Knight Visits: The Hudson Hound

Knight Visits: Stalk your favorite paranormal hotspots with me, Philip K. Knight.

Tonight’s visit…The Hudson Road Hound...

Refreshing the page, I checked the stats again. Leaning back in my gaming chair, I folded my arms and frowned at the screen, personally offended by it.

In relative terms the podcast was new - four months old, which in the grand scheme of things, was practically newborn. Still though, I’d hoped – nay, expected – more than nineteen listens per week. Mostly because I knew they were from my grandmother and a handful of friends in school.

Ignoring the copious amounts of pings from my cellphone, I ran a hand through my copper-bronze hair, tussling it softly. What I needed was reach. The algorithm acknowledged consistency over quality, but audiences appreciate both. If I wanted to get my next episode out on time, Jem’s party would have to be missed. He was pissed about it, but eventually came around to the plan, but only when I promised to drop by once recording was done.

Clifton, Tennessee was a boring place to live. A town with one foot in the grave, but one thing it had in abundance was weird, and Clifton was a paranormal enthusiast wet dream. My goal was to capitalize on that.

Pressing the red dot, I leaned into the microphone, “and now, a word from our sponsors…” Technically it was true, I had a sponsor. Namely one – my dad’s second-hand auto business. He paid me twenty bucks a week (which was more his way of paying for my gas without making it seem like charity) for a ten-second jingle to advertise. It was the best I could hope for so soon into my 'casting career.

Hudson Road takes you north out of town, snaking its way through dense woodland as you leave Clifton before hitting the plains. After that it was smooth sailing on a straight road, at least that was the theory. In truth, too many locals have claimed sightings of a large hound-like creature which liked to run alongside their rides and occasionally use their cars as chew-toys.

One of many Dogman legends, it was too tempting to have the infamous Hudson Road Hound practically on my doorstep and not include it in the Knight Visit podcast. Was I risking life and/or limb as my friend Gracie warned? Probably. But playing life save didn't get many people far. And I wanted to go far. I wanted to go anywhere but this dead-beat town.

Picking up my hand-held recorder, I raised it to my lips, “Testing, testing.” Pressing play, my voice came through the speakers, sounding clear and precise. Smiling, I placed it on top of the other equipment in my backpack before pulling at the strings on the bag’s opening. Giving it one last tug, I made sure nothing was going to fall out before closing the flap over and catching it with its grip claw.

Mom and Dad were sitting in the living room, their attention on their respective books as I hurried down the stairs. My eyes were set on the front door even though I resigned myself to the fact that I wasn’t getting through it without the third degree. But that was the thing with me - I liked to dream big.

“Philip,” mom’s voice called.

I winced at the sound. She was the only one who called me by my first name, everyone else knowing I prefer my middle name, Kim. (Before you say anything, yes it can be a girl's name, but throughout history it was a popular boys name too. More so. Even Rudyard Kipling named his novel's protagonist Kim.) I stopped mere inches from the door, almost tasting the freedom. “Yeah?”

“It’s late.”

I checked my watch, before throwing a glance at the sun-streaked sky just beyond the frosted glass of the front door.

“It’s daylight,” I remarked.

“Don’t get snotty, son,” said Dad, not looking up from his book.

“I’m not snotty, I’m…”

Mom turned her blue-eyed stare on me. It was like getting a death glare from a White-Walker. “You’re only just out of grounding…”

I stopped myself mid-eyeroll and clamped my lips shut. That hadn’t been my fault. But freedom was within reach and the last thing I needed was to jeopardize it by mentioning the Rafters Incident.

“I’m collecting audio for the new episode,” I said instead. For all the hobbies I picked up and dropped throughout the years, my folks were great in how they encouraged me in all endeavors, even if they knew it would end in disaster. Of course, I had to listen to Dad’s pep talks about ‘real men see things through,’ but he never hammered on about it too much.

Mom’s brows furrowed. She looked like she was fighting a losing battle with her own thoughts. I was about to remind her I was seventeen years old, not ten, but her intrusive thoughts lost and instead of scolding me, she smiled weakly. “Stay safe. No trespassing. And your cell is fully charged?”

I held it up, shaking it, as if she could see from there. “Full,” I announced. Hurrying into the room, I kissed her on the cheek.

“Home by 11 or we’ll call your uncle,” she warned.

I shuddered at the thought. They said ‘all cops are bastards’ by way of protest, but I couldn’t help but think it was created specifically for my Uncle Jay.

Slipping my backpack off my shoulder, I threw it into the back of my truck and into the cargo box, making sure the other thing was secure - I didn't want that to come loose - before climbing into the cab. It had been my maternal grandfather’s Ford. Like him, it was old, a little clunky but 100% reliable and I loved it as much as I missed him.

Turning the key, it roared to life and I pulled out from the driveway, my mind full of Jem and parties and podcasts, safe in the knowledge that one day I would be a star. Little did I know, by the end of the night, I would be pronounced dead.