CreepCast - Journal of an Unknown Soldier | CreepCast

Episode Date: November 2, 2025

From the creepcast subreddit, comes a story of a soldier riding with a band of headhunters during the Navajo War in 1863 while a dark entity starts to follow them. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Conditions and exclusions apply. Get no frills delivered. Shop the same in-store prices online and enjoy unlimited delivery with PC Express Pass. Get your first year for $2.50 a month. Learn more at pceexpress.ca.ca. Welcome back to Creepcast. we are doing a fan-submitted story. That's right. You can upload your stories on R-slash-Creebcast,

and you don't have to post on No Sleep and have it deleted immediately. And I probably shouldn't throw shade in no sleep all the time. We had a 15-minute dig at them in an episode, where if I recall, your impression of them was, oh, that was you. That was how you said they sound. You can upload your stories to R-slash-Creepcast, and we'll read them like this one here,

which is a, I love the title, And also, Harry read it, which, as recently, doesn't have the best track record stuff. But still, the Journal of an Unknown Soldier, U.S. Navajo War, 1863. We get to go back in time a little bit. Have we done, like, a western-y thing? I mean, I feel like there's been historical stuff. I don't think we've gone, like, a Western, though. No, no.

We've never to dive into, like, a Western story, which would be kind of fun. Which also, if you're like, I don't want a cowboy story. Why don't you just fucking hang around for a second? I didn't even hear. I don't know if I want to listen to a cowboy story. I think at this point, like, the people who are, like, watching this right now, they're here. I think whatever the title is, there's going on. I think we've established well enough that a lot of our diatrives will have nothing to do with the actual subject matter.

That's true. Or what's being discussed. So I think they're here. All right. So the author of this story is user strange accounts. It seems his real name is Travis Weaver, although he doesn't have any, like, social media accounts leaked for. linked for me to see like specifically which Travis Weaver if he has

work elsewhere. But on this Reddit account, this guy posts a ton. We've got this one and it seems a lot of them are historic based because he's got this one. The Journal of an Exorcist, Diocese of Richford, 1975. The journal of a former detective, Irish

Coffenship, 1847. So it's like all these different historical stuff. I hope so. Probably. This feels like somebody who likes the deep divey stuff like I feel like there's going to be a lot of niche niche like comments or like you know what I mean like Easter eggs niche Easter eggs where you'd be like where I'll get you a little chubbed up being like that reminds me of this okay well listen to this one of them he posted 12 days ago is called the journal of a coal miners daughter West Virginia 1907 what was I talking about right before

we began the U.S. military killing mole people coal miners coal miners I was talking about the coal miners that he wrote a story about a horror story framed around. Yeah. So I like him already. He's also super active in R slash creepcast, not even about his own stories. He's just like talking to different people. His favorite episode, it seems, is the left, right game.

So good man. You know, it's like being a Metallica fan and your favorite album is the black album, you know. It's easy. You know, sometimes like just the popular thing is good. That's true. That's possible. That's true.

I mean, it was one of my favorite ones to record. Yeah. It's a good story. I love it. Yeah. It's a dad made's a Hall of Famer. Yeah. I'm just saying a lot of good stories out there too.

Also, if you're real fan. Is this because you think he's my fan? Is that why you're being like aggressive? No, no. All right. Well, we're going to read this today and see how it is. I'm excited. It's cool.

I always like with these fan submitted stories of people that are active in the subreddit. And to have someone who's so active to commentating and stuff. is the kind of community that we need, you know? People building each other up. That's what I love. I will also say about him every time someone else posts a story, he's like reading it and replying like advice and stuff. King move. Keep that up.

King. I like to see it as opposed to R slash no sleep. Well, it's like well nothing, well, nothing happened in your story. So bye bye bye bye bye bye bye. Delete. Band. Band. Actually, he did actually not to completely slander. He does before creed cast he posted on No Sleep a lot. So, great words, too. Should we ban him here?

Should we ban him? If you post on no sleep, if you post on no sleep, that's the only rule on our slash creepcast, you cannot post no sleep. Even though we've read almost 90% of our episodes are all no sleep. This entire show has been built on no sleep. It's true.

Kid it happy here. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Throw it out. All right, cool. Let's let you want to jump in. I'm ready. Let's begin. From the journal of an.

named soldier 1863 auxiliary scout attached to Colonel Carson's column September the 12th camp along the Rio Puerco I set my hand to an account of our company and the deeds pass under a man who's had his share of smoke and not

near enough coin oh he's already got me I like that those are good I don't know that means a man who's had his share of smoke and not near enough coin he's had too much gunfire

not enough pay. There you go. What if he was talking about, like, fucking... What if you was... He's like, let me bust out the zon. Oh, that's pretty cool. Goo... And he does,

Fog machine. And they're like, stop, that's crystal meth. whoop. Dude, you hit too much of that crystal. My bad. My bad. All right. I'm pretty good.

My name need not be ridden full. Cut of these pages will tell it. I was once of the artillery, a gunner of fair repute, and bore the weight of the 12-pounder as a mule bears its joke. Yet a soldier under flag is forever shackled by a ruling quarter,

while a soldier for hire, he'd only answer the call of his stomach and the weight of silver. So I turned cutthroat, right now, it's Crawley Briggs. Briggs is hardstock A Calvary man turned out of the regulars for sins No one puts to paper

He looks hewn from black oak Cracked by sun With a set to him that cuts keen Whenever there's profit to be sniffed He holds the leash on our company Though it is a leash frayed and near to snapping For we are no single breed Thieves, runaways, half-blood scouts

Turncoats from both sides And one fellow swore to have shot his own kin at Shiloh I hold no admiration for them but I keep their pace for coin cares little for the color of a man's soul I said I'm I'm vibing I was just waiting for the break because I knew

I was like I'm in I was just waiting I was like holding there I was just like you know what I'm sorry I like stories sorry I like writing my bad yeah probably a bad podcast to be a part of yeah my bad I sat down here the talk I caught by the fire

when we pulled clear of Santa tell it again crawley one of the boon boy said kicking dust at the blaze how many did you ride down that night briggs leaned back on his stone and trawled eight by my reckon though a few broke and i ran before i laid steel him yancey let out a bark hey i'd be glad to tell a half that in a week another voice cut through in the smoke you keep jawed yancey you're the only fool i know ever shot his own horse middle of the fight circle broke into laughter harshest gravel rattling from his sack Ancy spat into the coals

That beast ne'er pitched me on my neck Got what it asked for Sides, I'll break the next one Pock worked a chob between his teeth And pitched his question across the blaze Captain They say Carson means to drive the Navajo clean out Burn the crop, starving until they could come begging

Is that true? Briggs shifted his boots on the stone And answered flat Carson means to herd the whole breed and the boss Redondo. They'll grow mesquite bark for winter's done if the army has its way. All workers seen them driving.

No Hogan left standing. No sheep left grazing. Old Donnelly hacked into his sleeve and weezed. You reckon the pay will hold? Briggs raked a coal with his boot hill. Pay holds when there's meat on the carcass. Uncle Sam's purse opens deep when it suits him. And if he clenches it shut,

we'll cut our share from whatever's left behind. The Boone brothers, Texans as they were, barked out a holler and knocked their cups together. Harlan pushed his hands near the flame. Heard the Navajo keep trinkets. Maybe silver. Stones finer than Mexican coin. You reckon we'll come across any? Fire through a gleam across Briggs.

You'll find what you got in the stomach to bleed for. But mark me, anything lifted belongs to the troop. Try to shave any man's portion and I'll see your head's cut off. After that, the talk soured. It turned it toward women, kind of boasted a man's ears have no use for. I laid my tent aside and eased back from the ring. A man may stomach war and butchering beef,

yet there's a cruelty in these fellows that rides deeper than hunger itself. It's on these nights, I reckon the desert keeps its own book on us. The mesas just like judges. The mesas rise like judges. The stars burn holes through a man's skin. We bury little. There is no time, and the coyotes drag what we leave.

The wind takes the scraps, yet the land holds the memory all the same. I lay now under a bit of canvas, the desert rasping its song across the edges. Their talk drifts yet, tumbling like dice in the dark. I know well enough I ride with men who cut me as soon as shake my palm. But the pay is promised, and my gut recalls the lean months when I quit the guns. better a place among wolves than to go hungry with the sheep I close here for the night Briggs alone keeps the edge of the fire now

darker shadow than the rest He was made for the hours after sundown Okay so that's the end of the first entry okay I know I know you get on to me I know you're like oh you like this bought in but I am bought in okay language very good command of words Do you any cash on you

Why buy it in can buy it and take a couple out and throw it on the floor buy it in I want to see how much she has bought in for $5 buy in

price of admission there's the tip what was that one 20 damn $5 buy it was a $20 tip for this story yes all right

so let's go over the first journal entry a couple cowboys going around getting ready to start a basically talking about the job coming in and then some people who are talking to Briggs the captain who's just like what do you think we're in for and they're kind of looking around

and he's he's more of a stern type you can't take more than what you deserve kind of thing you'll get whatever you're willing to bleed for yeah yeah it's not going to be easy pickings because he the author mentions he was like I remember the lean months when I quit the guns So he tried to step away from the violence, this career of his, so to speak, and he nearly starved for it.

So he had to come back to this. But it seems that a lot of the other people there are there for an easy dollar. They're talking like, I hear after we kill him, they've got silver. We can keep the silver. And Briggs is kind of putting his heel on it, saying like, you're going to be in a fight. It's written well. Yeah. I like the very pedally, like, floral nature of like the destruction.

And the kind of fantastical, it fits that, it makes me think I'm in like the southwest, you know what I mean? It fits that cowboy aesthetic, I guess is what I'm saying. It also, I mean, not obviously Cormick McCarthy's McCarthy, McCarthy, but it reminded me of Blood Meridian in the way the scenery is so florally described, but the dialogue is so abrupt and like slargin, like, wreck and we'll get, blah, blah, blah, but this describes. Except he knows how to use quotations. Yeah, yeah. Yeah, that's true. There's an interview with McCarthy one time when he said, he said, why would I want to mark up the page

with silly little dashes? He's just like, no, I don't like him. The literary guy sitting there, he's just like, okay, interesting. But like some of the stuff like the Maces rise like judges, I reckon the desert keeps books on us, stuff like that. You see the movie Bone Tomahawk? yeah do you think this is going to go into something like that where the navajo are like some kind of

it's less about it being like actual navajo indians and maybe it could be like more of uh not like zombie but something where it's like a skin walkery kind of thing that exists out you know what i mean it could because it seems like they're venturing in an unknown land and they're getting they're bargaining they're bargaining for more what they're bargaining what is it's the correct thing they're bargaining for more than they want So what's the deal? They're going to get more than they bargained? Yeah, they're bit off more than they can chew.

They're going to buy off more if they can chew. They're going to bargain more than they can chew. They're going to bargain what they're bargained more than they should have bargained. They're going to bargain the bite that they should have chewed but didn't. You know what I mean? Do you think we're going to lead them towards that? So the difference to me is bone tomahawk opens with the two runaways causing problems with that. they weren't it's never said what they were it's like oh these are the people that killed the natives or whatever yeah i mean

i'm not saying that it's similar i'm just wondering if it's a if it's a thing where they go in with a preconceived notion of like oh we're going into indian territory only to be met with like and bone tomahawk they're like oh these are like actual savages where it's like these are like almost like primordial entities that are like doing like they're gutting people open and doing like yeah yeah they're like almost and human. They get shot and it doesn't really affect them. Yeah, and there's some line in that movie where they're like oh, they're like the natives told legend of these things. Yeah, like they're almost like a skin walker kind of like, they're like an entity.

They're not necessarily, but they're like it's a collection of them. It's like a, you know. Yeah, yeah. Whatever. But basically do you think we're going towards that or do you think it's going to be? So what I was saying is the difference to me is in Bone Tomahawk, it is like a peaceful group of people that are attacked right? Because of the actions of a couple. The two

that go out steal riches or whatever. then that prisoner gets brought to town and that's why they come and break him out and all that violence starts uh whereas here it's like them going looking for the violence they're the they're the headhunters in this scenario um so it could it could just be they lose right but i feel like that may be not predictable because if it's written well that's fine if you can predict a story but i guess kind of predictable on that we're going to go fight we lose i feel like there needs to be some further twist rather than like these guys beat us you know fair and square i'm just wondering if they're even going to deal with any of the crazy crazy word to say that's what that's how the

cowboys used to say yeah yeah they'd say right isn't how they used to say it yeah but that's like a slur now i think what i'm i'm i'm just a stupid way of saying indians they jump on them hills well you see if you do it like that it's better rather than you being like what about the like

yeah yeah it's gonna come across the way there yeah yeah yeah it's fair when you're just wondering it's like they're gonna go looking for the Navajo but they're gonna stumble across something far darker that's what I think will happen likely yeah all right entry two

entry two September the 18th camp near the San Mateo range we pulled east with first light column of dust and horse flesh winding out of the valley like smoke from a cannon's throat so see how do you like stuff like that the imagery like

a line of horse flesh like smoke from a cannon's throat like how that don't do anything for you I like it you like it okay yeah no I think it's good it gets me fired up it's like coffee I'm like all right I'm in I'm bought you're bought one price of emission

that house all my money come back when he got more I have $25 Also not to derail it too much But I do have a name I want to run by you Because I don't really like I hate the unnamed thing The guy

Like unnamed soldier right Can I pitch a name for you And just see if we can roll with it Go ahead La Jona pepper spray The Sun Fierce, cutting long black lines across the maces. It was a cruel light, one that showed every wrinkle of rock and every sore upon a man's skin.

This land gives no quarter. Man must bend to its terms or break outright. I've taken to reading the men by their horses, for beasts seldom lie. Yancey, the fool that he is, rides a raw colt with the white showing round its eyes. The beast jigs and tosses its head until the whole line swears at him. he rides it hard jerks the rains spurs till it bleeds that the beast fights him still twice it near through him and twice he struck it across the eyes the animal rolls white in its gaze and foams like a rabbit thing i think it waits for the hour to kill him proper brigger okay this whole this whole description of the horses how the men ride him stuff like that excellent i don't know if he got it from somewhere but this is great i love it briggs rides another breed altogether His one-eyed gray bears the mark of an old saber work along its hide,

yet never falters, not even when shale breaks loose beneath. It carries him as though horse and riders share one mind. And the column wavers, that gelding steadies its gate. The rest fall in line with it. The rest fall somewhere between. Pike rides a mare, lean as himself. Harlan's surreal dances at every snake, and the Boone brothers kick their done ponies,

beasts never starved yet running with a spite that keeps them. living. My own is a rowing. I took off a farm boy outside Santa Fe. Sound legs, steady temper, eats what it can find and heats my rain without fuss. So that's interesting because it's talking about

how the different men, the horses are kind of extension for themselves and his own. It's one that eats when it cans, but follows orders without a fuss. Similar to how, like, our author is willing to go along with this horrific, you know, the act they're about to go on. Yeah, it's a creative way of exposition

of like telling about your characters without being like I'm like this it's like the he's like this he does this thing you're doing it you're but you're literally uh just understanding who the characters are by their horses of their horses yeah yeah which is fun it's very cool by midday we crossed a cedar flat where the soil split like old hide heat drove them in quiet only the groan of saddle leather carried pike let a match and pulled a long draw working it as if he met that smoke to the last day after mile or so Yancey broke the hush, as he always must. Captain?

Think we'll see Kit Carson out this way? Riggs kept his seat straight ahead. Going some rides that were soldiers. Not with the like of us. Yancy gave a snort that fell flat. Thought he maybe give us orders face to face. Man's got a name. Aught to share it.

Pike flicked ash from his lip. Carson don't give nothing but long marches. Donnelly hacked him to his sleeve and grunted. and he'd give pay if we'd do the work. Briggs drew his gray up and let his stare run the line. True enough. You won't pay, you ride forward. You want a friend's hand.

Turn back to Santa Fe. No man here's promised company a reputation. Words closed Jansy's mouth for a time, though his colt still jigs sideways and near upset the file. I caught Briggs watching him with that knife-hard gaze of his. one day soon he will put yancey in the dirt no man will warn it long so we wrote on seen smoke yonder's last night pike said nodding at the hills donnelly squinted over could be mescalero could be navajo could be some farmer too dumb to know where to plow farmer said yancey was a laugh

like a bark sure thing the texan boon brother called charles spoke up let it be navajo i'm sick of riding with hands. Ain't shot a soul in a week. His other half, Jesse, spat and flared crooked teeth. You'll get your chance. Cars' hounds always flushed game. Briggs looked back. It's a black hat low over his brow. Best keep your powder dry. For falling smoke, you'll see more than you care for before long. By evening we drew up where the grass hissed underfoot and the sky bled purple along the ridges. Fire went quick to life. The men sat close, talking as they ever do. plunder to come women to take silver promised and silver imagined i kept back with my tin in this journal letting their talk drift while coyotes raise their racket beyond the glow it's a curse thing riding with wolves still my purse runs thin and their fire warms as sure as any tomorrow we push towards that smoke and the country will bear what it hides seems like brig kind of knows maybe something that they don't yeah well so here's what i was going to say

people will probably compare this so far to like the judge right the judge being the figure in blood meridian who's like the overbearing kind of presence in the camp that leads them to war even though he's not the group leader that's clanton um but i think this is more similar to the beginning in blood meridian when the kids riding in the cavalry before he meets the clanting gang group before he becomes a part of it because in that story the i forget his name i think it's white white something um but the calvary leader is taking them to uh kill the natives and over the course of it everyone's like real eager for battle and the leaders just trying to keep a level head like just keep your business up boys we'll be fine we'll get it done and as soon as they get into contact they are all slaughtered instantly like they get decimated there's this section in the book where it talks about the band of terribles and talks about how the natives are wearing armors of like Spanish conquistadors and like the Aztecs like just pieces of war that have been gathered by the tribe for centuries. Yeah, you can tell that they've just like they've, all the people

they've killed. Yeah, they're, they're generations on generations of warfare. And then you have a group of people coming in like, I hope I can get $100 from this and they just get wiped out immediately. Um, if we could see something similar to that. So basically I'm kind of turning back to what you were saying in the beginning. Maybe they just get wrecked. I've never, um, I've never read, read Blood Meridian, but I've seen that the judge character, is he supposed to personify, like, capitalism or, like, that kind of, like, looming kind of, like, that kind of, like, looming Western expansion or whatever, right? I would say Western expansion more than, like, just capitalism. Well, I guess the capitalistic thing of, like, taking more than you're required or whatever, like, you know what I mean, like, kind of, like, the ever-growing expanse or that kind of thing. do you think that Briggs is going to be something similar here of like do you think he will

like show well or do you think it or I guess instead of like speculating I guess has his with all the characters we've seen so far have you gotten any inkling of that so not really because with the judge so the one of the judge's main influences was Lucifer from Paradise Lost and that's in a lot of his dialogue the judge is a tempter like whereas Briggs is kind of like don't think about the money this is going to be a hard fight the judge is like think of all the money you could get think of how great this will be for you he's like he's like the the whisper in the back of their ear and yeah brings is definitely a little more he's more like I guess not a little more he's definitely like only take what you need kind of thing

or what you does or what you earned stick to the battle stick to our plan like this is a serious thing sort of whereas the judge would be more on leading I think that the line that kind of made me be like eh I feel like he knows more it's just when he's just like because like oh I have a shot of soul in a week and he's like oh he might not like like what you see or you basically just like more what you're bargained for. I feel like there's more to that statement. Yeah, I'm comparing it to Blood Meridian. That doesn't mean

this story is one for one. I'm just saying the characters remind me of some of the characters here just from the flowery language, which is a compliment to the story because Blood Meridian is a fantastic novel. But I think Briggs is

trying to keep his head on straight. I think whatever happens, I think he'll be either the first to die. and that will immediately disrupt everything or the last because he's the only one that actually has like a sense of the danger they're getting into. Like you got one guy back there I ain't shot a soul in weeks

and it's like this is... The only parallel that I've made so far because you've done from Blood Meridian, I keep thinking about Moby Dick. I keep thinking about Eishmail. You could draw parallels between those. Ishmael being comparable to the unnamed soldier here. And then

Briggs to me has a very Ahab stoicness and it's just very It's laser focused on the hunt for this thing Which granted, I don't know what the hunt is Like in the Moby Dick, it's very much the obsession of the whale The whale, the whale But here it's just, uh, so far it's been the prize But I'm wondering if there's gonna be like a fun ulterior motive like

Yeah, I brought everyone in this dangerous thing for my kind of like I can see that. Yeah, yeah, maybe they get out here That's where my, that's where my world where I was like, I, you know, there's just like that, you know, quie quag being like the ultimate, you know, harpooner kind of guy and stuff like that and he's like the big just like some of the fun parallel with like you know star buck and all the other people too well i mean like that's a good comparison because one of the main things with moby dick is ahab didn't reveal his intentions until they got out there and it was only the people that had been with him a while

that knew of this obsession like ishmael didn't figure it out until they were at sea and came across it i think they actually don't have a mission until he sees the white whale for the first time and like recklessly charges towards it um so yeah that's a good comparison man we have we just started reading this guy's stuff and we have compared him to blood cormic mccarthy and herman melville well i think it's uh interesting for i guess it's just to say for people that are writing because this is also once again this is just a fan submitted thing on our slash creepcast whatever is that i think that you can also proudly wear your influences or not even we're presuming that that's what he's influenced but i just mean i think that you can wear your influences in a way where it's like

the flavor and the texture of like the other stories are there that only benefits your story you You know what I mean? I think that just, just something to be mindful of people who are writing. Just be like, don't shy away from your inspirations. Yeah, yeah. Assuming this is like some of the, which I think is fair, especially like you said, if he's a fan of mine. I think it's fair that he's familiar with Blood Meridian and stuff like that at least.

Yeah. There's nothing wrong with writing stories that have things you like. Yeah, I mean, I just don't want to be presumptuous. And he's just like, yeah, I didn't even thinking about that. It'd be funny. He's like, I've never thought of Blood Meridian in my life. Yeah, we're like, yeah, my in Mooby Dick. I don't give a fuck.

I exclusively read Jeff the Killer Fan Fictions. Yeah, and I'd be like, that's awesome. That's great. And now to you've done it very well for yourself. Yeah. All right, next entry. I want to take a moment to thank today's sponsor, ORA. It's still the spooky season when something as scary

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He watched the ground as if the soil itself confessed where the feet had trod. His gray passed under him without fuss, pricking for every stir, never losing the trail. By midday, we topped a ridge. A hollow lay between. Hogan scattered loaves, smoke coiling from vents. Sheep knows the creek bank. Young ones poked the mud with sticks.

Women worked clay and meal. Seen sat plain and homelike, near harmless to the eye it offered. Nancy showed us gums. Easy pickings. He laughed rocking in the saddle. Riggs showed a finger. He took the hollow in. with a hard mouth then spoke so clean every man caught it we ride hard camp sits in the flats we strike

mounted fast wheel left round the hogan's break them from their fires first of all eight carbines second sabres no prisoners burn what you leave yancey's colt pitched and slid pike's way he rode it out still gumming about time was near to forgetting the stink of fresh work best you remember how to keep your seat. Any man bested by his horse gets left where he lands. Gray stamped once and squared. Briggs leaned in and laid a palm among its crest.

Sight narrowed into the valley. He cut the figure of a captain then. Hat pulled tight, carbine resting across the horn. Briggs lifted a hand and broke us in two. Jesse and Charles Boone took half to the right. Rest followed after Briggs

through his sage choked cut. My row and placed each hoof down as if it smelled to come in work. The camp showed all at once. Six earth-low Hogan's, smoke turning out the vents, sheep-insided willow-pin. Women moved at the fires,

youngsters with armfuls of sticks, two men taking sheep to the creek. What struck me was the hush of it. They had no notion that wolves were upon them. Briggs drew his saber and held it high. The sun flashed cruel of the blade.

His voice rang out. ride we spurred down the slope sound was thunder hooves toward the crust carbines barked and the day split into haulers I marked the first shot I sent the man by the pin palms still on a sheep rope the ball struck center and folded without a word my row and drove on stinging my sight powder reek and horse heat rolling Gansy whooped like a drunkard swinging his carbine by the barrel and striking a woman across the back as she fled. She fell face first into the dust. Her hair

black with dirt, red with worse. His colt fought the reins even in the charge, yet he spurred it harder. Both man and beast salivating at the mouth. Man, just in the violence, the command of worse to be like the back of her head with dirt, her face

red with worse, and like the horse and beast salivating, like just such great descriptors. Yeah. Horrificness. Yeah. Dirty. Yeah. Yet Briggs had cut through the camp like a scythe gray horse stepping sure his saber flashing in the sun a man came from a hogan with a bow drawn brig split him from crown to collarbone the arrow for the arrow loosed ouch the air turned to cries sheep broke the pin and went under our hooves pike hung deep

over the horn snapping shots into door shadows working charges with foul talk between harland cut down a little one clinging to its mother's dress The woman dropped over her child The Texan yanked her off by her braid And laid a knife across her neck I cannot pretend I stood aside My rowing ran a man down Bones breaking under hoof

When the first rush passed I dismounted Took my pistol and walked among them A man stumbled from a Hogan With blood down his arm I shot him square in the face It was work No more no less

The thing went fast as this breed of thing does. Roof slit, stock open, corn poured into dust. The cry sank under flame and smoke. When the killing thin, we worked back on foot. Torches went into thatch and vents.

Dry cedar took fire and ran skyward with a roar. Women dragged themselves out, clothes burning, and found steel waiting. I kept to Briggs through the wreck. He spoke no mercy, made no halt.

Only tipped his blade, where a crawler moved. Another man ended them. His gray stood patient under him, the firelight glinting off its blind eye. At the far edge, Yancey held a girl from a doorway. No more than 14.

She clawed and bit, but he struck her down and set to die on her wrist. Briggs rode up close and leveled his steel. Killer. He said, voice flat. Briggs fixed him, and the thought died. Killer. Yancey wavered,

then pulled iron and fired into her biancy wavered then pulled iron and fired into her breast went down like a feed sack he spat after a waste riggs put a heel to the gray and moved on the earth had turned dark with what bled smoke clawed the chest and fire drew tall sheep lay opened leg still thumping out there last i dropped one knee to chamber again my grip shook though not from scruples or shame. Hard money is bought this way. In the meantime, fire took the Hogan's one by one until only charred ribs stood.

Smoke bedded sight. Ash rode the wind and gritted our mouths. Men proud the ruin like dogs that have torn a carcass and still nose for scraps. I neer had the pistol charge when Charles Boone called. Another hut yonder. Talked in the brush. Briggs had taken the grade of the creek.

With him away, there was no rain on the men. We tailed the Texan through scrub and rock till it showed a low Hogan, half buried in cedar. Threat of smoke slipped from the vent, then as jorn. Thought we had them all. Puck muttered drawn as carving. A pack of wolves came tight, hungry still. We set two with our rifles leveled,

though none thought a fight was waiting. Jesse shoved the mat aside and the door gave with a boot. Inside it was near dark, save for a shaft of a shaft of, late sun cutting through a gap in the hatch. The air was close, rank with sweat and smoke, yet colder than the burn of outside. Against the far wall squatted a cage of willow poles bound with sinew. A woman crashed within. Her hair fell in a dark snarl. Her stare sunk in a dirt smeared face. When the light found her, she showed her teeth. Her forearms bore raw marks, maybe her own work no words came only a hiss through the bars like some wild thing caught cornered

she looks like she bites harlan said flicking a pebble through the cage she snapped at it teeth bright nancy sank beside the bars with pistol loose wild stock still got fight no using her best put her down pack said use enough for me nancy answered she'll pay me back for what briggs calls me A few laughed, thin his leaves. Donly bent double in a fit of coughs, face near purple. Leave it! She's wrong. You can read it in plain.

The woman sank lower, body drawn tight, sight cutting from man to man. When it struck me, it felt like cold steel laid flat to the neck. Shut it! You've been hacking since Santa Fe. Only sick one here is you, and you'll cool for any of us. By the doorway, Jesse worked with Ceramic Jarrow, him with his boot toe and whistled short. Boys, over here.

We turned, inside lay a folded thing. Feathers laid like scales, gray, white, model dark. An old dry scent came off in, like long-shot rooms. Bird coat? Jesse said, lifting it. Quills chattered, brittle under the beam.

Rage like owl. Donnelly said, clearing his throat. Old folks like me say that owl ain't no good luck. means death's close Nancy barked Death walks with us in a hal Maybe they suited her for the end of the road He dipped his chin at the cage

Her hiss climbed Sight pinned to the coat and Jesse's grip She thrust through the slats Till her nails scraped bloody against the wood She wants it back Pike said spitting black juice on the floor Rekin it stands for more than dress Reckin it means we ought to burn the thing

Harlan said shifting his weight No said Jesse clutching it to his chest. Worse something, sure. Look at the work. Might fetch a trader's coin. The woman shrieked then.

Sound not of throat alone, but from the gut, raw and ragged. Colt outside reared and screamed with her. Nancy swore, features drawn. Captain made me drop the last one. I won't get robbed twice. What'd you say, boys? Charles chirped in. Have to be one at a time.

It's just snap in half. Nonly cut in. Enough. This ain't soldiers' work. He folded with another fit, but his words carried. Yancey rose slow. Ain't soldiers work? We ain't soldiers. She's ours till she's dead.

Talk turned course then. Each man put him bored his say. Each jest fowler than the last. Their shadow swayed across the walls, long and twisted. The woman's gaze never shifted. She watched as if weighing us, as if our words were pebbles in her hand. don'tley caught my coat come on this ain't i fight i backed for the door yancey swung towards me you walking i am i said you want to take her i want no part they're laughing chased me into the smoke outside

donnelly braced on a post and coughed into his sleeve he said nothing and he said a worn look on me no fever could explain behind behind the hut swelled with harsh talk sound ran together with the snap of burning roofs horses struck the ground farther off restless i poured a measure of water over my hands though no dirt came free riggs came back before long his gray flank wet from the creek he saw the hogan smoking the men walking out with their shirts half done their faces like dogs after the kill he said nothing end of entry a couple interesting things there for me at least

really like in stories or any kind of narrative whatever whenever you have a build up of characters that seem a bit cartoonish almost like innocent you have the two Texan boys who are kind of joking and being like

well I hope I get to kill somebody yeah whatever all that stuff and then you do something great with the narrative here where then you actually dump it and you make it oh this is like real and this is brutal one even the thing here where the woman was assaulted by these men doesn't draw it out doesn't do whatever it's just a sting of

just like one it's doing a couple things across this it shows how ruthless everybody is even briggs our main protagonist even though he isn't participating in that he's still like stampede over somebody did all this other stuff the the cartoonish joking nature they had before translates over in this horrible way to where now when you're like oh i kind of like this group of people now you're kind of like, I don't really know how to feel about any of them. It went from like, likeable dialogue and set pieces. Well, it resets everything. Yeah.

It resets every dynamic you have, which I think is a lot of fun. But I mean, obviously they were bad in the conversations beforehand. Well, yeah, but they were, like you said, they were cartoony. It's not in practice even. It's like having, it's like in a story where it's like, well, I've killed 20 men or whatever. Exactly. You never seen it. And you also haven't seen it described where this is an innocent, these are innocent people just

hanging out and all of a sudden these people raid in. Even like the idea of the job was just kind of like, yeah, we're going to go in and do X, Y, and Z. But until you actually hear about it, you're like, holy shit. So this reset, one, cleanses you of being like, I don't even know how to feel about any of these people. So now you're kind of suspicious of everybody of like,

well, if they're able to do this, what else are they willing to do? But then there was a couple of things. By having it be so over the top and kind of like people were fucking getting mauled, there was a couple, which I don't know if I read this right, literally, literacy comprehension, once again. but arms bear she's biting at this thing almost reads like a fucking like a werewolf kind of creature or something to where it's like

it's like digging across the ground they have had no idea what these people are she's like this feral kind of like creature basically whatever which she looks human yeah yeah yeah but I just being like she's like biting all this stuff there's just a couple things where it's like oh it looks like she had shaved arms

where it's like oh probably by her own doing It's these little, it's like these little remarks where those, I think those are important details to where it's like, well, no wonder, no one paid attention because of all the fucking crazy thing around them. But even for the reader, then it's like when you go back and read it again, you're like, oh, it was the marks were right there. I just didn't notice with all crazy, the rest of the things were, you know, going. Well, most crucially, when one of them picked up the feathers at the front of the door, she started freaking out trying to get over to it or something. And they're like, I reckon she wants it back. But then you have that because that is dropping clues for the reader. But then you immediately, you once again, blindside the viewer with them just like taking advantage of this person.

Yeah, right after that, Yancey says, well, she's ours till she's dead. Which is horrible. Yeah. Despicable thing. But it just like, the author is dropping these clues for you. But then he's also just being like throwing these other stuff. It's just, it's like so much happening, but all the information's there. Yeah, it's all there.

It's all laid out in a way where you process it. It's not brushed over, but it's in the midst of so much other stuff happening that it just comes off naturally. Yeah. Which also, we talked to foreign stories. Like, there's so many that will use, like, sexual themes poorly, like sexual violence and stuff like that. And we'll always say, like, there is a way to do it right. And I feel like we rarely ever get to one. that does it right. But I do feel like this is, if you're going to include it in a story,

a way to do it right, where it doesn't become exploitive of the topic. It is an element of it in a sense that you would kind of be doing a disservice to the original historical account that it's working off of. Like, this was a thing headhunters were doing on behalf of the government around this time in history, right? If you don't, if you kind of shy away and act like they weren't as to murderers that kind of discredits what actually happened. Yeah, I mean, I think that, you know, there's an argument always that this story could be the exact same without that, but the author's using it in a way where I think now more than ever, obviously, but not even just all this other stuff, but it's just like it makes you

hate the people even more. The murder and stuff is horrible and everything. And it's just like the extra cherry on top of all this other stuff that they're doing to where it's like these people are just like. To the degree that are. main character and that other character Donnelly I think are like this isn't our fight walk out like they're fine to like

as they said like kill people with swords and shoot families and children but this is like too much for this isn't part of the job similar to the horse earlier the horse is willing to follow whatever orders if it can get scrapped in between yeah I think that that's like an interesting thing too

is it's worth knowing that like I don't think that they're any better I mean they're still fucking murderers or whatever but I think that there's going to be like this gray area where like you're like oh well donnelly's cool because he didn't participate in that and then you're going to be blindsided when oh no he's still a fucking murderer yeah you know like it's just yeah when donnelly woven in a way that's very it's woven in a way that's uh it's interesting when the two of them back out there yeah it's donnelly when the two of them back out right there uh it's like oh well that's good but uh they didn't stop her from getting

And also, they murdered dozens of people. And there's just death and everything all around this. And there's still something about Briggs where I'm like, I just don't think that that full story. It'll go somewhere. He has it revealed everything. Yeah. I will say like for the weight of it.

Burning everything. I feel like he's trying to purge something or he's trying to. Well, that was standard for them at the time. Oh, is it? Yeah, burn everything and come across. So they can't reestablish the area. Because the idea was to wipe them off the face. of the earth, right? So burn everything to come across, uh, or take it. Um, and like there's that one

Yancey was trying to type of 14 year old girl to keep and stuff. Like, they're horrific things, but the author understands the weight of what he's talking about. There's a respect for the subject material that makes it feel earned rather than like phoned in. Yeah. With details like that. Yeah. Good writing. Next entry. Next entry. September the 22nd. camp north of the San Mateo range three days from the burning and the stink rides our hair still smoke outlast blood

each mile the troop grows sore-tongued for fortune is turned the mutton we dragged from that place spoiled in a single night okay so prediction them like specifically the feather and obviously killing the village but messing with the feather

and stuff like that they've brought like a curse upon themselves something to that effect the mutton we dragged from that place spoiled in a single night grubs thick as grits worked the fat pike split the sack gagged and kicked it shut we pitched the mess into the wash cowdies made short work of it come sun up one dog lay stiff on the bank with a black tongue

corn went the same road damp got into the cloth and the kernels turned to mush donley swore it smelled like a body left too long in the sun He would know the scent from his own stench Toward dark by the blaze Jesse broke out cussing God damn I hide He said thumping the dirt with a fist

I left it behind Pock asked him Left what Jacket Owfether stitched fine I had my hand Set down when Yancey made his noise With that girl

Went to fetch it after I forgot Harlan let out a rumble You weeping over bird feathers Worth more than any of you Jesse said fire painted a mean cast over him Would have brought silver Should have been mine

Briggs sat apart Sharpened in his saber along a wet stone He said nothing Though I saw his eye on Jesse Donley hawked red into the dust You ought not have touch it at all That woman looked ready to tear the bars apart when you held it Best leave behind what riles a beast

Beast Jesse curled his lip She weren't beast Just a squall like any other She held enough to set Yance's Colt near on his back Bac muttered I remember it Thought the damn thing bolting the fire

Yancey bristled at that My Colts got more fight than your crow bait Takes a strong seat to keep him Strong seat or not You ain't its master Harlan said Yancy pushed up from his blanket Say that again, you sour riding bastard

Briggs cut across him Sit down He did not look up from the blade the whetstone sing in long pulls fire snapped men sank back to their cups night dropped heavy no star worth naming the wind cut keen oh gosh i'm just such a sucker in the after the conversation like no star worth name and not drifting it reminds me of like all the poems i would read like growing up around appalachia the like local authors would use talk about the mountains and stuff like that like And bread stuff

That's such an undercut Just What did I do to deserve that one? I was having a good time Just Just add a little pepper to it I don't know Gosh

Earlier I was talking about coal miners And I was describing Like the big worker strikes and, like, people dying in the mines. And Hunter doesn't say a thing. And then when I get done, he goes, well, I mean, they were like mold people. So it's really like a give and take sort of thing. No, I tell you that, you're, you're right.

I mean, like the people sat there and the brother and sister lovers. Brother and sister lovers with the three, three fingers and the fish mouth and stuff like that. They do write pretty poems. Wait, what did you have brother and sister lovers with three, fingers in a fish mouth? Is that what you think of me? That's poetry in its own right. Yeah, everyone's spock out there. Fish love, so.

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We are now back to the episode. Get down under my blanket and shut my lids. Yet the horse is stirred. First a shuffle, then snored some pounding rope links and stamping. By the time I rose, Yancey was on his feet, cursing. God damn nags! Grumbled, jerking on his boots. He strode for the picket, the blaze casting his shepherds.

shape long. Rowan went up with the whites for old white. The rest janked their ties, drawing hard, hooves, drumming dust. Oh, easy now. Jansy called voice too sharp for comfort. Settle it. Settle it. Damn it! He seizes the reins of his cold and pulled hard.

The animal screamed high, half like a woman. Came up and lashed out with both hind feet. The kick took Yancey square in the skull. He went down without a word, but for bone crackling. his body pitched sideways and his legs kicked as though he still rode in saddle boom showed at his lips man scrambled from their blankets curses flying pike shouted hell he's done for briggs stepped out of the dark he stood over yancey for a spell the man lay on the ground white's rolling limbs jerking in fits riggs drew his cult thumbed it back set one round into the skull

twitching stopped riggs holstered the iron and freed the roans smack the flank and sent it off into the dark. Then he turned, eyes black as burnt wood. Get some sleep. He said words thin by long miles. We ride at first line. No man answered. I alone kept watch after.

In the glow of the dying fire I saw a shape above. A great owl set upon the limb of a cedar, feathers dark as a coal, eyes wide and fixed upon the camp. It did not move nor stir when I rose to the, throw more wood on the coals. Its gaze burned steady, and I knew it had come for us. Daylight, we left Yancey where he fell.

Coyotes would cede him by sundown. No grave was dug. So, interesting way for Yancey to die, because it's mentioned earlier how unruly his beast is, both of them, like, foolish, stubborn, then it kills him. But there was the line earlier when I think it was Yancey said,

or maybe as the author said, Briggs would be the death of Yancey. Or maybe Yancey's looked at Briggs and said, you'll be the death of me, something to that effect. Sure enough, Briggs was the one who walked out and put him down with the gun, but it was from Yancey's own foolishness. He was unable to control his horse, had no interest in actually breaking it, and then it gets killed when it's in a wild spur, kicks him in the head. Yeah, even like this owl kind of omen that's looming over them now. Well, what they find in the hut, owl feathers. Yeah, yeah. Well, that's what I mean is it almost

seems like they, uh, they like cheated death or they were kind of, you know, it just seems like the owl feels to me almost like death following them. Yeah. Yeah. Where now it just just seems like they're the uh the sins of their the sins of man whatever their faults are going to be the things that kill them it's it's a reckoning the excessive greed as well like i think that's just like you know you're gonna pay your dues kind of thing so yeah yeah next entry september the 24th so five days since the last one two last one was the 22nd oh that was the killing was on the 19 yeah okay three days of riding 20 seconds and now two days later september the 24th east of the san mattoeo range the knights draw out or

feel that way. The owl's still with us. Each camp we make, it sets itself above, watching. Always in sight, though never near enough to strike with lead. Its wings spread wide, black against the moon. Some of the troop grumble, some spit curses, others go still. None of us find clean sleep. Donnelly went bad soon after Yancey's bearing without a grave. First, the same cough as always, then worse. What he hacked up ran thick. By yesterday, he could not mount without another man lifting at his belt. Son peeled him down till he shook. Riggs rode near and gave the order no one favored.

Time to that saddle. He rides else he dies here. Man, talk about a... Could you imagine how miserable that would be? I mean, obviously the character was like living in that time or whatever. Well, living in that time, but specifically like getting sickly and then sitting in a saddle all day in the hot sun. No shade. just baking.

I like the way he describes it. It peels him in the saddle. He's chapped. Yeah. Oh, yeah. Like lips probably all blistered and stuff. Coughing up. Dehydrated all no end.

Oh, by God. Yeah. And worst of all, no internet. Now you have the time to do a saddle. Or else you just leave him if he falls out. Yeah, yeah. And now too, Briggs is also becoming this kind of person where everyone's just kind of like, well, he's going to be alive.

till Briggs says we have to go. Yeah. You know what I mean? If Briggs says we leave him, we leave him. Briggs walked out. I mean, obviously, Yancey was at a point you couldn't do anything for him. Oh, yeah. It's like a merciful kind of thing.

It was like a mercy killing. But Briggs was also the only one who could make that call. I'd say, walk out, shoot the guy. We had no one battered an eye. Yep. No one complained. And which also, again, harkens back earlier the story, when the author says, when Yancey dies, there will be a little fuss over it.

Sure enough, they don't dig a grave. Just leave him for the wolves. We bound Donnelly upright. he hung like soaked canvas chin sunk to chest his dun bore him without protest though the beast staggered under the weight donley's head bobbed with the trails roll and once or twice he gave a rasp that might have been words none could tell at the midday stop pike broke the quiet he's done cap'n best to end it briggs fixed him with a stair then said he rides ain't no good to him or us Harlan added. Rick's hand rested on the butt of his cult. He rides. That shut the talk.

Almost seems like he needs him. Like it seems, I wonder if he's just like prop him up. It just seems like with the other one, if he really didn't need him there, I feel like he would have killed him. He needs Donnelly for some reason. I think so. Or like whoever is, yeah. I think, yeah. I think that there's just something where he needs a certain amount of people or something like that is my gut intuition.

Yeah. Yeah. By the flames, Donnelly let out a low grind. The sort of a man makes when the inside of him has gone to water. Jesse dragged a stick through the coals. Hell of a sight. Worse than Yancey. Pike said.

Yancey went fast. This one drags. No one laughed. Briggs settled beside Donley. The gray tied near. He spoke near nothing. Only brushed a strip of cloth across that brow. No man dared why us crack.

Donnelly once stood close to Briggs, as close as any can. They fought side by side in Texas, which old Pike swears. Night dropped, the blaze fell to Coles. Then the first call toward the dark, time drawn out too strong for any bird, yet it carried the shape of an owl's call. It came once, then again, nearer. Charles swore,

That bird is following us. Then shoot it. Pike muttered, fumbling with a scar. Barlin flicked dust from his cap I drew it on last even lead went through the branch bird never so much as twitched call rose again up above I raised my face and marked it on a juniper limb twin embers set in tar wings tall spread wide as two men across it held fix on us only watched it's it's got like a 10 foot wingspan up in the trees man briggs rose Revolver drawn. He planted his boots, took his sight, and fired twice. The reports rolled over the rock. Chips jumped from the limb. The bird did not shift. Only the smoke slid off the barrel on the night wind. I lay close to the ground, listening. Donley rasped beside the fire. A wet choke with each breath. His chest heaved and sawed ribs like blades under skin. Briggs sat beside him. Brim slanted. Revolver laid across his thigh.

the owl held still till the fire dimmed then it spread wide and rose with a cloth ripping sound dark fleck against the stars end of entry man gosh a giant owl this black owl in the trees following them kind of interested too that they've all noticed it and tried to

kind of shoot it away instinctively and it just almost has like a the raven kind of edgar and po vibe you know I mean he shoots it twice and it just it doesn't even care also it's a wings totally like it's like it's like it's accepting their souls like it's waiting to gather them up

and take them makes you think of like when an owl comes down and grabs like a mouse or something yeah like a prey it's just like waiting it's like looming up there and at any moment it could just be like whatever

big enough to carry him off too fucking 10 feet wingspan yeah terrifying oh yeah who holy shit

Briggs, that is the scariest bird I've ever seen in my time. It's the scariest fucking thing I've ever seen in my life. I plead to God. We burn the forest and everything in it. We should really stop settling for the night near trees. We should. How about this?

We keep riding until we're dead or we get there. I don't know where we're going, but I'm not stopping again. September the time. 27th, foothills north of the San Mateo range. We rode three days more with the owl dog in us, ever above, ever near. Donley withered to a husk, tied to his done like a feed sack. His crown drooped, mouth gone loose, a wet rasp working in his throat.

The talk drained out of the troop. Even Jesse, never short of words, kept his own counsel. Toward dusk, we struck sign of a runner. fresh moccasin prints threading the sage brig swung down and read the dirt while the gray knocked flies from its hide he raised two fingers and sent us along the trace into a wash there we found him a navajo lean and worn a stave across his knees and a knife at his belt he carried the stamp of a man driven near the end in his regard set hard as tender he circled him fast the carbines up pike to him took his measure up and down. What we got here? A straggler? I ought to drop him now.

Jesse rolled. Puck, ground his heel on the dust. Let's hear what he knows first. Briggs eased his gray and pace closer. Speak English. Navajo spoke rough but plain. I speak enough. The man's regard ran hard across our line.

Camp no more. Burned. He tipped the stave towards the way he'd come. Smoke rise. Children cries. You may get it. Jesse snorted He knows us boys

Navajo lifted his hand Palm outward Not for talk of smoke I stand For woman You let her free Oh Here goes There's a time

That's the woman that they Yep One of those in the cage The packs shifted on their feet Pikes spat a brown stream and asked What woman Navajo's mouth twisted Not woman

Never woman Chihidi Shee babies Take hearts Wear feathers Owl now I'll always You see

Interesting I had the thought When it was like A giant owl I kind of thought to myself Maybe it's like a Skin walk or transformation thing Have you heard of like the Chehidi before

I don't think I have Let me Let me be lame real quick Ghost or D Dess Malevolent of the Dead Often thought of as a ghost or devil That's excellent

what a great thing to let outside. Oh, damn, man. We had sex with it. Oh, fuck. Most often the spirit of a dead person. Talk to avoid contact with the dead or in close places like a Hogan where someone has passed to avoid coming into contact

with a chindier contracting it. Okay. So you're not supposed to come into contact with one. That's why the house was over in the bushes, put to the side in a cage. Because someone had died there. It was a spear contained. No one was supposed to step in there and they came in and touched it a lot.

Got super close to it. Also, all the stuff that they had taken for the place is completely rotted. Yes. So I think each person is just going to start deteriorating probably. They're going to start decaying, falling apart. The spirit's been let loose now. I have a friend who's Navajo and I remember him telling me that there are, because me and him were talking about like demons within like some Christian beliefs like succubes and stuff like

that we were talking about like things that will be a temptress or appear as a woman and he mentioned that there's like shapeshifters within navajo belief like that and i don't remember the word chindy but i imagine that's also i could be completely mispronounce of that well it said often spelled as chindy yeah because the the the abbreviation was like the eyes and the italics is like navajo speak specifically but chindis or cheedis probably like the english way i'm sorry i'll I'm saying Chindy if we keep sitting coming on. But this, by the way, this story being like a Blood Meridian-esque,

like, headhunter group coming across a cryptid that, like, tears in pieces. My heart, right up my alley. I love it. You're bought in, so. I'm bought in. I've been bought in, and I'm doubling down. He lifted the stave towards the sun.

The men fell silent, each eye following the skyline. Briggs voice cut hard. Say it plain. he said she was caged by people bind her long years hungry but bound we feed her little just to keep her not loose you cut cage you use her you leave her now she walk free she hunt all not only white men not only navajo all harlan swore and rubbed his chin he lies some red gone mad that's all Navajo looked on him with contempt You think lies you see

She eat nest No bird's safe I'll take all Sky ground night day No safe Jesse snarled Then you'll die too Die

All die Navajo leave this land Not safe You too Pike leaned on a saddle horn Captain I say we got him here He talks too much

Riggs kept him in his eye Why should I keep my men from you Navajo said on Donley Slamped and tied to the Dun That one's sick Breathe black You leave him He die slow

I take him He live maybe He'll us try Hard laugh went around Charles grunted Healers He means cut his throat And leaving for the buzzards

Erlin shifted He ain't living anyhow Let the Navajo Spare us the work Puck asked Briggs You trust him? I sure don't Briggs held his tongue and ran a palm along the Gray's neck Finally he spoke

His words cut straight We give him over This man dies by your hand Or if you leave him in the dust I will come for your tribe Every lodge Every tent You understand me

Navajo kept a dark face I understand Briggs turned to us On time this is interesting because earlier he refuses to let Donley die and then there's the mention by Pike that the two of them have fought together

a long time so it's like the one thing that would make him not just kill this Navajo like he has everyone else is his loyalty to Donley, their friendship that maybe if this can help him then I'll trust him all let this guy go Pike scowled yet loose the knots Donley slid from the

Dun like a sack of meal and gave one deep ground. The Navajo bent and swung him up light as a child slinging him across his back. Jesse twitched towards his revolver. Captain, you were letting this rat walk off with one of ours? Bragg's eyes burned black. Dunley's near gone.

We wish food and time strabbing him upright. This way both sides get chance. Harlan kicked a clod. Or a hole in his throat. Bragg's answer, cold. If so, I'll know. And I'll come back for every one of his people. That is enough.

The man moved off into the brush with Donnelly over his back. Their thread thinned among the cottonwoods until only the wind kept on. No one spoke for a long spell. The gray stamped once and settled. After a moment, Jesse said, Allstate corn, we never see Donnelly again. Pack worked his tobacco. Better end than me.

All right, man. Gosh, this is so good. Next entry. Next entry, September the 29th along the broken Mesa country. Two days since the Navajo runner slipped off into the cottonwoods, and the camp has grown mean with silence. The owl follows yet. None can deny it.

It circles when we ride, and each night it perches near enough that the firelight snags in those embers, carries for eyes. Near midnight, Harlan came up screaming. Blanket wound round his forearm like a drowning man to a spar. I dreamt of her. The one we pulled from the cage. She walked through the flames and her hands were fine. feathers she set them on man's eyes and then we opened them and owls flew out that night we built

three fires drew in tight first light we found the texan boon not jessie the other one charles he had held the watch before dawn carving across his knees we found him split ribs bent like fingers pried apart his eyes were gone only two wet holes left feathers stuck in the blood across his chest. That's interesting because Harlan had the dream and said she walked to a man and when she says eyes on him, owls flew out. I imagine either of him of her. So it's like

that was his dream of what actually happened to Charles over the hill. Jesse dropped to his knees and let out a noise like a hound caught in a trap. Then he came up colored Drain, taken the ring of us. Which of you bastards did this? No one spoke. Pot crossed himself and then caught my eye.

and stopped. Harlan swore small and worked his hat brim to the floor. Briggs came up, took one measure of the body and swept dirt across Boone's face. He's gone. We were right without him. Jesse rushed him, teeth showing clotted air. Briggs stepped in, caught him at the wrist and slung him to the earth. Colt was out before Jesse hit. He's carry on. Briggs said flat as truth usually is. Stay down or join him. blood threaded from Jesse's lips as he rolled to his knees kept his mouth shut that night we stacked the fires high we drew the stock in close yet none of them settled pikes bay ran slick with sweat harland's surreal punched holes in the earth ears pinned eyes white my own rowan trembled neck down snorting only briggs gray held steady the blind side turned to the night the owl called once more the sound cracked through the dark like a a green log on fire. It set Jesse to his feet. Brandish his revolver.

Cover me then. He hollered. Come on, and I'll split you to hell. He threw six rounds into the black. Each flash lit his face, lips skinned back in a grin that meant nothing. When the smoke thinned, the bird's still called.

Pike told him, soft as mud. You're pulled then, fool. Jesse wheeled wildface. Let it come. I'll put my knife in his guts out cry came again closer it set the horses to screaming the bay broke loose rain snapping

hooves tearing the ground it ran headlong into the night we heard it shrink once nothing no man said a word after that the owl did not call again it's like every time she comes as an owl death someone dies each time

her death soon to come like with Conley October the first broken mesa country I set my hand to these pages, though the grip shakes near as bad as Donnelly's did before we gave him over. If any man should find this book, take it for a warning. I know not if the sun will find me alive come morning. This night split with a wind full of grit enough to skin a man raw. We tied the stock short, set three more fires, checked rifles, no man slept.

Jesse hunched over his blade and talked to himself in a thin thread of sound. meanwhile shadows worked tricks across the ground swelling large shrinking small never matching the flames that cast them every beast tethered near rolled its gaze to the ridgeline snorting stamping deep holes in the crust the smell of singed hair rowed the air though no man set torch it was when the night was loud as the owl came for us no call first none of the distant mournful notes we had grown to dread instead it dropped like a stone from heaven. Wings spread wide enough to swallow half the stars. The air slammed against us as though a canvas had been ripped overhead. The fire burst upwards as if some hand had seized the flames and torn them sky high. Sparks rained down upon us, biting the skin,

setting blankets alight. In the glow I marked her, tall, twisted, cloaked in wings, thick as tar her eyes were red coals set deep her mouth a beak that split wide and gnashed with teeth like endless stones she strode between firelight and shadow and every man swore he saw her in a different place oh man gosh that's so cool it reminds me of a mother horse eyes and in the old story of the uh the water tribe how the the giant bat demon thing comes onto the rock for the girl even the description were like the cats in that story were watching it rise above the hills and then land all the horses were looking to the the ridge line where it came cruising down man pipe cried out and fired blind into the dark shoot it shoot damn you his rounds smacked dirt and wind away harland raised his rifle and the

stock tore against his cheek as though wrenched by unseen hands i fixed side on it full then straight in my path feathers heavy as storm bank sagged from her shoulders no bird no woman but some mistake between. A creature built from the wrong parts of both. The beak tore open and what poured out was no simple cry, but a howl carried by a dozen throats. Men groaning, women shrieking, children wailing, all rising together. My guts folded as if every sin I'd pressed down came rushing back through that one sound. Briggs cut through the racket. Sandal up. We ride. Pike shouted. Right where? She flies. Briggs swept the line. face black with soot from the smoldering camp saddle mountain ride you flee for cars in spain my horse is the

only one with courage i'll keep it busy pock's throat cracked you'll be killed briggs glare burned through the haze we're already dead best i buy you another hour he swung into the saddle the gray lifted its head proud stamping once eyes like chips of glass in the blaze the side of the pair struck me frozen for that instant briggs stood the hero he might have have been a true soldier unbroken he spurred forward into the stands ride barked once more than he was gone we mounted in a frenzy men dropped their rifles kicked its stock clawed at tacked at tack my row and trembled under me veins thrumming spit hanging thick from its mouth still it carried me when i drove heels into its flanks behind us rang three sharp shots measured certain then silence we drove through the mason

a country. Each man bent low, a tension cut into the sky. At first, there was only the wind. Then came the cry. That terrible cry. After his span, Pike twisted in the saddle, its color drained. It comes. I wheeled in the leather and watched. It crossed the stars, dark and vast, wings wide as canyon walls. It fell upon us like night itself. Harlan screamed. The thing stooped once, and he was gone. Mountain Man. lifted into the black. One cry split off and died than nothing.

It just snatched up him and the horse. Thanks fucking huge. Yeah. You know also this probably, have you heard of the Thunderbird before? No. There's this legend that like Calvary soldiers out in the West around this time

reported seeing something that called the Thunderbird which was a giant bird with like a giant wingspan that would pick up horses from camp and carry them away. There's, like, there's some people who say, like, maybe it was a teradactyl that survived or whatever, like a giant dinosaur bird thing. So, this kind of ties into the legends of that as well. Pike fired over his shoulder. Spitting curse is so raw, they hardly made sense.

The bird fell again, its wings hammering air. It smashed Pike from the saddle. Ryder vanishing into a spray of red mist and quills that drifted down like snow. Just like crushed him to death. My roan fled behind, foam running, whites flashing. I clung to saddle and horn, the dark a smear. Behind all went still but for the thunder of wings. Then the roan stumbled.

A foreleg snapped like timber under an axe. I pitched forward and the beast toppled, weight crushing across me. My leg pinned under, bone near cracked, the flesh screaming. The horse thrashed wild, foam and blood working from its muzzle. I drew pistol and put a ball through. its skull. The weight sagged dead. I lay under it, air burning my chest, desert rough against my skin. She came on then. The owl set upon a rock not twenty paces off. One cold, bright orb glowed from her ruin of a skull, the other socket now hollow, where a heart ought to rest

yon two holes surrounded with blackened plumage. Yet it lived, if such a life can be named. I reached for my powder horn The arm shook but held true I poured what charge I had left into my palm Set it with ball and wadding I meant to make a bomb of it To set it alight and strike when she came Better that than wait to be plucked apart like boon

The owl shifted wings stretching wide Feathers spilling into the dust The sound of its call rose again Low and long a voice like the tearing of the sky my ears bled with it I scratched these lines with the book on the dust The charge waits beside my knee

She closes in On ember bright Her shape draped against the stars If these pages be found No I rose to meet her I aim to trade fire for flesh And powder for blood Whether it ends her or not

It will not be said I lay idle Her wings roof over me Night bends to her shape the air spits the earth shudders with her cry I close here and that is the end

what an awesome fan story dude oh my gosh oh it was written so well what a great writer the journal of an unknown soldier it's fun I like the idea too that someone did come across it and that's like just the transcript

just found amongst the desert amongst a pile of bones the thunderbird kind of analogy or like the thunderbird mythology kind of thing is fun too like it feels like this is a piece of that mythology that you would find out there Yeah yeah like one of the early legends That started the stories about it

Desert of the Western landscape you know I mean Just the writing was so good The descriptors the adjectives The command of words there were so many fun things Set up like Yancey or being like Briggs will be the death of Yancey And then he was and like The brutality that's matched by like the fear

They experience over the next coming weeks And like the Navajo that come cross and like how Briggs almost had not humanity but he had valor in his own mind instances where he's like I'll let this Navajo go if he can save my friend or at the end where he's like my horse is the only one brave enough human ride I'll hold it off and he dies like obviously a horrible person but in his mind there was a justification there was a there was a there was a code yeah code of honor yeah they had a code of honor amongst himself yeah even if he wasn't deserving of honor just so many

interesting little character moments baked into such a short story and like the it was all written so well like each of those character moments were described and the way the language changes between like the narration and the dialogue and god it just felt so full even little things like how do we write in that the men discover it's a chendi or whatever cheating and it's like okay well they come across a Navajo that could be a cheesy moment except because there's been another village burned and he says he can take Donnelly, maybe the only person that lived through this, which would, not the Donley, Donley's still a killer, but he was one that stepped out of the tent. Him and the rider were the two who left. So maybe it's saying that, you know,

Donley survives taken away by the Navajo, the same people he had killed because he didn't go in this one further act of evil with the woman in the cabin or the woman in the Hogan, who turned out to be the Chindi. But like that moment, one that feels natural with Briggs giving off Donnelly is also the expository moment that's used to give the information about what this cryptid is but it doesn't feel like exposition because it all works together so well.

Just so many interesting moments like well written from like the actual wording to how scenes are framed and stuff like that. This is great. Trevor Strange accounts. We're going to have this story linked in the description. He has written multiple of these in the R slash creepcast subreddit, which sounds,

this is an absurd place to put these stories. I think it's a great place to put it. Just that he's this talented. And as far as I can find, he's not published or anything, which this, keep riding, dude.

This was fantastic. Yeah. I mean, I think that we, I say it's a broken record, but simplicity in the story, two things literally happen. They raid a village and they ride away.

And you're able to get so much out of something that's so simple. It's not convoluted. It just takes its time. and it like ushers through these like two simple things it's so crystal clear and I think that like it benefits greatly from it like I think that sometimes on paper you're like I mean all they did was raid that and then they just rode away and they got attacked but you can really I mean you can really get so many miles out of something that's just so simple and I think like it didn't overstay its welcome the characters just like we got to we knew enough about them to be invested and then they were taken away from us and you know what I mean it's like just really fun I mean like it was great I mean I'd love to read another one of his stuff sometime I think it was awesome especially I like this format of the entries that's always fun you know I always like this we read some stories to have like the kind of like little entry points but I like this would also by the way not to not to take away

from Trevor's writing this would also not be allowed on our slash no sleep really because it didn't happen to the author mm it didn't happen to the person posting it right so it's just something I found. Bye-bye. Bye-bye. Wrong. I don't think so. Unless you open with the beginning.

Band. Yeah, you open the beginning with. Hey, guys, so I'm posting this thing I found. Also, I think there's an indestructible pedophile in the closet. Band. Thank you so much to our audio listeners over on Apple Podcast, Spotify. Thank you guys for giving us the good ratings there. Also, thank you to our patrons who support us and get a little extra juicy content on the side.

And thank you to the author who decided, Trevor, who decided to upload this to our CreepCast subred it. Link will be in the description link will be in the description but please guys be creative Post this stuff on there like their community's been reading more stuff been commenting on stuff if you want an excuse to just dive in

Not everything's gonna be a fucking home run Sometimes you gotta like make some shit before you make some stuff That you're really proud of It's all about the process and having fun Even if people are like this sucks That's fine it's okay So just know Post it have a good time

We thank you and we will see you in the next one. Bye-bye. See you in the next one. And also, I think this story makes up for what Harry did to us with the Brick story. So he's back on neutral grounds with that. Don't get too excited. Bye.

Thank you. So, I'm going to be able to be. I'm going to be. I'm going to be. I'm going to. I'm going. Oh.

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