"Enoch and the Shrieking Dead"
Story time come early this month
It’s my beloved daughter’s birthday weekend, and as I didn’t plan very well around all of the birthday chaos, my regular-ass newsletter ain’t ready yet. So I’m a’gonna sub next week’s short fiction in this week, and the regular column next week, and it’ll be so seamless, you’ll never notice the difference.
But also, it’s another weird west Enoch story (read by Craig Sechler on the podcast), so really, it’s kinda like it’s YOUR birthday. You’re welcome!
Enoch and the Shrieking Dead
We was in the schoolhouse when they come, on account of it were a school day. Not includin' Miss Foster, who was our teacher, it was six of us, what with me, Katie, who was twelve, and the little'uns. I was the oldest in our class, even though my ma didn't like that I was goin' to school, because she thought that all that a man needed in this world was a strong back, good hands and a bible, and I should've been home working the dirt with Pa, but Pa had told her that a man who breaks his back all his life and stays poor ain't no kinda man at all, and a man with a brain could make it rich in America without sweat dribbling down his asscrack. Then Ma had threatened to hit him on account of the Bible says you ain't supposed to say asscrack, even though when I asked her where that got said, she clouted me on the ear.
There'd been no sun for a week or more, and the sky had been dark with red clouds, which we first thought was a good thing, us bein' in a drought and all, and Ma and Pa had prayed hard for a good rain to come and save us. But the clouds didn't make no rain, just hung there in the sky, all dark and swollen, like big wet flies, hoverin' over a juicy turd. And it was hot. Hot like the sun was still out, but instead of burnin’ down on us, it was like when a fire gets loose in a room with no windows. Like a suffocating hot, where you’re afraid if you stay in too long, you’re like to choke to death.
We was learnin' our sums. I'd already been through the whole sums book... we only had us the one, the same one Miss Foster had brought with her on the train all them years ago, back when I was a little'un myself. And on account of I'd been in school the longest, I'd been thorough the book once or twice, and knew my sums pretty good, so usually Miss Foster let me read to myself while she went through the times tables with the little'uns. I was pagin' through a dime novel my pa had bought me about a gunslinger who rescued a lady from a bunch of frontier savages, and not thinkin’ on much, when suddenly there was a giant crack of thunder. But not like usually, when you hear it comin’ a few miles away, it just boomed above us, the biggest noise I think any of us had ever heard. A couple of the little’uns started cryin’, and Miss Foster told them there weren’t nothing to worry about, and I was about to get back to my dime novel, but then there came another giant CRACK from the sky, like the Lord hisself pronouncing judgement. The rest of the little’uns were cryin’ and chatterin’, and even Katie looked scared at that one. I weren’t all that scared... well I was, but my ma always said a man showin' fear is unseemly. My dad would mutter that was hogwash, everybody got scared from time to time, but he never said it loud enough that she heard it.
Anyway, I put my book down and went to the window. The clouds were so thick that it was like nighttime. I’d never seen anything like it, it was like the sun had just been choked outta the sky.
“Micah,” I heard Miss Foster say, and it broke me outta my trance.
“Yes'm?”
“Would you mind boarding up the windows, please? Seems we might be in for a storm.”
“Yes’m,” I said, and started shutting and sliding the bolts on the windows. I hoped it wasn’t gonna rain too bad, I had a five-mile walk back home.
I got to the last window, and was pullin’ it shut, when I looked out, and saw a horse ridin’ toward the schoolhouse. At first I thought it were riderless, all I saw was the horse rippin’ up earth as it raced toward us. But my longshooting eyes were pretty good, and as the horse got closer, I saw there was a man in the saddle, hunched over, knocked out. Maybe dead, I thought, and a chill ran down my back.
“Miss Foster? Ma’am?” I said, my voice smaller than I meant it.
“What’s wrong, Micah?”
I pointed out the window, still keepin’ my eyes on the horse. “There’s somebody comin’.”
She narrowed her eyes. “A man?”
I squinted. “I think so. He looks hurt.” Maybe dead, I thought again, but didn’t say it, on account of I didn’t wanna scare the little’uns.
Now, Miss Foster was just about the prettiest lady I’d ever seen. Small, delicate, white faced and blonde like a little doll. All the moms of the town called her a real beauty, and joked about how they had to lock up their menfolk whenever she was around, and some didn’t joke about it, and warned their men they best not let no wandering eye light on her. I’d kinda fallen in love with her when I was a little’un, and even though I’d sorta noticed Katie gettin’ prettier lately, like the stories say, you don’t forget your first true love. All this is to say, if you was to look on Miss Foster, you’d think she was an angel from heaven, and if you were to touch her too hard, she might break.
Which is why it was always surprising to watch when she’d pull the rifle from off the wall and swing it round to shooting level, her arm wrapped snug in the strap, all in one quick move. I’d seen her do it a couple times before, once a couple years ago when a grizzly wandered right up to the schoolhouse, nuzzling the doors, lookin’ for food. She didn't end up shooting the bear, which I was a little disappointed by. Other time, it was when little Eli’s ma was comin’ up the road with a pitchfork in her hands, yellin’ that she was gonna smite Miss Foster like the whore of Babylon she was, callin’ her a witch who entranced her husband, and all such manner of nonsense. Miss Foster had shot Eli’s ma, not to kill her, just enough to bleed some sense back into her. Guess it worked, cause she dropped her pitchfork, stood there a minute grabbing her arm where Miss Foster had tagged her, then started running. My pa laughed when he heard about it, said neither one of Eli’s folks was what you’d call sensible people, and both of ‘em could probably use a shootin’. My ma just crossed herself and demanded my pa stop flapping blasphemies. Love my ma, but she weren’t exactly begifted with a sense of humor.
Miss Foster held the rifle steady at eye level. “Lock the door, Micah,” she said, real calm, which scared me a little, cause when the ladies’re calm when shootin’s about to start, you know it’s bad serious.
I bolted the last window, shot the bolt in the big double doors at the front of the school where the horse was ridin’ towards, and peeked through the shootin’ hole. The horse rode up to the front of the school, and with a neigh that sounded practically like a screech, reared up on its back legs, dumping its rider to the ground. The man didn’t stir. I couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive, but I gasped when I saw what he was wearin’.
“Miss Foster! He’s a preacherman! Got a collar and all!”
Miss Foster lowered the rifle a little. She had a look on her face I took for puzzlement. I think she was maybe thinkin’ on what to do, whether’t leave him outside, or bring him in. Another CRACK came from the clouds above, louder than before.
Finally, she said, “Open the door.”
I slid the bolt out, and pushed the doors open. Me and Katie ran over to the preacherman on the ground. “Be careful!” Miss Foster yelled, the gun back up at shooting level, “Don’t get too close!”
Even though he looked maybe dead, we stood out of the preacherman’s reach, which was considerable. He was the biggest man I’d ever seen. My own pa is a big man, and I’m gettin’ plenty tall myself, but the preacherman made us both look like babies. He’d taken a terrible beating, but it was hard to tell when. His face was a mess of bloody cuts, but there were plenty scars underneath, and his right hand looked like it’d been ripped up by an animal, and healed poorly. He was bleeding from somewhere, lot of places, actually, but I couldn’t tell lookin’ at him how bad it was. I couldn’t see him breathing.
Miss Foster came up slowly behind us, the rifle still pointed at the preacherman. “Oh my Lord,” she whispered, seeing him.
She put a hand gently on my back. “Micah, get to town, tell Doctor Pelte to come quickly.”
“Yes ma’am,” I said, and started to run down the path.
I hadn’t taken but two steps, and I’d tried to stay as far from the preacherman as I could without lookin’ like a baby, but when his desiccated hand grabbed my ankle, I screamed like a girl, falling to my knees, scraping my hands in the dirt. He looked at me through swollen eyes.
“Boy,” he said in a gravelly voice, “don’t take another step.”
I gasped, terrified he was going to kill me. For that one moment, I feared there was nothing betwixt me and the fires of Hell.
And then the barrel of Miss Foster’s rifle was against his head.
“Release him, sir,” she said, “Or I will send you to your maker.”
And I swear, in that moment, I saw a will that I’d never seen before or since. I seen men square off with pistols a few times. And even the bravest of them, their eyes always betray them at least a little, showing the fear. Or showing crazy.
The preacherman’s eyes didn’t show fear, and I didn't see crazy in them, or least it didn’t seem like crazy. His eyes only slightly shifted toward the gun barrel. He cocked an eyebrow, almost like it were a joke. Then his eyes lit on me again.
“Don’t run,” he said, in that same gravel.
I gulped. For a moment, I thought he was going to kill me, no matter what Miss Foster threatened.
But his shredded hand opened, with what looked like a fair bit of pain. I pulled my foot away, scootched back on my rear out of his reach.
The preacherman pushed himself up to sitting, held both hands up. “I mean no harm,” he said, “But you and your charges are in danger, Miss.”
Miss Foster held the rifle on him. “What from? Bandits?”
“Not precisely.”
“What then?”
“Get the children inside, we’ll discuss it then.”
She thought a moment, then nodded to me and Katie. I stood up, started to move in a wide circle around him. His hands were still up, and his eyes stayed on Miss Foster as he said, “Mind takin’ my horse in with you, son?”
I looked at Miss Foster. She clucked.
“A horse has no place in a school room,” she said.
“Ma’am," he said, "I don’t mean to debate you in your kingdom, but it wouldn’t be kind to keep her out here, in the coming storm.”
“No sir,” she said, “I don’t want her messing all over my floor.”
“Ma’am,” he said, his voice colder, “If you leave her out here, she will die cruelly and brutally. The creatures that follow me have no mercy nor remorse, and they will explode her bloody insides while you watch. And I will not allow that.”
Miss Foster’s eyes widened, and the color drained from her cheeks. I couldn’t tell, but she seemed uncertain what to do next.
Then, the Preacherman slowly lowered his hands, and once again, spoke gently, “The Lord shines favor on those who show mercy to lower creatures. ‘A righteous man regards the needs of his beast.’”
She nodded. “Proverbs.”
“A little mess on your floor is a small price to pay for her life,” he said.
She nodded, looking a little ashamed. “Katie, take the horse inside. But be careful, and make sure to tie her somewhere secure, so she doesn’t run wild and trample the little ones.”
The Preacherman nodded. “Wise."
Katie took the horse’s reins, and I patted her gently, like my pa had taught me, to show her we were friends. Katie’d been around horses all her life, like most of us, and the horse had calmed by then, letting Katie lead her inside. I looked back at the Preacherman and Miss Foster. She’d lowered the gun so it wasn’t pointed right at him, but she still had her finger on the trigger.
“Are you a true man of God?” she asked him.
“I try to be,” he said, “though I admit, my practice is somewhat erratic.”
“That’s no kind of answer.”
He slumped a little. For a moment, I’d forgotten how beat up he was, he carried himself so strong. But I could see it now, he was torn up badly, and his strength was fading.
“Ma’am, we have no time for niceties. If you would allow me to join you inside, and if we survive what’s coming, I swear I’ll answer whatever questions you have. Please.”
She nodded, lowered the gun, and started walking up the school house steps. The Preacherman didn’t move. He looked so drained then, so beaten, even the effort to stand was too much.
I was about to say something, when another CRACK ripped over our heads, the loudest yet, as water burst down from the heavens, hot little drops that stung as they hit. The horse started stomping inside the school house, and I heard Katie cry out a little.
I started to run inside, when I looked up at the horizon...
... and I saw them, dozens of little black shapes, coming toward us. From a distance, they looked like riders.
But they were moving fast, faster than horses. Much too fast.
And, I realized, as I heard it getting louder, they were shrieking.
The Preacherman cranked his head around with some effort, saw them coming.
“Get me inside, boy,” he said calmly.
I stood frozen to the spot, my heart pounding. I didn’t know what to do, if I should run inside, or just run and never look back. The shapes were already much closer, moving so fast...
The preacherman turned back to me, fire blazing in his eyes. “Now.”
The next thing I knew, I was kneeling by him, helping him to his feet. He weighed almost as much as his horse, felt like, and I could feel slabs of muscle under his jacket. I shifted his arm to get it around my neck, and his coat fell open, showing a pair of pistols at his side, the biggest I’d seen.
“You’ve seen iron before, boy, stop gaping and move!” he growled.
I moved, stumbling up the steps, trying to keep him from falling. The rain felt like little jabs from a knife, and we were already soaked, and the shrieking was loud now, louder than the storm. I looked to see, and they were so close, I almost slipped on the top step, and for a second I felt his muscles tighten as he felt us about to go, then I caught the rail, and pulled us up, so hard we flew through the door and stumbled onto the floor. He cried out, must’ve landed right on some wound or tender spot, but he was so covered with them, it could’ve been anywhere on him.
I spun onto my back, and the creatures were almost at the schoolhouse, and I saw them for true. They looked like men, but with no skin, just the bones underneath, and black, like they were rotted clear through, and something clung to the bones, not flesh or guts, but something foul and alive, and the shrieks were so loud I thought my ears might bleed and I might go deaf and I clapped my hands over them and started praying as fast as I could, cause they were moving so fast, and there were so many of them, they were sure to rip me apart...
And then I heard the crash of the guns, and two of the things flew apart, exploding black gore on the steps of the schoolhouse. The shrieking grew louder.
The preacherman had pulled his guns from his belt and was firing into them.
"Close the doors!" he yelled, and Miss Foster and Katie each took a door and slammed them shut, and Miss Foster shot the bolt through.
The creatures outside hammered at the doors. Miss Foster pulled me up. "See to the others," she said. I nodded, and I went over to where the little'uns were all packed together in the corner, crying and hugging each other.
"It's okay, shhhhh, it's okay," I said, but the pounding was scaring them something awful, and I couldn't blame them, 'cause I was near to wetting myself. It was coming from everywhere now, the doors, the windows, even the roof. I knew they'd been real proud of the schoolhouse when they built it, made out of the strongest and finest wood they could find, but now it seemed like a little pig's house of straw. Those things would crack their way through it soon, I had no doubt.
I saw Miss Foster help the Preacherman to his feet. "What are they?" she asked him in a low voice.
He shook his head. "No notion, ma'am," he said, "Now get yourself and the children to the middle of the schoolhouse. Put up a barrier if you can."
He limped to the bolted doors, cautiously eyeing the shooting hole. I don't know what he saw through it, but he slowly raised one of his guns to the hole, slid the barrel through, and pulled the trigger.
Another explosion, and the shrieks got so loud, a few of the little'uns started screaming themselves.
Miss Foster waved to us, and Katie and I herded the little'uns to the middle of the room, pushing desks into a circle around them. Miss Foster joined them in the center, her rifle in her hands, the little'uns all squeezed as tight to her as they could get.
Katie and I slid the last couple desks over to cover the last open spot in the circle, and I said to her, "Go ahead, go be with them, I'll try and help the preacherman."
Katie looked at me then, and I could see she was scared.
"It's okay," I said, trying to sound like I weren't about to mess my britches, "we'll be okay, I promise."
And if the day hadn't been filled with enough surprises, Katie leaned in and kissed me, right on the lips. I can tell you, I'd experienced a whole rainbow of emotions in the last hour I'd never felt before, from a bottomless fear to a surge of jittery excitement, and here was yet another one. My whole body went warm, and for a second, everything was tingling.
Then Katie dove in with the rest, and I woke back up, and slid the desks into the open spot, closing the circle. The shrieking and pounding came back to my ears, and my heart began to pound along with it. I ran over to the preacherman's side. He was still firing through the shooting hole, but the shrieks weren't getting louder, so I figured he wasn't killin' any more of 'em.
He saw me next to him, handed me one of his irons and unfastened his gunbelt, handing it to me as well. "Reload," he said.
I knelt, cracked open his pistol, dumped the empties on the floor. I pushed a bullet from his gunloop. I saw something on the bullet, a cross carved in the tip. I looked at the belt, each of the bullets jammed in the loop had the same cross.
“Makes ‘em more holy,” the preacherman said, making me jump. I looked up at him.
“And, perhaps coincidentally, more dangerous.”
I nodded, pretending I knew what he meant, and loaded the holy bullets into his gun. I finished, and held the gun up to him, butt out. He switched his other pistol to his left hand, grabbed the gun with his withered right, and fired once more out the shooting hole. I went to work, reloading the pistol.
The pounding was coming from everywhere, dust was falling from the ceiling, and I heard a crack of wood from somewhere. We were about to be overrun. The Preacherman turned to where the sound had come from, and ran over to the back of the schoolhouse.
As he got close, I heard another crack, and saw the dark outside through one of the bolted windows. He pushed on the bolt, trying to keep the shutter from cracking, but the pounding got worse, and the shutter cracked open. He fired through the crack, the shrieks got louder...
... but the hammering on the shutter got faster, and it began to splinter. He put his pistol to the crack, pulled the trigger, but clicked on an empty chamber.
I raised the pistol I'd been reloading, meaning to fire, but behind me, I heard another crack, a loud one, and I turned to see a window on the other side give way, and the black beasts pouring through it.
I fired, emptying the pistol. I believe I screamed the whole time.
Two of the creatures exploded with the shots, and another took a bullet, but didn't die. But there were more piling through the window. I opened the cylinder, shakily tried to reload the bullets, but I was dropping two for every one I managed to slide in.
One of the creatures flew toward me, I tried to force the cylinder shut, but it wouldn't close. I looked into its black, skinless face, the teeth, and the black emptiness beyond, and I knew then I was about to know Jesus.
Then I heard a crash of rifle fire, and the thing exploded in front of me, covering me in black filth. I realized that Miss Foster had fired the killing shot, and she fired again, destroying another. I took the moment, reloaded the bullet that refused to slide all the way in. I clicked the cylinder back into place.
"Preacher!" I yelled. He turned to me, and I threw the gun toward him. With his left hand still pushing on the disintegrating shutter, he dropped the gun in his right, snapped the gun I threw him out of the air, and fired through the cracked shutter.
The shrieks grew louder with the death of one of theirs.
The Preacherman kicked the empty pistol on the floor, it slid over to me, and I reloaded it.
The schoolhouse was being overrun, the creatures pouring through the window behind me. Miss Foster fired the rifle, killing another, then clicked on empty. One of the creatures leapt toward her, I shot, and knocked it out of the air before it landed it on her.
A creature grabbed one of the little'uns, Wendy, and began yanking her out of the circle. The others grabbed hold of her dress, her feet, trying to drag her back.
I looked to the preacherman. The shutter was being pushed open, and he was being forced to the ground, as the creatures came through. But even through the shrieking, the pounding, the crying, I swear, I could hear his prayer. "Please Lord, not the children. Take me, I know I deserve it, all the fires of Hell and more. But please, spare the children. Let me save them."
And then, something happened.
It was as if everything stopped. Light shone through the windows, the cracks, the brightness was everywhere. It was like it says in the Bible, a miracle starting to happen, and I knew, if it was a miracle, I had to do my part.
"Preacher!" I yelled, and threw the gun.
My aim was not true, I would swear to that on the Bible. And yet, the pistol arced through the air, changing course to land right in the preacherman's hand. As he grabbed it, I could swear that his hand, scarred and white, glowed with fire inside it.
He began to fire.
Now, that pistol held six shots, and I had packed 'em myself. I had also fired it since loadin' it, at least once, and maybe more, I lost count in all the excitement. So there should have been five shots at most.
But every time the preacherman pulled the trigger, a bullet came out, and every bullet that fired, found its mark, destroying one of the creatures. It was like the story in the Bible, about the loaves and the fishes, and how there were enough for everyone.
In the schoolhouse, on that day, there were enough bullets for all the shriekers.
By the time the Preacherman's finger finally clicked on an empty barrel, the creatures were all dead. The room was covered in black gore. The little'uns were crying, but they were all alive, to a one. Katie and Miss Foster hugged them tight in the circle, telling them it was all right, God had spared them. The Preacherman's horse even seemed to calm herself, assured the worst had passed.
I went over to where the Preacherman leaned against the wall, breathing heavy.
"Are you all right, sir? Your honor?" I realized I wasn't sure how one was supposed to properly address a Preacherman.
He looked up at me. "That was the first time I prayed, and meant it."
I was confused. "Sir?"
He exhaled, drew another breath. "I've prayed many times, but there was always doubt, lingering or great, that nobody was listening. Today was the first time I prayed, and meant it heard."
He looked out the broken window to the sky, which was now blue and sunny.
"And it was a miracle."
It took a long time to clean the schoolhouse, to get all that black filth off everything. We were still findin' little bits of it, even up to the day I graduated. A good thing, though, it was the only proof we had of what had happened that day. My dad believed me, but my ma always said that we were tellin' stories for attention. Whenever she called me for a liar, though, I'd bring home another bit of the gore for her. She wouldn't touch it, tellin' me to burn it, and crossing herself.
Katie saw me different after that day. Til then, she'd always seed me as just a boy she'd grown up with, who wasn't any kinda special. But later on, she told me that was the first time she'd seen that I was brave, like in the stories. Also, she kissed me more times after.
The Preacherman stayed in town for a little while, to heal from his wounds. It was during that time that we learned that his name was Enoch, though I never could find out if it were his first or last. I think Miss Foster had gotten kinda sweet on him, 'cause she was always visitin' him at his bed at the doc's, bringing him food and such. There was some talk in town of them maybe gettin' married, but I guess it was just talk, 'cause when the Preacherman got well, he did a little sermon for the town before headin' out on his way.
I was there to say goodbye, and after he'd said his words to the other folk, he stood in front of me, blockin' out the sun. I felt like I'd grown up a fair bit since that day, but he was still twice my size.
"I owe you twice over, I think," he said.
"Twice?"
"Once for helping me into the schoolhouse, I don't think I could've accomplished that on my own. Twice for being my second during the fight, loading the guns and killing the abominations."
"Oh. Well, that first one was just doin' what Miss Foster asked me, and that second was on account of I didn't wanna die."
The Preacherman didn't smile, exactly, but his mouth made a sorta upturn.
"Fair, then. You're a fine young man, Micah. I hope it's God's will we meet again."
He shook my hand in his, and his hand felt rough, with all the scars. He took to his horse, and looked down at me.
"Was it true, what you said? About it bein' a miracle?" I asked.
That time he smiled.
"Was for me," he said, and rode away.
He said it so certain, I wondered if I might ever know a miracle again if I were to see it.
Yesterday, when Katie gave birth to our firstborn son, Enoch, I realized that I would.
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