The Holiest Days of Bone and Shadow, Chapter Two: The Gift of the Lesser Magi

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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.

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

So listener discretion is advised.

The Holiest Days of Bone and Shadow.

A special three-part miniseries.

Chapter 2.

The Gift of the Lesser Magi.

Esau County, Virginia, 1928.

Christmas Day had dawned bright and cold in Esau County,

with temperatures hovering just below 20 degrees in the town of Gla Morgan and dipping well into the teens and the surrounding hollers.

Like most of her neighbors, Delia Hubbard was up with the sun, brewing up a pot of coffee and fixing a simple breakfast of eggs and toast to share with her cousin Indiana.

Indy was already up by then, of course.

He brought in fresh eggs from the chicken coop first first thing and was now out in the barn, tending to the other livestock, feeding the horses, turning the hogs out into the pin, filling up the troth, letting the old milk cow out into the back field.

For a young man accustomed to wealth and comfort, Indiana had adapted admirably to farm life when he and Dealy inherited their mammal Glorianne's property in Boggs Holler.

At heart, Indiana was a simple man.

He found satisfaction in a hard day's labor and holding the fruits of that labor in his hands, be it an ear of fresh corn in the summertime or a newly hatched baby chick.

The challenges his father Vernard had enjoyed, or said he did, leaning over a desk, analyzing stocks and bonds, attempting to forecast trends and considering investments, were simply not for him.

Dealy, too, had had a lot to learn when she came to Boggs Holler.

Although she was blessed with abundant natural gifts passed down the family line, she had quickly learned that the majority of the healer's art had more to do with knowledge and skill than any inborn abilities or gifts.

Thankfully, Mama Boggs had known her letters, and she had, in fact, taken copious notes in a number of well-organized journals,

almost almost as if she had known the day would come when her granddaughter needed them.

And perhaps she had.

The first winter in Esau County had been hard for Dealie.

Glorianne's death in late summer had interrupted her preparations for the coming winter, and young Dealie hadn't had the knowledge of herb lore at the time to properly inventory her mamma's stores and know what would be needed, or indeed that she had any need to do so at all.

She had run out of many of the supplies she later found she needed, and combined with a certain skepticism she'd faced from some of the older members of the community,

Dealey had struggled to keep the folk of Esau County alive and well through that long cold winter.

Eventually, however, the spring thaw came, and with it the return of many of the herbs and roots that Dealy had been missing.

And then then June brought the birth of the very first baby Dealy had the honor of ushering into the world as the county's new midwife.

A robust, healthy little boy, born to a young couple who credited Dealy with their good fortune as they had been the recipients of the first fertility charm she made back in October.

They named the boy Delbert in her honor, this being the closest name to Delia they could come up with for a boy.

And his health and cheerful, biddable nature had boosted Dealey's reputation significantly.

Armed with a better idea of what she might need, Dealy had spent the spring and summer foraging and cultivating herbs and roots, brewing up the elixirs and salves, tonics, and tinctures that she would use over the course of the next year to treat various ailments.

It's a good thing she had.

Winter had come on bitter and damp and brought with it a multitude of troubles, from a nasty round influenza to especially troublesome arthritis for many of the older folks.

December had been a busy month, and Christmas Day had proved especially so, if for more pleasurable reasons.

Dealy and Indiana had exchanged their gifts after breakfast before climbing into Dealy's Nash, the automobile which had once belonged to her late mamma, to make their careful way down the icy country roads to enjoy the holiday festivities.

They attended the Christmas service at Esserville First Baptist, where their parents had attended services in their youth, and where, or so Dealey was told, that her mama and daddy had met at a church picnic one long ago summer afternoon.

Afterwards, they drove over to visit Dealy's Bledsoe cousins on her daddy's side for Christmas dinner.

Around sunset, they all went into town to attend Gla Morgan's Christmas tree lighting.

The town tree was donated by the Barrow and Lock Mining Combine, a tall, thick fir of grand proportions, under which waited a present for each child in Glay Morgan.

Now privately, Dealy thought that money would have been better spent providing a Christmas bonus to their fathers who toiled away underground, and maybe the only reason B ⁇ L gave out those presents was to get their hooks into the next generation of miners, but

most folks seemed grateful, so she held her peace.

After presents were distributed, they joined up with a group of carolers visiting folks around town.

The tradition of breaking up Christmas that would become a daily routine of either visiting or receiving guests through Old Christmas on January 6th.

Dealey and Indiana's last stop was at the home of one Miss Helen Cantrell and her family, whom Indiana would join for supper that night.

Indy had been courting Helen for around six months now, and Dealy imagined he might ask her daddy for her hand any day.

Although he hadn't specifically mentioned marriage, Indiana had been talking about clearing some trees to build himself a little house somewhere else on the bogs property, and believe me, there was plenty of land to go around.

After they exchanged pleasantries and Dealy and Indiana had each been served the obligatory cup of spiced cider and a big old slice of apple stack cake, Dealy begged off dinner.

She was still full to bursting from their lunch at the Blood Sows, she said, and so she headed home.

Indiana would find a ride home with a friend, or she could collect him in the morning if Helen's daddy allowed him to sleep on the sofa.

It had been a long day,

and it was with no small amount of pleasure that Dealey kicked off her boots, hung up her coat, and put the kettle on.

She would make some of Mamma Boggs's lemon-balm tea, and then settle in next to the wood stove with the new mystery novel Indiana had given her for Christmas.

Patricia Wentworth's gray mask.

She settled into the comfy cushioned rocker next to the stove, propped her feet up on the ottoman, and covered her legs with an old, well-loved quilt.

Dealey had just finished the first chapter when the knock came at her front door.

Three sharp raps in quick succession.

She sighed and pulled the quilt from her legs legs as she sat up.

She had really been hoping for a quiet night, but it was that time of the year.

Old Miss Henson's rheumatism had been acting up something fierce lately, and of course the Thackers out on Turkey Branch had a colicky baby, so Dealie took a moment to straighten her dress and smooth her hair before she marched to the front door and pulled it open.

Tonight's visit was not at all what she'd expected.

Rather than some fretful parent or concerned spouse on her doorstep she found instead someone she had neither expected nor wanted to lay eyes on again

her mother's late husband one kenneth carter of pineville kentucky

he wore a heavy black overcoat over a gray pinstripe suit with a red and green plaid bow tie and gleaming oxfords polished to a reflective shine.

In deference to the season, he had pinned a twig of holly to his lapel, and he held his fine gray wool fedora in one hand.

Dealy frowned.

Good evening, sir, she said tightly.

To what do I owe this

visit?

Merry Christmas, Dealy, her stepfather said with an uncharacteristically wide smile.

He reached into the pocket of his overcoat and withdrew a small, brightly wrapped package.

I brought you a gift,

a peace offering of sorts.

Dealey's last encounter with Kenneth Carter had been in her Uncle John's office back in Pineville, shortly following her mother's death.

Uncle John was her daddy's brother, as well as the attorney in charge of executing her mama's will, which, of course, had left everything.

to Dealy.

Her stepfather had objected, strenuously, to the terms of that document, arguing that Dealy and the money her daddy had left her and her mama should remain under his guardianship.

It had been an ugly encounter, with many harsh words spoken, and Dealy had hoped to never, ever see the man again.

Yet here he was.

Mr.

Carter, I am not going back to Pineville with you.

If you bore my mama any love at all, you should respect her wishes.

No, no, he assured her, holding his hands up, palms out, in a gesture of surrender.

I didn't come here to talk about that.

I hope we can put the past behind us and at least try to be friends for your mama's sake.

He gestured to the box in his hand.

I brought you just a little something.

I promise I'm not trying to buy your affection.

Just a small token I thought you might like by way of apology.

Dealy sighed and held out her hand.

The box was solid wood, not cardboard.

She could feel that before she even tore off the wrapping, and it was about the size of her hand, wrist to fingertips.

When she unwrapped it, she saw that it was made of pale birch.

Carved with flowers, leaves, and vines, and polished to a glossy shine.

It had a hinged lid.

And when she opened it, she found it was lined in red velvet.

Nestled into the velvet was a jeweled comb.

It was made of ivory or bone

or something polished and ivory colored rather than white and carved in a similar fashion to the box with vines and flowers.

The centers of the flowers were set with round amber cabichons which gleamed in the light cast by the lantern just inside the doorway.

It was very beautiful.

And something about it pulled at Dealee in a way she didn't understand at first.

She almost reached inside to pick it up.

But then she

saw it.

Saw the shadows that seemed to gather around it like a negative glow, pulsing with power and

something else, with

intent,

with awareness.

The darkness that swirled around its pretty white tines seemed almost to have

teeth.

And yet, even seeing this, Dealey still felt its call, still wanted it.

A strange hunger to possess it, to know its secrets uncoiling in her belly.

Her fingers practically itched to take it.

Dealey closed the box with a snap.

No, thank you, she said stiffly, and thrust the package back into Kenneth Carter's hand.

I have no need for such

gifts.

She stepped back and reached to close the door.

Good day, Mr.

Carter.

Now, Daley, be reasonable.

Is that any way to talk to your stepdaddy?

Your mama might have passed, but I still take my responsibility to look after you seriously.

You're a smart girl, Dealey.

Too smart to throw away the opportunities I can offer you.

You can have a nice home.

Find a wealthy husband to take care of you just like your mama mama would have wanted for you.

Look at this place,

he sneered, gazing around him at the home left to her by her mama's mama.

You can't possibly be happy here.

Come home.

This is my home, Dealie snapped, having reached the end of her patience.

Go home, sir.

Don't make me tell you again.

And with that, she shut the door in his face, latched it, and went back to her book.

Kenneth Carter was not used to being refused.

He was a man of significant means and well used to having doors opened and wheels greased whenever and however he wished.

If he encountered an obstacle, he merely had to throw some money at it and it would politely go away.

So he was livid to be so abruptly and soundly denied by Mercy's ungrateful brat.

It was all the fault of his contact at BNL.

Aimon Finlay.

That good-for-nothing idler Amon had assured him the chip would not be able to resist the lure of such a powerful artifact, that it would deliver her and thus the property BNL had sought for so long, had in fact urged him to marry that foolish woman to obtain in the first place right into his hands.

But no,

it had done no such thing.

The child had taken one look at the carved antler comb and practically thrown it back at him and slammed the door in his face.

How dare that little bitch!

Carter clapped his hat back onto his bald pate and stomped back down the rutted gravel drive to his sleek, black Dusenberg S.J.

A recent acquisition that he had been foolish to bring to this benighted backwood.

He'd had to drive at a snail's pace to bring the car safely up the ill-maintained country road that led to his late wife's family property, curse that woman.

And he would have to navigate worse ones to return to the appointed rendezvous point where he would find Amon.

The plan had been to hand the girl off to BL's agent and wash his hands of the whole tedious affair, but that smug bastard couldn't have been more wrong about the appeal the comb would hold for the girl.

And now Carter would have to report that he'd failed, as if it were his fault.

And one did not like to disappoint the directors of Barrow and Locke.

To do so could be deletrious to one's prospects,

not to mention one's health.

So fuming, Kenneth Carter steered his way down the long, precarious drive toward the county roads the Boggs property faced, whose condition was only a minor improvement.

He navigated his way around hairpinned turns and over steep hills that gave no hint of oncoming traffic, which was heavier for the hour than likely usual.

No doubt holiday revelers returning home at the end of an evening.

He told himself that's all it was, just holiday traffic, as another vehicle pulled up on his rear, growing increasingly close.

And yet he expected the car behind him to turn off, to take one of the narrow trails that deviated from the main road and up into some holler or branch or whatever these people called them.

But the dark vehicle did not.

It only grew closer.

Its headlights growing ever brighter behind him as it closed the distance.

Its engine growled and someone revved the gas.

Carter glanced over his shoulder in irritation.

Did the damn fools mean to rear-end him?

And that's when he saw the second car pulling around the first into the oncoming and gunning its engine, clearly intending to pull alongside the Dusenberg.

A finger of cold dread wormed its way into Carter's belly and abandoning his concern for saving damage to his car in favor of saving his own hide, he stepped on the gas.

The dark cars behind kept pace with him.

The engine of the one following behind growling as its driver accelerated, zipping back up onto his tail while the other came roaring up on his left.

Heedless of the danger of oncoming traffic, it began edging closer to him, crowding him over toward the right shoulder.

His wheels kicked up a cloud of dirt and gravel as they edged over, and Carter realized they intended to drive him off the road, over the embankment.

What the hell you say?

Carter swore furiously and poured on the gas.

The drivers of the vehicles vehicles that followed Carter, they looked to be something a Ford make, likely Model A's given the dark color and boxy shape, were clearly determined and seemed to be skilled drivers given their maneuvering.

But Carter had speed on his side.

The J model was the most powerful automobile Dusenberg had ever made, and the supercharged SJ that Carter purchased was in fact one of the most powerful luxury cars in the world, producing an astonishing 320 horsepower.

The Dusenberg's engine roared, and the pursuing vehicles quickly fell behind.

Rounding a curve, Carter swept past an oncoming car, heard the screech of brakes as presumably the car in the left lane maneuvered to avoid it.

The sound of screaming metal and a colossal crunch reached his ears, and Carter dared glance over his shoulder.

He could see the glow of lights around the corner he'd just turned, but nothing else.

It seemed he'd managed to evade his pursuers at last.

Carter sighed with relief as he returned his eyes to the road ahead.

But he didn't slow down.

Best not to chance it.

Overconfidence had proved the downfall of many a fool, and Kenneth Carter did not consider himself a fool.

It was several more miles before he reached the turn down the narrow track that led up to the abandoned farmhouse where Carter had met with Amon earlier in the day and where he had arranged to return when his business in Boggs Holler was done.

He nearly missed the slight deviation in the undergrowth that marked the private road, half-hidden as it was, particularly coming from this direction.

Just catching it, Carter slammed on his brake, managed a sharp turn onto the correct path, and now, finally,

he felt comfortable slowing down

and proceeded up the rudded track with caution, protecting his investment.

Finally, he crested the top of a narrow ridge and saw the decrepit structure looming up ahead of him.

The house was small.

Comprised of a lone room, it was more of a shack in Carter's estimation, dirty and fallen to ruin, but the windows glowed faintly.

Amon must have lit a fire in the hearth within.

Carter had seen no sign of a lantern left behind by the previous occupants.

The devilish man was here, at least, he thought sourly as he pulled the Dusenberg to a a stop in the scrubby front yard.

Patting his pockets to ensure the box with the antler comb had not slipped out during his treacherous drive back to the meeting place.

It hadn't.

Carter picked his way carefully through the darkened yard up to the entryway of the abandoned house.

He rapped sharply to announce his arrival and then pushed open the door, having to put his shoulder into it because it was a bit warped, and stepped inside.

Kenneth Carter did not find Amon Finlay, the agent of Baron Locke, who had led him on this fool's errand waiting for him as anticipated.

Instead, the single room was occupied by three women.

Two of them perched delicately, backs ramrod straight on the edge of dilapidated chairs positioned to either side of the fireplace, where flames crackled merrily, casting a warm light into the dark corners of the room

the third stood by the hearth her hands folded lightly in front of her the picture of patience

the women were dressed nearly identically in black silk dresses cut in the latest drop waist style and embroidered with fine silver thread and black woolen coats with fine fur collars ermine from the look

they had removed their matching fur hats, which were lined up on the mantle, revealing hair pinned up in nearly identical styles that mimicked the bobbed shape that more daring women had cropped their hair into.

All three were of an indeterminate age.

Not old, despite the silvery gray shade of their hair,

but too refined for youth,

and shared the same gray eyes and pale, papery gray skin.

The one who stood was the first to speak.

Good evening, Mr.

Carter.

We've been, said the second, waiting for you, finished the third.

The effect made Kenneth Carter's skin crawl.

Still, he was not a man to be intimidated by a gaggle of women, that incident with his late wife and the fireplace poker notwithstanding.

Where's Amon?

That do-nothing leave our business to a bunch of women?

He sneered.

As one,

the women smiled.

Their eyes gleamed.

I'm afraid you'll find Mr.

Finlay indisposed in a fashion rather permanent, we're afraid.

But we've come to collect that which does not belong to you.

Carter's hand twitched reflexively toward his coat pocket, but he didn't flinch.

I've no idea what you're talking about, he sniffed.

I have an appointment with Amon to discuss the disposition of my stepdaughter, who, given my late wife's passing, I assure you, is legally mine to dispense with.

Liar, hissed the first woman, who stood by the fireplace.

Even if that one were with you, she's none of yours.

The second finished, her contempt matching her sister's.

Because they had to be sisters, surely, Carter thought, increasingly unnerved by their patterns of speech.

In any case, the third chimed, examining her long, pointed fingernails, her tone one of intense boredom, we care not for that one.

We have come for the artifact.

As we understand it, it's a hair comb now, the first stated matter-of-factly.

Her grin widening, just a touch, right at the corner of her mouth.

Carter caught his first glimpse of teeth.

Sharp and far too many.

How charming, chimed the third, the delight evident on her pretty, ageless face, her smile even sharper than her sister's.

You will give us the comb now, the first said flatly, and all smiles vanished in an instant.

If you refuse us, there will be consequences.

If you cooperate, we might just spare your life.

The first smiled again.

It's entirely up to you, of course, to be quite candid.

We dearly love

consequences.

The smile that spread from the first gray lady to the second and then to the third chilled Carter to the bone.

He had the unsettling thought that even their teeth looked vaguely gray, gray and sharp, but these were just women, he told himself.

However, off-putting their bizarre manner of speaking, tell Eamon I'll not be pawned off on secretaries.

I'll see that the comb is returned to bear unlocked myself.

Thieves,

the second of the women snapped, rising to her feet, and the third joined her.

Until this moment, Carter hadn't registered how tall the women were.

They towered over Carter at just 5'9 in boots, and if God loved him, and he took an unconscious step backward.

You dare suggest we let you hand the artifact over to those pathetic monkeys, those children, playing dress up in mommy and daddy's skins.

The first of the women smiled.

Well, Mr.

Carter, it seems you've chosen the hard way.

We love

the hard way.

The three women hissed in unison, mouths gaping impossibly wide to reveal gleaming rows of needle-sharp teeth, much like lampreys.

Their limbs began to lengthen and undulate, their skin deepening into the gray of something that did not see the sun, slicked with the sheen of something else, viscous and poisonous.

The last vestiges of his arrogance deserted him, and Carter screamed.

He turned and lurched toward the door, but the farmhouse was small, and the gray ladies

were quick and possessed of a terrible strength.

Their hands had melded into the snake-like tubes of what had been their arms as they wrapped them around Kenneth's wrists and trunk and hips and throat.

Their faces now seemed only to hold an enormous ocean of teeth that yawned ever impossibly wider.

They were on him in a heartbeat, dragging him to the floor, tearing at his clothes.

He saw one of them grin and triumph as she pulled the carved box that held the antler comb out into the light.

And then he felt those terrible,

terrible mouths closing upon his flesh.

Kenneth Carter's screams cut off abruptly,

and silence fell across the woods of Esau County.

For a while there was nothing but the sounds of lips smacking and the contented sighs of a meal thoroughly enjoyed by all at the table.

Eventually, the fire burned low in the hearth, and the front door opened, and three women stepped out into the quiet, snow-blanketed night.

They piled into the sleek, powerful car that had lately been owned by one Kenneth Carter of Pineville, Kentucky, and the one in the driver's seat started the engine.

It would not do to leave such an easily recognizable vehicle abandoned in such a place after all.

And what fun they could have in disposing of it.

As they steered the car down the driveway, the heavy cloud cover overhead broke, and a heavy, wet snow began to fall.

How

lovely,

said one of the three.

Look at the snow.

We do so love

a white Christmas.

Guided by something

I cannot describe

Foggy, dark presence been choking my mind.

The strings hanging down

from heaven and above

poking like pitchforks in a pure

white dove

through God's dark heaven.

Go I,

go I,

through God's dark heaven.

Go I.

Happy holidays, family.

Whichever holiday you may celebrate in this season, we hope you're doing it safely and at home, and you're not out there traveling.

I'm just going to say it.

Stay at home.

Wear a mask if you've got to go out, but don't travel.

Please.

For the betterment of us all, let's all be able to gather again in person in the coming year.

Thank you all for joining us for chapter two of the Holiest Days of Bone and Shadow, our new holiday-themed mini-series.

It's nice to be able to give you all a gift as we take a little break between Act 1 and Act 2 of season 2 here on Old Gods of Appalachia.

Our outro music, as always, is by those poor bastards.

And today's story was written by Cam Collins and produced and performed by Steve Schell.

For more information on this story and others, head on over to old godsofappalachia.com.

See you soon, family.

Happy holidays.

Through God's dark heaven, go I

through God's dark heaven

go

I

The hunt, it is over.

The Lord, he won't answer.

The walls must run with blood.

Oh, this house is a cancer.

And in this abyss, I've lost all control.

Is this path to glory?

It's so hard to tell.

Through God's dark heaven,

go I,

go I,

through God's dark heaven, go I

through God's dark heaven go I

through God's dark heaven

go

I

through

God's dark heaven go I

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.