John Henry and the Carboy

[smokingboot]

Once there was a man called John Henry who fought for a living. He was so good at it that people from miles around would pay to watch him. The time came when he had enough money to buy land and build himself a house. It was an odd place to build, for it sat low beside a great slow flowing river that led into a vast tangle-rooted swamp, but it comforted him for reasons he couldn't explain to anyone.

He had no chance to be alone there. The people who loved to watch John Henry fight felt safe with him nearby, and followed him to the river where they built shacks and shanties. Soon he was troubled by their noise and the whole place was awash with dirt, but he didn't have the heart to drive them away. One day he heard a knock at his door and opened it to see two of the thinnest filthiest children he had ever had the misfortune to encounter, and he saw something else as well; each child's skin was thick with cuts and bruises.

'Who did that to you?' Was the only question he asked them.

'The one who calls himself our father,' answered the taller of the pair. 'He says if we serve him he won't kill us. But I'm afeard he'll go back on his word.'

'He's already killed our mother,' said the other, and then she bit her lip, while John Henry watched the tears form in her eyes. 'No-one knows, and those who guess are so scared nothing is done.' John Henry stood up before she finished talking.

'Something gets done today,' he said. 'Let's go to your house.'

They all walked there together, and John Henry knew when they were close, by the bones of many hung in the trees and the terrible smell of rotting meat. He walked straight into that house where the body of a woman was lying on the table, and something sat over her eating her flesh.

The demon looked up, and John saw no muscles or strength, only tree roots held together by shadow and tiny red eyes in all that murk. He threw himself at it and punched so hard it should have fallen into next week, but the shadows just parted around his fists and the tree roots clasped his wrists and thighs. When they began to tighten he guessed the kind of trouble he might be in, and tried to break away but a tendril reached up to wrap itself around his throat and the shadows came for his mind. It seemed to him he was bound to die; and he thought to apologise to the dead woman for failing her children.

He looked back at her face, and it seemed somehow her head had tilted, its eyes fixed on a shelf. There he saw a tiny poppet, all dressed in dolls clothes, its teeth bared in a smile, red button eyes glinting. With the last of his strength he pulled his arm out of that mess of tangled knots, and reached across to pick it up.

When his hand closed on it he felt a writhing between his fingers, but his grasp was firm, and he crushed that thing right under his knuckles. And as he did, his adversary fell apart, rotted tree roots falling to the floor, eyes and shadows blasted away by daylight.

Then he buried the lady and tore that house apart til not one board lay beside another. All the children would bring with them was a carboy full of some liquor they said their mother had made. John Henry thought they would live with him til they could find better but they had another plan.

'This is our gift to you, Mr John Henry,' the elder said. 'If you want shot of people, tell them what this does and they'll decide for themselves.' He did not understand but watched as they both took a swig, then they dropped to the soil and turned into little frogs hopping away into the swamp. The carboy stood on the earth where they had placed it, refilling by itself.

John Henry carried on living in that house for a long time, and whenever folk despaired of their days, he would tell them what the carboy could do; came a time when every single person who lived nearby drank, turned into a frog and went to live in the swamp. Their houses fell away into the mud and John Henry listened to their music by day and night. And when his time came, he pulled his house down himself and drank from that carboy, which he left standing right where the children had placed it.

Some say it can be found there even yet. And the frogs are still singing.