Legends from the Dark Side of the Hill

I’ve heard there’s a little known town in shady hollow in the Smoky Mountains where it is rumored that the sun seldom shines, if at all. Some of the locals like to gossip about how this place is Satan’s headquarters, but I don’t go in much for that.  All that talk ain’t nothing but folks flapping their gums about things they don’t know nothing about.  

One night me and Chet were tasting some of his home brew moonshine and he started telling me about this town known as the legend from the dark side of the hill.  

“Rennie, they got a bunch of strange beings walking around.” He tells me as he drains his glass of a hundred proof. 

“What kind of beings?” I hold my hands over the fire.

“I dunno.” He wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his flannel shirt. “Wanna go check it out?” 

“What if they got werewolves?” I am starting to feel the effects of Chet’s home brew.  My eyes are blurry and I am feeling warm through and through. 

“Better bring out silver bullets than, eh?” He laughs. “C’mon, Renny let’s find out.”

Chet fired up the engine of his old Ford pick up.  It backfired a couple of times before the engine caught.  Even after the engine is engaged, the cab starts to jiggle like one of those carnival rides at the state fair.  He smiles at me like some skeleton with half his teeth, his greasy hair hanging off to his right side, and his skinny body covered with just his filthy overalls and clodhopper boots. 

“Let’s go find us some zombies.” He snorted as he put the truck into first gear.  With a violent jerk, the truck began to move down the driveway and onto the dirt road where he lived.  The moon was full, shining an evil eye through the sycamore and elm trees that hid his stills from the ATF agents that would come sniffing around from time to time. 

Getting up to the top of the hill on a dirt road that had not been properly cared for by the county was a risky proposition at times, but having lived there all his life, Chet Greensboro was a master of Oakmont Road or County Road 17 as it appeared on the map.  Still with him behind the wheel and the upward grade of the road, driving County Road 17 was better than any ride they had at the fair. 

It was well past midnight when we came to Bailise Quarters.  No one I am acquainted with ever knew why it was named that, but it didn’t really matter since the legends were far more interesting.  As we drove through the main part of town, I could see that not a single light shone.  Pulling up in front of the Kalib’s General Store, Chet put the truck into park and turned off the engine.

“Here we are.” He turned to me and smiled his half tooth grin. 

Stepping out into the darkness where no shadow can exist, I felt a tingle start in my toe and travel all the way up my back.

“Place is creepy.” I observed.

Chet laughed, “Bailise Quarters is a place where the sun don’t shine.” 

Kalib’s posted business hours and I figured it might be interesting sticking around to see what it was like. 

“I got an old friend who lives up yonder.” Chet pointed as he started off in that direction.  It was uphill naturally and a steep climb at that.

With undergrowth pulling at my pants leg with skeletal fingers, we finally reached the top.  I could see the moon through the trees, so I began to wonder how this place could escape from the sun.  Chet knocked on the dilapidated door that moved with each rap.

“Who is it?” The voice did not sound friendly.

“It’s Chet Greensboro.” He answered, putting a hand rolled cigarette in his mouth.

“What the heck do you want?” The gruff voice asked.

“Just wanted to pay a cordial visit.” He smiled.

“Ain’t in no mood for socializing.” But as he said that the flimsy door opened and a wide shadowy figure of a man filled the doorframe.  Wearing only a pair of shorts that seemed two sizes too small and rubbing his eyes was Wayne Charles.

“I just wanted to let you know, I got some deliveries for ya.” Chet slapped the big man on his back.

“I don’t think I’m inner-rested.” He yawned, emitting a noxious odor that was sure to kill just about anything in a six foot radius. 

“Ya can’ lemme down, boy, you are my best runner.”  Chet stomped his foot.  The board creaked as if it was going to bust.

“I jus’ don’ know.” He shook his head like a bear would after catching a fish in the cold river waters. 

“You are always complaining on how you never have no money.  Don’t I pay good?” Chet was getting red in the face.

“Yeah ya do.” Wayne nodded.

“Alright then, come tomorrow round midnight.” Chet pointed his finger at Wayne like a gun. “I got some hootch for you Big Wayne.”

“Alright, alright, sounds good.” He smiled.

“Now get some shut eye.” Chet turned and walked off the rickety porch.  

“See ya tommara.” Wayne waved as he closed the door.

“Wayne’s a good ol’ boy.” He sniffed as we made our way down the steep hill.

I nodded and smiled.

“Folks round here just looking for someone to be kind to them.” Chet explained, “When you get treated like white trash, seems like the whole world goes cold and dark sometimes.  That’s what happened here.  It wasn’t that long ago Blaise Quarters was a mighty fine place.  Thomas Dooley Blaise, the town’s founder, he didn’t know about these hills.  He was a Philadelphia lawyer when he came out here over hundred years ago.  He built his town on the north side of these hills, not knowing that the sun never quite makes it over here.”

He opened the door to his truck and climbed into the truck.  Once he had the engine running again, he squinted at me, “Kindness goes a long way you know.” 

He put it into gear and pulled away. 

For the next week, I sat on my back porch and wondered what was going on in that town of darkness.  Swatting away some of the flies, I contemplated if the people in Blaise Quarters had to deal with such pestilence.  

What would it be like with no light?  It was hard for me to imagine as the sunlight played peek-a-boo with the trees.  Light was such a vital part of life as I knew it. 

Later in the day, I went to the barber to get a haircut.  Since my life seems to have become a predictable routine, I look forward to coming to Ryland’s Barbershop and listening to the chatter.  While women gossip, men chatter and chatter contains humor as well as local happenings that you don’t get in the newspaper. 

“Heard they finally got Chet Greensboro.” One of the old timers piped up. 

“Yeah.” Ryland acknowledged as he clipped some hair off the customer in the chair in front of him. “Got grabbed when he was making deliveries over the hill.”

Over the hill? Isn’t that where Blaise Quarters is? 

“You gotta be careful when you are up in them parts.” Another customer added, who was seated in a waiting room chair reading a magazine. 

“Strange doings always happening round there.” Ryland laughed as he cut some more hair off his customer. 

“What kind of doings?” I asked.

Everyone in the place looked at me as if I had just said something strange.

“Serious?” Ryland stopped his scissors mid-clip. “Everyone knows you don’t go down there.  Town has never seen light of any kind for years.  It’s like the dark side of the moon.” 

“Sure, some folks who go there are never seen or heard from again.” The customer with the magazine said without looking up. 

“I do know Chet was making doing business over there.  Not a very smart thing to do.” Ryland continued to cut the man’s hair.

What was there?  Zombies?  Werewolves?  Or some other kind of monster too horrible to name? 

I sat on my back porch staring at the ridge and wondering just what in the heck was taking place in that dark corner of the world.  

Chet wasn’t married and he did not have any kin in the local area. His disappearance would barely turn heads, but he was my neighbor and I reckon other than the illegal liquor, he was a decent fellow.  He was always lending me a hand with my chickens and such, so I always thought of him as a friend and now he was gone.  

Wandering into his yard, I saw his still was there, but there wasn’t anything brewing which made me sad to see it idle. There were empty jugs stacked all around the still ready to be filled and distributed.

I heard a wolf howl in the distance and I stood there like a statue.

What if it was one of them?  What if one of the folks from the dark side of the hill had come to see what it is we were doing.  I went into the shed where Chet kept his shotgun.  It was loaded and ready for use, because he always took meticulous care of it.  With my thumb, I pulled back the hammers and cocked them.  If one of them werewolves came, I’d be ready.

Slowly I began to follow the path that led up to the ridge.  There was undergrowth that reached out to grab my Levi’s and boots, but I kept pressing on.  I thought that with any luck, I’d find out what happened to Chet Greensboro.  I kept that shotgun close to my chest as I heard the hooting of owls in the branches overhead.  There was no moon in the sky to guide me, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. 

Chet would do the same for me, at least I was pretty sure he would.

I heard a rustle in the undergrowth and I turned and pointed the gun, but it was just a rabbit scurrying to get to his home.

The voice in my head kept speaking to me, “Renny, turn around and go back home.  There ain’t nothing you can do for Chet Greensboro now.”  With each step the voice kept getting louder.  

I was on the ridge before I knew it and I could hear voices that weren’t coming from my head.  I froze to the spot I was standing with the gun pointed and the hammers still cocked.  It sounded like some of that babble they used to recite in church.  It was a chant.

With my heart pounding to break free of my chest, I began to walk down the steep path into Bailise Quarters.  There was no light anywhere.  I felt like a blind man feeling my way down.  It seemed like there was more undergrowth pulling at my Levi’s and boots.  A few times I stumbled.  With my finger on the trigger, I was lucky I did not discharge the gun.

More chanting.  It grew louder as I got closer to the place Chet had taken me that night.

There was a glow coming from a place I could not see, so I continued toward the source of the light.

Bailise Quarters had been in complete darkness from all that I had been told, but from some corner of the town there was a light source.  

It was a fire.  Not just a fire, a bonfire with people dressed in black robes with their hoods concealing their faces.  Each of them were circling the bonfire mumbling some words I still could not make out. I found a wide sycamore tree to conceal myself behind as I watched these robed figures continue to walk around the fire.  It was then I saw that each of them held a candle.  There must have been almost a hundred or so it seemed.  I was much too frightened to count and see. 

“Let the ritual begin!” A man dressed in a white robe spoke out.  I had not seen him, but wearing white had definitely made him stand out.  

More chanting.

Some of the robed people were women, because I could now hear their voices.

“We must celebrate the darkness that has made us who we are.” He raised his arms and the people stopped moving.  

“Darkness.” The congregation all said in unison. 

“For the light is blinding and the light reveals that which should not be seen.” His voice became louder.

“Darkness!  Darkness!  Darkness!” They began to shout. I could not stop shaking, because I knew I was not supposed to be here.

“On this moonless night, we are to offer a sacrifice to the darkness that has sheltered us and kept us true to what we are.” He spoke with his arms raised.

I heard someone scream, “No! No!  Please don’t do this!” 

My heart began to race even faster.  

From the shadows a man chained to a wooden beam was led forward by a group of robed figures.  It was obvious the man was an unwilling participant of whatever was about to take place.

As I looked at where he was being led as he protested and pleaded, it became clear what they were going to do with him. With the flames reaching up to the lightless sky, I knew without a doubt what they were going to do with him.

Had they done the same to Chet? My mind did not want to go to that darkness.  Without stopping my instincts, I stepped from my hiding place and pointed the shotgun at the robed figures.

"Let him go!" I shouted.

"Who are you?" The white robed figure demanded.

"It doesn't matter." I stepped toward the congregation still holding the shotgun.

"How dare you interfere with our ceremony." He snapped. "This is our spring ritual and you are preventing us from completing it."

Some of the robed figures began moving toward me, but I would point the shotgun at them.  The only problem was I was severely outnumbered and I had not planned an escape route.  My only advantage was the shotgun I was holding in my shaking hands.

No one saw the wood in the bonfire shift sending an avalanche of flaming wood and hot ash cascading over the altar and ceremonial area. In the panic to rescue what they could, I managed to free the man from his bondage and scoot him up over the hill and to safety. 

"They were going to sacrifice me to the demon of fire." He told me over the last of Chet's good hard stuff, "My name is Drew Hall. Salesman selling hot tubs."

I found it laughable that he would think the poor folk that lived in these parts would ever consider buying a hot tub, but I had no idea Bailise Quarters even existed a few months ago and I lived here all my life.  

"Thank ya, Renny for saving my life." He said as he finished his moonshine.  His sad blue eyes expressed his sincere gratitude for what I had done and that was enough.  Hot tub salesmen weren't meant to wind up as charred sacrifices to the evil gods of darkness.  The local newspapers even used the world cult as the authorities sifted through the remains of the town of darkness. The article spoke of how the entire community vanished as the fire destroyed Bailise Quarters in the final sacrifice to the Ceremony of Spring.

Drew left on the next Greyhound never to return.  While I never did see Chet, suspecting he had been sacrificed in the numerous rituals honoring the Prince of Darkness.  Once the area had been cleared, the light returned as the memory of Thomas Dooley Bailise along with the town named in his memory, disappeared in the fire.

The lesson was clear to me then as it is now, know your neighbors, because all the people wearing those robes and chanting have dissipated.  One of them could be living right next to you and you'd have no way of knowing.