Hog's Alley

Hog’s Alley

The night was dead, the animals silent. Cold water rushed downstream; the odd warmth of the air generated blinding sheets of fog, pooling over the banks. The Rappahannock bubbled and spat; its unsettled current pushed the churning black water. The stars were vacant. The large taunting moon, a match for the sun, filled and illuminated the sky. Towering oaks, immense in size and caliber, cast shadows upon the paint chipped barn. Breathing was difficult as the air was a muggy exhalation of Hell.
I had been walking this path for hours, my reason leading North with the river. Clenching to my sanity, I stopped at the wind-battled farmhouse. The roof was decrepit, the storm-nabbed shingles clinging to its edge. The house leaned towards the river, its porch strangely centered. An old man, with a thin and raspy beard and deep canyon wrinkles, was seen sitting in a creaking wicker chair on the porch. Both his blue eyes were looking in opposite directions. His hair was unkempt, and the most eerie and bizarre item was a tattered noose tied loosely around his neck, the rope end looking as though it was ripped straight from a tree. He hummed a tune, while his worn colored hands were clasped in his lap.
“Excuse me stranger, I have been walking this path for quite some time, and I’m afraid that I am lost.”
“I ‘reckon yer found,” the aged black man said, his eyes now focused and glowing.
“Be that as it may, could you, by chance, tell me what town?” I replied with a hint of annoyance.
“Why yer ‘bout in the mil’ of Warrenton and Harper’s Ferry, I’d say ‘bout a horse a piece.”
In a daze for a moment, I examined the peculiarity of the situation. I could either wander the Virginia countryside until I reached a town or continue this odd conversation. Agitated, I gave him my thanks and goodbyes, and moved swiftly towards the path. He cackled loudly, his toothless grin exposed, and as I walked away he mumbled in a low and transfixed voice, “John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave;
His soul's marching on!”
The path grew darker; the moon, jeering at me, hid its glow behind the snarled branches. Silence crept from the darkness, and I became fearful. Breaking twigs and rustled leaves push my mind to breed the Devil himself. Conscious now that I am being followed, I continually glance behind me. Frightened, I stare at emptiness and turn only to see a small sow blocking my path. Its eyes were wide and a radiant blue. Ironically I began to drip with fear as the animal calmly followed me. Periodically peeking over my shoulder, I would meet eyes with the pig; its stern stare scared me, its eyes reading my thoughts.
A light, from the glorious, was seen in the distance. Hope engulfed me as I approached a city, the mysterious animal at my rear. I walked down the abandoned street, a lamp with a bad circuit occasionally blinking above. The sow, as determined as I, followed me down an alley. Astonished, I saw a mass of hogs feasting. Apprehensively, I watched as my companion joined them. I approached close enough to see a withered body, with a raspy beard and eyes of the purist blue. A small gasp escaped my mouth as the pigs turned all at once. I turned and sprang from the alley, my heart beating thunderously.
I awoke with my face in gravel. Confused I entered a nearby tavern. Inside a gruff man, with half-moon spectacles and a grizzled mustache was tending the bar.
“Excuse me sir, do you by chance know who lives in the old farmhouse, the old colored man?”
“Why no colored folk out there, in fact there’s no a whole lot out there, in fact no ones been up there since they buried Dangerfield Newby, about sixty years ago.” I motioned for a drink and as he poured me a glass he looked me in the eye and said, “I ‘reckon you just saw yourself a ghost.” He smiled mockingly and sneered. I placed my money on the bar and stepped out. As I looked, I saw a sign reading,” Hog’s Alley,” underneath it sat a small sow its eyes bluer than the crisp morning sky.