Down to 3 investigators but the journey to South Carolina continues
The Arrival
With business concluded at the Walterboro Country Store the investigators climbed back into Elihu Winsworthy’s immaculate Anderson Touring Car and head off on the short drive to the Gist Plantation.
Albert had successfully managed to obtain a double barrelled Remington shotgun for Woody and a lever action Winchester for Colorado. Mike bought everyone bowie knives.
After a couple of miles the group arrived at the Edisto River. A large plank bridge could be seen spanning the river. It seemed to be crudely assembled but quite sturdy.
“Here’s the old bridge. When we cross it the river, we are on the plantation. Be on your guard.” Remarked Albert quietly.
As the car approached the bridge Winsworthy halted the vehicle, everyone could see that several planks from the centre of the bridge had been removed.
“Why in the world…” Winsworthy muttered to himself, the locals must have been doing some work on the bridge.”
“Should be simple enough to put them back, could do with some help though” he smiled, getting out of the car.
Suddenly a shot rang out from the other side of the river and a bullet hit Winsworthy’s door, sending him diving onto the ground, face first into the mud.
Albert froze in the passenger seat, not sure what to do while Mike, Colorado and Woody all exited the car, taking cover behind it as another shot rang out, hitting the door above Winsworthy’s head.
“We need to get across that bridge” shouted Woody.
“OK, go!” replied Colorado, drawing his pistol and sprinting off towards the bridge. Woody followed.
“I’ll stay back here and cover you.” Said Mike, unconvincingly, firing a couple of rounds into the under-brush on the other side of the river.
Woody and Colorado quickly made it to the centre of the bridge, firing off shots as they ran.
First to the gap in the bridge was Woody, who strode up to the gap confidently and without a pause leapt into the air. Unfortunately, he miss-judged his take off and fell clear through the gap in the bridge, down into the murky water ten feet below with a loud splash.
Colorado was more graceful in his attempt and cleared the gap without any fuss, narrowly avoiding another bullet from the hilltop sniper and took cover behind a large Cypress tree on the other bank.
Elihu had by now managed to crawl entirely under the car, while Albert cowered in the front seat with his head in hands.
Mike continued firing his pistol at where he thought the shots where coming from. The sniper returned fire and bypassing all cover, managed to clip Mike’s shoulder, sending him diving for cover.
Woody clung to the nearest support pillar, soaked but unharmed. Suddenly from the opposite bank he thought he noticed something large slide into the water, heading in his direction. With that, he clambered up the pillar, clinging to the top with all his might.
By now the firing had stopped and Colorado circled his way towards the hill, pistol ready.
What he found on the top of the ridge was not what he was expecting. Lying face down on the ground was the sniper, a young, white male, shabbily dressed in coveralls and wearing a straw hat. Crawling away from the body was the largest snake Colorado had ever seen. In a panic he fired a round at the fleeing snake, grazing it, speeding up its retreat.
A quick search of the body revealed a slight scratch, obviously a snakebite on the man’s ankle, the skin already swelling and turning black.
By now, Mike had fished Woody out of the Edisto River and Elihu and Albert had composed themselves. Colorado returned to the group and shared what he had seen.
“Did you search the body?” questioned Woody.
“No, why would I?” replied Colorado.
“I’ll do it myself then” huffed Woody as he stomped off up the hill, squelching with every step.
“Can you get his rifle for me please?” shouted Mike after him.
Finding only a couple of dollars and half a dozen spare rounds for the .22 rifle, Woody returned to the group.
“Let’s get this bridge fixed and get out of here” said a visible shaken Albert.
The Plantation
After fixing the bridge and travelling another few miles, the investigators arrived at a slightly higher section of ground. Before them they saw a large riverside plantation, dominated by a house on a low hill.
The house was obviously once a magnificent example of Southern plantation architecture. Two storied, a large screened porch completely surrounds the ground floor. The peeling white paint is splotched in many places with grey mould and the porch screen is riddled with holes. From the roof, several lightning rods reach towards the sky.
About two hundred yards down the hill is a small but sprawling hamlet of shanties and tin-roofed farm buildings. Most are in poor repair and some have even collapsed.
A cluster of sharecroppers, mostly women and children are gathered, staring at the newly arrived strangers. A shed with a blue door stands out among the buildings as it seems to be guarded by four men with shotguns.
The group are ushered in to the house where they meet the Butler, Ben, the cook, Bess and the maid, Elly.
On the back veranda they finally meet Caleb Gist. A tall, tanned man in somewhat worn white riding clothes. Handsome in a disreputable way, with dark eyes and a commanding manner. He greets the group with an elegant bow and a handshake like a dead fish.
Seeing some of the group are armed, he says “The police are already taking an interest in the affairs of this plantation, gentlemen, so I hope there won’t be any trouble. The Sherriff tends to look very harshly on unnecessary gunplay in his jurisdiction.”
“We just got shot at on the way in!” replied Mike, showing the wound on his shoulder. "Someone just started shooting at us on the bridge!”
“The locals are sometimes weary of strangers, it must have been someone from one of the
other nearby plantations or farms having a bit of fun." said Caleb.
“He's dead now” interrupted Colorado, “a cottonmouth bit him and slithered away”
“Strange behaviour for a cottonmouth” muttered Elihu, still visibly shaken from the ambush.
“Enough of this depressing talk, would you gentlemen care for a tour of the plantation?”
The tour seemed to go on for hours, Caleb leading the investigators around his plantation, showing them the hamlet and the path down to the river. Once it was over, Caleb left the group in the hamlet and excusing himself headed off towards the outbuildings.
The group wandered over to the shed with the blue door they had seen earlier.
“Hi fellas, what ya guarding?” enquired Woody.
“We got some troublemakers in here” replied the largest of the four guards.
“Can I take a picture?”
“Not inside”
“Ok, how about of you gentlemen then?” asked Woody politely.
“Fine” replied the guard
“Say cheese”
They said nothing.
Not to be put off, Woody approached a young lady carrying a large bag on her back.
“Hi there, would you like to make a couple dollars?” he asked, holding out the money he had recently found on the deceased sniper.
“Sure would master” replied the girl
“Who are they guarding in that shed?
“Just some miscreants, dangerous folks, we is told to keep away.” And with a flash she grabbed the money from Woody’s hand and carried along on her way.
On returning to the house the group entered the study where they found Albert looking through the bookshelves as if looking for something in particular.
Obviously not finding what he was looking for, he sat down in a chair near the window and stared blankly outside until the group retired to their rooms to freshen up. After checking their rooms for holes in the wall and air grates, they sat down and discussed their next plan of action.
It was agreed that they would see what happens this evening and then take a look around either tonight or the following day. They still weren’t sure who to trust.
A knock on the door quickly ended such discussion. Opening the door Woody came face to face with Elly, the maid, pretty as a picture, with a slight glint in her eye.
“Dinner is served, master” she winked.
“Thanks!” replied Woody, slamming the door in her face.
Dinner
Dinner was an awkward affair, the entrée; some kind of unidentifiable soup was eaten in near silence. Albert not saying one word to his brother, only occasionally joining conversation with Elihu, who was sat beside him.
The silence was broken during the main course.
“Is there a Big Rafe Bodeen working here?” fired Woody, out of the blue.
“Why yes there is, he’s my overseer. Why do you ask?” replied Caleb
“Why was he at Albert’s house recently, chasing Joe, shouting something about him stealing his money?” asked Woody, clearly fired up.
“Bodeen hasn’t left the plantation in weeks, he’s been way too busy to be running around the country chasin’ after that boy Joe.” Replied Caleb coolly.
“Joe and his family left the plantation a while back, not seen hide nor hair of them since.”
“Albert? Care to tell Caleb who was at your door the other evening?” countered Woody, looking at his colleagues for back up.
Albert looking down at his plate whimpered “I don’t even know who Rafe Bodeen is, it was Joe who said it was him at the door.”
“Ha!” laughed Caleb, “see? I told you that Joe was nothing but trouble! Anyway, who wants desert?”
“Not me” huffed Woody, annoyed at the silence of the others. “We should be getting some rest, it has been a long day”
Woody stomped off upstairs, pausing slightly to see if anyone would follow him. Mike excused himself and went outside for a cigarette. Colorado remained at the table, excited by the thought of desert.
“Bastards” Woody muttered under his breath.
That night the investigators decided to all share the one room, rather than split themselves up.
The night passed uneventfully. The following morning the investigators decided to take a look around downstairs in the study.
Mike and Woody checked the bookcase where Albert had been searching the day before while Colorado kept watch on the door.
Five books caught Woody’s eye.
“Minutes of the Colleton County Agricultural Society”
The books seemed harmless enough, but on closer inspection it seemed that the covers where in fact fake.
Woody passed a book to Mike and started reading the first one he had come across.
It was a translation of a book called “Cult of Kukulcan” from Spanish to English by a Findley Gist. The book written by a Father Juan Martin faithfully describes the worship of Central American primitives and the study of their snake god Kukulcan.
Although the good father dismissed the worship practices of the Indians as “the work of the devil” he was an accurate observer. The last chapter of the book describes “spells” to summon, contact, bind and call Kukulcan.
The book Mike read was a touch more distressing. Labelled “Findley Gist’s Journal of Experiments” this foul work describes a series of ineffectual but lurid occult experiments performed upon unlucky slaves.
From eye gouging to fingernail removal on to extreme cases of bowel removal and intestines tied around victim’s waists. There was more, but Mike was turning an odd colour.
The pair where interrupted by Ben serving the morning coffee.
After they had finished their coffees the group decided to take a walk around the surrounding area hoping to run into Rafe Bodeen and maybe find out exactly who was in the shed with the blue door.
The Swamp
They decided that Woody would attempt to keep the guards at the shed busy while Mike and Colorado circled round and listened in at the back. On seeing that the area was swarming with sharecroppers that plan quickly dissipated and Mike decided to use bribery instead.
Five dollars later and none the wiser the investigators regrouped at the edge of the swamp.
They decided to follow the path which apparently led to a small dock on the Edisto River. About halfway down the track the investigators found a barely used trail heading off into the swamps.
They decided to investigate.
After a few hours wading through the inhospitable terrain the group came across a small, raised clearing on which was a small stone hut. In front of the hut, burning smokily was a small fire amidst a circle of large rocks. A black man, sat in front of the fire, staring into the flames. He wore a black coat without a shirt, a top hat and from his belt hung an odd metal hammer.
The group approached cautiously, but with their weapons by their sides.
“Good day” shouted Woody
The figure at the fire looked up, smiled and then disappeared as if made of smoke.
“What the….” Wondered the group in surprise.
Just then from behind a large Cypress tree walked the same figure they had just seen.
“Greetings” he said, with a beaming smile on his face, clearly bemused by the investigators shock. “Please join me around my fire”
The investigators sat down as if compelled to do so.
“Are you the Obeah man from the Plantation?” they asked.
“Yes” replied the strange man. “Until recently I was living in the mansion alongside Caleb Gist. When he knew his brother was coming and bringing companions he ordered me to withdraw to this shack and keep myself hidden.”
“Why would he do that? What is he hiding?” asked Woody, hand on his pistol.
“It is not fate that brought you all here. You serve a greater purpose. Caleb Gist and his followers worship the great Yig, a serpent god far beyond your comprehension. Over the years he has been holding ceremonies paying his respects to the Great Old One. But recently it has been made aware that deep under the swamp in an ancient temple a sorceress named Saruuxia has been siphoning off the power generated by these ceremonies.”
“Yig commands that Saruuxia be destroyed. Obey and succeed and you will be held in great regard by the Great Old One.” Said the Obeah man, staring into the flames.
“What if we refuse?” queried Colorado
“Then you die a painful death” replied the Obeah man staring at Colorado, fire reflecting in his eyes.
Woody starting reached for his pistol holstered on his hip. Until he noticed the snakes…..
Three enormous Cottonmouths slithered among the investigators legs as if from out of nowhere, sliding gracefully and silent through the group and circling the Obeah man. White crescent shapes on the backs of their heads, much like the snake Colorado had shot at the day before.
“I’m in!” stammered Mike, to the shock of the others.
“Where do we find this ancient temple and sorceress?” asked Colorado, slightly shaken by the site of the massive reptiles.
“Her temple lies deep under the swamp, the exact location is unknown. She will be at her most vulnerable tonight. Caleb and his cult are holding a sacrifice in Yig’s name. Rest assured that I will not allow any harm to come to Cassy. But the sorceress has to be destroyed.”
Woody, paying closer attention to the Obeah man that the others, noticed a snake-like tongue flicker from the man’s mouth. He tried his best to point this out to his colleagues without alerting the Obeah man, but they just assumed he was losing his mind.
“But how do we get under the swamp” asked Colorado again.
“Who knows?” replied the Obeah man “perhaps something will open up for you”
Scared and a little confused the group left the clearing
They decided to search the area a little more hopefully finding a way under the swamp to the temple.
After wondering in the swamp for an hour or so they came across a small stone altar in a clearing due south of the Obeah man’s shack. Searching the area they found nothing that might aid them in their quest to find the temple or any way under the swamp.
While searching Mike heard a loud scream, cut short.
“Quick! This way” he shouted running off towards the river.
Down on the river bank they saw a thin, scrawny woman on her knees apparently holding something under the dark, murky water.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Shouted Woody
Coming closer they could see it was in fact a women holding a small child under the water in an attempt to drown it.
Woody ran at the woman trying in vain to get her to let go of the boy. Colorado raised his shotgun, scanning the woods. Mike quickly raised his rifle, firing a warning shot into the air.
The woman slowly rose to her feet and turned to face the group. Its expressionless face and sunken features, similar to those of the beast that attacked them on the train.
Her throat though was slit open, revealing severed arteries and destroyed vocal cords. Maggot infested as though the wound had been laying open for days. Her fingers worn down to bony points, skin and nails missing as if chewed off by hungry vermin.
This sight alone caused Mike to fall to his knees, clutching at his eyes.
“I'm blind!” he roared, falling face-first into the mud on the river bank.
“Help me!”
The feral woman turned and swung a wicked, clawed hand at Colorado, missing by mere millimetres.
Woody, quickest to recover, raised his double barrelled shotgun intent on cutting the creature in two. But in his haste he fired his rounds off prematurely catching the beast in the leg, tearing flesh and bone alike.
Colorado also fired his shotgun, catching his foe a glancing blow in the abdomen.
The creature, still standing flung a fist out catching Colorado on the side of the head, sending him reeling and with one last burst of unholy energy leapt at Woody determined to rip his throat out.
Woody barely managed to deflect the woman's wicked talons with the butt of his shotgun, sending the creature onto its back in the mud.
Standing on its damaged leg to stop it wriggling, Woody reloaded his shotgun, aiming it at the woman's head.
"Time for the Boston Ball-Buster err Brain-Buster" he corrected himself noticing the woman's lack of balls.
And with a well placed shot he fired both barrels point-blank into the creatures head, showering everyone nearby with brains and skull fragments.
"MA!" yelled Joe, running over to cradle the destroyed corpse of his mother in his arms.
Mike, still blinded was lying on the ground holding his eyes and moaning. Colorado and Woody tried to calm him down with soothing words and liquor.
A few minutes later once everyone had calmed down, Woody confronted Joe.
"What are you doing back here Joe? I thought you had gone off with Reverend Hillson?"
"I was worried about my Ma, I came back to the plantation to find her, but all I found was this!" He cried pointing at the remains of his mother.
It was then that Woody noticed a white crescent shape under Joe's right arm. He started to load his shotgun.
"What the hell is that!" he shouted, pointing at the mark under Joe's arm. "What do you know about the serpent god?"
"I don't know nuthin'" screamed Joe, crying again. "I found it under my arm at about the same time I started getting those weird dreams. I don't know nuthin' I swears it."
"This is getting too odd for my liking." Mumbled Colorado "I think we should just burn the place down and run"
"Who said that?" wondered Mike feebly
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