The Ghosts of Varner Creek

  He laughed a little bit, too. "Well, what about you? I had that hen I was chasin', had her right by her hind feathers. Then I heard you yellin' bloody murder and there you was with that rooster pecking at yah like you was a big corn kernel, and you run off same as me. I figured I had that hen since he took off after you, but the next thing I know that bird was flying at me goin' plum crazy." He smiled, though. "That chicken’s possessed," he finally decided. "Ain’t no way a normal chicken act like that. We ought to get the preacher out here to do drive the devil out of it or somethin’," he suggested.

  We both had a good laugh, but not too loud. We didn’t want him hearing us and coming back for seconds, so we went ahead and pulled ourselves up off the ground and headed back to the house. We had a dandy of a time convincing Aunt Emma that a chicken had attacked us in the woods. She was convinced we'd snuck over to someone else's farm and been up to no good. She didn't believe in the whole wild chicken attack story, not until Uncle Colby backed us up. "There's chickens in them woods," he said bluntly over dinner. Not a chicken dinner, by the way, just a plain dinner with a carrot and potato stew. "Don't nobody know how long they been there, but they’re there. I‘ve heard them a time or two myself." Henry Mullins could have told us how those chickens came to live and breed out in the woods, but none of us knew. His old fighting roosters had spawned the granddaddy of cock-fighting roosters.

  That night neither George nor I slept very well. Our scratches hurt and no matter how much I had washed earlier, I could still smell the chicken crap on me. Finally the thought of it sliming down my face like it had drove me out of bed and back outside to the well. I had to make sure it was all off and get the smell gone, otherwise I'd never get any sleep, so I crept out the door quietly so as to not disturb everyone else still sleeping.

  Outside a cold chill had settled along with an accompanying misty fog. Aunt Emma must have put the soap and bucket back at the well, and I hesitated to approach the well remembering what had happened back at my house. The eerie quiet of a half gray, half black night wasn't encouraging, either. Still, I told myself that I was acting like a baby, plus my cheek was remembering the texture of chicken crap along with the smell that I thought I could still detect emanating from me, so I went ahead and drew up the bucket. There was an old lye bar of soap we used earlier and I grabbed it and began scrubbing away. My arms were scratched up a hundred times worse than my face, but the soap still stung in my cuts on the cheeks and neck. I threw another handful of water over my face and some of the suds crept down into my eyes causing them to burn. Lye soap could be excruciating on the eyes, even in small doses. I shut them tight to block the invasion of soapy water and bent over close to the bucket to cup water into my hands. I dipped my hands along the surface of the bucket like I was holding a hymnal in church, a V- shape to catch a nice little puddle, but as they slid just beneath the water I had the sudden sensation that I was looking for something. Yes, there was definitely something I was trying to find. My thoughts seemed to run away from me and I just started feeling over and over again, I’m looking for something, I’m looking for something, I’m looking for . . . someone. I have to find someone. I have to find . . . Sol! And at that moment something grabbed my hand in the water. It gripped me tightly and I had to jump back to get it to let go. My eyes opened wide. The lye immediately stung them horribly, but I was just able to make out a small hand disappearing back into the water with barely a ripple. My first instinct was to run, but then I wondered if I hadn’t had another waking dream. Surely, that didn’t just happened. I crept cautiously towards the bucket, leaning back just in case that hand came thrusting out of the water to grab me again. When I got closer, I pushed the suds from my eyes and squinted to see the water. The first thing I noticed was the water. It was black with the night sky’s reflection but it had suddenly taken on that same greenish tint. It just didn’t make sense. I stayed where I was a few moments, still frightened a hand might rise again, but when it didn’t I got a little closer to the water and tried to see what it was making the water tint that way. All of a sudden, as though rising from a deep abyss, I saw something pale white rise up. It was a face, Sarah’s face. Her head seemed to float towards the surface as though the bucket were much deeper than possible, and then her eyes opened and looked right at me. Terror rose up in me from somewhere deep in my belly. It amplified as it jumped into my chest and froze me from the inside. Her face was dimly lit in a green luminescence, and then she said my name. I didn’t hear anything, but her lips clearly mouthed “Sol . . .” But then, as though someone had grabbed her by her ankles and pulled her back down, she disappeared quickly into the depths. Within seconds she had vanished inside the bucket. I still wanted to turn and run back inside the house, but I felt compelled to look into the bucket deeper to see where she might have gone. It was like trying to see through to the other side of a mirror. Nothing was there except the shadow I was casting from the moonlight, creating even a blacker surface than the night alone could manage. I poked the water and little ripples danced on its surface, but nothing else stirred inside. Slowly, and with a lot of caution and fright, I put my right hand all the way into the bucket. I half expected to be pulled inside down into some underworld, but there was nothing there except the bottom of the wooden bucket and the water between.

  “Sarah?” I said. “Sarah?” There came no answer. I picked up the bucket and dumped the water out, then looked back inside as though there was some hidden door within. But all I saw was the bucket, emptied and shallow.

  The coldness of the night and the empty lonely feeling of being out there in the dark with nothing but the image of my sister's head in that bucket was too much. I dropped it and took off back into the house, furiously wiping my eyes as tears cleared away the lye that had stung them. As I went I questioned myself if I had just seen what I thought I had. What’s happening to me? I thought. The house was still quiet inside. George was asleep but I could tell he had changed positions yet again since I'd been outside. Obviously he wasn't in the deep slumber that's so hard to wake people from. I thought about shoving him a little to wake him up and tell him what had just happened outside, but I didn't know how I'd tell anyone. Even just thinking it to myself was making me think I might be a crazy person. George would think I'd cracked or made it up. Maybe I had cracked. So instead I just climbed into bed to think on everything. I wasn’t crazy. That had been Sarah’s head out there, just like the time before at my house when I'd seen her reflection, except this time I know I didn’t black out. Something grabbed me and I knew it was her that had I seen in that strange glow. And she said my name. When her lips had moved there was nothing else they could have said but my name. I just knew it. This time, it was real. I wasn’t a dream, I told myself. That was Sarah. I resigned myself that the next day I would tell George what I'd seen. I'd tell him that I was beginning to think Mama and Sarah didn't go to Galveston. I'd tell him that I thought I had seen Sarah's ghost.

  I was laying there thinking about her, about the way her face had looked there in the water surrounded by that eerie green glow when I fell asleep. George and I had slept back to back in the small bed and I woke up while it was still dark, feeling something wet against me. Immediately I noted how cold the room was, too cold even for the chilly night outside. I felt like I’d been dipped in icy water from head to toe. Goose bumps riddled my body, particularly the back of my neck and chest. I thought I could feel someone else in the room. I lifted my head enough to look over the curve of my shoulder to see if there was anyone there. I couldn't see anyone, but the little half-moon of mattress left between me and the edge of the bed was slowly being pockmarked with invisible droplets that were magically appearing as though someone was standing there dripping on the sheets. Perfectly dry parts of the blanket suddenly broke out with droplets like it had caught the measles. Although I couldn't see anyone, I knew it was her. I pulled back the sheets and looked at the floor by the bed. Little wet footprints spread out before me in a perfect path o
ut of the room I was sharing with George. But they weren't headed away from the bed, they had been made by someone coming into the room and there weren't any leading back out. Someone had recently walked into our room and something in my gut said that they were still here. I sat up and looked over the edge of the bed and could see a puddle of water slowly accumulating on the hardwood floor. I thought to myself, if she is here, she's there. She's standing right there.

  I felt like I was freezing from the inside. I sat looking into the empty space where I thought she must be, intently listening for any sound and looking for any sign of her physical presence. Suddenly a puff of air as though someone breathing caressed my cheek. I cringed backwards quickly, but a moment later I leaned forward and in a whisper I said, "Sarah?"

  And as though I had called her to form, there she was. Light sprang forward and it was surrounding her. She appeared just inches from me, staring right at me in that same green mist wearing her pink dress. She was wet all over and reached out for me. I had jerked back in fright again, but after I paused for a moment I found the courage in me to reach out for her hand. I looked at her eyes and felt strangely happy. I felt like I’d just found what I had been looking for. Our fingertips connected and then she was gone. A small breeze of air manifested from where she had been and blew itself over me and George. He stirred a little in his sleep but nothing more. He had no idea what had just happened.

  The room suddenly felt empty again except for us. Sarah was gone. The water remained, though. There it was on the floor, her footprints into the room, and the puddle where she had stood. I had proof, I thought. I wasn‘t crazy. I could tell people the things I'd seen now because there was the proof right there on the hardwood floors. Everything seemed to bubble up in me at that moment, the terror of seeing what I could only assume was my dead sister's ghost, the elation that the water had remained proving that I wasn't a nutcase, and an absolute necessity to tell someone. "Aunt Emma!" I yelled. It was a sudden outburst and louder than I had intended. I jumped out of bed and ran towards her and Uncle Colby's bedroom. I pushed open their door and yelled for her again, "Aunt Emma! Aunt Emma, wake up!"

  Uncle Colby was snoring loud as ever but Aunt Emma leaned up quickly in the bed, her bird's nest of hair silhouetted by the slight light of the window. "Sol? What's wrong? What is it?"

  "Come quick, Aunt Emma, come quick!" I felt around for her arm and when I found it I tried pulling her out of bed.

  She came stumbling after me, "What is it, Sol? Somebody hurt? What's going on?"

  "I saw her!" I said, "She was in my room!"

  Aunt Emma was trying to get her mind out of bed, too, "Who?" she asked, thinking she must have missed something and needed to get caught up on things.

  "Sarah!" I yelled. "She was here, right here in my room!" I dragged her into the room by the bed.

  By this time George was up, too. He had heard the noise and was looking around frantically trying to figure out who had been in the bedroom while he was sleeping, "Who's here?" he asked frightened, "Where? Where?"

  "She was right here," I told him and Aunt Emma, both. I pointed at the puddle on the floor, "See, Aunt Emma, right here. There's her footprints right there."

  Aunt Emma looked at the water on the floor. "Well, where'd she go, Sol? Is she in the house?" She took a step towards the door like she was about to search the house.

  "She’s gone, Aunt Emma. She disappeared," I told her.

  Aunt Emma stopped and gave me a queer look, "What do you mean, disappeared?"

  "I saw her earlier, too, Aunt Emma. I went outside to wash up again and I saw her in the bucket."

  Now she was kneeling down beside me, "In the bucket? Sol, honey, what in the world are you going on about?"

  I knew she'd think I was cracked, but I had my proof. "I'm trying to tell you, Aunt Emma. I think something's happened to Sarah. I think maybe she might be dead and trying to tell me something. I saw her, I swear I did."

  "Calm down, Sol, just calm yourself okay. Now, your sister's fine, you here me?

  What makes you think something's happened to her?"

  "Something has happened, Aunt Emma. I think Sarah's dead and I've seen her ghost."

  "Ghost?" cried George. And he pulled the sheets up tight around his neck and started scanning every inch of the room.

  "Quiet down, George," Aunt Emma told him. "There ain't no ghosts here." And she had looked back at me when she said it. "Now, Sol, I want you to listen to me. I know you're scared and worried about your Mama and sister, but you didn’t see her ghost, now, yah hear me?"

  "But Aunt Emma, the footprints . . ." I had proof!

  "I think I know where they come from, Sol. And I'll take care of it, but right now I want you to calm down and think for a sec. Your Mama and Sarah took all their things and the horse and wagon. Now, I don't think anything bad has happened to either one of them. I think someone's pulled a bit of a mean joke on you is all, so don't go getting yourself all worked up. We're going to figure out where they went soon enough and everything will get settled. You just gotta wait and let things find their course. But I don't want you thinking bad thoughts, okay, sweet pie? Ain't no cause to be thinking like that, and there ain’t no such thing as ghosts." She gave me a hug and I could see little tears hiding behind her eyes. I didn't think she wholly believed what she had just told me about finding Mama and Sarah in due course. She was worried, too. And I knew what I had seen.

  Aunt Emma did her best to calm George and me, but there was no way either of us was going back to sleep. It was a bout four or five in the morning anyway, so we agreed to get back in bed just until the light said it was time to get up again. Aunt Emma went out of our bedroom right into Amber and Francine's room. George wouldn't let her close our door and we could both hear her storm into their room, "All right!" She yelled at them, both of whom were peacefully sleeping despite my outburst earlier and blissfully unaware of the commotion around them, "Which one did it? Don't play asleep with me girls; I'll tan your hides."

  I could just imagine her shaking them both awake in the other room. Then we heard Amber's voice, "Mama?" It sounded sweet and innocent and I felt bad for her because I knew she was innocent of this one.

  "Don't Mama me. Whose bright idea was it?" She asked both girls as they groggily awoke.

  "What are you talking about, Mama?" I heard Francine ask.

  "One of you or both of you have been messing around with George and Sol. Traipsing around my house with wet feet and dripping water on my sheets while they’re sleepin’. Which one was it? huh?"

  Both the girls looked at each other dumbfounded. "Mama we ain't been outta bed, I swear," said Amber.

  Francine went into a rant, "It's him, Mama! Him and Sol! They done it and now they're trying to blame it on us just to get us in trouble. They pranked us something just like it the other day, Mama, when they poured water in our bed."

  "Uh, huh," said Aunt Emma, "and I suppose neither of you thought it'd be funny to play a similar prank on them to get them back, huh?"

  "But we didn't, Mama, honest," whined Francine.

  "Well, look here," said Aunt Emma, "In any case I've had enough of the practical joking around here. Sol's going through a tough time and things like this just making it worse, you hear?" Both girls were about to be up in protest again, but she cut them off, "Now, I don't wanna hear it! You just do as I say and no more messin' around. Understand?"

  They both must have looked like a couple of pitiful martyrs, but since they didn't want to risk getting in more trouble, they just said, "Yes, ma'am," in that automatic way they were used to using.

  The next morning they both approached me and George as I was telling him everything that had happened. His eyes were big and although he didn't seem to care much for the idea of ghosts standing in our room at night he didn’t seem to think I was crazy, which I appreciated more than I could say.

  Amber and Francine strolled up on us with that girlish swagger that said trouble, "Think that's real
funny, don't yah?" asked Amber. "Mama coming in and getting on to us like that for a prank you faked on yourselves just to get us in trouble."

  "Yeah, real funny, you shit-heads. We'll see how funny it is when we tell everyone in town how you both still pee the bed," added Francine.

  "We don't!" I yelled at her.

  "George does," said Amber, "And it don't matter. Everyone will believe it, anyway. Maybe that'll make y’all think twice before y’all try to get us in trouble again."

  "We didn't do it," said George. "It was a ghost."

  Amber squinted her eyes, folded her arms, and shifted her weight to one leg and puckered her lips like a soured fish, "Oh, shut up George. Like we’re going to fall for that.”

  “Yeah,” said Francine. “A ghost poured water in your bed just like you did ours. You’re both just stupid." And with that her and Francine walked off with the same swagger as before, except a little more triumphantly.

  George looked at me and said, "I don't wet the bed. They're just trying to embarrass me."

  "It's okay," I told him, "I wouldn't care even if you did, but I know you ain't since I been here. Besides, I think maybe something real bad's happened, George. I know what happened last night and I know it was Sarah that I saw and her in that was in our room." The more I thought about what it might mean, the worse I felt. And before I knew it I was crying. "I think maybe they’re dead, George," I told him. “I think they’re dead,” I said again.

  George put his arm around me, "It's all right," he comforted, "Maybe it ain't like you think. Maybe Mama's right and somehow Francine and Amber been playing some kind of joke on yah without us realizing it. I wouldn't put it past 'em."