| Short Story |
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Night Music
By Tom Deterling
I came upon them one crisp autumn night. The faint glow that was visible
from my bedroom window had intrigued me for weeks and I had finally set out
to discover its source. It began around the time the trees had shed their last
leaf, leaving the ground littered with relics of the trees former beauty. The
branches were bare and jagged, only heightening the feeling of death that
loomed over the land.
Night after night I would await the arrival of the glow, enjoying my private
waiting game. When my body would finally yield and begin its slow descent
into sleep, it would appear. After weeks of watching I decided it was time to
venture further into the unknown.
Before I had simply observed from the safety of my bedroom, but now I
needed to put this mystery to rest. I dressed myself in my worn jeans, boots
and flannel shirt that I often used while
hunting and set out. My movement through the house was quiet and carefully
planned. Each step softly descended upon the old, creaky floorboards.
It had been years since another person shared this home with me. My
brothers and sisters left the farm long ago, seeking a new life away from the
family home. I couldn’t blame them, life had not been easy since the time of my
father's passing, and my siblings needed to get away from this
place. They left me to tend to the farm, to keep the last piece of my father's
legacy alive.
I closed the door to the old farmhouse, the sound echoed across the
farmland, sounding awkward against the stillness of the evening. The cool
autumn air assaulted my lungs as I took in my first breath. The comfort of a
warm bed and a crackling fire already seemed so distant. I had lived on this
quiet farm for my whole life, but tonight it looked foreign to me. The moonlight
left a haunting glow all around me. It cast shadows that were straight out of a
child's nightmare.
I stalked across the fields, feeling a growing sense of panic, fear and
excitement building deep within me. It would have been too easy to turn back
and return to bed. Leaving the unknown alone, leaving the adventure behind
for someone else to explore. The truth was that I needed this, I needed a
change of pace, I needed something new in my life. As I approached the edge
of the woods I felt a slight hesitation in my step. The trees looked as if they
would take me in and never let me out. A maze of crossing game paths and
old hunting trails would be my only guides tonight. I brushed the fears away
and gingerly climb over the barbed wire fence that separated the wood from
my land.
The glowing blanket of the moon that had covered my fields was tom and
shredded by the rough and jagged branches of the trees. The faint glow from
my lantern did little to help guide my through the twisted landscape. The
distant beacon in the night, burning ever so softly, seemed to be miles and
miles away. The woods around me seemed to transform, to shift, trying hinder
my progress as I made my way forward. These woods that I had explored
countless times in my childhood never looked so sinister, never felt so evil. I
quickened my pace, hoping for this journey to be at an end. Turn after turn
the glow finally began to draw closer, my quest was finally coming to an end.
The sounds of leaves and twigs cracking underneath my boot seemed to
echo in the woods. The sound bouncing off the trees as I made my way
towards the glow of a campfire. As I approached the sound of music filled my
ears, the sound of an old time hoedown penetrated my brain. As I crept over
the last downed tree there sat a gathering of men. With guitars, fiddles, jugs,
harmonicas and banjos, these figures played furiously as they continued
making their intoxicating sound. The back country style never appealed to me
that much, but, the allure of their sound pulled me in.
I sat watching them, they make no sound, no indication of where the song
should go. They all played their own individual song, but, came together in a
beautiful mixture of relaxed twangy notes of a banjo and the unrelenting rhythm
of the guitar. I continued to watch from the shadows
afraid that my presence might disrupt this mesmerizing spectacle. Finally I
couldn't stand it any longer, the source of the light had finally been shown to
me and I had to speak with these midnight musicians.
I decided to make my presence know to the mysterious group. I stepped
forth from the shadows and quietly walked towards the campfire so that the
group could see me. I took care not to startle them and in a most polite and
friendly manner, I greeted the group.
"A fine evening gentlemen," but they paid me no heed and kept playing their
song, their lack of interest in me was not disturbing but somewhat unnerving. I
had snuck upon them and had been watching yet they didn't seem to mind in
the slightest. At that moment all they cared for was the music that they were
making.
One man who played the jug motioned for me to sit down on one of the logs
that served as a bench for the musical troupe. As I sat down it was difficult to
make out any of their faces. The calm glow of the campfire cast long dark
shadows over their features, most of who were peering down at their
instruments, careful not to make a mistake.
Their skill at each instrument was astonishing; all around the circle was a
man who had mastered his craft. As the minutes passed, I felt the music inside
of my head. It conjured thoughts of times pass and of things to come. My
mind drifted back to my childhood on the farm, listening to the farmhands play
similar tunes beneath the shining moon. It was as if they were performing a
magical act and I was the focus of all their attention. I sat with them all night
watching as they produced this wonderful music.
One man reached for a jug and begin passing it around the fire, each taking
a large gulp of the brew. The jug made its way to me, the smell was enough to
make my eyes water but I pressed it to my lips and took a large swig. The
strength of the drink was overpowering, I was thankful that none of them
noticed the expression that overtook me as I swallowed down the back country
moonshine.
The men continued to pass it around, never seeming to pause as they took
their helping of the drink. The liquor seemed to throw the men into a frenzy,
their playing became faster and much more complex. The sweeping guitars
blended with the dueling fiddles, banjos and harmonicas wailing as men kept
rhythm with their stoneware jugs.
The fire continued to burn as they played on into the late hours and early
morn. None of them seemed to tire, the amount of energy spent playing their
instruments never seemed to catch up with them. I looked all around me, the
shadows that had enveloped the woods around us had retreated. The glow of
the campfire had died down, and all that remained were the burning hot
embers of the night passed. The soft light of the sun was clearly rising over
the mountains to the east. The hour of the wolf I thought to myself, the hour
before dawn, the last hour of night.
How lucky I had been to share this evening with these men. A once in a
lifetime experience, to sit by the glow of a campfire, watching unknown masters
perform their craft. Here they sat all night performing for no one, no audience
to share their creation with. Now here I sat with these masters, sitting in awe of
their perfection. Not once before had I interested myself in the musical arts,
but how quickly things had changed.
My sense of adventure, my escape was now complete. And to think that this
chance encounter was made possible by the faint glow of a distant flame.
Charred remains was all that was left of the once burning campfire, but, the
group kept playing, never halting to tend to it. Their need for light and warmth
had long passed as they continued forth with their song. The jug continued to
make its rounds around the group, I had stopped taking swigs from it. After
several hours of continuous drinking I had become quite taken by the alcohol,
but these men showed no sign of the
drink. I was enjoying myself quite a bit, several times throughout the night I
had tried to strike up a small conversation but not once did I ever get
acknowledgement from the men. A simple question of ''where are you guys
from?" or "how long have you been doing this?" seemed to fall on deaf ears.
As the sunlight began to pour over the forest the song began to build, it was
building in fury and intensity, like a bomb about to explode. And all of a
sudden it stopped. The men simply laid down their instruments and sat there
in silence. Not making a move, not making a sound. The sun had cracked
over the mountain tops and was showering the woods with its light. Lifting the
lingering hush from the wood. That's when I noticed.
Their faces, forever burned into my nightmares. A constant reminder of what
evils come when darkness covers the land. A reminder of what the blackest of
nights brings, the denizens of another world. Under the jagged branches,
deep within the woods, I saw them for what they truly were. Their pale skin,
their sunken eyes, the blank stares, the stench of decay. The sunlight
illuminated the rotting flesh that covered their exposed bones.
They all focused upon me, the one who did not belong. There was no
emotion on any of their faces, just the mindless expression that covered their
horrific features. I wanted to scream but I found no voice. The terror and
anguish that I felt weakened me. No strength, no voice, no ability to save
myself from these undead monsters. There was no escape for me, I had
shared a drink with the devil, and now it was time to pay. A mixture of dread,
confusion and the dulling effects of the alcohol left me in a daze. I felt the air
escaping my lungs as I slowly descended into sleep.
By Tom Deterling
I came upon them one crisp autumn night. The faint glow that was visible
from my bedroom window had intrigued me for weeks and I had finally set out
to discover its source. It began around the time the trees had shed their last
leaf, leaving the ground littered with relics of the trees former beauty. The
branches were bare and jagged, only heightening the feeling of death that
loomed over the land.
Night after night I would await the arrival of the glow, enjoying my private
waiting game. When my body would finally yield and begin its slow descent
into sleep, it would appear. After weeks of watching I decided it was time to
venture further into the unknown.
Before I had simply observed from the safety of my bedroom, but now I
needed to put this mystery to rest. I dressed myself in my worn jeans, boots
and flannel shirt that I often used while
hunting and set out. My movement through the house was quiet and carefully
planned. Each step softly descended upon the old, creaky floorboards.
It had been years since another person shared this home with me. My
brothers and sisters left the farm long ago, seeking a new life away from the
family home. I couldn’t blame them, life had not been easy since the time of my
father's passing, and my siblings needed to get away from this
place. They left me to tend to the farm, to keep the last piece of my father's
legacy alive.
I closed the door to the old farmhouse, the sound echoed across the
farmland, sounding awkward against the stillness of the evening. The cool
autumn air assaulted my lungs as I took in my first breath. The comfort of a
warm bed and a crackling fire already seemed so distant. I had lived on this
quiet farm for my whole life, but tonight it looked foreign to me. The moonlight
left a haunting glow all around me. It cast shadows that were straight out of a
child's nightmare.
I stalked across the fields, feeling a growing sense of panic, fear and
excitement building deep within me. It would have been too easy to turn back
and return to bed. Leaving the unknown alone, leaving the adventure behind
for someone else to explore. The truth was that I needed this, I needed a
change of pace, I needed something new in my life. As I approached the edge
of the woods I felt a slight hesitation in my step. The trees looked as if they
would take me in and never let me out. A maze of crossing game paths and
old hunting trails would be my only guides tonight. I brushed the fears away
and gingerly climb over the barbed wire fence that separated the wood from
my land.
The glowing blanket of the moon that had covered my fields was tom and
shredded by the rough and jagged branches of the trees. The faint glow from
my lantern did little to help guide my through the twisted landscape. The
distant beacon in the night, burning ever so softly, seemed to be miles and
miles away. The woods around me seemed to transform, to shift, trying hinder
my progress as I made my way forward. These woods that I had explored
countless times in my childhood never looked so sinister, never felt so evil. I
quickened my pace, hoping for this journey to be at an end. Turn after turn
the glow finally began to draw closer, my quest was finally coming to an end.
The sounds of leaves and twigs cracking underneath my boot seemed to
echo in the woods. The sound bouncing off the trees as I made my way
towards the glow of a campfire. As I approached the sound of music filled my
ears, the sound of an old time hoedown penetrated my brain. As I crept over
the last downed tree there sat a gathering of men. With guitars, fiddles, jugs,
harmonicas and banjos, these figures played furiously as they continued
making their intoxicating sound. The back country style never appealed to me
that much, but, the allure of their sound pulled me in.
I sat watching them, they make no sound, no indication of where the song
should go. They all played their own individual song, but, came together in a
beautiful mixture of relaxed twangy notes of a banjo and the unrelenting rhythm
of the guitar. I continued to watch from the shadows
afraid that my presence might disrupt this mesmerizing spectacle. Finally I
couldn't stand it any longer, the source of the light had finally been shown to
me and I had to speak with these midnight musicians.
I decided to make my presence know to the mysterious group. I stepped
forth from the shadows and quietly walked towards the campfire so that the
group could see me. I took care not to startle them and in a most polite and
friendly manner, I greeted the group.
"A fine evening gentlemen," but they paid me no heed and kept playing their
song, their lack of interest in me was not disturbing but somewhat unnerving. I
had snuck upon them and had been watching yet they didn't seem to mind in
the slightest. At that moment all they cared for was the music that they were
making.
One man who played the jug motioned for me to sit down on one of the logs
that served as a bench for the musical troupe. As I sat down it was difficult to
make out any of their faces. The calm glow of the campfire cast long dark
shadows over their features, most of who were peering down at their
instruments, careful not to make a mistake.
Their skill at each instrument was astonishing; all around the circle was a
man who had mastered his craft. As the minutes passed, I felt the music inside
of my head. It conjured thoughts of times pass and of things to come. My
mind drifted back to my childhood on the farm, listening to the farmhands play
similar tunes beneath the shining moon. It was as if they were performing a
magical act and I was the focus of all their attention. I sat with them all night
watching as they produced this wonderful music.
One man reached for a jug and begin passing it around the fire, each taking
a large gulp of the brew. The jug made its way to me, the smell was enough to
make my eyes water but I pressed it to my lips and took a large swig. The
strength of the drink was overpowering, I was thankful that none of them
noticed the expression that overtook me as I swallowed down the back country
moonshine.
The men continued to pass it around, never seeming to pause as they took
their helping of the drink. The liquor seemed to throw the men into a frenzy,
their playing became faster and much more complex. The sweeping guitars
blended with the dueling fiddles, banjos and harmonicas wailing as men kept
rhythm with their stoneware jugs.
The fire continued to burn as they played on into the late hours and early
morn. None of them seemed to tire, the amount of energy spent playing their
instruments never seemed to catch up with them. I looked all around me, the
shadows that had enveloped the woods around us had retreated. The glow of
the campfire had died down, and all that remained were the burning hot
embers of the night passed. The soft light of the sun was clearly rising over
the mountains to the east. The hour of the wolf I thought to myself, the hour
before dawn, the last hour of night.
How lucky I had been to share this evening with these men. A once in a
lifetime experience, to sit by the glow of a campfire, watching unknown masters
perform their craft. Here they sat all night performing for no one, no audience
to share their creation with. Now here I sat with these masters, sitting in awe of
their perfection. Not once before had I interested myself in the musical arts,
but how quickly things had changed.
My sense of adventure, my escape was now complete. And to think that this
chance encounter was made possible by the faint glow of a distant flame.
Charred remains was all that was left of the once burning campfire, but, the
group kept playing, never halting to tend to it. Their need for light and warmth
had long passed as they continued forth with their song. The jug continued to
make its rounds around the group, I had stopped taking swigs from it. After
several hours of continuous drinking I had become quite taken by the alcohol,
but these men showed no sign of the
drink. I was enjoying myself quite a bit, several times throughout the night I
had tried to strike up a small conversation but not once did I ever get
acknowledgement from the men. A simple question of ''where are you guys
from?" or "how long have you been doing this?" seemed to fall on deaf ears.
As the sunlight began to pour over the forest the song began to build, it was
building in fury and intensity, like a bomb about to explode. And all of a
sudden it stopped. The men simply laid down their instruments and sat there
in silence. Not making a move, not making a sound. The sun had cracked
over the mountain tops and was showering the woods with its light. Lifting the
lingering hush from the wood. That's when I noticed.
Their faces, forever burned into my nightmares. A constant reminder of what
evils come when darkness covers the land. A reminder of what the blackest of
nights brings, the denizens of another world. Under the jagged branches,
deep within the woods, I saw them for what they truly were. Their pale skin,
their sunken eyes, the blank stares, the stench of decay. The sunlight
illuminated the rotting flesh that covered their exposed bones.
They all focused upon me, the one who did not belong. There was no
emotion on any of their faces, just the mindless expression that covered their
horrific features. I wanted to scream but I found no voice. The terror and
anguish that I felt weakened me. No strength, no voice, no ability to save
myself from these undead monsters. There was no escape for me, I had
shared a drink with the devil, and now it was time to pay. A mixture of dread,
confusion and the dulling effects of the alcohol left me in a daze. I felt the air
escaping my lungs as I slowly descended into sleep.
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