Night of the Spirits
by sloanranger
Part 1
The disheveled man trudged awkwardly through the field; breathing hard, his rancid breath turning into fog in the cold October air. Cursing as he sloughed along, he shifted his unwieldly bundle from his left shoulder to his right.
The man staggered - partly from his burden, partly from the mud after two days rain and partly from the half finished jug he'd left at home. Angus Toper would not have left a jug half-finished for anyone else, but old Miz Crayton was not one to cross.
She had a queer way of looking at you; could make you question a parson with that look.
Angus's wife had finally left after their boy was grown and off, and his drinking had gone from bad to worse. Old Jeb Crayton had helped the Scot many times since, if he needed it; and many's the time Angus sorely needed it.
The boy Tobias, a grown man now, came around a few times a year to check on him and sometimes give him a little money. No two ways about it though, Angus preferred the company of his jug to that of his woman or even the boy.
He'd do odd jobs now and then but if he could find none he'd show up at Jeb Crayton's cabin, standing on the slab step, weaving and holding his hat. Cray'd always helped. He came up with work; sometimes a log for the fire, maybe a piece of meat for the pot – even a bit of the juice if Angus had the shakes.
So when Miz' Crayton sent word that Jeb was on his last bed the drunken man went to visit his benefactor. He could hear the sound of the old hound's mournful baying long before he got to the cabin.
(To be continued).
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Night of the Spirits - @Short Story
Short Story@SHORTSTORY - Historical Fiction, Horror: Dying man Jeb Crayton, asks his friend Angus, an old Scot who likes his liquor to help his widow after he's gone. Days later, Angus is asked to bury Jeb's dog, Joe. It becomes a horrific task.
