Goblin Ridge

 

The forest whispered secrets to Elroy Reed that night, dark promises woven into each gust of wind, slipping between twisted oaks and slender pines against a backdrop of granite boulders. His knuckles were white against the worn wooden stock of his rifle, eyes narrowed as he struggled to see through sheets of rain illuminated briefly by jagged streaks of lightning. Each flash brought pain—burning memories of places he'd never been, people he'd never known. It had been that way since the first time he’d been hit by lightning at age 12.

The static electricity flew down his arm, snapping with energy as he held his rifle. He pushed through the pain…and the memories.

The storm had come out of nowhere.

Thunder rattled above, shaking Elroy's chest, pushing him further toward the hollows he'd always feared as a boy. It was 1922, and the world was changing faster than he could keep up. Motorcars now ruled roads once claimed by horses, and the ancient trade of the blacksmith had left him behind. His forge sat cold, his hammers rusted, as he faced the bitter truth of returning to the family's dangerous tradition—moonshine. But tonight, his worries were lost to a more pressing dread. Caught on the ridge, where no man should be.

Lightning flashed again. He gasped, collapsing briefly against the trunk of a giant oak. Memories flooded in uninvited: screams of agony, flashes of fire, and the scent of arid, burning flesh. They weren't his memories; he didn't know whose they were. Doctors at the asylum called it trauma-induced hysteria, echoes of wars he'd never fought. But Elroy knew better—storms awakened dark truths from beyond. It had been that way since he returned from the Great War.

A small sound drew his attention sharply to the side. At first, he thought it was an animal—a panther, perhaps, or a stray dog seeking shelter. But through the sheets of rain the figure standing among gnarled roots and fallen leaves was unlike anything natural. Squat and hunched, eyes glowing like hot coals, its skin shining with an oily residue, the goblin watched him, unmoving beneath the pounding rain. It couldn’t have been taller than a ten-year-old.

Elroy blinked hard, convinced the creature would vanish with his clarity. But it remained. Its skin appeared greenish-gray, slick and leathery, its clawed three-fingers twitching slightly, as though restless.

“You ain’t real,” Elroy whispered, voice trembling with equal parts disbelief and terror. He shook his head fiercely, trying to dispel the vision. "Ain’t no goblins on da ridge."

As if in mocking answer, the goblin smiled, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. Elroy’s gut twisted. Lightning crashed again, blinding him briefly—and when his vision returned, the goblin was gone. A puddle of oily residue the only signs of something amiss.

A woman’s scream cut through the sheets of rain.

Branches clawed at Elroy’s clothes, scratching his face and neck as he stumbled toward the direction of the scream. Each step felt heavier than the last, mud sucking greedily at his boots, threatening to pull him down into darkness. Another flash illuminated the forest, showing a shadowed figure scrambling through the underbrush—a woman, drenched and terrified, her wide eyes filled with panic.

“Help!” she shrieked, her voice barely audible above the storm’s fury. Elroy moved faster, pushing aside brush and thorny vines with desperate strength.

“I’m comin’!” he shouted, voice raw with urgency. "Stay where you are!"

The woman turned sharply, just as another flash of lightning revealed the goblin lunging from the shadows behind her. Its clawed hands snatched at her dress, pulling her backward into the gloom. She screamed again, shrill and desperate.

Elroy raised his rifle, hands shaking violently as he searched for a shot. But the darkness swallowed them both too quickly, leaving only a haunting echo of the woman’s cries.

“Come back!” he shouted into the night, voice breaking. “Fight, damn you!”

He pushed onward, heart pounding painfully, haunted now not only by mysterious memories but by the guilt and fear that he might arrive too late. The rain was relentless, a cold baptism washing away any illusion of sanity or safety. Ahead, somewhere in the dense Arkansas woods, a goblin awaited—hungry, ancient, and terribly real.

Finally, Elroy stumbled into a clearing, slipping to his knees in the mud. Panting heavily, his eyes scanned frantically around him, rifle raised and ready. The woman lay motionless near the roots of a twisted oak, her torn dress soaked and muddy. His heart sank until he saw her chest rise shakily in the shallow breaths of survival.

Relief surged through him, quickly replaced by a sense of dread. The four-foot goblin stood over her, its glowing eyes fixed greedily on Elroy. It hissed, an unnatural, guttural sound that sent shivers down Elroy’s spine. Spiked teeth shone in the flash of lightning.

“Leave her alone,” Elroy demanded, voice hoarse but firm. The goblin tilted its head, as if amused, and took a step closer.

“Your memories are mine,” it rasped, voice barely more than a whisper yet cutting through the storm. “Each storm makes me stronger.”

Another bolt of lightning shattered the sky, igniting a searing wave of memories. Pain, screams, fire—Elroy's vision blurred, but through sheer will, he held steady, finger tightening on the trigger.

“You ain't gettin' no more from me,” Elroy growled defiantly, aiming at the creature’s chest.

The goblin laughed—a chilling, hollow sound. “You can’t escape the storm, Elroy Reed.”

Elroy squeezed the trigger, the crack of gunfire echoing louder than thunder, lighting up the night.

The goblin staggered backward with an unnatural shriek, its eyes flaring angrily as dark, thick fluid seeped from its chest. Yet it did not fall. Instead, it lurched forward again, clawed fingers outstretched, teeth bared in fury.

“Your fear feeds me,” the creature rasped. Elroy frantically chambered another round, but the goblin was already upon him, knocking the rifle away and pinning him to the ground with surprising strength.

Elroy struggled desperately beneath its weight, feeling its claws dig into his shoulders and then its teeth sinking into one shoulder. Above, the sky erupted once more, thunder roaring its primal rage. He knew this was his last chance. Gathering every ounce of his waning strength, he drove his knee upward, striking the goblin squarely in the ribs and right into the area where he’d shot.

The creature shrieked, loosening its grip just enough for Elroy to roll away and grasp his rifle once more. Gasping for breath, Elroy took aim, praying his trembling hands would hold steady.

“Back to hell with you,” he whispered, pulling the trigger again. This time the goblin’s scream was final, swallowed by the storm, as its twisted body collapsed into the mud and slowly dissolved, leaving behind only a dark, oily residue.

Elroy's head throbbed with echoes of alien memories still fogging his mind. The creature knew him. Was he cursed as the women's coven whispered? Had they sent this goblin after him?

Carefully, he lifted the unconscious woman into his arms. The rain softened to a drizzle, leaving behind faint whispers and the distant roar of the river rising. His footing was uncertain in the slick mud, and he searched carefully for patches of flat granite to steady his path. Step by cautious step, he moved forward, alert to any sign of another lurking threat.

The girl stirred weakly, her eyelids fluttering open. Elroy gently laid her beneath a large oak, quickly tearing fabric from his shirt to bind the wound tightly. As he adjusted her torn blouse, a medallion around her neck became visible. His breath caught sharply—a crescent moon etched into silver, the symbol of the coven.

“You're a witch,” he whispered, recoiling slightly.

Her eyes opened wide, fear replaced by clarity and determination. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice stronger than before. “But I am not your enemy.”

Before he could respond, a low, rumbling growl echoed through the trees, accompanied by the faint crunch of massive footsteps drawing nearer. The sound of trees falling in the distance cut through the storm’s fury. Elroy lifted his Bowie knife, heart pounding. They shared a glance of silent understanding.

"Hang on," he murmured reassuringly. Just half a mile more and they’d reach the trailhead shelter. They'd wait out the storm—and whatever else stalked them in these darkened woods, but it was another five miles before they were back in civilization.

Elroy moved cautiously through the thickening mist. He turned back to check the trail behind him and realized something—the oily residue where the goblin had fallen hadn’t washed away with the rain.

It was spreading.

And in the distance, more glowing eyes blinked open in the dark.

He knew deep into the depths of his soul, they weren't going to make it.