The Haunting of Davis McAllery [[EDITED]]

The snow gently fell down upon the latest steel and brick additions to the town; Irenay was draped in a fluffy blanket of frozen sky-refuse. Now, the town of Irenay was an old one but the revolution in technology and recent fashion added a touch of the modern world. The townspeople were a friendly kind. They always made sure their own were content and doing well. Their attention, however focused to the entire populous, always happened to pass over one man; Davis McAllery.1

Davis would mind his own business whether out for groceries or mailing a simple letter. To whom, no one ever knew. He would tip his hat at any passersby and mumble a humble “Hello”. The mumbles and tips were never returned, however, as it seemed the whole town thought of him of a strange personage. In church he was attentive, softly reciting the axioms of the ancient age which seemed, however, to reflect upon the current one. Upon walking out of the building, only the pastor would bid him a well passage home. McAllery would return the wish in a weary yet truthful glance, laying deep within their God-given sockets. 2

In fashion and dress, the man was lax, merely wearing what he thought comfortable for his lifestyle and suitable for walking about town. He was quite the mirror image of a soul who had seen better days. Though what better days, exactly, he himself hadn’t even a clue. Whatever the cause, the mop of dreary hair atop his head seemed to whisper of an inattentive master. The rest of the gentlemen wore the latest fashion and changed with each patterned wind. 3

However, there was one soul in all of Irenay who regarded Davis as another human being. Laura was her name, the beauty of the town. She was not exactly tall, nor even short. Which proved to free her of the stresses that women from either extreme tend to pour upon themselves. Many times, while admiring the latest cloth to come into the local dressmaker’s place of work, young women would pass by her and admire her raven hair. She returned the compliments with a smile of greetings and a look of appreciation in her large, woodland eyes. 4

After a year of close, and odd, friendship, the two had become married. The day was born after all the calendars had shed three-years of pages. Of the ceremony, it was slight with only three guests. Laura’s mother and father had come to gaze upon the happy occasion, a slight apprehensiveness emanating from their forced smiles. The final guest gave a sigh as the priest finished his heavenly work. It was the brother of the new Mrs. McAllery, sad to see his sister somehow ripped from his grasp. 5

Not a year into their marriage Laura was stricken ill. Night after night she‘d adopt a mask full of pain and anxiety as she coughed up blood. Davis would sit by her bedside night and day to assure her (but mostly himself) that she'd live to see the next sunrise. Many a tear was wept during her deathly sleep, though he'd never admit his own woe while his dear wife lay in living nightmare before him.6

One night, in December of 1820, Davis was awoken by a particularly violent cough which wrestled its way from Laura's fading lips. Being torn from sleep by the terror, he grasped her hand gently and assuringly told her that all was well. The red water relieved itself of her mouth, handful by horrible handful until she trembled prostrate. Her caring husband shifted her ebony bangs from her eyes and kissed her chilly forehead; and hoped love would infuse itself with the disease and give her another day. A final sigh escaped, paired with a loving expression, she laid still. In that moment a piece of the man died.7

That was the moment to change everything. Davis quit taking interest in his appearance and only smiled mildly and merely whispered "Good morn." In reply to all that passed on his way to the bakery, bank, or church. While most of Irenay cared, but not enough to speak with him; one young lady, ten years his junior, took interest in this sad state of man. Millicent was her name and she so resembled Laura that it instilled in him both dismay and wonder.8

Millicent also came to reside with Davis and all was well; for about two months. Something broke their morning routine. While he read the latest literary periodical and his new love cooked a filling breakfast, Millicent fell to the floor. No sound but the graceful and terrifying thud of collapse. The man dropped the magazine and rushed to her side, Davis called her name, held her face in his hands, and shook her shoulders to call her back. No response but once again, a final breath and caring disposition.9

He immediately dressed her for burial and laid her to rest beside Laura in the small yard behind the house. Davis wiped the earth from his tired hands and sat down in the parlor. Sweat fell from his brow as he held his head in his hands, the same hands that once brushed the hair from his lovely wife's face, the same hands that held his new lover close. Davis allowed his hands to fall and his head to rest on the back of the armchair, he heard a faint voice coming from the deserted hallway. Out of blackness came what he heard "Davis? Davis I loved you. Davis...Are you positive? Can you sleep? Davis..." It sounded exactly as Millicent had sounded in life.10

All was still as the ghostly tones faded from the eerie hallway. Davis sat still, as though the air were made of thick sheets of parchment laid so thickly together he was unable to move, breathe, think, or even allow for one simple heartbeat. The sweat that was once dripping freely off of his forehead lie still, as though frozen in the stagnant night. After having shaken the thought of the disembodied voice, he staggered into his bedchamber and wrapped himself tightly in the many blankets. He shuddered as he thought. "No, it couldn't have been! She's dead! I buried her." The words escaped his mouth in a soft whisper as he drifted off to a haunted sleep.911

*******12

Davis stood at the end of a hallway; dank and reeking of fear. The fear; however, smelled and felt nothing like his own. There he stood in the impending darkness, which seemed to swallow him and his mind whole.13

Millicent?14

He called out in the pitch tinted depths. The familiar paintings that lined the walls were missing and the carefully-chosen wallpaper was ripping itself free from the walls.15

"Laura?"16

His heart's cries echoed like those of an orphan child late at night, uncared for, tossed aside. A crack near the end of the corridor ricocheted off of every surface. Davis took a step forward and fell off of the dream-floor.17

*******18

No! The shout resounded off of the be-pictured walls. He halfway sat and halfway lay in his bed, drowning in a cold sweat and shuddering. Shaking his head he dismissed the dream and peered out of the window which revealed the clashing of winter purity and his past-loves・ graves. The weary man hung his head. Once he relieved himself of the bed, he wandered slightly aimlessly into the kitchen to present his thirsting body and mind with a glass of cool water. The dream played over and over in his waking thoughts as he took another glance out into the mocking scene of a wintry final rest. Horrifying ideas rolled themselves into the fibre of his consciousness. Resting one hand upon the rim of the counter, he pondered for a moment. 19

‘Of course she was dead. I saw the both of them die and Millicent felt exactly as Laura had.20

But what if they aren’t? What if they’re lying there waiting for me to retrieve them?!21

Madness, this is an insane man’s folly.22

What if she really did call out to me?23

Merely the wind! Of course, nature’s way of toying with a confused soul.24

But honestly, perhaps that wasn’t her final breath that I felt escape her lips. Perhaps it was a plea!25

No…’26

He thought and he thought again, ideas too terrible to utter yet so ingrained in his mind that he couldn't shake the images.27

There he stood in the same position, sleeping yet awake. He remained in a kind of limbo until the sun felt its way across his skin and into his subconscious, to knock on the door of the waking world and invite the tortured soul in. Although he had been presented with a few hours' sleep free from nightmares and voices, the things he'd said in moonlight vexed his thoughts still. The widowed husband and abandoned lover appeared even more shabby than usual; his tawny hair in complete disarray, his skin pallid and his face gaunt. Looking to the sun, pleading that far-off Greek God Apollo for an answer, he knew what he had to do. (Why did he not pray to the Lord and Saviour you ask? It is in times like these that most forget their wont and turn to almost primal things.) It was this morning that Davis decided to look upon the grave headstones and earth.28

The crunch of the snow beneath his feet seemed as an echo from a far-off time. He was a part of this world and yet so isolated from it. The chill reddened his sickly cheeks and gave new life to exhausted limbs. Davis could hear the calls of the morning birds, but unlike their usual cheerful song, he heard it muffled and as some kind of darkly fantastic dirge. He hissed at the cold and tried to warm his hands as he took a few more steps closer to the resting places.29

Laura McAllery
Beloved wife and dear friend
Died beautiful and loved
Born: 1786
Died: 1820
Aged: 34 years and 3 day30

The chill ran through his body as though powered by some preternatural force. The shiver down his spine felt remarkably like fingers of the dead, filling every crevice and leaving no bone unstudied. The worn down man let a tear escape his eye only to have it dry up in the cold. Not even a yard away was another ghostly stone.31

Millicent Fieldly
Lovely young woman
Tragically laid to rest
Born: 1800
Died: 1823
Aged: 23 years, 2 weeks, and 5 days32

Three weeks had passed after that frosty morning trip to the clearing in the back. The disturbing thoughts and ideas swam through his head night after night after terrifying night. They had grown in conviction as well; growing ever more potent. 'Yes' he'd think 'yes, they are down there... waiting for me... scratching at the walls of their confines... it's my fault.' here the poor man would start weeping uncontrollably. 'They're not dead! They're in a tortuous realm! I must save them!' He'd thought this a million and twenty times, but today was different. He couldn't just sit there. Davis tapped his fingers on the cherry table. He touched his quill to his lips, as though contemplating some deep truth. "I can't... I must." Just as the words escaped his frantic mouth, he was out the old door with a shovel.33

Quickly and with much necessity, Davis gave each stone a little kiss. "You will be free my darlings!" He gave a weak cry to the heavens who were bearing witness. Hastily he plunged the shovel's blade into the earth which was holding the gentlewomen captive. He huffed with a faint smile as he lifted load after load of cold dirt from the tombs. The once husband shoved the hair from his sweating brow as he again heard the muffled songs of the morning birds. Something in the notes struck deep within his being as he hit something solid deep in the ground.34

The man grew fiercer and tore at the aged wood. Panting and sweating he lifted the lid as more dirt fell upon him and what lay inside. A corpse was revealed; bluer than the mid-day sky and adopted a greenish tint. "Laura!" Davis screamed and lifted his love close. Her pearls caught on his coat button and spilled all around with a loud multiple clatter, resting in the grooves between the casket and ground. His wife's hair was matted with laying down and decay, the black slightly faded but in his mind as radiant as it he remembered. "You're alive! Yes! I knew it!" A wide grin settled over his face, spotted with earth-dust. Suddenly the grin faded and transformed into something deeply remorseful. "No... you're not truly alive. 'Twas your time to leave me... you must leave, my love." A tear escaped his eyelids, "Never forget I loved you... I still do."35

At those spilled words Davis thrust the blade of the shovel directly through Laura's neck, causing her to lose her head. This poor man in such a deranged state felt peace for his, now, deceased wife. A small peaceful smile made home on his face as he crossed himself and spoke again, very softly. "Laura, my love, rest in peace." The mad lover then took to Millicent's grave and did the same, with just as much force, and just as much conviction. He wiped his hands free of the corpse-murder and strode inside to have a glass of water. His shoes echoed off of the hardwood floor; a sound he never had the mind to hear during these few weeks. The water made itself comfortable in the glass but soon was consumed by the giant holding the glass. Davis peered out of the frosty window and wiped his mouth clean of the life-fluid. "It is done." He whispered to himself and to the deceased. "But, but how many more are like this?" He couldn't help but wonder if the entire cemetery of Irenay was full of nothing but premature burials!36

The man, recently rendered mad by the delusions swimming in his mind, held his shovel fast in his hand and set off for the cemetery. The lines in his face changed direction and contorted into an expression of urgency and distress. "Freedom... liberation... freedom... liberation..." he panted the chant with every step. The morning air blew reaffirmation through his hair and the clouds looked upon him with wonderment and support. The morning world was his audience and cheered him on in his macabre plan. A citizen of Irenay passed him, surveying the shovel in Davis' hand with a mildly concerned look. The contrast of the smartly dressed adult and the disheveled insanity playing upon the other's wrapping was remarkable. Silence except for the slight clicking upon the clean sidewalk, they were the only two out on this morning. He passed the maddened soul with no words, as usual. 37

A sign appeared in the distance "Cemetery of Irenay". It was cast iron and raised high above the tombstones on a weedy arch. So dismal was this sight, four hundred or so marble testaments to ended lives and an estimated one hundred either taken by the earth or fallen over. A giant, leafless oak in the center of the cemetery outstretched her weary limbs into the morning gloom. His boots crunched the chilly ground as he walked closer to the final resting place of past citizens. The breath escaping his lips made patterns visible in the air, fae dancing in the wind. The shovel dragged on the dust of snow and stiff grass as Davis had allowed it do droop from his grasp ever so slightly. 38

He took one purposeful step into the property and gave one deep exhalation of determination. Each step the man took was a word in the poem of death, just as each thought was a stroke on the painting of rebirth. He was swimming now, in visions of Genesis and Revelations. The beautiful tragedy had consumed him and made his very soul belong to it. Davis gazed long into the Tanager sky, blank from head to toe. He neared his first assignment, the grave of one of his closest companions from the past. Slowly he kneeled and felt the name “Joseph Calligrun”. The stone wrought a death-like emotion within himself. A solitary tear fell from his grey eye. Down he went, carefully and gently he made himself prostrate upon the chilly ground. 39

An hour in the living world had past when McAllery finally wrenched himself off of the wintry carpet. Meaning buried itself into his chest as he rested on his knees and took hold of the shovel by his side. It seemed, at that moment, that time had rendered itself slower. For the time spent driving the metal into the, now slightly malleable, soil went on in a blur of distorted vision. Each sense had been enhanced. Every sound had become bolder and deeper. He could even hear the earth wailing as he vandalized a portion of its face. 40

When he reached the hard, aged frame of the casket a grin escaped his thin lips. He carefully exhumed the body, as he would relieve a treasure from one of the great pyramids, have he been given the chance. As he had given Millicent and his deceased wife a liberating death, so he gave the shell of Joseph. Decapitation seemed the only way. In desparation for something to cling to, he retrieved the golden pocket watch from the corpse’s waist-coat pocket. And so the resurrections and mercy-killing went on. Each grave rested upon, so as to bridge the gap between the living and dead. Every body let into the dim light and shut out once more. Still, a concrete memoir was retrieved from every last remnant of life. 41

Once the holy work had been completed, he rested on a pile of newborn ground near the monumental tree. In the peaceful war zone, he reflected upon his labour. Not one soul had left their dwellings or places of occupation to view this queer site. Davis had no intentions of pondering on this. He merely sighed and rested his head, which was covered in dry sweat, on the bark of the mother-plant. The man rested his right arm on the leg and whispered in the breeze. “Free, my loves, free. You shall suffer no more…” 42

His vision faded into a state of oblivion as he grew weaker in the limbs. Davis felt as though his very soul were being ripped out of his earth-bound flesh. Suddenly, the blurred darkness manifested into colours, shapes, and senses of all natural kinds. He found himself wrapped in a smart suit and atop his combed hair sat a fine and fashionable top hat. Thinking this strange, he patted his face to feel not the nose he’d known all his life, but a sharper one with smoother skin. “Odd…” Mr. McAllery murmered to himself. His eyes took note of his surroundings, the Bank of Irenay. Upon tapping one of his soles to the ground, he recognized it as marble and looked up to survey a grand, cristal chandalier. The greatest surprise of all came when he looked down and discovered what lay in his hand; one hundred and fifty dollars! Never in his life had he held such a great amount of currency. 43

The abused stomach inside him gave a great lurch and howl. While he had been pondering what to do, this was a sign of an answer. Davis decided to treat himself to a meal at the local fine eating establishment. No matter what the state of confusion, he would not turn this opportunity for delicious dining down. He turned to his right and made to exit the engraved door. “Goodbye Mr. Wallace.” the clerk nodded in his direction. Mr. Wallace? He thought. Davis had never known a Mr. Wallace. He must be one of those haughty, rich types. Of course, but why am I in this suit, and why did that young man address me as him?44

In the, obviously new, suit and donning a rather expensive-looking ebony cane, Davis set off to fill his complaining stomach. The freshly handsome man exited the bank and introduced the polished shoes to the sidewalk. It was a grey day in Irenay. To him it seemed rather dismal. That was odd, Davis usually enjoyed days tinted in mild shades. With a shrug, he continued walking and enjoying his strangely found wealth. He hummed a cheery tune, and with a contented smile, began to increase in excitement and replaced the restrained tones with whistling. 45

He noticed a lone man walking in his direction. The other soul appeared very disheveled and consumed with something heavily resting on his mind and psyche. Anyone could have seen it in his eyes and in the way his face seemed to hang there, detached. A shovel hung in the pitiable man’s hand. What he was doing, walking about in the mid-day, carrying a shovel to some unknown destination was beyond him. The distance between the two grew smaller and soon came to an end as they passed each other. Since he didn’t know the fellow, he took no mind to speak to him. No one ever bothered to talk to him, beyond greeting, why should he do otherwise? Davis kept pursuing his destination with a growling intent as the other man continued on his way to wherever it was he was going.