Burke County, NC

“For Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.”
— 2 Corinthians 11:14

[In our previous installments, Edwin O’Connor, a graduate student wrestling with doubts about his salvation, stepped through a tunnel beneath the Blue Ridge Parkway and found himself transported into Caol Ait, a thin place where animals speak, and angels fly overhead. Reduced to his seven-year-old self and accompanied by the insufferable Sir Custard Felonious the Third, he sheltered his first night in the King’s Carriage Barn — where the dark wolves of the witch Cailleach battered at the doors before withdrawing. We have also learned how John and Martha Taylor, the King’s coachman and his wife, escaped slavery through a burning plantation doorway during the Civil War, and how their tormentor, Old Scratch, followed them into this thin place. Driven back by the light, he was not destroyed, and lurks still at the edges of the dark wood.]
Deep in the dark wood, remnants of the night’s coolness hovered as mist over the sleeping forest. The skies above the towering canopy glowed a simmering alizarin crimson – an ominous sky if ever there was one. From the enchanted folds of the ancient mountain, through the deep dark hollers of time, a whisper tempered the coming dawn, as the sweet drops of dew glistened upon the pink and white Mountain Laurel blooms. An essence of purity, as unfettered as a lamb, the forest realm lay peacefully reposed, unaware of the darkness that sought to escape the confines of its bonds to which it had been cast millennia before. The streams that gurgled through the rocks and over the gentle cataracts reflected the prophetic firmament above, a slice of hot, molten metal severing the gentle tranquility before the coming dawn.
A pair of bluebirds chased one another. Swooping and spiraling down through the uppermost boughs of the forest, their bodies chased the slender ribbon of smoke that rose from a nearly concealed stone chimney, beneath which a cavern home lay nestled at the far end of a little cove, known to all as Twittle Holler, that rested comfortably between Thunder and Raven’s Claw Mountains. About the time the twittering pair flew past, the door of the hidden abode closed as the small, bent figure of a dwarf stepped from its confines. The fur cap was snugly pulled down over his protruding mop of unkempt red hair. A long ginger beard flecked with streaks of white cascaded down his rotund figure to a broad leather belt, which complemented the woodsman’s clothes beneath. He promptly, with hands on his hips, took a deep breath, eyes half-closed, and exhaled slowly. About him, a rose-washed aura lit the foliage and trees, while the amber sky above created an ambiance of peace in the woodland below. One after another, the cheerful heads of a family of chipmunks appeared from beneath the surrounding logs and leaves.
“Good morning, Grubafrass,” they hailed, their tiny voices squeaking in unison.
“Well, if it isn’t my good buddies, the Chipmunk family,” he chuckled, adjusting the hat as if tipping it in a gesture of greeting.
“What adventure awaits us today?” Papa Chipmunk hailed. The tiny heads blinked, with smiles that never seemed to wane.
“Well, Munk,” – the nickname Grubafrass had for Papa Chipmunk – “Me thinks ‘twould be a fair day to cut some firewood for the hearth and,” he paused as if to sniff the air, “and…perhaps gather some chestnuts for roasting. What say you?”
A chorus of cheers erupted as the tiny animals leaped with joy. For everyone knew that when Grubafrass was gathering firewood, it meant a ride on the wagon. And when they got to go gather chestnuts, it meant plenty of food.
“We would be doubly honored to be your escorts today if one such as yourself wouldn’t be bothered?”
Grubafrass smiled a toothy grin beneath his mustache’s shadow of auburn, “Of course not. You know the better.” More gleeful shouts rose from the little bodies who were now stepping into the cleared footpath that led to the door of the subterranean abode.
“What’s all the hubbub out here?” The head of Mrs. Grubafrass stuck her head out from the cave door, her golden hair covered by a cotton cap with a wide, ruffled brim decorated with cute little flowers. “Why, you’ve got all the little creatures riled up first thing, Grubafrass!”
“Oh my lovely, you know how they’re always eager for a journey.”
“Well, if you bring back some chestnuts, I might be inclined to whip up some chestnut pies for supper.” Another resounding cheer followed from the miniature army of tail-wagging ragamuffins.
“Give me a couple of minutes to get the goats harnessed to the cart, and then we’ll be off.”
“Oh, and if you can, my love, would you be so kind as to stop by the King’s dairy barn and pick up a jug of milk for us; we’re running a wee bit low.”
“Will do, my lady,” he nodded.
Mrs. Grubafrass winked and smiled lovingly, then turned to return to her baking, gently closing the door as she left.
Grubafrass then turned and headed to the thatched-roof barn nearby, nestled amongst the massive Chestnut trees that surrounded the area. Like a small parade, the chipmunks fell in line behind. Before he could take two strides, a screech stopped Grubafrass in his tracks. Turning, he saw the frantic face of Mr. Beaver, coming up the wooded trail behind them.
“What in Caol Ait has gotten into you, brother beaver?” Grubafrass, with raised eyebrows, knelt down to greet his beloved lakeside friend.
“Have you heard, have you heard? It’s just awful. Awful, I tell you. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.” He was immediately surrounded by a host of chipmunks and other forest animals that heard the commotion and came to listen.
“Calm down, calm down. Now, everything’s gonna be just right. Catch your breath and then fill us in.” The dwarf soothed the silky-smooth fur along his friend’s back with his calloused woodsman hand. Immediately, Mr. Beaver began to feel better as he was surrounded by many of his forest family. A couple of minutes later, and after someone had fetched him a drink of water, he began to reveal his fears to the eager listeners.
“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen,” he replied, now sitting on his haunches, tail beneath him, on a small rock, while the animals formed a large semi-circle before him, anxiously awaiting the news.
“You’ve said that already, Beaver,” Munk reminded him, impatiently tapping his little foot.
“Right, right, of course you’re right.”
“Try to calm yourself, Mr. Beaver,” the dwarf consoled. “We’re here for you.”
“Ok, ok.” He paused, sipping once more from the cup he held in one paw, while the other braced upon his stone seat. “I was busy making repairs on my lodge, for you know how it’s never finished.” The other animals sighed, knowing how Mr. Beaver was a true perfectionist. “When I heard the wolves coming near. That was last night, just before nightfall.”
“Wolves?” questioned Grubafrass.
“Oh yes, didn’t you hear the ruckus they were causing last night?” a large buck said, looking in the dwarf’s direction. “I could barely sleep.”
“Oh my, I must’ve slept through it.”
“Well, that wasn’t all,” Beaver interrupted. “Early this morning, before sunrise, I went for some fresh saplings farther up the creek from my home. There at the midway pond, through the trees, I could see the upper reaches of Raven’s Claw Mountain glowing with campfires, as if an army had gathered along its slopes.”
The animals were now breathless, waiting for more.
“Curious, I snuck closer. Oh, it was the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Yes, yes, so we’ve heard,” Papa chipmunk pressed. “Continue.”
“I crept as close as I would dare, considering those hideous wolves might still be prowling around, and from what I could see, for you know how my eyesight isn’t the greatest, it looked like an army of demons was being assembled.”
“Aye, the witch has no less summoned them from the depths of the dark place,” Grubafrass replied.
Mr. Bear, who had been silent up to now, leaned in, “You know that the west wind began to blow yesterday, and with the coming of the wolves, this can only mean…”
“Yes, yes,” nodded Grubafrass, “The wicked Cailleach has been stirred, once again, and something has given her the power to reach through the passage of time to draw forth an army of evil spirits.” The animals gasped with wide-eyed fear at the revelation.
“Someone must tell the King,” a large male raccoon wearing a fishing vest interjected.
“Yes, of course, Bandit, you’re absolutely right.”
A commanding Red-Tailed Hawk had landed a few minutes earlier on a low-hanging branch nearby, piping in, “I can carry the message to His Highness if you want. Just give me the word.”
“That would be wonderful, Hawkeye,” Grubafrass nodded. “Please tell your Highness that evil has returned to Caol Ait, and with it, Cailleach has begun to restore her forces.”
“On it,” and without hesitation, the majestic bird was gone.
“What shall we do now?” Bandit asked, his family now arriving, gathering around him, their masked faces blinking in unison.
“Until we hear from the King, we’ll just continue on as usual, but with extra caution. I encourage each of you to dig out your swords, bows, and shields just in case. We may be in for it, once again.”
“What about you?” Mr. Bear questioned.
Grubafrass walked over to the trunk of a nearby oak tree and pulled from behind it a large, double-bladed axe. “I’ll be just fine, my friend,” he smiled that toothy grin once again. “I’ll be just fine.”

---

From the shadowy confines of the forest, Am Bodoch, the dark figure, emerged – the form of a man, but much more sinister. His skin was gray-white, like limestone cliffs. His veins pulsated a glowing red beneath the salt crust. He moved stiffly, as if every joint in his body had corroded, like his blackened heart. In the old world, he had been the taskmaster of the Ravenel Plantation, but in Caol Ait, the Thin Place, things are turned inside out — the heart is revealed and becomes the shell in which one exists. Old Scratch had simply become what he always was.
In the night, the wolves had hunted down the scent of the Dragon’s Tear to the Carriage Barn, which now sat before him, on the edge of the mountain, just below the Castle Kahn. It was early, and the cock had yet to crow when his ominous footsteps led him to the side door of the barn.
Hesitant, he paused, listening to the sound of the heartbeats within – all potential victims, for the Slaugh sought all souls, but there was only one which he sought, and like a beacon, the amulet the boy wore had drawn him to this place. Unbeknownst to Edwin, the trinket he thought he bore around his neck was much more than a child’s souvenir. It had the ability to unleash an energy in Caol Ait that would allow the Cailleach to awaken and start to release the Slaugh upon the earth, and with it, gave Bodach the ability to travel in the light of day, something that had before now kept him relegated to the shadows of darkness.
He rapped three times loudly with his crooked staff.
There was no response.
He struck thrice more and paused.

---

At the sound of the first rapping, sleeping ears perked up. The chickens stood up on their roost, startled, not yet fully awake. The Percheron lifted his mighty head, shaking his mane, snorting out a “Morning” under his breath. Edwin hadn’t heard the sound; he slept soundly, yet Sir Custard, who had snuggled up next to his new friend during the night, was instantly awake, standing on his feet, tail twitching, ears leaning forward, aware that someone had knocked.
Then came the next three taps.
“Why would Master John knock?” the cow softly mooed.
“Unlikely that it is our Master,” the yellow tabby answered, a look of discernment wrinkling his brow. He purposely began purring loudly, rubbing his body against Edwin’s still slumbering head, trying to wake him.
“Banty, why haven’t you already started crowing?” Sir Custard questioned. “The sun’s nearly hit the horizon, and you’re sleeping in?” The red Bantam rooster sitting nearby on a feed barrel perked up.
“Well, good morning to you too,” he smartly replied, then flew up to the rafters near his many wives and let out a booming greeting to the crack of dawn.
Edwin began to stir, and the knock struck three more times.
“Who’s there?” Edwin sat up. The feed sack, now wrinkled from his night’s repose, hung loosely about his thin seven-year-old body.
“Obviously, not someone who belongs here,” the cat said sharply, knowing that the door could easily be opened by anyone who belonged to the Royal staff.
At that same moment, Edwin could feel the amulet around his neck begin to vibrate, tickling his chest. Then came the unexpected, something Edwin never imagined. From outside the door, the familiar voice from the past spoke.
“Edwin, it’s Tucker, let me in. I’ve been searching all over for you.”
“What!” Edwin jumped up and, before anyone could stop him, ran to the door and flung it open. The animals shouted and stomped in protest, but were helpless to stop the young boy’s speed.
There, standing before him, to his unbelieving eyes, stood his dear cousin Tucker, still as scrawny and ruddy-faced as he had known him at seven years of age. Edwin was just acting on the natural impulse to embrace his beloved cousin, when another thought stopped him cold. Hadn’t Tucker died in that horrific car crash on the parkway when he was sixteen? How could he be standing here before him, as a child, like himself, only seven years old?
“Well, Edwin, aren’t you gonna invite me in? What’s happened to your manners?”
The pendant now began to burn his skin inside the feed sack.
“But Tucker, how can this be? You’re…you’re…”
“Supposed to be dead? Yeah, I know, but hey, this is Caol Ait. Haven’t you learned that the strangest things can happen here? Even the best of things, like us being back together again.”
Behind Edwin, the animals were now continuing to complain, yelling at Edwin to slam the door, close it now. Sir Custard began shoving Edwin’s body back into the barn while the others continued to do all they could do from the confines of their stalls.
“C’mon, Edwin, let’s just go play and leave all these fuddy-duddies here. They’re making such a fuss.”
Edwin reached down and lifted the amulet out and placed it on the outside of the makeshift tunic, his skin no longer able to take the pain it was inducing. “Yeah, I don’t know, but…it’s all so much to consider.”
“What’s to consider? What’s gotten into ya?” The demon’s eyes were now fixed upon the prize before him, the Dragon’s Tear was within reach.
“Well, okay, I guess it can’t hurt.”
Just as the image of Tucker took a step forward to grab Edwin and the precious jewel, the shouts of John Taylor came roaring against the backdrop of the being standing before Edwin. Instantly, as if the frequency of the air shifted, the ungodly form of Am Badoch momentarily materialized, sending a cold chill down Edwin’s spine. John, now running toward them, continued to shout, “Satan get behind thee,” as he ran.
Tucker came back into view, smiling a demonic smile, taking a step forward, his arm almost within reach of Edwin’s. About that time, Sir Custard jumped on the supposed cousin’s leg with claws and fangs at full force, lunging into the demon with all his might. Again, the image shifted, the lines twisted and turned until the face of Tucker was replaced by the ashen-white, blood-strained eyes of Am Bodoch. His face twisted into a grimaced smirk as he jumped back, knocking Sir Custard against the side of the barn with a force that sent a resounding crack. His body fell limp. By now, John Taylor had come within striking distance of the evil Badoch, but before he could land a blow, the demon shifted, like the wind, and was gone, leaving behind the putrid smell of sulfur and rotten eggs.
John ran over and picked up the lifeless body of Sir Custard, and along with Edwin, took him back inside the barn, laying him on the pile of hay which had been their bed a few minutes before.
Edwin’s eyes began to fill with tears as a hush fell over the manger.
To be continued…

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Timothy W. Tron lives in Collettsville, NC. with his family. He is currently the Systems Administrator for the Computer Science Department at App. State. Timothy is the former Director of the Trail of Faith in Valdese, where he still volunteers and helps with tours. He is the author of a new Christian series, “Children of the Light”, with the first book being, “Bruecke to Heaven”, revised as “Bridge to Heaven”, and his recent book, being the second, “The Light in the Darkness”. He is an active blogger, artist, and musician. Timothy also has a BSEE from UF, and is a Lay Speaker. He is currently acting as the Faculty/Staff Liaison for the Ratio Christi campus ministry at App. State. He can be reached at [email protected]  You can visit his website at //www.timothywtron.com/ or see more of his writings HERE

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