Kentucky, Mid 1930's

[not_a_haint]

Hardbuckle Kentucky, 1934

You couldn’t see the small compound of rustic bunk houses and neatly laid vegetable gardens that sat within it until you walked right into the middle of them, and that was no accident. Greta Amburgey had kept her little farm out of the public eye for as long as anyone could remember.

Granny Amburgey, as most people called her, took in children that no church home or orphanage would. If you had a young’un that couldn’t stop hitting the others, or cried all night, or spoke in a tongue that no man has ever spoken, that made the fires burn low and the milk turn sour, you called on Granny Amburgey. If you had a little girl who had seen the worst that man or god could offer and didn’t talk no more, who sat all silent and scared all day long and who only made a sound when the moon fell new and her shape and shadow changed to something massive filled with teeth and eyes and vengeance, well then you called Granny Amburgey.

Caleb Gibson had lived in the Devil's Cradle as it was called, for roughly half of his life. It had seemed strange to finally settle, after spendin' months bein' ferried all over Appalachia, from one practitioner or witch to another, even consultin' with an avatar of the Green for help with his condition. But eventually everything that could be done had been, and for his safety and everyone else's, here he'd been ever since.

As hidin' places went it wasn't bad. There were other children with similar situations to play with, the lessons weren't too strenuous, and as long as you stayed within the wards, the surroundin' woods were a safe place for adventurin'. But that never changed the fact that Caleb had lost two families, and he never forgot that people or things that meant him no good might be lookin' for 'im.

Over the years he'd seen new children come, and seen his older playmates and acquaintances go. If they had managed to gain enough control over themselves they went off into the world to seek their fortune, if not, they tried to find a little patch of nowhere where they could live in relative peace. And as the years passed, Caleb knew his own time under Granny Amburgey's care was nearing it's end.

“Caleb darlin', we're about to have guests. Could ya duck into the kitchen and get a pot of coffee goin'?”

It tickled Caleb when Granny did that. Logically he knew that she was just aware whenever anyone crossed the wards around the Cradle, but it still reminded him of the detectives in the pulps. The ones who always seemed to be three steps ahead of everyone else due to the way the air wafted just right or somethin'.

“Yes'm.” he agreed, noticin' that she then led the other children over to the school house. Whoever was comin' wasn't the usual sort of company then.

Curious, he let his vision shift, openin' himself to the world around him in a way that he hadn't always been able to control. When he did he found a familiar trail leadin' from the woods, around to the back of the main house.

“Mr. Bartholomew!”

He ran then, a grin spreadin' across his face, and sure enough, sat on a sturdy chair on the back porch was a black man who made even the massive Melvin Blevins seem average sized.

Brother Bartholomew was a giant. Tall, broad, just short of what one might consider unnatural. And he exuded warmth and good nature even without Caleb's “gift”.

“Caleb Gibson, son of James and Brunetta, Claimed by the Dark and the Green, it is good to see you again. You have grown.” His voice was as deep as a well, resonant as a church bell, and gentle as a rain shower.

“Yessir. It's good to see you again too. Are...are you here too see me?”

“I am, but I am not the only one. She waits inside.”

He did not elaborate, but the weight of that “she” felt heavy.

In the kitchen, Caleb found their other guest. Her hair was as red as Miss Ellie's, and by all outward appearances she was no older than 30. But when she looked up from the newspaper she'd been persusin' he could see the ageless wisdom in her eyes. His stomach twinged in a way he hadn't felt in years and he could tell he was in the presence of somethin' more than the usual witch.

Deep within, that thing that had been put inside him stirred, fillin' him with the simultaneous urge to flee, and embrace her.

“So then,” she said, her voice sad, accented with the music of the old world, “There ye are. Right so, let's have a chat, boy.”


A cold wind calls 
And so I follow 
No time to rest these weary bones;   

I hear her song 
And my heart goes hollow 
Best not to walk these woods alone 

Best stick to the roads 
Stay out of the shadow;  
Best get on home  
Best to leave them ghosts alone 


The woman who'd come to call on Caleb directed him to a chair on the opposite side of the table from herself, and sighed.

“I'll not be telling ye my name. I hope ye c'n understand.”

“Yes ma'am, I...I think I do.”

He sat stiffly, struggling like he hadn't had to in a while, to suppress the Dark Green. The presence of Brother Bartholomew just outside was a comfort, but the apprehension she stirred wasn't entirely his own.

“I'm not here to harm ye. I don't know if I c'n help ye either, but...” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “At the very least I felt it my responsibility to meet ye, face to face. And I'll not be explainin' that. I understand ye're a smart boy, I suspect ye'll figure out what I mean, sooner or later.

“This place has been good for ye?”

“Yes ma'am, Granny Amburgey, and Mr. Bartholomew have been a great help. I think I got a handle on...on it.”

“That's good. Because ye know ye can't stay here forever I suppose.”

Caleb was already older than every other child in Granny's care, and though he wasn't the oldest ever, most of her charges would have moved on by now. He nodded.

“Well. That I might be able t' help with. But I can't say anythin' more. It'll be tricky, what I have in mind, without involvin' parties that might look too closely. Ye may have control over yerself boy but that doesn't mean ye can't be used. But them Walkers, I understand they got connections. I'll see what we c'n do.”

Soon enough the mysterious interview was completed and their visitors departed. Caleb lost himself in his usual routine of chores and readin' and helpin' the youngin's with their lessons, and then one day months later, he got some mail.

It seemed that whatever schemes the Walkers and his mysterious benefactor had gotten up to had born fruit. Caleb found himself accepted to a university far from Appalachia, with a modest bank account and even a brand new surname.

Caleb Dooley, was goin' to college.

Guided by something
I cannot describe
Foggy dark presence
Been choking my mind

The strings hanging down
From heaven above
Poking like pitchforks
In a pure white dove

Through God's dark heaven
Go I, go I
Through God's dark heaven go I

Through God's dark heaven go I
Through God's dark heaven go I

[Well hey there, Family! And so another lost soul makes their way to Fandom Island in hopes of findin' the ever elusive happily ever after. I'm lookin' forward to chroniclin' his journey during this gap in his canon, y'all. The openin' paragraphs are quoted directly from the podcast, and the song lyrics are from actual intro and outro music as well. And this is my “I know I didn't have to look up whether it was possible to travel from Kentucky to Baltimore via Greyhound in the 30's” promise to not write every Caleb post as if I were writin' an episode of Old Gods of Appalachia. Pretty sure I got it out of my system, family.]