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Nuthin' Stops The Beast

2023 by Zorha

You're afraid of the stupidest shit as a youngin'.

The Dark. Skeletons in the closet. Backwoods witches that hollar up in Stout Hollow on All Hallows Eve.

Lookin' back, a younger me had no right bein' scared of the longest, heaviest continuous truss bridge in the good ol' US of A. Simply known as the Sciotoville railroad bridge, it's located in my very own hometown. Youngins around these parts call it The Beast, on account of the endless coal haulin' rail cars feedin' its enormous iron gullet day and night.

Nuthin' stopped The Beast.

Not even the massive fire that burned uncontrolled up through the top of Stout Hollow for over the course of a week one summer in '86. I 'member ma family gawkin' at the snakes of flame coilin' up the holler from our porch in Camp Bennett, wonderin' if the intense heat would ultimately topple the gigantic steel electrical tension towers up near the Highland Bend rail trussell.

Those trains stopped for nuthin'.

Not young, adventurous, and entirely empty headed boys who walked the Highland Bend trussell instead of the side of the road along old Route 335. Local tales told of three who braved The Beast, and were takin' by it. One got his foot wedged between a broken wooden rail tie up on the trussell. One jumped two hundred feet down to the Little Scioto below, foolishly thinkin' its shallow waters would save him. The last one tried outrunnin' the shrill shriek of its furious horn in blind desperation, before CSX decided to put up side platforms spaced every 100 feet on either side of the trussell.

All three were consumed by The Beast.

The Beast was built durin' the first World War in 1916, fueled by the unendin' appetite for Kentucky Coal, Portsmouth Steel, and Toledo Glass. It remained the longest, heaviest continuous truss bridge in the world up until the second World War. Spannin' 1,550 feet and built with 13,200 tons of steel, I'd lose myself marvelin' at it every time I caught maself starrin' out the southern facin' plate glass windows of Portsmouth East High.

At its peak, 18.7 million tons of coal crossed the Colossus of the Ohio River annually. Those were the good times, before the Steel Mill in New Boston closed down almost 20 years ago. Over 1,200 people in Scioto County lost their jobs. Roughly one out of seventy people livin' in the area. Sure, if you had one of 'em fancy college degrees, you could work up at Portsmouth Gaseous Diffusion Plant in Piketon makin' the very bombs that ended the second World War. But let's face it; most folk grown up 'ere had problems spellin', and were as smart as the bricks they cobbled together.

Now-a-days the largest employer 'round these parts is SOMC, treatin' the very cancer the uranium enrichment plant in Piketon caused. The very ground is cursed 'ere. Twisted by two World Wars and the ravenous industries that fed them.

The Beast is just one monster that eats young men 'ere.

I'm not just talkin' about the World Wars that started back from ma folk's origin of Austria neither. I'm talkin' about somethin' far scarier than the simple iron maw of a truss. I'm talkin' about ... Her. The creepy girl in the green silk dress who flushed out ma Great Grandpappy from the boondocks of West Virginya three generations ago. I'm hesitant to say her name aloud. Every time I do it's like she appears out of thin fuckin' air. I'm purty sure that's why ma Great Grandpappy never spoke of her.

There are some skeletons in the family closest you just dun talk 'bout.

I'd tell ya what she looks like, but the problem is most of the time the skin she walks around in isn't hers. It's whatever she wants to look like. In ma nightmares, I see her back in the olde world. She's older, but not nearly as old as she should be. Her hair is raven black. Her false skin is like porcelain, untouched by sun, disease, or time itself. If she loses concentration, or lets her guard down, those cornfield green eyes turn a stomach churnin' bile yellow. Those irises ... dark pools of madness the longer yah look into 'em ... turn to vertical narrow slits ...

And that's not even her true form ...

Thinkin' about it forms a pit of ice in ma stomach. Thin's in ma brain get slippery when I try to think about it. Details grow fuzzy, like perked ears framed by a silvery circle in the night sky. I'm reminded of a Buckeye, and for the life of me, can't 'member why. Maybe its 'em horse pills ma doctors gave me. They keep the nightmares at bay. Mostly. How long has it been since I returned from the shrink ward? Weeks? A month?

I look up to the churnin' banks of menacin' dark clouds and have no idea. There's a low rumble of distant thunder, and I suddenly realize I'm starin' southward towards the gapin' maw of The Beast. The distant north shore of Kentucky shimmers in the hazy August heat.

Ma heart pounds. A cold sweat suddenly breaks across ma brow. But it's not the threat of bein' chased down by The Beast that terrifies me anymore. No. All ya have to do is step to the side. Dun be in its path when its whistle blows. And it will scream right past ya, the sheer force of its wake buffetin' you, a hundred sets of wheels screechin' and bangin' at every minor disjunction in the track.

Only a few months prior, a different Beast stalked me from the edge of deeper shadow along these very tracks. I still dun know why Eliza came to claim me. Why she came a courtin' in her unstellin' fashion. Droppin' headless rabbits off like a box of chocolates. I dun think ma Great Grandpappy knew either. What I do know is she can track ya by scent alone, like a single wild rose. And if ma sinister dreams are correct, it dun matter how far yah run, how long yah run. She will always find yah. Like she found ma Great Grandpappy despite an entire ocean of time between 'em.

I look down at ma busted up sneakers. An off white sock visibly wiggles just behind a gash in the toe box. Infernal heat radiates up from the pulverized granite under each rail tie despite the fierce sun now hidin' behind ominous, turbulent clouds. A large drop of sweat falls from ma brow only to splat against the brown splintered wood as I turn north. The thick air is saturated with the pungent scent of creosote and hot tar.

The twin sets of tracks seem to meet in the distance and disappear around the bend followin' the gentle babblin' of the Little Scioto. Stacks of new rail ties sit just off to my left now, waitin' patiently for their maintenance crews to swap 'em out. A single broken rail tie can mean the difference between a derailment or worse.

My feet move forward on their own accord. Ma legs feel like rubber; the rest of ma body is a thousand miles away. Each step elicits a sharp crunch as the rough edges of track ballast threaten to poke up through my thin soles. I can see ma thighs clench each time they tug ma feet forward through the rips and tears in this pair of old denim. More sweat drips from the tip of ma small nose as the invisible strings movin' this meat puppy jerks me forward. Ma breathin' is labored in the oppressive heat. It feels like I'm in Hell, and I'm cursed to walk these tracks for all damnation.

There is a curse

Upon my every waking breath

And I cannot escape the darkness

It feels like every step

Is gonna be my last

The Highland Bend trussell is a mile and a half down these tracks. If yah walk State Route 335 its double that. I've lost count on how many times I've taken this shortcut, riskin' The Beast. Some Friday nights I'd just curl up on one of these hillsides and let the dense Appalachian fog cover me like a thick blanket. There was somethin' ancient 'ere that seemed to pull on ma very bones, down deep into the primordial earth.

And maybe that's how Eliza got the drop on me that solitary walk home after Prom back in May.

I question why I'm out 'ere. Senior year already came and gone. School's out. What am I doin' this far from home? The exposed rock face to my right has sloped down, now covered in earth and greenery. There are small standin' pools from previous rains 'ere, and my wobbly legs finally give way. I slump down on one of the rails, starin' blankly at the standin' pools. A few dragonflies dart about the placid mirrored surface. The forebodin' clouds descend from the darkness above as I catch ma reflection. There's somethin' different, somethin' I dun recognize about maself. Ma irises look distorted, thin and narrow behind the dirty lenses of ma taped up glasses.

And I cannot escape the darkness

Some have tried to lift me up

But I only dragged them down with me

For I cannot escape the darkness

The iris of my eye

Is cancerous and black

There's a sudden crack of thunder above. The rumble is so close and powerful it sends a quake through the water's surface, just like in that dinosaur movie that came out 3 years ago. There's an electric buzz in the air now, comin' up through the very earth. It flows past my soles, pricklin' my flesh, and forcin' the thickenin' hair on my forearms to stand on end. The tips of ma ears twitch. The spot where the girl-thin' bit me on ma upper arm unexpectedly begins to throb, and I rub it absently. A strobe of lightnin' lights up one of the dark clouds swirlin' above. Another thunderclap slaps me so hard I fall flat on ma ass.

Somethin's wrong.

I look up just in time for a fat drop of rain to pelt ma forehead. Ma quiverin' hand fishes out the pill bottle from one of ma pockets. I fumble the child proof cap open, and all the white pills inside disappear between gaps in the granite under me, irretrievable. Ma stomach starts to flip, like the time Eliza stepped naked out of the woods behind ma house. Within seconds I lean forward, and yellow bile splashes one of the cross ties. My hands grip the unforgivin' steel of the outer rail, ma skin startin' to crawl off the warpin' bones within them. The earth under ma knees feels like it's movin' now, pitchin' back and forth like a ship in a maelstrom.

I wonder if I should crawl off these rails to the edge of the forest nearby. Flashes of recent nightmares mimic the lightnin' stabbin' through the gatherin' storm above. In them I crawl away naked from dark hooded figures circled around me. I wonder if 'em ain't the backwoods witches ma Baptist preacher warned me about in last Sunday's sermon, offerin' up the Devil's tricks and treats. The Wagner clan chants in olde world tongue, eldritch words touchin' off a fire deep inside me, awakened when Eliza's fangs touched her very flesh and blood. Every moment that came before has led up to now, and I can't escape the landslide of time and heredity swallowin' me.

Look at this worthless thing

That slithers on your floor

And I cannot escape the darkness

Just burn my eyelids shut

Then shove me out the door

Ages ago, the dark woods of Austria pull ma naked, shiftin' form under the ground, just as the Appalachian hills used to cradle me in naive dream. I scream as a wall of water suddenly dumps from the dark heavens. Thickenin' nails slice through the vortex of rain, clawin' their way out of the livin' nightmare I now find maself in. Ma clothes are soaked now, matted against my itchin' skin. Underneath, ma muscles seem to melt, slitherin' around unimaginable agony that seeps all the way to the marrow.

Night descends almost abruptly. The storm around me moans, hidin' the Full Moon above, drownin' out the howl that escapes these darkenin' lips. Ma rational mind slips away, the VCR tape of ma memory bein' overwritten with an explosion of primal senses. The roar of the storm is deafenin'. The white hot explosion of lightin' behind ma eyelids is blindin'. The scent of ozone scours ma lengthenin' nostrils. Whatever I'm screamin' into the tempest, even ma newly perked ears can't pick up. Im kneelin' square between two rails now, beggin' the blindin' white Eye of The Beast to round the bend just ahead and end this curse.

Between cracks of lightnin' and booms of thunder rattlin' my sharp teeth, I vaguely feel the rips in ma blue jeans widen. I am pure rage, this seethin', shiftin' thin' becomin' the maelstrom and more. Yah never appreciate the full fury of Nature until you're in the heart of its unstoppable vortex. The trees around me bend, dancin' in the strobes between lightnin' strikes. Walls of water pin thickenin' fur to ma skin. The tatters of ma clothes peal off me under the unrelentin' torrent. I know now why the search party found me butt naked over two months ago.

Time has no meanin' for this hulkin', hunched monster. It stays there, huffin', howlin' as curtains of rain pelt its matted, brownish red fur. I have no idea how much time passes. I'm merely a passenger in ma own skull now, and I probably won't 'member a thin' when dawn breaks. The storm eases almost as quickly as it began. The drips fallin' off the dyin' leaves of the hardwoods around me slow. There's a sudden whine in the far distance that in a diminished state I dun immediately recognize. Its low rumble increases in pitch as the massive diesel engines spins up from idle.

Even 20,000 tons of train will stop for Mother Nature if she's angry enough.

The Beast I've become skulks off the rails and into the edges of the forest as the ear splittin' whine over a mile away increases. A few minutes pass before the blindin' eye of The Beast rounds the corner, slowly gainin' momentum as the yellow and black CSX logo splashed across the train engine comes into view. It belches noxious diesel fumes, taintin' the freshly scrubbed air. Somewhere 'round, I smell wild turkey and roses. Matchin' yellow slitted eyes follow the train's path from the safety of the Appalachian backwoods. A wary growl crosses black muzzle lips, deadly claws twitchin' and ready to dig their way into the still beatin' hearts of the damned.

Whatever Eliza's fangs did to me, they left their mark forever; a darkness I cannot escape.

For I cannot escape the darkness

It's time, my gal

To go and find another

I've dug my hole

Now just let me smother

You're afraid of the stupidest shit as a youngin'. Now the only thin' I'm afraid of what's inside me, clawin' it's way out every time the moon gets full and bright.

Nuthin' Stops The Beast

~ Fin ~