Harlan County Horrors Part 1

Harlan County Horrors.

Edited by Mari Adkins.

Introduction.

by Mari Adkins.

When I close my eyes and think of Harlan County, the first images to appear behind my eyelids are of Martin's Fork Lake, the view from Raven Rock at Kingdom Come, the night sky at Camp Blanton, and the gazebo at Resthaven. Savage beauty draped in a cloak of savage darkness is the epitome of Harlan County. Ugliness, wastefulness, and scars caused by deep, strip, and mountaintop removal mining-and other things-have altered the lush, verdant landscape. The very beauty and abundant game that enticed the pioneers to remain there and evolve into rugged mountaineers would become their downfall.

In the beginning, a pioneer could claim for his own any sc.r.a.p of land on any hillside or creek bottom. With the abundance of wild game, he didn't have to bother with sowing large crops; small "kitchen door" gardens for needed vegetables and herbs sufficed. The early mountaineer and his family lived a solitary existence, rarely seeing anyone outside their farmstead, as they had no need.

Things began to change once the timber barons came into the c.u.mberland Plateau in the mid- to late-1800s and saw the vast stands of enormous hardwood trees. Once these were depleted-leaving the landowners with little cash in return, for they had been convinced to sell the timber rights without any claim to the actual land-the area became ripe for the removal of the black gold buried beneath the mountains and hillsides. With water supplies oftentimes buried or otherwise left useless from logging operations, the mountaineer found himself with no choice but to sell his land for what little he could receive for it and move his family into any one of the number of growing, thriving company owned and operated mining towns.

In the mid- to late-1960s things began to change somewhat, as new roads into the plateau brought in a handful of new jobs and opportunities. But unless brought on by outside forces, change has always been slow to come in the Kentucky mountains.

At the brink of my own change and awakening within Harlan County, I moved to Loyall in October 1995. I can't, in all honesty, make any sweeping proclamations about love at first sight, but I can say the county grew on me, tugged at some deep, hidden place within my soul. And I came to call that place "home." I know I sit and talk about Harlan County enough to make peoples' ears bleed, and my running joke is that I know more about Harlan County and love it more than some of its native people. In fact, I'm p.r.o.ne to-and known for-packing friends into my car to make the long drive down so I can share the county with them.

This love brought about the birth of the book you now hold in your hands. I can't quite remember what we said in the Spring of 2007, but one day while I waxed on about Harlan, Jason Sizemore-esteemed High Overlord of Apex Publications-said, "We should do a special Harlan County anthology. Fill it with regional stories by regional writers." I thought it would be fun. So we went to work, but due to the fickleness of the publis.h.i.+ng industry, we had to cancel our plans. Admittedly, when the idea first came about, Jason and I thought we were just joking around. But then a miracle happened in the spring of 2008. We got serious and said, "We can do this." Then he looked at me and said, "You can do this." So I did this. I rea.s.sembled writers, sent out announcements, and we all went to work.

The Harlan County backdrop described above-the futility of the mountaineer-is difficult to understand or imagine unless it's witnessed or experienced. One only need to step into the county to feel the hopelessness some of these people still live with every day, the darkness enshrouding their lives. With this in mind, I told the writers, "Go forth and create an image of Harlan County."

From the time the first stories began coming in, I knew Harlan County Horrors was going to be something special. Aliens, witches, vampires, portals to h.e.l.l, zombies, djin, Aztec priests, chupacabra, zombies, and more dance a magical, oppressive, often violent reel through coal, ash, and blood.

It is my sincere hope that you derive as much pleasure from Harlan County Horrors as I did in putting it together. It is my gift of love to the county and to its people.

Mari Adkins.

June 2009.

Lexington, KY.

"The Power of Moonlight"

Debbie Kuhn.

Debbie Kuhn is the non-fiction editor for Doorways Magazine. She loves to read and write genre fiction, especially horror stories that involve a nasty ghost or two. Debbie has a habit of roaming around old southern cemeteries after dark. If you happen to run into her at midnight when the moon is full, don't forget to play dead. Curious folk might find it safer just to visit her web site, debbiekuhn.com. She currently lives in Louisville, KY.

Bobby Lee Blackburn got killed exactly three weeks before he was to marry his childhood sweetheart at the New Hope Baptist Church. He died just the way he feared he would-deep underground, alone in the dark, his body entombed forever.

Priscilla Stevens had decided to wors.h.i.+p Bobby Lee when they were seven years old. On the day she fell in love, he'd been chasing her around Old Man Griffey's fish pond and she'd tripped and fallen in. Bobby Lee had grabbed hold of her long, strawberry-blonde ponytail and had yanked her out of the water before she could drown.

That boy would always be her hero, even after he broke her heart.

The first time he left her was when they were twelve. His daddy found a better job over in Virginia, and he and his parents moved away from Harlan County. Pris had cried herself to sleep every night for two weeks, keeping her Granny Maeve awake.

About a month after Bobby Lee went away, the old lady woke Pris late one night and told her they'd be taking a walk up the winding mountain trail behind their farmhouse. The two of them sneaked down the back staircase and left without waking Pris' mother.

The full October moon revealed the goldenrod in bloom, and the air smelled crisp and clean and dry. Granny Maeve's knees cracked and popped a little during the climb, but otherwise no sound could be heard except for a light wind rustling through the trees. Nestled in the narrow valley below, the coal town of Russell Fork had fallen silent, with only a few lights left twinkling to give away its presence.

They kept going until they reached a rocky plateau, barren except for a lone sycamore tree. Granny Maeve found a large flat stone to sit on and motioned for Priscilla to join her.

"This spot will do. We can see the Blood Moon and it can see us."

Pris wondered why it was called a Blood Moon when it wasn't even red, but she stayed quiet and watched as her grandma fished around in the pockets of her grey wool sweater. The old woman pulled out a small vial of what she called her "sacred" oil, and then a photograph. The picture had been taken at Pris' birthday party in January. Her mother, Dorie, had snapped a photo of Pris and Bobby Lee sitting next to each other at the kitchen table. Pris was leaning forward, getting ready to blow out the candles on her chocolate cake.

"An only child and an only child," Granny Maeve muttered. She smeared a dab of oil onto the picture and handed it to Priscilla. "You want your friend to come home again, don't you?"

Pris stared at her grandmother, and nodded.

"Well, you can use the power of moonlight just like your granny can. Most folks around here don't believe in such things, and them that do don't think it's right to use the gift, so you best keep quiet about what we're up to-don't you even tell your mama."

"I promise I won't, Granny."

"All right, then. For this spell to work, the moonlight's power has to be mixed with the truth, girl, and the truth is in your tears. You have to cry for Bobby Lee if you want him back-show your love and your need for him-and let your tears fall like rain on that picture so he knows how you feel."

Pris held the photograph up close to her face. Moonlight reflected off the s.h.i.+ny oiled surface. Bobby Lee's perfect dark eyes smiled up at her. She missed him so much her body ached with the pain.

The tears came easy.

Granny Maeve patted her gently on the back as she sobbed. "That's good, my darlin'. Now talk to him, out loud, and tell him what you want."

Pris took a deep, shaky breath, tasting the saltiness of her own tears. She gazed up at the moon's brilliant face.

"Bobby Lee, come back to me. Come back to me, please."

She repeated the phrases several times until her grandma told her she could stop. Wispy grey clouds had drifted across the moon.

"There now, child. It's done."

Granny Maeve spoke the truth. Bobby Lee and his parents moved back to Russell Fork right before Christmas, giving Priscilla the best present she had ever received.

During their soph.o.m.ore year in high school, Bobby Lee fell for Kara Chambers. Pris wasn't surprised-Kara was half-Korean and seemed exotic compared to all the other girls they knew. Her family had made a lot of money during the coal boom of '74. Now they owned the flower shop in town, and they also ran a catering business out of their grocery store.

Everybody talked about how perfect Kara and Bobby Lee were for each other and what a striking couple they made with their dark good looks. It wounded Pris to see them together, but she felt certain that one day Bobby Lee would realize Kara wasn't right for him and that his best friend was also his true soul mate.

Even though Granny Maeve could have shown her how to speed up such an epiphany, Pris didn't want to win Bobby Lee's heart by using magic. No, his love for her had to be real or it would never last.

It was better to remain hopeful and suffer the wait.

In the meantime, Pris learned all she could from her grandmother about the power of moonlight. She dated a few boys who bored her and a few who didn't. She talked to Bobby Lee whenever he made time for her. She never complained about the times he wouldn't.

And when Kara dumped Bobby Lee right before graduation, Pris was there to pick up all the fragile little pieces of his heart. In June-on the summer solstice-she took him for a drive up to the top of Black Mountain, the highest peak in Kentucky. Pris made love to Bobby Lee on a rough blanket under the Rose Moon. He was her first.

She opened his eyes. He opened his heart.

Pris felt the power of their love and knew it was real.

"Bobby Lee, will you marry me?"

Mr. and Mrs. Blackburn insisted they wait two years. Priscilla knew it wasn't because they didn't approve of her. People thought Pris was attractive because of the confidence she showed, and everybody thought she had a sensible way about her.

"Mark my words, now, darlin'," Granny Maeve had told her. "A pa.s.sionate love can make the sanest person act plumb crazy." The wedding was still a year off when the old woman pa.s.sed away in her sleep.

Priscilla's mother had agreed with the Blackburns from the start. "You two have all the time in the world. First thing you need to do is get to work and save some money."

Despite the good pay, Bobby Lee was afraid to become a coal miner like his father, so he went to work at his uncle's auto repair shop on the south end of town. Mr. Blackburn liked to tease his son about being claustrophobic, but Pris knew that a recurring nightmare had kept Bobby Lee from following in his daddy's footsteps. He'd started having the dream when he was fifteen and it was always the same-he found himself falling into a dark hole, deep into the earth where no one could hear him scream. The walls of his prison would begin to collapse and he would suffocate.

Pris refused to ridicule Bobby Lee for his fears. He worked hard to be a decent mechanic, and in six months he was able to rent the apartment over his uncle's garage.

They fell into a comfortable routine, waiting for their wedding day to arrive. Priscilla's mother owned a diner called Rolly's, in honor of Pris' late father. Pris waited tables there and raised an herb and vegetable garden for produce to sell on the side. In the spring and summer she sold berries and mountain wildflowers-daisies were her favorite.

During the work week, Bobby Lee would spend his lunch hour with Pris. She'd bring him sandwiches from the restaurant and they would talk about the future and how many children they would have and how one day Bobby Lee might own his own repair shop.

Priscilla's desire for Bobby Lee only grew stronger as the months wore on. Despite numerous lectures from his devoutly religious parents, they spent time alone together at his apartment. But Pris preferred to make love on her mountain in the special places she'd discovered while digging ginseng and gathering mushrooms and wildflowers.

Once the weather turned warm, she would take Bobby Lee up there late at night whenever the moon made an appearance. They would lie together on a well-worn patchwork quilt in a hidden meadow surrounded by daisies. Bobby Lee would play with her waist-length hair and weave flowers through the unruly tresses.

Then it would be Pris' turn to play. She'd caress every beautiful inch of him, ma.s.saging his tense, sore muscles with scented oils, relis.h.i.+ng the way his body responded to her touch, his moans of pleasure sending delicious tingles down her spine. She would wait until her own physical needs overwhelmed her senses before allowing their l.u.s.t to mix with the moonlight.

Deep in that world of forgetting, Pris would nearly sacrifice her soul becoming one with Bobby Lee. She'd wallow in his essence until they were both spent and shuddering.

Afterward, she would lie on top of him gasping, clutching handfuls of his damp chest hair-afraid that if she let go, she'd float off the mountain, a victim of euphoria. Bobby Lee would talk softly then, teasing her, knowing she wouldn't be able to respond for several minutes.

"Priscilla, Princess of Moonlight and Magic, I wonder if you're fertile enough to bear me a dozen young'uns in eight years."

On the last Sat.u.r.day in March, Pris' mountain swallowed Bobby Lee Blackburn whole. He'd been helping Priscilla search for mushrooms that afternoon near an abandoned coal mine. A collapsing tunnel system had resulted in what the old-timers called a "mountain break"-a rift in the earth above, this one well-hidden by foliage. The hole Bobby Lee had fallen into was eight feet across and hundreds of feet deep. After three days of risky recovery efforts, rescue workers from a local mining company gave up and went home.

The young man's sudden death shocked all of Russell Fork into a grieving silence. The tragedy was whispered about, though no one-not even the Blackburn family-outwardly blamed Priscilla for the incident.

Pris wanted to lock herself away from the town's sympathetic outpouring, but her mother forced her to attend the funeral.

Bobby Lee's parents chose to have the service on the mountain, close to his final resting place. Volunteers cleared the area of brush and vegetation and set up tents and chairs for the mourners. Bobby Lee's sweet young cousin tearfully sang a few hymns in the suns.h.i.+ne and then a Baptist preacher prayed about the loss that was G.o.d's will. A touching eulogy followed, given by Bobby Lee's uncle.

Kara Chambers cried. Priscilla couldn't shed one tear.

No, it wasn't until after the funeral reception that she gave in to an onslaught of raw emotions. She sobbed all night, constantly reliving the conversation she'd had with Kara at the Blackburns' house.

Pris had been hiding in a corner of the living room, in view of the buffet. She had no interest in food. The dining room was crammed with hungry, black-clad mourners who would murmur the usual plat.i.tudes whenever they b.u.mped into a member of Bobby Lee's family.

Apparently, Kara didn't feel like eating either. She approached Priscilla timidly, as if she was afraid Pris might bolt out of her chair and run away.

"What do you want, Kara?"

Bobby Lee's ex-girlfriend let out a tiny sigh. She looked even prettier when she was sad. "I hate funerals. I usually don't know what to say."

"It would be better if people said nothing at all."

"Oh. Right." Kara started to walk away, and then paused. When she turned around again, Pris could see tears glistening on her long eyelashes.

"I was so stupid to break up with Bobby Lee. I only hope you realize how much he truly loved you, Pris."

Priscilla gave her a frigid stare. "I don't think you'll ever understand how we felt about each other."

"I didn't, but I do now." Kara dabbed her eyes with a tissue. "Look, I'm not telling you this to be mean, but the truth is I thought Bobby Lee got engaged just to make me jealous. He came to see me at The Blossom Shop that morning before he died, and I wanted to believe he was having second thoughts. I...I tried to kiss him, but he stopped me. He was there to place a special order for your wedding night-dozens of daisies for your hotel room down in Bristol."

Pris swallowed hard, suddenly feeling light-headed. Stop it, Kara. Stop talking and let me go home.

"People used to think Bobby Lee was crazy about me, but he loved you more, Pris. I could see it in his eyes when he was talking about you, and I just thought you'd want to know."

On Sat.u.r.day, the sixteenth of April, Priscilla dragged herself out of bed and opened the windows in her room. She inhaled the fresh warm air, her vision blurred by tears instead of sunlight.

"It's so beautiful, Bobby Lee. No rain on our wedding day."

She wished there was a terrible storm raging outside. She wished it would destroy Kara's big brick house and her family's businesses and all of Russell Fork.

Pris backed away from the window and eyed the prescription bottle on her nightstand. Just a few of those pills would knock her out for several hours, and when she finally woke up again, this painful day would be over.

But will tomorrow be any better?

Priscilla had been sleeping in Bobby Lee's favorite Wildcats T-s.h.i.+rt. It smelled faintly of his spicy aftershave and she didn't want to change out of it. She had no appet.i.te anyway, so there was no reason to go downstairs. Her mother would be working at the restaurant most of the day.

If only she could talk to Granny Maeve.

Pris swallowed a couple of the little white pills and then walked across the hall into her grandmother's cool, dark bedroom. She crawled over into the middle of the feather mattress and buried herself under the heavy quilt. When she drifted off, she dreamed about the past.

Priscilla was thirteen again, sitting in the rocker in her granny's bedroom, turning the crinkly, delicate pages of a brown leather journal and trying to read the faded pa.s.sages. The enthralling book of spells and rituals had first belonged to Millicent-Granny Maeve's own grandmother.

Near the middle of the journal, Pris came across a section called The Waking of The Dead. It was a ritual for calling back the spirits of those who had pa.s.sed on to the other side. Just as she began reading the steps necessary to carry out the ceremony, Granny Maeve walked into the room.

"No, child." The old woman rushed over and s.n.a.t.c.hed the journal out of Priscilla's hands. "You ain't old enough yet to learn these spells." Her expression softened when she saw the hurt look on Pris' face. "But don't you worry none-it won't be too long before this book is yours."

Priscilla woke up from the dream. It's mine now.

She shook off her grogginess and hurried downstairs to make a pot of coffee. Late afternoon suns.h.i.+ne poured into the kitchen.

What had happened to the journal? Granny Maeve had kept it in her nightstand until she'd caught Pris reading it, and then it had been moved.

Priscilla started her search in the cellar, looking through a cedar chest filled with musty-smelling clothes and a bunch of old storage bins that overflowed with greeting cards, letters and photographs. No sign of the diary.