Pinkerton's Bestiary: Golems (Serial Novel)
Having dealt with the anomalous simple golems, it is now time to turn to their more standard variant. There are other names for such creatures, but we limit ourselves to the term “golems” because we typically deal with the more spiritual varieties of such avatars. As briefly mentioned before, these creatures can take the form of statues, giant clay figures, wooden carvings, full suits of armor, and so on, anything that can be made mobile by a lesser intellect. They are usually used as servants, guards, and goons by magical types. Wizards are most known for utilizing such creatures. Gargoyles would also be considered a type of golem, and their intellects tend to vary from case to case.
I say wizards are most known for using such creatures, but I should also point out that scientists have been known to stumble across the art from time to time, although they are quick to label the art something else lest they should be outed as something other than a materialist. If you’re wondering about a certain monster created by a certain scientist with a prominent name, you are correct. We would classify that monster as a golem, regardless of whether or not a human soul resided within the shell. Although wizards typically instill lesser intellects inside such vessels, there have been documented cases of human souls being found inside them. I’ll address one such case briefly, but first, I want to point out one of the few things known about their construction.
Typically, a golem is comprised of a single element, roughly speaking. Granted, I am being somewhat loose with the term, but, in this context, an element would be wood, clay, metal, and so on. There are exceptions. In one such case, a group of golems was comprised of a combination primarily consisting of silicone and vampire DNA. There are two human souls residing in these golems at present, but the case is still ongoing, so I’ll refrain from commenting further. I will only add that this new variation of golem has raised a number of questions. Could a computer serve as a golem? It was previously thought items with too many moving parts could not serve such a purpose because the various materials would disturb whatever energy the enchanter is utilizing. This has been called into question. For myself, I suspect that the magical addition to the combination, the vampire DNA, is acting as a sort of spiritual conductor, in effect replacing the primary element used in traditional golems. But this is speculation on my part. No one knows at present. There is also the question of whether or not AI is a sort of golem or could become a sort of golem. Granted, the scientists have reached these lesser intellects by other means, but AI can and most likely will serve the same function as the wizards’ golems; that is, AI will serve as a talking and active source of knowledge and protection, provided government censorship and other such limitations won’t stifle it. This suggests that, despite the modern world’s materialistic framework, they may very well be nearing the technological level of their antediluvian ancestors. This, of course, raises another question: will the modern age’s ignorance—its materialist paradigm—insulate it from the spiritual backlash suffered by the antediluvians, or will that ignorance speed up modern man’s destruction? I’ll let you and the Order’s theologians wrestle with such questions.
Before moving on to my experience with golems, I would like to point out that the methods for killing such creatures are too varied to be fully explored here. Suffice it to say that the whole matter will be determined by the construction of the vessel. If the golem is made of wood, burning it to ash may suffice. If it is made of clay, shattering the creature like a jar may suffice. If it’s made of metal, the whole thing might need to be melted down. If such physical methods prove impractical, and they often will, my advice would be to utilize the runes discussed previously. The runes are a grounding magic, so if one of the runes can be attached to the golem, then either the lesser intellect will dissipate, or the bond holding a human soul inside the golem will be severed, and the soul will be allowed to enter eternity. A final note. The spiritual tie to the vessel is very weak when compared to the relationship between the human body and the human soul. This might seem counterintuitive since some golems will be harder to destroy than others, but I shall do my best to explain the matter.
If the spiritual hold of a lesser vessel and a soul were as strong as the silver cord holding the soul to the body, one would expect the wizards to frequently commit murder or suicide. In the case of murder, they would be inclined to kill someone in the hopes of retaining a reliable slave. In the case of suicide, the wizard might attempt to murder himself by transferring his soul into what he hopes to be a permanent vessel. Neither is done because once a human soul is transferred into a golem, the vessel begins to break down at a more rapid rate. The wood rots faster, the clay chips easier, the mud and straw quickly disintegrate. The vessels simply cannot contain whatever comprises a soul for very long. Metal seems to last the longest, which makes sense, but even it will rust and erode more quickly than usual. For this reason, demons, both higher and lower orders, cannot remain in these vessels for very long either, a few months at most. The only exception to this that I’ve seen seems to be the silicone and vampire bodies I mentioned before, and I suspect the vampire DNA is the reason for the vessels’ endurance. Whatever damage is being done to the silicone combination is being offset by the vampiric DNA’s healing factor, which has been diluted but is still present. But again, the case is still ongoing, so I hesitate to say that these vessels have successfully held and retained a human soul. Some wizards in the past did attempt to implant shades/ghosts inside the vessels, but, for reasons unknown, the incantations would not hold. I suspect this is because, although the origins of a shade are unknown, a shade is essentially a programming or event recorded into the very stones—think of a badly scratched CD or record. These phantoms are more like a distorted song than an intellect. They cannot act independently of their environment.
This is why the wizards are compelled to create lesser intellects, minds that are more akin to robots or animals. Anything more begins to destroy the vessel, and this leads me into my story.
There was a town in the hills. A man wrote the Order complaining of missing chickens and other types of smaller livestock. The culprit was not suspected of being any sort of animal, supernatural or otherwise. The culprit had cut several wires during his thefts, and, on the night, several people had spotted a man wrapped in a hooded grey cloak roaming the countryside. They would’ve taken him for a drifter were it not for the fact that this man stood north of eight feet tall, was at least four feet wide, and had forearms that were simply too thick to be considered human.
Naturally, a golem was my first suspect. The only question that remained was whether I was dealing with a lesser intellect or a human soul. Typically, a case like this would suggest that a practitioner of some kind was using a lesser intellect to collect smaller animals for ritualistic sacrifices. The reason being that, for one thing, human souls inside golems are very rare. For another, golems do not need to eat, so why would the creature be collecting farm animals?
However, as has been mentioned so many times before, a practitioner would be involved in either case, so my hunt would begin with the wizard, witch, or “scientist” in question, not the monster. But here, I do need to add a caveat, since it is relevant. If you’re dealing with a single practitioner or even a small group of practitioners, then they don’t necessarily need to meet on public grounds like a cemetery. They can build shrines and such in their homes. However, in this case, my mind immediately turned to the cemeteries, which would suggest a larger group. The reason I felt this way was because I was dealing with a very small town, and word tends to travel fast in such areas. If our golem was stealing the livestock for a ritual, then the chances are high that someone would’ve seen the creature entering a home. Since this wasn’t the case, the local having assumed the golem was a monster eating the livestock, I knew the golem had to be going somewhere private. Therefore, my investigation began with looking for the satanic altars in cemeteries. In this, I was not disappointed. The area where this incident took place was one of those regions with a cluster of very small towns situated close together, each with populations ranging from two to four hundred residents. In such areas, there are normally a variety of smaller cemeteries. Some are well-kept and near one or two of the towns, while others, usually much older, are smaller, far more dilapidated, and practically hidden deep within the backroads of large forests and hollers. As I looked through the various cemeteries, I found the ones near the towns to be neglected, which was a sure sign that there was a smaller back-wood cemetery that was serving as a hub for occultists.
This is one of the more unnerving points when it comes to our work. In larger towns and cities, the cemeteries will invariably show signs of occult activity. There are just that many hobbyists. However, when a well-kept cemetery shows no signs of such activity, it suggests that the area is largely religious and that there is a very tight-knit community of occultists. This community will either be driving in from further out of town, part of a particular cult, or, as was the case here, part of a family with a long-standing occult tradition. This third scenario can be the most dangerous.
Many times, the group is usually comprised of a bunch of experimental kids with only one or two ringleaders who really understand their dark craft. Normally, bringing in another supernatural party—say a vampire I’m particularly fond of—to demonstrate the real dangers of this world will be enough to dissuade the rebellious teenagers. There’s nothing like a vampire turning into a human-bat hybrid to make a gaggle of teens reconsider their rebellion and both find God and reconcile with their parents. Very often the ringleaders will do nothing to counter such measures because, for as knowledgeable as they might be, they will have never seen such a creature in the flesh themselves.
However, when it comes to tight-knit family units, such methods will not be enough. There are often centuries of experience and passion behind their community, and they will just as soon die together as reconsider their ways. They will also be more than happy to murder a lone man with a cane who they happen to find limping through the woods at night.
I found my cemetery higher up in the mountains, quite a ways from the town, but still below the tree line. Really, there were two sites of note. But I disregarded the first after finding a number of beer cans and a few empty bottles of a particular brand of craft beer not found in the town. This told me that the first site was comprised of hobbyists who were driving from further away. It was unlikely that anyone present would possess the knowledge needed to create a golem. Substances like alcohol are only used for specific types of rituals, ones that require working people up into a hedonistic frenzy, but even in such cases, the practitioners are not going to litter for fear of disrupting whatever energies they believe they’re employing. Plus, those who are proficient in such arts are also proficient in cleaning up the scene of the crime. That’s not to say there won’t be signs—there always are—but they won’t be so sloppy as to leave trash. If you see such trash lying around, then it’s a high probability that you’re dealing with hobbyists.
This leads us to the question of what kinds of signs one should look for when scoping an area for occultic activity. Well, very often there are symbols drawn in various places and trampled grass in a particular spot, usually toward the back of the cemetery. Sometimes there will even be dried blood and scattered bones. And, more often than not, there will be a stash of supplies nearby. Nobody wants to be carrying an entire toolbox full of knives and a pagan alter. So, it’s common for the occultists to leave some of their implements under a stump, or buried in a shallow hole, or even hidden in an abandoned shed. If it hasn’t rained, you might even look for remnants of salt or chalk lines. There may also be pieces of abandoned twine and wire and such. You’ll inevitably find some variation of these items and perhaps even more if the area is frequently used.
Having found my suspected altar, the next thing to do was wait for the occultists to perform a ritual. I set up a camera connected to my phone and waited, but, having some idea of their holidays, I knew it would be close to a week before the next available opportunity. This gave me time to retrace the golem’s movements. I did so and quickly realized he was raiding farms running along a particular road. It looked as though he was traveling up and down a specific mountain, raiding one farm per month and moving to the next farm down the road each time. This also led me to suspect that I was dealing with a lesser intellect because the golem seemed to be making no attempts to hide his movements. Therefore, I knew the exact farm he was going to hit when he made his next raid.
Once I’d settled on this prediction, my next step was to narrow down one of three options. Between the nature of the second site and the presence of a golem, I knew I was dealing with an experienced group, but was this group comprised of experienced practitioners from out of town, a local cult, or a family? I began combing through the town records and found my hypothesis. Sure enough, there was a local family that lived off-grid and had a reputation of dabbling in witchcraft. The townspeople seldom spoke of them because no one saw them, save for a town run they made approximately once every six months. The construction of a golem was so outside the town’s frame of reference when it came to matters of witchcraft that they’d failed to make the connection. The farmer who’d reported the incident was already known for being easily spooked. Of course, he lived further up the mountain, so he probably had just cause for being spooked.
Anyway, having contended myself concerning the identity of the practitioners and having some idea of the golem’s route, I decided to wait for the golem’s raid, assuming it would also take place the night of the next ritual. Before conducting my stake out on the farm, I spoke to the farmer who’d first reported the incident. I asked if there were any preachers in the area who would feel comfortable with performing a blessing over the ritual ground once I’d confirmed my theory. He directed me to a preacher, and I made the necessary arrangements. After that, I called the Order. Assuming I was right, I knew the family would need to be dealt with, and, frankly, I wasn’t sure how to handle the matter. It seemed to me a certainty that the family would eventually escalate to more violent forms of magic since they’d already figured out how to construct a golem, but they’d yet to commit any acts of violence. Little did I know, this wasn’t true. For all my research, there was one detail I’d overlooked.
At any rate, the Order agreed to send some armed priests once I’d confirmed that the family was indeed the culprit. Having done that, I made preparations for my stakeout. It’s at this point in the story I suppose I should explain a little more of my skillset since this is the first case I’ve mentioned where I was forced to resort to violence. I won’t say from whom at present, but I have received some training. I am very proficient with throwing knives, and I am a moderate shot. Typically, I wouldn’t handle such a case by myself, but we were stretched for resources at the time, and I thought I had a decent counter for the golem. I won’t mention my plan at present because that will become relevant later. Suffice it to say that during this encounter I was armed with a belt carrying silver throwing knives and a handgun. Normally, I would’ve carried a shotgun because, again, I am a moderate shot, but I knew I would be moving through woods, and I do walk with a cane. Stealth, not speed, was going to be my only real defense, and I reasoned that a shotgun would be a hindrance.
Now, I did have the camera, so I felt no need to watch the cultists. My plan was to follow the golem after he’d made his delivery and confront it in his layer. Things did not work out that way.
After I’d made my preparations, the stakeout went exactly as I’d planned. The golem arrived, stole a few chickens, and began walking back up the mountain, using the road. I followed it, and, eventually, the creature turned off the road, traveling up the hillside through the woods. I was glad to not have carried a shotgun, as the trek was quite difficult with my cane. Soon enough, the golem reached the cemetery, and I found that I was right. The family, about fourteen males, for whom I had photographs, were standing in a loose group around their matriarch, who was standing in the middle of a circle created by salt. I remained hidden behind the tree line and watched the proceedings. The golem was very careful to step over the salt, which I found to be odd, and handed one of the chickens to the matriarch before handing another three birds to some of the other males. Once this was done, the matriarch smiled.
“Very good,” the old woman said. “You may go, Kevin.”
It’s not uncommon for practitioners to name their pets, but the way she said the golem’s name caused me to raise an eyebrow. The golem then began returning to the tree line, and I got a good look at its face. The giant creature was made of orange mountain clay. Rocks and roots protruded from the golem’s body and head. This thing had been poorly constructed. It barely looked like a body at all, but it did have distinct indentations to mark the mouth and eyes. The golem’s face was contorted, and I heard quivering moans as it passed by. As far as I could tell, Kevin was weeping. I was dealing with a human soul. Up to that point, I’d never seen such a thing, and I will admit this took me by surprise. I’d heard such things were possible, but seeing that poor wretched man trapped in that shell was disturbing . . . that’s the only word I have for it.
Kevin did not begin climbing further up the mountain as I’d expected. He began moving back toward the road, and I proceeded to follow him. I had one Bluetooth headphone in my ear so that I could hear the incantation as I followed the golem. This was very foolish, but I’d assumed that the ritual would be something typical. I figured the family would be asking for more power or a good crop or something of the like. If only I’d done a little more research.
As I followed the golem down the mountain, I heard the matriarch begin to chant as she killed the poultry. It was all very tedious until I heard the name of a little girl, and then I heard the Latin word for death. I sucked in a breath. During my time in the town looking over the records, I’d heard someone say that the mayor’s daughter, the same name I was hearing now, was deathly ill. I later learned that the mayor was about to evict the family from their residence. But I did not know this at the time because I had not bothered to ask myself why the cultists were doing the rituals, nor why they’d gone so far as to create a golem to speed their progress and reduce the chances of being caught themselves. After all, no one is going to believe that a giant made of clay stole your chickens. This was arrogance on my part. I’d simply assumed that these hillbillies, if I may use the term to reflect my attitude at the time, were simply power-hungry like most practitioners.
If you find yourself reduced to such desperate violence, you’ve screwed up, and I had. Realizing only then that the various rituals were inflicting an illness on the girl, and this last ritual was meant to complete the process, I raced back up the mountain as best I could. I did make it in time, but barely, and at the last possible moment, I was able to throw one of the silver blades into the pile of salt, breaking the circle and ruining the ritual. I didn’t waste time. My next blade found the matriarch’s heart.
Fourteen to one is not good odds. If I were to have any prayer of survival, I needed to scatter the bunch and create some distance so I could break the group up. I drew the handgun and fired rapidly, hoping to force the remaining family members to take cover behind the tombstones. I wasn’t exactly aiming, but I did manage to kill two of them. Twelve to go. Thirteen if I counted the golem, who was now undoubtedly racing back up the mountain after hearing the shots.
I won’t bore you with the details, but it was a long night of sneaking and waiting. After scattering the group with the initial round of gunshots, I didn’t dare use the weapon further. To do so would’ve alerted the others to my location, and I am certainly not fast. There was no way I could outrun them. However, I will say that I am very good with my knives, and I was able to fell the rest of them with the silver blades, killing them before they could make any noise. But this presented me with another problem, and I suppose now is the time to explain my initial plan.
I’ve mentioned before that hunters often use runes to ground magic. So, I reasoned that if I drew the runes onto some paper and wrapped the sheets of paper around the handles of the knives, I could hit the golem with one of the daggers from a distance and ground out the magic, removing the intellect from the vessel. Well, my first problem was that I was dealing with a human soul, not an intellect, so I didn’t know if the plan would still work. At this point in my career, if it could be called that, I wasn’t sure if the soul’s connection to a vessel was stronger than the connection to an intellect. My second problem was that I’d used all the knives killing the family members. I did have the knife in my cane left, and it did have the needed runes carved into the blade. But I would need time to unscrew the handle, and, as ridiculous as this might sound, by the time I’d removed the family members, I was highly fatigued, so I wasn’t sure I could keep a hold of my cane without the handle. I would have to chance it if the golem found me, but, thankfully, a plan formed in my head.
Again, I am not fast, but I am sure-footed. I felt confident that if I could just relocate the golem, I could remain behind him or, at least, follow his trail long enough for him to grow bored of chasing me and return to his hideout. So far, I’d only heard him a couple of times, but it had been a while, so I decided to return to the cemetery. It took some time to find it, but when I did, I used the remaining bullets in my handgun. I fired into the air and returned to the forest, using the camera to keep an eye on the cemetery until he arrived.
When Kevin showed up, I kept an eye on the camera as I slowly returned to the tree line around the cemetery. The man was making a variety of moaning noises, but he eventually spotted the last remaining chicken, the one the matriarch was about to skewer before I’d skewered her. He picked it up and stroked its head. Then he saw the matriarch’s body and kicked it before starting back up the mountain.
Upon seeing this, I realized the score. I’d been wondering why I had not heard the golem more throughout the night. It turns out he was no longer a willing participant in the family’s doings, even if his body was being compelled.
I followed him up the mountain, and the golem eventually turned into a cave. It was at this moment that I had to take a risk. I knew it would be smarter to unscrew the handle of the cane. I needed the time, but if I did that, then the golem would assume I wanted to fight once he saw the knife in my hand. So, I entered the cave, essentially unarmed.
I found the golem petting his chicken and then placing it with a group of goats and other livestock he’d kept in a makeshift pen. The man wasn’t just taking the livestock for the rituals. He was lonely, which was why he’d begun returning to the farms and stealing some of the creatures to keep as pets. I cleared my throat, and the golem turned to look at me.
I won’t tell you all the details because it was a very long conversation. It turned out that he was one of the sons of the matriarch, and she’d transferred his soul just as he was about to die from an illness he did not mention. As time went on, he became a slave, and when the mayor had threatened to evict the family, the matriarch had hatched her plan. He was a miserable creature.
“I thought I’d get to be with my family forever,” he told me. “But my wife couldn’t stand the sight of me. My children screamed, and I eventually fled up here until Mamma needed me.”
It had been some time since this ritual had taken place, and, seeing the golem in the sunlight, I realized he was falling apart. I don’t know if the man was in pain, but the cracks in his body told me he’d be a pile of dirt in a few months. I knew what was coming next. His captors were dead, and his wife and children hated him, so he asked me to die.
I asked him if he believed in Christianity. He told me that after everything he’d suffered, he couldn’t doubt it. That’s the ironic thing about our world. All this darkness does more to convince people that God exists and Christ is His Son than the world’s greatest apologist. He then said he didn’t believe God would take him. I told him no one was beyond repentance, and honestly I thought the only thing he’d really done wrong was fall ill and steal some livestock. That’s pretty mild in my world. He got saved in that cave; then I took my knife and rammed it into what served as his chest. The knife worked, which was a good thing because I had no idea how I was going to kill him otherwise.
The preacher blessed the cemetery, and the Order relocated the family and blessed their old dwelling. The women and children were not as tied to the rituals. It was mainly the matriarch and her kids. The husband had died years before, and the witchcraft tradition had come from the female line anyway. The livestock were returned, and I thanked the farmer who reported the golem for saving that little girl’s life. Of course, the little girl recovered, and I never bothered to mention the situation to the mayor.
Now, I want to stress that you should always check for motives. Don’t be arrogant and assume. Again, if you’re pushed to a desperate struggle, you’ve screwed up. Find the mistake and don’t repeat it. Golems are pitiful creatures. I’m glad they can’t contain a human soul for long.
