Jeffrey Gabbard

Originally posted October 2011.

“I am a poor pilgrim of sorrow. Cast out in this world to roam…” Granny Jo Whitaker sang as she lifted a washcloth from Ned Bishop’s cold face. The right side was still dark where blood had settled after he had died lying on his right side in bed. The baking soda water-soaked cloth was doing a good job lightening the darkness. As Granny Jo soaked the cloth again, Ned’s left eye popped open.

“Lawdy Ned, you best not be popping that eye open at your wake or you’ll likely have two or three more in that coffin with ya.” Granny gently rubbed Mr. Bishop’s cheek until the eye closed. She then pulled two nickles from her bag and placed one on each eye.

“Now you keep them eyes shut!” Granny chuckled. She soaked the cloth in baking soda water and reapplied it to his face.

“Alright there, Mr. Bishop. Let that cloth stay on t’night and you should have some nice color come mornin’. You’ll be pretty as a picture for your wake.”

Granny Jo pulled a sheet over the body and turned off the tool-shed light. Stepping out into the night air Granny Jo said, “Mercy” under her breath as a strong gust of wind struck her. Knowing that the walk from Ned’s place back to her cabin was a mile of winding, twisting trail, Granny pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders and head. A thick fog lay heavily on the ground, so she kept her lantern low to help illuminate the way ahead. After many twists and turns the trail rose and Granny entered the Emmett family cemetery. She smiled as she saw the last of the year’s fireflies flitting back and forth among the tombstones. They moved slowly in the cold fall air and reminded Granny of little specs of gold in a cotton ball. Passing through the cemetery she thought she saw some movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned and saw the pale outline of a figure moving back and forth among the stones.

“Somebody back there?” Granny Jo asked. The figure stopped and turned towards the old lady. Granny couldn’t see well in the fog, but thought she made out the shape of a young woman. She had long, wild hair that fell over her face.

“It’s a dark night, friend. Taint safe for man nor beast. Best head home and visit your kin in the light of day.” The figure stood unmoving. Granny shrugged and continued on her way. The figure started moving along with her. Granny Jo stopped and the figure stopped as well.

“I welcome your company on this dark night neighbor if’n you want to walk with me a spell. I’m Granny Jo Whitaker. Come down and introduce yourself.” Granny lifted her lantern and squinted up the hill. The stranger said nothing, but began jerkily raising her head. She let out a high-pitched scream that tore into the night. Granny Jo had lived in these mountains her whole life, but had never heard or seen anything like this before.

“I don’t know what yer about friend, but I got no time for such foolishness. Stay here among the stones for all I care.”
Granny turned her back on the stranger and started on the trail again. The stranger started moving as well. Granny stopped again, but this time the figure didn’t stop. It raised its head again, screamed and lurched forward towards Granny.

“Lawd have mercy!” Granny yelled feeling fear for the first time. She raised her lantern high and muttered an old charm her granny had taught her to warn off spirits. The wind picked up and blew out her lantern. Granny turned to run but it was too late. She felt a bone penetrating cold just as the figure reached her. All the gold specs went dark as Granny’s scream rent the air.

####

Black Jack Turner sat nervously in Bill Floyd’s barber chair as Bill sharpened his straight razor on a leather strap. Bill had a reputation as a good, but high-strung, barber. Many of the Eidola town folk jokingly called him the “shakiest razor in Lee County” behind his back. Jack glanced anxiously through the barbershop window at Rattler, his faithful hunting dog. Rattler looked back, but turned away, as if he couldn’t bare to watch what was about to happen.

Meanwhile, Orville Nesbitt sat in a chair waiting his turn and spoke at length about the disappearance of Granny Jo Whitaker.

“I tell ya friends these are dark times and queer thangs are walkin’ this country. Kale Holler is where that sunuvabitch kilt pretty Molly Dunn ages ago and legend says her ghost roams this land.” Orville took a drag on his cigarette for dramatic effect. Letting out a puff of smoke he continued. “Levi Sizemore’s place is up on the Bee Branch of Kale Holler and his coon dog is a fierce animal if ever thar was one. Ain’t ‘fraid of nothin! Other night Levi heard a ruckus outside and when he went out thar that dog was a cryin’ like it had seen the devil hisself.” Orville shook his head before saying, “Ain’t worth a damn now. Won’t stray more’n two feet from Levi’s heel. Now Granny Jo Whitaker has plum disappeared in that Holler. Esther went to pick her up this mornin’ for Ned Bishop’s wake. That cabin was locked up tight as could be. Tweren’t no sign of Granny. Later coupla fellars went up ta the Holler to fetch Ned’s body. Said they could tell Granny Jo had been there and cleaned Ned up real good. When they walked through the cemetery later, they found a lantern smack dab in the middle of the trail.” Orville paused and looked sternly at his audience. “Folk don’t like to talk about it, but it was the ghost of Molly Dunn what took Granny Jo.”

Jack heard Bill gasp and could feel the flat of the razor blade vibrate rapidly against the side of his neck.

“Careful there now, Bill! Don’t be listening to that old fool. Orville stop talking such nonsense. Molly Dunn is just an old wives tale and you know it. If I know Granny, she probably stopped off at Amos Shrout’s place for a tickle of his shine. I bet she’s there now, sitting on his porch swing, singing Blessed Redeemer.“

The bell on the barbershop door rang out as Black Jack’s cousin Clyde Bowling entered the shop. Bill jumped back and slightly nicked Jack’s cheek. “Lord have mercy on my soul,” Bill said as he tried to regain his composure.

“Get a hold of yourself, Bill!”, Jack said, starting to get irritated. Clyde was rubbing his shoulder gingerly.

“What’s up cousin?” Black Jack said.

Clyde took a seat next to Orville before saying, “Doc McDonald’s over at the clinic giving flu shots.”

“Looks like he got ya pretty good, the way you’re holding that shoulder,” Jack laughed.

“Dang old fool is half blind. Just about got me on the neck!” Clyde said angrily. “I yelled
‘Down ‘bout 6 inches Doc!’ right before he jabbed me.”

“Many a mans worried about his neck today…” Jack said with a glance at Bill.

“They close up pretty soon. Best get over there after Bill is done with ya and get yours.” Clyde said gesturing towards his cousin.

Jack smiled and said, “Hell no. I ain’t gettin’ no damn flu shot.”

“Don’t blame you one bit there,” Orville said, butting into the conversation. “You know the story of Soup Bean Bishop? Went crazy and kilt his ‘hole family with a hand sickle! Heard tell he got flu shot not two days before!”

Black Jack laughed. “Yeah, I know that story. Old Soup Bean was always crazy and it didn’t have a damn thing to do with no flu shot.” Looking at his cousin Clyde, Jack smiled and said, “Remember when that fool lost his glass eye? He drew a bright red cross on a walnut and took to puttin’ that in the socket. We was all at Clyde’s place for the Bowling family reunion. After he had his fill of ribs and sour mash, Soup Bean fell asleep with a log for a pillow. This squirrel showed up and noticed that walnut in Soup Beans head. It must have been starvin’ or drawn to the lord someways. Cause that squirrel ran up and grabbed that nut right out of Soup Bean’s skull! Soup Bean woke up and chased that thing all over the place with a fork. He must have stabbed two or three people before he finally caught it!”

“He got Princess right in the buttocks!” Clyde said angrily. Princess was Clyde’s spoiled Persian cat.

“Well, I tell ya that some mighty strange things happen to folks when they get those shots!” Orville said, pointing his cigarette at Clyde.

Jack felt Bill’s blade vibrating on his neck again. He was about to say something when the bell on the door rang again. Bill jumped and said, “Sweet Jesus!” just as he swung the razor. From that day on, Black Jack Turner was never seen in public without a bandanna around his neck.

That night Jack’s thoughts were full of ghosts, flu shots, and sharp razor blades. He tossed and turned before eventually falling into a deep sleep. As he slept, he dreamt he was walking on the trail through the Kale Holler. Spring phlox and Virginia bluebells were blossoming on both sides as he came up the hill to the Emmett Family cemetery. Something didn’t seem right at first. Jack realized he must be dreaming of the past. Only one small section of the cemetery had tombstones. The rest of the hill was still covered in tall red pines.

At the far end of the trail Jack saw a young woman standing and looking around as if she were waiting for someone. He drew closer and inhaled deeply. She had flowing, reddish-brown hair that cascaded gently down her delicate neck. Her eyes were a deep blue that made the heavens themselves jealous. Her cheeks were high and lightly freckled. She looked at home, standing among spring daffodils. Jack’s voice was a whisper as he said, “Molly Dunn.” Her arms were in front of her, hands clasped just below her small, swollen belly.

Jack saw her smile and turn towards an approaching stranger. She raised her arms and ran towards him. The man smiled back, but there was something about him Jack didn’t like. A tall man, with jet-black hair and broad shoulders, he carried himself with a confidence bordering on arrogance. He smiled at Molly, but his eyes told a different story. The two embraced and shared a passionate kiss. “William Moore.” Jack spit out the name like snake venom. When the two parted, William looked down at Molly’s belly as if seeing the bump for the first time. He looked at Molly with surprise, but Molly smiled back brightly. She was saying something, but Jack heard nothing. Moore turned away for a second and then turned back, a cold smile playing about his lips.

Jack yelled, “No!” to his ghostly audience and rushed forward. William and Molly embraced again. He spun Molly around and hugged her from behind, kissing her gently on the neck. Jack watched as Moore pulled a knife from underneath his jacket and brought it up to Molly’s beautiful neck. Jack launched himself forward, but instead of knocking the knife out of William’s hand, he passed through him. Jack watched helplessly as William Moore ran a black blade across Molly’s porcelain throat. Her eyes and mouth opened wide as blood gushed freely from the wound. The bright red of her blood dotted the yellow daffodils as Molly fell forward and landed among them. Jack wept as he watched the bright blue of her eyes dim to a pale gray. He stood and screamed “You gawd damned sunuvabitch!” He swung wildly, his fists striking nothing but air. William Moore knelt and brushed hair from Molly’s cheek. He picked her up and carried her up through the red pines to the top of the hill. Once there, he threw her limp body down the other side of the hill where it landed in the branches of a gnarled sycamore tree. Moore straightened his jacket and ran a hand through his hair. He muttered something and then turned, heading back towards town. Jack ran to the top of the hill and looked down at Molly’s body, already dark with birds.

Bolting up in bed Jack yelled, “Son of a bitch must pay!” He jumped out of bed and quickly dressed. Grabbing his shot gun from the gun rack he looked over where Rattler lay sleeping. “C’mon boy. There’s killin’ to be done.” Rattler rose slowly, shook his whole body, and stretched. Wagging his tail, he followed Jack into the cold October night.

Jack opened the driver’s door of his Jeep Honcho. Rattler bounded into the cab and sat on the passenger’s side, tongue and tail both wagging excitedly. Jack turned the ignition and the old truck roared to life. He turned on the head lights and sped down the gravel road.

As he drove down the dark, foggy road, Jack realized that he had been dreaming. If Molly Dunn and William Moore ever existed, it had been at least a hundred years ago. Still, he felt something drawing him to that cemetery. So, he drove on, not knowing what he’d find when he got there. Jack entered the Holler and parked the Honcho by the small church at the foot of the hill. Jack shivered in the cold night air as he and Rattler exited the truck. He heard a hissing sound as he turned on his flashlight. Casting about in the moonless night he saw Rattler relieving himself on the front tire of the Honcho. Jack nodded his head and said, “Yes sir, good idea to take care of that now. The first frost of the season laid thickly on the ground as Jack and Rattler entered the cemetery. The only sound they heard was the crunching of leaves as they walked among the dead. Crooking his head, Jack thought he heard a frail voice on the night air. “I know that I’m weak and unworthy. My heart is so full of sin…” He turned and looked up the hill. There he saw the figure of a woman wearing loose clothes, her hair loose and flying wildly in front of her face.

“The ghost of Molly Dunn!”, Jack said, unable to believe his eyes. Rattler barked once and ran up the hill.

“Rattler get back here!” Jack yelled, afraid that the ghost would somehow kill the old dog. When he reached the ‘ghost’, Rattler wagged his tail excitedly and jumped up, licking the specter’s face.

Confused, Jack walked up the hill, his shot gun aimed levelly at the ghost.
“Wha – who are you?” Jack said nervously. The ghost looked up and the wind blew the hair away from it’s face. “Granny Jo!” Jack shouted. “What on earth are you doin’ up here?”

Granny Jo looked around wildly, never making eye contact with Jack. She was muttering something under her breath, but Jack couldn’t make out what she was saying.

Jack looked Granny Jo up one side and down the other. She was only wearing her undergarments. “Granny Jo, you are going to catch your death of cold!” He took off his jacket and placed it over the old lady’s bare shoulders. As he did so he saw a band-aid on her right shoulder.

“Flu shot? Well, I’ll be damned!” Jack shook his head and led Granny Jo down the hill towards the Honcho. “Come on honey, let’s get you home.”

They climbed into the Jeep, Rattler sitting between Jack and Granny Jo.

He was shocked at how frail Granny Jo seemed. “I’ll take you to Orville and Esther Nesbitt’s place tonight so they can tend to you,” he said as he turned the truck’s ignition.

Jack glanced in his side mirror as he drove down the gravel road. Through the dust and fog, he thought he could just make out the figure of a young woman standing among spring daffodils. Her arms clasped underneath her small, swollen belly.

Looking back at the road Jack said, “Think we’ll pay ol’ Amos Shrout a visit instead.”