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Right about now. Old Gods of Appalachia is a horror anthology podcast and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences. So listener discretion is advised. In the man who styled himself J.T. Fields of Dorchester looked old.

The artificial moon that hung caged in the hand of the boy in the mining cap cast every line etched

into the old trickster's face in stark relief. His dark hair was silvered at the temples and it thinned as across the crown of his head

there was a sickly roominess that haunted his striking brown eyes and a slight

slump to his shoulders like you'd see in a man who'd been on his feet for days, weeks.

Hell decades at the same job, the one thing the light didn't reveal was fear.

Jack Fields was not afraid as he stood there facing down a veritable army of the dead.

He licked his lips and looked into the cold-smudged face of the general of that grim legion.

We require passage through the ways of the dead old friend.

These poor souls were hoodwinked and

ambuzzled by a dark-touched hate from yon woods.

They were strong-armed into a promise for the life of the babe that rests in the young

Mrs.'s womb.

The father's a bit of a duller, as I understand, and easily tricked. You know about those with power and their tricks,

don't you young feller? The thing that wore the shape of a boy snorted.

Huh.

And what concern is the conduct of fools to such as we?

...