Blind Man Eclipsed

It was a quiet night like any other. Snow and ice gripped the ground outside like the fingers of a winter giant, powerful and relentless. Joel couldn’t see the November snows, but he could feel them; the cold sent shivers down his body and rang through his fingertips. Tonight was the night of an eclipse in the small town in Pennsylvania. The men from the tavern told Joel that he would be better off staying somewhere else for the night, because a blind man would be that much more vulnerable to the infamous legends that supposedly occurred on nights like this: ones that only came once every several years. Despite the warnings, Joel remained in his cabin in the woods. He enjoyed the peace and quiet, and he was accustomed to the cold. He liked it.

Joel Chant was a realistic man and never was one to pay any mind to superstitions. He endured enough bad luck in his life, but he didn’t credit them to the supernatural. Some people were just unlucky, he supposed. He regarded the realities of life like a chisel, sculpting away senseless dreams and useless stories until what remained was a stone of man who wasn’t surprised by much, and he prided himself as such. He enjoyed stories as a matter of passing the time, a thing he often did as a retired cab driver who lived alone. It was only four years ago when he moved into his humble cabin, away from the hustle and bustle of Memphis. Not a lot happened in Galley to begin with; there was a police station, a small clinic, a few stores, a gas pump, and a tavern that Joel occupied once every two weeks or so. Although he was still considered new to the town compared to the residents who lived their whole lives there, he had become somewhat acquainted. He was often the subject of gossip between the old men at the tavern, just because he was blind and lived as a hermit.

It was nearly five years ago to the date. Joel’s ex wife, a woman who went by the name of Deb, had a bad case of the schizos, and one unfortunate night not unlike this one, had attacked him with ammonia to the face, permanently blinding him. He spiraled into a depression before moving out here, but he finally found his peace. He could live with being blind; it didn’t stop him from enjoying the small things in life such as music and nature. Five years had passed, and Joel settled into an unshakable routine in his humble cabin.

“You should stay somewhere else tonight, Joel. Those woods by the railroad tracks turn bloody on eclipses, even the small ones.”

Joel gripped around his countertop for his lighter. He loved the cold, but the ice outside was closing in and turning his home chilly. He lit the candles that sat on his coffee table, and turned on his oven to let in some soft heat. Outside, he could hear the horn and feel the rumble of a train passing. Living by the railroad tracks was one of the best features of this land, in his opinion. He used the train as a schedule for his day, and now it was indicating that it was nearly 10 o’clock at night. The eclipse would begin soon.

His routine included eating dinner before relaxing to a bit of rock’n’roll music on his stereo before going outside and allowing the breath of nature to bring him into a bit of a trance, one that usually subdued him into sleepiness and convinced him to retire for the night. Sometimes, while outside, he would take the rope wrapped around his porch pole in one hand and walk out a bit, exploring. The rock’n’roll track was ending, and although he wouldn’t see it, he figured he would step out for the eclipse. If nothing else, he found a bit of humor in being able to return to town the next few days to inform the crew that he survived the bloody eclipse. In all of the five years Joel lived out here, nothing ever turned strange. He had his routine, and it had never failed him. Again, Joel had found his peace.

“We don’t allow our kids to play in those woods, and tonight we will lock our doors. It’s your land, Joel. But you would be smart to get out for an evening. Hell, it might even crack that wall of yours a bit and lighten you up!” The old man sat back in his chair, and Joel could hear the chair squeaking under his weight.

“You still believe in ghost stories, pops?” Joel asked, uninterested.

“I’ve lived ghost stories, kid.”

The music stopped abruptly. Joel could feel a gust of wind against his face, and the whisper of the snow falling outside. Ever since he was blinded, he acquired an acute sense of hearing. The gust had startled him; the door and windows were shut and locked. Even standing by the oven, he could feel the dark cold of the outside. “Son of a bitch.” Joel said to himself. It was approximately five minutes too early into his routine for the music to stop and for him to step outside. He began walking to his room to grab his coat when another odd sound stopped him in his tracks:

“Joooelllllll…” It was almost as if the wind had hissed his name. My mind is playing tricks on me. It’s too damn cold out here, he thought to himself. I know what I heard, the other side of his mind argued. It didn’t matter to him what the noise actually was, though. The wind doesn’t speak. Nature speaks in its own way, but not through the words of mankind. Joel was aware that, in a sense, nature had its own language: it would cry when in pain, and sing when in happiness, and dance when in solitude. Nature didn’t need words to express itself, and he truly believed that. It wasn’t superstition; it was just the music of nature. And since losing his sight, he had learned to really appreciate that music, right after the soul of rock’n’roll.

His bedroom was his home inside of home. He had spent many nights contemplating his life in that very bed, and had spent many more days reviving his happiness with the guitar that sat by the wall, but only in the afternoons. Living in Pennsylvania, the days and nights were often cold, and the thick blanket and heavy coat that sprawled on his bed were the only hugs he had received in years. And tonight, he would need that coat to hug him tighter to protect him from the impious winter.

Joel stood up after putting on his coat, but was suddenly filled with a dark sense of dread. It was as if there was a small candle burning in his chest that was rudely blown out. His legs stiffened, and he became aware that, oddly enough, a part of his brain was begging him not to go outside.

“The last time it came.. four men that were up there camping for the weekend went missing. They found the bodies almost a month after, all mangled and torn up. It was like a giant bear got to ‘em. But anybody from this town knows it ain’t no bear that lives in those woods, Joel. The boogeyman only lives in certain parts of time, but to him time ain’t no factor. And his home is any eclipse that decides to spread it’s evil in Galley.” Joel could hear the old man take a large drink of his beer after his ramble. “You should get out.”

The dark feeling slowly began to slip away, and as Joel came to his senses, he reminded himself that he wouldn’t let some silly ghost story keep him from following his daily pattern and enjoy the phenomenon of nature in his own way. But for some reason, the words of the old man replayed in his head like a broken record: “You should get out.”

Taking a deep breath, Joel began moving towards his front door. After five years in this cabin, Joel became a master at navigating his home, rarely needing to use his hands for guidance. His home wasn’t very big to begin with, and that was perfectly fine to him, and the straight shot from his bedroom to the front door was one he had done over a thousand times now. But as he neared the door, he became colder – much colder; and his cabin that had been nearly silent only a few moments ago seemed to scream with the wind suddenly. His hearing went on sensory overload; he could hear the snow falling and the ice thickening, the trees slap pine needles on each other and pine cones hitting the ground. He could hear the wooden boards of his porch croaking under the stress of the weather, and the slow creaking of his footsteps on the floor. Stopped in his tracks, a disturbing thought came over him: My front door is open. He knew he had locked it. His door was always locked, unless he was coming in or out, no exceptions. Then how, he wondered, is his front door wide open?

“YOU SHOULD GET OUT” the wind screamed at him ferociously. At least, that’s what it had to have been, right? The wind? Joel’s insides began twisting up in a panic. That wasn’t the voice of a human, but now he knew that it was definitely a voice. That was not the trick of the wind. His breath caught short, and his mind was in a frenzy as it tried to come up with a reasonable explanation for the sudden intrusion of thoughts. “YOU SHOULD GET OUT YOU SHOULD GET OUT COME OUT COME OUT JOOOELLLL!” The shock of the second sound of the voice dropped him to his knees, but he didn’t land on his hardwood cabin floor like he should have – no, he felt his knees hit the snow that had blanketed his porch. Joel was outside.

“Oh dear god, what’s happening?” Joel asked out loud. None of this made sense. And for the first time in almost four years, a thought washed upon him that he had spent so much of his time trying to rid himself of: I wish I could see! He groped around him for the rope that was attached to his porch, and in finding it, pulled himself back up to his feet. Now that he was oriented, he tried to clear his head and turned around to go back to the door. One step.. two steps.. three steps.. he found the door. He grasped the frozen handle and pulled, nearly throwing himself off balance again.

It was locked.

He was locked outside in a goddamn snow storm. He wasn’t even sure at what time in the evening the snow had turned from a light fall into a storm, but there was no doubt that the weather had turned violent. Shivering and gasping, he turned back around and leaned against the door. Damn it, Joel, get it together! Try to climb through a window! His mind advised. But he already knew: his routine and desperate need for solitude had him keep his windows locked. No exceptions! As a blind man, he learned early on that it was better to rid himself the risk of something stupid like a home invasion than to potentially find himself in a situation where his house was broken in to and he couldn’t defend himself.

Joel screamed in frustration. It was a cold, angry, desperate cry for understanding. He screamed until he thought his lungs might burst, and then he stopped - and so did the howl of the storm. It was utterly, dreadfully silent. It was so silent that Joel thought for a split moment that he had gone deaf, until he could hear his breath scratching the air around him.

“Come all the way out, Joel.” It was the only noise in the entire wilderness around him. Even the trees and wind had fallen silent. The voice had fallen back to a whisper, one that a thousand tiny entities were saying in unison. “I’m here now, Joel.”

Terror seized him, but he realized that he had lost control of his own body; he was walking forward, away from the door and towards the woods, rope still in hand. His mind begged his legs to stop moving, but they had produced a mind of their own. He could feel the snow crunching beneath his boot. He felt his hand open and the rope slip out. Now his only guidance was lost somewhere in the absolute, unmitigated darkness. But he did not feel alone. Were they right? The thought invaded his mind like maggots on a corpse. He didn’t want to even consider the possibility that there was some gremlin - some demon - that lurked somewhere in the eclipse. Things like that were only told in stories, and used to scare children and sometimes bring some people entertainment. But the thought filled his mind nonetheless, as he felt frost begin to bite his hands and nibble on his nose and ears.

His night ended quickly, lasting only a few seconds. But what followed his thoughts was an experience that felt like an eternity to Joel, a painful and traumatic ending to his young life of 40 years:

He fell down, his back hitting the ground like a rock and knocking the breath out of him. He wasn’t sure how he fell, but something wholesome yet abstract had knocked him down. And then the true agony began, as his legs suddenly felt as though they were on fire. He tried to scream, but his breath hitched in his throat.

CRUNCH

In shock, Joel felt both of his legs below the knee chop off. A tingling warmth of fire and horror rippled through his body.

CRUNCH

The pain traveled up into his thighs. He had one last petrifying thought before passing out for eternity: Oh dear god, I’m being eaten alive!

************************************************************************

Two weeks had passed since the eclipse. Big Bob and his wife had locked the doors and turned off all the lights that night, and tucked their children in bed without so much as a word of the legend. In Galley, you only looked after your children and didn’t tell them stories until they got older. The worst kinds of horror stories are the ones that are true.

Big Bob was sitting in his usual spot in the tavern, enjoying a drink of Crown whiskey instead of his usual Busch. Earlier that morning, his wife had asked him if he had expected to see Joel at the tavern that week.

“Honey, I tried to tell him to go somewhere else. I honestly don’t expect to see him there anymore.” He had replied. His wife had thrown him a rude look before returning with: “Well some friend you are. Have you tried to check on him? He wasn’t from here, he needed somebody to guide him. Lord knows he needed a hand to hold that night, with being blind and all.”

After that conversation, Big Bob did the least he could do, and that was call the constable and ask him to check on Joel’s cabin. “He stayed up there the night of the eclipse, and I imagine he was alone.” He had told the constable. With a heavy sigh, the constable agreed to go up and try to check on him.

Now it was late evening, nearing 10 o’clock. Big Bob turned up the news channel on the TV sitting above the bar. While he did feel a ping of sadness and guilt, the headline did not surprise him:

MAN IN GALLEY FOUND MANGLED AND DEAD IN GALLEY WOODS BESIDE RAILROAD TRACKS
“Earlier this afternoon, Constable Brodin called on the state police to investigate a murder in the small town of Galley. The body of a man was found mangled and frozen, both legs and arms had been removed and the body was laying nearly a dozen yards from the man’s cabin. The crime scene is still being investigated, but the police believe that the body is at least a week old, having been preserved in the ice outside. No suspects have been named, and no reports yet as to how many people may have been involved in the crime. The victim was reportedly blind, and locked outside of his home during the time of the murder. More to come on this story as details arise.”