The Bayou Banshee is a short story that follows three grizzled hunters tracking a fabled folk legend in the Louisiana bayous. It is set in a dark weird west setting where various mutated monster have started to roam the lands of the settlers as an unknown corrupting darkness spreads through the US in the late 19th century. The aesthetics and overall feeling were very much inspired by the game Hunt: Showdown 1896.
The story spans even chapters. Below you find an excerpt from it.
Excerpt from "The Bayou Wraith"
"You taught me the end
Showed me how to die
Salt on our lips
We'll rise"
Showed me how to die
Salt on our lips
We'll rise"
The light of the campfire lit up their faces, drawing dark contours on their features. Shades and flames danced through the night. Sparks flew like fireflies in the dark.
"Pulled the night over me
Feathers spreading the dark
I ache for end
But stay"
Feathers spreading the dark
I ache for end
But stay"
The crescent moon shone through the canopies like an argent sickle. The smell of roasted meat filled the air, mixing with the ashy firewood and the inescapable aroma of decay that had spread in the Bayou years ago.
"Hear the howl of the storm
It's the calm of the eye
What you toss out at sea
Will rise with the tide"
It's the calm of the eye
What you toss out at sea
Will rise with the tide"
“Beautiful tune,” Will remarked. He glanced over to the woman across the campfire.
“Didn't write it myself. Picked it up at the docks in New Orleans,” she answered, slowly stirring the opened can above the flames. Her crocodile leather coat reflected the orange light of the fire. Silence lied over the two for a while. Just the cracking of the firewood and the chirping of crickets filled the otherwise tranquil night.
“Well, you have a wonderful voice, ma'am.” Will tended back to counting the bullets left in his pockets after a long day of fighting off corrupted.
“Sure, thanks,” Marsha noted, stirred the can once more and ate a spoon of its heated content. In the warm light of the fire she noticed a label on Will's rifle that leaned on a tree trunk next to him.
“You got yourself a fancy piece there,” Marsha said between bites, “that model of Winchester isn't so easy to come by.” She pointed at the gun with her bent spoon.
“You're correct,” Will sat his bullet collection on the ground and took said rifle in his arms. He stroked over the smooth carved wood and the polished metal of the barrel. A little spot of mud got wiped away quickly by the sleeve of his black fur coat.
“Got it from the best dealer in Louisiana. Goes by the name ‘The Carcass Gunrunner’ due to his unusual ways of transporting his wares”
“I've heard of him” Marsha had gone back to digging through her baked beans, “not really my kind of guy. Word is he's a true coward and hides from every gunfight”
“As if you don't disappear into the shrubs the first thing we encounter anything,” Will chuckled.
“See, I don't hide because I'm scared. I prowl. I'm deadly, he's not”
“True, you are quite lethal. But,” he had set his weapon back to the side. Instead he reached for a revolver and began to check its chambers.
“I have the higher kill count.” He smirked.
“You better watch your mouth, Mr Durant, or my song is the last you'll hear as I drag you into the waters.”
“I hope you're joking, cuz I won't bury any of you two,” a voice said from the darkness past the campfire. A man entered the fire's light. A feather decorated his hat. From the shade of its brim a bushy brown beard sprawled out. Several tools and trinkets adorned his belts.
“Were you two measuring who has the biggest prick again?” He sauntered over, set aside the wide brimmed hat next to Marsha and plopped down on the tree trunk beside her. The bow on his back was undrawn. He wiped the blade of his knife clean on his plaid pants.
“Will here was just pointing out, again, how high his kill count is,” Marsha explained, pointing her bent spoon full of beans at the black coated man opposite of her.
“It is high, Jacob.” Will leaned back and crossed his arms, one eyebrow raised cockily.
“Well,” Jacob propped his hands on his knees, “one might disagree that murder is the only important thing in a hunt. It-”
Marsha rolled her eyes and sighed “You made him start again.”
Will began to laugh heartily. The black fur of his coat swayed up and down in the rhythm of his laugh. Marsha grinned and sunk her spoon back into the can of beans.
“You two, stop it.” Jacob was indignant, “We don't have time for shit like this. And stop being so loud. The corrupted don't rest.”
“Sure, sorry,” Will caught himself. “Did your expedition produce any helpful results?”
“It did. Good news and bad news. Good news is, we're closing in on our target. I found more of these black feathers in the bushes. Also, crows seem to flock in one direction. Southeast that is. We can follow them and I'm sure we'll find it,” Jacob explained while digging around in his pouches until he found scraps of beef jerky.
“And the bad news?” Marsha looked at him next to her, eyebrows furrowed in concern.
“Can't say how far it is still.” he said through the jerky. “Also, there were tracks in the mud. Other teams had the same idea as us. So far I spotted three sets of trails meandering south of us. And there seem to be two headed straight for it. They'll get there before us for sure.”
“So one party of two faster than us and a party of three who's not sure where to go?” Will asked.
“Seems so. Looked like they swerved over towards the Iron Works. We'll have to see when and if they arrive.” Jacob explained further.
“Seems manageable” Will noted, “Any idea of what we'll have to expect at our destination?”
“That's the other part of the bad news. I don’t know what kind of beast this is. I've dealt with my fair share of creatures and abominations but this one's new to me.”
“That's a first,” Will frowned. “Do you have any ideas, Ms Colm?”
“Can tell you that it's not a gator.” She had emptied her can. A moment of silence settled between them. The fire crackled and hissed while a lonely toad croaked its song in a distant puddle.
“That reminds me of a story I've heard near Morgan City,” Will broke the silence, “a young man was on trial for killing his own father and 25 more civilians. He denied it all. Avis Wyndham Jr was his name. Thing was, his pa, Wyndham Sr, was kind of a beloved man. Always kept a coop with magpies with him when he was out trash huntin’. He was some kind of scrap refurbisher.” Will gazed into the flames for a moment. “There were a lot of rumors around the eclectic Wyndham Sr and his family. Especially with the trial. Wyndham Jr said he only told those 25 men where to find ‘the beast’ they came to kill. The monster did the rest. Tragic story really.”
“Was ‘the beast’ by chance his father? A wanted man perhaps?” Jacob inquired.
“Nah. A war veteran, sure, but welcome everywhere. Also Junior had killed his dad at least a year before the men came. Supposedly that is. But folk like to spin tales so rumors spread about a screeching atrocity in the wild. Hunters needing to prove themselves came investigating, naturally. When asked, Wyndham Jr just showed them the way.” Will's gaze wandered from the flames over the dark silhouettes of the trees. “Or that's what he says. Can't really trust folk who are suspected serial killers”
“Says the one with the highest count” Marsha remarked. Will wanted to counter but Jacob cut him off,
“So, what do you say should we expect?’
“Don't know, honestly. Maybe a corrupted bird, maybe a voluptuous hive. Maybe the Sculptor's most recent bastard fiend?”
Jacob thought for a second. “Whatever it is, it seems to call the crows to it. Taking it on might be tough, not knowing what it’s capable of. We ought to rest a bit before we continue following the birds southeast. We leave before sunrise. You two rest, I'll stand watch.”
The two nodded in agreement. The thought of even a little sleep was too tempting to not agree to Jacob's proposal. As Marsha and Will drifted away, Jacob dimmed the flames. A tiny trail of smoke writhed its way up into the starry sky and faded before the patchy clouds. Silence settled once again. Just the buzzing of crickets filled the warm night. A few crows passed overhead, flying southeast. Faint bubbling in the waters nearby reminded him of the dangers that lurk unseen. He felt prowling eyes on him. This was the Bayou. Soon the hunt would go on. A new day was set before them. A day of discoveries, both well-meaning and dreadful.
~
In a vacant building far away, the last sunlight caressed the interior of an abandoned office. A cluttered desk, seemingly left in a rush, had been collecting dust for a while. Mice had found a new den in the typewriter that sat on a small table to the side. A pretentious ashtray had become the home for a family of cockroaches. The folders on the shelves lining every wall had fallen victim to moths. Bits of mold had strewn across the yellowed paper, driven by the moist air of the bayous. Only a few of the documents stored here were still untouched. From a marked folder the edge of a still legible transcript peaked out.
From the office of Charles Burke, Attorney
Typewritten, interview transcript
IN ATTENDANCE Cornelius Brooks (Attorney), Avis Wyndham Jr (Defendant), Margret Martha Sterling (Transcription)
Page 1
CB: Good morning Mr. Wyndham.
AW: (silent) (nods)
CB: The quiet type. I see. Well, we might be able to make that work for us in court. Let's start with the charges: 25 counts of first-degree murder, including the murder of your own father, Avis Wyndham Sr. With additional charges pending that tie you to a dozen other missing persons cases. And you intend to plead not guilty?
AW: (nods)
CB: I see. (...) Son, as your attorney, I am under a strict oath to keep whatever you say between us — well you, me, and Margret here. So, I need to know for certain. Did you kill any of those men?
AW: I did not, sir.
CB: Were you involved in their deaths in any way?
AW: It's safe to say they had it coming.
CB: Had it coming how, Mr Wyndham? Don't beat around the bush.
AW: Everybody knows what's out in the Bayou, Mr. Brooks. Everybody talks around it but doesn't want to admit it. But you all know what's out there. I reckon anybody who chooses to go looking for it wants to die. Death is waiting out there, waiting for us all. I reckon showing them where he's hiding is just the same as selling somebody a gun. Ain't no harm in it. Ain't illegal. Ain't me who pulled the trigger.
~