Bah,
bah, black goat
I
scream
the
musical breath of trees
their
limb-rending dance
That
dang thousand-legged monster, squatting in the woods out past
Coaling. Been there since the tornado went through, or maybe the
storm released it from some Paleolithic prison. Started small, at
any rate, and the first I saw of it was a peculiar letter to the
newspaper from some feller lived out that way. Not really a letter,
it was a haiku. Kind of disturbing. I remember thinking he must
have been on some kind of hallucinogen. I had a professional
interest; trained as a forester at Auburn, though I work as a real
estate appraiser now. So I drove out there on my next day off, those
winding roads, overhung with trees, they make Midwesterners
claustrophobic. Not me, but something about the woods that day did
make the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I parked out by Lake
Lurleen and walked the trail that goes all the way around. It's been
closed since the tornado; part of it got blown away, they claim. The
trees tossed in a stiff breeze that didn't penetrate to ground level.
I didn't see any washouts, the path was clear, but I did hear
distant shouting, or singing; maybe chanting, carried on that unfelt
wind. I struck off uphill into the woods, but never did find where
the sound was coming from. Started to get dark and I began to hear
things shuffling in the leaves. Sounded too big to be coons or
possums. I got spooked, headed back home.
oak-leaf
crown
on
her belly the ebon
hoof
and snout of God
It
all fell apart after that. The freakish weather, people cleared out
or disappeared, something happening in the woods west of the lake,
two deputies gone out to investigate but they never come back.
Sheriff wouldn't do nothin' after that. I went out there again
myself. Looking for something, the heart of this thing, its root
cause. Oh yeah, I found it. Found the little clearing, the black
hoofprints burned into the dirt, and all the time the trees moving in
a wind I couldn't feel. Found the Mother too, poor thing; think I
was supposed to. I'll do for her as I can, and what I must, when
it's her time. I have seen the future, and I know what side my bread
is buttered on. My advice? Go to ground. Stay out of the woods.
the
Young come
and
they will hunger
IƤ,
Shub-niggurath, baby
The
end
Publ.
The Daily Cabal, Oct. 9, 2008
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