Backwoods Healing

George stood beside the line of stones as the moon glowed overhead. The dirt road through the cemetery was partially illuminated and the men gathered each had lanterns before them. The doctor’s assistant held a torch, his face grim as he stared at the earth where the grass would not grow.

“Are you sure this will work?” George repeated, his voice a painful whisper.

“Do you have any other options left, George?” The doctor asked.

The old farmer looked towards the road. His ailing son was sitting in front of the church. He didn’t want to see the night’s events. George wished he could avoid what was about to happen, but he couldn’t risk losing his last son. Two of his daughters, his wife, and three sons had all perished within the past 6 months. Maria had perished the quickest. One day she was vibrant and happy, the next she could barely breathe. She had become a completely different person.

His wife quickly followed her. And then went Ben, Joseph, Jeremy, and Sarah. His son Edward had been sick for the past four months but seemed to have taken a turn for the worst. They had tried everything, including sending him away for cleaner air. George had originally scoffed at that idea as well. And look at how that had turned out. His son could now barely stand on his own two legs.

George picked up a shovel. “I have no other options.”

The doctor called over the other men he had brought with them and together the group of seven began digging up the coffins of George’s deceased family. They started with the child that had most recently departed. Sarah. She had been fifteen.

The men lifted her coffin from the ground, making the sign of the cross over their chest before prying off the lid. George stepped back. He wasn’t sure if he could do this.

“Steady now, George.”

“This is my child.”

“And she may be killing the only one you have left,” The doctor was young, a newcomer to town with his own array of beliefs. He wasn’t the first one to mention this to George though, other town members had said it first. Someone is coming back George, someone is killing him. And then his poor son began having dreams. Dreams of his deceased family members coming to visit. First Maria, then Ben. But George couldn’t remember if he had ever named Sarah. Had he and George just couldn’t remember?

George stood back as the young man that had accompanied the doctor brought his torch closer to the coffin. He peered inside and by the flicker of the flame, George saw a flash of horror cross over his face. He grew pale and stumbled back.

“It is true.”

The doctor shook his head. “As I feared.”

George stepped forwards, peering into the coffin that he had helped create. There lay his daughter, with hair as golden as the day she was buried. Her skin was ghastly white, the same shade as the snow that fell in the heart of winter. Her lips were the red of roses, pulled back to reveal elongated teeth and drips of crimson along her gums. Though she slept now, she appeared fierce and lively. Even her nails had grown and in them he spotted chips of wood.

He covered his mouth, fearing the worst for his son. Would he suffer the same fate?

“What do we do?”

The doctor was extracting tools from his bag, his face now an emotionless mask. “You know what we do George. Get your boy and start a fire. Right on the wall. You don’t want to see this.”

The doctor held an array of knives. At his feet was a wooden stake and a large mallet. If they had found Sarah in the propper stages of decay, they simply would have driven the stake through her heart for good measure. If there was any chance it was still beating or giving her spirit enough life force to drain her brother, the stake would have stopped it. Instead, they would be extracting the entire muscle and burning it in a fire. The ashes would then be scraped into a chalice and Edward would be forced to drink it. The ashes would be mixed with holy water, left for the actors by the pastor.

George did his best to ignore the sounds of tearing flesh as he stood outside the carriage. He gave a quick knock on the door before opening and stepping inside. Edward had been his second youngest son and was now his only child. He had shrunk in stature during his illness and hunched like an eighty year old man. His skin was pale, the same as the being in the coffin. His thick hair had even lost its life and had become stringy and dull. His smile was forced.

“Hello father.”

George nodded. “How are you?”

“I am assuming I’m not well.”

George grimaced. “No, you’re not well. But we’re going to help.”

“Who was it?”

George contemplated how to best tell him what was about to happen. Would it really make a difference who it was? The same problem still remained. “Who do you think it was?”

“Maria.”

“What makes you think it was her?”

“She was the first to visit. In my dreams.”

“It is not Maria.”

Edward nodded. “Then it is Sarah. She was last.”

George looked towards the sky, wishing the moon could tell him the direction he should go. He supposed it was too late to turn back now. The deed had almost been completed. Why turn back now?

Edward began coughing, in the light of the moon George could see his chest rising and falling rapidly. Droplets of blood seeped through his fingers as his son tried to regain his breath.

It was decided.

“It was Sarah. It should almost be ready.”

Edward was quiet a moment, but George had learned to read his face well over the past few months. There was doubt and suspicion in his eyes, his lips set in a thin line as he concentrated on something George could not see. He knew what his son was thinking, what he was fearing. George had the same worries, but wouldn’t voice them. Not now.

“It’s going to work. You’re going to be fine.”

“And what will the town think?”

“Nothing. They’re the ones that have asked us to do this. To stop the spread.”

There was a whistle from behind the church. The smell of burning flesh, an unmistakable scent, had permeated the air. George had tried to ignore it, but had been unsuccessful. The thick smoke had worked its way through the courtyard, weaving in between stones of names that he knew and had landed squarely in front of them, inviting them to continue down this path that George feared he never should have stepped onto.

“I believe they’re ready for you.”

“They can’t bring it here?”

George shook his head. “This is best done by the grave. I will help you.”

“I’m going to need it,” Edward said glumly. He rose to his feet, slowly, rickets. His movements reminded George of how his father had moved shortly before his death. Unsteady, unsure, hesitant. He looked as though he were ready to fall at any second. Edward’s fingers were cold and clammy on George’s arm. They weekly gripped ahold of him and George grimaced when he noticed the red splotches that were now appearing on his shirt. There was spatter on Edward’s lips as well.

It was a thrilling site within the cemetery. Figures dressed in their best attire standing around the stones of his family. The doctor had ashes upon his finest pants and sweat on his brow. A silver cup sat upon Sarah’s tombstone and the dirt above her coffin had been marked with the sign of the cross. A ring of char remained where her heart and lungs were burnt.

“Are you ready to be cured Edward?” The doctor asked, leaning heavily against the shovel he had used to recover Sarah’s body. His tools were hidden from sight, sitting idly in his leather bag.

“I’ve been ready since this started.”

The doctor smiled and held out the silver cup. “Drink.”

Edward met his father’s eyes and gave him a curt nod. George released his elbow and allowed him to stumble forwards, accepting the cup from the doctor who quickly took a step back.

In silence, they watched as Edward drank.

He drained the entire cup and then set it upon Sarah’s stone.

***

Edward’s condition improved for a few days following the procedure. He sat outside and gazed upon the field where he had run as a child. He listened to the birds as they began to chirp, announcing the return of spring and with it an air of hope.

The hope however, was quickly dashed. Only two weeks after the event (which covered newspapers for three months after its occurrence) Edward passed into the next world. He was buried beside Sarah, his stone identical to hers. Between the two, George planted a Cedar Tree, hoping that at least some of the superstitions he had learned while growing up were true. Perhaps, it would keep away evil spirits. Or perhaps they would continue to walk, infecting the rest of the town.

Edwards’s wife remained on the family farm, raising their son Claude under the scrutiny of George. They were careful of their contact with the rest of the citizens of their hometown, always fearing a return of the terrible illness that had decimated George’s family. His only hope was that his grandchild would grow into an adult and carry on their family name, their family stories. George had never believed the process performed at the cemetery that fateful night would cure his son, but he had hoped. It was the only thing he had left.

Katrina Thornley is a poet and author that lives in rural Rhode Island. She currently has 2 poetry collections (Arcadians: Lullaby in Nature, Arcadians: Wooden Mystics), a collection of short stories (26 Brentwood Avenue & Other Tales), and a novel (Kings of Millburrow) available on Amazon. Links below:

Arcadians: Lullaby in Nature

Arcadians: Wooden Mystics

26 Brentwood Avenue & Other Tales

Kings of Millburrow