Jake Burt - The Ghoul of Windydown Vale

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For Theo and Ruthann

The Ghoul of Windydown Vale, some say

Is a nightmare invented to frighten away

The children from places they oughtnt to be

Like boglands and quicksands as deep as the sea.

But if its not real, then how do they know

Of its terrible wail? The way its eyes glow?

Or the curve of its teeth, jutting out of the jaw,

All bloody and dripping as it eats your flesh raw?

And how to explain the bones that we find?

The corpses of animals, ones left behind

With wounds made by claws, sharp as new knives

Are all of these false? The tales of old wives?

We suppose, in the end, theres just one place to learn;

Well remember you kindly when you dont return.

I couldnt be prouder to call Windydown Vale home. I mean, sure, weve got the Ghoul, and thats upsetting to some. So are the bog adders, eye leeches, mirror mud, rat plague, groundbriar, choker vines, and sinkholes. All have claimed their fair share of folk, and well own that. But credit where its due: Not a soul in the Vale has ever been trampled to death by a terrified horse.

Course, its early still.

The morning mist is just slithering in from the swamps, and Im already arms-full, fixing to topple over in a heap of turnips, fresh-plucked chickens, and bottles of fancy wine. The inns close, but that doesnt mean much when theres an army of tradefolk tween me and our front porch. Their carts line the Long Walk, hung with everything from strings of garlic to sheets of silk. Like a flock of preening peacocks, they caw at anyone who gets close, including me.

Boy! Need a pan for that chicken? Cast iron! Pre-oiled in pig fat and mutton tallow!

Copper! Hey, Copper, lad! Tell your pa weve got new quilts! All sizes, hand knit! Corners wont fray no matter how many times you tuck em!

Wards! Amulets! Talismans! Only fools venture into the swamps without Ghoul protection!

I pull up, dodging a wheelbarrow full of salted fish as its owner hustles past. Peering over the mound of Mothers groceries, I spot Granny Erskine, whos reaching up to rattle a rusty horseshoe at anyone close. In the middle of the shoe is a birds skull, tethered by bits of brightly colored yarn. Dont know how well it drives off evil, but its power against customers seems clear.

Granny, I call. Hey! Didnt we

Copper! Tell these people! Ghoulll get em for sure without an amulet!

I juggle my parcels until I can see her square. Shes tiny, with a whiskery chin and whispery hair. I lean down to eye level. Mayors yelled at you yet today, Granny? I ask.

She spits into the mud behind her, then hangs the horseshoe carefully from one of the hooks that line her stall. There are dozens more of the cobbled totems, not one alike, save that they all resemble the less cozy parts of a rats nest. A stiff breeze sets her knickknackery to spinning, and Granny pulls a quilt around her shouldersone of the same red-and-green ones for sale farther up the Walk. Reeves n his lot got nothin to say to me that I want to hear, she grumbles.

Listen to me, then? I plead. You know you cant be selling these

Genuine enchantments against all threats, magic and mystic?

things.

But the Ghoul! Folk need protection! she cries, words aimed at everyone but me.

And thats a noble cause, I offer. But there aint a lick your bird bones and old horsecloppers are gonna do to save folks from the mud. Or anything else, for that matter. We start sending tradefolk out there thinkin theyre protected, were gonna lose more of em than the Ghoul ever took.

She sniffles, sucking softly on the inside of her cheek. Then she starts closing up shop.

Thank you, Granny.

For you, Copper. Not for no one else. Gonna be a hard day, what with this storm comin. Was fixin to get a little dry wood, maybe build a fire to keep my

My sigh cuts her off. She smiles, revealing eight evenly spaced and equally yellow teeth. I navigate a bottle of wine to my other arm, freeing a few fingers to dip into the pouch at my belt. I wrangle out a couple coins, at which Granny clicks her tongue.

Er my eyes, Copper. Gettin hard for me to see which coinsre which these days. Mightnt you have a slug or two of the sweet stuff?

I stare her down. She gives me more of that gappy grin. Hiding beneath the jinglin money in my pouch are two pea-sized lumps of gold. I dig them free and drop them into Granny Erskines cupped palms. Catching my eye, she brings one to her lips, clacking the nugget against the gnarliest of her teeth. I grumble, and she cackles.

Just foolin with you, boy. Everyone knows Inskeep gold is good. Always has been.

I heft Mothers groceries and turn toward home. Stay out of trouble, Granny, I mutter.

She snorts. Thats what the amulets are for!

The mayors are camped on our porch like usual, rocking in chairs, sipping tea from well-stained cups, and grousing over a game of cards. Together, they have four good eyes, and two ofem belong to Mayor Reeves. No surprise he spots me first.

Copper? Is that our Copper? he calls, leaning over the railing and swishing his hand through the fog.

Yessir! I shout back.

Need help with all that nonsense?

A gangly, top-hatted shape looms behind Reeves. He means help with the wine!

Thatd be Mayor Parsons. Hes got the squeakiest voice, the cleanest shave, and the least to do among em. He used to be our preacher, but he gave it up in an official capacity when the old church sank. Now he sermonizes from our front stoop, glass eye roving over half his flock while the good one judges the other.

I meant to be charitable, is all, snaps Reeves.

Boys, boys I believe thats enough. Young Mr. Copper may be the most affable among us, but he has responsibilities, says a third voice, deep and slow. Mayor Doc Bunder slips his cane twixt the other two, resting it crossways along the railing. His limp white hair covers most of what his eye patch doesnt, but I can still see him wink through the strands. Granny give you any trouble this morning?

I shrug, nearly losing a turnip for it. Same as always.

Doc Bunder grins, patting his hands along the pockets of a brass-buttoned vest. Think Ive got a coin or two; I can reimburse whatever she fleeced you for.

No worries, I respond. Mother knows; she always weighs down the morning list with a few extra slugs. For the charity of the Vale, she says.

Doc winces. Charity indeed. He sighs. Then he points his cane at my arms. Sure you dont need help with that?

Thanks, I declare, I think Im good.

Or not.

Before I can put a foot on the steps up to the inn, I hear a scream. Its followed by a half-dozen more, all from the direction I just came. Peering into the gloom, I can make out the gray planks of the Walk for about fifty paces before the mist swallows them. Theres nothing worth wailing about that I can see, so I venture up a bit, hoping to get a better view.

The horse explodes out of the fog a second later.