Elijah of Buxton

by Christopher Paul Curtis

  Mr. Alston said, “Last I heard he was over at the East Lee stable yesterday. But I ain’t sure I believe it. That’s where them slavers is staying.”

  Slavers? My blood ran cold!

  Mr. Alston said, “Y’all best be careful if you plan on going over to that stable. Them paddy-rollers there ain’t to be trifled with. Got them one the biggest, baddest bear-fighting dogs I ever seen up north.”

  He told us where the stable was and I thanked him.

  I don’t know what it was, if it was the talk about the slavers or the talk about the bear-fighting dog, but soon as we started walking back to Jingle Boy, Mr. Leroy commenced to looking mighty worried and afeared. And it tore my heart out.

  I said, “What’s wrong, Mr. Leroy? Should we go get us some help from somewhere?”

  Mr. Leroy grabbed his left arm and started breathing like he’d just been chopping oaks.

  He said, “Elijah, ain’t … no … one gunn help me. It just be you.”

  Ain’t nothing in the world that’ll get you feeling fragile quicker than seeing a growned person you know is hard as nails looking afeared.

  “But, Mr. Leroy, what’s wrong? Why’re you looking like that?”

  He said, “We got to get to that stable, boy. We got to move quick.”

  He climbed up on Jingle Boy slow and in parts ’stead of jumping up the way he regular did.

  He didn’t put his arm down to pull me up.

  He said, “Lead the horse yon, Elijah, through the back way.”

  I grabbed Jingle Boy’s reins and led him north.

  We got ’bout a half mile when I said to Mr. Leroy, “Sir, maybe we should get you some rest afore we go to that stable, maybe we need to …”

  I looked back just as Mr. Leroy started sliding off of Jingle Boy. It seemed like he was moving so slow that he was sort of floating down toward the ground, like he was just gonna settle soft and light as a feather. But when he landed on his face, there was a horrible heavy thump and things commenced moving again like they normal do.

  “Mr. Leroy!”

  I ran back and kneeled down beside him.

  His eyes were open but he was blinking more than he would most times.

  I said, “Please, Mr. Leroy, please get back up!”

  I shooked him and he said, “No. You got to go in that stable and get that money, boy. He done thiefed the money for your mother and sister, ’Zekial!”

  Mr. Leroy was out of his mind!

  I said, “Please, sir, I ain’t Ezekial, I’m Elijah, Elijah Freeman!”

  He grabbed my arm and said, “Is you gunn do it? Is you gunn get that money, boy?”

  I started going all fra-gile. Things commenced loosening in my nose.

  He said, “Promise me … promise me now!”

  What could I do? I whispered, “I ain’t Ezekial, I’m Elijah.”

  He said, “Promise me! Promise me you’ll get that money and if he done lost it, promise me you’s gunn gut-shoot him!”

  “Please, Mr. Leroy, please get up. Please don’t leave me here alone!”

  He said, “Son, caint you see I’m dying? Please tell me, please tell me you’s gunn get the money for your ma and sister. That ain’t much. ’Zekial, how come you ain’t telling me?”

  His voice was getting softer and softer and that was worst than if he’d been yelling.

  Finally I said, “I promise, sir, I promise I’ll do it.”

  He smiled and whispered, “Take that pistol, boy.”

  I pulled the mystery pistol out of the fancy holster and put it in my tote sack.

  He coughed twice and something dark and thick started leaking out of his mouth and nose.

  The last things he said were, “I love you, son. Tell your ma I …”

  His eyes stayed open but I knowed they waren’t seeing nothing.

  I shooked him and said, “Mr. Leroy? Oh, please, Mr. Leroy!”

  I ran back to Mr. Alston to try and get some help.

  I busted right in on the men and yelled, “Excuse me, sir, Mr. Leroy fell off the horse and ain’t moving!”

  Mr. Alston said, “What you say, boy? Calm yourself down and don’t be talking that fast.”

  I catched my breath and said, “Mr. Leroy fell off the horse and ain’t breathing!”

  They ran back with me and bunched up ’round where Mr. Leroy was laying.

  Mr. Alston looked at Mr. Leroy and put his hands over his eyes to close them. He said, “Son, he pass. Y’all kin?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Y’all’s both from Buxton?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You got anyone up here what can look after you?”

  I started to say no but knowed if I did and if Mr. Leroy really was dead, they waren’t gonna let keep my promise, they waren’t gonna let me hunt the Preacher down and get Mr. Leroy’s money back.

  I said, “Yes, sir, my aunty lives just over yon.” I pointed south.

  Mr. Alston said, “We gonna have to get the sheriff, boy. Tell your aunty she need to come claim him else they gonna put him in the paupers’ field.”

  I said, “I’ll have to tell my pa in Buxton. They’ll come and get Mr. Leroy.”

  I grabbed Jingle Boy’s reins and never looked back.

  A promise is a promise and I waren’t ’bout to let Mr. Leroy down. I was gonna find the Preacher if it took me ten years. And I was gonna start with the East Lee stable.

  So Mr. Alston and the other men wouldn’t get suspicious I headed south, pretending I was riding hard back to Buxton.

  I circled ’round and started back north. I saw the stable from two blocks off. There was a hitching post just down from it so I tied Jingle Boy and commenced walking the rest of the way. I dug five of the chunking stones out of my tote sack and put three in my left hand and two in my right. I didn’t have notion the first what a bear-fighting dog would look like so I hoped five stones would be enough in case me and it had a disagreement.

  As I got right on the stable, it happened in a flash. First thing that came to mind was Pa telling me that I didn’t never have to worry ’bout no barking dog, that it was barking ’cause it was just as scared as me. He said it was the quiet dog I had to be afeared of. That was the kind of dog that waren’t interested in scaring no one, it was only looking to bite something big and meaty off of you.

  Afore I seen anything I heard the sound of a chain rattling, then a hard grunt like something heavy was changing directions sudden-like. Other than those soft sounds this bear-fighting dog was quiet as a owl diving at a mouse.

  I saw a big black blur coming at me and, at the same time as I tried to get out of the way, I throwed left-right-left hard as I could.

  I heard a chain sing from getting pulled taut and the bear-fighting dog’s paws hit me square in the side so strong that the last two chunking stones flewed out of my hand. I waren’t nothing but a dead duck!

  A spray of the dog’s slobber splashed on my face and I hit the ground hard, knocking my breathing right out of me. The dog still didn’t bark or nothing but his front paws pressed like fists into my ribs. All I could do was wonder if he was gonna rip me apart or squeeze the life out of me by standing on my chest.

  I closed my eyes and waited to get suffocated or tored limb from limb.

  But didn’t nothing happen. I opened my eyes and saw the dog was out cold, his head was lolling up ’gainst my side. The head was huge, just ’bout the size of a five-month-old calf’s head, and was covered with scars. He was breathing fast, like he’d just chased a rabbit, and little snorts of dust were blowing up with each breath he took. His feet were twitching like dogs do when they’re having a nightmare.

  Just that quick I noticed my ribs. It felt like someone had run a knife into ’em and I looked down. The nails from one of the bear-fighting dog’s front paws had disappeared into the front of my shirt and my blood was starting to leak out. I rolled from underneath the dog’s legs, then rolled twice more and laid in the dirt waiting for my breathing to catch b
ack up to me.

  After ’bout five or six big gulps of air I pulled my shirt up to see if any bones were poking through. There waren’t nothing there but three tiny holes where his claws had gone in and only one hole was bleeding atall. I felt to make sure waren’t nothing broke. Other than poking three holes in me, it seemed like the bear-fighting dog hadn’t done nothing worst than knock the air out of my chest.

  I stood up and put two more chunking stones in my hand then walked over toward the dog. One of my stones had caught him right twixt the eyes. I knowed it was the second left-hand one I chunked. There was a big knot swelling up there already. His tongue was hanging out from twixt long yellow and brown teeth that were ’bout the size of bear claws. There was a little puddle of mud spreading in the dust where his tongue was resting. I didn’t think I’d hurt him too bad, but I waren’t gonna wait ’round to find out.

  I leaned against the door that led into the stable and pushed.

  When you first walk into a room in a house, or into a clearing in the woods, or into the inside of a stable like this one, they have a way of telling you they know you’re there. It ain’t nothing particular noticeable, but the air inside of ’em changes like it’s saying, “I’m watching you.” Some of the time it seems like the air’s smiling and saying, “I’m watching over you, come on in,” and some of the time it seems like it’s all a-frowning and saying, “I’m watching you, and you best be careful.” But I’d got into this stable so quiet and sneakish that nothing knowed I’d cracked open the door, held my breath, and took a step inside.

  I eased the door back shut, stood still, and waited for my eyes to get use to the dark.

  All I could see was black, but going by what I was hearing, I figured there must’ve been five or six horses held up in here. There was the swish-swish-swish of tails going at flies, there was the bumpty-bump-bump of hoofs shifting and scraping whilst trying to get comfortable, there was the steady, easy, deep breathing of animals that had been worked hard trying to get some sleep. There was also a slow woo-woo-woo sound from a barn owl hid out waiting for a mouse to make a mistake.

  It didn’t sound like there was nothing to worry ’bout … right off.

  I let air come out of my mouth easy and breathed back in through my nose.

  I knowed just like that that there was something terrible wrong inside this stable.

  It waren’t the horses, they smelt the same as Buxton horses. That waren’t peculiar.

  It waren’t the smell of the straw on the floor neither, but I could tell that whoever’s chore it was to keep it clean waren’t changing it regular enough.

  I could even smell that there was a goat or two somewhere in here … all those things were easy to tell and usual. But there was something else mixed up with the all-the-time stable smells, something that just waren’t sitting right.

  It waren’t like a rat had curled up in a hole somewhere and died then commenced to swelling up and rotting, but it waren’t far from that. Or like a mule had et something bad and was ailing and leaking sickness, but it was kind of akin to that.

  It waren’t one n’em sickroom smells neither, one n’em rooms they tell you you ain’t got no choice but to go into and say good-bye to someone that looks like they should’ve died a year afore, but it waren’t exactly the back side of that kind of stinking.

  I didn’t have much time to study on what the strange smell was ’cause my eyes started getting use to the dark and were picking out things, and when it comes to choosing to pay attention to your nose or your ears or your eyes, you gotta listen to your eyes every time.

  Then my heart stopped beating, my blood ran cold, and time stood still! Someone was standing over at the other end of the stable!

  I acted like a fawn all over again. I quit breathing and frozed all my muscles dead where they were at. Maybe whoever it was hadn’t seen me.

  My eyes were slow getting more use to the dark and, doggone-it-all, I started suspecting I knowed who I was seeing. At the other end of the stable was the Right Reverend Deacon Doctor Zephariah Connerly the Third, the stealer of dreams!

  But, just like the smell in the stable, something waren’t right about him.

  He was watching me from the other end of the stable and I was pretty darn sure it was the Preacher, but as he real slow started getting more and more lit up and less and less gray and shadowish, I began doubting what I first saw.

  He was being too still.

  The Preacher always had something moving on him, either his hands or his legs or, most of all, his mouth. It just waren’t sitting right seeing him standing there with his arms raised up on both sides of him and his head ducked down like he was studying something in the dirt. Or maybe that waren’t it atall. Maybe he was doing the same thing I was doing, freezing every muscle so’s I might not see him.

  We both stood still, frozed that way for the longest time waiting to see which one was gonna move first. But finally my legs took to twitching and feeling that they were ’bout to bust out afire. The Preacher was better at this standing-still business than me. He didn’t move a finger. He kept his arms up there patient as a rock, quiet as a scarecrow.

  But something just waren’t right.

  I started stealing closer to him one slow step at a time.

  Then I heard a humming sound so near to my left-hand side that my blanged legs and breathing frozed up all over again. Whatever it was that was making that sound was so close that even my eyeballs locked where they were at. I kept ’em straight ahead on the scarecrow-that-might-be-the- Preacher. Then, slow as maple sap on a cold day, I started sliding my eyes off to the left, off to the direction that the humming sound was coming from.

  The only thing I could make out was that someone had leaned some dark bundles or sacks up ’gainst the left hand side of the stable. There were five of ’em all sitting the same space apart one from the ’nother.

  The noise commenced again, sounding like someone fishing ’round trying to figure which song they were ’bout to hum.

  I knowed I best quit holding my breath, else I was gonna be forced to breathe in so hard it’d make a racket. I eased air back into me like a bellows being pulled open slow and easy.

  I moved my eyeballs just the tiniest bit more and saw exactly what it was that was making that music humming sound.

  It was one of the bundles!

  I ain’t never gonna know if it was ’cause of the slow way air was sliding back into me or if it was ’cause my eyes finally could make out what they were seeing, but my head got light and afore I could do anything my senses took off, squawking and flapping away like a flock of pheasants in a field.

  Next thing the stable floor felt like it was rising and dropping like a fresh-dried bedsheet being snapped and shooked afore it got folded.

  The way things were jumping ’round and with my wits flewed away, it didn’t make no sense to try to keep standing. I knowed I’d best get ahold of something till the floor steadied itself, else I’d pitch into the dirt.

  But it was too late. I looked at the humming bundle again and saw that it had arms!

  Four live, moving arms!

  Two of ’em were tiny and mostly still and two of ’em were big and moving! I couldn’t believe I’d come all the way to the United States of America to see my first haint!

  I didn’t have no chance to get ahold on to nothing, my legs gave out and I crumpled toward the ground. I’d gone and got myself right in the middle of being fra-gile again.

  When your senses leave you sudden-like and you start falling, you don’t have the time nor the notion to put your hands up so’s not to hit your head. Everything goes limp and flops like okree. And since your head’s the thickest part of you and most times leads the way down, it’s always first to bust the ground. But this time, I did remember to keep my mouth shut.

  Part of the floor must’ve had planks laid down in it, ’cause when my head hit, there was a loud sound like a axe chopping a thick oak. That one good hit to my skull made m
e see stars and it was terrible loud ’cause each and every one of those bundles that was on that wall came to life and unfolded itself with a powerful horrible sound!

  The commotion they made when they moved was enough to wake the dead! Not from being loud, but from being terrorific. It waren’t no human sound atall, but something ’bout it did bring people to mind. It was groans and rough breathing mixed up with the same noise that the chain on the dog outside had made. Which got me thinking I was soon ’bout to get ripped to shreds by the brothers and sisters of the dog that I’d chunked.

  Only difference was now the sound was timesed by five and was added to a bunch of whimpers and the hard sucking in of air.

  What I was seeing waren’t five sacks atall, nor five dogs looking to settle scores for me chunking their brother, nor five evil spirits come to life. None of that. What I was seeing was worst than all those things totaled up together.

  What was on the wall of the stable couldn’t’ve been nothing but five squatted-down demons that had been captured and chained by someone who was sending ’em back to Satan so they couldn’t snatch no one else’s soul!

  I looked over to where the Preacher was, hoping he’d do something to help but got my attention drawed back quick to the chained demons. The four-armed one that was humming made a shushing sound at the rest of ’em and started talking! Talking in English too!

  It whispered out to me, “Hoo-hoo! Is you real or is you a haint?”

  I lifted my head from the floor and without thinking what I was talking to said, “Pardon me, ma’am?”

  She was the only one ’mongst the bunch that looked like a woman, and I ain’t sure if it was the right thing to do to call a haint “ma’am,” but the word came out anyway.

  As she got clearer- and clearer-looking, I wondered if she was a haint atall. She was starting to look just ’bout like a regular woman, but a regular woman that was afeared and had four arms.

  But the way her eyes locked on me, I was pretty sure this was a regular woman. I also saw she didn’t have no clothes on ’cepting a rag hanging ’cross one of her shoulders.