Page 100 of Stay Buried

He heard her mirthful laughter, far away now.

He closed his eyes. He needed to stay focused. To do what needed to be done.

If he did this right, there would be no more deaths. No more disappearances. No more midnight rides by the light of the full moon, going house to house looking for someone to blame, to mark as next.

Willy jerked the old wooden door open.

And then he screamed.

Because there he was, waiting for Willy: the knackerman in his white bone mask and long hooded coat.

Only, the knackerman was screaming too.

A high-pitched, girlish scream.

And as Willy looked down, studied the figure at the bottom of the stairs, he saw how small it was, almost like a—

“Mr. Willy, sir?” The figure reached back, loosened the leather straps, and pulled the mask off its face.

He stared at her in dumbfounded amazement. “Mini?”

FORTY-ONEFRANKIE

March 15, 1919

I stitched and bandaged the bite wound on my uncle’s neck, trying to keep my face neutral, to not show the waves of horror and panic that I felt overtaking me. Thankfully, Benjamin had missed the major vessels and arteries, leaving only a ragged flesh wound. I’d taken the clothes Uncle Thomas had been wearing, the ones soaked in the black vomit, and thrown them out in the backyard to be burned. Aife had accompanied me. I wore a kerchief over my face, rubber gloves on my hands in an attempt to protect myself, though I believed it was in vain: I was going to get the sickness sooner or later—we all were.

At my uncle’s request, Luther and his son had brought Benjamin’s body back to my uncle’s surgery. He was laid out on the table, a sheet covering him. Luther and Henry were going to go spread news of what had happened. To warn the townspeople to arm themselves, to beware of the sick, even—especially—if they seemed to be recovering.

Henry St. James kept his eye on Benjamin’s body as if he expected him to rise up again.

“Panic will ensue,” Uncle Thomas said.

Luther nodded. “I’d say it’s ensued pretty good already, wouldn’t you, Doc? If people want to get through this, whatever the hell it is, they’ve got to protect themselves. And it’s going to take more than prayers, offerings, and the silly charms the women are hanging in doorways to do that.”

Uncle Thomas said nothing, just watched them go, fingers moving to the bandages on his neck, working over them.

“What are we going to do with Benjamin?” I asked, eyeing the sheet-covered corpse.

“An autopsy,” Uncle Thomas said. “Perhaps we’ll learn something about the illness.”

“But, Uncle, you—”

“We haven’t got much time, Frankie.” He looked at me hard then. “Ihaven’t got much time.” His words hit me in the solar plexus, the grief and power of them nearly putting me off-balance. My uncle’s face was stoic, determined. “Now, please, go get the leather case that has my saws in it along with my surgical blades. I’ll also need specimen jars and formaldehyde.”

I nodded, knowing it was important to keep busy, to continue moving forward, to be the best assistant I could—give my uncle the things he needed, take notes, follow his directions. It had gotten us through the Spanish flu, after all. It was best to pretend it might get us through this.

“Have you done an autopsy before?” I asked once we had gathered the tools and equipment he would need. He wore a brown leather apron.

Aife sat watching from the doorway, instinct keeping her out of the room.

“Not since medical school,” he said as he pulled back the sheet. Benjamin was there, naked and, thankfully, motionless.

Aife ran off, tail between her legs.

Clever dog.

“Step away, Frankie. I don’t want you anywhere near the body. I believe the fluids, some of them at any rate, carry the contagion.”