Segor Afoot

Will Madison always believed in monsters, especially after the night he saw one.

Camping was a preferred hobby of Gerald Madison and his two sons, Will and Greg. Fresh air, good exercise, and delicious trout were Gerald's favorite reasons to venture into the Cherokee National Forest. Will, however, thought fresh air was too cold, hiking was not as much fun as baseball, and trout tasted yucky. But the worst aspect, by far, was being stuck with his nasty brother for a few days.

"Don't wet your diapers you little crap!" Greg was fond of shouting at him. He remained careful, though, not to swear. Swear names were the only taunts Gerald would not allow. Beyond that, he considered the rest of their horseplay boyish fun. Will did not.

Whenever Greg teased him, instead of standing up for himself, he hid under his bed. Will was only nine years old and Greg was thirteen, a virtual adult by adolescent standards. As a child, Will, like most younger siblings, looked up to his older brother. But Greg, like most older siblings, grew tired of having a lackey follow him around. Thus, on Will's eighth birthday, Greg decided to teach him a lesson.

As soon as Will laid down to sleep, Greg snuck into his room and jumped on top of his bed. Will tried to scream for their father, but Greg crammed a sock into his mouth. The sweaty, feculent tube sock tasted horrible and Will gagged and coughed. Nevertheless, Greg did not care. He pulled a large rubber eraser out of his pocket and clutched it in his fist. The beige eraser was hard, yet pliant, and Greg knew how to use it. He pressed the rubber flat against his right palm, allowing a few centimeters to extend beyond his grasp, and pushed the eraser onto Will's arm. He struggled to escape, but Greg's knees firmly pinned his shoulders to the bed. He rubbed the eraser up and down the length of Will's arm, carefully choosing the soft interior skin, where there was no hair to uproot and cause any bleeding. Nevertheless, it hurt and Will tried to scream as Greg rubbed harder and faster, but the sock sunk deeper into his mouth. Bits of used eraser, warm and flaky, landed on Will's face as tears crept out his eyes.

"Please stop," Will begged when Greg removed the gag. The pain was so intense and lasting that he had not noticed that the torture had ended.

As his larger and more spiteful brother walked toward the door, he left one final warning with Will, "Don't tell anybody you little crap. I'll beat the stuff out of you if you do. You're gonna do what I say from now on."

And Will did. If Greg said jump, Will asked how high? When Greg told him to leave, Will asked where to go? Every time Greg called him a 'crap' Will took it and sulked. He hated his brother.

Camping was the worst. There were no places to run to and no beds to hide under. Will endured Greg's harassment for three days and Gerald did nothing to stop it. But relief, at least a momentary reprieve, came on the final evening of their excursion.

One more cruddy night and then we'll leave in the morning, Will repeated to himself over and over.

"Hey crap, your dinner's ready," Greg said as he held a yellow plastic plate in his extended right hand. Will moped over from the tree line, a small circle surrounding their camp, and plopped down next to the fire. Greg tossed the plate into his lap, splattering beany weanies all over his face. "What a dork! Can't even catch!" Greg laughed. It was a personal insult to Will, more so than the others, because his brother knew that he was always picked last when the other boys played baseball after school. They called him too short, too slow, and once, a day Will unsuccessfully tried to forget many times, the captains picked two girls ahead of him.

"Shut up, butt-head!" Will snapped back, sick of the insults.

"Your brother was only playing, Will," Gerald reminded him as he shoved forkfuls of lukewarm beans into his mouth.

He was only playing, Will repeated to himself in a cartoonish voice. Well I'm sick of his playing.

"Eat up, you crap! We didn't cook this stuff just to let it sit on your plate," Greg teased.

"Eat your dinner boys, then I'll tell you a story," Gerald tempted.

"A story! I like stories," Will excitedly replied as youthful energy filled his imagination. Stories were an escape, a flight to another world. When Will closed his eyes, he was there, searching the planets with Starman Jones, running across the desert with Paul, and jumping down a hole with Alice.

"But you have to eat first," his father reminded him. Greg chomped away at the mush on his plate while Will sniffed at his. The pungent odor of the beans reeked through his nostrils and turned his stomach. It did not smell like beans, but more like rotten liver, cancerous and filthy. Still, Will wondered what the story would be about. Maybe Robin Hood, he hoped. That was his favorite hero. But was Robin Hood worth swallowing a bite of the disgusting beans? Yes, Will decided.

He closed his eyes and pinched his nose as he shoved one large forkful into his mouth. The slimy mush filled the crevices between his teeth and gums and Will thought he would vomit. He grabbed a cup of water and sucked down the entire glass, wiping his mouth and the remnants of the beans off his lips.

"Little crap can't eat his dinner," Greg cackled as he slapped his knee.

"Shut up!" Will shouted. He was embarrassed, even if he did hate the twerp, and the urge to cry plagued his heart until his legs quivered.

"That's enough!" Gerald shouted, putting an end to the name calling and Will's trembling. "You two keep eating and I'll start the story," Gerald said as he tossed his plastic plate into the fire. The flames flickered green and red as the plastic melted and Will felt an odd chill run down his back. His skin pimpled and he shuddered, once, even though it was a warm summer night.

Gerald cleared his throat and spoke in a deep, deliberate tone as his story unfolded, "We are camping in the Cherokee National Forest, but another tribe once occupied this land. They were called the Chocnaw Indians and the last of their kind died in the 1700's. But their legacy lives on. The last Chocnaw claimed that these woods were cursed and that a horrible monster would avenge the injustices done to his people. That monster was called the Segor."

"The Segor was a terrible monster, like a bear. Thick brown fur, a nose that could smell its prey a mile away, and teeth unlike anything you've ever seen. Four fangs as sharp as needles, but resembling sabers, hung from its mouth. Two pointing upward and two pointing downward. A long tail, with sharp barbs on the end, cut through the air like a whip. Worst of all, its breath stinks like a rotting dog, its teeth are bright yellow, and its eyes: red like two burning embers, can see through the darkness."

"Most people don't believe in the Segor, but it's real. Late at night, while campers are asleep in the woods, the Segor smells them and rummages through their site. When the campers awaken, they become horrified and the Segor senses their fear. It pounces on them, clawing their faces, biting off their heads. Until nothing is left except bloodied, dead corpses."

"How do you know that?" Greg asked as Will shuddered in fear, peering over each shoulder, searching for two red eyes. "If the Segor eats all the campers, how does anyone live to tell the tale?"

"Because one man got away," Gerald solemnly replied. "It was about thirty years ago, on a dark, overcast night. The man's name was Willie. He lived in Hazard, Tennessee, about twenty miles west of here. Well, one night while he was out hunting rabbits, Willie got lost in the woods. A brown jackrabbit, plump but fast, scampered between the deep trees and Willie followed. The rabbit was too fast, though, and when Willie bent over to catch his breath, he realized that he did not know where he was."

"The sky was hazy, black clouds covered the stars and moon. He looked in every direction, but didn't recognize any of his surroundings and there weren't any paths. So he walked back the way he came, or so he thought. The woods are a funny place on dark nights. You can hear things from far away and sometimes the things that sound far away are right on top of you. Willie didn't know that."

"Loud hoots came down from the trees and Willie prayed it was only an owl. He heard snarls in the distance and was convinced it was only a wolf, too timid to approach a man. But then he heard a moan waft across his ears on the light currents of wind. Willie hoped it was only the wind, but he'd never heard it make that sound and he suddenly remembered all the stories about the ghosts that walked through the woods at night. Elders passed the tales down through the generations about the wispy apparitions that floated a few inches off the ground and wandered the forest at night. Some of the ghosts were women, with white veils and smiling faces, but most were the damned. Souls that had lost their way because of an untimely death and Willie knew that those spirits only had one goal. To find the living and force them to join their world."

"Dry leaves cracked underneath his feet while wet blades of grass tickled his ankles. The soles of Willie's shoes were almost completely worn off and he felt cold. The winds rushed past him, cool at first, but then icy, like a winter wind, though it was only October. Then he heard the sound. At first, it was quiet, like an injured animal wailing from far across the forest. At first, Willie was relieved that it was not the moan of a ghost, but then he listened more closely. It was unlike any animal he had ever heard. Too high pitched for a wolf and too loud for anything small. Willie leaned in the direction of the noise, shielding his ear as he estimated how far away it came from."

"The wail shrieked again, penetrating the cold air.'Is that a baby?' Willie wondered. A horrible thought, Willie decided, unwilling to believe anyone would leave an infant in the woods. But the sound was eerily familiar. It sounded like a child, trapped and alone, but then the sound changed again. Grumbling, from the pit of hell Willie later guessed, rose through the air and became a full-fledged snarl, like a pit bull with a taste for blood. The growling grew louder and deeper and Willie dropped to his knees, covering his head, because he knew the beast was close at hand. He screamed, loud and high pitched, as he stared into the blackness of the woods. Nothing. No sound. Nothing came."

"Willie breathed a sigh of relief as he pushed his greasy locks of brown hair behind his ears. He stood up, ready to search for a way out, when the growl resonated through the air again. Much closer, this snarl was, and Willie knew it. Hot breath, putrid like cess from a pig's trough, wafted against the back of his neck. The tiny hairs on his skin stood at attention and the growling rang in his ears. The thing was behind him."

"'Help!' Willie screamed as he ran without looking back. Thick roots lined the ground between trees and Willie almost tripped, twice, but he kept running, screaming at the top of his lungs, until he was out of breath. He leaned against a tree, panting like a dog, as he finally looked behind him, and saw nothing."

"A rumble of thunder rolled overhead and Willie smelled the rain in the air. He knew he had only a few moments before the downpour began and he, most likely, would freeze to death. Frantically, Willie searched the area until he saw a pile of granite rocks and the opening to a cave. It was his only hope and he dove through the opening just as the first plump drops hit his back."

"The cave was cold and surprisingly large by Willie's estimation. What was merely a crack in the ground from the outside became a vast cavern underneath. The rain sloshed into the cave, bouncing off the surrounding rocks, and Willie backed away, trying to keep his feet dry. The tiny droplets reflected the emerging moonlight and danced, hoping up and down, following each collision with the rock. The cave was dark and as Willie slunk away from the faintest rays of night light his other senses became more aware and the cave felt huge."

"Odors, smells like a zoo, filled the air and Willie turned around and peered into the blackness. 'A cattle ranch,' Willie thought as he breathed deeply. Blood and steer filled the air around the old ranch Willie worked at before he left Texas and he missed those fond odors. But this smell was different, although similar. Willie breathed deep again and then stopped as he heard an eerie sound."

"Crunching, like a truck driving over gravel, rang in his ears. Willie leaned closer, trying to look through the darkness, but he could not. The crunching sounded louder and a tearing, almost ripping, sound joined it. Then it happened."

"Lightning crackled through the sky, barely illuminating the cave for a mere second. A white flash of light filled Willie's eyes and he cowered in fear. For he saw a terrible monster chewing the arm of a dead camper. The cave darkened and the only light was the searing glow of two red eyes. The beast roared in hunger and lightning flashed again. The camper's arm ripped off his body and then the lightning flashed no more."

"Willie wanted to scream, but he was too scared. He ran from the cave, never looking back, and praying that the thing did not see him."

"Days later, two hunters found Willie in the woods. He was shivering cold and dull calmness covered his white eyes. All he could mumble was, 'There's a Segor afoot.' That's how I know that the Segor is out there. So rest cautiously tonight, boys, for you never know if a Segor is watching you."

Will's heart raced as he thought, he had my name. The Segor is looking for someone named Willie! A sweat, cool and beading, broke out just below his brow and trickled down his face. Will's bony knees, firmly pressed together, appeared snow white as his legs felt numb.

"Will the Segor eat me?" Will finally asked as he sat on the verge of tears.

"What a crap you are!" Greg shouted and in that moment, Will hated him with more vehemence than he had ever felt. "There's no such thing you wussy! It's just a story."

"Shut up," Will mumbled, not at all convinced as he wiped a single tear from the corner of his blue left eye.

"Time for bed, boys," Gerald declared as he unfurled his maroon synthetic sleeping bag and crawled inside.

The boys followed suit and the fire, without the constant addition of kindling, soon died down to a hazy glow of embers. Will couldn't sleep, however, and he stared at his brother with malice in his venomous eyes. I wish you'd run away and leave me alone. I hate you! What did I ever do to you? Will wondered but he would never know the answer.

The woods were never silent, Will knew that, and sounds of chirping crickets, rustling winds, and hooting owls filled the night air. The natural cacophony resounded like an orchestra and Will closed his eyes, absorbing the sounds around him. Then, suddenly, everything fell quiet and Will, the only member of the family still awake, felt his heart race and skip a beat.

Something's wrong.

He rolled onto his side and tugged at the zipper on Greg's bag. All of his hatred was forgotten as Will desperately tried to wake his sibling. Greg flailed his arm, hoping it was an insect, until he became sick of the annoyance and sat up. "What?" Greg shouted in his loudest whisper. He did not want to wake Gerald. Their father was never in a good mood when woken up early.

"I heard the Segor," Will said with complete veracity and widely spread eyelids.

"You didn't hear nuthin'," Greg replied as he laid back down and pulled the bag over his head. "Go back to sleep you crap."

I don't need your help! Will decided as he peered in every direction. He wanted to find the Segor, though he did not know why, and then...well Will didn't yet know what he'd do after he found it.

I'll run. I'll wake up dad and we'll run. Greg can stay. He doesn't believe in the Segor.

The leaves surrounding the tall oak trees rustled in the wind and Will slipped out of his bag. Night air, even in the summer, felt cool against bare skin and Will rubbed his legs to warm them. The scraping sound of his hands across the dry skin was insignificant compared to the wind, but that reassured Will. At least the Segor wouldn't hear him coming.

More rustling, from a shrub rather than a high arching limb, captured Will's attention. He looked to his right, still bent over rubbing his legs, and peered deep into the blackness. Breathing, yes it was definitely breathing Will determined, emanated from the surrounding wood.

It's the Segor. He's behind those bushes.

Will cautiously crept to the edge of their camp. Twigs and dry leaves cracked under his feet and he cringed with each step, praying the Segor did not hear him. The rustling continued as the bush shimmied and quivered. Will's chest clenched and contracted as his heart beat so hard he could feel it in his ears. He thought his chest would explode and his legs felt weak. Nevertheless, he strove forward, driven by a curiosity. Will hated fear, but it enthralled him with an unquenchable burst of emotion and he felt compelled to seek out the source of his terror. Fear was a primal urge and he could not deny it.

Will approached the bushes as the rustling became louder and he peered over the edge. There it was, a huge black shape, barely visible in the darkness, but Will knew it was gigantic. He gasped and recoiled, stepping back just a little, as the enormous creature reared, appearing a hundred feet tall in Will's overactive mind, and ran further into the forest.

The Segor ran! But why? Will wondered and he could not help himself. He had to know, so he carefully slipped through the bushes and followed the monster into the woods.

He drew closer, just far enough to see the black behemoth again. The Segor was wider than Will expected. He thought it would walk erect, like a bear, but the Segor was long and slumped over. It rested near a clearing, just out of the illumination of the moon, but Will remained undaunted. He wanted to see the Segor's face. Four tusks, glinting in the moonlight, Will imagined seeing and he crept closer.

Sweat covered his face as it dripped off his brow and Will knew he was rank. He could smell himself and whenever he could do that, Will realized how filthy he was. Don't let the Segor smell me, he prayed as each tiny step brought him closer. The Segor made a strange noise, like chewing, as its head bowed to the ground and Will inhaled. A dead animal, maybe, Will guessed, but he actually could not smell anything. Whatever the monster ate, Will could not guess.

Finally, he reached the Segor, it was close enough for him to leap out and touch, but the darkness obscured its face. Will had to see it, if only for a second. Then an idea, a horrible idea, sprung to his mind.

Maybe I can scare it. Jump out and frighten it into the moonlight.

But just as Will prepared to leap, a small twig snapped underneath his left foot. It was a tiny twig, but in the quiet of a deep forest, it was loud enough. The Segor lifted its head and suddenly sprung backward, into the moonlight, and Will was aghast. It was not a Segor, but a deer. A huge buck that ran away from the intruder.

And Will was disappointed, though he did not know why.

He walked back toward the camp, less cautious and quiet, with his head dropped in a despondent pout. Will so wanted to be right, but, as always it seemed, his malicious brother had proven him wrong. There was no Segor. Sleep was all that awaited him for the rest of the evening, or so Will believed.

A ripping sound, like an orange peeled from its core, resounded through the air and Will looked up as he neared the edge of the camp. A giant creature, almost eight feet tall, stood over the campfire with its back to him. The thing shook its head back and forth as it ripped at something with its mouth. Will gasped and the creature's back straightened. It heard the little boy.

As the beast turned around, Will saw a blue denim shirt, his father's, laying on the ground in a bloody, shredded mess. Then his eyes turned upward and he saw the face of the beast. Two glowing red eyes stared at him as four huge tusks ripped through a severed arm. Too small to be Gerald's, Will knew the arm was his brother's. And he smiled. For the Segor was real and it was afoot.

Will, who showed no fear as he beamed in confidence with his discovery, stood resolute as the Segor devoured his brother and ignored him. For the Segor liked the taste of flesh, but respected those with true courage in their heart. Will found that courage, even if it was inspired by revenge.

Nobody ever called him a crap again.

Copyright 1998 Allen Woods

Allen Woods is a graduate of Emory University where he studied the history of the Aztec culture. He is a member of the HWA and his previous works have been purchased by or appeared in Lost Worlds, Art:Mag, Pleiades, Pablo Lennis, and the e-zine Aphelion where his novel Through the Dark Veil is currently being serialized. He recently completed editing his second novel which is in the hands of a prospective agent. He lives in Nashville, Tennessee and hates country music.

You can e-mail Alan Allen.Woods@mail.house.gov