Howlietzer Publishing

Tag: Appalachian folklore

  • Not-Deer

    Not-Deer

    American Beastiary Entry: The Not-Deer

    Common Name: Not-Deer
    Other Names: The Wrong Buck, Hollow Stag, Skinwalker Deer, The Watching Herd
    Classification: Mimetic Predator / Appalachian Cryptid
    Threat Level: Extreme
    Status: Active, Uncontained

    Description

    At a distance, the Not-Deer appears to be an ordinary white-tailed deer—graceful, still, almost serene. Closer inspection reveals a collection of errors that the human mind instinctively rejects.

    Its proportions are subtly wrong:

    • Legs bend at incorrect angles or move out of sequence.
    • Joints flex where no joints should exist.
    • The neck may be too long, too stiff, or rotate unnaturally.

    The face is the most disturbing feature. Eyes are forward-facing rather than lateral, often glowing faintly in low light. The pupils may dilate independently. The mouth, when opened, reveals teeth inconsistent with any known cervid—too many, too human, or arranged for tearing flesh rather than grazing.

    Observers frequently report the sensation that the creature is wearing the idea of a deer, rather than being one.

    Behavior

    The Not-Deer is a patient ambush predator.

    It is most often encountered:

    • Along forest roads at dusk
    • At tree lines bordering rural properties
    • Near hunting paths and deer stands

    Rather than fleeing from humans, it watches. Prolonged eye contact has been reported to cause disorientation, nausea, and an overwhelming sense of being evaluated—measured.

    When threatened or wounded, the Not-Deer does not flee. Instead, it approaches.

    Witnesses who survived encounters describe its movement as jerky and imitative, as though it learned locomotion secondhand. Once in pursuit, it displays bursts of speed inconsistent with its size and mass.

    Diet

    Contrary to its appearance, the Not-Deer is carnivorous.

    Confirmed prey includes:

    • Small livestock
    • Pets
    • Lone hunters
    • Injured or lost hikers

    Evidence suggests the creature is particularly drawn to individuals who are:

    • Armed
    • Bleeding
    • Isolated

    Consumption is rarely clean. Remains are often partially eaten, arranged, or left in visible locations—suggesting territorial marking or psychological intimidation.

    Habitat

    Primarily associated with:

    • Appalachia
    • Dense Eastern woodlands
    • Rural hunting zones

    The Not-Deer avoids urban centers but is frequently sighted near roads, suggesting an understanding of human travel patterns. Sightings spike during hunting season.

    Origins (Speculative)

    The American Beastiary recognizes several competing theories:

    1. Mimetic Entity Theory
      The Not-Deer is not a corrupted deer, but a non-human intelligence that learned its shape by observation—imperfectly.
    2. Punishment Folklore Theory
      A manifestation tied to violations of hunting taboos: overhunting, cruelty, or killing for sport rather than need.
    3. Threshold Predator Theory
      The creature exists to thin those who cross alone into wilderness spaces believing themselves to be apex predators.

    No theory has been conclusively proven.

    Defensive Measures

    There is no confirmed method of killing a Not-Deer.

    Survival recommendations include:

    • Do not follow deer that do not flee
    • Do not fire a second shot if the first does not drop it
    • Avoid eye contact
    • Retreat immediately if a deer displays curiosity rather than fear

    Hunters are advised:

    If it lets you see it—leave.

    Notes from the Beastiary

    “A deer runs from you.
    A Not-Deer waits to see what you’ll do.”

    Encounters are underreported due to ridicule, missing persons cases, and the tendency of witnesses to abandon hunting altogether.

  • Northern Owlcat

    Northern Owlcat

    THE NORTHERN OWLCAT

    Strix rufus glacialis — “The Ghost of the Pinewoods”
    Classification: Mid-Size Chimeroid Predator
    Habitat: Boreal forests, high Appalachian ridges, northern Rockies, subarctic pine belts
    Temperament: Silent, elusive, fiercely territorial

    Physical Description

    The Northern Owlcat is a compact yet formidable hybrid of snowy owl and bobcat, built for survival in cold, forested environments. Its form is a seamless fusion of feather and fur, lending it an almost supernatural ability to blend into snowy undergrowth or moonlit branches.

    Distinct Features

    • Head: Rounded and feathered like a snowy owl, with piercing yellow eyes capable of seeing through blizzard conditions. Small, sharp-tipped ear tufts mimic a lynx’s silhouette.
    • Wings: Long, broad, and silent—snowy owl wings engineered for stealth flight. When fully extended, they span nearly twice the creature’s body length.
    • Body: Compact and muscular, covered in dense white fur marked with charcoal-gray bobcat spots. This coat provides insulation and camouflage in snow-blanketed forests.
    • Tail: Short and bobbed, with a dark tip—perfect for maneuvering through pine branches without noise.
    • Feet: Forepaws feathered and tipped with curved talons, a deadly combination of bobcat strength and raptor precision.

    Standing only twenty to twenty-four inches at the shoulder, it is smaller than a typical griffin-type, but do not mistake its size for harmlessness.

    Behavior and Abilities

    The Silent Glide

    The Owlcat’s most iconic behavior is its method of hunting:
    From a pine branch high above, it spreads its great wings and enters a near-motionless glide, descending toward prey with total silence. Its wing feathers absorb sound, while its bobcat musculature allows for sudden mid-air changes in direction.

    This gliding attack is the origin of many local legends describing
    “a ghost drifting down from the treetops.”

    Winter Camouflage

    Its snowy coat and spotted markings break up its silhouette, even while in motion. Under fresh snowfall, an Owlcat can remain invisible until the moment it pounces.

    Territorial Intelligence

    The species is solitary except during winter pairing season. Each Owlcat maintains a radius of forest claimed through:

    • Scratched markings on trees
    • Talon grooves on boulders
    • Hanging owl-like pellets containing fur and bone

    Trespassing animals are chased away with shrill, owl-like shrieks—far louder than their size would suggest.

    Diet

    They prey on:

    • Snowshoe hares
    • Mink
    • Grouse
    • Small deer fawns
    • Occasionally, raccoons or fox kits

    When food is scarce, they glide-fish along frozen riverbanks, plunging through thin ice with spear-like talons.

    Habitat and Range

    Northern Owlcats thrive in:

    • Deep boreal forests of Canada
    • Upper Great Lakes wilderness
    • Northern Rockies
    • High elevations of the Appalachians (rare and disputed)

    They prefer old-growth pine and fir where thick branches provide launch points for gliding.

    Cultural Significance

    Several First Nations tribes associate the Owlcat with:

    • Shapeshifters
    • Dream-walkers
    • Forest guardians

    Because of its silent nature and bright yellow eyes, it is often called “The Lantern in the Snow.”

    European settlers recorded sightings as early as the 1700s, typically describing it as:

    “A white forest cat with owl wings descending like a specter.”

    Modern cryptid researchers classify it as one of the Subarctic Chimera Forms, related to but distinct from the larger American Griffin.

    Threat Level

    Moderate.
    The Northern Owlcat avoids humans and rarely attacks unless:

    • It is cornered
    • Its nesting grounds are disturbed
    • Hunger drives it to desperation during deep winter

    When forced to fight, it unleashes a terrifying mix of aerial dives, slashing talons, and disorienting owl shrieks.

    Most hikers who report encounters describe hearing nothing at all—until it’s already landing nearby.

  • American Griffin

    American Griffin

    THE AMERICAN GRIFFIN

    Haliaetus pumae — “The Eagle-Lion of the New World”
    Classification: Apex Chimeroid
    Habitat: Rocky Mountains, Yellowstone Plateau, Sierra Nevada
    Temperament: Noble, territorial, calculating

    Physical Description

    The American Griffin is a hybrid beast formed from the union of two of North America’s most revered predators: the bald eagle and the mountain lion. Sleek and powerfully built, this griffin carries the regal intensity of an eagle and the silent strength of a big cat.

    Its head and chest are covered in immaculate white feathers that transition into deep brown along its shoulders and wings. The breast feathers extend down its torso, tapering into short plumage that merges naturally with tawny mountain lion fur.

    The forelimbs are unmistakably raptorial — golden scaled arms ending in curved black talons designed for crushing bone and gripping sheer cliff faces. The hindquarters resemble a lean mountain lion, long and muscular, bred for stealth and power. Its tail, unlike the tufted tail of the Old World lion, is a long, expressive mountain-lion tail used for balance during aerial maneuvers.

    Most specimens measure around nine feet from beak to tail, with wingspans exceeding fourteen feet.

    When resting, the American Griffin often lies with forelimbs crossed, wings partially open — a posture that appears regal and contemplative, yet ready to explode into motion at any moment.

    Behavior and Abilities

    Aerial Hunter of the High Country

    The American Griffin is one of the few creatures capable of predatory flight at high altitudes. Its eagle half grants unmatched eyesight: it can identify a moving object the size of a rabbit from over a mile away.

    In the air, it combines:

    • Eagle stooping speed (up to 120 mph)
    • Mountain lion agility, able to twist or bank with unnerving precision
    • A silent glide that precedes most of its ambushes

    Territorial Intelligence

    Unlike the more chaotic American Chimaera, the American Griffin is highly intelligent and exhibits:

    • Complex territorial boundaries
    • Long-term nesting sites
    • Cooperative hunting when raising young

    It is fiercely loyal to mates and offsprings, forming small familial prides known as echelon clutches.

    Combat and Defense

    When threatened, the griffin employs:

    • A thunderous wing-beat capable of knocking a grown elk off balance
    • A razor-precise beak strike, often fatal
    • Talon grapples that immobilize prey instantly

    Though naturally noble and stoic, a cornered American Griffin becomes a whirlwind of talons and feathers.

    Habitat and Range

    Sightings most commonly occur in:

    • High cliffs of the Rocky Mountains
    • Pine forests around Yellowstone
    • Alpine ridges of the Sierra Nevada
    • Rare, disputed sightings in the high Appalachians

    They build nests — called eires — the size of small cars, constructed from fallen logs and bones of previous kills.

    Cultural Significance

    Among North American tribes, the griffin symbolizes:

    • Watchfulness
    • Protection
    • Divine justice from the mountains

    Early pioneers believed spotting one was a sign of fortune on long journeys… unless it circled overhead more than twice, which was considered a dire omen.

    Modern cryptid researchers classify it as one of the “High Clade Guardians,” alongside the Thunderbird and the Iron Elk.

    Threat Level

    High, but avoidable.
    American Griffins seldom attack humans unless:

    • Their nest is threatened
    • They are wounded
    • A traveler is mistaken for a rival predator

    If spotted resting with wings half-open, it is not an invitation — it is a warning.

  • American Chimaera

    American Chimaera

    American Chimaera

    Habitat: Rocky Mountains, Appalachian Range
    Classification: Apex Hybrid Predator

    Description:
    The American Chimaera is a rare and formidable apex predator said to have been born from the continent’s primal wilderness itself. Its body resembles that of a dire wolf — broad-shouldered, sinewy, and built for both endurance and ambush. Two heads crown its form: one of a wolf, the other of a stag. The wolf symbolizes predation and instinct, while the stag embodies vigilance and sovereignty. From its tail grows a diamondback rattlesnake, ever poised to strike, its venom rumored to paralyze even a bear within seconds.

    Behavior:
    Unlike its Greek cousin, the American Chimaera does not breathe fire; instead, it rules through stealth and cunning. It is said to prowl during storms, when thunder masks its movements. Witnesses claim the sound of distant rattling in the wind heralds its approach. Each head serves a distinct function — the wolf hunts, the stag senses danger, and the serpent defends the rear.

    Myth & Legend:
    Native legends speak of the creature as the Spirit of Balance — a manifestation of nature’s duality, both predator and protector. Appalachian folk tales, however, call it The Backwoods Devil, a beast that punishes greed and trespass. In the Rockies, miners once left offerings of tobacco and whiskey to keep its gaze from their camps.

    Habitat & Diet:
    Solitary by nature, the Chimaera roams vast territories stretching from the shadowed hollows of West Virginia to the snow-laced slopes of Colorado. It preys on elk, wolves, and occasionally unwary humans.

  • The Harvest Pilgrimage: A New Haven of New Eden Tale

    The Harvest Pilgrimage: A New Haven of New Eden Tale

    High Shepherd Wyatt Hill watched the sunrise from the Holy Hollow Church steps. The early autumn fog clung low to the cobblestones, and the lanterns hanging from the trees burned their last drops of pine-oil before dimming out. Cool mountain air filled his lungs.

    Wyatt took a deep breath and threw his arms out wide, hugging all New Haven.

    “Praise the LORD for this air in my lungs!” he shouted. “Praise the LORD for one more day on HIS creation!”

    His voice boomed across the plaza like a joyful town crier. And then—overcome by delight—he began to dance. The holy vestments swished and rustled around him and his shoes clacked against the cobblestone in a rhythm reminiscent of King David himself.

    The cathedral doors creaked open.

    Mother Superior Edith stepped out just in time to witness the High Shepherd’s enthusiastic display. Her brows lifted.

    “Wyatt Hill,” she sighed, “Is that truly how a High Shepherd should behave?”

    He froze mid-step and flashed her a grin—too wide, stretching a hint past what a human smile should allow.

    “Mother Superior,” he said proudly, “I’m certain that GOD appreciated King David’s bravado as much as mine.”

    “Your true face is showing,” she whispered, tapping his arm. “Remember, this is the Harvest Pilgrimage. Do try not to terrify the children.”

    Wyatt’s features softened, the lingering shadow retreating. His posture sank slightly.

    “I know. I wouldn’t… I—”

    She reached out and hushed him gently.

    “We all changed when we built New Haven,” she said. “Ten years ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed that we could raise anything as magnificent as this in an old holler.”

    Wyatt managed a normal smile this time. “Thank you, Mother Superior.”

    “Call me Edith, Wyatt. I think we can do that,” she said, “Now come along. We have a day’s work ahead. The wagon’s ready, the horses are hitched, and four Watchers are waiting on us.”

    She gestured toward the plaza where a stout wooden wagon sat. Two large horses pawed the ground, their shoes clacking the stone impatiently, and four Watchers stood beside it, their armor gleaming in the sun rise.

    “Marvelous!” said Wyatt. “Shall we?” He offered his arm to escort.

    She gave him a side-eye. “No flirting, Wyatt. You’re wearing the cincture for a reason.”

    “I—I don’t know what you mean,” he stammered.

    “I see your heart, Wyatt,” she said kindly. “Please guard it.”

    His cheeks flushed red as they set off.

    The Pilgrimage Begins

    New Haven radiated outward from the cathedral like a spiderweb—cobblestone roads forming neat rings around the center, then splitting into dirt paths toward fields and forest.

    The harvest pilgrimage consisted of visiting each guild of New Haven and collecting the tithe. Each guild provided ten percent of the income collected from trade, as well as ten percent of the craft, crops, and other goods that the guild master had collected over the year.

    As Wyatt and Edith walked the pilgrimage route, children burst from homes—barefoot, lively, eager to greet the High Shepherd and Mother Superior. The adults waved sleepily from porches, smiling at the early commotion. Wyatt returned greetings with booming enthusiasm, Edith with gentle warmth.

    Their first stop was the Guild of Smiths on St. Joseph Street. The forge glowed like sunrise through the open doorway, sparks leaping like fireflies. The heat, though not unpleasant, pricked against their skin, and the bellows breathed in large bursts.

    Guild Master John emerged, wiping soot from his brow.

    “High Shepherd. Mother Superior.” He nodded, signaling to the Watchers to collect the tithe from the nearby stockroom: polished armor pieces and newly forged weapons, along with other metal works from the smiths of the guild.

    “All awaiting your blessing, High Shepherd,” John said, handing over a heavy coin pouch.

    “Thank you, John,” said Wyatt slipping it into his robes. “How has the work gone? Any blessing or prayers we can make for you?”

    They prayed, spoke briefly, and moved on—stopping next at the Guild of Herbalists, where rosemary and mint scented the air, then at the Guild of Hands, where warm loaves cooled in open windows.

    Each guild greeted them with reverence; each tithe was collected with gratitude.

    Toward the Outskirts

    The cobblestone ended, giving way to soft grass and wide, tilled fields. These were where the Guilds of Keepers and Harvesters dwelled, plenty of space for their animals to graze, and wide enough area for farmers to tend their crops. Vineyards, orchards, fields, New Haven had a cornucopia of produce.

    The Guild of Keepers greeted them next. Guild Master Aaron presented blemish-free animals and the coin tithe from livestock sales. Mother Superior accounted for the animals and sent one Watcher with a couple of Keepers and their dogs to herd the animals back to the Guild of the Veil, where the Sisters would attend to the them.

    It was the Guild of Harvesters, where the pilgrimage met a challenge. Guild Master Theodore stood stiffly outside his guild house, hands clenched.

    Wyatt’s steps slowed. Edith cleared her throat—her subtle signal that something was off.

    “Good morning, Theodore!” Wyatt called. “Is your tithe prepared?”

    Theodore swallowed hard. “Almost. I’ve been waiting for the Talbot family’s portion. They… haven’t submitted anything yet.”

    Wyatt blinked. “Ah, the Talbots. Lovely family—just had their sixth child, I believe.”

    Edith folded her arms, deep in thought.

    “They are new. Only been here a year,” Wyatt murmured.

    The two stood in puzzlement, leaving Theodore at a loss for words. He wrung his hands, not really knowing what to do, and was slightly afraid of the consequences for missing the tithe.

    Edith finally spoke. “Theodore, you know we mean you no harm, but we must speak to the Talbots. This is a holy matter in obedience.”

    Theodore nodded nervously.

    “Cabbages!” said Wyatt, “They’re the cabbage tenders. I remember now. We should visit them at once. Watchers! Carry on with your duty. Our idleness has made the Guild Master anxious. Much to do.”

    He turned to Guild Master Theodore, “Can we pray with you before we head out?”

    At the Talbot Farm

    After the watchers picked up the tithe from the Guild of the Harvest, Wyatt and Edith led the wagon towards the Talbot’s plot. There were several Harvesters in New Haven; each had a small plot and tended a couple different vegetables or an orchard. They were also watchers of the boundary. Though the primary Guild of Watchers kept to the disputes in the city area, Harvesters and Keepers were tasked with maintaining the border defense. Many of which used to belong to United States military before relocating to New Haven.

    Joseph Talbot was a retired captain of the US Airforce. Like many other veterans and service members, he came to New Haven when politics got overwhelming and everyday life got more complicated. His family was a new arrival—only a year in New Haven and he had had his share of problems adjusting.

    He sat slumped on his porch chair, M4 across his lap and dark circles carved deep into his eyes. His wife and children hovered behind him, anxiety exhausting them.

    The cabbages were ravaged. Bite marks. Loose dirt. Joseph had been up all night defending against some jackelopes that had been eating his cabbages.

    He’d been trying to fight them off and stop them, knowing that he had to pay the tithe. But he also had his growing family to worry about, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to feed them and pay the tithe.

    He knew this was one of the many conditions of living in New Haven, and as he fought back sleep that desperately tried to overtake him, he kept watch for any mini-antlered rabbits bounding out of holes and nibbling his remaining cabbages.

    “Hello, Joseph!” shouted Wyatt as he shuffled through the tall grass, Edith and the wagon close behind. “It’s that time of year. Tithing time.”

    Wyatt huffed as he drew closer to the Talbot farmhouse. Mrs. Talbot and the five children, the oldest no older than nine, came out upon hearing his shouts. Their appearance marked with intensity and sleepless eyes.

    “Wyatt,” said Edith. “Let me go on ahead.”

    “What’s wrong?” he asked.

    “Nothing to worry about,” she soothed. “Let me approach first.”

    Wyatt spread his arm out to halt the wagon. He watched Mother Superior greet the Talbots, and then he looked at the cabbages. There seemed to be something amiss. The blessing on this field should have produced a magnificent crop, but there was barely anything left.

    “Lord…”  whispered Wyatt, kneeling in the tall grass, “Give me your eyes to see.”

    The world stilled, and Wyatt’s awareness spread through the farms of New Haven. He felt the scurrying of little paws beneath the soil. The twitch of whiskers. The nervous shuffling of creatures underfoot.

    He smiled, his mouth watering. Tenacious varmints to be wandering this close to New Haven. They’ll make a fine Harvest Day stew.

    Edith returned.

    “Jackelopes,” she said. “The Talbots have been fighting them for weeks. They didn’t say anything because they wanted to prove they could handle it on their own.”

    Wyatt’s eyes glowed white. “Yes… I see.”

    “You already knew,” Edith pouted.

    “The Lord showed me. Your testimony confirmed it. What do you say? Jackelope stew would make a fine addition to the Harvest Day feast.”

    “You’re drooling, High Shepherd,” she smirked.

    “And we can sell the taxidermies to Bob at Jolly Rogers.”

    She covered her mouth and laughed to herself. “The Talbots are awaiting a prayer. The sin of pride has prevented them from participating in the tithes. Joseph was concerned that there would not be enough for his family, and he didn’t want to be a burden on his first year here.”

    “Nonsense!” shouted Wyatt. He marched over to the Talbots. They cowered in their doorway.

    “Joseph Talbot!” Wyatt boomed. “As a part of New Haven, I command you never hesitate to ask for help.”

    Joseph gulped. “I will. Yes, sir. I will ask for help if this happens again.”

    “Guild Master Theodore was concerned for you,” said Wyatt, “but it is not his duty to assume you need any assistance if you don’t ask for it.”

    “Watchers!” Wyatt turned to the three men. “We’re hunting jackelope! Mother Superior, return to Theodore and notify everyone jackelopes are in season.”

    Mother Superior suppressed a laugh as she handed him her handkerchief. “You’re still drooling. I’ll be on my way.”

    The watchers hollered as they grabbed their hunting rifles, ready for a little action.

    The Hunt & Aftermath

    By mid-day, twenty jackelopes lay piled near the wagon, making up the Talbot’s tithe. With the field secure, those who’d came to hunt left to go about their business. Wyatt sat with Joseph on his front porch, eating a cabbage like one eats an apple. The quiet settled heavy between them.

    “Thank you, High Shepherd!” Joseph said. “I didn’t want anyone to think I was dead weight. I wanted to pay my tithe on my own, and I thought if I couldn’t handle this, I’d be kicked out.”

    Wyatt studied him, then smiled warmly.

    “We don’t kick people out. If you didn’t pay the tithe, you would be disciplined, probably just assigned to the mines for a season—but not cast out.”

    Joseph crossed himself as Wyatt took another bite of cabbage, his mouth a bit too wide.

    “Even Theodore struggled his first year. He was a bit surely, but he came around,” said Wyatt, “The Lord’s mercy is wider than the Appalachian Mountains, and as long as you live here, Joseph, you don’t need to carry your burdens alone.”

    Return to Holy Hollow

    Wyatt and Edith returned to Holy Hollow just before dusk, tired but satisfied. They had parted ways with the Watchers after dropping off the tithe with the Guild of Ledgers and strolled back to the church as the lanterns ignited. Peaceful calm in autumn air as snow clouds gathered high. The two made note as the feast would be soon and more preparations followed.

    They had only opened the cathedral doors when Sister Lauren approached.

    “High Shepherd, Mother Superior, the Council of Elders requests your presence immediately. It’s about the Talbots”

    Wyatt sighed. Edith muttered, “Of course it is.”

    The Council of Elders

    They followed Sister Lauren to the Council’s conference room, a side chamber, lit with electric lamps and overhead lights, with a long mahogany table, polished and smooth, and seated around it were twelve elders picked by the church to oversee Holy Hollows affairs and prescribe discipline.

    Upon Wyatt’s entrance he felt their disapproval as he took a seat amongst them. Edith stood behind him, hands on his shoulders in hopes of keeping him calm.

    Elder Gary Pitkannon, an outspoken member of the council, logical, and knowledgeable man of the faith, spoke first. “High Shepherd, we have just been informed that the Talbot family failed to meet their tithe.”

    Wyatt smiled. “Well, you are mistaken. Their tithe was fulfilled. Ten percent of their remaining cabbage was given. Ten percent of their earnings were received. And an offering of twenty jackelopes was accepted.”

    Pitkannon stared at him for a moment. “He has failed to meet the cabbage quota.”

    “We don’t have a quota, Mr. Pitkannon,” said Wyatt, “We have a tithe. And the cabbages were overtaken by jackelopes, which New Haven has remedied. The problem is solved.

    “That’t not the point,” said Elder Miriam Fitsgerald, her voice sharp as a switch. “Tithe disobedience must be met with correction. The punishment is quarry duty.”

    “It’s been taken care of.” Wyatt’s jaw tightened, “Miriam, the man fought all night for weeks to keep the food that he could. Do you not see mercy as a viable path here?”

    Elder Fitsgerald stood up. “That doesn’t negate the law!”

    Wyatt closed his eyes. A familiar voice in the darkness emerged, inviting him to partake in some nostalgia that would never serve the one true GOD. His mind reeled at the temptation to end matters right now. Edith felt the beckoning darkness within him. She squeezed his shoulders, soothing him.

    “If you continue to show leniency, High Shepherd, you risk weakening our authority,” said Elder Pitkannon.

    He’s speaking like a pharisee, Wyatt… The shadow inside him murmured, We don’t put up with those, Wyatt.

    Wyatt took in a deep breath and exhaled. “Holy Spirit, give me the strength to do what is right… and just.”

    The elders stared at him, some curious, some terrified.

    Wyatt opened his eyes. They glowed bright with the Holy Spirit and the darkness subsided within him. “Our authority is nothing without mercy.”

    A tense silence followed.

    Edith backed away quickly as Wyatt rose from his seat. He took another deep breath and exhaled calmly. “I trust the Lord’s guidance more than my temper. I will remove myself before I say, or do, anything ungodly.”

    He bowed politely and stepped out of the room, and shut the door behind him.

    Edith waited one heartbeat.

    Then she faced the elders, her countenance shifting from meekness to foreboding. Her skin glistened silver in the lamp light, her eyes an evergreen as she grew taller than the high ceiling of the opulent room.

    The elders stood up. If they weren’t terrified before, they were now.

    Mother Superior placed her large palm on the mahogany, feeling that elustrious polish, smooth, soft… She raised her arm and split it in half splinters spraying as the elders fell to the floor sobbing.

    When she spoke, her voice carried the weight of mountain stone and wind.

    “Do not mistake Wyatt’s kindness for weakness.”

    The elders recoiled. Elder Pitkannon pushed himself upwards to meet her eyes.

    “You sit in those chairs to shepherd the people of New Haven,” she continued, “not to crack whips over their backs. Mercy is not optional. It is most holy.”

    Elder Pitkannon bristled. “Mother Superior, your place…”

    “My place is to guard this flock, even if that means guarding it from you!” Her eyes bore holes into him. “Know your place!”

    The power flickered and the room temperature dipped suddenly, sending shivers down the elder’s spines.

    Edith sighed. “Look what you made me do?”

    She shrunk back to normal size. “I’ll make sure a new table to brough in here as soon as possible. And I hope none of you forgot to pay your tithe. The Ledgerkeepers will inform me if you have not.”

    The End?

    Wyatt retreated to his office to brood. He found solace in the wall he had of pictures that the children drew of him. It helped fight the darkness.

    He was smiling at one in particular when there was a knock at his door.

    “Please, come in,” he said.

    Edith slid through the door, a bit disheveled but radiated her usual calm demeanor.

    “How bad was it?” Wyatt asked.

    She stood next to them. “Handled. I think I put the fear of God back into them.”

    Wyatt breathed out a quiet laugh. “Oh, my! You scare me more than the Lord does sometimes, Edith.”

    She nudged him with her shoulder. “Good. Someone has to. Oh, and I promised them a new table.”

    “What?”