The Black Goat

By Des Maxwell

The Black Goat' is a short story that takes on a contemporary approach of the legend of Van Hunks and the Devil, based in Cape Town, South Africa. Jan van Hunks is down and out, a functioning alcoholic that is battling with the divorce of his wife. One wintry night he decides to escape the clutches of his studio apartment in the heart of Cape Town and venture out to find the darkest bar he can. He meets a mysterious character along the way, who advises him against his journey. Van Hunks doesn't heed this advice and ventures into an old pub called 'The Black Goat', where he encounters someone or something of immense evil...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Des Maxwell
• Release date: Dec 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9780994689009

Book preview

The Black Goat

By

Des Maxwell

Copyright © 2015 by Des Maxwell

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

First Published in 2015 by Audioshelf (Pty) Ltd.

ISBN 978-0-9946890-0-9

20 Kreupelbosch Way

Constantia

7806

Cape Town

South Africa

www.audioshelf.co.za

‘If there is a God, he will have to beg my forgiveness…’

– Unknown

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

I shifted around in my chair. I was restless. The TV stared back at me; it looked just as bored as I did. I couldn’t blame it, hell if I had to look back at my sorry ass every night, I would feel the same. What was I watching? Something about how bicycles are made. A few months ago I probably would have had some mild interest in it, but lately my interest in a lot of things, most things, had dwindled to next to nothing.

‘The tubes are assembled into a frame by hand-brazing or welding by machine…’ the TV droned on. I reached out for my tumbler of whisky. Empty. Never fear. The bottle was right next to it. I poured the remaining Clan Campbell nectar into my glass. Not the most extravagant stuff, but definitely not the worst. I had given up a lot of previous pleasures, but a decent whisky was not one of them. No ice needed tonight, it would go down quickly, though for what I was rushing for, God only knew.

I reached out again to my side table of vices and pulled out a Marlboro Red. My Zippo lit up my apartment in an orange glow for a second.

As I pulled deeply on the first drag, I looked down at the lighter. A beautiful piece, with a custom engraving of St Christopher on the well crafted metal casing. They don’t make shit like this anymore. My grandfather had given it to me when I was just eleven. Maybe he thought my lungs were ready for the long battle with addiction. I hadn’t proved him wrong.

My thoughts lingered on my grandfather. He was an expert fisherman from a young age and it led to a career and life at sea. He saved up and managed to buy his own boat and he would venture out every morning with a skeleton crew to mine the seas of Table Bay for Snoek and Yellowtail. I wonder what he would think of me now. I have a corporate desk job at a big export logistics company for seafood products. Not sure if that makes me a weather- beaten sea dog, but it has something to do with the ocean, I guess. Sorry grandad.

The restlessness continued. It was 10pm on a Friday night and I wasn’t exactly living it up. I stared out the window of my third story apartment. The Cape Town weather was up to its usual moody winter antics. Drizzle and sharp gusts of wind rattled the window frame. I decided it