Dust Bowl Children

By Wile E. Young and Emily Young

Times are hard for folks and it's even harder for siblings Calvin and Abigail Shepherd after the untimely death of their mother at the height of the Great Depression. With dust storms ravaging their home in Ross, Oklahoma, they wonder how they are going to make ends meet.

Already ostracized due to being children of an unwed and unusual mother, suspicion only grows when strange happenings begin to plague the town. Missing children, deformed animals, and strange deaths are only the beginning of this storm of the natural and supernatural.

As the dust blows, the Shepherd siblings find themselves stalked by an ancient evil that will stop at nothing to get what belongs to it, and that their mother might have had more secrets than they ever could've imagined in this dark retelling of Hansel and Gretel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Encyclopocalypse Publications
• Release date: Sep 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201749521

Book preview

Prologue

Osage County, Kansas

The streets of the small town were empty, the windows of the houses completely dark except for one. At the end of the lane, a faint yellow glow spilled into the street from the candlelight within.

Inside, a dark-haired woman was sitting at the kitchen table. She was middle-aged, but pretty, her pale forehead marred by lines that spoke of a hard life. She sat with her legs crossed, one hand cupping her chin while the other tapped impatiently on the wooden table in time with the clock ticking on the wall above her. She glanced towards the front door occasionally as if waiting for something.

Suddenly, for no discernable reason, the woman stiffened, her fingers pausing. There was no knock at the door, no sound at all save for the ticking of the clock. The pressure in the room changed, like the inhale of breath before a deep dive.

A gust of wind blew through the open window, extinguishing the flickering candlelight. The woman seemed not to notice the sudden darkness. I was wondering when you’d come, she said.

There was a pregnant pause before a shadow dislodged itself and glided closer to the woman. A voice, an ancient voice, slithered through the dark room spraying gooseflesh across the woman’s arms like sea foam. I have yet to lie to you, the shadow said.

The woman made no move to stand, but kept her seat at the table, eyes averted down. She ducked her head in agreement. True, she said. I was wrong to doubt.

Disregarding traditional niceties, the shadow continued. Where is she? The whisper snaked to the woman’s ears, making her skin crawl.

In the bedroom, the woman said, getting to her feet. I’ll take you. She walked down the short hallway, the shadow following. At the end, she softly opened a door, revealing a sleeping form within. Moonlight fell across the bed illuminating a girl of fourteen or fifteen. She favored the woman greatly with dark hair fanned across the pillowcase and strong brows poised above her slack and dreaming face.

The woman studied the girl for a moment before moving aside, letting the shadow enter the room. As the shadow glided towards the bed, the woman looked away. She didn’t care to see what happened next.

She made to move back to the kitchen, but had only made it two steps when a small voice asked, Mama? The woman froze in her tracks,but didn’t dare turn around. There was another small gasp from the bedroom and then silence.

The woman hurried back to the table, trying to relight the candle with shaking fingers. She took a steadying breath and sat down in the chair opposite the dark hallway.

Eventually, the sound of light footsteps approached from down the hall. The woman straightened and hid her unsteady hands beneath her thighs.

The girl appeared from the darkness. She turned to the woman and smiled, though it was not the warm smile of a child. She approached the table and sat opposite the woman. I won’t keep you long, she said, her voice girlish but also edged with something harder, steelier. She looked down at her hands, picking at a fingernail. I know you’ll probably want to clear out by dawn.

The woman said nothing, just sat straight-backed in her chair.

The girl spoke again, casually picking at a fingernail. How about I come back in, oh, let’s make it an even twenty. Where does that put us? 1935? Yes? Let’s do April 14 th of that year. The girl put a finger to her mouth, chewing the errant nail.

The woman nodded.

The girl dropped her hand and eyed the woman carefully. That should be more than enough time. That incident in Colorado was a close shave. Don’t let it happen again.

The woman nodded again, shifting nervously in her chair.

The girl smiled. Great. She pushed up from the table, stretching as she stood. You probably have a long night ahead of you. The girl started towards the door but stopped just before the knob. I nearly forgot, she said with that hollow laugh. She turned back to the table.

Another breeze caused the candle to sputter, casting long shadows across the room. In the semi-darkness, the woman gasped, then sighed. The flame steadied and in the light the woman appeared less tired, the lines on her face gone, her skin brighter. She appeared younger.

The girl’s voice came from the doorway, though it was pitched lower, deeper than an adolescent's voice. I always keep my promises.

Then she was gone. And before the clock struck midnight, the woman was gone too.

Chapter 1

Calvin

Mama died last week.

Lawman came over the dusty hill in that groaning black and white. I’d watched it come with all the excitement of pulling ticks. I let the axe drop from my hand, the small plume of dirt swirling like a twister and swiftly blown away in the Oklahoma air.

Big City Sheriff spoke words that I only barely listened to as his deputy laid Mama out on the barren ground. Even in death those eyes stared at me like it had been my fault. But I hadn’t been the one who shot her in the hold up.

Abby and I buried her out back beneath the old dead willow, no weeping between my sister and I as we stared at each other across the open grave. Mama hadn’t been one to tolerate wallowing in our home and it wasn’t something that we looked to be carrying forward. No preacher to talk about any kind of future dandy life in Heaven, as Mama hadn’t been fond of them. Drivel to soothe the masses, she had said. It hadn’t exactly made her overly popular with the townsfolk.

There had been plenty of dead wood to make a cross and it didn’t take me long to carve Mama’s name in it either.

She wouldn’t have liked that.

I glanced up at my sister as I wound the twine around the different sticks, fashioning them into shape. She ain’t here to tell me no.

My sister was a beaut, even in the potato sack dress that Mama had stitched together, her hair black as night. Anytime a boy from town came calling, I’d turn them away. Abby was none the wiser.

Mama had liked that.

Abby’s dark eyes pierced mine as she covered her mouth to prevent swirling dust from getting in. Black roller had come through last night and looked to be another one coming through soon. Mama was dead and buried just like the land we lived on. Problem was we didn’t have any way of changing it; no money, nothing in the supposed Land of Plenty.

My sister just shrugged dismissively and turned back to the small cabin that we’d spent our whole lives in.

The past five had been hard years; folks had packed up and left heading California way. I had told Mama we should have gone with them, but she had always refused. My work is here, your home is here, and it would be too hard on your sister. Always a bunch of excuses that I didn’t understand. I was seventeen now… about time that I should be out experiencing the world. Instead, I was living in the dirt taking care of my sister who hadn’t the slightest clue what life could do to her.

I walked to the grave and went about fixing the cross into the ground, stabbing at it with enough force that I thought my little creation would fly apart, but the dead ground held it firm. When it was finished, I found myself panting, feeling the grit and grime of the dust in my mouth that immediately sent me into a coughing fit as I stared up into the cloudless sky and the bright orb shining down mercilessly on our brown world.

Thought about saying some words or whistling grace, but I’d always been a bad singer and the dirt certainly wasn’t helping. Bye, Mama, was all I said and with that I walked away from my handiwork and back towards the house.

I could hear Bessie bellowing out in the barn, the old cow’s milk being the one good thing she was still around for. We’d had to kill the chickens after they’d stopped producing. The horse hadn’t done nothing either. I’ll tan you hard, Calvin, if I don’t see his meat in the stew. Mama had been merciless and Romeo had been my friend. I had learned to ride on him since Mama rarely let me use the pickup except for hauling mess around the farm.

The old Ford sat next to the cabin now. Sheriff had brought it back from the Apple where she’d met her end. Guess I could use it now, providing there was still enough fuel to get anywhere.

Abby was fixing what was left of Romeo in the pot when I opened the door. She eyed me, taking in my dirty rags. Shake off that dust before you come in, Calvin Shepherd.

I did as she asked, shaking it out the door but only succeeding in making it dirtier. Abby had insisted on washing most of our things over the past week despite the drought. I don’t know that there was any use.

I sat at the table and stared at my sister as she worked, her pale skin untouched by the dust. How did she do that? Where the dust touched me, it clung fast.

This is the last of it. We need more groceries, she said as she set a bowl down in front of me.

I’ll just go buy some more, I replied tearing into the stew greedily as Abby sat across from me.

We don’t have much money left, she said.

Two Lincolns at least, I replied.

Abby sighed. You don’t know what to buy, that’s why Mama always sent me to do the shopping.

You just want to get out so you can eye folks, see if there’s a doggy might want to take you away.

My sister sniffed, had probably hit close to the truth of the matter. She stood up and I felt my temper rise in me as she strode over and grabbed the empty sack she had used through so many trips. Mama ain’t here to tell me what I can and can’t do anymore and neither can you.

Anger shot through me like the firewater I had snuck on occasion, and I glared at her. I was the man. I was in charge. Mama had made sure Abigail knew that.

Do something useful while I’m gone and milk Bessie. Least something around here still provides for us. Abby swept out the door into the dirt and bitterness.

Chapter 2

Abigail

It was more or less a mile into town, though it was feeling a mite in the more category today. The top of my head was a halo of heat as the sun beat down on the only living creature in sight. No greenery for miles; no leaves whispering against each other as they offered me shade from the sun’s cruel eye, no cattle lowing as they munched on the greener grass across the fence. Nothing.

I could remember a time when I’d taken those things for granted, when I didn’t have to pull my kerchief over my nose and mouth to keep the swirling dust from choking me.

It was a time before Cal and I constantly butted heads, which seemed to be the only thing we did anymore. He was just always there, seeming to think he knew what was best for me, my faithful shadow.

But I didn’t need looking out for, not especially from my little brother. I may’ve only been four minutes his senior, but it might as well have been four years.

So what if I did want some man to find me and take me away? Is that so bad? But the way he’d flung the words at me, like a curse, had near implied I was the town floozy.

But this town was dying anyways. Everyone knew it. It was only a matter of time. Ever since the railway that ran ‘cross Main was abandoned, families started dropping like flies. Matter fact, just last week the Barnes’ left for the supposed Promise Land out west. Though it’d be a miracle if they made it that far; children scrawny, their overalls and dresses hanging loosely from bony shoulders, Mrs. Barnes with dark circles underneath her eyes loading their belongings in their beat-up Ford Tudor.

As the scant buildings that made up Ross, Oklahoma came into view, I noticed with new eyes just how deserted it really seemed. On my left stood the abandoned railroad depot, little more than an empty shack now. Discarded boxcars lay behind it like kiddie blocks tossed haphazardly aside only to have been forgotten.

Down a hair further, on the other side of the tracks that bisected Main Street, sat the largest building in town. Back in the day when Ross was as booming as a small town in the Midwest could be, it used to house a department store. Birdie’s, it was called, aptly sharing its name with the owner and proprietor who seemed to resemble a small finch.

I remember walking in as a child, Cal fussing and kicking the toe of his boot against the floor, but I’d loved it. Birdie would occasionally sneak Cal and me a sweet when Mama wasn’t looking. That generally seemed to shut up my brother’s whining.

Mama sometimes took us with her to get fabric and I always jumped at the chance to tag along. Walking amongst the rows of pretty dresses, I’d drag my tiny hands down each one feeling the soft crushed velvet or the slippery silk. I’d imagine myself wearing the fine garments as a princess in some non-existent land.

I snorted, thinking back to the pure childishness of it all. It was no wonder she went out of business. Who needed such fine threads round here? But still the store sat empty, the B having long since faded from the sign proclaiming its name. Colorful dresses no longer adorned the glass windows, but the mannequins had remained. They always gave me the creeps; their white faces with only the impressions of human features staring sightlessly at me whenever I passed, seeming to follow my every move. I still occasionally had bad dreams about them, that they’d slowly slink towards me if I weren’t watching closely enough.

On my right sat Boone’s Diner, it’s once cheery red paint now peeling and flaking off into the unforgiving wind. The Boone family had owned it for as long as I could remember. Polly Boone had produced nary a girl, much to her husband’s delight. Zach, their second eldest son, was one of Cal’s buddies and a constant bother.

The oldest Boone child was getting hitched tomorrow to a Tate girl. It was the talk of the town; there hadn’t been a wedding round here in years. There was even gonna be a preacher and everything. Ever since Brother O’Neal split town, we’d get the occasional traveling clergy, but no one permanent. The empty church still sat near the end of the street, its lonesome steeple standing as a sentinel over the community that had neglected it.

The drug store and several houses peppered the street, but beyond the diner was my destination: Huckabee’s Mercantile. I climbed the steps and attempted to kick the dirt from the bottoms of my shoes before entering; a lost cause as everything here was perpetually coated in a layer of it.

The bell chirped merrily upon my entrance, a stark contrast to Sal Huckabee himself who sat sourly behind his counter cleaning his fingernails with a pocketknife. What can I do you for? he asked gruffly.

I approached him; arm outstretched with my list. He grabbed it roughly and pushed himself up, stool squealing loudly against the floor.

As he gathered my wares, I glanced around at my surroundings. Behind the counter still hung the picture of Leah Huckabee, looking just as bitter as her husband. I wondered if she looked any happier now, wherever she’d run off to. But no smart man would broach that subject with Sal, no sir. So, her picture would forever remain in its place of honor, keeping the old man company.

Next to my elbow sat The Boise City News. The date atop read April 5 th, 1935; yesterday’s newspaper then. Relevant news wasn’t much of a priority round here. Boise City was still about twenty-five miles east of town. We were near in spitting distance of the Texas/Oklahoma border.

Sal lumbered back with my goods in hand, setting them on the counter and opening his ledger. He made no attempt at small talk. Mama hadn’t exactly been a well-loved member of society, a trait that apparently also extended to her children. I kept my eyes down, not keen on stirring up any trouble. Money exchanged hands and I quietly thanked the man before walking out into the heat once more.

As I made my way down the lonely street towards home, I caught my reflection in the storefront of Birdie’s. My dark hair that I kept pinned up was coated in such a layer of dust as to make it seem gray, my green eyes set too deep in my face, cheekbones too pronounced. It was a hungry face, a face that looked much older than its seventeen years. I had once considered myself pretty, but Mama had warned me of vanity, of the awful things men do to pretty girls.

Scarlett had served as a testament to that.

Something stirred me out of my reverie. I thought I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I blinked and looked closer into the dark depths of the store, but saw nothing. It was just my imagination. I backed away warily, eyeing the mannequins as I did. I felt silly, but was still afraid to turn my back on them lest they chase me like in my dreams.

I felt their eyeless gaze on the back of my neck the whole way home.

Chapter 3

Calvin

I took the can hanging from the rusty iron nail on the wall beside the door, fastening the bandana around my mouth to keep the dirt from making a shredded mess of my throat. Didn’t want to be catching the dust lung.

The wind was swirling fiercely outside. The thought of Abby fighting against a black roller trying to get home sent my spine quivering. I’d have to go find her if she couldn’t get back on her own.

I took a deep breath before I stepped foot out onto the porch. The wind howled from far across the plains and I was sure glad to see that the sky was grey and clear towards every horizon. The old wood beneath my feet creaked when I stepped off the porch and I felt the withering heat of the dirt under my boot soles as I started a slow trot towards the barn.

I looked off towards the main road that ran past the farm, the old barbwire fence line was the only thing that marked a path towards Ross. I hoped to see my sister there, already coming back from her errands in town. Nothing was there, of course. If anything, she’d just now be walking into town.

The barn lay about a hundred yards or so from the cabin. Silhouetted against the grey sky, it stood like a giant red scab eager to be picked off and blown away in the wind.

Bessie mooed inside, her cries echoing like some hell beast. I’d heard the term from Jeremiah Tate when he had run me and Zach off for stealing some ears of corn five years past. Called us hell beasts and when I asked Mama what it meant she had responded that I was a little heathen, that was what it meant. She said that it was from the Bible, the book she rarely talked about. It must have been the greatest day of Mama’s life when Brother O’Neal had decided that Ross no longer had much in the way of belief and set out west for greener pastures and unblemished souls.

The rusted hinges squeaked as I opened the barn door and hurried myself into the dark interior. A faded light shone through a solitary window set high in the ceiling. The ancient wood rattled something fierce from the gale outside.

I couldn’t see much in the dark, but I knew every inch by heart. Old hay clung to the recesses and crevasses between the stalls that were standing empty like silent memorials to better times. The dust whirled around in here too, and my boots made scratching noises as they scraped across the wooden foundation.

Bessie! I hissed into the blackness and was answered by a bellowing moo from the last stall on the left. Abby had been in charge with bringing her in yesterday while I’d been out at the well a few pastures over making sure that the two of us weren’t going to die of thirst.

The cow was a scraggly thing with barely any meat left on her bones; I knew I’d be slaughtering her soon if I couldn’t turn things around. But Abby wouldn’t like that; she’d tended this cow since she was a young girl and considered it a pet. Mama hadn’t allowed any pets. To her there had only been beasts that could be of use and those that couldn’t, and pets had been forbidden.

I threw open the gate keeping Bessie alone in her stall, the acrid stench of manure hitting me like a wave. The cow wasn’t old but when I looked in those big brown eyes, I saw they carried many dust-covered years with them. Bessie came stumbling out of the darkness at the back of the stall, her hooves clomping on the wooden boards.

Bessie, I said gruffly as the cow bellowed at me. I dropped the bucket under her swollen udders. She bellowed again and I pulled the three-legged stool from shadows next to the wall and began to milk her.

I lapsed into my imagination for a bit, a dangerous pastime when milking a cow, but I was thinking about Abby and the life we had out here. Maybe I wanted to be like the rest and head out California way. What was there here for us anymore except a cow that barely produced milk and a barren piece of land?

Abby would probably never go for it, but hell, I was ready to pack it all up and walk God knows how far to sunny Hollywood. I smiled to myself; the dames out there must have been some sight to behold. Only Scarlett Tate had ever caught my eye and now she was laid up pregnant with some no account’s brat. Like she would’ve had me anyhow. Only Zach had deigned to be my friend through the years and only Abby really went about trying to understand me. Sibling bond, I guess.

Bessie knocked me out of my daydreams, and I hopped up as her normal mooing changed; it started low at first and then grew as the bellows turned into a frenzy of agony.

What is it? Her hoof knocked the stool over and she bellowed angrily, tromping in the stall as she banged against the wood sending splinters flying. I wrapped my arms around her neck, attempting to keep her still and calm.

Shhhhh, I whispered in her ear, patting her side. The cow began to calm, her eyes focusing beyond the stall. Shhhhh.

The barn door banged open and I jumped, releasing the cow and staring at the bleak landscape beyond and the steadily flapping door.

I’d been jumpy ever since Mama died. Drifters came through all the time and I was constantly uneasy of one showing up and causing trouble.

It was when I went to grab the milk bucket that I noticed the milk was curdled, sickly yellow and greys mixing with dark streaks of blood.

My breath caught in my throat as I stared the cow in the eyes. If she hadn’t been a dumb beast, I thought she would’ve been begging. I picked up the bucket and resolved to dump it behind the barn. At least we weren’t gonna go hungry now.

Chapter 4

Abigail

Shutting the front door quickly behind me, I sighed and leaned against it, wiping my brow with my filthy handkerchief. I could hear Cal rooting around in one of the back rooms.

I’m back! I hollered in his direction as I started to put away the groceries. The shuffling sounds quieted for a minute, but he gave no reply.

Cal, I’m sorry for before. I was in an evil mood. Ever since—

I ain’t mad. Cal had crept out of the room and was standing in the kitchen, the shotgun Mama’d kept under our bed clutched in his hands. He looked paler than usual beneath his shock of dark hair.

I furrowed my brows. What’s wrong?

His usually hardened face began to soften, and he glanced up at the rafters as if he hoped to find the words he was looking for amongst the cobwebs. There’s something wrong with Bessie.

Is she hurt? I asked. Did something get her?

He shook his head, keeping his eyes trained above. I don’t rightly know. There’s something wrong with her milk.

My eyes were drawn back to the gun. You’re not shooting her, are you?

His eyes snapped back to mine, face hardening once more. What’s the point in keeping a cow that don’t give, Abby? We got to eat.

Maybe she’s just sick. Maybe Doc Stokes can fix her.

Stokes ain’t a cow doctor. He fixes people. What would we pay him with anyhow? We’ve got no money. Unless you’ve been holding out on me?

I exhaled through my teeth, trying to compose myself. Calvin did this often: pot stirring was the easiest way to get what he wanted. If he got you mad enough, you’d get frazzled and slip up. I wasn’t falling into his trap this time.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to smooth my face into some semblance of calm. Just let me ring up the doc, Cal. It’s worth a shot. He remained stoic, so I continued trying to reason. Sure, if we butcher her now, we eat. But what about when that runs out and we have no milk either? We’ll starve.

Cal sighed. Fine. But if she’s too sick or we can’t afford to fix her, that’s it.

I nodded. That’s it, I echoed.

* * *

Joseph Stokes lived alone in a small house just north of town. He was the only doctor for a good twenty miles and Ross was lucky to have him, although not all the residents seemed to think so. Some folks, namely Jeremiah Tate, thought a black man had no right working here. Not that that kept him from calling on the doc when one of his daughters took ill.

Doc Stokes had always treated Cal and I kindly. Mama would turn in her grave if she knew, but my brother and I used to sneak up to his place whenever we got a chance. He’d let us sit inside and listen to his radio, sometimes even give us a cold Coca Cola if it were a particularly hot day. He didn’t have a wife or children of his own, never had so far as I could tell, so he always appreciated our company. I still often wondered why he settled down out here; it seemed an odd choice.

A soft knock on the door signaled his arrival. Throwing it wide, I looked up at the tall man standing on our porch. Even though his stature was impressive, the man himself was not imposing, but relatively slight. His straw hat was pulled down low over his brow, keeping the sun out of his eyes. He was clad in slacks and a starched white shirt, though how he kept it that way was a mystery to me. He’d always been a very tidy man; his clothes perfectly pressed, his fingernails clipped short and kept free of dirt and grime—definitely not the hands of a farmer or laborer.

I beckoned him inside, closing the door softly behind us. Thanks for coming, Doc. I really appreciate it.

No trouble at all, but I’m not sure that I’ll be much help. Cattle aren’t exactly my specialty, although I have treated a few heifers in my day. He winked at me, and I couldn’t help but grin. Now, where’s the old gal? he asked.

I felt Cal appear at my shoulder. She’s in the barn, he gestured vaguely towards the side of the house.

Stokes nodded toward my brother, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one hand. Afternoon, Calvin. How’ve you two been faring? He glanced over at me, his soft eyes gently probing. Haven’t made it up to see you since your mother passed.

Cal shrugged, deflecting. I’ll show you out back, he said as he pulled his boots on and headed out.

Stokes looked at me, raising his brows. I shrugged and the two of us followed Cal out into the heat. We rounded the house