The Ghosts of Varner Creek

by Michael Weems

  “Sol, what the hell are you doing in there?”

  “I got her!” I said, both in a yell and an angry sort of sob. “She’s here, right under me, but I can’t get her out!” I was going to prove to him I wasn't crazy this time if I had to haul him in myself to see.

  His expression became wildly confused and he started into the creek. I got the sense he was probably coming in more to pull me out than because he believed me, but I wasn’t leaving without Sarah. When he lost his balance right where I had and his legs fell in, I didn’t wait on him to get back up and dove back down. I went back under again and pulled with all my strength, but still it just barely moved an inch. I was about to have to come back up for air again, but then I felt a big arm come down next to mine, groping under the water. It grabbed on me and I could tell he was going to pull me out of the water, so I grabbed the wire mesh. I felt his arm slide down to where my hands were, probably to undo my fingers, but then they hit the wire. He patted it once or twice to feel what it was, and then pulled. Finally, I came out of the water for the third time, coughing and breathing hard. I watched as Uncle Colby ducked under and a moment later he pulled the big rock out onto the bank with the strength I’d lacked. Sticking out of the water near the edge of the wire bundle was the end of a leg, pale and mostly just bone, the ankle portion I’d felt when I first reached her. Whatever else there was left of Sarah was still hidden by the bundle that fell back into the water. Where it went or what else was attached to it was still hidden by the muddy water. Uncle Colby had a look of horror on his face. He looked at me and then pulled the rock until the rest of the mass slid out of the creek. And then there she was, or at least what was left of her. Around her midsection was another stone, though not quite as big as the first, and she was wrapped around completely with chicken wire and barbed wire, the same kind we had put up around Lilipeg’s pen back at home. The cloth I had felt under the water wasn’t a blanket. It was the same dress she had gone to bed wearing that night nearly a month ago. Hardly any skin was left on her arms, legs, and face, and the only reason she held together when we pulled her out was because of all the wire wrapped around her. Her torso seemed mostly intact, though bloated and mushy under the dress. It was amazing that much was left considering what carnivorous things were in the creek. All the wire and fabric must have insulated her from their probing appetites. We’d also had some good rains over the past few weeks and the influx of fresh water must have sent the blue crabs a little further south down the creek where it was saltier. If it hadn’t been for that, she might well have already been picked clean.

  Uncle Colby fell back on his rear in the muddy clay, wiping his face with his sleeve. “Jesus Christ Almighty,” he said.

  I was still crying but it wasn’t the wailing moan as a few moments ago. Most of that had been just shear frustration. I’d known she was dead, really. It was certainly different, though, between slowly coming to believe a thing and having it confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt. There aren't proper words to describe what I was feeling at that moment. I was sad, angry, and I also felt a horrible sensation of guilt because a very small part of me was glad that she was actually there and that everything that had been happening to me suddenly seemed validated. It had all become a slow and steady kind of crying, sadness and relief that at last, I’d found her. I had thought something terrible had happened to my sister, and now I knew. At first I just looked at her, at what had become of her. Someone had wrapped her up in the chicken wire, then threaded barbed wire on the ends and tied them around and around the two heavy stones. They weren’t taking any chances on her floating back to the surface. They’d wanted to make sure the creek’s inhabitants would leave no flesh there at the bottom, but in doing so they’d actually made it too difficult for her to be completely consumed yet. They’d hid her well, though. If it hadn't been for her showing me, I don't think anybody would ever have found Sarah. Even Noah's flood wouldn't have pulled her out from under that overhang, not the way she had been stuffed inside with the rocks.

  I started pulling on the barbed wire, trying to unravel it so I could pull the rest of it off of her. Uncle Colby sat awestruck at seeing Sarah's body before him, but after a minute or so had passed, he started helping me as well. Neither of us spoke as we tugged and pulled. Down at her legs the wire had been twisted several times around and I found the end of it and began reversing the twist. I nearly gagged with the terrible smell.

  When we had her free of the two stones Uncle Colby stopped me from undoing the rest of the chicken wire. "No, we bes' leave that for now, Sol," he said. He knew that if we completely undid everything her body might literally fall to pieces. He took off his shirt and placed it over Sarah's mangled head, which looked just like I’d seen in my dream before she filled back into herself, and then he used the rope we still had with us to tie it so it stayed put and covered her face. He carefully picked up the mass of flesh, bone, and wire, and we started walking. Uncle Colby used both hands to carry her and I don’t know how he kept from gagging from the smell of her decayed corpse. I watched her legs bounce with each step. The skin left on her feet was black and it sagged as though it had been pulled and separated from her like a pair of socks.

  We walked along in a silence for a time. Finally Uncle Colby spoke, "How'd you know, Sol?" he asked without looking at me.

  "She told me," I said. "She was scared there by herself."

  He tilted his head down and looked at me like I was something foreign to him, but he didn't say anything else. It seemed that he had always been holding out hope for Mama and Sarah, and now that optimism had been crashed to pieces.

  "You reckon my Mama’s in the creek, too?" I asked him.

  He took a deep breath. "I dunno, Sol" he said, "But I'm going to make sure it gets looked over real good. If she's there, too, we’ll find her," he promised.

  The tears kept coming as we walked. Even Uncle Colby had to stop for a second to wipe his eyes with his shoulder. Each time I thought I was about to be able to stem the flow, I'd think of some other time with Sarah, us picking berries or pecans with Mama, me skinning fish out back and chasing her around with guts while she squealed. And then I pictured that day on her birthday, dressed like the littlest princess. My heart broke and broke again. Uncle Colby changed his grip on the chicken wire so he could carry it with only his left hand and he put his other arm around my shoulder for a bit as we trudged our way through some of the wooded area and then over the old tobacco fields.

  When we reached the house Aunt Emma had finished hanging her laundry and was back inside. George saw us first and was going to walk out to meet us before noticing what Uncle Colby was carrying. As we got a little closer he saw our faces, mine still with fresh tears and Uncle Colby's knotted with grief, and he yelled out, "Mama!" There wasn’t an immediate reply, and he turned and ran into the house yelling out "Mama!" again at the top of his lungs.

  She was sitting at the kitchen table shelling peas, "Boy, what are you on about hollerin' in my house like you don't know no better?" she scolded.

  "Daddy and Sol are comin' back," he told her.

  "Well, Saints be praised, ain't that a wonder?" she quipped at him sarcastically. "Did you think they was gone for good?"

  "Daddy’s carrying something," George told her with a shaky voice.

  She stopped snapping the peas, "Boy, why are you actin' queer? What's he carryin' that’s so special?"

  George had walked over to the kitchen window, and as he looked out he said, "Looks like it might be somethin‘ all wrapped up." She didn't seem to be catching the possibility he was pointing out for her, and of course she wouldn't as she didn't know the real reason I had wanted to go home on that day, so George just laid it out for her. "Looks like maybe he's got Sarah," he said.

  He heard Aunt Emma nearly fall over with trying to get up so fast, "What?" She darted over to the window, too, and by this time Uncle Colby and me were nearly at the house.

  She came out the back door just as we ar
rived, George directly behind her. She walked out and looked at the bundle Uncle Colby had in his hands. She saw my tears and Uncle Colby's solemn face and said, "Oh, God, no, Colby. It ain't . . ."

  He put Sarah down on the ground and went to hold his wife. When she saw his shirt wrapped around the little head and the bony legs sticking out of the bottom, she lost it, "Oh my God! Oh, Lord, no, no, it can't be." I looked down at Sarah and felt fresh tears welling up. George came out from behind Aunt Emma and he started to cry, too. He just stared at the bundle on the ground letting the weight of what it meant sink in. Then he walked over and put his arm around my neck, "You was right," he said. "You found her."

  "Yeah," I told him with a choke. "She weren't in the well, though. She was down yonder in the creek, sunk down with rocks."

  Aunt Emma heard me and she pulled herself free of Uncle Colby and knelt down by Sarah. She examined the chicken wire and the way it had been threaded together by the fence wire. She pulled Uncle Colby's shirt off a little and stroked a piece of black hair that was poking out, all the while shaking her head as if to say no, not Sarah, not like this. She knew what it meant. We all did.

  Francine and Amber hadn't been home that afternoon when we brought Sarah back. They had finished their morning chores and Aunt Emma had let them walk into town to visit with friends and buy themselves a coca cola at the general store, the new fizzy drink everyone liked so much. Mr. Padgett, the storeowner, had bought a whole bunch of crates of the stuff from Houston and it was quite the sensation around that time.

  Aunt Emma and Uncle Colby put Sarah in the back of the wagon and we all headed into town. It was a long, solemn journey, like a funeral march that it more or less was. Once we reached town, Aunt Emma went off to find Francine and Amber at the store while Uncle Colby, George, and I all went into the sheriff's office.

  Sheriff Covell wasn't in as usual. But when we went back outside to get ready to go look for him we saw him walking up from the same direction Aunt Emma had just gone. He had a piece of fried chicken in one hand and a mason jar of iced tea in the other. He saw us come out of the door to his office and gave us a grin and wave merrily while he kicked up the pace a bit to a waddling trot. "Miss Thomas down the way fried up some chicken and invited me for a taste, and y’all know I ain't one to pass up some of her cookin,'" he said jokingly. “And old widower like me’s got to take his home cookin’ where he can get it.” His humor fell on deaf ears and when he saw how solemn we all looked he changed his demeanor, "Something ain't right, is it?" he asked Uncle Colby, "Y’all ain't looking yourselves. What's wrong?"

  Uncle Colby told him, "You’d best be having a look over here, Gus," and walked over to the back of the wagon.

  Sheriff Covell followed him over and looked in as Uncle Colby pulled back the sheet Aunt Emma had placed over Sarah's bundle. He gave her a long look over, then leaned back away from the wagon, tossed the rest of his fried chicken off to the side and wiped his hands on his pants. "Hell's bells," he said. "I reckon I shouldn't’ve been so believing after all. I really had it in my mind they had gone off somewhere and we would of heard from 'em any time now. Which one is that, Annie or her young 'un?"

  "It's Sarah, my niece," Uncle Colby told him.

  “Where'd you find her?” asked the sheriff.

  “Down at the creek, near a bend in a little hollow weighed down with some rocks. Didn’t find Annie, but she might be somewhere in there, too, I reckon.”

  “Lord oh mighty,” said the sheriff. “Well, I'll get some boys down there and check for Annie soon as I can. What with these rains, though, might be she’s been washed down to the Gulf by now.” He looked over at me and said sincerely, "I'm deeply sorry, Sol. I mean that. Ain't nothin' I can think to say 'cept how sorry I am any of this has happened."

  He turned back to Uncle Colby and said with his back to us in a whisper neither George nor I could hear. "You reckon Abram done it?"

  Uncle Colby hated to admit it, but there wasn't any other way of seeing things, "Seems like. I gave him some chicken wire just like what's here while back when we was making a little pen for the horse and wagon they had, and he kept the leftover."

  "Well," said the sheriff, "I don't see much point in holding out for any silver lining in these clouds here anymore," he told Uncle Colby. "I’m just about done hoping for the better of things in this here situation. I think if the young 'un here was killed, so was the Mama. I’m awfully sorry for y’all’s loss, Colby, but I promise I’m going to take care of this. How'd y’all manage to find her anyhow?"

  "Sol says he knew where to look. We checked the well back at Abram and Annie's, but didn't find nothing 'cept what he said was part of a tooth. I reckon him and his daddy have been down there at the creek times past and it struck him that's where she might be."

  Uncle Colby didn't mention anything about ghosts and dreams. There wasn't much point in stirring that pot.

  "Well, I reckon I best be off to find Abram. It’s judgment day for that boy. I'd better get a holt of him before Marcus finds out, though. He ain't back is he?"

  "I ain't seen him yet," replied Uncle Colby, still in a hushed voice.

  "That's good, I reckon. If he finds out before I have a chance to bring Abram in I bet we'd be needing ourselves two caskets ‘stead of just the one, and I've got to try and keep things from gettin' out of hand when folks find out," said the Sheriff. “It ain’t gonna be easy, though. Folks ain’t gonna take this too well. And the last thing we need is a lynch mob.”

  "Might serve him right," said Uncle Colby as he looked back at the bundle under the sheet. "I didn't think he had it in him." Despite their whispering, I could just make out that last line. He’d tell me the rest of the conversation years later, but even then I already knew who he was talking about, and everybody in town would know pretty soon.

  "I guess you'll be wanting to talk with Doc Wilkins," said the Sheriff. The town doctor served as both physician and mortician. There was a carpenter in town that put together the caskets, but Dr. Wilkins walked the families through their time of need.

  "Yessir. And I reckon you got your own work to do," Uncle Colby told him with a bit of suggestion. He knew Uncle Marcus was due back any time, not to mention what somebody else might do. Even he was having very violent feelings about Pap at the moment, and he was one of the only people Pap could consider a friend, yet despite himself he didn’t want to see Pap lynched. Of course even if somebody did go vigilante and shoot Pap dead, it'd probably just be cutting out the formalities. Anybody who killed a child, especially a retarded child, and sunk the body in the creek for the crabs, wasn't going to get any leniency out of the Christian people of Varner Creek. Even those that weren't such good Christians would become ones on the day they went into the town hall in witness of a trial like this one would bring. They'd be clean, sober, and full of the word. An eye for an eye and death for a death. Uncle Colby knew Pap didn't have a chance in front of judge or jury.

  Each man went to his own tasks. The sheriff ducked into his office for a moment and emerged again wearing his sidearm and holding a rifle. He normally didn't go through town with his guns, but he was no slouch with a firearm. Varner Creek was just too quiet for that sort of thing, and the women had grown a habit at frowning at any man who came to town with guns attached. It just wasn't a socially acceptable thing to do here. Besides, the only trouble the town really knew was the occasional barroom fight that got out of hand, and only once in a blue moon would somebody turn up shot. They'd never had a child murdered before.

  The Sheriff walked down towards a group of houses in town. He lived in one and a few doors down lived the mayor. He'd tell him the news and ask the mayor to find a few strong fellas to accompany the sheriff over to Pap’s place. Uncle Colby left the wagon sitting in front of the sheriff's office with the brake on and went looking for Dr. Wilkins in the same direction. He asked George and me to sit tight so that nobody walking by would peek under the sheet and cause a scene. As they both walked off George aske
d me, "You reckon the sheriff goin' to go after your daddy?"

  "I'm pretty sure," I told him. "I didn’t want to think he’d done it, but looks like he did."

  We sat up on the seat of the wagon and George looked back at Sarah under the sheet, "I can't believe that's her," he said. "I reckon that means you really did see her that night out at our place, huh?"