Black Goat
Inspired by H.P. Lovecraft's Shub-Niggurath, the "Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young." Written for Elegant Lit's Wild Worship contest.
The trees are moving.
I know, I know, you’re probably saying “it’s dark, it’s the wind blowing through their branches” or “maybe there’re small animals scurrying along their trunks” giving the impression of movement, but you’d be wrong. “Wind” and “animals” don’t make entire clumps of trees stand up. “Wind” and “animals” can’t make trees shuffle forward through the dirt like soldiers taking a position. Fucking “wind” and fucking “animals” don’t make trees squeal like hellish demon swine.
The trees. Are. Moving.
And they have been for the last six hours, drawing closer to the small campfire.
“So,” I whisper to the other two hikers I ran into, “one hour left.”
The broseph in top-of-the-line gear (who I learned was named Hugh) looks past my shoulders. “If you believe that nonsense.”
Our other companion, Michelle, motions to the circle of dead druids surrounding us. “Dunno, Hugh, I’m pretty fuckin’ convinced.”
We like Michelle. Michelle’s great.
“Them? They don’t prove anything. They’re the ones who told us they’d be sacrificed in the first place,” Hugh waves the corpses off like a nuisance, “they all drank the Kool-Aid before we arrived.”
I keep my eye on a particular walnut tree I swear is stalking me. “Listen, buddy, I don’t know you that well, but I do know that…” I mouth counting the bodies, “...fourteen people wouldn’t die in perfect unison if they poisoned themselves.”
Michelle’s “got ya” face doesn’t move the rich boy at all.
Hugh takes his phone out for the umpteenth time. “Still no bars.”
“We haven’t moved from this spot. Why would there suddenly be reception?” Michelle rolls her eyes.
“Sometimes it just takes a second.”
I break sight from the clingy walnut to meet Michelle’s incredulous look. When I look back, the tree is gone.
“Shit,” I mumble. I’d lost sight of that tree several times. Eventually, I’ll see it out of the corner of my eye as it tries a new angle of approach.
Movement in my peripheral vision startles me, until I see it’s Michelle crawling from her log to one of the dead guys.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
“I wanna see what she’s carrying.”
“Why?”
She stops and turns to me. “I don’t know, Benny. Maybe they carry pamphlets or something? Anything could help.” She latches onto the cadaver’s wrist and drags it closer. As she gets it all the way to her log, we hear it again.
Skkkeeeeyyuuuuurrrtt! Skeeyurt!
We all freeze. The sound comes from around us, and I mean ALL around us.
I scan the treeline, which, incidentally, is at least three feet closer than it was a moment ago.
“I think,” I point to Michelle without looking, “you should stop. They didn’t like that.”
Hugh guffaws. “‘They?’ Who’s ‘they?’ The goddamn trees?”
This fuckin’ guy.
“Okay, smartass, go ahead.” I fold my arms.
The rich guy squints. “And?”
“And explain what the horrible screeching was just now. Or, better yet, explain how the trees are closer to us than they were ten minutes ago. Or why we haven’t heard any insects or birds or anything for the last six hours.”
Without a word, Hugh looks down at his phone again and mercifully shuts up for the time being.
“Got it!” Michelle proudly holds up a wallet. I hadn’t noticed she was still fishing through the druid’s robe.
Skkkeeeeyyuuuuurrrtt!
I squeeze my hands so tight it feels like my fingers are going to break through my palm. “I would love it if they could be even a little quieter.”
Hugh’s punchable face looks like it wants to say something, but he keeps it to himself.
First good idea he’s had all night.
“Huh.” Michelle looks amused. She’s holding a business card from inside the wallet. “This woman was a real estate agent. Tammy Flint.” She flips the card so we can see the clean EB Garamond font. Above it is her company’s logo.
“Wait, Tammy Flint sounds familiar,” the trust fund baby leans forward to examine it closer, “yeah, I remember! Flint’s Finds! You see her on tons of signs.”
“I don’t think we travel in the same neighborhoods, Hugh.” I’ve never seen her before, but then again, I live below the poverty line.
Michelle pockets a hundred dollar bill when she thinks I’m not looking. I don’t bring it up because I doubt ol’ Tammy is going to complain.
Hugh, of course, is clueless. I know, it’s a real shock. I’ll give you a moment to process.
…
Good? Good.
“The druids said Her young shall consume the waste and build the world anew.” I’m thinking out loud. “Why would a—successful?” I glance at Hugh, who nods, “—realtor be in a radicalized nature cult?”
Michelle looks at the other bodies. “Is that what we’re calling this? A radicalized nature cult?”
“More like hippies,” mutters Hugh.
I think if Michelle could roll her eyes any harder she’d be a slot machine.
“Whatever it is, we should probably leave before the time runs out.” I don’t move after completing the sentence. Neither do the other two.
After a moment: “Go, Hugh.” Michelle nudges his foot with hers.
“What?”
“Go check it out.”
“I’m not doing that!”
We sit for another thirty minutes in silence.
I watch the treeline draw nearer. Michelle, I can tell, has been counting the trees, finishing, shaking her head, and then counting again. Hugh has been using his tongue to try to remove a piece of broccoli in his teeth.
“I’m a single mom.”
We look at Michelle. She has a sad, thin smile.
“Daughter. Four-years-old. She’s with my dad for the weekend. This was supposed to be a stress-free vacation after finalizing my divorce. Took two, brutal years to be rid of my ex. He dragged everything into it: the house, the cars, what little money we had… and our child.” She’s holding back sobs now. “He didn’t even want her, he just wanted to hurt me.”
Hugh and I let that hang in the air.
“What’s her name?” I ask, finally.
“Lily.”
More silence.
“I… uh… I didn’t know my parents.” Hugh is staring very intensely at his phone. It isn’t on. “My mom was a state prosecutor, part of a task force targeting organized crime syndicates. She and my dad were run off the road and killed on the way back from their anniversary dinner. I was only two.” His hands are shaking. “I was raised by a legal guardian and only recently received my inheritance, which was held in trust until I turned 25. I went a little spending-crazy with the sudden money, so I decided to come out here to reconnect with nature.”
I nod. Michelle looks shocked.
“I’m sorry,” she says, “I’ve been a dick to you this whole time.”
Hugh chuckles. “Yeah, but I deserved it.”
She smiles back at him. “Yeah, you did.” They both laugh quietly.
The trees are only about twenty feet away, now. I’m able to see their slow, deliberate movement at this range.
“Benny?” I hear Michelle’s voice and jump slightly.
“Oh! Sorry.” I turn my back to the woods. At this point, it’s fruitless to watch them. They’ve surrounded us completely. “What is it, Michelle?”
She and Hugh look at each other, then back at me. “What brought you into the woods, Benny?”
“Wha—oh! Right. I—” Peripheral movement distracts me. I turn my head to the left and see it again. “There you are.”
I make sure the walnut tree stays in my view this time.
My companions follow my gaze to the offending deciduous plant.
“Wait,” says Hugh, “that’s the tree I’ve been watching.”
Michelle also joins in: “No way, I’ve been watching that one, too!”
I want, desperately, to look at them and say something, but I can’t risk losing this thing again. Not while they’re this close.
“Impossible,” Hugh looks nervous for the first time, “if we’ve all been watching one tree, we’d have been looking in the same direction throughout the night, but it was behind you, Benny, when I was watching it.” He looks past my shoulders again, confirming it isn’t there.
Michelle points past Hugh. “I saw it behind you.”
“And I saw it behind Michelle. It’s been moving constantly.” My mind is racing through possibilities. Michelle’s is racing through terror, and Hugh’s is racing through logic, hoping to find a reasonable answer. It won’t.
I stand up.
It’s deafening:
Skkkeeeeyyuuuuurrrtt!
Everyone grabs their ears and winces.
“Alright,” shouts Hugh, “I’m willing to admit we’re in trouble!”
Aww, I’m proud of Hugh. Such growth!
The piercing sound intensifies, while the trees begin quaking. I begin walking towards one of the druids whose body lies a few feet from the walnut tree.
“What are you doing, Benny?” shouts Michelle. I barely hear her over the screeching.
“Either figuring this all out or getting us all killed faster!” I kneel down and dig through the robes, more thoroughly than Michelle was able to with such discretion.
Hugh falls over into the dirt, kicking his legs in pain. “It feels like my brain is being dipped in acid!”
Tears of blood are streaming down Michelle’s face, and her eyes have rolled back (involuntarily this time).
My mouth is hanging limp, tongue flopping around, as I’m pelted with sonic agony at point-blank range. My kidneys feel like they’re being stabbed with ice picks. I think I’m screaming, but it’s hard to tell anymore. Oozy, bloody blisters are forming on my arms and face.
Finally, my hand hits something hard. I grab it and pull a small statue free from the dead druid’s robe. The carving looks and feels 3d-printed, though its shape is unnatural, and it feels like I have insects crawling under my skin when I examine it (and that’s on top of the horrors happening aurally).
“What is it?” Hugh cries at a volume I can just make out. I can see one of his eyes has filled completely with blood, and I wonder if it’s from internal or external injury—probably both.
When I speak, I think I sound like someone with tongue paralysis. Hard to say, though, since we can’t really hear each other well. “Some sort of idol! Black Goat with a Thousand Young is marked on the nameplate!” I hack up some blood and (what I hope is) a tooth.
And then it all shuts up. It’s silent.
“You are to be my tribute?” Michelle’s voice has range, apparently.
Hugh and I respond with an emphatic Nothing because we’re in agony.
Whatever it is, it’s using Michelle to speak. “Unacceptable for commercial rejuvenation requests. Tributes saturated with potential. Denied.”
I lift my head just enough to see the trees (which I can now see are actually appendages sprouting from fat, stumpy, quadrupedal bodies) shuffle away, disappearing into the actual trees. The last one to vanish is the walnut tree, and I swear it’s pouting as it stomps out of sight.
I hear a cough, and Michelle’s regular voice is a welcome tone: “I could see what this was while She was in my head…”
Hugh, face down at a weird angle, groans: “And?”
“This circle of idiots prayed to a corrupt fertility god to boost the economy, not realizing she needs sacrifices with no impact on the world.”
On my back, I rasp my response: “We… have… impact?”
Michelle was sucking in painfully while continuing. “I’m free of a restrictive relationship. Hugh now has financial freedom. And you… Benny, you never answered my question.”
“Which question?”
From the dirt, Hugh shouts. “Why are you in the woods, Benny?”
Through my injured eyes, I see stars above. “After three years of intense behavioral therapy and emergency hospital visits, I’m celebrating my desire to live.”
After a moment, Michelle speaks again. I think she might be crying. “I’m glad you were here, Benny.”
We like Michelle. Michelle is great.
“Same,” says the rich boy.
Hugh’s pretty cool, too.
It is okay. I was hoping to cry a little today.