A Decidedly Unwestern Story I wrote of English that got a very interesting reaction....
I slipped out the door of Mr. Baumer�s shop, ready for my supper and sleep. But more than anything, I was ready for the big fire roaring in the little iron stove Jim had just put in: it gets so cold out here at night. I tried to hurry by the freight wagon, to pass it without looking inside, without seeing the corpse I knew to be there. But the wind was blowing so fast and ferociously, I had to turn my head for fear of losing my good bonnet. I should have closed my eyes, or at least averted them, but some perverse curiosity held them right where they were: staring dead into the wagon.
I saw a foot, a hand, a leg, all so stiff and white they looked as if they were made of wax. But they weren�t, and even I knew that. I could pretend that the body was just a dummy, a mannequin for the store, perhaps, but underneath I would still know that it was really the body of a man. A man that I knew.
The streets of Moon Dance were just swaths of icy, slushy mud and old snow. My dress and my shoes were being soaked and ruined as I walked home that night; my feet were too wet even to freeze. But I wasn�t thinking about that. Instead, my mind was filled with the image of Slade�s body, emptied of life. He had been a terrible, cruel man, but did he really deserve to be frozen like that, like a� like a sausage? No matter how dreadful a person may be, aren�t they still a person? I couldn�t help but hoping, as I trudged down that black and silent street, that a piece, no matter how small, of goodness had left that frozen shell, along with all the bad.
I found myself staring up at my huge old house, just standing and staring. I had been so absorbed in my thoughts, I didn�t remember arriving. A cricket chirped, the wind threatened my bonnet, again, but I stood there in the street before my home, staring. I couldn�t believe I had been so happy to get here. The house was dark, and creaking, and foreboding. It didn�t look like anyone had lived there for decades. The paint was pealing from the boards, the roof sagged in a dangerous way, and somewhere, just above the din of the wind, a scream: a small, thin, scream that ricocheted between my ears.
My house didn�t seem so bad, then. I ran through my little front garden, up the porch steps, and through the door. It was no warmer inside than it had been out there; if anything, it felt colder because the air was so still and flat. I moved blindly down my hall. The tables and coat racks seemed to jump out for me, no matter how hard I searched with hands or how slow I walked, I still walked right into them.
By the time I got to the kitchen, I had concluded that not only was Jim gone, but he had put out the fire. The wood was outside, beyond the shed, and the thought of going back out didn�t sound too appealing. So, I lit a candle, sat down with a book, and was going to read as I waited for Jim. But I was so tired, and the soothing, soft light of the candle persuaded my eyes to close and drew me down into a dream.
Slade�s icy body. It turns blue, then gray, then black. The skin shrivels and wilts, and falls, leaving the stark white of the bones glaring and burning my eyes. My eyes, my eyes!!!!!! I scream as the pain escalates beyond recognition- I�ve never hurt this badly before. My eyes must be gone, gone, they must have shriveled and fallen like Slade�s skin, but why are the socket�s still on fire?!?!? Another scream, and another, each one dimmer and dimmer, fading until my voice rises just above the din of the wind, the sound of a little girl crying.
I look around me; this darkness is too complete- it can�t be real.
Where am I?
�Who are you?� The little girl whispers. �Why are you in my head?�
I try to move my arm, to move anything. I can�t. This darkness I see, and this fear that I feel, they aren�t mine. They�re hers.
�Don�t hurt me!�
I won�t hurt you. But where are we?
�The cellar.�
Why are we in the cellar?
�We�re hiding from Brother.� I feel my� our chest heave with sobs, I feel the terror crash into me as a floorboard creaks above.
�He�s coming.� I sense a thought occurring. �Can you help me?�
How? I�d do anything to help this poor shaken child, anything to stop this paralyzing fear.
�Don�t let Brother � don�t let him kill me.�
I see the memories flashing through her little mind, I�m watching them, wishing I could shut my eyes, shut my mind from them. But we can�t. The images come raining down upon us in a torrent of tears. Her parents are lying in a pool of the slickest black liquid, their eyes are holes of meat and blood that gape and scream. I see her brother, holding the kitchen knife. He smiles as our eyes meet. �Sarah,� he sings �I love you Sarah.� I run, and run, down the long long hall, tripping and jumping down the stairs; I slam the cellar door, I push against it with all my strength, willing him not to follow. I stand there for a lifetime, until all my strength is gone and all I can do is cry. I fall into Daddy�s tool corner, hoping Brother will forget about me. Hoping that door will not open. But then I�m not alone�.
�Please, please help me.�
Oh, Sarah, I wish I could.
She knows that he�s out there. Behind the door, she knows that he stands and waits. She stops crying, stops breathing, being as silent as she can. But the door opens. �Sarah�.� Our scream drowns the wind.
I felt a hand upon my shoulder, jarring me from sleep. �Lizzie, Lizzie, wake up, honey.�
I opened my eyes, just a little, enough to blearily see Jim�s face above me.
Sarah gasped.
�I guess you didn�t get my note!� He laughed a little, watching me as I sat up.
�No, I guess I didn�t.�
Sarah? What are you doing here?
�Let�s get you up to bed, Lizzie, you look exhausted!� I stood up slowly. There was something very wrong. Something glinted in the candlelight and my eyes snapped to it. A knife. Just like the one�
�Help me, Lizzie,� Sarah�s lisping whisper filled my mind, �Please, just let me�� I stumbled over to the cutting board. What am I doing? Sarah?
I picked up the knife; it felt cold and deadly in my hands. I tried to put it down, I really did; my arm wouldn�t listen. Sarah pushed my body toward Jim. Her hysterical laughter circled around and around through my head. Come here, Big Brother�
�Lizzie?� I�ll never forget Jim�s face as Sarah lifted that knife above him, as she brought it slowly, tauntingly down towards his face.
�Jim� I love you, Jim.�