The Midnight Hour & Other Scary Stories

The Pricker Bush Man

It was some time ago, in the days when bandits roamed the roads. A great many people had stories of the bayou. It was a place of magic and old power and those that traveled those paths knew full well to avoid the swamps.

But bandits are the stubborn sort, and instead of avoiding the bayou with its many mysteries, they decided to hide in it, sneaking up on any poor soul who happened to venture by.

These bandits robbed and killed a great many people so that their names were feared in all the land. But there was one soul, in particular, that did not fear the bandits. He was called a witch doctor by some and a demon by others. Legends of this soul abounded in that region, to the point that even the bandits feared him.

A few people begged the witch doctor for his help and so he granted them safe passage along the road. The bandits began to lose out on their spoils. It got so bad that the bandit leader decided to do something about it.

So on a moonless night, he and the other bandits waited for the witch doctor to cross their road again. This time, he was alone.

When he drew close, the bandits leaped from the bushes and descended upon him. The Witch Doctor didn't cry out. As he bled and bled from their wicked knives, he warned the men that the bayou was a sacred place. Spilled blood would call for spilled blood.

The men, being afraid, watched as the witch doctor died. They then threw his still bleeding body into the great many pricker bushes that dotted the bayou.

Now it is well known that a pricker bush is an ornery piece of shrubbery. Its nettles prick and pierce and hang on like fat ticks drunk on blood. There are very few things willing to go into a cluster of pricker bushes. The bandits reasoned that no one would find the body, so they went on their way to their shack deep within the bayou.

This shack was propped up on the legs of a dock so that the black water's fog would drift under the floorboards at night. The bandits would sit around their table and count their coin well into the wee hours of the morning.

This night, however, was slightly different.

While the men sat around and tried to laugh over their stolen goods, swapping stories and jokes of their conquest, an unease hung over the group. They tried to shrug it off, but even their leader, a rough man who feared nothing, seemed ill at ease.

It was late when one of the men decided to go outside. The bandits took turns keeping watch in case some foolhardy thieves thought the shack an easy target. He took a seat under the lantern and kept his eyes peeled for trouble.

Once or twice, he fell asleep. Each time, it was for only a moment, but it was long enough to cause him to startle awake. Though he couldn't explain it, something felt different in the air. He looked around the dark nervously, hoping that no coyotes or the like had been attracted to his moment of weakness.

A fog had begun to creep over the water. It curled around the knotted roots of the great cypress trees like dead fingers. Then, on the other side, the bandit thought he saw something. In fact, it looked as though someone was standing across the bank.

The bandit squinted. Someone was standing on the other side! They didn't move or shift their weight. The figure was as still as a corpse. Feeling afraid, the bandit ran into the shack and woke the others.

"There's someone outside!" He said.

The other men scrambled out of the shack. Yet, when they looked across the bank, the figure was nowhere to be seen. Their leader, worried that some other thieves had decided to make their mark, ordered that two of the men go out after the figure.

The men did so, but not happily. They were still worried over the witch doctor's words.

The bandit leader saw them go off into the night, lanterns at the ready. He and the two other bandits stayed behind, though this time they did not sleep. Something seemed very wrong, though they could not figure out what it was.

The bandits that went into the swamp never returned. Their leader and the two other bandits watched until their lanterns dimmed and the darkness threatened to swallow their shack whole. The light only reached about halfway across the water.

When the three of them were going to go back inside, one of them shouted, "Look, I see someone!"

They had to squint to see. Again, there stood the figure. This time they were waist-deep in the black water and much closer than before. The figure was as still as a corpse. The two bandits and their leader raced inside to get their weapons. But when they returned, the figure was gone.

"After them!" The leader said.

And so his men ran into the swamp, knives at the ready.

Their leader watched their lantern lights as they trailed into the distance. And then, like a candle's flame against a stiff breeze, their lights went out. He called their names but heard nothing.

Now, the leader was scared. He ran back into the shack with the one lantern that was left and pressed himself against the corner by his bunk. He waited until his lantern was so weak, its flame was little more than a flicker in the dark.

Then, he heard it.

It started as heavy footsteps on the dock--thump, thump, thump--with a scriiiiiiitch in between them. He could hear it move around the shack, all the way to the door.

But then, he heard more footsteps.

They were just the same as before--a thump, thump, thump with a scriiiiiiitch in between them. Only this time, they were coming from a different angle. And then he heard another set of footsteps and another! The bandit leader heard five sets of footsteps in total. They were all around the shack now. When they stopped, all was deathly quiet.

Very slowly, with his weak lantern in hand, the bandit leader rose.

"Wh-who goes there?" He asked the dark.

But there was no reply.

The leader swallowed. "Are you the witch doctor?" He asked.

Again, he was greeted by silence. Thinking he might be able to catch a glimpse of the figure outside his window, the bandit leader crept over to the glass and held his lantern close. As he peered past the grime, he thought he saw a face staring back at him.

The leader screamed.

It was said that his tortured cries could be heard all along the bayou that night.

For many years after, people avoided that road, as it had become synonymous with the bandits. Without the witch doctor's protection, no one dared to travel it alone.

But you see, a weary traveler, far from home, had taken that very same road. He did not know the legend and grew weary from the day's walk. The sun was failing and night would have soon been on him. Breaking from the road, he spotted a shack on the bayou's edge and made for it.

It was an old building by that point, and thick clusters of pricker bushes grew all around it. Once he had made it to the shack, he pushed on the rotting door and it swung inward on weak hinges.

What the man saw, he never forgot.

The shack was dreadfully dark and stank of decay. There had been people living here once, but that was long ago. Now, there was just the skeleton of a man, still in his clothes, lying on the floor in the room's center.

Five figures stood over him; effigies made of dried bush and bone. Nettles stuck out of their dark shapes in all directions. Their heads were pointed down at the skeleton, as though they were staring at him.

Now the traveler wasn't sure who had made them, but he left that shack as quickly as he had found it. Though for a moment, when he had returned to the road, the traveler felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He looked behind him to see one of the effigies on the edge of the bank staring back at him.