The
eerie orb of light continued to float toward me as I stood within the rough,
protective circle of salt at my feet. As the strange light moved up the slope
of the riverbank, it dimmed, as if the effort of the climb had sapped power
from it. I tossed aside the empty canister of salt, knelt in the circle and searched
my backpack for the Beretta’s extra magazine.
My
hand fell on the familiar shape of the magazine deep within the bag. I slammed
it into the grip of the handgun and chambered a fresh round. All the while, the
orb drew closer.
An
instant later, I stood and looked towards the orb only to have my eyes met with
an even stranger sight. Gone was the cannonball-shaped source of light. In its
place was an old-fashioned lantern that floated disembodied a few feet off the
ground. In the next moment, the lantern dimmed again, and my eyes perceived the
shape of a man, who had stopped a few feet from the edge of my protective
circle of salt.
At
the same moment, this mysterious man seemed to notice me for the first time as
we looked eye to eye across the small patch of dim woods that separated us. His
clothes were old-fashioned, all black and covered here and there with what
looked like strands of old spiderwebs. A stovepipe hat that had seen better
days sat at a rakish angle atop his dark, coarse hair.
The
man raised his lantern and examined me closely for several seconds. His eyes
were yellowed by the lantern light, and his mouth was set in a disturbing half-grin.
Only half of his face seemed to work, like someone who’d suffered a severe
stroke.
With
his free hand, he reached towards my face. Faint blue light danced from his filthy
fingertips as they brushed slowly against the invisible barrier created by the protective
circle of salt. I fought the urge to raise my handgun, afraid that I would
accidentally pierce the boundary between me and this unexpected apparition. His
fingers couldn’t penetrate the protective circle. I knew he was undead or something
not of this world.
He
lowered his arm and looked back towards the Alabama River and the lights of
Claiborne’s west bank beyond. He then turned back, sucked his teeth loudly and watched
me closely. He leaned in so close that his smell filled my nose. He reeked of
the grave.
“Is
you real?” he asked. His voice was coarse and carried a heavy accent that I
couldn’t identify. He squinted, eyed me closely, as if to determine if I was flesh
and blood.
His
question caught me off guard. “Of course, I’m real,” I answered. “Who the devil
are you?”
“Oh,
you know who I am,” he said, his eyes shining. His grin widened, and I caught a
glimpse of what looked like an unnaturally sharp canine tooth. “I’m de ol’
bogeyman.”
Gooseflesh broke out on my arms. I took a deep breath to
steady myself. “What do you want?” I asked as my hand went clammy around the
grip of my Beretta. I remained still, careful not to stray out of the protective
circle.
The man threw his head back and inhaled deeply. His nostrils
flared as he looked into the treetops. I’m certain now that he was gauging how
much time remained until daylight. He studied the sky and said, “Oh, what I
want, I cain’t have.” He sucked at his teeth again and adjusted his black hat.
We stood there for what seemed like a long time as the dark pressed
in around us. He looked me in the eye and then said, “Well, sir, it’s time to
move on.”
I watched as he shuffled off through the leaves. About 20
feet away, I began to lose sight of him, but I could still see the dim light
from his lantern as it went up the slope, over the edge and out of sight.
I stood there for a long time, not daring to step out of the
circle. Sunrise was coming, and I clung to the idea that I’d be safe after
sunrise. Then and only then would I follow the man’s path up the hill. Looking
back, there was no way that I could predict what I would find there, just a
short distance over the hill.
(All rights reserved. This story is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or
locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.)
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