Page 35 of Stay Buried

“What is it?” Thomas asked with renewed worry.

If it was more of this strange new illness, I wanted no part of it. I wanted to run to my room, hide under the covers in my bed like a child.

I recalled their words now, both the knackerman and Clarice Stoddard.Can you hear them?

And I had heard them, hadn’t I? Out in the snow.

“It’s Emile LaRue,” Aunt Margaret cried. “They’ve just carried him in. Oh, he’s in a terrible state, Tom.”

Uncle Thomas drew in a breath, handed Aunt Margaret his coat and hat, and headed for his office. I stripped mine off and hurried after my uncle.

Emile was laid out on the examination table. Luther St. James and Michael Knapp stood over him, still in their coats and boots, leaving great puddles of water on the floor. Emile was unconscious but I could see his chest rise and fall ever so slightly. His clothes were soaked and dark with blood. His skin looked gray in the dim light.

“What happened?” Thomas asked matter-of-factly, rolling up his shirtsleeves.

“Found him lying in the snow down by where the river bends,” Luther said. “Looks like he’s been attacked.”

“Help me with this,” Thomas directed me, as he began to take off Emile’s sodden, bloody layers. I came forward and helped peel off the man’s coat, his shirt and undershirt, gently lifting Emile to get them off. His skin was cold to the touch, splotched and waxy.

“Margaret,” Thomas called, “we need hot water, towels, and blankets. And bring hot water bottles.” Then he turned to me. “We’ve got to get his temperature up.”

I lit the gas lamps in the exam room and yanked open the curtains. Other parts of the state had electricity and the benefit of electric lights, radios, electric stoves even. But the lights had not come toBoone’s Ferry. We were too far out, our valley too isolated.

As we worked to undress him, Uncle Thomas and I soon understood the source of most of the blood. Emile had a wound on the left side of his neck. While Thomas continued to examine the man’s body from head to toe, I began to clean the neck wound off with a towel—it was deep and bleeding heavily.

I immediately recognized the circular pattern of teeth marks.

“My God! Is that a bite?” Luther asked, leaning in to look closer. He smelled like sweat and whiskey. The white scar on his forehead glowed in the light of the gas lamps.

Thomas nodded, peering down at Emile’s neck. “I’ll have to sew it up to stop the bleeding.”

“A human bite?” Luther pressed. He was breathing hard now, panting.

“Yes,” Thomas said, his own jaw clenching. “It looks like a human bite.”

“The bastard’s still out there!” Luther snapped.

“Inhuman,” said Michael Knapp. “That’s what he is.”

“Please,” Thomas pleaded, the patience leaving his voice. “I need you gentlemen to back up and give us room to do our work. You can go out to the waiting room.”

Margaret bustled into the exam room, carrying towels and a large metal bowl of steaming water. Her face was flushed, her hair coming undone.

“Like hell,” Luther said, lurching toward the door. “We’re going back out there to hunt that knackerman down. Put a bullet between his eyes before he attacks anyone else.”

The bowl slipped from Margaret’s hands, hitting the floor with a terrible clatter, hot water splashing down the front of her dress, scalding her, as she let out a piercing scream.

SIXTEENSAD WILLY

October 17, 2016

Sad Willy, they all called him.

“Hi, Sad Willy,” the kids chimed. “Give me a high five, Sad Willy.”

And he did. Some of the kids thought it was good luck to be touched by Sad Willy. Some thought it was a curse.

“Show us your trick, Sad Willy,” they sang.