Uncanny Magazine Issue 32 by Uncanny Magazine

Author:Uncanny Magazine [Uncanny Magazine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy, science fiction, weird fiction, magazine
Publisher: Uncanny Magazine
Published: 2019-12-29T00:00:00+00:00

© 2020 Sharon Hsu

Sharon Hsu writes speculative fiction, poetry, and criticism. Her work has previously appeared in Uncanny, Tor.com, and Augur Magazine. In addition to being a staunch Hufflepuff, ex-academic, and voracious reader, Sharon co-hosts and co-produces As My Wimsey Takes Me, a podcast about the Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries by Dorothy L. Sayers. Find links to her work at sharonyhsu.com and everyday musings on Twitter @pensyf.

The Spirit of the Leech

by Alex Bledsoe

Fifteen-year-old Miles Blackwell slapped the mosquito that landed on his neck, squashing it against his skin before it could bite him. So much for the expensive, mail-order “blessed” bug spray that his mother insisted he use. He was starting to wonder if the Lord really had favorite brands.

He needs to know, Miles repeated in his head, mustering his courage. He needs to know, and I have to tell him.

This informal mantra didn’t help much against the heebie-jeebies brought on by the Cades Bottom, however. Thirty square miles of west Tennessee swamp, marshland and old flood-control levees built by the WPA almost a century earlier, the Bottom was owned piecemeal by farmers and speculators, none of whom had any idea what the hell to do with it. Locals fished and hunted throughout it, a few good ole boys tried raising their marijuana in it, but mostly it was left alone and uninhabited.

Except for old Enoch.

And that was who Miles intended to visit. To share the good news.

“It’s the most important thing we can do,” Brother Megront told the teen class after church on Sunday night. “Sharing the good news will bring glory to God, and to you in his sight. It could be the difference between heaven and damnation on the last day. So whenever you see the chance, take it. And look for it.”

When Miles asked his Uncle Cletus who in town needed to hear the good news most, without hesitation he’d said, “Old Enoch out in the Cades Bottom.” Uncle Cletus told him how to find the old hermit, but also warned him, “That old man’s been there since I was your age. He’s the last one of ’em. Nobody’s seen him in years, not since the Red Scare, but I reckon he’s still there.”

“You really think he needs the good news?”

“More’n anyone else you’re likely to run across.” Then he seemed to suddenly comprehend why Miles wanted to know. “Lord, son, you ain’t thinking of going out there yourself, are you? Not alone?”

“No, sir,” Miles said promptly, secure in his belief that a lie that led to a soul being saved would certainly be forgiven.

Now Miles rode his bicycle along the top of a levee. The mosquitoes were thick in the air, but at least the useless bug spray did overpower some of the swamp’s mildewy odor. Except for the levee itself, he was far enough from town that he saw no sign of civilization in any direction.

Then suddenly, the skeeters were gone. It was as if they knew they’d find no blood to drink here.

Miles spotted the ramshackle building on a tiny island, connected to the levee by a short wooden walkway.

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