Curse of Remorse

by Waggoner, Robert C.

  Terry said: “What you doing?”

  “I think I have discovered some interesting things about what was going on in this Indian village and let me tell you what I have found out so far.”

  Glen took his notes and as Terry plopped on his bed, Glen turned sideways to face him and said: “This guy was a missionary that got lost and was found by some Indians wandering around the woods have starved and almost at the end of his rope. They were nice to him and took him to their village where he was fed and rested. After he recovered, he discovered he was not the only white person as there was a young girl with straw colored hair wandering around the village mumbling to no one in particular. He thought the young girl was a slave and a bit crazy too. After that he saw two black people, a man and woman who mostly sat by themselves around a fire. No one it seemed paid much attention to them and if they were captives, it appeared they could leave at any time. One thing was at night the young girl and the black couple sat around together talking in a language that he didn’t understand. When he was well enough to get around he tried to talk to the black couple and they just stared at him. It was the same with the young girl. She wouldn’t talk to him either. This is about all I have at this time and I’m getting hungry, how about you?”

  “Man I am right behind you. Let’s raid the refer and then we can get to work on the diary.”

  Chapter 8

  By one pm Candice had a mostly finished copy of the first report sent to her boss via e-mail. She included Ed on the report. Ed had called her earlier to report that the church service was on as planned to an expected packed house. She drove to his office and picked him up to visit the church. The snow was coming down harder now, but Candice was used to driving in the snow. The church was located on the edge of town. With the snow turning everything white, Candice thought it looked like a winter postcard scene as they found a place to park. It was noticeably colder out and the snow crunched under her boots as they walked to the front doors of the church. The church was built at a time that was described as quaint and that description sure fit the church and its surrounding area. The call of the bell tower rang throughout the town, like the call to dinner; a full house was found inside.

  Candice had taken a few pictures and now they jostled for a place to see what developed. She had to admire the good Reverend Chris Goodfellow and his family for holding service with the recent development of his daughter’s eyes. As Reverend Chris took the position behind the alter, he raised his hands to tell all to sit down and listen to what the good Reverend Goodfellow had to pray to God about. Sitting in the front row of pews, his wife and daughter sat like stones not moving or seemingly unaware of what was going on around them.

  Candice got a bit antsy after an hour of listening to Chris preaching what essentially amounted to a ‘This is in God’s hands’ and that was that. Ed on the other hand had made some eye contact and she guessed he had lined up some town folk to chat with after the service.

  She was surprised when an old man slowly walked to the pulpit and was helped up by Chris. He walked to the front of the stage and waited to catch his breath. The room was silent as a grave yard and Candice thought she could hear her own heart beating in her chest.

  Candice was wondering how old this guy was when he began to speak in a voice that carried to the back of the church much stronger than belied his age. He said: “Most of you know who I am and who my family was and still are residents of this community. My family was one of the original nine hundred that came here in 1629. We established our plots of land and have survived the last almost four hundred years without a blemish on our name. For those of you who don’t know, I am over one hundred and my father lived one year short of one hundred. His father, my great grandfather lived for ninety five years. Our bibles prove the years I speak of. Our history has been written down and orally recorded.

  Well, I am here today to tell you of a dark period of time when a witch hunt reared its ugly head and many fine folks were wrongly accused and some greedy business men were behind the terrible witch business. My great grandfather spoke of a time when this community would be affected in such a way as to redeem those wrongfully accused of witch craft. I’ve never forgotten his words and now I will tell you the story that was passed on to me.

  It started when a pregnant woman was accused of witch craft. She and her thirteen year old daughter were put into a room that had no light and were given only two meals a day. The woman gave birth to a still born and it was some days before someone came and removed the dead child. By that time the woman was stark raving mad and the daughter had turned silent and when they were released, the mother killed herself and the young girl disappeared into the forest. During her ranting and raving, before she killed herself, she told all that would listen that something bad would happen in the future from what they had done to her and family. She kept repeating the number thirteen over and over again.

  Well, I’ve told my story and now it is time for me to go home and rest my old bones. I wish you all the best, but finding an answer to this new development is, well, I don’t know what to say.”

  Candice had a chill run up and down her spine and it wasn’t from the cold seeping in under the door. A murmur of low voices spread across the church and Candice looked at the stained glass window depicting Jesus on the cross, wondering how He was going to protect this town against some witchcraft or paranormal activity. Candice stood up and felt the need to find another place to get warm before the chill of doom reached out and grabbed her. She nodded her head at Ed and he followed suit as she went out the door into a heavy snowfall that bordered on a whiteout. She thought it a bit of irony that with the whiteout conditions; the same was going to happen to more and more of the town’s kids turning thirteen.

  Both Ed and her made their way slowly back into town and he suggested lunch. She agreed and back they went to the same restaurant as before. Candice felt like a regular walking in this time kicking the snow off her boots before entering to smiles from both the cook and waitress. Hot coffee was on the table before she had a chance to take off her down coat. She smiled at the waitress and wrapped her hands around the hot cup of coffee.

  At around the same time that Candice and Ed were digging into some excellent fried chicken and mashed potatoes Joan and her family were walking through the door of their house. Ann was hanging onto her mother and Roy was leading the way. Joan never felt so tired and wrung out in her life. She led Ann to the sofa and plopped down dragging Ann with her. Ann snuggled up to her mother and in no time she was asleep. Roy let out a big sigh and sat across from Joan and said: “Honey we really need to get our act together and make a plan. Regardless of the circumstances we need to learn how to live with Ann’s condition. What do you think?”

  Joan said, “Yes, I agree and in the meantime we need to have some late lunch. I for one am hungry and I wonder what Glen is doing?”

  Roy said, “I’ll go see in a minute. Right now I need a few minutes to relax.” He flashed back on the sermon and the day in church and what the old man said. He thought that Reverend Chris did a fine job and had had held up very well under the circumstances. However, the old man scared the hell out of him and if it were true, a spell had been cast and in reality it came to pass, how to break the spell would be a question that he couldn’t comprehend in his logical mind.

  Roy was raised under average conditions. He had an older brother, but was never really close to him. His mother and father, still alive, but retired to Florida, always had the idea that once the kids were raised, they were on their own. Once every year or so, at vacation time, they would pack up in the car and drive down to visit them. They never stayed long as his mother said many times, “Visitors are like fish. After three days they begin to smell.” He smiled to himself and if Joan’s eyes were open, she would have wondered what he was smiling about under these trying conditions.

  Roy’s thoughts were interrupted by Glen coming down the stairs with his friend Larry right behind him. Glen, fro
m what Roy could tell, was a bit excited about something and waited for his son to speak.

  Glen stood between mother and father and spoke so quickly that Roy had to interrupt him to tell him to slow down and start at the beginning. Glen took a deep breath and said, “Me and Terry have found something that might help in explaining what happened to the kids eyes. We found an old diary from a missionary back in the Indian days around the time of the Salem Witch Hunts. We had a hard time reading it, but we found a program that helped us read it. The story tells of an old black couple from Jamaica and a young girl who ran off and joined the Indians. Not sure why as the girl would only talk to the black couple. She didn’t trust the white man. The white man followed the black couple and the girl one night and they built a small fire and were talking in a language he couldn’t understand. He watched as the man took some powder from some small leather pouches and threw it on the fire making it sparkle. He wrote that the next thing he remembered was waking up at daylight very mixed up in the head.

  The rest of the diary we haven’t finished yet, but skipping through it looks like he left and made his way back to his own people with the help of some kindly Indians.” When Glen finished his looked at his father and then to his mother noticing that both had their mouths open like baby birds wanting some food from mother.

  Apparently father realized his mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut. He rose from his chair and said while putting his hand on his son’s shoulder, “Nice work son. After four hundred years, in this day and age of high technology, we should be able to discover a way to cure Ann and the rest of the kids from what are becoming very serious situations. In no time we will see this news reaching out to the world and every nut case will be descending upon our little town. Along with, I might add, newspaper and the media will be camping outside of our door.” It seemed to Joan her husband had just received a powerful stimulate and was pacing back and forth seemingly talking to anyone and no one.

  Joan felt some pride in her husband, who never before, seemed to take the lead letting her run the family. Maybe, she thought, this is the catalyst to right the needs of a family: a man at the helm, with a strong woman to navigate his way through stormy seas. He continued, “Now we need to do something and I am not sure what, but by God, we will find a cure for Ann and the rest of the kids. And by the way, I am hungry and what say we order some chicken from the restaurant and I’ll go pick it up while you guys set the table. Terry stay with us and Joan what else do you need while I am out and about in this lovely weather?

  “Nothing honey, I’ll call and tell you how long it will be so you can go pick it up.” She gently lifted Ann up and laid her head back down on the sofa. She covered her with an afghan blanket. She turned to go to the kitchen noticing that Glen and Terry had run back upstairs. She too, felt some hope and energy return to her body and mind, as she set about making some preparations for a late lunch.

  Ann, if anyone had been looking at her, would have seen the REM of sleep. Dreams are what you make of them, someone said one time. In Ann’s case, this was not a dream but a nightmare brought on by the curse put on her by an ancient person who was wrongfully accused of witchcraft. Now she floated in a fog of swirling mist with no touch of reality, like a lost soul drifting in a never ending dimension reserved for cast-a-ways. In this swirling mist, she twisted and turned flaying away looking for something solid to grab onto. No sound was heard, but her senses were keen to hear her screaming cry for help. Out there somewhere, she thought she heard her mother calling her name, but when she tried to answer, the mist muffled her reply. As suddenly as the nightmare began, she felt the physical touch of someone shaking her arm and saying her name. Ann came awake realizing her mother was talking to her and she reached out with both arms wanting a mother’s embrace. She said, “Mom it was a terrible dream.”

  Her mother said, “What were you dreaming Ann? It’s early dinner time and let me help you to the dining table.” Ann let her mother guide her to the table and sat down on a familiar chair, but to an alien environment. She could smell the chicken and hear the two boys talking, but that was all. She sensed her father nearby and sat there with her hands in her lap and her head down on her chest, as if praying for giving thanks to the bounty on the table. Ann never felt more comfortable knowing she was among her family and not alone unable to fend for herself. No matter the future, she thought, I will never forget the warm feeling of a family on a Sunday afternoon having dinner after church.

  Chapter 9

  Candice was lying on her motel bed with her cell phone in her ear listening more than talking to her boss in New York. He was saying, “And do you really think all of this what you are telling me is factual and has a base of truth to it?”

  “Well sir, one thing is for certain, three kids have their eyelids grown together and the doctors here can’t explain it. One doctor is in New York as we speak consulting with some eye experts. Regardless, this is news and what I have sent you is the best I can do. Sure we can follow up on some the human interest side, as I am sure some of the parents would be happy to talk to a reporter from the Times. I really think this story is going to break wide open and this poor town is going to be flooded with media. However, you are the boss and I am listening for instructions.”

  Bill Smith detected a bit of over confidence in his new reporter, but wasn’t that what he was looking for in a Times sort of way? He had a pencil, a long number three Dixon T. in his hand drawing a picture on his note pad of a head with closed eyelids. He said, while coming to a conclusion, “Let’s run with what you have so far. Book two more rooms for a lengthy stay. A camera crew will be there by morning. Find out more on the Reverend family and let’s hit the next story using his church and God to fight off the paranormal implications of this phenomenon.”

  Candice thanked him and closed her cell only to hear it ringing. It was Ed on the other end and she updated him and he felt elated the story had been picked up by the Times. She told him she would like to interview the Reverend Chris and his family and wondered if Ed could arrange it? He told her he would give him a call and get back to her soonest. What he didn’t say was that he had written his own story and had sent it off to the Washington Post.

  Ed knew without a doubt, by the week's end, this story would be front page news across the country and maybe a global event. What he really wanted was to know when the next kid was going to have a birthday and interview before it happened. Fear sold papers. Grief sold papers. All matters of tragedy of humans sold papers. Nothing would catch you eye better than a story about young kids, with grown shut eyelids, that were impossible for surgery to separate, which maybe had paranormal implications.

  Tomorrow was Monday and he knew the town would be in an uproar demanding answers where answers didn’t exist. Mostly it was a release of fear with bravado. Human condition, during times of what is unknown and affecting the local population, tend to react by vocalizing their concerns to the local politicians. They felt they were owed if they voted for a politician to solve all of their problems. It didn’t matter if it was a medical, social or a natural disaster; it was the government’s responsibility to take care of its citizens.

  Ed couldn’t wait for the next day and as he made ready for bed, he thought about the Times reporter and what she might be doing about now. What he didn’t know was Candice was far ahead of him and in a short time would suddenly realize he had been swept under the table.

  * * *

  Pizza gone, girlfriend in brothers bedroom with the door locked, Johnny sat listening to the TV afraid to move. He didn’t fear the way to his bedroom and finding his bed, but the fear of what was going to happen tomorrow was heavy on his young mind. He felt good about the fact his brother would take him to his work, but also, on the other hand, felt bad knowing he would be a liability hanging around all day at his work. Tommy thought, and what about the next day and the next day, as he reached for the remote and turned off the TV.

  He stretched out on the sofa and
covered himself with a blanket that his brother had brought him before they went to his room. He could still smell the pizza and felt the cold seeping under the doors and through the gaps in the windows of the old house. He wondered where his father was and then decided it really didn’t matter. He was more tired than he thought and drifting off to a dream that would come back to haunt him later in the early morning hours.

  Like Ann’s dream and with the Reverend’s daughter dream to come, the same wispy fog, a greenish violet surrounded the floating body of Tommy Tucker. He felt he knew this was the weightlessness of a space walk. In his dream he could see very well and unlike Ann, kept his silence. He rode with the drifting fog and enjoyed the lack of gravity. He felt free at last and wanted to drift forever in this foggy state. Feeling neither warm nor cold, he felt the comfort of other souls being carried along, like a meandering river so peaceful and silent.

  Tommy was truly enjoying his flight and then he thought he heard, faintly at first, a cry for help out there. He had no control over his flight and twisted and turned as the current of fog did what it wanted. He strained his eyes and ears, but heard no more. He went back to his introspection and realized he was alone and his destiny was his own to discover. His brother Hank was the leaning post he had needed and now no matter what the path held he would brave the trail set forth regardless of the outcome. His thoughts were once again interrupted by a call for help now closer and louder than before. For the first time since his sojourn in the misty fog he answered back a reply: “Hello out there. My name is Tommy Tucker and can I help you?”

  His own voice sounded foreign and unlike what he thought his voice sounded like. He listened but only heard the faint sounds of a slight breeze being drawn up his nose. Then once again the call for help came and now he felt the voice was very close to him. He called out again. Then a very different voice was talking to him telling him to wake up and it was time to go to work. Tommy tried to open his eyes but realized nothing had changed since last night and the dream he was having was indeed very strange. Tommy made his way to the bathroom and soon returned and sat on the sofa waiting for his brother.