Rusty Quill presents

O God's of Appalachia, is a horror anthology podcast,

and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences.

So listen to discretion, is advised.

The man in the suit looked down into the devil's cradle

and watched the county deputy, one used his cuddle.

As he sat reading his newspaper for the fourth time,

trying to stay awake and keep watch as the sheriff had ordered

the man smile and raised his single finger.

He used his yawn like a bobcat trying to swallow a pumpkin.

The deputy shook his head and tried to clear it.

He put his newspaper and flashlight down and took out his thermos,

knowing that another stiff cup of his wife's excellent carfee would do him just right.

The man in the suit, some thirty yards into the tree line,

held up a second finger, and then a third.

The thermos sloshed to the floor, unopened.

His deputy coddle slumped over, dead asleep,

already snoring to beat the metaphorical band.

Now the man in the suit had planned on drawing that out for a few more minutes,

but he couldn't have the officer open his thermos and spill hot carfee everywhere

that would have just been cruel and unnecessary.

Moving with the unpracticed silence,

...