Ghost Story 1 [The Black Sheep]

A great uncle of ours walked a country lane towards home. It was twilight, and the tall trees shaded the road. It must have been late summer or early fall, because the air was cool.  It was very quiet, no bird calls, his footsteps sounded loud, crunching the dirt under his feet.  He felt very alone, and wished he hadn’t stayed out so late. He didn’t relish walking home by the light of the moon.

He heard rattling metal, and heavy footsteps approaching, coming towards him. Being a wise young man, he jumped behind the bushes lining the road, crouched down and hid. You were never quite sure what you might meet at twilight in the hills of Kentucky, and it was always best to be safe.

He peered out from his hiding place and saw three figures walking awkwardly along the lane. They seemed to be having trouble standing, all three leaning forward a bit. He heard them talking, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying. The closer the three got, the odder they seemed. Their heads looked misshaped, and their skinny legs and feet too thin to support their bodies.

He peered out more closely, and then he saw they were sheep. All three were as black as night. A rattling chain connected them at the neck, and as they walked they strained against it.  They spoke to one another in low tones, and seemed to be arguing.  Whenever they turned their heads, the chain would rattle, and their heads would jerk.

The middle sheep held a bottle, and every time it tried to take a drink, one of the other sheep would jerk it away. The sheep would baa and moan. The other sheep tried to steal the bottle away, and they would all stumble.  To our uncle’s amazement, they seemed to be drinking rye whisky, a drink he had recently become fond of.

When they came to where he was hiding, he crouched behind the bush and prayed. He smelt the acrid aroma of sulfur. It burned his nose and he suppressed a sneeze. After the rattling of chains passed, he again peered out on the road. He could see the backs of the sheep as they walked and stumbled up the road.  He wondered if he should follow them, or if anyone would believe his story.

Just as he was about to come out, and start on the way home, he heard someone or something else coming up the road. He crouched down once again into his favorite hiding place. He saw a tall man on the road. The man strode at a good pace. He carried a long black whip in his hand, and on his head were long horns.  Even without seeing his red skin, our uncle knew it was the devil.  

The devil walked right by him  and rapidly gained on the sheep. Our uncle heard the whip crack, and the sheep cry out in pain. He sprang out from behind the bush and ran towards home as fast as he could.

Mamaw said that after this, our uncle lost all interest in drinking and was saved the next Sunday at church.