I live in a small town in rural West Virginia; where tree lined streets are filled with gorgeous old houses, and houses not so gorgeous but full of character (to put it nicely).
The Greenbrier River runs right through the middle of my town, beautiful, clean, and picturesque. In this town I have come to know some of the most upright, kind, country folk, full of wisdom, humor and down home hospitality. Here I learned all about country living, country people, and mountain folk. I could never live without mountains surrounding me; they do that to a person after a while.
This town like all small towns has its share of drama. Opioid addiction, alcoholism, and domestic violence happen here, like everywhere else and at times can be a big problem. People cheat on their spouses, divorce; swap partners just like everywhere else in the world.
On the outskirts of town lay Dark Hollar. There, things which cannot be spoken take place and if your name isn’t Brown, you dare not travel down Dark Hollar road. That is unless you are accompanied by a Brown, have cash in hand, and you are there for “business” (which can mean anything from moonshine, opiates, pot, and revenge, to those things best left unnamed).
Revenge is something many in this town thrive upon. So many egos, so many slights, so much anger over petty things. In a way this is a very strange place. The people wearing a white hood at a Saturday night meeting sit right beside you in church without the slightest qualm. Here people disappear, and they stay that way. Gone, forgotten, never to be spoken of again. Here I’m sure the whole town but me voted for Donald Trump, and I dare not reveal who I voted for.
Dark Hollar road is a long dirt road lined with beautiful shady trees, and mountain ferns. Trouses dot the roadside. Trouses are my name for the trailers(mobile homes) which have been added onto, sometimes in the most haphazard way. (You can find these all over southern West Virginia) Little, dirty, barefoot children (all named brown) run here and there, help tend to gardens, gather up eggs, and bring in firewood.
Here Granny magic lives. Usually a mountain granny is a designated older woman who knows her shit about mid-wifing and medicinal herbs. The area being so poor -she is often paid in eggs, baked goods, chickens or a goat. Usually she is just fine with that thank you. There is a granny like this out in Dark Hollar. I’ve never met her personally, but the town holds her in high regard.
Dark Hollar is unusual in that 2 granny’s reside there. Granny #2 lives way down deep in that hollar, so deep. Her cabin has been there since 1800 and her “magic” has been handed down to her from many generations. She is rumored to be 114 years old (but mountain folk- they do love to tell a tale) and blind. She is paid only in cash, demands high wages for her work, and gets good business.
That makes me laugh and to be honest that little tidbit about granny #2 is what has gotten me into this much f*cked up situation. If you haven’t already guessed this is not my home town. I work at a certain government facility nearby and all this information I have gleaned from my friends that were born and raised here.
I have lived all over this country in many different towns but this has been the most challenging. Why? Because, it is very easy to get bored here; and boredom is not my friend. Numbing out that boredom is how I picked up my little opiate habit. Only now it has become a BIG habit, and I am in desperate need of cash.
So desperate I did the unthinkable. I travelled Dark Hollar late last night. Alone of course, even if my friends believed all that mumbo jumbo shit, it didn’t mean I had to. Dealing with a 114 year old blind woman and taking her cash seemed like easy money.
Getting down that hollar was a piece of cake, no problem at all. Had I been a wise person that would have tipped me off, but obviously I am not a wise person. Had I been a wise person I would have listened to what befalls a person who harms a granny like granny #2, but I scoffed.
The road was long and ended way before I came upon her cabin. She lives without electricity or plumbing and kerosene lamps lit up the front room of her cabin. I worried about a dog, but shouldn’t have, there was none. That too should have raised my brow, everyone, especially mountain folk has a dog.
So I peeked in on granny #2 figuring she would be asleep as it was about 2:30am. She was not asleep. She was at a table hunched over something I could not see. My plan was to go in and with my “gun” in my coat pocket demand all her money. Then I would simply walk out, she had no phone and her nearest neighbor was about a mile and a half away.
But things did not go as planned. Oh God they did not at all!
Granny #2 was almost completely bald, with tufts here and there of long gray hair stained yellow. She had to be all of 5’2. I did have a pang of guilt when I saw her; however I also had a terrible addiction to feed so I crept to the door. I really didn’t need to bother being quiet as I soon found out when I opened her door. She didn’t make a move to turn around. That was a relief. As I stepped through the door she began making deep, wild, guttural sounds, still she did not turn around. So I walked up behind her and stuck my” gun” in her back.
The rest happened so fast, in an instant really. She turned then, only she was not bald anymore. Her hair was long and scraggly gray, her teeth were yellow and every one was sharpened to a point. Her hands were claws, and her eyes, oh those eyes! Black, and dead, and huge.
She lunged at me and I struggled to break free from her grasp.
I was so revolted, like that feeling I get when I see a huge spider x 100. I got my hands around her throat and squeezed, I just wanted her dead. I was so scared.
“This was not in the script” I thought. It took a long time and a lot of strength on my part but in the end she was dead. I was now a murderer. A sweating, disgusting, pathetic murderer.
I looked down at her and there she lay someone’s grandma, her teeth were not in, her tongue lolled out of her mouth, and her eyes were staring me down.
Then I remembered why I came in the first place and I began searching for her money. This was a woman who lived very simply. Not much furniture and it appeared she slept on an old mattress on the floor. Her cupboards were nearly bare, and she had no refrigerator. I felt so guilty, but I tore her cabin apart nonetheless, and I found no money.
So now I’m a murderer who murdered for no reason and I won’t be able to feed my addiction.
I sat on her floor, just stunned. I'm not sure how long I sat there. Eventually I got up and headed for home.
My trip back down the hollar was not so easy. Not because the Browns came after me, but something else; something very dark that I only caught glimpses of; something that smelled like rotting flesh; something that whispered “revenge”.
It followed me all the way home, whispering that same word over and over. It followed me into my house whispering, rotting. Whispering while I took a shower; whispering while I tried to sleep and rotting, a nauseating rotting smell that did not let up.
I cried, I’m not sure for who, but knowing my selfish, murdering self probably me.
Still it whispered and the smell of rot grew stronger. I passed the rest of the night in sheer terror. This morning my husband (oblivious to every tidbit of information I’ve given you), demanded to know what in the hell was going on with me.
“Don’t you hear it?” I asked. “Hear what?” he cried. "You can't smell it either, can you?" I asked. He looked at me like I was mad. I just started screaming for it to leave me the hell alone. It was then my husband asked “what have you done?” because he knew, somehow he knew I’d been way back in Dark Hollar.
It was then the whispering stopped, the stench became very strong and then vanished. That was a few minutes ago. My husband fled the house and I don’t blame him.
Oh god what have I done? Whatever I get, I surely deserve. There is something behind me. I am so afraid. I'm hoping someone out there can help me.
Submitted March 12, 2017 at 01:59AM by spngbob http://ift.tt/2mNgEG6 nosleep
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