Young Writers Society

In stories, ones steeped in horror especially, there is most times a warning for the terrible place or thing you are about to meet, from a cryptic old woman, a weary towns folk or a crazed madman. No such warning was bestowed upon me before I entered the mountains.

It was a simple enough job, something I had done before, sheep herding, though usually not deep into the mountains. I took the job to get away from people, no one in particular, just the hustle and bustle of people. The job was only meant to be a couple of months, spring and summer. So I took it gladly.

The hike up was warm and the golden sun beat down on my neck as I dragged myself up through the mountains to where the sheep lay. I had until nightfall to get there, which was when I was told to herd the sheep. It was strange being told to only herd the sheep at night, though I am not much one for judgment especially since the job paid quite well all things considered, and I found myself enjoying the hike up eventually, feels the whip of wind on my skin, the sweet touch of the sun's light her beams shining down on me kindly and the hard press of stone against the bottom of my thick boots. By the time I reached the cabin that had kindly been prepared I was in a content mood that lasted into nightfall.

Once the moon shone loving through my window and the clock struck nine I knew it was time to begin gathering the sheep. It was far from the biggest flock I had to tend for, in fact it was quite small compared to what they were paying me to herd it. Nonetheless I gathered the sheep and began to lead them down the path. But as I led them something began to feel wrong, like the entire world had shifted slightly to the right as if I were in some state not quite awake but not asleep. I knew I could not turn back, if I turned even an inch too far I knew…. I knew that something bad would come of it.

Once we arrived at the lovely green field I collapsed against the trees as the sheeps grazed. I watched them carefully. They seemed well enough, all surprisingly clean, their wool not yet thick. As I watched them one raised it’s the head, it was not a sheep but a ram, I had been informed there would be one among the herd and to leave him be, so I did. But as I tried to distract myself gazing up at the stars and reading the book I had brought along with me, it continued to stare. I felt deeply uneasy as its harsh eyes peered into me. It felt like its eyes penetrated every layer I had protecting the fragile being that is my soul, like a knife cutting through softened butter.

Once I brought them back I slept well, sleeping through the morning and waking in the afternoon. I ate, read and got some writing done all of the usual tasks I would perform. But as I did everything, there is still that sense of wrong, the world benign slightly off, I couldn’t put my finger on it so I did all I could to ignore the feeling. That night I took with me my canteen, filled with coffee, my book, and the gun around my waist. I lead the sheep to the same place as the night before, leaned against the tree, watched the sheep, drank and read.

As I sat there I felt something loom closer, from the way my heart thumped and my gut jumped I immediately pulled my gun from where she sat at my side. I expected a wolf or worse, it was worse, the singular ram peered at me cold eyes staring up at me. I licked my lip and sighed as I put the gun back at my waist with shaky hands. But as I did so I heard a voice ringing out in my head clear as the night sky:

“The more you care the more you lose yourself, prepare to burn yourself in a flame not of your own making,”

I could not speak, I could not breath as that thing continued to stare. My hand itched towards my gun once more, it just blinked, it was so unafraid. I knew as it inched closer that the weapon made to kill mere mortals such as humans would do nothing against that thing. So I just stop and stared at the thing until I walked away down to the small river which it proceeded to drink from.

I did not sleep so well that night, tossing as the voice rang through my head. I replayed the lines over and over again clinging to something that may tell me what it ment. The next morning I could barely crawl out of my bed, fear crippling me. I ate, though little, and managed to get most of my chores done. I deaded exiting my cabin to lead the sheep again, but I did.

Once again in that field the thing turned to me and spoke:

You are what you bow down to.

Night after night this thing would turn and speak to me, it was something different each time cryptic and painfully so. I did all I could to adobe it but it would continuously come back, find me and whisper treacherous things into my mind. The cycle was vicious and I couldn't escape it, until one night it approached me once more.

I had stopped bringing my gun at this point, there was no use for it with a thing like it around, wolves and bears were nothing compared to itś endless ungodly horrors. It tilted its head, never a sign of good.

“You do not belong here, go back before you can not,”

Its voice was steadier, less angry, that just made me more afraid. That night I packed all my things, I ran down the mountain, I think I may have even twisted my ankle and I tripped once or twice, it did not matter I had to leave that unholy place. The second I returned to town I bought a cross to hang around my neck. I went back to my small home, no and nothing was there, not a single thing out of place. As I stood in the shower rinsing the mountain off of me the terrible tilted feeling seemed to wash away as well.

For the first time in my life I got dolled up in a nice dress, even a hat and went to the local church. It wasn’t a big town so people noticed I hadn’t been before and commented on it as we all shuffled out. I just told them I had found god, or was looking to find god, I couldn’t tell them it was to cling to some sense of safety that I hoped the church would provide. A nice elderly woman named Brandy invited me for Sunday supper, I accepted the offer despite not knowing anything more about her than the name she introduced herself with.

The supper was good, pork chops, mashed potatoes and lima beans, with angel food cake for dessert. I was greeted with a warm open arm by Brandy and her rather large family. Especially her eldest daughter Patty who was a sweet talking doctor who I wouldn’t have minded becoming more acquainted with. After the night was done Brandy sent me home with an extra slice of cake and Patty sent me with her home phone number in my purse and mine in hers.

When I went to bed I considered taking off my new cross, I wouldn’t bear the thought of it though, I clung to that odd sense of protection it gave me.

I woke up in the cabin, the familiar scent of pine and damp ground filling my nose. I screamed so loud I wouldn’t be surprised if the town heard me. Tears filled my eyes and seemed to burn as they rolled down my face. For a moment I thought it was a dream, but when I clutched the cross at my neck I knew it was real.

I didn’t do anything that day, mostly just sat around dreading walking out the door come nightfall. When the time did come though I picked up my book and my canteen walking out to find the thing and all the sheep at my door.

“Your pathetic mortals gods do nothing here, we do not need you this night, go,”

With that it turned and began to walk the path on its own, the rest of the sheep following. My knees buckled and I fell to the ground, palms slamming hard against the rocky dirt that scraped my hands. I screamed out for something or someone to save me, but I knew no god was listening, only the moon and her infinite stary children.

The next night I fell into the same pattern that I always did taking the sheep up and down the hill, that thing whispering its terrible sins in my ears. I cried some nights, I swear I could see it smile when I did.

I didn’t know it would be my last night there but by the non existent being that is god I’ve never been more thankful that it was. The night was cold, so cold that when the snow began to fall I wasn’t even surprised. I wasn’t sure what month it was anymore, but it sure as hell wasn’t summer. I watched the sheep, their wool had grown in some months ago, but not an inch since, they were still perfectly clean to the point their wool almost looked bleached as a hollywood actresses.

I was sipping my coffee when all their heads perked up and they all turned to stare at me, each eyes piercing through all the layers of my being. The world tilted so far I wasn’t sure if I was even in the world at all, the trees and grass disappeared. All there was to see was an endless abyss of nothing, and saying nothing I mean absolute nothingness. It wasn’t black or white because that would insinuate a color but there was none of that only the sheep, the thing and I.

They don’t open their mouths yet still the voices of them all ring in my head,

“You are the proof the gods may die!”

Then it all fades, suddenly I am in front of the cabin, my satchel over my shoulder and an elderly man writing me a check. He wore the hat so many farmers did with the graying hair to match yet his black suit and tie was so utterly out of place. I blinked as he tore the check violently from that book and shoved it into my hand.

“Much appreciated ma’am, sorry to have you over time but you know I’ll make it worth your time!” He winked as I shakily took the small slip of paper. “You alright ma’am, you’re looking rather pale?”

“I’m alright sir… bit tired,” I lied as he nodded.

“Aren't we all!” He laughs heartily patting my shoulder heavily. “Well you best be on your way, was an absolute pleasure working with you!”

“You to…”

I didn’t run down the mountain this time, but I was definitely faster than I was when I had hiked up so many months ago. Fear and panic hammered in my chest as I tried to reason out what had happened, but there was nothing but the memory of those things, voices ringing in my head. ‘

When I get home I scrub my skin so hard that it’s almost painful. I try to wash the smell of those mountains off of me. Today isn’t Sunday, I have no church to run to and no job lined up yet. So I sleep, wake up, have a drink and debate hitting the library to try and understand what the hell happened to me. I decided that would probably just make it worse so I turned on the radio and sat at my desk staring at my typewriter. I was just about to start writing up a letter to the town paper department who’d offered me a job a couple months back when the home phone rang.

I picked it up hesitantly, as if those voices would float through it. Instead I was met by a familiar sweet voice.

“Charlotte oh I thought you’d never pick up!” Patty’s voice rings into my ear and I smile.

“Aw well I’ve been real busy with work you know,” I laugh and hope she can’t hear the skating in my voice.

“Oh I’d bet, same down here you know! Well anywho I was calling to ask if maybe you’d liek to get together over Christmas since I’ll be coming down?” My heart skips a beat, Christmas? I had thought it was maybe September or October at the worst, but I guess I was wrong. “Maybe get some dinner or catch a movie?”

“I think I’d like that,” I managed to spit out in as cheery a tone as I could muster.

“Wonderful, I’ll see you soon then!”

Sometimes I wonder what I met on those mountains, the things that absorbed half a year of my life, but every time I think too hard the world begins to tilt. I still wear my cross, go to church with Patty and pray with her family over Sunday supper, but I know the god they’re praying to isn’t going to answer because it aint real. I’m not saying there's nothing out there and nowhere for us to go, there is, but it ain't nowhere we’ve ever heard of. When we die we’ll meet something, all I can do is try and be sure it isn’t that monster in the mountains.