Asher's Stories

As read at the 2022 Sigma Tau Delta National Convention, in Atlanta Georgia

If you will spare me the time before I am gone, I can tell you a tale that may someday save you. Should you ever find yourself in the rural mountains of Appalachia, heed my story. My journey began simply with a cheap coffee in my hand, a GPS on my dashboard, and a rosary wrapped around my mirror. On those bizarre rural highways, the speed limit is more of a suggestion, especially in the late hours of the night I found myself in. My headlights cut a path through the heavy rain and dense fog that settles onto the mountains.

At some point, far too long before for me to even realize, my fate had been sealed. Perhaps I missed an exit. Perhaps I was redirected around an accident, Lord knows I passed enough unfortunate victims of the wet roads. I found myself on an unfamiliar path to a familiar destination.

The moment I realized I was on an exit ramp I did not recognize, the mechanical voice urged me to turn right. With no one near me at the stop sign I took a moment to tap the screen. The address was right, but this was never a path I’ve seen before. With a small shrug to myself and a sip of coffee, began down the path.

As I pushed my car onto the road, I experienced a sign, a warning, that something was horribly wrong. The rosary around my mirror suddenly broke. The string holding it together snapped, and the small wooden beads clattered upon the dash and floor. I swerved a bit from shock but managed to stay on the road. Perhaps this was The Lord giving a sign to stop my journey before it was too late. Perhaps whatever rules over the land I entered was giving me a chance. Either way, I heeded not the warning. With a small pang of sadness over the lost rosary, I pressed on.

A few miles more down the road I happened upon a village. A “Village of Eagle’s Roost,” sign suddenly sprang out of the fog. I thought to myself that I must be deep in the rural mountains, as I haven’t been in a village in a long time. But I had not an excess of time to ponder this thought, as suddenly buildings appeared in my lights.

I slammed on the breaks, not because I was to hit something, but because how sudden this all was. My car halted, and the breaks squealed in protest. Slowly I let off and drifted through the fog into the town. I saw no more than 50 feet of houses, a small gas station, and two mom and pop shops. The only building with lights on seemed to be the gas station. My car had less than a quarter tank of gas left, but I dared not pull over. But with the rosary snapping, and a village I’ve never heard of suddenly appearing out of the fog, I felt unwell.

The unwell feeling continued to grow, and I knew I was going to vomit. My stomach heaved and, against my better judgement, I pulled into a gas station. It was a small, clearly independent place. I threw my car into a spot and opened the door, spilling the little coffee and food that was in my stomach into the lot. Collecting myself afterward, I thought it best to tell whoever was working that I had made a mess of their lot. And, while I was reluctant to admit, seeing another person, even a stranger, would do wonders to calm my nerves.

However, this did not turn out well. The door was locked, not opening when I pulled or pushed. I knocked a few times and peered through the glass doors. Looking around, it appeared that not a soul was inside the store. Double checking their hours, they should have been open.

I spun around, suddenly paranoid, my eyes scanning the area around me. The only movement I saw was the shaking of trees in the wind, and small circles forming where raindrops hit the puddles on the black lot. A strong breeze stirred me into action, and I sprinted to my car. Slamming the door and locking it, I felt foolish. My heart was racing, I was out of breath, and I only ran 10 feet in the rain in a small town in the mountains.

As I pulled myself together enough to convince myself I was being a child, something moved. I saw it for but a moment, but I know my eyes were true. A shadowy figure emerged from around the side and slid back behind the corner. A chill ran down my spine, and I felt goosebumps crawl over my skin, despite the warm atmosphere inside the car. It could not have been a person. The air around the figure grew dark, and the shape was not defined.

With a start, I realized my hand had drifted to the handle. I ripped it off just in case I would accidentally open the door. I did not want whatever that was to get inside my car. Steeling myself, I started my car and drove off, starting my GPS as I was already moving. I found myself looking back towards the building repeatedly as I drove, but the figure did not emerge again.

Shaking, I turned the heat back on. With a trembling hand I reached down and grabbed one of the beads off my broken rosary. When my finger grazed it, another sign of my doom revealed itself to me. The bead was ice cold. I felt the wheel. I felt the dashboard. All felt hot from my car’s systems. An icy rosary marked that The Lord was not here with me. In a futile gesture I grabbed the bead and muttered a quick prayer for help.

I continued up the road further. More houses emerged from the fog. My headlights revealed no more figures, but I remained vigilant should one appear. As I continued up the road, a small thought occurred. Mine has been the only car on this road. Not in driveways, not in small gravel parking lots, not at the gas station did I observe a single other vehicle. No sign of human life was present in this place.

Still clutching the icy rosary bead I was determined to make it out of whatever test of faith was presented before me. As a Hail Mary crossed my lips, I spotted it. A small church appeared suddenly from the mist. Red dusty bricks stacked up towards a small spire with a brass bell at the top. It could not have been more than two or three rooms large, but hallowed ground is hallowed ground.

Swinging my car into the gravel lot, I soon realized I was in much greater danger than I thought. As my headlights revealed the stained glass adorning the side of the church, I saw not a depiction of the Holy Spirit, but something much darker.

Tinted green grass turned black at the edges. Sharp angles denoted evergreen trees, uprooted in an unholy form. Massive stones formed something like a body. Instead of feathered wings, the glass portrait shows a tangle of roots building off the creatures back. I was frozen with fear and dread. What was this portrait of a demon doing in the place of Christ?

I had not time to ponder the question, for figures began to emerge. Shadows came from the trees, around corners of houses. They slowly moved towards me, some on what appeared to be legs, some simply moving with no discernable method. I yelled for The Good Lord to help me and fled from the church.

Speeding out of the small town, I emerged back onto a mountain road. The rain picked up harder and stronger, battering my windshield faster than the wipers could move. I felt the car slide, but I could not slow down. I felt that I could see figures in the woods all around me. They were in the woods, on the road, in my mirror. Were those the residents of Eagle’s Roost? Or something much darker? I pushed onto the accelerator determined not to answer the question.

Had I been paying attention to my GPS; I would have seen the turn coming. But overwhelmed with fear, and distracted by the icy rosary bead, I did not turn in time. My car slid off the slick road and onto the path below. I came into consciousness when a massive pressure forced itself upon me. As I looked up, I realized that the stained-glass window did not capture the horror of The Spirit.

30 feet tall, the monster was made of rocks and trees. Dirt crumbled and fell of its arms, made of roots, leaves, and moss. But the wings, oh Lord the wings. Massive, extending into the fog where I could not see them. The wings were made of tree roots, twisted together into a net, capturing rotten corpses of animals, plants, and… humans. Twisted limbs held adults and children alike, pushing them upwards in the fog but not letting them go. Were these the residents of Eagle’s Roost?

The unholy spirit began to approach. With each lumbering step, the corpses swayed, and dirt and moss crumbled off his chest. His hand extended towards me, and the wings curled in, pulling more bodies out of the fog for me to observe.

Frozen with fear, I know my fate is sealed and my end is near. With my last breaths, I utter a warning. Should you find yourself in Appalachia, stick to a path you know, especially at night. For when God cannot reach you between the hills, something else will.