The Dark and Bloody Ones

By Hannah Carter

They say the word Kentucky means “dark and bloody ground.” And I believe it—after all, that’s where my blood has been for years.

I floated among the branches of towering trees. Dew clung to the bluegrass below, which made it seem even more vivacious and alive.

Funny how grass had more life than me.

“Newcomers,” my brother hissed. “Trespassers.”

“The land isn’t ours anymore, John.” I gazed at the log cabin. “We’re dead, and so is our claim to it.”

John’s spectral body flashed blue. He whirled on me, but I refused to cower from my brother’s wrath anymore. “The world forgot us, Autumn. And now these people think they own the land—the one thing that used to be ours. We bought it with our blood if nothing else.”

“If all ghosts claimed the land they died on, God would’ve had to create a new Earth long ago,” I said dryly. “Let the living be. They’ll join us soon enough.”

John harrumphed, but the creak of a door caught our attention. I whipped around and saw a boy, maybe about my age, fourteen or fifteen, emerge from the cabin with a golden retriever. The dog yipped and darted after a stick that its master threw.

“Stay close, Will!” the boy’s mother said from inside.

John growled as the boy inched closer to the forest. “I’ll show him.”

“No, wait—John!” I lunged for my brother. I didn’t have to worry about broken bones or injuries—a bullet in my chest had made all my worries disappear along with my life. “Do you want to become a poltergeist?”

He reached the edge of the tree line. I hardly recognized the chilling voice that came out of him: “Will. Come here, Will.”

I flinched. His voice sounded like a macabre imitation of Will’s mother.

Will hesitated. The dog also paused, eyes on John, tail quivering.

“Come here, Will,” John called.

Will took a step backward. I tensed.

A twisted smirk flickered onto John’s face. “Come here, Will.”

Will bolted.

He darted back toward his house, the dog yapping at his heels. John howled with laughter and chased after them. I had seen the bloodthirsty look in my brother’s eyes before—in the face of our murderer on that fateful night.

I swallowed, tears burning my eyes.

The bloody ground of Kentucky had corrupted my brother. Twisted his anger and hatred into something dangerous.

John’s body contorted the closer he got to his target. It elongated, the white-blue light turning to a deep black-gray. He soon towered like any of the trees around us, and his fingers, now claws, extended like a noonday shadow.

“John!” I raced after the group.

John lunged for Will. The poor living soul would never make it to his cabin.

Except for his faithful dog.

The pooch dove for John’s side. John snarled as they rolled, two beasts on the ground. John swiped his claws across the dog’s muzzle and left bloody scratches; the pup sank his teeth into John’s jugular, shadows exploding from the bite. John raged, clawing at the dog.

But Will wouldn’t let his companion fight alone.

“Rosie!” Will cried. He tumbled toward the tussle, arms outstretched.

What did he think he could do against a poltergeist?

I tackled Will.

“Hey—!” he sputtered. My spectral hair fell in his face, and his eyes widened. “You’re a girl. A ghost girl.”

“And you’re a very dumb living boy,” I snapped. “Stay here.”

“No—Rosie!” Will struggled under my weight. Quite ironic for a ghost to have weight, but physics didn’t apply post-death. I could be almost anything I wanted to be, as could John.

He just preferred to be a terror.

“I’ll save her.”

I dove toward Rosie and John.

I tumbled with the dog and stopped inches past John. Shoving Rosie off me, I struggled to my feet.

“Autumn,” John hissed. “Don’t get in my way.”

I spread my arms out. “What else am I supposed to do? You’re out of control. What good will come of this?”

My brother’s monstrous form slunk forward. “We’ll be remembered, Autumn. We’ll be legends. People will whisper of us in fear around campfires, in their houses, at the store. It’s the one bit of satisfaction we can eke out in life—or death.”

His cold fingers tightened on my neck and hoisted me up. A long, shadowy tongue peeked out between fangs, and his eyes blazed red.

“You’ve already lost your life. Don’t lose your soul, too,” I said. Though my heart grieved, I gathered my energy and released an explosion of light from my body. John screamed as his form dissipated; I dropped to the ground, emotionally and physically drained.

Rosie yowled. Will crawled over to her and wrapped her in a hug.

“What’d you do?” he asked me.

I sighed. Tears blurred my vision, and I wiped them away. “I used a flash of my energy to destroy his.”

“You killed him?”

“No, idiot. He’s already dead.” I scratched Rosie’s head. “He’ll be back, probably soon, when he’s gathered enough energy again.”

“Oh.” Will blushed. “Thank you. You’re the nicest ghost I’ve ever met.”

“If your choices are between John and me, I sure hope so.” I stood. “But you better not stick around. John’ll be furious when he rematerializes. He’ll come after both of us again, but at least I’m already dead.”

“That’s not fair.” Will held out his hand. “How about we work together to figure out how to stop ghosts like him permanently?”

I blinked, too wary to hope. “Aren’t you scared?”

“Me? Never.” Will wiggled his fingers. “Come on. Sounds like a pretty cool way to spend an afterlife if you ask me.”

Stopping poltergeists and protecting the living?

Yeah, it kind of did.

I grinned and shook Will’s hand with my own.

They say Kentucky also means “land of tomorrow.” Which should bring hope—because somewhere beyond the dark and bloody past, a beautiful future can wait.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hannah Carter is just a girl who wakes up every day hoping it will be the day she discovers she’s secretly a mermaid. Her debut novel, Depths of Atlantis, is out through SnowRidge Press now. Her stories have been included in several anthologies: Whispers From Before, The Never Tales, and Havok’s Casting Call and Prismatic. Her flash fiction piece, “A Home for Nova,” won the 2022 Flash Fiction Realm Award.

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