Episode 14: On Death Island

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The cold wind falls,

and so I follow.

No time to rest these weary balls.

I hear her

song,

and my heart goes hollow.

Best not to walk these woods alone.

Best stick to the roads out of the shadow

Best get on home

Best to leave them ghosts alone

Best to leave them ghost alone

In this world,

there are kingdoms and principalities, nations and dominions, lands ruled by monarchs and presidents, kings

and long-dead emperors.

There are lands where the possibility of glory, conquest, and thriving prosperity lie just beneath the topsoil,

waiting to be found by the hands of those willing to turn a well-worn spade.

There's sprawling expanses of mineral-rich land, cut by rivers that run with the heartbeat of thunderstorms, topped by woods that offer up timber and game, as if the Almighty had laid out a Sunday spread and called to the yard and said, Y'all come eat now.

None of these places, however, no matter how glorious, match the splendor and treasure of the domain claimed by an 11-year-old boy.

Or in this case, a whole mess of them.

You give a group of boys from anywhere a backyard, a stretch of woods, hell, a vacant lot even, and you can watch it rise to a place of hallowed glory.

A patch of trees between houses can become an ancient battlefield.

where two sides of some long-remembered or forgotten conflict plays out again and again after school hours.

An empty fallow field becomes an arena or tournament ground where wrestling, foot racing, and some sort of ball-related sport are contested and pushed to the highest form of the game.

Friendships and rivalries will rise, fall, and be remembered in legend forever and ever.

You give a group of boys not yet concerned with matters of what's in their breeches just yet a place of their own.

And I promise you, it will outshine Rome in the eyes of its citizens.

In the town of Bakers Gap, Tennessee,

bloodlines run way back to the settling of these hills.

Old families come from all over the place to find their new tomorrow in the hills of East Tennessee.

To lay track, dig from the earth, cut timber, what have you.

So there was no shortage of packs of boys passing through their rights on the way to being men.

But we're only going to visit with one of them.

Archie Stallard came from a long line of Stallards that had been in these mountains for as long as anyone could be.

He was a tall and somber boy with big eyes and a head full of what he learned from his daddy, who had come with his daddy and helped carve out this part of the mountain.

He was smart and charming, if a bit awkward.

You try being 5'10 at age 11.

But if you needed somebody who knew their way around the woods, Archie could get you set up and camp safe with good sense.

Hell, he spent so much time in the woods his older brother Gregory had started calling him Woodchuck,

which he pretended to enjoy, but his real friends usually just called him Archie.

Dallas and Shane Shepherd were two cousins from out by Bear Creek Reservoir.

Dallas's family lived on the far side from town with his whole dang family, him being the only boy amongst six girls.

He was as loyal as they come and as long-suffering as any 11-year-old boy had any right to be.

Dallas's daddy was a deacon over at Rising Creek Baptist and if there was one thing Dallas knew better than chapter and verse of the good book, It was how to sneak out of his house for a late-night fishing expedition and somehow not sleep through Sunday service the next day.

His cousin Shane lived on the other side of the lake with his mamma and Papa, as you sometimes do.

Shane was a smart-mouthed and scrawny thing.

His mamma once commented he looked like a fishworm with the poop slung out of him.

He didn't care for being outside at all, unlike the others.

He'd have stayed home reading through his mamma's cookbooks and dictionaries if you let him.

But he'd come out if any of the other boys came calling.

And they always did.

Curtis Kilgore was a year older, lived down the road from the Stallard family with his mama and littler brother Luke.

Curtis worked on their little piece of property from the minute he woke up till he left for school and then after school and right before supper.

See, his daddy had passed in a bad accident on their land a year ago and

Curtis had to make up for him being gone.

Now, his papa, his uncle on his mom's side, come down to help some weekends, but that was about all the help Kurt had.

It's a wonder he was even able to go to school or sneak off for anything.

But Kurt has always found a way to make time.

The last two of our band are an interesting pair.

Brothers, but not blood.

You see, in these mountains, families grew and shrunk not just by birth and death, but by coming and going.

Say you might have a friend who's living rough at home.

Daddy's a drunk.

Mama's pretty much a ghost.

Maybe one night they come home for supper with you.

Maybe they come walk to school with you the next morning and your mama feeds them again.

And maybe they show up for supper again and then they just don't go home.

Just like that, you got yourself a brand new sibling.

Happened all the time.

My own mamma's brother Koo.

Well, he wasn't no blood to her at all.

His family just up and left the haller one day and he come home with mamma.

He's family,

just like y'all.

So it was a similar, albeit more mysterious situation that brings us to Floyd and Cowboy Absher.

You heard me right.

I said cowboy.

Young Floyd was Junebug and Deborah Absher's only boy, sharp as a tack and as handsome as his mama was Birdie.

Floyd Absher was well liked and respected by his peers, smart but not bookish.

He read everything from the the Bible to the pulp magazines his Uncle Raymond would bring in, but Floyd lived to be outside.

He stayed tan and lean, and no one doubted he would grow up to be just as tall and strong as his daddy, who checked in around 6'5 and was probably the best blacksmith this side of the valley.

Now, Junebug had been working for Lock Railroad for a while as well as doing smithing on the side, burning the candle at both ends at the grindstone, if you will, to pay off the lien on their land.

He he worked hard for his family when it grew by one more June said well why not worked a little harder

you see after the last harvest before it got proper cold

there was a little boy who kept coming around the edge of Larry Collins's pasture where his cows grazed right across the road from the Absher place looking just as lost as lost could be

Larry's wife Barb tried to see who he was and what he was doing on their land said he was just a pitiful little thing, sickly and pale looking, just walking amongst the cows and petting them.

And ordinarily she'd run him off because that's dangerous to be doing.

But the cows didn't seem to mind.

And they were content to let this odd little feller love on them.

When Barb got too close, he ran.

If you know Barb Collins, she ain't no mind to chase nobody.

But every day he turned back up, dirtier than the day before,

walking amongst and petting the cows.

Wasn't hurting nothing, so they just let him be, strange as that might sound.

After a week or so, Floyd Abshir saw the boy from the edge of their yard and called out to him

Hey, hey, boy,

what you doing, mister Collins' stock?

The boy seemed to vaguely register him and looked from Floyd back to his bovine companions.

Hey,

I I I'm Floyd.

What what's your name?

The smaller boy pointed toward the fields.

Cows, he said dreamily.

Floyd blinked.

Yeah, them's cows.

I said, what's your name?

The boy shrugged and turned back to the pasture.

Cows.

Are you hungry?

You look like you've been sleeping outside.

Where's your mommy and daddy?

The boy screwed up up his face like he was trying to remember something, then

just shrugged and pointed again.

Cows?

I bet you're hungry.

Let me see what mama's got.

Floyd ran back to the house and returned a few minutes later with some bread and an apple and a mug of milk.

The boy took the food as if he didn't recognize it at first, but then tore into it with a fervor.

There you go, cowboy.

Eat up, Floyd said, half tickled.

Cowboy?

The boy echoed in between bites, his face breaking into a huge smile, and pointed to himself and nodded.

Cowboy

That would be the first of many lunches and breakfasts snuck down from the house to the edge of the yard over the next week or so.

The boy was small and looked young, even though he said he was almost eleven when Floyd asked him.

Eventually those secret breakfasts and and lunches turned into a trip home to ask if Cowboy could eat supper with him.

Of course, Mama said yes, and after a few of those,

Cowboy just never went back to wherever he was sleeping before.

Junebug knew he'd have to work a little harder to pay for another young'un, but you could not want to help the little feller.

He's just precious.

A winter of good meals and the occasional bath in Sunday school brought out a whole new child in Cowboy.

While he still couldn't or wouldn't tell the Abshires where he came from, they'd asked around and talked to the law in town proper, and nobody was missing a little boy that age.

Well, he took to Deborah like she was his own mama.

Yes, sir, and no, sir, Junebug.

Wherever the boy came from,

he knew manners.

He could read and knew some of his numbers.

Tying his shoes was still a work in progress, as was writing his new name, but soon enough it was decided.

When school time came back around, the newest name on the fourth grade roll would be Cowboy Absher.

Cowboy had fallen in with Floyd's running buddies like any other little brother would.

Archie and Curtis wanted to give the new kid a hard time, but Floyd had vouched for him, and that made it difficult.

See, Floyd wasn't their de facto leader, not by a long shot.

That would be Archie until they were almost grown, but Floyd's opinion still held weight.

He was easily the most mature and the most grown of all of them, even if Archie was a good four inches taller.

Wasn't none of them ever willing to scrap with Floyd neither.

They all play-wrestled and threw each other down the hill behind the school for funsies, so they knew how strong Floyd was.

So Archie was stuck with trying to get cow pie to stick as a nickname.

But all it took was Shane Shepard chiming in with, what'd you say, Woodchuck?

to shut that right down.

Cowboy fit in well enough.

After the first couple of weeks of being at school, he proved he could climb the same trees as they all did, and he knew his way around a simple fishing pole and surprised everybody, himself included, by knowing a fancy knot that kept your hook on better than even Archie knowed.

One day that spring,

on a day that Kurt and Dallas couldn't make it, Kurt having to work and Dallas roped into church duties with his daddy, Floyd and Cowboy made the long trek to the far side of the reservoir out to Shane's house, where his mamma would feed him a big lunch of ham sandwiches and fresh vegetables from the garden.

It was while they were digesting this fine afternoon meal of white bread, smoked pork, and maters that Archie made the proclamation.

Well, I think it's time the kid gets to see the island.

Archie had taken to calling Cowboy the Kid when his ill-fated nickname attempts had been rebuffed, even though he was the same age.

Floyd and Shane looked at each other, honestly a little shocked.

The island was their big secret, the holiest of holies.

It was their place and it had been since last summer.

Are you sure he's ready?

Shane grinned, his voice taking on that of the pulp magazines he'd borrowed from Floyd.

Greater men than he have been lost on that journey.

Shane stood and rose to his unimposing but still somehow impressive height.

Like a papa at a campfire, raising his hands and gesturing grandly.

Could he make it cross Copperhead's den?

Could he scale the rock-bone cliffs?

Why, the skeeters alone could carry him away.

On Death Island, the very land hungers for your blood.

And he punctuated this last bit by turning his hands into mock mosquitoes and dive-bombing Cowboy with him, which turned into a wrestling and subsequent tickling match until both boys were breathless and laughing.

What's Death Island?

Cowboy asked finally.

I didn't know there's no islands around here.

Is it out in the middle of the lake where you can't see it?

Floyd laughed.

It's not really an island, buddy.

Look here.

Floyd moved back up onto the high porch in front of Shane's house, where you had a real good view of the reservoir, and Cowboy followed him.

You see that bit that sticks out there?

That bunch of pine trees.

Way out there.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, right there.

Well, the way the water's cut in, that little grove of pines is surrounded, except on the the very backside.

If you don't know how to get there, you have to take a boat, which we ain't got no boat, but we know the secret way, don't we, Arch?

Archie Stallard nodded sagely.

Indeed, we do, my friend.

Indeed, we do.

But

why is it called Death Island?

asked Cowboy.

Who died out there?

Floyd laughed nervously.

Oh, Kurt just started calling at the second time we went out there, because it got real spooky when it started getting dark.

He He was just funny.

Shane snorted.

When have you known Curtis Kilgore to fun a day in his life?

Kurt told me he saw a ghost out there.

Just didn't want to spook the rest of us.

If Shane had been talking about anybody else, they might have laughed at this as more of his bullshittery, but Kurt was a serious and

haunted boy.

He lost his daddy to a bad fall right there on their land.

Nobody liked to talk about it.

Especially not Kurt.

Well, they were doing something with their chimney on that old house.

Kurt's daddy Marsh was on the roof.

And the rock of the thing just give way.

He fell.

Kurt tried to get help, ran across the field and the road to the Stallard's house.

But by the time Archie's daddy got there, Marshal Kilgore was on his way out.

Archie overheard his daddy telling his mama that Marsh had died hard, bleeding out of his ear and his mouth, clutching the front of Curtis's shirt, moaning awful things.

Things no boy should hear come out of his own daddy's mouth, especially not on his deathbed.

Confessions,

condemnation, secret shame, and iniquities most foul, all sprayed in the blood-kissed mist of his daddy's dying breath.

Curtis's mom and little brother didn't hear none of it, just him and Grover Stallard there to bear witness to Marsh Kilgore's sudden and horrible passing.

Now, Kurt wasn't a super happy-go-lucky kid before his daddy died, but his light grew even dimmer that day.

Kurt wasn't on his own, though.

His friends never stopped checking on him, and their parents kept his mama in casseroles for months after the fact.

There'd be nights when Archie would sneak out to go fishing or just to go out in the woods the way boys do.

And sometimes he'd go over to the Kilgore place and wake Kurt up and invite him along.

One night, about a month after they'd buried Kurt's daddy, when the moon was new and the sky was empty, Archie went over and found Kurt already up and sitting on his porch, his back to the front wall of the house, eyes hidden behind his unruly mop of dirty hair.

Let's go, boy.

I got my daddy's good rod and bait to last us all night, Archie had whispered.

But Kurt just shook his head and pointed across the yard where the crumbled stone of the fallen chimney had been left a month earlier.

King,

he said in his slow, thoughtful monotone,

Daddy's watching.

Archie looked where Kirk pointed and aged a whole year on the spot, it felt like.

He saw a tall, lean shadow moving in the yard, like a man going about his chores.

The man's shape shape had no features,

no dimension,

just a flat black hole in the world cut out in the shape of Marshall Kilkore.

As it bent to lift something heavy from the ground, the blackness inside it seemed to ripple and quiver.

Who is...

Archie began.

Shh!

Kurt spat.

But it was too late.

The shadow stopped its work and it turned its gaze on the two boys.

Now there There was no face nor eyes to see.

Archie could tell he was being looked at.

Looked through, even.

Archie felt all the blood drain away from his freckled face, and it felt like every hair on his head was standing on end.

And he heard,

no,

felt a voice speak to him.

Go

home, Archie.

Curtis has work to to do.

Come on, boy.

Archie stood frozen as he watched his best friend stand up and follow that beckoning shade into the dark of the yard where they vanished from sight.

Archie didn't need to be told twice.

He run all the way home fast as he can, hid under that fancy captain's bed his daddy built for him, praying that the good Lord would keep him safe and that he would get to see his best friend again.

Archie had indeed seen Curtis on the way to school the next day, and he was just full of irritated questions about why Archie never come and got him the night before.

Well, he'd stayed up half the night on the porch so he could sneak out without waking his mama.

Why didn't Archie come and get him?

Archie stammered half a lie about his daddy not going to bed till late and

never spoke about that night again.

What do y'all do out there?

Cowboy asked, startling Archie out of his reverie.

My, my, my, Archie intoned, trying to sound like the wise old explorer he fancied himself to be.

The kid's just full of questions, ain't he?

The island will reveal all its mysteries when we get there, my young cowboy.

He turned to Floyd.

Can y'all get out on Sunday night?

We got family coming to visit, and they ain't leaving till Saturday evening.

Shane, you holler at Dallas at church and make sure he can get loose.

What about Kurt?

Floyd asked.

Archie seemed to almost flinch at the sound of his best friend's name.

Oh, sure, sure.

I'll fill him in on the walk to school tomorrow.

Cowboy looked out across the lake.

Sundown would start good and proper soon.

They'd better get a move on to get home before dark.

His eyes lingered on the dark smear of the grove of blue-green pines in the distance.

To cowboy's dreamy eyes, they seemed to blend blend together

like the hungry mouth of a cave.

That seemed right somehow.

Whatever was out there

seemed like it was waiting to be fed.

There is a curse upon my everywhere

Well, hey there, family.

It's good to see everybody gathered together again.

Welcome back to Bakers Gap, Tennessee, official.

Hope y'all are enjoying your time in the beautiful mountains of eastern Tennessee.

I spent a lot of my youth traveling back and forth from southwest Virginia out that way.

And I hope y'all are enjoying that side of the state line on our side of the Vale.

Death Island's got a lot waiting for y'all.

Thought we might get to it this week, but

turns out

needed a little time to percolate, a little time to brew, a little time to steep in the nettles of what's waiting for y'all out there.

And I promise you,

it ain't good.

Family, it is that time once again where I ask you to complete your social media ritual, and I'm going to make it easy for you.

Head on over to old godsofappalachia.com.

You'll find links to our Facebook group, to the main Facebook page.

You can tweet into the void with us at Old Gods Pod.

There's a link to our Twitter right there.

Link to the Discord server, which is free for everybody.

There are Patreon-specific things on Discord you can do, but the Discord's open for everybody.

You don't have to be a patron.

You can go hang out there right now.

Matter of fact, why don't you do that?

There's some lovely people you can go meet that'll greet you when you get there and welcome you in with memes and make you feel like you've been part of the family the whole dang time.

Also on that website, there are transcripts for every episode.

So if my accent does befuddle you or our dialect and slang is a little hard to keep up with and you want to ask questions, or if you want to do detective work like some fantastic folks on the Discord server did this week, putting together clues and family names, by gosh,

the transcripts are good for that too.

They're just in the episode section.

Just head over to old godsofappalachia.com, click on episodes, and you'll see a link to the transcripts right there.

Family, if you truly want to become one with us and help us grow this thing even bigger than it already is, the past couple of weeks, we showed up in the New York Times, we showed up in Vulture.

It's been, and y'all put us there.

We don't have a publicist.

Like, we're fancy, but we're ain't that fancy.

Like, everywhere we've gotten has been through word of mouth and for y'all talking about it.

And I can't thank y'all enough for that.

But if you want to be one with us, If you want to look up from a darkened night wondering how you got there standing on blood-soaked pine needles while we're asking you for the shovel.

If you want to be one with us that way, head on over to patreon.com/slash old gods of Appalachia and become a member of the family by casting your 30 pieces of well-earned silver into that basket.

You will be rewarded by access to things like Build Mama a Coffin, the 17-part epic secret storyline that is only available to Patreon patrons, as well as new bits of swag that are in production right now.

Thank y'all for your patience on that.

Old Gods of Appalachia is a production of Deep Nerd Media.

Today's story was written and performed by Steve Schell.

Our intro music was by our brother Landon Blood, and our outro music is by those poor bastards.

We'll see you next time, family.

See you real soon.