Savannah Gore

"Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality”—Edgar Allan Poe

It is said that madness is no stranger to the human mind and when triggered, it is the worst of all manifestations displayed. Its vivid nature is the embodiment of an inherent turpitude. It cannot be solely measured by the irrepressible acts of our depravity.

Thus, we are unable to comprehend the sheer magnitude of its lethal grasp and its unyielding influence. There is nothing more disturbing than the actual pattern of its deception. A mind that is insane is a mind that knows no established boundary, or has a marked limitation. It will not be easily deterred nor destroyed, for it is a contagion that spreads like a blazing wildfire.

Time is the witness of its duration and end. No one can assume to know, when it will cease to exist. The madness of Savannah Gore was never intended to be understood. It is enough that it existed, and that its terror had no surcease. The narrative that you will read is harrowing, but its story reflects the experience of one man's journey into the mouth of madness. His name is Joshua Tucker. I had been traveling upon horseback all day on that memorable day of April, when I had reached the solitary house passed the central plains, in the year of 1890.

I would never be able to conjure in my nightmares, the place and name of the woman that would become synonymous with death, if I had not experienced her vivid madness in person. Kansas was a distant place to me, known only to me, by the famous outlaws that had passed there, and the native Indians that dwelled in the vast plains of buffaloes. I had passed through there on numerous occasions, but this time it was supposed to be different.

I had intended to start a new life, in another place away from Saint Louis, Missouri. It was time for a fresh beginning. All of that would pale in comparison to the brutality of the woman, whose name was Savannah Gore. I had come to the state of Kansas interested, in the wheat and corn industry. Topeka was my ultimate destination. I was told back in Missouri, how the local farmers would use horsepower and wheeled machinery, with their milling and grain storage. The prospects of finding success had motivated me to seek its fortunes.

I was aware of the 1889 bubble burst, and how many active investors were ruined, but this did not dissuade me from coming to Kansas. I was not yet married, and I had no children to occupy my family endeavors. Thus, I was free of that burden, and free to pursue my prosperity at will. Life had treated me fair, yet I had not stabilized my economy in one place sufficient enough to establish my worthy reputation. This was one of my main concerns that had consumed my thoughts.

The rural areas of Kansas had enticed me enough to see its magnificent beauty and landscape along the trip. I had found myself deep within the plains, where there were few houses that I was observing. Its idyllic nature was incomparable to other places that I had seen before. I could not dismiss the obvious danger of the Indians that were living, in these tracts of land that were the plains. I had reached at that point in time fatigue, and I wanted to rest my horse for a bit. Unfortunate for me, I was as well, lost and at risk of being robbed or killed.

From afar, I saw a shadowy image of the gathering of what appeared to be crows, but these sable crows were feeding off the carcass of a dead buffalo. The gruesome image had startled me at first that I must attest that I had never seen such a ghastly sight.

The beauty of the plains was often obscured, by the ugliness of death. I had passed by them, without any need to stare at them with a poignant expression. There were old folk tales and superstitions that said that the crows were synonymous with death.

There ahead of me had stood a lone, dull and gray wooden house. It was the ideal place, where I would stop and ask for general directions. I had hoped that the owner of the house would assist me in guiding me to Topeka. Once I had reached the house, I got off from my horse and walked toward the front door. Then, I had politely knocked, but there was no answer. I was uncertain, if the owner of the house had not heard me knock, thus I knocked again. There was no answer upon me knocking the second time. Was it possible that the owner or anyone else living in the house was not present? I had no idea, where the closest town was located at.

From the position where I was at, I could not see one in the near distance. It made me ponder for a moment, whether or not to remain or continue my trip to Topeka. As I was about to leave the property, an attractive young woman, no more than in her thirties, with beautiful black locks of hair had seen me. She had confronted me, with the austere barrel of a rifle.

Upon seeing her in that menacing posture, I had proceeded to introduce myself and acknowledge my intentions to her. I could see the serious nature in her penetrating, ebony eyes. She wanted to know what I had wanted. I had explained the dilemma I was in, and where I had planned on going. I had clearly expressed to her in my words that I meant her no harm. When I had mentioned Topeka, she had asked me why I was going there. For what business? I had told her that I had come from Missouri to start a new life in Kansas, to which she had replied that many have come to Kansas, and many have gone from there.

It was obvious to me that she was very protective of strangers on her property and had demonstrated her distrust in me. I don't know what it was exactly that I said to convince her, but she then had offered me food and water. Her attitude toward me had softened, but she was still hesitant to welcome me, with complete cordiality. She had lowered her rifle and invited me inside her home.

It was not my business to pry into other's affairs, but I did ask her, if she had lived alone. She had answered my question by disclosing to me that she was a widow. Her husband was murdered by the Sioux, and her two children had died, due to complications of an infectious fever. It was a haunting reality to bear. She was very valiant amid the tragedies, but indifferent in her raw emotions as if she was immune to her suffering.

I could only attempt to imagine in my thoughts what life must had been for her, childless and as a widow. She would relate to me that, it had been nearly eight years ago, since those tragic moments had occurred. I could perceive deeply in her testimony, how much she had to depend on herself to survive on the harsh plains of Kansas.

In particular, as a woman. We soon changed the topic, and she had asked me about my personal status. I had told her that I was a single man, with no children of my own. She thought it was odd that I was not married and without children. It was not common during that time period, for a man of my age to be of that unattached condition. I was not offended by her questions, as she was not offended by any of mine. We had begun to establish a rapport between us, even though we were practically strangers to each other.

The food which was beef stew with vegetables was delicious. I had not tasted a meal like that, in such a long time. There was something about her besides her comportment in general that I had sensed was mysteriously secretive. Despite that perception, she had revealed to me the important facts of her life that were the tragedies that she was forced to endure at a heavy cost. When I had inquired about the threat of the Indians imposed on her, due to her isolation, she had responded that she did not fear them and that she was protected always.

When I had asked her to elaborate, she merely said that she had a special relationship with the crows. That was when, I had mentioned to her that I had seen a group of crows, eating the carcass of a dead buffalo. She smiled and had replied that the crows must feed as well.

After we had eaten and had our conversation, my intention was to leave and head off to find Topeka. When I had asked her if she knew anyone nearby that could help me reach my destination, she had told me that she could take me the next morning.

That had meant that I would have to wait. I did not have much choice, since I was lost and had needed her assistance. The closest house to her home in the vicinity was a place that had sheltered former slaves and had a church. Unbeknown to me, there would be an oncoming storm that would prevent me from leaving the following morning, as planned. That was the least of my troubling concerns, for what would occur during my stay at that house of horror, would forever linger within my mind and make me despise profoundly, the evil of its sinful nature.

Upon that day, I had spent it helping Mrs. Gore as she was known to me, with the menial chores. I was to sleep that night in the barn outside. Luckily for me, it was not cold, and I could bear the weather. She did not have much livestock, or any dogs to guard cattle. The only animal I had seen upon my arrival was a lone horse that she would use for traveling purposes I had assumed. There was this pervasive mystery that was surrounding her that I had not solved its enigma.

The closest town to her was approximately twenty miles ahead, from what she had related to me in our prior conversation. Perhaps, it was rather odd to be living out in the plains all alone. I had been living mostly in the city and was not that acquainted to the life outside of it. I could only imagine the daily challenges she had to confront.

From the distance, I could see few buffaloes that had remained in the central plains. They were at one time numerous and robust. It was sad to see them, then reduced to a few bold animals. America was an expanding country, and its industrious ideas had collided, with the old ways of the farmers and Indians. It was still refreshing to see that, at least, parts of the country were preserved and unaffected by modern incursions, but for how long I had wondered?

In the time that I had spent in Kansas, I had appreciated its marvelous landscape. The few people that I had come in contact along my trip were truly amicable and receptive toward me. What I was not aware of was the startling fact that it was the perfect place to conceal the madness of an irrepressible terror. The familiar sight of the crows had arrested my attention, as they gathered on the rooftops of the house and barn. They were ever present near the area, and for some apparent reason, they had seemed to be vigilant as well.

Their piercing eyes were ominous, and their loud caws resounded. I had seen crows before in Missouri, but I had never seen so many of them gathered. Perhaps, I had exaggerated a bit in my revelation of them. They had the despicable reputation of being intrepid scavengers. I had adored the genuine beauty of sparrows, cardinals and other type of birds, but these ebony crows were the embodiment of a prevailing darkness that was eerie in nature and essence.

Their colour, their wings, their shape, their beak were all of one shade. They were the shadowy figures of the plains with their inimitable caws. There was a large mound of soil that had been placed there in the ground near the barn, as if something had been buried there purposely. Was the mound a burial place, or it was simply just there coincidentally for no specific reason at all?

It was conspicuous and bizarre. What I had thought peculiar was that there was no sign of the tombstones of either Mrs. Gore's deceased children or husband. Were they buried at another place or at a cemetery? I did not see any cemetery along the way, but I could not dismiss that there was eventually one.

I did see the glimpse of a church before I had reached the house of Mrs. Gore, as I had mentioned. I had suspected that this could be the place at the back of its grounds, where the cemetery was located at. Mrs. Gore did not seem to be much of a religious woman, nonetheless, who was I to impose my personal beliefs on her?

What was somewhat odd was the fact that during that whole day, not one actual neighbor although distant did not visit her once, or did she have another visitor. Was she not friendly enough, or was she simply too reserved to care to be social in her expected conduct?

The idea of being all alone in the plains had once again stirred my active curiosity. Evidently, she would be still attractive enough to get remarried if she wanted. She was too young to remain, as a bitter widow. She had begun to trust me more and treat me, with more affection and affinity.

I was not certain, if it was due to her necessity for a man, or out of her proclivity. I had suspected that it was more out of loneliness than anything else. That was a difficult reality that I could easily understand, as a man. Mrs. Gore had stepped away and gone somewhere. She did not even tell me where, and I would never know. While she was gone, I had noticed that the crows were never far away. They were always close by. Something in me had compelled me to enter the house, and I did. I had wondered, if the mystery that had bound her with her past would be revealed in the clues that I could have discovered?

Inside the house I had looked around, but I would find, no photographs, no personal items of her children, nor of her late husband. Was this because, she had wished to not be burdened by their untimely deaths? That was a realistic possibility. After all, who would want to be reminded of such a sequence of horrid tragedies? Why would she even desire to seek to relive that nightmare? I had noticed then, that there was a door that perhaps had led to a cellar, in one of the adjacent rooms. It was mostly a storage room. What could be placed under that door?

As I got closer, I did begin to smell a particular odor. I was not certain of its origin, but it was considerably present. I had not smelled this before, while I was in the house. Whatever that was hidden underneath was something that she had not disclosed to me, and it was quite secretive. Time would ultimately reveal what was lying under the planks.

The house from inside only had two bedrooms and a small kitchen. It was comfortable for one person. In the kitchen I had seen numerous knives. There were more knives than spoons or forks available. What had surprised me were the butcher knives that she had at her disposal.

It was my suspicion that she most likely utilized them for the slaughter of chickens that I had seen in a chicken pen nearby. Certainly, life in the plains was not easy, and the rural life was always challenging, especially being a widow. I had waited outside for her return. I thought for the moment it was prudent to not appear, as if I was too intrusive. Upon seeing her, I had the sensation that she was livelier than before in her demeanor toward me. I had no immediate inkling of what had caused this sudden display of her expressions.

I could only ponder this in my mind. I had realized that my trip to Topeka was becoming more an adventure. A trip that I would never forget, or dare to reminisce the horrific details of the events that had ensued afterwards. I had joined her at the dinner table that evening, when we had discussed the trip to Topeka. As I sat there in front of her in my chair observing her gestures, I could not help but perceive that she had been thinking about something of which I was not aware of its actual significance.

Her peculiar stare was indicative of her feminine persuasion, yet it was not wanton. I had hoped that the trip would also be good for her. It would allow her to escape the monotonous drudgery of her life for a bit. It was not my intention to change her way of life. I was merely attempting to offer her a distraction, but the more that we discussed Topeka, she had wanted to know more about my life, my inner thoughts.

This I thought was not uncommon, since we had established a friendly acquaintance between the two of us. I had revealed more about myself, knowing that I probably would not see her again. I did not have any deep secrets to conceal or to not disclose.

Thus, I had confided in that fact and told her more things about my personal life, with a measure of ease. It was not until she had started to ask me more involved questions, in particular, about what I thought on the matter of being faithful, as in a relationship. I did not see the need once again to hide anything from her, so I answered and gave my candid opinion.

At that time, I felt that we were two individuals in the middle of nowhere, discussing and sharing at random, experiences of a personal nature. This was not typical for me to do with a complete stranger. Even though we had reached a connection, it did not change the fact that we were still strangers to each other. The rain had begun to fall suddenly, as it pounded the shingles of the roof of the wooden house above. I could sense the pouring rain and see the lightning that had shone upon the plains. It was clear that there was a raging storm approaching, from the near distance.

It was enough to make me think about the trip to Topeka that was planned. I knew that if the rain had persisted with a vengeance until the following day that it would be unwise to dare to defy the full force of the storm. Therefore, I had to resign myself to that possibility. Of course, the rain could have halted by the morning, but that would not happen. The storm would not be what I would have to overcome that implacable night.

There would be a visible rage that was deadlier than the one that was emerging. A rage of absolute madness and terror. When I had implied that the night would be a stormy one, Mrs. Gore had smiled and was not worried about the approach of the storm, or its powerful effects. This had reaffirmed my belief that she was a strong woman with a strong will.

There was very little that had spooked her or rattled her nerves. She had offered me a drink of whiskey. It was night by then, and I did not see the danger in taking a drink or two with her. As we shared our glasses together, she had put on a phonograph that had a cylinder with music. I had heard of this innovative invention previously, while I was in Saint Louis. What I did not know was that she was once a dancer.

When I asked her, where she had danced, she told me that her grandmother was a dance instructor. She had learned how, as a small child. The next thing I knew, we were dancing side to side, step by step. It had been a while she said that she had not danced with another man. I had assumed she had meant, since the death of her husband. We smiled and laughed as we had danced, and talked as well.

It was not until half an hour had passed that I began to sense something had begun to affect me. My vision was becoming blurred. I was forced to stop the dance and take a seat. Was it the alcohol I had consumed, I immediately wondered? What I did not know as

I became weaker in my body was the fact that she had poured something into my drink that was leaving me drowsy and to the point of unconsciousness. I was unable to get up and before I had passed out completely, the last image I had seen was her indelible face.

When I had awakened, I was tied up to a chair. I could see her in the kitchen plainly, with the butcher knife in her hand. She was sharpening its pointed tip and preparing to use it. I had regained my vision and cognizance. Why I was tied up, I did not know, except that I had become unwillingly, her prisoner.

Was it something that I had done to trigger or provoke this precipitated reaction in her? Did I offend her in any way to cause her distrust toward me? I was confused by all this. It did not make any sense to me. What I had failed to realize was that it was merely her madness that had finally manifested to me in its authentic form. From that point on, I would encounter the real Mrs. Gore, and it would not be pleasant. It would be a gore that was worse than her surname.

I had asked her why she had tied me and given me a drink that left me unconscious. Her reply would be haunting and disturbing, as her behavior would be demonstrated. It was then that I had met the scornful and depraved woman that she really was.

The truth that I would confront would not only be unsettling but sickening. Mrs. Gore had kept from me, a terrible secret that I had not known existed. I had been curious about what was underneath the planks. There was indeed something there hidden, but it was not an ordinary cellar as I had predicted. The suspense had increased, as she admitted to me what was down there.

She had opened the door and had grabbed a skull from the mass of bones and skulls that were disguised by her treachery. I had no doubt then that I was dealing, with a deranged mind that was very cunning. Her derangement would exceed pure evil.

I was chosen to be her next innocent victim, although in her eyes, I had warranted my punishment. There was another secret that I had been pondering that she would confirm, the mound that I saw outside by the barn. From her own words, she would relate to me that they were the bones and skulls of her deceased children and husband. When I had asked her why she did not bury them, she would reply by saying that they had deserved no better place than by the barn. Her obvious indifference to death was extremely noticeable. Her once joyous laughter had turned into a maniacal laughter.

I had thought that I had begun to discover who she was in person, but I would be sorely mistaken. Savannah Gore was a cold-blooded murderess and one that was vindicative in her vituperation toward men. She was a poisonous viper in nature. I had begun to doubt why I even crossed her wicked path?

There was something else that was inclusive to her apparent insanity, and that was the participation of the cawing and cackling crows. She was devoted to them with a blind passion, as they were to her, as her devout servants always. It had terrified me to come to that sobering conclusion. I would learn about the truth about them, without me asking her. How did I not discern the symptoms of her insanity, if they were there? What about her genuine love for her two children and her husband?

Surely there had to be still within her, a portion of that love that was present. Was this part of the reason she had gone errantly mad? Whatever it was, there was a devious hostility that had been raging inside of her mind. If people had possessed a soul, Savannah Gore would not possess one.

I knew that time was not on my side, and that I had to react before I would be killed by her. Instinctively, I would attempt to free myself. I had to use my wit and astuteness. In another words, I had to outsmart her. She had a rifle that was by one of the chairs of the table. Quickly, I had to devise a plan that would be successful enough to deceive her. Deception was indeed the key word.

It was what she had employed against me effectively. She had tied my feet as well. Thus, I was unable to move my hands nor feet. The only moment I would have to react would be, when she got closer to me I had intuited. After she had finished with sharpening the butcher knife, she headed toward my direction. The storm was brutal, but she was more brutal. I had managed to unfasten the rope that was around my hands, during the time that she had been busy. I knew that I would most likely have only one opportunity to succeed in surviving.

When she came closer with the butcher knife, she said one last thing, before she had intended to kill me. What was that last utterance? It was a guiltless confession that she had murdered her two children and her devoted husband. How demented was her mind to have committed such a cruel act? She had even taunted me, by putting the butcher knife across my neck, as if to signal that she was going to slash my throat.

She took great pleasure in the pain and suffering of others. If there was still a semblance of the good side of her that I had met, then I had to find that side of her rapidly. Her initial hint of my death was an imminent peril that was no bluff. She had intended on murdering me, with a savage slice. I was to be her fiftieth victim, but I would survive in the end.

I do not know how to describe in words what had befallen next, for it was indescribable. As she had moved the butcher knife to make a deep cut to my neck, a strange force would prevent her. Unbeknown to me, it was the spectral presence of the spirits of her deceased children awakened. They had come to save me and to take her to the chasm of hell. The same crows that had once protected her would eventually betray her in the end. They had seen enough death perpetrated by her, as did the spirits of the children.

Suddenly, the countless crows had entered through the window broken in shards and had taken her away into the night of the plains, where she would never return. It was unbelievable what I had witnessed with my own eyes that unforgettable night. If I did not see it to believe it, I would not dare to make such a bold admission. I had managed to free my hands and then my feet also.

As I did that, the spirits of the children had vanished into the thin air of the raging storm, yet they did make one unusual gesture toward me, and that was their somber look in their eyes. Was it because they were unhappy to be immortal spirits drifting from place to place endlessly or did, they still have an ounce of love for the woman that had brought them into the world, but murdered them with no compassion?

It was a pity to descry the transparent gestures in their faces forsaken in their morosity. Even though I did not have children of my own, I had felt an immense sorrow that encompassed the gloom. It was pervasive. The last question that I had, which had not been answered was the most troubling. How long would her madness have lasted, if she was not finally stopped?

I had left that dreadful house and would never return again. The thought of what had transpired there was abominable in nature. There was no reasonable explanation to describe the madness that had destroyed the mind of a once beautiful woman. Before I had departed, I made one last glance at the wooden house and the crows were no longer gathered on the roof and barn. The crows were gone. The evil eeriness of the place had been replaced, with the howling sound of the wind that prevailed over the house of horror. No one would know what really happened in that house, more than I that had survived.

I got on my horse and left for good. Along the way, I had passed the church and house of the former slaves and had stopped for a brief period of time. I did not mention what had occurred back at that house, but I had the sense that they already knew. They would not dare to visit her. In fact, they had known all long, about the horrible madness that had consumed Savannah Gore.

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