Look Away Dixie Land: a collection of Western Horror stories

By B. L. Blankenship and L. B. Stimson

Thirteen dark, cruel, and exceedingly violent macabre tales of terror lie inside the pages of the anthology "Look Away Dixie Land: a collection of Western Horror stories." Following East Tennessee author - B. L. Blankenship's Civil War era Western Horror dual novel "God Walks The Dark Hills: Book I&II", it is set within the same time and ton

• Language: English
• Publisher: Benjamin Blankenship
• Release date: May 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781087879369

B. L. Blankenship

About the AuthorB. L. BlankenshipBenjamin Lee Blankenship was born in Toledo, Ohio in 1981 to his two southern parents Larry Brown Blankenship of Giles County, Tennessee & Jonelle Blankenship of Harlan, Kentucky. During his youth in the mid-1990s, he moved to Roane County, Tennessee. Having a deep love for literature and history, he's studied many aspects of the American Civil War.Like many Americans his ancestors fought on both sides of the war. Each of his direct bloodline kindred that fought for the Federal Government (i.e. Union Army) lived in the Republican stronghold of Harlan County, Kentucky. They were: • James H. Ticky Howard (1832-1922)• Leonard Samuel Scott (1825-1889)• David E. Lee (1824-1905)• Elijah G. Helton (1829-1904)• William Burton "Gabby Burt" Hensley (1832-1906)Each of these willingly submitted to the federal draft under the direction of Robert Hays, Prevost Martial of the 8th Kentucky District.Likewise, his family housed many proud Democrats who fought for the Confederate States of America. Unlike the array of Harlan Co. Union Soldiers within his bloodline, those who chose to serve as Confederates were spread abroad; they were:CONFEDERATE HERITAGE:Richard Pierce Stracener (1843-1906)7th Reg. Georgia Infantry--------------------------James W. Farmer (1834-1910)Company C, North Carolina 3rd Light Artillery Battalion--------------------------Jefferson Pack (1830-1864)35th Regiment Tennessee Infantry, 5th Infantry,1st Mountain Rifle Regiment--------------------------Granville Smith (1843-1923)60th Regiment Virginia Infantry3rd Regiment Wise Legion, Company A--------------------------Gabrial "Rial" Smith (1820-1912)4th Regiment, Virginia Reserves, Company F--------------------------William Riley Thurman (1816-1907)2nd Battalion, Arkansas Infantry--------------------------All of B. L. Blankenship's direct bloodline ancestors lived through the American Civil War except for the confederate Jefferson Pack. He was born in Stokes, North Carolina (1830) and died on November 12th, 1864 while imprisoned at Camp Douglas, Illinois.

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COPYRIGHT 2021

LOOK

AWAY

DIXIE

LAND

Dedication

  When I was a little boy my mother raised me up watching scary movies and television shows. It seems like Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho, Jaws, or one of the many other franchises were playing. There were twists turns and excitement. Besides this, I also always liked westerns and stories set in the time period of the American Civil War. If you enjoy those things, this book is for you.

The most identifying trait of humanity is our ability to be inhumane to one another.

Dean Koontz

Contents

DEDICATION

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EPIGRAPH

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PREFACE

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

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INTRODUCTION

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STORY: BENEATH THE DARK PUDDLE

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STORY: BEYOND THE VEIL

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STORY: A LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

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STORY: BLOOD RUNS COLD

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STORY: VESSEL OF DISHONOR

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STORY: AMARANTHINE RHAPSODY

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STORY: THE AXE OF PERUN

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STORY: A BULLET FOR JOHNNY DOVE

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STORY: PEOPLE OF GOD

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STORY: THE THIN MAN

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STORY: THE OLD STONE WELL

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STORY: A LIFE WASTED

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STORY: A BEDTIME STORY

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ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Preface

  For those of you who are new to reading anything I’ve written, Look Away Dixie Land: a collection of Western Horror stories is my 2nd published work of fiction; my first being the Civil War era Western Horror dual Novel God Walks The Dark Hills: Book I&II. Much as the renowned horror novelist Stephen King is known for showcasing his home state of Maine within his stories, I do likewise in regards to Tennessee and the South Eastern United States in general.

  I’ve never been big on putting things into too much of a box. Rather, I’m passionate as a fiction writer in subverting expectations. After all, if things were too predictable, what interest would there be in reading or watching a fictional story anyway.

  These short stories both work independently and entwine within the world of the God Walks The Dark Hills series. For those who take a deep interest in it you’ll find nods to the series within some of these stories, including the presence of the character of Peter Grimm and the demonic shapeshifting being who resembles Abraham Lincoln; both of who are in the first two books. Many of the short stories are in no way tied to the main series. Another particular tale foreshadows things to come.

  With all of that said, the dark cruel tone is the same. Likened to God Walks The Dark Hills, the protagonists within these stories tend to be Southerners, Confederates, and Copperheads. All stories are fictional. Real places and events are often used as a backdrop to add realism to the world within the stories. In fact, there are several very specific locations, particularly in Kansas, and even more so Sand Island Light, Alabama. It is a real light house. It was actually destroyed during the war. The family that lives there in the story is fictitious. It’s also quite a bit closer to shore than you might presume from reading A Light In The Darkness. I like lighthouses and most any places that are secluded, as it makes for great horror.

  No harm or ill will was meant to anyone in the writing of this or any of my other books. Thank you for reading it. It’s meaningful to me.

Acknowledgements

I genuinely feel such a great debt of thanks towards everyone who has partook in the process of writing this book, my readers, and encouragers. I’m thankful for all of my family and friends, and moreover to my Lord & Savior Jesus Christ (i.e. Yeshua Hamashiach) who has enabled me with any gifts that I have. Though I’m certain it’s quite clear, villains act like villains, and people can be cruel and flawed, howbeit God is holy and worthy of my praise.

  I’m thankful for the Library of Congress, the Abbeville Institute, Sons of Confederate Veterans, as well as a plethora of other sources whom I utilized in the inspiration and telling of my stories.

  During the writing of this book I was also extremely excited to work with fellow author L. B. Stimson for one of the stories. She’s completely amazing, and working along side her was a great deal of fun. L. B. Stimson writes Southern Gothic Horror and Paranormal Fantasies. She has a fluid poetry to her writing that at the same time is dark. Frankly, I think she’s outstanding and a writer of the highest caliber. I’d deeply encourage anyone to consider purchasing her books in Paperback, eBook, or Audio-Book formats. 

  Finally, I’d like to extend a debt of thanks to my friend and proofreader, Kristen Keeton. Beyond proof-reading my works of horror, Kristen keeps her hands busy as a professional makeup artist in film and haunts.

Introduction

Over the course of world history a sizable number of prominent people have talked about how History is written by the victors. The American Civil War is really no different. There were a lot of things going on in that war and North America, let alone the world all around that time. There were a lot of bad things going on in various political parties. Historically, war is generally about money and power or something other that what is being preached to the public. In his time Abraham Lincoln wasn't loved by everyone. After he died he was made a martyr.

  These fictional stories flow along the timelines of real history. They do not examine what would happen if history happened differently. As most of the protagonists aren’t Lincolnites, they merely show the events from a different angle than most stories do. The fact is that if the South had won then the Confederate States of America would be teaching today how they seceded (just like the Colonies from England). They would teach how they were invaded by a hostile government, and prevailed against the tyrannical Abraham Lincoln.

  A great many things would be different. The Confederate States of America would have likely sided with their ally Napoleon III in the Franco-Mexican war, instead of fighting him off like the United States did directly after the American Civil War. The CSA also would have likely intervened on behalf of the Shogunate

against the emperor of Japan in the Boshin War, which mirrored the American Civil War in many respects. It also caused many of the conquered Shogunates to sympathize with the Confederacy as they saw similarities in their situations. As a side note, the United States of America sided and fought alongside the Emperor of Japan with an iron ship (built for the CSA) against the Shogun Warlords and their respective districts’ Japanese Junks.

  While none of these stories really go into any detail with Mexico and Japan, the American Civil War did a lot to change medicine, military, etc. It is a part of history that I find fascinating. Frankly, it reshaped the world.

b .  l .    b  l  a  n  k  e  n  s  h  i  p

Beneath The Dark Puddle

  It was a blisteringly cold afternoon in the late fall of 1853. What felt like an arctic blast tore across the flat frigid Kansas territory’s plains at gale force without a tree or hill to detract it. With the sides of a tent staked firmly to the ground, a newcomer revivalist preacher verbally laid down an assault on sin and Hell as the wind thrashed against his tent with an equal veracity. Though the air was icy-cold and shown a trail of vapor from off his breath, he preached Hell hot and was unfazed by the weather.

  Tenaciously, the firebrand preacher cursed sin and called the congregants for repentance from their idolatries. Strangely, in the reverend’s hand he held a Geneva Bible, which preexisted the King James version and was subsequently banned by the King who hated it two and a half centuries afore. The text that he quoted came from the twenty-third chapter of Ezekiel, which essentially read in a more antiquated variation of english, When Oholibah openly prostituted herself and exposed her nakedness, I turned away from her in disgust, just as I had turned away from her sister. Yet she multiplied her promiscuity, remembering the days of her youth, when she had prostituted herself in the land of Egypt and lusted after their lovers, whose genitals were like those of donkeys and whose emission was like that of stallions. So you revisited the indecency of your youth, when the Egyptians caressed your bosom and pressed your young breasts. Therefore, Oholibah, this is what the Lord GOD says: ‘I will incite your lovers against you, those from whom you turned away in disgust. And I will bring them against you from every side…

  What might else-wise be taken as the harshest of speech fashioned with obscenities and lewdness to an unchurched ear was only recognizable to many of the congregants as the undefiled Word of God fore it proceeded off the tongue of a supposed Man of God who’d wandered into their town to hold a revival some weeks before. Only as a stranger passed by on horseback seeking refuge from the cold, the pre-shakespearean hermeneutical speech became decipherable from the explicit garbled rantings of a madman.

  Down the way, with their horses tied outside, a number of men preferably found their warmth and comfort from the bottom of a bottle rather than the Lord Jesus Christ. Together in one mind and accord they congregated to swill beer, chase liquor, and swapped stories. The profane vocal utterances and clammer could faintly be heard from outside amid the violent Kansas territory winds. Like the church tent along the way their conversation was indistinguishable until one was near the door.

  Barreling through the door, damp and cold, the stranger entered the Long Branch Saloon where they sat. His hair looked greasy and matted. He was unkept and dirty with a roughness to him. Ordering a whiskey and asking for the bottle with his wheezy raspy voice, the stranger sat alone at a small round table. Dang, boy. You look like you’re near froze to death., a rugged looking man muttered. Covered over in fresh cold beads of sweat and a sheen from how harshly the oily individual had seeped sweat during his journey, the newcomer paid little notice. Perhaps attempting to be friendly another joined in asking, Where’d you come from? Swiftly throwing back a shot of whiskey and then another, the man answered as he poured his third, I came here from out west.; followed with a faint stammering cough.

  As he breathed the cool Kansas Territory’s air, within his chest rattled a gurgle. It sounded like boiling water or the brewing of tea. To merely look at him one might imagine that he stunk. It was not a misjudgment. His appearance told that he’d come a long and hard way. Yet, despite any hardships this man might have suffered he had not even stated his name. Approaching him, a curious fellow asked for it, to which the stranger replied, I’m just a weary traveller, friend. I’ll not be here long. Before you know it, I’ll be on my way. Wheezing and hacking the filthy man proceeded to drink a shot every now and again from the bottle of whisky he’d purchased. The locals found him to be rather odd.

  After some twenty to thirty minutes of idle conversation, one of the men inside the saloon mentioned the Dodge City’s newest attraction, the revival preacher. Preacher or not, I don’t trust that son of a gun!, one man retorted. The conversation danced around behind the stranger, though it seemed distant from him, as though he were wrapped up in another time or place. I said, You hear me, Man!, someone asked him. How’s that?, the stranger asked. Hating to repeat himself, the drunkard replied, Did you hear the godforsaken talk coming outta that preacher man’s mouth when you rode in? What of it?, he answered.

  What proceeded was a hateful rhetoric from several of the lot, about how they need to run that man out of town. Finally after some ranting and raving, the most vocal of the bunch exclaim, Lord knows their ain’t no preacher whose a friend of mine. Leaping to his feet, the stranger grabbed the man by his collar. Chairs got knocked around and knocked over, tables were pushed aside. The heck you will! Ain’t none of you boys gonna touch that preacher! You hear me? Leave that preacher alone!, he exclaimed with an immense anger that everyone else thought was out of nowhere. Jerking and jostling around a bit with several others interjecting, the two men were pulled apart.

  Mister, you’re just gonna have to calm down, or I’ll have to ask you to leave., said the barkeep. Then looking around the room he told his loyal patrons that there’d be a round of beers on the house, as an act of good will and hospitality.  Making several explicit utterances, the man who’d just been slung around grumbled how that stranger had acted as though he’d slandered the Lord Jesus rather than some charlatan hack with a tent.

  Before anything else productive or otherwise could be said, the stirring of the revivalist’s parishioners wandered through the now fading light. Looking across the barroom one of the men snorted, Heck, I don’t guess Jesus called them home today either. The air filled with laughter and a calmness. The stranger took one more shot of whiskey got out of his chair and  walked soberly outside into the road. The men looked at each other in amazement upon realizing he’d drank the entire bottle and somehow seemed unaffected.

  Have you been watering down the liquor, Doc?, one man asked the barkeep. Some banter continued on between them with others joining in that and their own conversations. Meanwhile, he got on his horse rode up to the revivalist’s tent, dismounted, and went inside. Heck of a sermon, Reverend!, the stranger exclaimed. Can I help you?, the preacher thoughtfully replied. They were not alone. The family the traveling evangelist had been lodging with were just outside in their carriage. As a matter of fact, you can., said the stranger. He told the preacher that he’d be getting a room in the town, putting his horse in the barn, and would like to speak to him in the morning. With kindness in his eyes, the clergyman agreed. As darkness descended, they each went their separate ways.

  The strange newcomer checked into the inn where he paid top dollar for a room. His method of payment was with pure gold both there and in the local saloon. Both the bartender and innkeeper initially refrained from letting others know of his odd form of payment, as it would have drawn undo attention to themselves. It a seemed peculiar form of currency due to his outward appearance, yet they took it delightedly.

  After the stranger had went to his room, the couple behind the counter replied after he’d left that they may have to burn the bed after this one, due to the smell. Arriving back at the home of the family where he lodged, the couple asked the revivalist about the intentions of the strange man. Smiling politely, he told them that the man’s intensions were to merely talk. Internally the preacher felt it may be ordained of God.

  In complete contrast to the sojourner’s filthy appearance, the clergyman was pressed and polished. His eyes were beautiful and bright to the extent they were almost aglow. He was in excellent physical condition and had a handsome face. Further, the reverend’s attire was rather nice, but not too fancy as to stand out. His warm, fairly clean-cut, wavy hair flowed across his head. The man had a velvety tongue and flair for the dramatic that were widely regarded as Heaven sent.

  That night as the wind continued to wail and moan, a heavy rain rode in, nearly falling sideways. As it whistled through the air it sounded like the muddled clammer of an infant child beckoning for help. It pelted the Long Branch Saloon, homes, and other buildings of Dodge City. The preacher and his congregants slept peacefully under the determination that God was with them. A number of men were still seated in the bar drinking their cares away. As for the stranger, he lied in the bed wide awake. It was not the noise that bound him to consciousness, but the feeling of what was to come.

  The night was filled with crashes of thunder. One explosive blast shook the ground, walls of buildings, and those who did not sleep. Several hours before daybreak the rains tapered off bit by bit as they came to a stop. The winds blew less fiercely than before, but strong all the same. Lifting himself from the bed and another sleepless night, the stranger belligerently murmured under his breath, Dear God, I hate this blasted Kansas territory., as he set out for the day.

  He reflected on new state’s flat recurring landscape that was covered over by fields. Occasionally a lone house stood there in the windy plains with nothing but fields on the horizon. A long distance off after not seeing another building there might eventually be one surrounded by grass or fields; otherwise it’s all just grass, fields, and constant wind.

  Heading into the town’s saloon, the stranger came in for another drink. Dang! Are you back for more?, one man questioned who was in there with him the previous night. Today there was just himself, another patron, the barkeep, and the stranger within it’s walls. Unresponsive to his question, the sojourner instead approached the bar, laid down his money, and asked for another bottle of whiskey. Handing him a filled glass and newly opened bottle, the bartender declared with a smile, I don’t know that most men could've walked out the door so well with all you drank last night. Merely nodding, the stranger walked to a table were he sat, drank, poured, and drank some more.

  The individual who had never made his acquaintance began to mention how he’d heard there was a ruckus the night before. Responding to him, the other patron pointed out that the stranger amongst them was involved in it. It all could've been avoided if James wasn’t crying out about killing that preacher again. Then addressing the stranger, he asked if he knew the clergyman or something. Know him? I know a lot of people and about a lot of things that your heart couldn’t bear. As for me and that preacher though, we’ve got business with each other. I’ll be meeting up with him here shortly., he replied in far more words than they’d heard emit from his lips afore.

  Coughing and wheezing the rough old traveller eventually made his way out of the bar as he’d finished the bottle of whiskey. When the patron who was there the night before mentioned it, as the stranger was leaving, he told him that it’s good for what ails him. The barkeep smiled and the two men laughed feeling that perhaps he was an alright guy as he mounted his horse and rode down towards the revivalist’s tent.

  Like the night before, the smell of alcohol permeated off of him filling the air. Preacher., he said as a sort of acknowledgement and salutation. Smiling politely the clergyman, who had a horse tied nearby invited him into the church tent so they could speak in private. The two men’s conversation with one another was odd and sorted. The stranger told him how he’d came a long way to be there; from out west. He said, I used to be out by Fort Buenaventura. It was a peaceful place till those damned Mormons came along. Those people have some odd ideas about a man having to have three wives to make it to Heaven, niggers being niggers as part of the curse for not standing with God, and a whole lot of things. Heck, a few years back they petitioned the United States government to name that whole area the ‘State of Deseret’. It’s all some kinda crazy. Deseret is a word they use in their book for bees, and even though the government denied them, they all seem to call it that anyway. Funny thing is that kind of attitude is what made them travel out west anyway; that and their leader trying to kill off a federal judge! Hacking with laugher under his breath the stranger seemed to grow lost in his sorted tail more than the reasoning why he wanted to talk to the reverend in the first place.

  Before the preacher stopped him to ask, the stranger mentioned how there are a lot of beliefs where he’d come from. There are the beliefs of the Shoshone and Ute tribes that lived their long before any of them did. They have their own spiritual beliefs, but I guess we all do., he added just before being stopped. What do you believe?, asked the preacher thoughtfully. Smiling back at him the stranger answered, I’m here to see you, ain’t I? With that he stood up and announced that he really needed to get some fresh air. Obliging him, the revivalist mounted his horse and the two rode off leisurely from the town, leaving the clergyman to do most of the talking.

  It was perhaps the kind of conversation that most preachers would talk to a troubled person or a sinner they were trying to lead to repentance. He spoke of the mercy and power of Almighty God, the saving grace of Jesus Christ, and regeneration through the Holy Spirit. He asked the man to pray telling him that he believed that this appointment was God ordained. With that their horses stopped. The stranger asked, Have you ever baptized anyone before? Quite a few., he answered. Pausing with a rot-tooth grin, the sojourner then told him if he were going to be baptized he’d only be baptized by submersion; jeeringly adding that anything else is just like getting wet. With that he gestured with a nod of his head and said, Would you look at that., hacking and coughing under his breath after he spoke.

  The preacher turned his head to see what he motioned to. In the midst of a flat nothingness that is the Kansas Territory there was a large dark pond. The surface of it’s water was completely black and despite the wind moving around them it lied completely still. The sun in the pale green sky shown all around them as it naturally would, but what looked like a dark puddle acted as though it was shadowed from it and veiled in darkness. Examining it from a distance, still on horseback, the preacher declared, That is odd indeed.

  Preacher, you just told me that things happen for a reason. That is what you believe. Could it be something supernatural that brought this pool of water here to us today?, the stranger suggested. It could indeed., he answered as he looked into the unwavering pool of darkness which sat before him. It was altogether placid as though it