Miracle At Golden Eye Ranch
When the cattle returned after three months, Jessamine Hedgepeth first hailed it as a miracle. What else could it be but the answer to her prayers? Fervent prayers to any deity — Christian or otherwise — that might be listening and take pity. Prayers to save her family’s legacy and protect her home, for a godsend. Being a woman alone with no family, few prospects, and a dwindling reserve of funds gripped her every waking moment with vise-like intensity.
In the weeks before the cattle returned, the whispers about how Old Man Hedgepeth got what he deserved followed her each time Jessamine traveled down to Darkplains. Some townsfolk hid their theories behind gloved hands and parasols, content to gossip as she rode through town, and later as the months wore on, walked. Others polished their curiosity with a veneer of neighborly concern, piercing Jessamine with smiles like knives. Then there was Mr. McIninch, who ran the General Store, who went so far as to leverage the Hedgepeth’s growing debt with him to tease details from Jessamine about conditions out at the ranch. Standing the cluttered cloying space of the store, the wood-clapped building felt claustrophobic to Jessamine. There was nowhere to hide in the press of barrels and crates that propelled visitors towards the square of open space in front of the counter. Nowhere to look except at Mr. McIninch’s kind smile that didn’t make it all the way to his eyes as he tutted over her increasing red line of credit. With horse whips and harnesses hanging from the ceiling like leather tentacles, each time Jessamine opened the door to the tinkling bell that indicated a customer’s arrival, she felt as if perhaps this time the dark space would devour her whole. Some days, she could admit to herself, she hoped it would.
Even when Jessamine wasn’t in town, the lonesome wind seem to drive the smug condemnation across the prairie. Nobody drives cattle into a storm coming down off the mountains, whipped the breeze through her hair as she mucked out the barn for what might be the last time. Not even with a berth that wide, breathed the stillness in the inky black of night as she tried to sleep. God-fearing folk stayed away from those unnatural squalls of ominous green clouds and metallic-tasting rain, sighed the very earth crunching beneath her boots as she mechanically went through the motions day after isolated day.
Less than a fortnight before the cattle returned, the hungry creditors had made their first trek out to the Hedgepeth property. They came with conciliatory hat-in-hand words of sorrow that Miss Jessamine had lost both her father and her family’s livelihood in one fell swoop. A damn shame to lose a fine cowboy to the mountain but loans must be honored or the Golden Eye Ranch given over as repayment. Besides, a woman couldn’t live alone out in the wilds. Even if she did possess a familial predisposition to rugged preservation, it just wasn’t proper, you see. Jessamine had played into their own prejudices, weaponizing a long overdue flood of tears to buy time. The bankers, three men with flinty-eyes and shadows that shuddered strangely, recoiled from such a display of emotion. They agreed to return to discuss the matter once the lady had time to consider their offer and compose herself.
When next the men in their sleek black suits and oily hair and silent steps arrived at Golden Eye Ranch, looking like very fine vultures indeed, Jessamine was waiting in the doorframe. Before they could even dismount from their horses, Jessamine gave them her answer in the form of a sawed-off shotgun fired in warning into the dirt at their feet. That sent the bank men fleeing back to Darkplains, squawking about the girl gone mad from grief up at the Golden Eye. Days later, Jessamine had heard the creditors tried to get Sheriff Byrd involved over the warning shot, but the man had refused. The Hedgepeth family had been living in the shadow of those cursed mountains since before Darkplains settlers arrived with their covered wagons and empty dreams of riches. Sheriff Byrd wasn’t one to go sticking his nose where it might get cut off. Instead, the wheedling bankers told themselves it was only a matter of time. Once Jessamine ran out of credit, they wouldn’t have to ask.
The inevitability of defeat loomed large on Jessamine’s mind the day the herd came ambling over the horizon. The dawn had brought air that hung stale and gray and waiting. As Jessamine trekked on foot towards the western pasture, the only sound was her canvas pants catching against the prairie grass. Huge clouds gathered even further to the west as if the mountains themselves were collecting the wisps, building and shaping them into towers of churning darkness. She’d kept one eye on the horizon throughout the morning, in case the storm moved down from the peaks. But a lifetime living with the mountains meant Jessamine knew the threat could last for days before the telltale tang of ozone heralded the coming rain.
Without a horse, looking over acres of perimeter fencing was monotonous grueling work. Even before their financial woes, the Hedgepeth’s had had a difficult time with this pasture. None of the ranch hands would come out this far, too close to the Devil himself, they said. As such, Old Man Hedgepeth had let maintenance slide. Jessamine found herself marking nearly every third fence post to be replaced, a white chalk “X” of optimism that somehow she could survive this tribulation. Morning turned to afternoon in much the same way; Jessamine moving with determination as sweat and dust clung to her in the comforting way of manual labor well executed.
Jessamine became so engrossed in her task that eventually she forgot to keep an eye on the sky. That was, until a breeze stirred, rustling the dry prairie grasses and bringing with it a faint scent of earth and ozone…and the unmistakable musk of cattle. Eyes wide, Jessamine stopped mid-step and moved her gaze towards the place where months ago her father and their entire future disappeared over the horizon. Strands of dark hair too unruly to stay within the thick plait down Jessamine’s back whipped across her face as she waited, for what she didn’t dare articulate, even to herself. She shielded her eyes against waning daylight, which had taken on the eerie green cast familiar to anyone who lived in the shadow of the mountains. She could barely believe what she saw.
At first, Jessamine thought the stories were true. Had she gone mad from living near such Godforsaken phenomena? In the distance, dark smudges against the slate grey clouds coalesced into two hundred head of cattle making a beeline for the corral. Or could her grandmother’s assurances that the mountains saw the keepers of Golden Eye Ranch as friends have been more than tall tales? Was it a mere coincidence? Had God heard Jessamine’s litany of prayers? At that moment, it didn’t matter. On instinct, Jessamine moved into action, picking up the rifle leaning against a fence post and practically sprinting back towards the homestead. She had to open the gate. If the cows reached the corral and it was barred, God only knew if they’d settle in to wait or simply continue on mindlessly, lost to her once more. The thundering of hooves blended with Jessamine’s labored breathing and the deeper rumbling from the oncoming storm as she tore across the plain, cursing herself for a slow fool. Burrs and thorns from the untended fields snagged at the canvas of her pant legs but Jessamine didn’t slow down, flinging herself at the gate and swinging it open with seconds to spare.
Cows poured into the grassy space, loud and filthy and alive. Amid the stomp of hooves and the flick of irritated tails and ears, Jessamine could make out each animal did indeed bear the ranch’s brand of an unblinking eye from which radiated sunbeams in an imitation of a setting sun. Wild with hope, Jessamine slammed the gate shut and climbed the fence. Leaning over into the enclosure, she searched frantically for any sign of her father or dozen men that had accompanied him. “Pa?!” she shouted over and over, cupping her mouth with one hand so her voice rose over the din of unsettled livestock, but there was no answer. Whatever miracle had occurred did not extend to the return of Ezrah Hedgepeth.
But Jessamine was her father’s daughter and now was not the time to let the weight of grief crush her. Not when she was so close to salvation. There were too many animals in too small a space. At the best of times, the corral could comfortably handle a few dozen cows and their unweaned calves. It wasn’t designed to contain the whole herd and cattle were prone to spooking even at the best of times. As she straddled the fence, it was clear to Jessamine that this was not the best of times. The cows were riled up, beyond even the discomfort of being pressed together. Some of them foamed slightly at the mouth, their spittle flecked with the same green that tinted the sky. Others were covered in fresh, angry scars reminiscent of the claw mark of a cat but larger and much more jagged. Jessamine noticed there were no calves among the herd, though many of the cows had been pregnant when they left for greener pastures. But most unsettling, every single one of the Golden Eye brands was steaming, a pale green glow emanating from hundreds of haunches.
Climbing down from the fence, Jessamine jogged the perimeter of the corral and opened the gate to the eastern prairie. She banked on the herd remembering their home, that the natural barriers of brush and a glorified creek bed that marked the edge of the ranch property would keep the cattle from roaming too far afield. Scores of bodies flooded through the gates, with some cows nearly getting trampled by their brethren when they stopped to feed on the tall grass near the corral. She tried to do a head count but it was impossible. She would have to get into the thick of it and do a manual count.
Armed with chalk to mark each cow’s haunch and a soothing singsong voice, Jessamine spent the afternoon alternately cooing sympathy at and fleeing from her own animals. Baleful eyes stared at her as she tentatively tried to mark each cow. Some of the herd leaned against her like old friends while Jessamine murmured reassuring nothings and petted them. A handful lowered their heads and charged as soon as Jessamine was within line of sight. But most of them ignored her in favor of the sweet grasses once the initial clamor to escape the corral had passed. Jessamine checked as many as she could for signs of physical distress but none of the herd seemed any worse for wear, every scar healed over and not a single one ill or infected. However, the Golden Eye brand sent shivers involuntarily marching down Jessamine’s spine. None of the cows would let her near it, even the most pliant of them shivering their flank and moving away from her hands as she tried to examine the smoking green glow.
All the while, the storm on the distant mountain peaks reverberated with menace, the clouds churning back on themselves over and over, building higher without ever moving closer.
Dusk had fallen by the time Jessamine finished her task. Exhausted and filthy, she found herself seated at the rough-hewn kitchen table Erzah Hedgepeth had built inside the three-room home raised by the blood, sweat, and tears of her grandparents. Over a simple meal of rabbit stew, Jessamine made a mental list of things to do in the morning. The sheer improbability of it all was enough to almost overwhelm her stoic nature. By the light of a single candle gone blurry through unshed tears, Jessamine sat alone in the silent twilight piecing her shattered life back together to see what it looked like now.
Her father was still missing, most likely dead. She would have to soldier on alone. Spooning stew into her mouth, Jessamine chewed thoughtfully. If she could separate out a handful of the steers to take down to Darkplains, she reasoned she could get a fair enough price to get the oily bank men with their unruly shadows off her back. But the townsfolk were a superstitious lot and the return of the herd from the mountains would complicate things. Even Jessamine, raised to believe nature’s wonders were something to be respected instead of feared found an uneasiness sliding through her belly when she thought of the glowing eyes branded into the herd. She would have to cut off the symbol or cover it up then rebrand the steers and hope for the best. Surely God would not have sent her salvation only to yank it away again.
Night descended while Jessamine Hedgepeth plotted her course to survival. Once the sun slipped beneath the distant horizon, the wind began to howl. Jessamine cleared away her dinner and washed up for bed, her mind taking a fanciful turn as she watched lightning dance up the tower of clouds. It seemed as if the storm had been waiting for the cover of darkness to hide its intent. While the herd called to each other quietly, the wind began to move south and east, bringing the squall down into the open plain. She watched the wall of rain kick up clouds of dust, visible with each flash of lightning. She heard the first thick drops hit the sod roof while she scrubbed the day’s labor off her sun-bitten skin as best she could. She was far too exhausted to do more than spot clean the worst of it using her late mother’s prized porcelain basin.
She was just about to slip into bed when she first heard it. Beneath the susurrus of wind and the patter of heavy rain came a new noise: a low, intermittent moan. At first, Jessamine thought to ignore it. Living on the prairie made for stout-hearted folk. No one who spooked at the first strange lonely noise in the night was cut out for this way of life. But the events of the day gave her second thoughts and she stood next to the bed, poised with one hand holding the covers as she listened. When nothing happened, she blew out the solitary candle, shrouding the land as far as the eye could see in darkness. Instantly the moaning sound came again, this time more distinct, more insistent. A wet, wheezing gurgle that couldn’t be brushed off as the wind merely playing tricks on the mind. And it was getting closer.
Now Jessamine knew she was no coward, but a woman living alone in the shadow of unnatural phenomena must have a sense of self-preservation. The way she saw it, one of three things were about to happen. She could go to bed and whatever was making that noise would move on. She could go to bed and the noise could defile and murder her while she slept. Or she could take one of the guns and investigate. It was the easiest decision she had ever made.
Jessamine dropped the sheet and grabbed Pa’s favorite rifle from under the bed. Shrugging on the coarse barn jacket she kept on a peg behind her bedroom door overtop her long night shift, she filled the pockets with extra rounds and tried to ignore how the coat still smelled like Pa. Jessamine tip-toed barefoot into the main part of the house, avoiding squeaky boards and the sharp edges of shadowy furniture. Making her way towards the small kitchen window she used the barrel of the gun to push the curtain aside. Jessamine peered out into the night. Sickly green lightning lit up the sky as it crackled from one cloud to another. The storm roiled outside, rain clouds pregnant and suffocatingly close to the prairie. But no sign of the unknown moaner.
A minute passed. Then another. Jessamine’s heart thudded in her chest, loud and insistent. Her own breathing was harsh in her ears as she strained to make out anything in the darkness. After a quarter of an hour of nothing but her own fears running wild, making shadows into monsters, Jessamine was satisfied the creature had moved, if there had been one at all.
Then without warning, the front door whipped open so violently it knocked off the top hinge. Swinging drunkenly in the wind, the door slammed over and over against the frame. Heart hammering in her chest, Jessamine aimed the rifle to fire on whatever unholy creature might emerge but only the howling stormwind and a spray of rain greeted her. Jessamine inched towards the door, the frame like a dark gash leading to unknown horrors, her rifle and hackles both raised. She was nearly to the door when she heard it. Hooves clattering against wood. One of the cows must have wandered too close. Most likely stuck on the porch and unable to get turned around. The poor scared thing probably hurt itself, Jessamine surmised.
As if in answer to her thoughts, the hooves danced again across the raised wooden planks outside, this time accompanied by that same unsettling gurgling whistle. The cow came into view just as a crack of lightning lit up the sky. It was so small, Jessamine thought it might be a calf. But that didn’t make sense as she’d seen no sign of one earlier. It wasn’t until thunder rolled low and long across the earth, with everything shrouded in that eerie sick twilight, that Jessamine realized something was very wrong with the animal. It had too many limbs.
Deliriously, Jessamine thought the creature looked similar to the centaur she recalled from a picture book of fantastical tales her mother had given to her as a child. But instead of majestic, this thing was monstrous. Blood drained in rivulets from the stump of the cow’s shoulders to pool beneath its hooves, as if someone or something had simply jammed a human body into the gory chest cavity. But even that wasn’t quite right. The creature stumbled at the threshold, suspended in a moment of time that lasted until Jessamine felt she had gone well and truly mad. The human half was smeared with gore and chunks of viscera, its mouth open. It moaned in pain, coughing up black blood and staring at Jessamine with eyes that were slit like a goat.
Jessamine could feel her hands slick with sweat on the grip of the rifle. A scream was building in the back of her throat but she forced it down. The only thing that lay between her and death was her ability to shoot the thing dead. But before she could pull the trigger, the unnatural beast collapsed in a heap. Bright red blood gushed forth from the creature, streams moving over the knotted wooden floor to pool around Jessamine’s bare feet. Distantly, she was aware the blood was warm, almost boiling. But her mind turned from examining this revelation as she realized something all at once: whatever this thing was, it wasn’t half human. It was a human crawling out from within the mutilated cow.
With another moan, the person trapped within the calf pulled themselves further from the carcass. That was the source of the wet sucking sound. It raised every hair on the back of Jessamine’s neck. She should shoot it. Him. Whoever it was definitely appeared male, even in the low light. Instead, she stood frozen in terror with bile in the back of her throat and animal blood congealing around her toes and sticking to the hem of her white nightdress. Frozen as the man clasped one hand around her ankle in a grip like a vise. Frozen as the man looked up at her, covered in gore and viscera. Frozen as her matching dark gaze met his and she saw the brand of the Golden Eye flash ghostly green in his goat-slit eyes.
“Well hello darlin’,” said the thing that was not Ezrah Hedgepeth. His other hand grabbed at Jessamine’s wrist and he propelled himself up, coming loose of the calf carcass with a sickening pop. An unnaturally wide grin split the old man’s face nearly in half as he loomed over Jessamine. The rifle clattered to the floor. Rain pounded the roof, bringing with it the scent of ozone that always accompanied storms from the mountain. “We have work to do.”
