Scars: An Appalachian Folktale
An Appalachian Folktale centered on grief and trauma. Horror elements implemented.
Scars: An Appalachian Folktale
* TRIGGER WARNING: This story contains depictions of death, suffering, animal harm, and horror elements. Please be aware of your mental health as you read this work.
The mines are not a safe place to be. I knew that from personal experience. I had worked in one every day since I turned fourteen. Twelve summers later I had the same burns and cough as the rest of my friends and family. It was all for good, or at least that's what I told myself when my wife, Sue Ellen, ran up to me clutching her stomach and crying tears of joy. We’d tried so hard for so long and now she wasn't even a month away from giving birth. Her stomach filled me with such pride and admiration at our accomplishment and I could barely stand it. I often walked around town with a beam on my face brighter than the sun. At least that was what it was like until a little over a week ago.
I’d taken the day to cut wood. It needed to be done, especially with a little one on the way. So even though it was my turn to watch the lanterns in the mines I decided to stay back and get things ready for the coming winter. I was almost done when Little Johnny ran up to me pale and screamed, “Will, it's the mines! Your Paw! It exploded. Everyone’s gone. They need you to come down and see him. I’m so sorry. It's my kin too. They’re all gone.” With that, Little Johnny teared up and so did I. We held each other crying for a time then I dried my tears and turned to tell Sue Ellen. We wept again then left to see him.
My Paw was a strong man. As I walked to his death I kept thinking of the things I’d never see again. His musky smell mixed with tobacco. His bright blue eyes and his thick black hair. The way his cheeks scrunched when he laughed or the mischievous glance in his eyes whenever he was up to no good. They were gone. He was gone. He’d never see his grandchild. My eyes filled with tears again.
It took an hour to walk to the mines, but even before I saw the entrance I smelt the burning flesh and rotten tang of human fire. The smell only comes one way and it stays with you forever. I had hoped I’d never smell it again. I looked at my sweet wife. Her face was pale and her eyes sorrowful. Perhaps I shouldn't have brought her to see such a thing.
Finally, we rounded the corner and saw the mines straight ahead. Scattered about the smoke filled opening littered the charcoal remains of my friends and family. Above them were their various brothers, fathers, wives, and daughters. Families all come to find their loved ones and bury them so that they could face the east and wait for their God and judgment day. Such a view was heart wrenching. It was only then that I realized I should have been among them. I was supposed to work today but I stayed home. It was my turn to handle the lanterns. It was my turn. It was my fault. No. I thought to myself. I can’t do that. Such things, even thought, could curse a man.
I stepped into the circle of the living and looked around for anyone who could point me in the right direction. I felt a hand on my shoulder and I turned to Sue Ellen who pointed to a lump on the far side of the scattered dead. “There,” she whispered, “I see his pipe in his pocket.” I looked at it. Sure enough, I saw the singed pipe sticking out of a once-blue chest pocket. Now the shirt was a tar black, and pressed permanently to his skin. With heavy steps I walked up to him and stared down at what was once my father.
I felt my wife grab my arm tightly. At first she started crying quietly, but as we got closer her sorrow grew louder. What started as tears over a death changed to screams of horror and shock. Louder and louder she screamed and cried. I put my arms around her but her grief was insoluble. To see family dead is one thing, but to see them suffer would leave its mark on anyone who saw it. Her heart was breaking with the horror of his suffering.
Fire’s kiss branded the right side of his face and traveled down his neck. The shirt on his shoulder was burned away to reveal a bubbled raw path that continued down his arm all the way to his fingers. Even if he had lived his eyes would have never closed again. His hair wouldn't have grown. His lips would never smile. It was all burned up. He wouldn't have wanted that. I held Sue Ellen as she cried. She loved him too, as much as I did.
We buried him in a field of flowers on the top of the hill overlooking his favorite view. When the final sun rose in the east he’d be right there, the first to greet Jesus. Paw would have liked to know he’d be first to see it all. Front row seats were seldom afforded to the likes of us. But he’d get the best seat in the house. That brought me a spark of joy.
Still, I couldn't help but think of my role in his death. Slowly, the grief started to consume me. After all, it was my turn to watch the lanterns.
A little after the funeral, Sue Ellen pulled me to the side. “I don't want you working in the mines anymore. Follow the train tracks and go work at the construction in town. Just be back before dark or stay with your uncle. It would bring me comfort to know you have all those dogs around you. But whatever you decide, when the sun sets, don't come home until first light. Those woods are haunted.”
I nodded. Everybody knows not to walk in the forest after dark.
And so, that was the way of things moving forward. For the next few weeks I walked to town each day passing the mines, along the train tracks until I got to the construction site. Such work was grueling. The sun blazed down on us all and made working the train track all the more strenuous, but it needed to be done for the baby. So, dripping with sweat and muscles aching I would drive the nail spikes into the ground one after another. Then, as the sun would start to set I would walk back up the mountain to my family. Every day as I walked home I was reminded of my grief and guilt. It was my turn to watch the lanterns. It was my fault.
There weren't many days where I stayed with my uncle, but one day in particular I had lost myself in the work of it all and hadn't noticed the sun setting until it was well hidden. I cussed under my breath at the realization of my mistake but the damage was done. I put down the nails and hammer and turned to go to my uncle's house when I heard a cry. It was Little Johnny who was running as hard as he could toward me screaming, “It’s coming! It's coming! Your baby is coming! Go home Will!”
I didn't wait for him to stop. I ran hard and fast up the mountain, following the train tracks to my love. As fast as my feet were carrying me it was no surprise that I got to the deep forest as fast as I did. But by then the sun was gone. For all that I could see it may as well have been the middle of a moonless night, a stark contrast to the full moon that was supposed to be visible. It was that blindness that had me slow down to a walk.
I continued down the train tracks, using the rails on either side to guide my way. I cursed at my lack of foresight but trudged on. For what felt like hours I stumbled down the way until at last I looked up and saw the glowing moonlight ahead of me. I followed it and eventually found my way to the opening of the mines. There, almost like the moon was pointing it out, was a lantern hanging by the doomed entrance. Why would a lantern be left here? I asked myself. Damn thing, I should have been watching the lantern. The reminder made me sick. I grabbed the instrument of my own destruction and used matches I always carried to set it ablaze. I took the wretched thing and turned to go back to the train tracks and my journey home.
I had just passed the mines when I first heard it. This growl caught me off guard. It was low, wild, and evil. And it was right behind me. Slowly I turned. I knew I shouldn't but such things can't be helped when you're scared. My stomach dropped when I saw it. Standing yards away was the glowing crimson eyes of a devil reflecting right back at me by the light of the lantern.
It was wicked. Its teeth were long and yellow and its fur matted with what looked like tar. It stared at me with raging malice and hunger. It stunk of death. It was my turn to watch the lantern. My stomach sank. This is how I was to die.
Around the devil bugs buzzed back and forth getting louder and louder and I knew that they would feast on my skin once I was gone. The devil’s promise of food had them swarming. And above them the birds called out with a mortal promise. Even the whippoorwill was crying out, “Whip ole Will! Whip ole Will!”
That's what brought me to my senses. If I was to die it wouldn't be without a fight. So I cried out to the devil as loud and as brave as possible, “You won't whip this Will!” And I turned and ran.
As fast as I could I followed the tracks but just as fast as I ran the devil was behind me. I heard the bugs crying for their dinner and the devil laughing all the louder. I pushed on running faster than ever before but the old boy kept on my back. I could feel his teeth chomping the air behind me, I could smell his death stench all around me but still I ran. I ran for my wife and my unborn child. I ran for my father. I ran for myself. But still it was just behind me.
As I pushed past the mines to the last leg of home, I heard the baying of my uncle's old hunting dogs, and I breathed out a breath of hope. If I could get to them they would defend me. If I could reach them I could have allies. With a scream I pushed myself forward and called, “HOUNDS! HOUNDS! COME TO ME BOYS!” And I heard as the barks turned in my direction. I continued to scream and closer and closer the barks came until in all their various shapes and sizes I saw them break through the branches toward the clearing. I ran past them as they charged at the devil itself and I slowed and sighed in relief.
The dogs weren't even supposed to be on this side of the mountain. They must have gotten loose from my uncle. Thank God. There were at least a dozen of them, and they could take on bears. Surely they could fight this. I closed my eyes and savored the sounds of their barks. Surely with them I am safe.
But as I listened, one by one, the barks stopped. There were no sounds of harm, not sound of pain. One minute they were barking and the next they weren't. It wasn't until the last dog stopped that I heard the heavy beat of the devil running toward me again. Louder and louder. He was coming for me and laughing about it.
Panic filled my stomach and I turned, my legs screaming, and took off down the train tracks again. I felt the burn of tears wash over my eyes. I was slower this time. It was going to catch me and the devil knew it. That's when I started screaming as loud as I could for help. But no one can hear you when a devil is on your back. At least that's what I thought. Still I screamed and cried and hoped. I didn't want to die. But neither did the boys in the mines. Neither did my Paw.
I looked ahead of me, seeing nothing but the tracks and the forest until all at once I saw something else. There, at the end of the visible track was a mist. It surrounded the track and gathered speed. I looked at it, barely believing my eyes because right in front of me was a train of mist and white speeding down the track, coming my way. I couldn't believe my eyes but as sure as day it was there, gathering more and more detail. And then I heard it. The hollow cry of the train’s whistle bellowing through the woods. Behind me I heard the devil slow, but he didn’t stop. We both knew this was a race and the train was the finish line.
For a while all that was in me pushed forward. All I could hear was that whistle and all I could see was the glowing white mist that was my salvation. For a moment, just a moment, I wasn't running from the devil but toward the train to its light. But even so, that moment passed and I smelt the rot that was behind me. He was trying as hard as I was.
Farther and farther I pushed until all I could see in front of me was the massive engine and though I didn't know if it could hit me or not I jumped out of the way mere moments before it would have collided with me. The devil wasn't so lucky. The crunching sound of the train hitting the thing blasted through the forest. It was louder than the whistle itself. The devil cried out in fury as it was carried away. In shock I watched as it rode down the tracks. Carrying my enemy with it.
Curiously, I looked up at the front where the train conductor would be. There, driving my salvation was a man smoking pipe. He had a scar running down his face all the way to his finger tips. He turned to me and smiled with mischief in his eyes and an upturned tip on the part of his mouth that still worked. As the train pushed forward he raised his scared hand and waved at me. I smiled and waved back. There I stayed until the train disappeared with the devil in tow.
I walked the rest of the way home in stunned silence. At some point my lantern blew out and I dropped it on the ground. Its job was done. When I came upon my house an hour later I could hear the stark, crisp cry of a newborn baby. I wanted to run but my feet wouldn't listen so instead I walked up the path, through the door, and into my bedroom.
Sue Ellen was on the bed holding a bundle in her arms. She looked at me with tired eyes. But beyond the exhaustion was something else. Something I couldn't place. So I walked up closer and reached out for my child. She hesitated and then slowly handed the baby to me. I looked down at him. At first I was in awe of his beauty but then he turned his head. On the right side of his face was a birthmark that ran down his face, against his shoulders, and to his finger tips.