Night of the Spirits
by sloanranger
Part 13
"The animals will be after getting him before then. Jeb should've known more'n me how worthless ye are, but it's your own doin,' Angus. I heard tell of spirits taking a body clean from the earth for less than this. And my Jeb wasn't a man to forget things, heaven or earth."
"All right, all right!" The Scot cried.
He left Jeb's widow standing in his doorway and headed off again into the howling night.
He made faster time now, driven by dual purpose: two pulls on the jug and the stark fear the old woman had put in him.
Between the two, they superseded his dread of the night and what had gone before. It would all go away he reasoned, if he could just accomplish his goal.
His courage lasted all the way across both cornfields but slacked considerably upon entering the darkened woods.
There was fog now too, coming in where the river met the ocean. It penetrated the night and the forest as well as the ragged clothing of the frightened man.
The Scot had not been very far into the woods where he'd dragged the hound off the path and haphazardly covered him. And the branches and leaves he had piled on top of the animal had thrown the scent off Joe, somewhat.
When Angus reached him, there were several creatures already gnawing at the dead dog's feet. They all scattered when he got close and yelled at them. The dog wasn't torn up too badly yet, but he was beginning to stiffen.
(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.
