Evil Heights, Book II: Monster in the House

by Michael Swanson

  "What'd he look like?” Lee asked.

  "He was a thin man, almost emaciated. In those days people like the Captain were sometimes called consumptive. Maybe he suffered from some kind of a cancer, or it might have been glandular, I don't know. But he was terribly thin and gaunt. As far as why, nobody knows, maybe he just didn't like to eat, but there wasn't anything about any severe illnesses in his service record. In the tintype photograph I saw, Captain Limpkins was seated in a chair and had his hands on his knees. He had his sword scabbard across his legs and he was holding the sword itself propped up in his left hand. Those kinds of photos were surprisingly popular with both officers and enlisted men, and were customarily taken by photographers who followed the troops. I've seen hundreds and hundreds of them."

  She had the eye, working it, touching it, all the while staring out into space and speaking in such a sweetly reminiscent voice, her accent adding just the right, soft flavor to the telling of the tale. Lee sat back, all of the earlier heat having just evaporated. He could have listened to Miss Laura all night.

  "I imagine most of the men thought they wouldn't be coming back, so they wanted a picture for family to remember them by. There's so many. I can't help but think when I look into the eyes of one of those men, whatever might have happened to him. Did he make it home, to his family, his sweetheart? Most of the men look the same, I mean maybe not physically, but I'm talking about the lonesome or frightened look in their eyes, but the one of Captain Limpkins had a presence to it. He seemed formidable. I could see he'd have no qualms at all about cutting off a bullet-shattered arm or stitching up a sword wound without the benefit of anesthesia. There was just that air about him. And come to think of it, another thing that struck me as odd, besides how thin he was, was the length of his fingers."

  She hesitated, then placed the eye carefully in the center of her lap and held out her left hand stretching out her fingers. She then marked a place in the air a few inches out from her longest fingertip. “I'd swear his fingers had to be seven or eight inches long, with an abnormal portion of the length being the ends, the fingernail section. It wasn't that the nails were overly long; but that the cuticle was all the way back up near the last joint. The knuckles too, they were knobby, like balls of bone.” She thought for a moment, then said, “Maybe he was arthritic. I don't really have anything to relate it to. I've never seen anyone who can quite match those spidery hands."

  She took a drink and then picked the eye back up and thought for a moment, probably trying to regain her mental picture of the photograph. “Like a lot of men from that period in history, he wore one of those big walrus moustaches that drooped down over his mouth. I think the rank and file soldiers called it a “Soup strainer.” But his was a little tattered and I could see his teeth. It was something else odd now that I come to think of it. His teeth looked..."

  Miss Laura's eyes fixed on Lee's for a moment. He could see she was trying, but couldn't think of a way to describe what it was she was seeing.

  "Evil!” Lee blurted out.

  "Miss Laura smiled. “Thank you. Yes, I think that's as good a word as any, evil. It was a skeleton's grin, a corpses grin. The teeth looked sharp, as though they might have been filed."

  Miss Laura took a brief break and drank once and then twice before continuing.

  "You keep that up, Laura,” Ed observed, “And I'll be carrying you out of here tonight.

  "I don't know why I'm so thirsty,” she replied, somehow her little, soft accent sounding even more delicate because of the slur coming on. She squinted at her husband. “It just tastes so good."

  Lee couldn't miss the look that passed between them.

  His dad hadn't either. “Talk about us, huh? Look at you two. Maybe there's something in the air tonight.” He raised his eyebrows jiggling them lasciviously like a Groucho Marx. Adding an invisible cigar to his impersonation he said. “Say the secret word and win a hundred dollars."

  "Do y'all want me to get on with this?” Miss Laura admonished.

  "Sorry,” Ted came back.

  Uncle Ed cupped a hand over his mouth and turned sidelong to Ted. “What's the secret word?” he whispered.

  It was Lee who answered, “Ooh-la-la!"

  Ted pointed at him, “Give that boy a hundred dollars!"

  Even Maggie was laughing, as Lee had successfully made a joke out of what could have been an embarrassment.

  Miss Laura too, had joined in, for a moment fanning herself with her hand as she laughed. “I do declare,” she said sounding like a caricature, “I do think the boy has hit on something. I do feel something. A little light headed. Don't y'all?"

  Maggie sat up, leaning in towards the table as she grabbed at a handful of chips. Coming back, she left a trail of crushed potato chip crumbs all the way back to her lap. “Laura's right,” she said settling back in. “I feel ... I don't know.” She let out with that hiccupy little giggle again.

  "That's it,” Uncle Ed agreed. “You said it all right there.” He held up his beer. “To good friends and good times!"

  Reaching across the coffee table they all touched glasses and echoed the toast.

  Lee, sitting on the floor could feel it too. Maybe it was just all the sugar and caffeine, but he felt excited, almost electric.

  "Well, what about this captain?” Ted came back though a mouthful of peanuts. “Sounds like a goomer to me. A Yankee goomer at that. What'd you say he looked like?"

  "Overall,” Miss Laura had partially resumed her teacher demeanor. “I'd have to characterize Captain Limpkin's general appearance as indicative of a man who was haughty and extremely self-assured; arrogant might even be too mild. Another striking physical characteristic, I remember, was he was as bald as a cue ball except for the fringe around the sides over the ears, which he had combed over.” She brought up her one hand and made sweeping movements over her head to illustrate her point.

  "I hate it when men do that,” Ted chimed in. “It looks just ridiculous. Do they really think they're fooling anybody? Oh yeah, it's like every man's hair grows sideways across his head.” He scooted over coming back shoulder-to-shoulder with Maggie, wrapping a hand around her knee. “You know, Ed, that reminds me of a joke that went around in Korea,” again he brought the Groucho eyebrows into play, “about the sound a naked oriental woman makes when she goes down a slide—” Ted stopped and looked at Lee and then Miss Laura. “Maybe I better save that one for another time."

  "Yes, I would hope you would,” Miss Laura admonished, coming off exactly like a teacher berating a child who'd been caught doing something silly in class.

  Ed grinned. “That's okay, I've heard it.” He then put a finger to both his lips and wiggled it up and down jabbering.

  Ted took another long drink and keeping his beer placing it in his lap. “You've heard it, you old dog, you."

  Ed winked. “You must be drunk. I think you've told me that joke once a week since you got back from Korea."

  "Any way,” Miss Laura shook her head, “as I was saying before I was so very rudely interrupted, Captain Limpkins was a very vain man."

  Ted took up his beer defensively and gulped it looking down at Miss Laura from either side of the bottle. “Did she mean me?"

  Ed shook his head. “Shhh."

  Miss Laura stopped, and suddenly her fingers curled up and gripped the eye closing it in her palm. What was it Lee saw pass across her eyes?

  "I'll be quiet,” Ted said trying to look sheepish. “Scouts honor."

  Miss Laura unrolled the eye. It stuck to the bottoms of her fingers for a moment and then rolled free back down into her palm.

  "Captain Limpkins was trained as a military surgeon,” she began anew. She was still posed as the schoolteacher, but her tone and manner were now slightly different, stiffer, colder, and she didn't sound quite as tipsy as she had a moment ago. “He had been born to a devout Mennonite family in 1835. As young man, he had seriously pursued the ministry before quite abruptly changing schools to study medicine.
There is some record that he was quite summarily asked to leave the seminary. His family was devastated. Afterwards, apparently, it took some doing for young master Limpkins to convince his father to pony up the cash for a new major. But, it as it turned out it was the right decision. Limpkins, in his early twenties, did extremely well in medical school graduating with honors. Though, one of his senior professors noted that young Dr. Limpkins demonstrated an almost maniacal zeal for cadavers and was never the least bit squeamish even with badly decayed subjects. And the professor even went so far as to suggest, in the permanent record mind you, Dr. Limpkins might be better cut out as a mortician or pathologist, rather than a doctor. Of course, everything changed when the war broke out. He had just started a practice in Delaware. Most men from well-to-do families were able to purchase dispensations relieving them of obligations to serve. But, apparently the senior Mr. Limpkins was through funding his son's life. He might even have pushed his son into the military as punishment for whatever had happened in the Seminary. Whatever it was, he found himself drafted in 1862. Though he advocated abhorrence to slavery, like other Mennonites, Dr. Limpkins confided in his journal that he struggled with his conscience about serving. He even considered fleeing to Canada rather than allow himself to be conscripted. But with everything I know now about him, I find it strange that a man like him could have ever considered being a conscientious objector."

  "What's that?” Lee asked.

  "Don't interrupt,” Ted said quickly.

  "No leave him be,” Miss Laura came back bristling. “If the boy doesn't understand something, he's more than entitled to ask."

  Ed grinned at Ted and whispered, “Look at me. Shut up and drink your beer."

  "Lee,” Miss Laura nodded appreciatively to her husband, “a conscientious objector is a person who doesn't want to go to war because they believe war and killing is wrong either for religious, moral, or ethical reasons."

  Lee nodded, now feeling exactly like he was in school.

  "But as I said,” Miss Laura expertly kept the ball rolling. “It's strange that he ever considered that recourse, because all accounts of Captain Limpkins disposition on the battle field reveals that he was courageous to the point of ferocity. Some of the soldiers who'd reported seeing him, stated that he fought like a man possessed. Like he enjoyed it, actually thrived on it."

  Ted fidgeted as though he was going to say something.

  "I know. I know.” Miss Laura continued quickly. “You're going to ask what was a surgeon doing on the battlefield? Why wasn't he back in the hospital tending the wounded? That was another odd personal quirk about our Captain Limpkins. He always volunteered to work at the most forward aid station, nearest the action. A fellow surgeon noted that he was constantly preoccupied with news from the front, at times continuing to interrogate a wounded soldier, even after they had strapped him down on the amputation table. It turns out he was equally as adept with his sword as he was with a scalpel, in fact maybe even better. And whenever the opportunity arose, he always demonstrated a preference for his saber over his pistol. Once, at Antietum, he received a formal admonishment from his commanding officer for having deserted the aid station to participate in the battle. Had it not been for the dire need of surgeons, he should have been charged with dereliction of duty, and if convicted by a court martial Captain Limpkins might have found himself standing before a firing squad rather than an operating table."

  "Now that's what I'd call a surgeon's surgeon,” said Ed, breaking his taboo of silence. “I bet he knew just where to cut.” Ed carefully drew his arm back, tracing a slice with his cigarette like an imaginary sword. “That'd make a pretty good T.V. show: ‘The fighting Surgeon'."

  "Do you want me to continue?” Miss Laura's tone flashed a warning to her husband.

  Flicking the ash off the sword, he held up his hands in defense. “Okay. Okay. Sorry. Nothing more from me. I should have known better."

  Miss Laura took a drink from her nearly empty glass, and gingerly set it back down on the magazine.

  Lee was watching her attentively. Even though she was obviously tipsy, she always kept that little finger arced out whenever she touched her glass.

  "It was at Gettysburg that Captain Limpkins lost his eye,” she continued. “Confederate General Jubal Early's cavalry overran the Union medical field station west of the town. The Captain, suddenly had just what he wanted, finding himself unexpectedly in the midst of a raging battle, still wearing his blood soaked apron. Luckily for him, he was rather compulsive and never went anywhere without his sword. It was noted he even wore it while operating, which sometimes presented problems. The scabbard would stick out and orderlies had a difficult time scurrying around in all the chaos and not tripping over it. Nevertheless, this peculiarity surely saved his life on July 2, 1863; as within seconds of emerging from the surgery tent, he was engaged by a Confederate officer on horseback. Captain Limpkins was, as I've said before, a very accomplished swordsman. But the Calvary officer was able to use the height of his mounted position to gain an immediate advantage over the Captain. With the first flurry of swordplay, Captain Limpkins lost the eye. Most other men might have capitulated right there, but not our Captain Limpkins. Though bleeding profusely from the wound, the Captain ran his sword through the horse's throat bringing down the rider along with the poor animal. When the horse fell, the Confederate Calvary officer's leg pinned him beneath his dying mount. A witness to the event, a young surgery orderly, stated that Limpkins not only completely severed the man's head, but also the arm the doomed man had raised in defense, such was the savagery of the blow. The account of this is even more amazing when one considers Limpkins accomplished this with a single one handed stroke of his saber, as according to the story, he had stuffed a handkerchief in his empty eye socket and was holding it in place with the other hand."

  Miss Laura looked around at three mesmerized boys: one fourteen-year-old and the other two in their thirties. “You sure this isn't too boring?"

  "Oh, no! No,” all three said at once.

  "It's good education for Lee,” Ted added enthusiastically.

  "Just checking.” Miss Laura's smirk of self-satisfaction was impossible for her to hide.

  Maggie hadn't said a thing for quite a while. She didn't really seem to be paying any attention at all and was just busily gorging herself on chips and dip.

  "There was a rumor circulated that a wounded officer in a medical apron led a charge against an enemy position, having gathered together some men and formed a counter attack. Supposedly, all of the Confederates were slaughtered, down to the last man, though a few unsubstantiated reports hint many gave up and threw down their arms when they were surprised and surrounded. I've always assumed it was the Captain who was behind this, but, of course, there's no way to prove it. Anyway, at some point later in the day the Captain made his way back to the main Union hospital which was set up to the south of town in the White church, only to find the building absolutely overflowing with wounded and dying men. Despite his own serious affliction, he was immediately pressed into service."

  Miss Laura stopped and took another well-balanced sip of her drink.

  "Now this is the part that makes historians wonder about the reliability of some sources of information,” she continued. “Entered into the commander's report was a line which stated Limpkins never sought out any treatment, but instead spent the next thirty-two hours hacking off limbs, digging out bullets, and sewing up wounds, all the while with the bloody handkerchief still wadded up in his empty eye socket. Frankly, I find that more than a little unbelievable."

  Looking around the room it was easy to see that she was the only one who doubted her own story. Lee was engrossed in his own visual picture of the battle with the doctor fighting his way back, along side the rest of the beleaguered Union troops, in full retreat.

  "What happened next?” Lee asked, fidgeting on the floor, unable to control his impatience.

  "The one thing that both North and South a
greed upon was that the carnage at Gettysburg was on a scale never before seen in the United States. It was horrific, shocking both sides, and even sparked anti-war riots in the North. In the three days of pitched battle, more than seven thousand men died and at least fifty thousand were wounded. To help you understand the carnage let me describe a grisly photograph taken a day or so after the fighting had ceased. It's just a church, like so many from that period, white plank boards, shutters to either side of the windows, and a simple spire on the roof. Under the second story side window is a huge, dark mass that spreads out at the base nearly the entire length of the sidewall. When you take a magnifying glass to it, it's revealed that this is an enormous mound of amputated limbs and dead bodies piled all the way up from the ground to level with the second story window. This was a church, converted to a hospital where Captain Limpkins actually worked. To put the indescribable horror of it all into perspective, there is a verified story recounted by a number of officers and enlisted men, which tells of one Union soldier, presumed dead and tossed out the window into the heap. The man ended up spending two days amid the mangled limbs and decaying bodies before his feeble cries were heard and he was rescued, only to die within hours of being removed."

  "Oh, keen-o!” Lee couldn't help squirming about. This was too much.

  "I thought you'd like that bit of it,” Miss Laura looked straight at Lee.

  "That can't really be true,” Ed said, suspiciously. “I mean, how could somebody live for two days, wounded, lying in a pile of bodies?"

  "How could a man who'd had his eye torn out in a sword fight stand at a bloody operating table for a day and a half cutting men apart and sewing them back together?” Miss Laura looked smugly at her husband. “But it happened. It's historical fact."