

Dust through sunny windows

Paint aging never peeling,

Laundry fresh and fine

 

Perfume warm as life in every hug

And laugh

And lecture.

 

Oil heating to grease

On a busy gas stove

Cakes rising up sweet

For us

Food for the soul

 

Remember the sights

Us framed in our best

Never aging.

Rooms pink, and green, and gold

Antiques that never looked old.

 

Remember the sounds of

Our voices rising

In play

In Shouts

In Laughter

Whining.

 

Videos of

Music,

Movies,

And Nintendo

 

Remember the meals

Sunday evenings

Christmas mornings

Summer afternoons

I cherished most.

 

Remember her as a Refuse

A Resting place

Vacations

And Visits

  

Remember His

Roses in Springtime

Tea Olives in Summer

Fall Fires

And

In Winter Spruce.

 

Remember December

And August and June

Remember us the way we used to be.

As We Remember you.

 

 


Tuesday, October 8, 2024

Spider Songs

    Do spiders hear music 

When the wind blows through their webs?  Is that how they know how to build them?  DO they follow the pattern, keys, or tone, that only they can feel and understand? 

Does the trimmer of rain, or the song of Sol affect the pitch or timbre?  Does the ragged beat of struggling prey affect the tempo or tenor?  

Does the slowing of struggling heart beats succumb to poison please them? 

Do spider's senses hear all this as ours might hear a symphony?  How about when they gather, above, behind, and around one another - do they know how to build in harmony?

Does it devastate the song when a member is gone - lost as some other monster's victim?  Does the web sing a ballad - now broken, loose and wrong - of the creator that has left it?

 Is it the loss of the song that causes the spider to move on and build another masterpiece? What drives those threads to rise higher instead, tighter in the most dangerous places?   

Is it music of the moon which calls spiders to swoon in open door ways, rafters and tree tops?  Does the wind  that flow through  gaps, cracks and  holes guide a percussive pattern? 

 What creates the beat that drives  eight delicate feet to create their live-in stereo - across harp strings that shimmer dew bright in the shadows of  morning, evening and night.

 Does the music play too for the insects who find themselves caught in this trap?  Does it bob and beat as those eight dancing  feet - play like a lullaby or like a crescendo? 




Monday, December 19, 2022

Seven Churches Road By P. B. Yeary


         One Halloween night in 2003, I became a ghost for about two minutes.

    My friends, Zachary, Sarah, and I decided it would be fun to take our newest friend Luke along with us

to a new place we'd found that summer. We also brought Maggie and Candy, two foreign exchange

students we'd met in the spring. The six of us packed into Zachary's silver 2001 Honda Civic and set out

to find ghosts in the forests of Albany Georgia. Zachary drove out out of town heading towards the

Albany Airport. Sarah sitting passenger offered navigation even though, the three of us had been there

three times before. Luke and I sat in back with Maggie on our laps.

    We reached the alley that led into the forest just as the sun was thinking about drooping its tired head

beneath the horizon. 

Photo by Simon Berger from Pexel

“It’s called Seven Churches Road,” I explained to Luke and the ladies from China.   “But only four churches can be seen from the road. Two are in the trees. You have to look for them but they are there."

    "That makes six”. Luke pointed out.

    "The seventh is a ghost church." I said in a low voice. "It only appears when you get all the way down the alley, then turn around and come back up in total darkness." The girls oohed. 

        It was Halloween. To celebrate Luke had the idea to take our friends from the Far East ghost hunting. Zachary suggested our new favorite ghost hunting spot, despite Sarah's protests. 

    "I swear! People live back there." Sarah said staring out the window. "You're going to get us shot."

    "One of us, anyway." I quipped. As the only black person on this trip, I felt was my duty to point out such things whenever it seemed appropriate.

    "I've been back here a dozen times." Zachary said. "I've never seen anyone. Besides, a redneck is more likely to shoot our pale asses than you P." Looking at me through the rear view mirror with his cool blue eyes, he added "You've got natural camouflage." He smiled, well aware of how he sounded. The Chinese girls felt my skin, and tugged my hair, again.

    "I'm pretty sure it doesn't work that way, Z." I said. "I think rednecks have blacks-ray-vision."

Luke's laugh was a sudden high pitched squeal that sounded like a scream. He touched my shoulder to steady himself.

   "She's right you know." he said. "Bullets would just pass through our pale asses and find her."

    "I'll protect you." Zachary said. He meant it, but doubted he'd have much luck.


Black pavement gave way to the red copper clay that cut a path into the centuries old Georgia thicket and swallowed us in.   Our guests drew in a breath, perhaps realizing for the first time that they didn’t quite know us as well they would like for such a journey.  But it was too late now.

“There goes the first church.”  Zachary said, nodding his head in the left.  His backwater accent was coming out already. We all looked.  To the left of us was a clearing.  An out of the way, violet lamp silhouetted a building in the distance just on the other side of some pines.   A skirt of ground fog was already rising around its ankles.    

“We should go to it,” Luke chimed, in his skittering girlish excitement.  But Z drove on.  

“It’s not the one we are here to find.”  I explained, hearing the crude lingering of vowels in my own otherwise proper vernacular.


On our first journey out here the forest had been on fire.  Quiet glowing embers carpeted the floor highlighting the barrel bodies of pines, ash, and sycamore far beyond were we could go.  The air smelled of corn and coals then.  Still we’d pressed on impressed by the happen stance of it all. 

Now the leaf-litter covered the blackened coals. The air was still peppery with the scent of ash months later.  A few sparse white trunks seemed to glow in the light of Zach’s chalky low beams.  The forest formed a black wall on either side of the car.  It was more unnerving than the fire.  It felt like being pulled into a tunnel, with no room to turn around should something come from the darkness in front of us.

“There is the second one.”  Sarah pointed across the passenger seat.  

I watched our guest strain to see something in the distance.  Zach knew too, because we’d all done the same the third time we’d come here and noticed it in the moonlight.  So he slowed down and let the steeple of the building slowly come into existence for them as the clouds parted.  Our guests gasped recognizing the mass before them, not as more tree, nor as night to be peered through.  But as the second, most alluring of the churches, sitting directly in front of us.     

“We must stop!”  Luke insisted, grabbing hold of the passenger seat as though he could stop the car by willpower.  Zach was already pulling off the road so that the car’s light illuminated the church.   

This building had an energy about it. It was the reason I agreed with Sarah about not liking the place. It made me feel odd, especially at night.   This feeling was also the reason Zach suggested bringing foreign girls with us on Halloween night. He was testing a theory.

     The building was small in comparison with churches of this century. What made Sarah nervous was that it was well kept.  Its white paint had not chipped, and its black doors had not rusted.  But Zarachy pointed out it's lock of pews or lights, or reasonable accessibility. I however, pointed out that it's graveyard had been mowed.

“This is . . . ” Luke paused, examining the stone pit that had been built up near the front of the building.   “, a baptismal reservoir!”  Even through his pitchy tone, his Kentucky accent slipped out for the first time since we’d met.  As the Asian girls examined the stone tub he and I looked up at the ancient oak tree that grew over the tub.   “And this . . .”  He started to say but paused.   The tree had a long, low hanging branch; rope burns had rubbed the limb smooth in places. His eyes rolled down behind mirrored glasses towards my face.  I looked away to avoid meeting eyes with him.  


The energy of this place kept me from going far beyond that tree.  I had no desire to get closer that little white house, nor to explore it’s bone yard.  And there, that funny was Sarah looks at me when we’re here too.  The first time she we came here she called me a coward and ordered me to try the door.  Her tone, her demeanor - as though she had some authority to make me do anything, had been completely out of character for her.   Yet, I hadn't fought her. Only stood still refusing to go towards that evil place.               Now on Halloween night, Sarah glanced in my direction from time to time, clearly irritated with me, but not being able to say why.  She stepped up to the the platform, her narrow Germanic nose high in the air, and wrapped hooked her arms into Luke's possessively.  Luke laughs, and so does she.

Why can’t I see his eyes, now?  Why does he keep smiling at me?    

    On that first trip,  Zachary had charged forward and tried the door himself.  He hadn’t budged. He peeked through the windows howled with excitement that there were no pews but there was still a podium with something on it. He wanted to get inside and see what it was.

Now, why Luke and Sarah are laughing at the darkness, Zachary calls to them

    “There was writing on the walls! That wasn't there before!” His face is pressed against the church windows.  I fear he’s breathing in the dust of a hundred years of evil.  But he seems less than the others.   “I swear when I came here by myself, there was no writing on the walls!”

"What does it say!?" Luke leapt from the stone pit, taking Lina with him up the stairs. They all three pressed their faces against the stained glass, but could not read it.  

I looked around for Maggy and Candy. They'd found the graveyard behind the church. Maggie was

having a time trying to get into the gate. Zachary ran over to help her. But it was locked, with a new shinny padlock. Candy was snapping pictures of herself pretending to be

a zombie. "What's that?" She asked pointing across the ally. Behind the car, her camera's flash had

picked up stones.


    Headstones puncture the grown ground. They rose from weeds and roots grown wild over the years.  Their were no names on the smooth white stones, only the numbers etched into crude dates.  Some were as early at 1650s, others as old as 1230s, and on and on.  We come across some with stamps from 1099, and 1152.  Impossible dates.   

“How are these graves so old?” I ask the others.  “America wasn’t even founded yet according to

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood

some of these.

“Baby!” Maggie squealed.  She’s pointing at the date of the stone nearest her.  Luke and Sarah became caught up in doing the math of other markers. They puzzled over every one they could see, figuring the ages of the long dead. 

    I’ve always been taught that it’s bad luck, and disrespectful to step on graves.  But it was impossible to tell were they all were. And the stones are so close together.  My friends have no such fears and trounced through in stubborn exploration.  Every step took us further and further into the past, away from the car.   

When I look back, I gasp.

    "Ok, where is the car?" My white friends ignore me. They each have flashlight, and no respect for the dead. I leave them, marching back over soft weeds and roots until I see the light of the car still illuminating the old white church. Maggie and Candy are quick to follow me.  The white folks linger until Sarah steps on what she thinks is a snake.  Then she and Luke pranced back to the car in a mockery of fear.  Zach is the last to give up and return.  

“Do you think they’re fake?”  Luke asked him.  

“Nah.  Why would anyone go through the trouble?”  It was an earnest question. He went on:  “And the concrete is obviously old, and weathered.  We’ll have to do some research on it.”    

The third church isn’t far from the second.  It’s on the right, and well lit. There is a paved road that connects it to another street on its other side.  We’ve no idea how to reach it any other way but this. I’s far less interesting than the others because it's still in use.   

We drive for a mile or more into the darkness before it dumps us out back on a paved highway.  

“Only three churches.”  Candy or Maggie point out.  

“The fourth is way off before we get to the alley. “  I said. "And their are three way back in the trees but they have been destroyed.  

“The legend says that you find the seventh church by turning around and going back."  Zach is watching me. He and I both know that he hasn't been able to find all three of the missing churches. But I'm a storyteller. How and I to let that in the way of a good story.   


"Why so many churches on one street?”  Maggie asked.  The question generated a minute of laughter from the native born southerners.  

“That’s an excellent question.”  Sarah responded.

“There are many different types of Christians.”  Luke said.  “They all needed their own church.”

“And on top of that, whites refused to share churches with blacks.”  I said.  “So all the blacks needed their own houses of worship as well. ”  As I spoke, my words were greeted by a metallic twang.  It at once took my breath away so that I could not continue my explanation. 


Once we were turned around Zachary snapped off the headlights.  “When I came by myself, my headlights went out like this.”  He explained.  “That’s how I found it. The Fourth Church on this road.   Luke and the girls pressed their faces out of the windows.  Zach and Sarah stared forward into the darkness.  


In the dark I couldn't make out individual trees as we crept past them. But I found a space beyond

the edge of the woods where the moonlight pooled in a clearing. It held my eye. It followed us. I saw my

face reflected in the glow of it. The metallic twang rose in the back of my throat. I felt like I was chocking. I reached for my neck, but the source was internal. I blinked hard and tried to clear my throat. I reached forward to grasp Sarah, to alert her that something was wrong. But nothing was there.

    

     I reached into damp open air. I was standing in the forest. I felt the cold of my bare feet in the damp leaves. I could smell the musk of ragged clothes that hung heavy with moisture from my shoulders, they were ripped, and tattered, but they were clean.  

I wiped a hand across my nose.  My hands smelt like earth and lye soap. My cold nose welcomed the warmth from them. I looked around me. There was no sign of the road or the car, or any of my friends - only wall of tall black trees silhouetted by they bright light of the full moon. As my eyes adjusted I could see more and more just how lost and alone I was.

      A distant voice sliced through the silence.  One lone woman sang out. Her call could have been a coyote or a wolf's song but I knew her voice. I could hear the age in her throat that caused her howl to crackle but not break.   She sang so long and so low that she could have been the wind whistling though a bottle.  I couldn't recognize the words at first but I knew the gospel.

    That feeling of iron rose in the back of my throat again.  I wanted to sing with her. I knew the melody from a decade of Sunday morning worship. But I was afraid.  Of what? I couldn't say, but the fear felt instinctive. I did not belong here. I was the danger.

     The old woman called again. This time other voices answered her from surprisingly close by. 

    A beat passed then the caller called once more. This time I could hear the words as she sang low, soft:

    Jeeesus, carr’ me ‘ome!” Her voice rose and fell with the pitch and skill of the cicadas all around us.

“Carr’ me home!”  the others answered from the darkness. They are closer now and coming from every direction. They were many voices singing like wind, low and deep.

She called again, “Jeeeeesus!   Carr’me ‘ome!”

And chore responded. “Carr’me ‘ome!”

  Dark bodies emerged from around, behind, and among the trees guided by the moonlight, and the soulful call. I saw her then, the caller. She'd been standing just ahead of me, still as a branch. One feather thin old woman bent with age, and as gnarled as the tree on who's roots she perched.

     "Jeeeeeesus! Carr'me''ome!"

    They don't speak as they greet one another in the darkness. They touched hands. They hugged. Two younger woman squealed as they embraced each other. Men grasp shoulders and tussled hats. Lovers kissed and held hands They were comforted by the presence of each other. But they don't linger long. They touched faces, and foreheads for only a minute. Then the caller stepped off her perch and they followed her song as they gathered into a still tighter circle around one another.

“Though I may be a slave . . . 

When I’m buried in my grave . . . 

I’ll go ‘ome to live with Jeeeesus!  

Carr’me ‘ome!”

Their voices melted into harmonious hums of praise as an old man, no doubt the oldest among them, prayed over the entire group. With their deep voices the men carried the hum as women chattered like birds to affirm the prayer. There were calls of "Yes!" and "Hallelujah" as the minister prayed on. A woman burst into tears and was held up by the others. They held each other with arms, and hands, and whispered words.  They sat close together to huddle for warmth.  They built a lightless fire, of community and love. 

I watched at a distance in the cold.  Even though I could see them, I could trick myself into not seeing them. I could with little effort see only trees curled against the wind. I could be convinced that all I heard were animals barking, and calling under the moonlight.  I was connected to them, but apart from them. I had to remain so, I knew, for their safty. I dared not move from where I stood.

    A snap behind me chilled me to the bone with fear. I turned and was at once blinded.


Light flooded the road in front of us.

    Zachary swore and hits the breaks. Even his small compact Honda Civic did not have enough space to try and go around. The truck ahead of us was a white Ford pick-up. For a moment I think I need to warn the prayer circle. But I realize I am blocking them with my body. I am their shield.

    It takes a few moments more come back to the present reality. I am int he car. I am among friends, white friends, but friends who love me.

    A white man - clean shaven, dressed in a white shirt and jeans - hung from the platform of the driver’s side by the door of his massive truck.  His cowboy hat was all I saw before I ducked down and laid across the Luke’s lap.    

Luke pushed Maggie and Candy to do the same, but one was sitting in his lap, and the other in mine. There was no room in my hiding spot and I wasn't sharing.  Instead, taking my que, they laid on top of me and pretended to be asleep.  I felt, rather than saw, Sarah turn around to check that I was out of sight. I felt Zach reach back and touch the top of my head. He breathed with relief. I felt their love. They knew, even though we pretended otherwise, that I was probably in more danger than any of them out here.

         Only Zack, Luke, and Sarah remained facing forward as the cowboy strolled up the Zach’s window.  

“You got a problem?”  Zach asked the man, letting loose the full natural strength of his rural Georgia twang.  

Photo by Luis Quintero from Pexels

“You supposed to be back here, son?”  the man asked in a similar accent.  

“Any reason I oaught not be?”  Zach countered.  “Looked like an open street to me.”   

“Where you headed, son?”  the man asked.

“You a cop or sumin'?”  Zach asked back.  The man laughed. 

“Nah, I just live round the corner there.  Neighbors said they saw some kids, thought they might be vandalizing the church up a wayz.”

“Ain’t see no church.”  Zach lied.  “Ain’t see no kids neither." I cringed. Why was he was playing poker with this man!

      "We were just seeing if this road was a short cut between the airport and Slappy.” Zach went on.

“Yeah, you keep going down this way a peace. You’ll get to Slappy, eventually.  But it ain’t shorter by any means.  You probably added an hour to your trip.”

“I told you!”  Sarah scoffed, crossing her arms in mock anger.  

“Ain’t public access neither.”  The man continued.  “This here is actually private property.”    Luke
did his best impression of a casual straight guy when the man's light flashed at him and the “snoozing” Asian girls behind Zach.  I felt the warmth of the beam but my eyes were closed.   

“You boys being gentlemen tonight, aren’t you?”  the man asked.

“Yes, sir.” Zach said. "Just picked up classmates from the airport."   Luke nodded not daring to open his mouth.

“You get these girls on home safe then.  I don’t wanna hear about this later.”

“Yup.”  Zach put the car in drive. The man took his time returning to his truck.  He moved over just enough for us to drive past him.   Then sat like a dragonfly watching us disappear down the old country road.  

“Great, that guy thinks I got a car full of roofied chicks in here.”  Zach signed.

“You boys bein’ gentlemen tonight!?”  Luke mocked sounding like a Kentucky dandy.  

I continued to lay across Luke’s legs in case the truck came up behind us again.  Meanwhile, I meditated on this feeling of fear.  It was ultimately what led me to find the connection.   But it was gone.  Spirited away by the white man’s light, back through whatever portal it had come.  

“Didn’t see a fourth church.”  Luke scoffed.  The Asian girls were pretending to be dead now, moaning like zombies.    

“I think that’s the last time we’ll be coming down here, though.”  Sarah pressed looking at Zach.    “That guy will probably be watching the road from now on.”  

Zach cursed, acknowledging that she was right.  


We emerged from the wooded realm back onto pitch and streetlights.  

“You ok?”  Sarah asked me as I rose up from my hiding place.  

“I’m good.”  I replied, though I admit I heard the dreaminess of my own thoughts in my voice. 

“What did you see?”  Zach asked me.  His blue eyes watched me in the mirror. He said later that he'd watched me "go out". I had no words for it.  I quietly slipped back into my own presence, here among my friends.  The feeling faded the deeper we drove into the city.        


                        END


The history of worship in the black community has always been a story of rebellion even in it’s earliest days.  Decades after this experience while doing research into Southern Christianity I learned that many slaves were not allowed to worship separate from their master and his family.  So many slaves would run away to the woods where they could be, worship, and pray amongst themselves secretly.  The call and response many black churches practice today is homage to these times when songs helped guide the congregation together through dark woods, and back again before they were missed.  

Where as the masters preached the importance of being obedient to God, and master – the slaves took comfort in the many stories of God’s mercy as well as the tale of Moses who freed slaves and marched them to a holy land filled with milk and honey.  This took away the sting of their day to day horrors, as they waited for Jesus to send a messiah to save them.  




Photo by Alexey Demidov from Pexels



Smolder

    The birds were screeching.  I knew my life was over the moment I heard those damn birds screeching.  The canopy grew so close toget...