Old Gods of Appalachia - Episode 62: Small Favors

Episode Date: February 8, 2024

Favors are called in and a journey begins. CW: Discussion of firearms, paranoia, emotional breakdown, marital strife, children killed in industrial settings/child labor; automotive sounds; descriptions of mutilated ghosts. Written by Steve Shell and Cam CollinsNarrated by Steve ShellSound design by Steve ShellProduced and edited by Cam Collins and Steve ShellIntro music: “The Land Unknown (The Bloody Roots Verses)” written and performed by Landon BloodOutro music: “Atonement” written and performed by Jon Charles DwyerSpecial equipment consideration provided by Lauten Audio.LEARN MORE ABOUT OLD GODS OF APPALACHIA: www.oldgodsofappalachia.comCOMPLETE YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA RITUAL:FacebookInstagramTwitterBlueskySUPPORT THE SHOW:Join us over at THE HOLLER to enjoy ad-free episodes, access exclusive storylines and more.Find t-shirts, hoodies, mugs, and other Old Gods merch at www.teepublic.com/stores/oldgodsofappalachia.Transcripts available on our website at www.oldgodsofappalachia.com/episodes.Support this show http://supporter.acast.com/old-gods-of-appalachia. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

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Right about now. Old Gods of Appalachia is a whole. horror anthology podcast, and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences. So, listener discretion, is advised. June Gilbert was furious. She took a deep breath and counted to ten as she settled the handset of the telephone back into place on the table by the old sofa they'd inherited from Trevor's paw

when they'd taken over the farm. While telephones had been prevalent in Hazel County for a good number of years now, this was a new addition to the Gilbert home. When the bun in her oven had been confirmed, Trevor had insisted they'd be able to contact family or the doctor at a moment's notice and paid the relatively handsome fee to have them connected to the Hazel County Exchange. She was touched by her husband's newfound sense of responsibility, had found it sweet how often he tested the line to make sure,

they were still able to reach the outside world from the end of their little dirt road. Her heart had swelled with pride as Trevor had begun making improvements around their humble little domicile. He built new steps from the front porch with a sturdy railing that gave her something to hold on to as she made her way in and out of the house in her current state. Shortly thereafter, he added a new screen door with a turning lock at the rear of the house so she could allow the cool breeze to blow through on hot days. A tall white picket fence sprung up around the yard, setting it apart from the working part of the small but thriving farm.

A heavy iron gate with a thick sliding bar provided the only entry point to the property. June's pride turned to concern when Trevor began purchasing more guns than he would ever need to hunt. A brand new revolver made its way into his nightstand drawer. and a shotgun that looked like he could stop a charging elk now hung beside the broom and dustpan inside a closet that had previously held only household cleaning products. And other new weapons were tucked out aside in places she had yet to discover.

This small arsenal joined the seven dead bolts he'd added to the front and back doors in the fancy new windows with the heavy-duty lashes. He and his friend had installed in the bedroom and in the parlor. June had asked him half-joking, If he was expected and invade an army when he presented her with the three separate new keys, it now took to lock the back door, the terror that had flashed in her husband's eyes had only been there for a moment, but she had seen it and could not forget it.

As her delivery day approached, Trevor slept less and less. She'd wait to him screaming, leaping from the bed, and scrambling to put himself between her and the bedroom door. Other times she'd find him pacing. rifle in hand watching the tree line from the back porch. It was the lack of sleep that had done it, she thought. He was testing all the locks on the front door for what seemed like the 50th time that week when she hugged him and asked what in the world he thought was going to get in the house.

Did he think the devil himself was trying to sneak in and steal their souls? Trevor was stretched thin, nearly delirious. He looked at her as though his heart had been dipped in the blackest sins and deep fried. June expected him to say what he always said, that you can't be too careful when you have a new baby, and it was his job to keep them safe as man of the house and so on and so forth. But this time, this time he just broke. Trevor fell to his knees weeping, and the whole sordid tail came pouring out.

How the hunting trip had gone wrong. How he got lost on a ridge he knew like the back of his hand, the deal he made with a thing with glow and orange eyes and what seemed like a hundred tails. He sobbed and wailed as he confessed that he'd promised the babe in her belly to some hank out in the woods. He would do whatever he could to stop it, he promised. But they had to be ready.

Most wives married to men with the history of loving little brown jugs more than the Lord. Might have thought he'd simply fallen off the wagon. But June Gilbert, who'd been born June Norris, knew better. Her mama had warned her of the dangers to be found in the deep woods, of the perils of entertaining the honey words of creatures offering deals that seemed to be too good to be true, and after Mama passed, her sisters and June's cousin, Belle, had taught her even more during her visits to them down in Tennessee.

June truly loved her husband, but right now she would just soon go upside his head, with a shovel for being such a fool. How in the world had he come face to face with a genuine monster? And kept the truth from her until now. She was so angry and scared, and she felt like screaming and throwing up all at once, and the baby chose that moment to shift and kick. And she almost did both,

which was getting to be the natural state of her life as her due date drew closer. She took a deep, steady and breath. She was going to fix this. She called her mama's sister down in Tennessee, who had expected she was calling for her to come to Hazel County to bring the newest member of the Gilbert clan into the world. But her aunt didn't panic.

Didn't even sound too worried when Junie explained the situation, and she only cussed Trevor's name a little. Now, you just sit tight. I'm going to call in a favor or two, send somebody down there to get you, your daddy, and your dumbass husband. Junie was puzzled. Ain't, Marcy, you don't need to do all that.

We can just take the train. We got time before the baby. No. No, don't you dare, snapped Marcy Walker's voice from the other end of the line. If this is the kind of thing I think it is, you won't get far on your own. Running breaks the compact. You're going to need somebody who knows how to handle this kind of situation. I think I know just a feller.

Junie could hear the resignation in her aunt's voice. She had the feeling this wasn't a marker Marcy would call in for anyone but family. Y'all just be packed up and ready to go, you hear me? Yes, Junie replied automatically. You'll know my man when he comes. I'm betting he can get there by tomorrow evening. I'll need to go and speak to him now. Y'all just stay put.

I'll call if anything changes. Love you, girl. Love you too, ain't Mark. Marcy? June had packed in a silent fury. Trevor knew better than to try to talk to her now. She told him he could make it up to her later, and by later she meant he'd be working on that project the rest of their lives

and sent him to fetch her daddy. When Trevor had objected on the basis of Kevin Norris' well-known stubborn streak, she told him to say that this was something Mama Sheila would have dealt with if she were still with them. Trevor didn't understand what that meant, but Junie told him just do it and slammed the door in his face. Her daddy would understand the urgency of the situation at the mention of her mamma's name. At precisely sundown the following day,

the sound of an approaching truck engine wound its way up the narrow road to the Gilbert homestead. Trevor and his father-in-law stepped out into the porch to greet their visitor. Trevor with a shotgun over his shoulder, an old Kev bearing a pistol and a hip holster. Junie expected to find the beat-up old pickup of Melvin Blevins, the hired man who had become part of the Walker's extended family in her front yard. But instead, saw a brand-new Ford Model T panel truck when she peeked outside. It was painted of flat black and bore no company logos or other identifying marks. Trevor stepped into the path of the slowing vehicle and held up a hand, doing his best to project an air of confidence and authority,

failing pretty miserably. He was exhausted and terrified, and it showed. The truck's engine fell silent and the driver's side door opened. The man who emerged into the fading golden light of early evening was not Melvin Blevins, but instead an older gentleman of heavy carriage who groaned to bed as he straightened his back and stretched, he was dressed in a simple brown suit. but wore a fashionable hat that hinted it more wealth than the suit implied. His build was average, not especially physically imposing,

but he carried himself with a swagger that bespoke a life of seeing and doing things that most people had better sense than to attempt. There was a twinkle in his eyes. He surveyed Trevor and Kev in their respective firearms. Gentlemen, I'm assuming you are Mr. Gilbert and Mr. Norris, respectively. The charm that oozed from the stranger's voice was like a shot of whiskey. Trevor felt himself relaxed as he met the man's eyes. He almost offered his hand to shake, but caught himself, thinking better of it.

He nodded stiffly, "'Yes, sir, and you aren't' their guest ignored Trevor.' Stepping past him to greet Junie, who'd come out onto the porch, "'and that would make you—' "'Miss Juniper Rebecca Gilbert, would it not?' "'Juny smiled dryly. "'She could feel the man's charm reach for her, "'but she knew better than to trust that.

"'She shook her head. "'Ain't nobody called me Juniper since they wrote it on my birth certificate, sir,' "'she said sweetly, "'Miss Gilbert will do just fine, or June, "'if you insist on being familiar. "'With a wolf's grin, "'he bounded up the steps of the porch in a blink. "'He had taken her hand and kissed it

"'before Junie quite knew what was happening. I'm afraid I never had the pleasure of meeting your mother, but your aunt's Marcelline and Eloise are old acquaintances of mine. He met her eyes and she felt that charm radiate out from his smiling face again. They send their regards and eagerly await your arrival. Mr. My son-in-law asked your name, Kev interrupted, pushing his coat aside to show his hand resting on the butt of his sidearm. And we ain't going nowhere till we know at least who we're dealing with.

Something about this fellow wasn't quite right. Kevin Norris could feel it in his bones. The man in the plain brown suit spun on his heel with remarkable speed, and suddenly Kev found the hand he'd rested on his old revolver being shaken. The stranger's grip was warm and unbreakable. My name is J.T. Fields of Dorchester. My friends call me Jack. I am here at the behest of your late wife's family, Mr. Norris,

to safely deliver you, your daughter, her husband, and your currently unborn grandchild to their hearth and home. Now, y'all can stay here and face what's coming on your own, but if you like breathing, I suggest you get in the truck and come with me. Dusty bone, so dark and hungry, where its branches split, new blood flows, the ghost of a past, you thought long buried,

rise a home for young. The shadow falls, the judgment comes, Treads off, my friend, amongst your fellow. Take your bond your words to give you. As the night came on, the delivery truck moving through the night like an inky shadow cast against the moon as the venerable Mr. Fields, hollowed the panel truck like the captain at the helm of his ship.

I usually have folks drive for me, the older man said to no one in terms. particular. My eyes aren't what they used to be at night, but we'll get by just fine. I could take a turn at the wheel, Mr. Fields, sir. If you get tired, Trevor offered. Call me Jack, son. Fields said, with a grin over his shoulder as they came to a convergence of three roads. Inexplicably, Jack turned down the one-headed north. I appreciate the offer, truly I do, but the route we're taking. Uh, ain't the easiest. In this particular vehicle requires a steady hand.

Old Kev scowled in the passenger seat. I've driven from flat top out to Tipton a hundred times. Baker's Gap ain't far from there. The road ain't too bad, especially with all the work the government's been putting in down around the state line. Kev looked around to get his bearings, his scowl deepening. But this ain't the road toward Tipton neither. We're going in the opposite direction.

The man who called himself J.T. Field. of Dorchester currently, laughed softly. We aren't taking any roads of government built, Mr. Norris, but we'll get there all the same. We've got to swing up by Bent Laurel to get where we're going, and that means heading north for a little bit. Y'all just going to have to trust me on this. Bent Laurel, Trevor popped up, doubtfully.

Out near Pocahontas? Is there even anything out there anymore? No, as father-in-law said sourly. There was a note of trepidation in his voice that Trevor Gilbert had never heard before. Old town dried up and withered like a weed after the east mine blew out on flat-toped mountain more than 40 years ago. Lost my daddy and both my uncles in that blast. Horrible business. Gas explosions, so big it cracked the mountain wide open, finished Jack.

Worst mine and disaster in the Commonwealth of Virginia to date, yes, sir. 112 men lost in a hail of fire and darkness. Luckily, the body count didn't get no higher. What no government regulation back then at all? They trusted the mine operators to keep the men safe, and we all know how that turned out. You had wheelcarts launched 500 feet from the mouth of the mine. Houses shook off their foundation,

and there was the fire. I can't see I ever seen fire do what it did to that mine. He added distractedly, as he pulled the truck around a tight bend in the road and began to climb a steep incline. His eyes never leaving the road. You were there? You had to be a young man back then. You can't be much older than me, Kevin Norris mused, regarding the weathered skin of the man who called himself J.T. Fields rather critical. I'm older than I have any right to be, Jack chuckle.

Right now, I'm as old as I ever been in this old sack of meat and bones. but that is not a discussion for tonight. His final words carried the weight of a vault door slamming shut. Trust me, when I say I know what there is and what there ain't in Bent Laurel. And what is there will help us get ahead of your little problem before the little lady back there pops like a tick. So I'll be quiet for a bit, all right? I can explain more later, but this next leg requires a little concentration.

Junie watched through the back window as they rolled past some of the other coal camps on the north end of Hazel County. Bossa Vane, Jinking Jones, big run. Men shuffled through the streets illuminated by electric street lamps. Their skin darkened by time spent smothered in the embrace of the mountain. Joints aching as they made their way home,

passing the next incoming shift, sure and steady as conveyor belts carrying waste to an incinerator. She saw what she assumed was father. with his small son lined up to clock in at the front gate of one mine or another. Little fellow couldn't have been more than eight years old. Junie rested a hand protectively over her belly. She couldn't imagine sending her child to work in that darkness. Two new boys, even younger, often worked as door and shovel boys

and even more dangerous positions, and prayed she and Trevor never fell on time so hard they had to make a choice like that. Soon enough, they came to the turn for Pocahontas. indicated by a battered company sign reading, Welcome to Pocahontas, home of genuine flat-top coal slash coke, guaranteed smokeless. They rolled through the small town in silence. Neat identical houses lined the streets.

The roads to and from the mines outside town were clearly marked and well kept, yet there was an unsettling sense of despair, even dread that hung over the street. the place. The Model T bore east for another ten minutes past the town before they came to a faded, nearly illegible piece of signage mounted on a rotting wood post.

Bent Laurel. East Mine. Closed. Private property. Keep out. Tresspassers will be shot on site. There was no gate nor any sort of barricade block in the road. So without hesitation, Jack pulled on to the neglected old dirt track

that led down a slight incline toward the corpse of the biggest mine and disaster of these mountains had ever known. The truck had rolled about a hundred yards past the side when his engine rattled itself to a dead stop. His headlights flickered, and the night was moonless and overcast, not a single star in the sky above to light their way. The darkness was absolute.

Jack glanced down at the steering wheel. We'll snatching his hands away as though it had suddenly grown hot beneath his fingers. Outside, the wind stirred through the trees they could not see, and the night pressed hungrily against the windows. As if daring them to come out and see what might be moving with him. I should have expected that, Jack said bemused. Well, y'all, we have reached our first destination. Just sit tight and stay in the vehicle, please.

I need to arrange for our passage. He opened his door and stepped out, gravel crunching underfoot as he made his way around the back of the delivery truck and opened its panel doors. He rummaged around for a few minutes, clearly searching for something before exclaiming triumphantly, Ah, here we are! The man known as J.T. Fields closed up the panel doors and walked back around to the front of the truck, and there was a soft clank as he placed something metal on the ground. The driver's side door opened again and Jack stuck his head in. All right, folks, things are about to get a little interesting.

I need y'all to sit tight now, and no matter what you see or what you think you see, just stay in the truck. You hear me? I would suggest you close your eyes, but that might be even worse. Just trust me and be brave. You all right, Miss June? Junie nodded. All right, then. Here we go.

Jack slammed the door. and disappeared into the darkness. The wind picked up, blowing through the leaves on the trees like rattled. Hale to the travelers, Jack called in an oddly formal voice. I stand upon your threshold to call upon one who owes me thrice over. One boon you have repaid, and I come here now to seek repayment for the second. I have come to this place of deepest night and sundered veil bearing gifts of flit, steel and fire.

I seek an audience with those who would sink redress for the wrongly slain, who would give names to the nameless dead left buried beneath these hills in pursuit of other men's money. I make this offering and beg an audience with thee. Pray, come forth! With this dramatic pronouncement,

Jack struck flint to stone, and an old miner's lantern flared to life. He held it aloft its flame glowing pale and cold Like a tiny full moon in the pitch black night Junie immediately wished he would put it back out Because its sickly silver light fell not just on the road Or the trees that lined it but upon a dozen boys who were dead

And had been dead for a long time Yet there they stood Eyes black as cold dust fixed upon the man in the plain brown suit who held that lantern high. Her eyes filled with tears, her arms wrapping protectively over her belly. Old Kev's hands trembled as he covered his eyes and began muttering a prayer under his breath. Trevor simply stared out at them in wordless, frozen. He thought his heart might stop.

Each and a dead boys did not move toward Jack. The left lines seeming to hold them all fascinated. Their hungry faces leaning in like terrible. flowers seeking some strange cold sun. I know you're here, son, and you owe me. So why don't you come on out so we can talk? Jack called out for a long moment. The dead children merely watching him in that hungry silence.

Then the sea of boys began to shift. Parting to allow a lone figure to make his way to the front of the pack, June clapped a hand over her mouth, the stifle of scream. As he drew near, the boy at first appeared tall. But in the next moment he was not. He had the smooth cheeks of a boy, then the haggard visage of a man groaned before his time. He was bleeding with a crushed face,

and then he was some horrific shambling thing made of bones and fire, and finally his features settled into those. Just a boy, maybe 12 or 13. A boy dressed for the mines with a cap pulled down low over his eyes. old enough to work, old enough to get into trouble, old enough to die in the endless darkness under the mountain beside his daddy and his brother. The boy stepped into the light of the lantern, extending his open hand. To June's surprise, Jack, handed him the lantern. When the boy spoke, it was the voice of a man. I find this offering to be satisfactory. In a course,

accord with the old compacts. He held the lantern high. So say I, answered the dull chorus of dead children. The boy turned back to the one who had called him and his cohort forth. Well, hey there, Jack. It's been a while, he said with a knowing grin. What can we do for you this time? Oh, hey there, family, my, my, my, my. Look at all those. pieces and play on the boy. We've got our man Jack, of course. The Walker sisters have officially entered the chat, and now the boy

and his Legion of Sufaced saints have made their presence known. And what will this mean for Mr. Poe in his quest for the Gilbert's firstborn? He even know who he's messing with? I guess y'all have to come back and find out next time, and I hope you join us, but I'm betting you will.

Y'all, I want to take a second to thank all y'all that reached out after last episode's little thank you segment we did regarding the charitable efforts you've helped us make possible. We appreciate y'all and your kind words. So from the bottom of our blackened and never-beating hearts, thank you. Thank you, kindly, family.

Now, if y'all don't mind, let's take another moment just to let you all know the newest installment of familiar and beloved. Our series focused on the animal companions in the world of old gods of Appalachia has dropped over on Patreon. Miss Emmeline Underfoot's story is rolling right along, and there's more good fur baby-based goodness to come if you head on over to patreon.com slash old gods of Appalachia and make the appropriate tithe you too can catch up on familiar and beloved

build mama coffin, blackmouthed dog, door under the floor and even more and now it's time for your hey did you know that john charles dwyer and jacob danielsen more both dropped new ePs on spotify and other streaming services as well as on their respective band camp reminder that old gods of appalachia is a production of deep nerd media distributed by rusty quill today's story was written by steve shell and cam collins Our theme song is by Brother Landon Blood, and our outro music is Atonement by brother John Charles Dwyer. We'll talk to you soon, family. Talk to you real soon.