Episode 63: The Ways of the Dead

Well, hey there, family.

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Come to the dark side.

We smell fantastic.

Old Gods of Appalachia is a horror anthology podcast and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences.

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In the light of the old mining lantern, the man who styled himself J.T.

Fields of Dorchester looked old.

The artificial moon that hung caged in the hand of the boy in the mining cap cast every line etched into the old trickster's face in stark relief.

His dark hair was silvered at the temples, and it thinned as it crossed the crown of his head.

There was a sickly roominess that haunted his striking brown eyes

and a slight slump to his shoulders like you'd see in a man who'd been on his feet for days,

weeks,

held decades at the same job.

The one thing the light didn't reveal

was fear.

Jack Fields was not afraid as he stood there facing down a veritable army of the dead.

He licked his lips and looked into the coal-smudged face of the general of that grim legion.

We require passage through the ways of the dead, old friend.

These poor souls were hoodwinked and bamboozled by dark-touched hate from yon woods.

They were strong-armed into a promise for the life of the babe that rests in the young missus's womb.

The father's a bit of a dullard, as I understand, and easily tricked.

You know about those with power and their tricks, don't you, young feller?

The thing that wore the shape of a boy snorted.

Huh.

And what concern is the conduct of fools to such as we?

Man's mouth right checks his ass cane honor.

Last I heard, that wasn't my problem, Jack.

Jack's eyes sparkled in the lantern light.

And that was no exaggeration.

Juni would swear she saw them literally sparkle, as if the boy had said exactly what Jack hoped to hear and he had the perfect response.

He spread his arms in a gesture that for all the world looked like a magician performing a trick.

And she thought to herself the comparison wasn't far off the mark.

Not far at all.

Ah, but my boy, there is an innocent life at risk here.

Isn't that why you and yours walk these lonely paths?

Avenging, revenging, just

vengeing in general?

Jack held forth.

What if you could spare a young in its life before it ever knowed what a coal mine was?

Is it the baby's fault that his daddy's a derned fool who bartered a life that weren't his to trade?

The boy considered this for a moment, his form flickering from the young man Jack had been conversing with so cordially to that of a burning hole in a mountainside, then shifting into the shape of the tiniest casket Juni had ever seen.

Then back to the boy again.

Her eyes pricked with tears and she dabbed at them with the sleeve of her dress.

There have been a lot of boys buried due to their daddy's follies and the boss's greed.

You speak true on that point, Jack.

Aye, that I do.

And a boon you do owe me, one of three.

The boy glared up at the older man.

black eyes smoldering under the brim of his cap.

One of those have been repaid.

Two lives taken for two lives saved.

The boy almost snarled in his strange, grown man's voice.

But with his next words, his voice softened.

The little ones the underwood boy laid hands on and made whole.

They still live.

I ain't seen neither one of them on this side of the vale.

Jack smiled softly and in a daring move rested his hand on the boy's shoulder.

Those little ones are men grown now, my traveling friend, with sons of their own that they've kept far from the mines.

The men who hurt them, the boy shrugged, pulling away from Jack's touch, lay buried beneath old red wine,

never sleeping, never dreaming, an endless winter of dying, but never death, for those who ground young bones to bake their bread.

As we agreed.

As was just, Jack concurred solemnly.

The boys snorted again derisively.

And the fact that those men opposed you in other dealings was never the real reason you'd bring them to our notice?

Was it, Jackie Boy?

You wound me, son.

Jack placed his hand dramatically upon his surely breaking heart.

To the matter at hand, though, I call in my second debt now.

I ask you to get this family at least partly ahead of what pursues them by means of the ways.

The boy's coal-colored eyes remained fixed on Jack for a moment longer before he motioned to the truck.

Bring them forth.

I'd see for myself those you would have me ferry through the ways of the dead.

It's no small matter for the living to walk our roads without joining our ranks.

If they are worthy of such labor,

I will honor your request as a valid redress of debt.

If they ain't,

well,

let's just hope for y'all's sake they are.

Dead hands clamored for the panel truck's door handles, and Juni started to scream.

Wait, cried Jack.

My people will present themselves directly.

Don't go getting all grabby, son, Jack said as he smacked a dead boy's hand away from the passenger side door.

The brutal-eyed little thing with its cracked face and off-kilter neck shot the man in the plain brown suit an offended look.

The horde of ghostly ghostly children watched as Jack leaned into the truck and spoke quietly to the living folks inside.

Here in this place,

where the veil between the living and the dead was worn thin as cheesecloth, the living carried a glow and a scent that the dead both craved and feared.

An older man stepped from the pasture side of the truck while a younger man climbed down from the back.

He turned to help the woman who was heavy with child.

A murmur ran through the assembled boys.

They saw living folks all the time, but to witness life as yet unborn in all its potential was far less common.

To their eyes, the woman glowed like a torch as she came to stand beside the younger man.

They wanted to surge around her, touch her belly, yet at the same time feared the heat of that glow, so they hung back warily, still as statues in the silvery light of the lantern.

May I present Mr.

Kevin Norris of Hazel County, his daughter, Miss June Gilbert, and her husband, the dullard in question, Trevor Gilbert.

Jack gestured to the family as if they were stock brought to market.

Trevor scowled at him, but had the good sense to keep his mouth shut.

The boy scowled disgustedly as it appraised Trevor, black eyes roaming up and down the man's sturdy form.

I can smell the drink on you from here, he spat.

I ain't had a drink in months, pretty near a year, I'll have you know, Trevor protested.

The little fellow in the cap and overalls shook his head.

Don't matter.

You can try.

And you are trying,

I can tell.

But I can smell it on you all the same.

It's in you, boy.

Fields is right.

You ain't the brightest and drink makes you dumber.

And I think you know that.

So if you're going to be any kind of good daddy, you'll remember that and stay dry as a bone, Mr.

Gilbert.

You hear me?

As

a

bone.

Trevor nodded shakily and looked away.

The boy squinted at old Kev next.

Huh.

You got the smell of the mines on you, old timer.

Flat top if my nose ain't lying.

Hmm.

But not for a long time now.

What happened?

Kevin Norris inclined his head toward the dark shapes that loomed in the near distance.

Bent Laurel blew when I was a boy.

I was in the yard and got pinned under a water tank and broke my leg.

Daddy and his brothers died in fire.

Tears danced in the corner of of old Kev's eyes.

There ain't no way my mama was letting me go back to the mines after that.

Took to farming with her people instead.

Kept their farm after I married.

The boy drew closer to him.

Sounds like your mama had sense at least.

There's more, though.

The boy drew in a long breath through his nose, as if scenting the man's grief.

Who was was Aggie?

The dam that had been swelling inside Kevin Norris finally burst, tears soaking his cheek as he began to weep openly, words failing him, anger dousing some of her fear.

June glared at the boy.

Stop it.

Whatever you're doing, stop, she snapped, stepping up to wrap a protective arm around her father.

Aggie was my mama.

She died when I was a girl.

The boy ignored her.

His eyes remained fixed on old kev

you think the mines had something to do with her dying don't you he prompted his shrewd gaze unmoved by the man's grief

they're sorry they they said it was her liver kevin hiccupped through his tears but she

she always thought the water out where she used to

where she used to work smelled and tasted funny

it was too close to where they flushed the slurry out of the minds I always wondered we'll wonder no more son they poison everything

they ruin everything

they break everything

the boy's voice rose as the fire in him built they killed your wife just as sure as they dropped a mountain on her too

So so you'll help then, Jack interjected, attempting to regain control of the situation.

This family has been wronged by the very men you seek to stand against, surely.

The boy cut him off.

Not so fast, Mr.

Fields.

I'll have a word with Miss June here.

June Gilbert braced herself as the obvious leader of this legion of dead children drew close to her, coming within just a few inches to peer up into her face, drawing in another rattling breath through shriveled, undead lungs, analyzing her scent like some ghastly bloodhound.

miss June

I only have two questions for you

and I want you to think real careful on them before you answer

unsettled June's head jerked in a nod

the boy leaned ever closer and Juni could smell burning coal and the dying breaths of a thousand dead men crushed from their bodies like snuffing a candle.

At this distance, she could feel the hate radiating from the small figure, rage and lust for vengeance pouring off of him like standing too close to a stove.

Your mama was a camp girl, June Gilbert.

Her mother a whoremonger and a witch.

Don't try to deny it.

I can smell it in your blood.

I don't think you're fit to be anybody's mama.

So why should I believe you'd you'd be a good mama?

And why

should I let you take one more step

on my road?

These old roads run

into a ground so bloody

full of broken dreams and dusty bones.

They feed a tree

so dark and hungry,

where its branches split and new blood flows.

The ghost of a past you thought long buried.

Rise a haunt the young

The shadow falls, judgment judgment comes

tread soft, my friend, amongst your fellows.

Take your bond your word

lest you get what you

deserve.

Now see here, young feller, Jack protested, raising a hand to forestall any other questions.

That was just uncalled for.

In the same moment, Trevor and old Kev moved to Juni's side as if by some unspoken accord, her husband pulling her close while her daddy stepped up in front, one arm outstretched as if to borrow the boy from reaching her.

You got no right to speak to my daughter that way, Kevin thundered, and his voice was all iron, all trace of his previous tears evaporating in the heat of his rage.

As if sensing a threat in their posture, the army of dead boys began to close ranks around their leader, an angry murmur rising from them.

Here and there, the glint of metal began to appear amongst the restless crowd as blades found their ways into ghostly hands from whatever pockets had concealed them.

Juni thought she might be the only one who noticed, and seeing the danger, she spoke, raising her voice to cut through the growing tension.

I can speak for myself, she said clearly, willing her words not to falter.

And gently, she pulled away from Kevin and laid a hand on her daddy's arm.

His head snapped around to look at her, his eyes full of concern and uncertainty.

She nodded, giving him a faint but reassuring smile as he stepped aside to let her pass.

Her eyes scanned the legion of dead boys and June Gilbert found their leader, and she met his piercing gaze without flinching.

Recognizing she was prepared to give her answer, he raised a hand.

shushing his compatriots as he came forward to meet her.

He cocked his head to one side as he squinted up at her.

Well, Miss June, he said,

what say you?

June glanced over her shoulder at her father.

Daddy, she prompted, holding out her hand for support.

Old Kev immediately grabbed her hand, placing the other gently on her back.

With his assistance, she lowered herself cautiously to her knees, bringing herself face to face with the boy.

She looked into those fathomless black eyes and imagined she could see pain and rage flickering in their depths like black flames.

She could feel the hate again

rolling off him in waves and she willed herself not to flinch.

The ghostly figure was terrifying and yet

and yet he was still a child.

A child who had been wronged.

A child who had been failed at every turn by the people who should have cared for him, protected him.

Little man, she said, holding the boy's gaze,

I can't give you any easy answers.

You said my mamma was a witch.

Yes, she laid the warts round our house, true enough.

But my mama didn't inherit none of those gifts.

Maybe if she had, she wouldn't have left us so soon.

You asked why I should believe I'll be a good mama.

Well, the only answer I have for you is I want nothing more in this world than to have the chance.

Y'all have had some mighty harsh words for my man.

June glanced around, her stern look encompassing Jack and her father as well as the boy before her.

And it's true,

my Trevor ain't perfect.

He thought he could pull one over on,

well,

something like you, to be honest.

And he learned the hard way, that's a real bad idea.

But he only thought he could get away with it because we'd given up on having a family.

We tried and tried and when it didn't happen,

Juni shrugged.

We thought it just wasn't in the Lord's plan for us, but it's all we've wanted for so long.

Juni glanced over her shoulder at Trevor, who saw the shine of unshed tears in his eyes.

He nodded back to her in agreement, and she turned back to the boy.

I imagine most people think they're going to be good parents.

I'm sure most of them have the best intentions, though.

Folks fail for one reason or another.

All I can tell you is when you've wanted a child and been denied the way we have, and you finally get your chance to have the family you dreamed of, well, youngin',

you're gonna work extra hard to do right, Pie.

I can promise you that.

As to your other question,

why should you let me walk your road?

June glanced down, one hand going protectively to her belly.

Because if you don't,

this little one may be the one who pays the price for it.

The boy opened his mouth to speak, but Juni raised a hand to forestall him.

I know.

It's not your fault our little one's in danger.

We have nobody but ourselves to blame.

Nobody but me, you mean?

Trevor interjected, his voice filled with self-loathing, but both his wife and the boys she knelt with ignored him.

Juni's gaze swept over the ragged army of dead boys before returning to meet the boy's eyes again.

I can see you and your friends have been through an awful lot, son.

Please,

if you can find it in your heart, help us.

And for the sake of our child, I swear to you, we will not fail him the way your mamas and daddies failed y'all.

We will give our lives, if need be, to keep him safe.

June fell silent.

The boy grunted thoughtfully, chewing his lip for a moment as he pondered her words.

Finally, with a sigh, he nodded and turned to Jack.

Passage is granted.

This settles our second debt, free and clear.

Aye, Jack confirmed, his right hand lifting to rest on his heart.

One good turn for another.

The debt is repaid.

The boy jerked his head in the general direction of some children hovering near the back of the legion of dead boys who had slowly begun to disperse once the matter was settled.

A handful of them scurried off into the murky woods behind them.

Kevin and Trevor moved to help Juni to her feet.

Each one of them draping one of her arms around his shoulder to better support her weight as they lifted her up between them.

They began to guide her back to the truck, but Jack called out to him, Uh-uh.

End of the line for the truck, I'm afraid.

Trevor's brow furrowed as he turned to face the older man.

You expect my wife to walk?

In her condition?

Jack shook his head.

No, of course not.

But you saw the way the engine stalled out a bit ago?

Where we're going, we need

alternate means of transportation.

In the middle of the clearing, the boy gave a high-pitched, keen whistle.

From the shadows of the woods, something answered.

An eerie, bugling call splitting the night.

Beneath their feet, dust began to swirl.

Old mud tromped up on the boots of long-dead boys from the deep places beneath the skin of the world.

It rose in whirling eddies as if carried by a steady wind, though though the air remained as still as the heart of a corpse on the slab.

The dust swarmed like a flock of tiny corvids or iron filings dragged by a magnet, slowly outlining the form of a familiar animal.

It was a shape well known to those who lived under the shadow of coal.

The other beast of burden, condemned to die by the thousands across the long and bloody history of mining.

Sweet-faced creatures who followed their masters into the deep night as loyally as any dog, and who were abandoned there to sleep forever just as often as the boys who drove them.

Mules, Juni mused.

Only these night-black beasts appeared to be made of coal dust.

Were they ghosts too?

They looked silent enough.

Their pencil-led coats gleaming in the dead moonlight of the lantern the boy had accepted as an offering, but every time they shook their heads, she caught sight of the dust falling from their manes.

The pair of them had come to a halt beside the boy, who stood stroking their flanks and murmuring to them in tones more gentle than Juni would have imagined hearing from that strange, rough voice.

A low rumbling echoed across the clearing, and the dead boys who had run into the trees returned, pulling a wooden cart by ropes in their wake.

The wagon had clearly seen better days.

Its bed cracked and gray with age and damp, the iron spokes of its wheels peppered with rust, the jockey box listed precariously to the left and its axles creaked as it rolled to a stop behind the spectral mules.

As the dead children raced around to the front of the cart and began working to hitch the night-black creatures to this rickety conveyance, Jack walked a slow circle around it, inspecting the wagon with a critical eye.

Old Kev gave a skeptical snort.

Now, what in the high holy hell is this supposed to be?

You expect the mother of my grandchildren to travel on this nightmare highway on something that looks like it saw most of its use before Noah ever built his ark?

Oh, I don't know.

I know she don't look like much, Mr.

Norris, but she's sturdy enough.

Tight as a drum, Jack said confidently, giving the wagon's bed a hearty slap.

His smile turned to a wince as a three-inch splinter skewered his palm.

Chuckling, he conceded,

you might want to grab a couple blankets to sit on from the back of the truck, though.

June waited by the wagon with Jack while Trevor and Kevin fetched their bags and proffered blankets from the Model TT's cargo area.

The two men spread the blankets across the wagon bed and did their best to create a little padded nest out of clothing-stuffed rucksacks to protect June from the worst of any bumps in the road.

The three of them settled into the cart as comfortably as they could.

And Jack removed his jacket and draped it over the jockey seat to protect his posterior from suffering the same fate as his hands.

Once he was settled, the boy gave his mules a final pat and handed him the reins.

You've got about 60 miles, give or take,

the boy said.

No one will see you pass.

Beyond that, he gave a shrug.

You cross out of our territory.

I can offer no more.

Understood, Jack nodded.

Thank you, old friend.

The boy turned his haunted gaze upon the three travelers in the back of the wagon, his eyes finding Junie's.

He tipped his hat respectfully.

Best of luck to you, Miss June.

She gave him an uncertain smile and bobbed her head.

Thank you.

And don't forget your promise, the boy added darkly.

I don't want to see you again.

June was almost certain she was the only one who recognized the implied threat in his words.

A shiver crawled up her spine, but she nodded again.

The smile froze into her face.

I won't.

And you won't.

Jack clucked his tongue at the pair of mules and the wagon began to move at a surprisingly jaunty pace.

The boy stood watching them as they rolled out of the clearing, the glowing lantern still resting at his feet, growing dimmer with every pace.

Juni kept her eyes on the bright spark until it was only a flicker in the darkness,

and the night

swallowed them whole.

Well,

hey there, family.

So, off we go into the ways of the dead, a brand new dark corner of our Appalachia for us to experience on our journey with the Gilberts as they attempt to flee the wrath of Mr.

Poe.

Now, for those of you missing Old Tale Poe or wanting more of it than your daily allowance of murderous, narcissistic, multi-tailed murder fox, bobcat, death ferret, well, y'all just sit tight.

We promise we're going to make you sorry forever thinking of him being out of the picture for a minute was a bad thing.

I guess it's going to be one of them be careful what you wish for type situation because y'all done wished.

And well, no backsies on wishes.

Y'all are in no way, shape, or form ready for what's coming next.

No, sir, no, ma'am.

But we got a lot of exciting things coming up in the very near future in the world of old gods of Appalachia.

Over on Patreon, we have the grand finale of Volume 2 of Familiar and Beloved coming at the end of March of 2024.

And there's going to be a very extra special piece of bonus content that connects y'all's beloved Tayley Poe popping up on Patreon in the very near future.

And we'll be announcing that on our social media altars very soon.

So if you want to know how Tayley Poe became Mr.

Poe,

you might want to consider heading on over to patreon.com slash old gods of Appalachia and becoming a member, even if it's just for a month.

And this is your Traveling Through the Ways of the Dead is not recommended for the faint of heart or weak of liver, a reminder that Old Gods of Appalachia is a production of Deep Nerd Media, distributed by Rusty Quill.

Today's story was written by Kim Collins and Steve Schell.

Our theme song is by Brother Land and Blood, and our outro music, Atonement, now available in its full version on all streaming platforms, is by Brother John Charles Dwyer.

We'll talk to you soon, family.

Talk to you real soon.

Just

one night upon its side

Just

one night upon its side

May it always swing swift and true

May it ever swing swift and true

The prince won't move without his truth.

The prince won't move without its truth.

Bridge

won't bloom without its roots.

Surely it will show the rotten truth.

Always it will show the rotten truth.

Family, won't you come with me into the darkness, into the sweet-smelling gloom of a dead mooned night, into the realm of Sucrabay,

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And I come from a long line of terrifying women.

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For more information on their world-bending fragrances, as well as subscription bags and a marketplace connecting you to over 40 other indie business owners, head over to sucrabay.com.

S-U-C-R-E-A-B-E-I-L-L-E dot com.

Look in the show notes for a link.

Come to the dark side.

We smell fantastic.

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Coach, the energy out there felt different.

What changed for the team today?

It was the new game day scratchers from the California Lottery.

Play is everything.

Those games sent the team's energy through the roof.

Are you saying it was the off-field play that made the difference on the field?

Hey, a little play makes your day, and today it made the game.

That's all for now.

Coach, one more question.

Play the new Los Angeles Chargers, San Francisco 49ers, and Los Angeles Rams Scratchers from the California Lottery.

A little play can make your day.

Please play responsibly, must be 18 years or older to purchase play or claim.