Nock / ...story goes/8
-1Nock approx. 2,400 words
1077C Circle Terr. West
Delray Beach, FL 33445
gailvern@bellsouth.net
(561) 495-4654
…or so the story goes.
Samuel Lee Dunning had left his home of Bristol, Tennessee with the intention of meeting up with his brother and the other volunteers on their route to Knoxville. The war in full boil between the states was certain to grant each enlistee the glory of battle, but Sam was destined to find himself in yet a different confrontation.
The journey south, over mountains and through the valleys and forests proved to be more arduous than the young farmer had expected. He was a robust 18 year old accustom to manual labor, but still, by 2:30am on the morning of 31 October, 1861, young Dunning and his mare became too weary to continue. He looked for a comfortable place among the silvery-white young and dark gray
fissured older cottonwoods that towered around him. When he spread his blanket on the cold autumn ground, a distant flicker of light caught his eye. It appeared a cabin, standing a few hundred yards away had residents that were not retired for the evening or perhaps the sound of his horse had woken them.
Sam grabbed his gear and approached the rustic structure. It seemed to be a trading post of which few were seen any more. A small corral held three fresh horses and smoke was rising from the chimney. He placed his rifle against the porch railing and gently rapped on the door. A small man in well-worn, homespun coveralls answered the door with both a smile and gesture to enter. “My wife has tea on the fire. Sit. Where do you hail from young man?” he said, and with a sudden twist of his wrist, the door slammed closed.
“On my way to help fight the war. S’pose to meet up with my brother Earl by the first. He’s serving under Major A.P. Stewart, but suspect he’ll be a general soon.” Sam noticed every table and shelf covered with supplies, so he left his saddlebags by the closest chair. “See ya a trader, do much business in these parts?”
“We do a fair trade with the Overhills; Cherokees. Don’t git many white folks here. Haven’t heard ‘bout any war.”
Sam found it difficult to believe that anyone could be so remote that he hadn’t heard about the north and south, and as far as he could recall, the Cherokees had left the area years ago. He was suddenly feeling leery about staying with this couple for any length, but he was so weak that the tea cup placed before him was hard to lift. “Would it be too much to ask if I could bed down in your barn for a spell?”
“You’re a might welcome to stay as long as ya like, though ya might be more at ease with your own kind down around Harvest Hill way.”
“I ain’t never heard of it.”
“About 3 miles south. Nice town, but they don’t never come this way.”
Sam leaned his weight on the table and sighed heavily. He heard a distant muffled thumping, like one hundred horses riding hard. Confused, he quickly looked at his host and saw an equally befuddled expression. Sam jumped to the window, but nothing could be seen in the darkness. When he turned back around, the room had changed to a ramshackle ruin. A freezing wind blew. The chairs, tables and pots were thrown carelessly about and the couple was reduced to scattered bones within the hearth. A twister developed in the center of the cabin where plates, cups and his saddlebags swirled in midair. He swerved quickly to avoid being clobbered by anything.
Frozen in fright, Sam pushed against the wall, his eyes bulging in fear. There, before the fireplace, amid shadows and dust, a creature squirmed and had helical convulsions as it coiled within itself and slithered toward the door and him. Sam reached for the latch and opened it, just as the creature made an exit into the night and the blackness swallowed its form.
Sam stepped out to the porch and tried in vain to peer into the distance. He could not locate any sign or sound of approaching horses or the snake-like apparition. From behind him, a groaning and creaking noise came from deep within the structure. He looked up and saw flames stretching skyward from the roof. He ran to the corral and climbed bareback on the resting mare, as bats escaped the abandoned building.
The brisk autumn air and the black of night made him disorientated; he was pleased to see the morning dawn begin to break. With any luck, he should be nearing that town, Harvest Hill, if it truly existed.
Sam had the horse climb the next iris covered knoll and he dismounted. There below were some buildings, a semblance of an old settlement.
As he neared, he noticed how quiet everything was, no mockingbirds flew over and he hadn’t seen a sign of black bear or even a white-tailed deer along the way. A stray dog sniffed the ground, but casually bypassed him and his horse. He made his way down the main street, still shaken from his horrendous experience, but tried to convince himself that it was all a dream born from exhaustion. A bell rang out and Dunning slowly stepped around the bend to investigate. He led his mare to a water trough and walked on alone.