Page 20 of Stay Buried

Through the dim light of the one oil lamp I’d left burning low, I could see the knackerman’s eyes were open and seemed to glow yellow like hot sparks. He was staring at me. “Can you hear them?” he asked in a voice that was his, but somehow my mother’s.

I shook my head.

The room had grown cold and the smell of sweet rotten fruit filled my nose and throat.

“Hear who?” I asked to the dark, standing, placing my fingers on his wrist to take his pulse.

He closed his eyes.

I struggled to find a pulse. His body, feverish just two hours ago, was now cool and still.

There was no rise and fall of his chest.

Reaching for the stethoscope, I placed the bell against his chest and heard no wheeze and crackle, no breath, no heartbeat.

I crept from the room, but turned back at the doorway to look at the exam table, just to make sure he had not moved or opened his eyes again, and made my way into the hall and up the stairs. My uncle must have heard me, for he was on his way down, pulling his dressing gown tight around him.

“He’s gone,” I told him. Uncle Thomas followed me into the exam room, where he picked up the stethoscope and listened to the knackerman’s silent chest.

“I believe he’s been dead for a couple of hours,” he stated frankly.

“But he spoke, just now.”

Uncle Thomas turned his attention to me, raising his eyebrows.

“I—I’d fallen asleep in the chair. His speaking was what woke me. It was just a few moments ago. He asked… he asked if I could hear them.”

Uncle Thomas studied my face for a moment. “You were dreaming, Frankie.”

“Perhaps,” I admitted.

The door creaked open and I jumped.

Margaret fluttered into the room like a pale moth in her white nightgown, hair unpinned. She hurried to the table. “Is he…”

Uncle Thomas nodded. “I’m afraid he is gone.”

She started to cry. “No, no. It isn’t right.” She held tight to the knackerman’s bandaged arm. “He’s supposed to live.”

“Margaret, he was so ill, and we did all we could for him, but—”

“The bones told me he would live. The bones don’t lie.”

“Bones?” Uncle Thomas said, frowning at her.

“I’m sorry,” I said to my aunt. “He didn’t suffer long.”

“Are you sure?” she demanded, putting her hand on his chest now, feeling for a heartbeat. “That he’s gone?”

“Of course I’m sure, Maggie,” Uncle Thomas said.

She let out a little gasping sound, like all the air was leaving her. Then she gulped in a breath, looked up at Thomas. No one had ever died in our home.

“There’s nothing more to be done tonight,” he whispered, taking her in his arms. “He’s gone. In the morning, we’ll fetch the reverend and get the poor soul back to the church. We’ll see that he has a proper Christian burial.”

“It isn’t right,” she said, crying harder now as Thomas held her, began to lead her gently from the room, back up the stairs to bed. “It’s all wrong, Tom. All wrong.”

TENMINI