by Ron Shiflet
“Who of us has not experienced or if he has not, may not experience this rude and forced re-acquaintance with those who have been laid away in the chambers of the dead? If it has not come to pass, it may yet come; for there is no grave so mute but it is liable before the wand of avarice or pride to yawn and deliver up the fleshless bones and mouldering corpses which affection, with reverential hands, once laid there in the newness of death, trusting that quietness was to be their portion until the last trump should sound.”1
The sound of impatience finally roused him from his musings, and, looking up, he realized a hooded customer stood waiting outside in the squall hammering incessantly at the locked door.
“I’m sorry, sir, I did not hear you.” Thaddeus ushered the villager in from the cloudburst, stumbling over his apology. “I bolted the door when the wind began to jostle it on its hinges and the pounding grew too tiresome to tolerate. I beg your forgiveness.”
“Never mind that now, Thaddeus.” Peeling away layers of clothing, Tobias Lathrop, keeper of the Dim Lantern Inn, showed no trace of annoyance. “I’m grateful to find someone on duty on such a dreadful afternoon.”
“What necessity brings you out in the midst of this storm?”
“There’s been an accident, Thaddeus. My cousin’s daughter,” he hesitated, hoping to choke back uncharacteristic melancholy. “My godchild fell down the stairs in the tavern this morning.” Tobias’s grim tone left little doubt that the young girl had suffered considerable injuries. “The doctor said she was beyond his aid. She regained consciousness an hour ago and …” Again, the man found himself unable to summon words to describe her torment. “I had hoped to find Zeke here. I thought he might have something that would dull the pain for her.”
“Take me to her.” Thaddeus hastily gathered a few items from the apothecary shelves, hoping to feign an air of insight. His intentions, of course, had little to do with the contrivances of druggists. The compulsion he had fought so long to suppress he could not reject in the face of such a tragedy.
The girl—no more than six or seven years of age—rested beneath heavy bedclothes, surrounded by friends and family members. Her small room above the noisy tavern she shared with her mother and two younger siblings. Her father, Thaddeus knew, had been killed in some unknown skirmish at the height of the war.
Bruises blemished her soft skin, and blood pooled beneath its surface maligning her innocent beauty. Tears flowed from her eyes but her cries remained silenced: Whatever strength she had possessed had now diminished so that could not voice her anguish and fear.
Death seemed an unseen audience, skulking in the shadows, biding his time.
Thaddeus knelt beside the girl, the implements he had carried from the store injudiciously abandoned on the wooden floor. An eternity spanned the seconds his healing hands hovered over her body as he vanquished his last, lingering doubts. No calamity could spring from this single act of unselfishness. No hidden sources of malevolence could manipulate the situation to suit their dark designs.
Apathy and indifference in this situation would be far worse than any unimagined repercussions.
His fingers barely touched her forehead when a shimmering light filled the chamber. In a matter of moments, the looming shadows prowling the edges of the room retreated, their craving to taste an innocent soul effectively thwarted.
The girl sat upright in bed, her simple, sweet smile providing ample indication of her miraculous recovery.
The days and weeks that followed proved arduous and taxing for Thaddeus Jackson. Had he chosen to counter the extraordinary claims of his talent or quell the rumors of his gift, his story might well have ended in the cramped apartment above the seedy Dim Lantern Inn. Likewise, he might have packed his belongings as he had done many months earlier, disappearing back into obscurity where temptation might never again arise.
The gratification of restoring health to that little girl, though, reawakened his unavoidable longing to employ his talents—if for no other purpose than to atone for the horrors he had unleashed as an agent for the Union forces during the war.
“That’s everyone for today, Thaddeus.” Ezekiel Greenheath bolted the door of the Smithville provision store as evening settled over the town. “How many does that make? A hundred? More?”
“I don’t try to keep track, Zeke.” As word spread across the county, both the crippled and the curious came to see the faith healer of Smithville. He had attended to festering wounds, caused lost limbs to grow anew, restored vision to the blind and hearing to the deaf and cured all forms of ailments commonly left untreated by medicine. “I believe we welcomed a dozen today.”
“You’re a boon for the business, that is for certain. Not one leaves without buying something—always of their own incentive, of course.” Zeke eyed the summary of the day’s transactions, calculating his profits. “Are you certain you have no interest in charging them for the consultation? Surely, your time and efforts are worth something …”
“No, Zeke. I told you before: I owe this to them. It is my penitence, a way of repaying a debt that can never be fully settled.” Thaddeus felt the vast shame of his past transgressions eclipsing the insignificance of his present endeavor. A lifetime of offering free aid and assistance could not fully absolve him of his sins. Moreover, he wondered if with each act he drifted closer to that wicked influence that had warped his objectives into acts of malice and depravity. “I have so much to repent.”
“You’ve never told me exactly what happened, what forced you to neglect your gift and go into hiding.”
“It was toward the end of the war,” Thaddeus said, sitting in the darkening room. “I’d come to their attention in army hospitals. At first, I tried to conceal my gift; but as I snatched mortally wounded soldiers away from Death’s clutches, they realized my usefulness. Positioned on the field during battle, I could instantly restore their ranks with no more than a passing touch.
“Something happened during the Siege of Petersburg, something unforeseen. One of the officers charged with an assault on the Weldon Railroad lost more than half his troops in a prolonged exchange. He ordered me into the trenches—demanded I use my gift to bring them back to life.”
“That’s not possible,” Zeke said, disturbed at the mere thought of it. “No one can … not even you …”
“I tried to warn him, to tell him my powers had their limitations. He would not accept refusal any more than he would accept defeat.”
“What happened?”
“I ran through that darkened furrow as fast as I could, reaching out indiscriminately, putting my hands on the living and the dead, not taking the time to discern friend from foe, Federal from Confederate. I could feel the energy flowing through me as I always do when I heal—but that night, it assumed a far darker quality than I had ever before experienced.
“When I turned to witness my handiwork, I saw not men reawakening from the embrace of death – I saw monsters. In the hours that followed, the dead avenged themselves on the living as I watched in horror.” Thaddeus could not complete the tale because he had neither the language to describe nor the stomach to relive it. He recalled, though, how the skies turned Bible-black and the stars abandoned their age-old stations as if they could not endure the horrors unfolding beneath their omniscient gaze. He remembered the look of feral enmity in their yellow eyes as they struggled to animate their limbs. Shambling over the landscape, this hellish infantry was bound by no oath and fought for no country. Bloodthirsty and merciless, they butchered anything and anyone they encountered until—hours later—sharpshooters from both sides silenced them forever. “Some consider this a gift from God. I shudder to imagine what kind of god would put such power in the hands of an insignificant man like me.”
Following his confession, Thaddeus Jackson soon left the employ of Ezekiel Greenheath. The men remained amiable acquaintances, but the unpleasantness of the shared experience left their relationship permanently strained.
The following autumn,
Thaddeus proposed to the eldest daughter of Durand Sellers. His renown had gradually faded, having met and assisted half the population of the county during the span of six months. To extract himself from permanent service, he suggested his powers had begun to wane, until, one day, the gift seemed to have deserted him entirely.
In fact, his skill remained but had diminished considerably. Due perhaps to excessive use, Thaddeus could only summon his powers once every few days without driving himself to the point of utter exhaustion.
But for one final misfortune, Thaddeus might have finally fallen back into anonymity, contented in the knowledge that he had tried to make up for his part in the unforeseen savagery that sprang from the abuse of his power.
Days before the scheduled wedding ceremony, Thaddeus—toiling in the cotton fields on Sellers’ plantation—watched as his soon-to-be father-in-law approached, his daughter suspended in his strong arms. An alarming permutation of heartache, angst and fury twisted his tear-stained, reddened face.
“Do it, boy, and be quick,” he demanded, the words almost indiscernible beneath a sudden wave of tears. “For the love of God, you must …”
Felicia Sellers dangled limply in his arms, her long hair sweeping the plants. Her lips, so often painted rose-red, had already begun to darken into a somber shade of blue.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know—her mother found her like this by her bedside.” Sellers shook his head violently. “She complained of a dull ache behind her eyes this morning, and dizziness. It doesn’t matter—just heal her … make her right again …”
“But sir,” Thaddeus began, his own tears now forming. “It’s not the same. It’s not like your leg. She’s already gone.”
“Heal her, boy.”
“I can’t bring her back.”
Durand Sellers tossed his daughter’s corpse to the ground at Thaddeus’s feet. His irresponsibility and impulsiveness may have indicated either the recognition of his daughter’s death or the depth of his confidence in the healer’s ability to resurrect her. Her intended groom stooped low beside her, his hands fixed at his sides.
“You put those hands on her, boy,” Durand said. When Thaddeus looked up to try to explain, he faced the barrel of a .44 caliber Colt Model 1860. “Use your gift the way God intended, else I’ll see that the two of you meet sooner than nature intended.”
Realizing that no amount of logic and reason could soothe a father’s grief, Thaddeus stifled all further attempts at deliberation and justification. Though neither frightened nor prompted by the threat of death, he knew he had no choice in the matter. Reluctantly, he let his hand caress Felecia’s smooth cheek one last time.
Not light, but shadow emanated from his touch.
As if startled by the reintroduction of life, her body shuddered and her lungs expelled the stagnant breath that should have been her last. Durand, astounded by the speed of her recovery, tossed the revolver to the ground and fell to his knees.
“Thank you, thank you,” Durand said, reaching out to embrace Thaddeus. Thaddeus, though, had already taken a few steps back, distancing himself from the reanimated corpse.
As aberrant life flooded her veins, Felecia’s body stirred from its dormancy. Thaddeus watched, his dread increasing with each passing moment until finally her eyelids fluttered and opened.
There resided within those yellow eyes a darkness not native to this earth. Whether or not Durand noticed the thirst for blood casting a shadow over his daughter’s fair features mattered little. In an instant, she acted on that degenerate hunger and lunged at her father, clawing at his flesh with supernatural strength.
Thaddeus, watching as the unworldly beast sated its demonic appetite, quietly retrieved the fallen firearm. He had given the thing life – now, he would see to its death.
The first shot shattered Felicia’s skull and felled the despicable beast that had seized her body.
A second bullet helped the healer end his cursed blessing.
HEARKEN NOT TO THE ZURRY BIRD’S CRY
EDWARD DeGEORGE
Some say the zurry bird is called such because it migrated from
Missouri. Some say it takes its name from its magnificent feathers.
--Folklore of the Old South
There’s things in the bayous of Louisiana unseen by folks. Things that sleep under the mud by day or hunker in the hollows of dead trees. My granny told me all the stories jus’ like I’m sure your granny told them to you. Lonesome Sam, the booger dog, the Cootsy, the zurry bird.
You say you want to hear ‘bout my run in with Caleb? There was only four folks what seen it, but the way they tell it, you’d swear half the town was standing right there.
I was in the grocery. Lorelei had called me at work and asked me to bring home some bread and milk and some canned goods. I told her why didn’t she pick those up when she’d gone shoppin’? It didn’t matter what she answered. Having me pay for extra groceries allowed her to waste some of her allowance on her love magazines.
I had just picked out a can of peas when I heard a buttery voice behind me. Caleb Lee.
He says, “Why, Billy Randall, how are you this evening?” He always talks sweet to people like he’s their best friend, though most folks can’t stand him.
I didn’t say nothing, but give him this sharp look that said, You don’t want to mess with me, boy.
He just grinned and kep’ on. “Are you a-goin’ out with the boys tonight? You shouldn’t be leavin’ that sweet little wife o’ yours alone so much. I just might have to pay her a visit.”
My hand tightened on that can of peas. He knew just how to get under my skin. Him and Lorelei were an item for a while, but I’m the one she picked to marry. She’s been mine for more’n three years now, and it made me see red for him to talk like that.
“First of all,” I says, “it ain’t none of your business what I do of an evening. And second, you come sniffin’ ‘round my house and Lorelei’s like’n to fill your backside with a load of birdshot.”
That just amused him. “And maybe I’ll fill Lorelei’s backside with somethin’.”
Why would a man say that about another man’s wife unless he was aching to be laid flat?
I flung that can of peas just as hard as I could, right at his stupid, grinning face. He ducked fast as a cat on a lit stove. Them peas sailed ‘cross a couple of aisles and almost hit Missus Parker, but I didn’t pay that no mind at the time.
I jumped on Caleb and started to thrash him. Mr. Evans, the grocery man, he hurried right over and broke it up. It’s a good thing, too, else I would have put Caleb in the hospital and messed up his pretty face for good. His shirt was tore open and his hair all flying around. My lip was cut where he’d got in a lucky poke and I could feel my cheek startin’ to swell up.
Mr. Evans chased that boy right out. He knew who’d started the ruckus. I paid for my groceries and went home.
Lorelei got all frantic when she saw my face. I let her fuss over me and play nurse. She’s a good wife ... was a ...
Soon’s I told her what happened, Lorelei cussed Caleb good. She was upset but she did her best to hide it. We sat down to supper. Every time I looked up at her, she’d smile her brave little smile and be all stroking my hand. She gave my shoulders a squeeze when she got up to the stove to get me a second helping or to the refrigerator to fetch me another beer.
After supper, she started washing the dishes and I went and changed my clothes. When I come back she was all playful like. She tossed a handful of soapsuds at me and giggled. I felt so proud of her. I knew how lucky I was that she picked me. I could never dream of hurting her.
I told her not to wait up for me, but I’d maybe wake her up when I got in. She just smiled and hugged me and kissed me. That was how it was between us. We were happy as man and wife and anybody who says different is just a damn liar.
When I got to Bud’s Place, Larry and Henry were shooting pool. I ordered us a round of beers. Right off they start razzing
me ‘bout my run in with Caleb Lee. You know how it is. Everybody knows everybody else’s business in a small town.
At first I took it good natured like, laughing and joking with them. But when they started in making cracks ‘bout how I should keep my eye on Lorelei, how she was a wild young thing that didn’t want to be kep’ in the corral—well that was over the line.
I didn’t say nothing, ‘cause they were my friends, but I could feel myself boiling inside. It ain’t right to talk about a man’s wife like that.
Larry and Henry kep’ laughing it up until they looked like hyenas. The tavern just seemed to get smokier, burning at my eyes. Every swig of beer, the sting just reminded me of my cut lip. I couldn’t get Caleb’s grinning face out of my head. Or his mean words in that cocky tone of his. I knew my wife could be trusted, but that didn’t mean that snake wouldn’t slither himself up to the door and try to tempt her.
Finally I couldn’t stand it no more. Even though it was only half past nine, I threw some money on the bar to cover my part. As I walked out the door, I ignored the hootin’ and hollerin’ from Larry and Henry.
A full moon rode low in the sky, the same sick yellow my grandpa’s skin had turned before his liver had killed him. It followed me as I drove home.
I didn’t think about the zurry bird then, though might be I should have. My granny said it had bad eyes for a night bird so it only hunts when the moon is full. And its prey was human flesh. She said the zurry bird had a mouthful of teeth just like a gator. Sometimes when a body was found and it looked like a gator had been at it, it was really the work of the zurry bird.
When I come up to my driveway, some whim struck me to turn off my engine and walk up to the house. The night was hot and humid, the air like molasses. I worked up a bit of a sweat walking up the driveway—a hundred yards of wild grass and loose gravel up to where the house sits by the crick. With no nearby neighbors, the house looked lonely and old. No lights shone in the windows and the only sound was the harping of the crickets.
