Escape Goats and Eggcorns

The Dearborn Public Library was far from impressive. It had been provided to the community around the same time the town hall was constructed. Since not much else was available in Dearborn, Missouri officials thought the least they could do was give the community access to free books and WiFi.

The whole building was little more than 1,000 square feet. Four walls created a perfect rectangle that held 15 or 16 bookshelves, a few tables near the back for studying, and a small communal room that was available for events for a mere $15. The $15 went into the library fund in the hopes of expanding the quantity of shelves. Despite the small size of the library, it housed an unwarranted number of books. Books that covered the checkout desk and lined the tops of shelves. Even some books had to be stored in boxes, on top of boxes, and in between boxes.

When Brennan had taken the job as librarian fresh out of college, the library had maybe 100 books. The entire collection could be contained within one shelf, with space to spare. He reached out to the city council and even the county to inquire about a budget in hopes of expanding the collection, and they all but laughed in his face.

Did Brennan go through 6 years of school to get his Master’s in Library and Information Science just to be the caregiver to a collection smaller than most men’s adult material? No sir! He put those years to work and wrote dozens of letters to neighboring towns and their libraries, politicians, and philanthropist types.

Donations soon flooded through the doors, and now his next problem was trying to safely house them all. The locals were impressed with his new acquisitions, but the city council still offered little help, even after he’d done the footwork to price out a competitive deal on new shelves.

Brennan had to get creative.

Renting out the communal room was a no-brainer. There were enough kids in the town in need of space to host birthdays when the weather made the park unsuitable. The room had even hosted a wedding, which brought a tear to his eye. Something about books and love in a shared space touched his inner romantic.

He sold pencils for 50 cents, stickers for a dime, and even his services as a tutor for $2 an hour, though most of the time he “forgot” to charge for that.

Determined, but realistic, he chipped away at his goal. One day, he’d have a beautiful, organized library, and the entire town would thank him for his devotion. Until then, he’d continue to rotate the inventory so that each book had a chance to inspire and educate.

Today, he worked to box the books that occupied the first shelf at the library entrance.

It was the end of September, and school was well in session. The season was ending for self-help, time management, classic literature, and anything else he thought might help the students in their first weeks of school. He switched them out for a collection of Autumn-themed books. An array of spooky ghost stories aimed at younger audiences, some terrifying true-life nonfiction, and a whole gaggle of horror/thriller books. Stephen King, Nick Cutter, Dean Koontz, Lovecraft, Poe, Bram Stoker, all of them, or at least as many as he could fit.

He had been in the middle of rearranging Poe and Lovecraft based on personal preference, then opting for literary significance, only to change his mind again, when he heard a siren in the distance.

Brennan’s ears perked, and his back went stiff. Sirens in a small country town merited attention. If it were a firetruck or an ambulance, he might’ve brushed it off. Someone could be stuck in a bathtub or a burn pile gone out of control. Not his business.

But this didn’t sound like a firetruck nor an ambulance. It didn’t have the long drawn-out wees and woos associated with either. And, it was moving in the direction of the library alarmingly fast.

He skittered to the door, pushing it open with a hip, both hands holding the works of Poe and Lovecraft.

Just as he had realized it was a police cruiser, the vehicle flew past him and towards the heart of Dearborn.

“Lord have mercy,” he gasped. “50 in a 25 zone? Just shameful.” His concern for local speed limits aside, there was a gnawing curiosity eating away at his insides. Nothing happened in Dearborn, and if something did occur to warrant such excessive speed, it was likely something worth investigating.

He hurried behind the checkout counter, placed his books down, and began to fiddle with the old scanner/weather radio he kept tucked away. He spent a few minutes turning the knobs and caught a few words between crackling static.

“Dispatch send… downtown… on the loose…I repeat… backup… Dearborn… on the loose…approach with…”

It seemed the more he fiddled, the less he heard until there was only static.

He'd given up on the radio when the library door flung open. In came a child verging on a teenager, who hurried to the back without a glance at Brennan.

“Good morning!” He called after the kid, but they were too far gone.

Moments later, another kid entered, but this one stopped. He removed his cap and looked at Brennan with wide, shaking eyes set in deep, dark sockets. He twisted his cap in his hands and fumbled his words.

“Um, hi, hello, uh… Do you, uh, do you have any books on, like, occult stuff?”

Brennan felt his head shift back slightly as though the question had physically struck him across the face. “What kind?”

“Oh, like, the regular kind?” The boy twisted at this hat again, this time twisting it so tight that Brennan could hear the fabric complain.

He lifted a brow, taking in the boy’s sweaty forehead. “If I had any, they would be towards the back. Fifth shelf, across from the History books.”

“Thank you!” The child was gone before Brennan finished.

He returned to his task, but his parasitic case of curiosity started up again. It wasn’t every day someone went looking for books on the occult, much less two 13 or 14-year-olds who displayed some degree of distress.

Brennan stood at the first bookcase only to hear another siren in the distance. He didn’t have a chance to make it to the door this time as another police cruiser sped past.

“Hmm.” He looked over his shoulder in the direction of the boys, catching a glimpse of their small peering around the shelf and then swiftly disappearing. “Hm, hmm, hmmm.”

He heard hushed voices. He couldn’t make out the conversation, but whatever was being said was being said with such fervor that whispering was impossible.

It was his civil duty to be a nosey citizen, and so Brennan, quietly, inched his way from shelf to shelf until he was close enough to hear the boys.

“Listen, let’s try not to freak out, okay?”

“What do you mean?!” Brennan recognized the voice of the boy who had inquired about the books, even if it was hushed and a few octaves higher. “He set the woods on fire with flames shooting from his mouth! And– and– what about Sheriff Mueller! Tony, he flew 20 feet into the air!”

“I know! It wasn’t supposed to go that way. Obviously, we did something wrong.” The other boy, Tony, who had rushed into the building first, was attempting to be the calm and collected one, but even his voice held a tremble.

“You think?!”

“Shh!”

The boys lowered their volume enough that Brennan had to move closer, now just one bookshelf away.

“What are we going to do, Tony?” The boy with the hat squeaked. “My dad is going to kill me.”

“I’m thinking, okay? Give me a minute. Crap! I thought it was trapped in the circle. Do you think we left a gap?”

“I don’t know!”

“What about when I put the goat in the middle? It could have stepped on the salt and broken the circle. Didn’t you check?” Tony’s voice had an accusatory bite.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Brennan mimed straightening the books on the shelf in front of him in an effort to maintain some illusion that he was just working if he were caught. His mind was far too distracted trying to process what he was overhearing.

“Sometimes you rush through things and–”

“Screw you, Tony!”

“It’s not your fault, Marty. Just on account of your ADHD and all. Sometimes your brain moves so fast, and you miss stuff.”

Marty, the boy with the hat, scoffed. He huffed and puffed and formed all sounds except for anything intelligible. Ultimately, he sighed in defeat. “I didn’t even want to do this. You’re the one who wanted to see what would happen.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t!” Tony’s volume increased, and Marty hushed him.

Brennan heard the floor creak, the weight of the boys shifting to lean past the bookshelf, likely checking his location. He remained still, holding his breath, and in a moment their whispers continued.

“Maybe we missed a step or something? Just read to me again what your brother said.” Tony’s voice held a bitterness that waited to be released, like TNT at the end of a short fuse. He just needed a spark to set the blame fully on Marty.

Marty produced his phone and began to mutter. “Okay, okay, he said… uhh, he gave us a list of supplies and then the instructions. Create a circle, light the candles, uh…”

“Read it, Mart. Word for word.”

“Fine, okay.”

Brennan heard Marty clear his throat and leaned closer to the bookshelf in anticipation. He recalled Orson Welles’ 1938 radio broadcast of The War of the Worlds. He imagined the listeners hung on his words with the same baited anticipation he felt waiting for Marty.

“He said, “What up, nerd? Since you won’t let it go, I called that weird girl I used to hang with. I had to listen to her talk about demons, crystals, and boring crap for two hours, so you better be grateful, you little sh–”.”

“Come on, skip ahead,” Tony ordered.

“She said all you need to summon a demon is a few things we have at home, the right place, and an offering.”

Brennan drew in air so sharp it produced just enough sound to cause Marty to hesitate in reading. Summon a what?

Marty went on:

“You need salt, 6 candles, matches, chalk, and an offering. Find a location to do the ritual, but don’t do it at home. Dad will beat both of us if he finds out. If I were you, I’d go to the woods over by the park. There is a clearing far enough from view, and no one goes to the park anyway.

What you're gonna do is make a circle with your salt. Don’t use the good stuff, though. Get that cheap crap from the back of the pantry. And for the love of God, don’t leave any gaps in the circle or you’ll end up puking pea soup and hanging from the ceiling.

Draw a pentagram in the circle. Here’s a screenshot what’s-her-name sent me, ‘cause I know you’ll probably screw it up. At each point of your pentagram, put a candle, and then one candle in the middle. That’s FIVE candles on the points and one in the middle. I know numbers are hard for you sometimes.”

“Your brother’s a jerk.”

Brennan heard Marty scoff in agreement, but continued reading.

“Light your candles and try not to burn the woods down. At this point, you should have your summoning circle. Now, put your offering in the middle with your sixth candle. Say the following: “Daemon, esto subjecto voluntati meae! I call upon thee from Hell’s fire. Come forth and do my bidding!” You gotta repeat that until it works, I guess. She said you have to be stern in your chanting. If you hesitate, the demon will think you’re a little bitc-”

“Geez,” Tony sighed.

“Sorry. Ahem. “If your chanting works, a demon should appear trapped in your summoning circle. If he likes your offering, you’ll get a wish or something, I don’t know. If he doesn’t, well, nice knowing you, little bro. Hey, if you do end up with a demon bro, ask him to get me Margot Robbie’s number.” Then he just goes on about Margot Robbie.”

Brennan had to cover his mouth. Had he dozed off at the checkout desk again? The idea of two young children planning and then following through with the act of summoning a demon felt like a work of fiction, one he had probably placed on a shelf just that very morning. Brennan had begun to back away from the shelf. This had to be a dream or an elaborate prank, but he thought back to the police cars that passed not 15 minutes prior and the strange calls over the scanner.

“Okay, what did we miss?” Tony asked.

Suddenly, Brennan was pulled back in with the attention of a devoted pupil.

“We didn’t miss anything! Create a salt circle, check. Draw the pentagram, yes. I followed it exactly like the picture he sent me.”

“And I put out the candles and lit them all. I’m telling you we missed something, Marty.”

“Wait! Oh, no, wait. The offering! We never left an offering.” Marty’s voice pitched high, and he had to cover his mouth to control the volume.

“Isn’t that what the goat was for?”

There was a long silence, and Brennan held his breath, worried the boys were speaking so softly he couldn’t hear.

“What?” Marty asked.

“The goat. You said we needed a goat,” Tony replied.

“Yeah, for the end.”

“The offering?”

“No, for the end of the ritual. To get away.”

The boys share another silence, and Brennan imagined they all shared the same aura of confusion.

“Why would we need a goat to get away?” Tony asked.

“Because Thomas said we would. Hang on… Here. After he stops talking about Margot Robbie, he gives some warnings: “Let me be clear: this is a really dumb idea, but I’ve been young and dumb too, so whatever. My advice: IF things do get out of hand, make sure you have an escape goat. That way, you can get away clean, and Dad will never know you were involved. Otherwise, have fun raising hell!”

In a moment of realization, Brennan’s eyes grew wide, and his jaw fell to his chest as though someone had cut the tendons that held it in place, the weight causing his head to drop. What escaped from his open mouth was not a laugh or even a chuckle. It was somewhere between a witch’s cackle and the nasally snort of a disgruntled pig. When he slapped his hand over his mouth to muffle the sound, it settled in his throat as an uncontrollable, rhythmic growl made in the same way one would test the tenderness of their throat following a long bout of strep.

Any effort to remain hidden was pointless. Not only did his howling give away his location, but the laugh left him unsteady, and he had to grapple with the bookshelf between the boys and himself to stay upright.

Tony and Marty rounded the shelf, watching Brennan succumb to his laughter, but neither of them seemed to share his glee.

“This is serious business,” Marty said.

“Sheriff Mueller could be dead, and you’re laughing.”

“Oh, no, heheheh, no, I’m not laughing at that.” Brennan tried to catch his breath. “Were you going to ride the goat away?”

“What else would we have done?” Marty asked.

“Forget him, Mart. We got real problems, and we’re not going to find answers from him or his dumb books.”

“Oh?” Brennan managed to recover enough to stand upright and wipe a tear from his eye. There was an arrogance in Tony’s voice that hit a chord. “I can help you.”

“You can? Can you tell us how to fix it?” Tony asked.

“Eh, I can tell you where you went wrong.”

“Tell us!” Marty had a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“Well, the thing is, I’m super busy, and that would require one-on-one tutoring. That service doesn’t come free.”

Unmotivated, the boys searched their pockets. They each emerged with a handful of change and a couple of single bills. They thrust the chump change into his hands.

“Oh, alright. The word is scapegoat.”

The boys exchanged confused looks.

“Scapegoat, not escape goat, means a person or thing on whom you can blame the outcome of a situation, to avoid the consequences yourself. So in this situation, when your brother said to get an escape goat, or scapegoat, he probably meant to blame it on someone else, not to use a goat as a means of escape.”

A thought struck him, and he was lost in a bout of laughter. “Ironically, it seems like this demon you summoned did use the goat as a means to escape, so my apologies, boys. Both instances are correct. Aren’t words fun?”

Tony and Marty could only watch Brennan chuckle and chortle his way to the front of the library, where he placed the handful of change in his donation jar. His laughing fits would lessen and then restart as he recalled the situation over again, and in between titters, he would mumble something about the doomed fate of Dearborn.

“We have to leave the country,” Tony said.

“I think we have to leave the planet,” Marty agreed.