| Horror and Thriller Fiction posted September 11, 2020 |
  |
Advice from a minister about how to stop a haunting.
She Must Be Dug
by HarryT
The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
Lilly roams about my room. She calls my name, imploring me to come with her. "Willy, I miss you terribly; twins need to be together." Her hand outstretched, she pleads, "Willy, oh, Willy, I'm afraid without you." I awake with a start, my sheets are damp with sweat, I glance about the room; she is gone.
Lillian, my twin sister, passed away on October 24, 1888. She was only 18 years old when she died of consumption. Troubled, in the morning, I speak to my parents about her presence. Father smiles, places his arm around my shoulders and in a sympathetic tone says, "It's natural, son, you are a twin, you were in your mother's womb together. Believe me, it's only a dream." I look to Mother, she nods her head and says, "Father is right."
My father built and owns a profitable textile mill. We know that God has preordained our family to join him in heaven. Here on earth we live a comfortable life in Quincy, Massachusetts. The only great misfortune that has befallen our family is Lilly's death. I miss her terribly. She was not only my twin sister; she was also my best friend. Everyone loved her; she was a kind-hearted girl who firmly believed that blessed upper-class people owed something to the less fortunate; thus, she gave her time as a volunteer at the Children's Home. Mother was against the work; she warned that the children who live at the home carry all types of diseases, and Lilly needed to find some other charitable work that was not a danger to her health. However, she disregarded mother's warning, saying, "It's God's will that I help these poor children. They need care and love; they have had so little in their lives."
I tell my parents about Lilly's visit and that while she was present, I coughed incessantly and felt a weight pressing upon my chest. Their eyes widen and their lips pull tight. Father soberly pronounces, "William, you must see Mr. Reverend Mather and tell him about this occurrence." Mother nods her head in agreement and says, "I know the Reverend Mather will be able to make sense of this happening to you."
My parents greatly respect the leader of our church who is a descendent of the well-known Puritan clergyman, Cotton Mather, who wrote books about the spectral world. Father confidently says he is sure, given his ancestry, that Mr. Reverend Josiah Mather will be familiar with such spiritual happenings. Mother and Father both believe with his help and my prayers, Lilly's spirit will gain peaceful rest.
Father arranges for me to meet with Reverend Mather. I must confess I'm nervous because of the Reverend's red-faced, hellfire sermons. However, when I enter his home, he smiles and bids me welcome, shows me to his study and says to have a seat. After we are both seated, he asks in a gruff, low voice how he may be of help. I explain about Lilly's visit and that she begged me to join her. He scrutinizes me with crepe-crinkled eyes. "I see," he says, pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his rather bulbus nose and forehead. He utters words I don't understand, rises slowly and begins to saunter about the study. He pulls a dark bottle from a cabinet along with a slotted spoon. The bottle is labeled Absinthe. He says, "This libation awakens my messenger to the Lord." I thought it odd, but perhaps it was a hallowed drink that holy men use when praying for help.
I watch the Reverend, pull the cork and sit. An earthy, damp aroma wafts about the room as he pours the green liquid into a crystal goblet and lays the spoon upon the rim. He carefully places a sugar cube on the spoon then slowly pours water from a pewter pitcher over the sugar cube; the liquid in the goblet turns a milky green. He closes his eyes and tips the glass allowing the liquid to slowly trickle down his throat. Lowering the goblet, he says, "My spiritual messenger will soon transmit the Lord's advice to me."
Turning in his chair, he stares out the window over-looking the parish cemetery. I too gaze over the tombstones and wonder about his method communicating with the Lord. However, after a short time, he murmurs, "Yes, yes," rises from his chair and pulls a black book from a shelf behind his desk. As he opens it, I see the title, Curses and Cures from the Invisible World. He thumbs through the pages, halts, reads for a few seconds and turns to me with glazed eyes and says, "My son, there is only one way to stop a specter from yearning to be with a loved one. "You have an answer?" I say.
"Yes, but she must be dug." I bellow, "What! You mean take her from her grave?"
"Yes," the Reverend Mather says, "and the organs most afflicted by the disease must be totally consumed. Only when this is done, she will be released from you and she will come no more."
Nausea whirls in my stomach, a wave of horror pounds the shore of my brain, cold sweat beads appear on my forehead. "Reverend," I gasp, "I can't believe what I am hearing from a servant of the Lord. How can this be true! How could the Lord say to dig Lilly up and eat her organs." Reverend Mather quakes a sad smile and says, "It's the only way, my son, that your sister will be able to rest."
My brain reels and my heart is gripped by fear; a shroud of feverish sweat encases my body. I keep rubbing my hands against my coat, trying to dry them with little success. I burst through the front door, call for my parents and tell them what Reverent Mather said I must do. Mother puts her hand to her mouth muffling a whimper, then she takes my hand, and whispers, "He is a man of God, he must know the correct thing to do." I looked to my father; he bows his head in agreement saying, "God's will must be done."
Early the next morning, as the sun bleeds into the brightening sky, five of us, including Ephraim, the Reverend's assistant, go to the graveyard behind the Second Reform Church of the Savior. Father and Ephraim carry shovels. I note that Reverend Mather is carrying a black doctor's bag. I wonder how many times he has done this before. Father and Ephraim unearth Lilly's cherry wood casket and the Reverend lifts the lid. Lilly is wonderfully preserved. She appears much like the day she was laid to rest. She is attired in her favorite deep purple dress; her strawberry blonde ringlets frame a tranquil face. The three men and I carefully lift Lilly from the satin lined bed. As we carry her, decaying red and white rose petals fall from her dress. We place her on the quilt mother has laid upon the grass. Reverend Mather unfolds Lilly's hands and places them at her sides. He positions his hands under her shoulders and lifts her into a sitting position exposing a long row of buttons along the back of her dress.
"Mother," he says, "please unbutton her dress and pull it down to her waist." Mother hesitates. "It is God's will, Madame." Mother, hands shaking, fumbles with each button. After she completes the task, the Reverend bows to her and says, "Thank you." He opens his bag and takes out a scalpel; the knife blade gleams in the morning sun. He deftly slices into Lilly's chest, underneath her limp arm to her back. He folds back layers of skin, reaches under her ribcage and carefully removes her lungs. He posits them into a silver bowl held by his assistant. He then turns Lilly on her side and removes both kidneys. He explains these are the organs known to be ravaged by consumption. The Reverend then places the kidneys in the bowl with the lungs, holds the organs over his head, looks down at Lilly's body and then up to heaven and says, "Oh Lord, thy will, will be done."
My mother sways, her head falls back, my father catches her and lays her softly on the ground. He pats her hand. Mother opens her eyes. Tears flow.
Reverend Mather says to my parents, "Soon Lillian will be spiritually at rest. I will stay with Ephraim and return her to her earthly resting place. Father says, "Thank you, Reverend, for your help bringing peace to both William and Lillian." Father supports mother as they walk to their carriage.
Reverend Mather eyes me and says, "William, these organs must be totally eaten, if they are not Lillian's specter will continue to come to you."
Burning bile burns in my throat, I retch. Reverend Mather approaches me and places a hand on my shoulder and says, "Not to worry, son, I will prepare the organs and share the repast in communion with you; the two of us must be sure to consume every morsel or Lillian will not rest."
At sundown, I reluctantly sit at the kitchen table in the pastor's house to perform the odious task of eating my sister's organs. Reverend Mather had boiled Lilly's lungs, cut them into strips and fried them in a black cast iron pan with olive oil and garlic. I bite into a strip--it's tough and hard to chew. I almost gag when I think what I hold in my mouth, but I swallow hard and get the morsel down. I continue chewing and swallowing, fighting to hold Lilly's lungs in my stomach. Reverend Mather has no problem, in fact he seems to savor each bite. He says, "Don't you think the olive oil and garlic give them a nice taste?" I nod my head. Together, we finish the lot. Then the Reverend proudly presents the human kidney pie, he baked. "I hope you don't mind, William, but I decided to add onions and potatoes." He cuts the pie in half. The crust is surprisingly flaky, and we begin to eat. I hear the Reverend smack his lips after he forks each piece of the pie into his mouth. I must admit the pie was fairly tasty.
The ordeal over, I'm comforted by the knowledge that Lilly is now at rest. My parents are waiting as I enter our home, I bow my head and simply say, "It's done." They smile, my father says, "Pray for your sister and all will be well."
I go to my room, undress and put on my night shirt, kneel by my bed and say my evening prayers anticipating good night's rest. My sleep is peaceful for two weeks. However, early this morning when the grandfather clock in the hall chimed three, I'm awakened by a bright illumination as the ceiling yawns open and Lilly comes.
I exclaim, "No, Lilly, why are you here? Reverend Mather said you would be at peace."
She says, "Willy, you are ready, it is time," and extends her hand; a radiant smile graces her face. I began coughing, blood oozes from my nose and mouth, I feel as if a cow is sitting on my chest.
"Come," Lilly says. I hear Reverend's voice echoing, "It is good; go with her." I can't resist, I grasp her ethereal hand. Suddenly, I am weightless, I'm being pulled out of myself. The two of us are floating through the opening in the ceiling and into the light. I look down, I see a mask of death shrouding my face.
A Ghost Story contest entry
Lilly roams about my room. She calls my name, imploring me to come with her. "Willy, I miss you terribly; twins need to be together." Her hand outstretched, she pleads, "Willy, oh, Willy, I'm afraid without you." I awake with a start, my sheets are damp with sweat, I glance about the room; she is gone.
Lillian, my twin sister, passed away on October 24, 1888. She was only 18 years old when she died of consumption. Troubled, in the morning, I speak to my parents about her presence. Father smiles, places his arm around my shoulders and in a sympathetic tone says, "It's natural, son, you are a twin, you were in your mother's womb together. Believe me, it's only a dream." I look to Mother, she nods her head and says, "Father is right."
My father built and owns a profitable textile mill. We know that God has preordained our family to join him in heaven. Here on earth we live a comfortable life in Quincy, Massachusetts. The only great misfortune that has befallen our family is Lilly's death. I miss her terribly. She was not only my twin sister; she was also my best friend. Everyone loved her; she was a kind-hearted girl who firmly believed that blessed upper-class people owed something to the less fortunate; thus, she gave her time as a volunteer at the Children's Home. Mother was against the work; she warned that the children who live at the home carry all types of diseases, and Lilly needed to find some other charitable work that was not a danger to her health. However, she disregarded mother's warning, saying, "It's God's will that I help these poor children. They need care and love; they have had so little in their lives."
I tell my parents about Lilly's visit and that while she was present, I coughed incessantly and felt a weight pressing upon my chest. Their eyes widen and their lips pull tight. Father soberly pronounces, "William, you must see Mr. Reverend Mather and tell him about this occurrence." Mother nods her head in agreement and says, "I know the Reverend Mather will be able to make sense of this happening to you."
My parents greatly respect the leader of our church who is a descendent of the well-known Puritan clergyman, Cotton Mather, who wrote books about the spectral world. Father confidently says he is sure, given his ancestry, that Mr. Reverend Josiah Mather will be familiar with such spiritual happenings. Mother and Father both believe with his help and my prayers, Lilly's spirit will gain peaceful rest.
Father arranges for me to meet with Reverend Mather. I must confess I'm nervous because of the Reverend's red-faced, hellfire sermons. However, when I enter his home, he smiles and bids me welcome, shows me to his study and says to have a seat. After we are both seated, he asks in a gruff, low voice how he may be of help. I explain about Lilly's visit and that she begged me to join her. He scrutinizes me with crepe-crinkled eyes. "I see," he says, pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his rather bulbus nose and forehead. He utters words I don't understand, rises slowly and begins to saunter about the study. He pulls a dark bottle from a cabinet along with a slotted spoon. The bottle is labeled Absinthe. He says, "This libation awakens my messenger to the Lord." I thought it odd, but perhaps it was a hallowed drink that holy men use when praying for help.
I watch the Reverend, pull the cork and sit. An earthy, damp aroma wafts about the room as he pours the green liquid into a crystal goblet and lays the spoon upon the rim. He carefully places a sugar cube on the spoon then slowly pours water from a pewter pitcher over the sugar cube; the liquid in the goblet turns a milky green. He closes his eyes and tips the glass allowing the liquid to slowly trickle down his throat. Lowering the goblet, he says, "My spiritual messenger will soon transmit the Lord's advice to me."
Turning in his chair, he stares out the window over-looking the parish cemetery. I too gaze over the tombstones and wonder about his method communicating with the Lord. However, after a short time, he murmurs, "Yes, yes," rises from his chair and pulls a black book from a shelf behind his desk. As he opens it, I see the title, Curses and Cures from the Invisible World. He thumbs through the pages, halts, reads for a few seconds and turns to me with glazed eyes and says, "My son, there is only one way to stop a specter from yearning to be with a loved one. "You have an answer?" I say.
"Yes, but she must be dug." I bellow, "What! You mean take her from her grave?"
"Yes," the Reverend Mather says, "and the organs most afflicted by the disease must be totally consumed. Only when this is done, she will be released from you and she will come no more."
Nausea whirls in my stomach, a wave of horror pounds the shore of my brain, cold sweat beads appear on my forehead. "Reverend," I gasp, "I can't believe what I am hearing from a servant of the Lord. How can this be true! How could the Lord say to dig Lilly up and eat her organs." Reverend Mather quakes a sad smile and says, "It's the only way, my son, that your sister will be able to rest."
My brain reels and my heart is gripped by fear; a shroud of feverish sweat encases my body. I keep rubbing my hands against my coat, trying to dry them with little success. I burst through the front door, call for my parents and tell them what Reverent Mather said I must do. Mother puts her hand to her mouth muffling a whimper, then she takes my hand, and whispers, "He is a man of God, he must know the correct thing to do." I looked to my father; he bows his head in agreement saying, "God's will must be done."
Early the next morning, as the sun bleeds into the brightening sky, five of us, including Ephraim, the Reverend's assistant, go to the graveyard behind the Second Reform Church of the Savior. Father and Ephraim carry shovels. I note that Reverend Mather is carrying a black doctor's bag. I wonder how many times he has done this before. Father and Ephraim unearth Lilly's cherry wood casket and the Reverend lifts the lid. Lilly is wonderfully preserved. She appears much like the day she was laid to rest. She is attired in her favorite deep purple dress; her strawberry blonde ringlets frame a tranquil face. The three men and I carefully lift Lilly from the satin lined bed. As we carry her, decaying red and white rose petals fall from her dress. We place her on the quilt mother has laid upon the grass. Reverend Mather unfolds Lilly's hands and places them at her sides. He positions his hands under her shoulders and lifts her into a sitting position exposing a long row of buttons along the back of her dress.
"Mother," he says, "please unbutton her dress and pull it down to her waist." Mother hesitates. "It is God's will, Madame." Mother, hands shaking, fumbles with each button. After she completes the task, the Reverend bows to her and says, "Thank you." He opens his bag and takes out a scalpel; the knife blade gleams in the morning sun. He deftly slices into Lilly's chest, underneath her limp arm to her back. He folds back layers of skin, reaches under her ribcage and carefully removes her lungs. He posits them into a silver bowl held by his assistant. He then turns Lilly on her side and removes both kidneys. He explains these are the organs known to be ravaged by consumption. The Reverend then places the kidneys in the bowl with the lungs, holds the organs over his head, looks down at Lilly's body and then up to heaven and says, "Oh Lord, thy will, will be done."
My mother sways, her head falls back, my father catches her and lays her softly on the ground. He pats her hand. Mother opens her eyes. Tears flow.
Reverend Mather says to my parents, "Soon Lillian will be spiritually at rest. I will stay with Ephraim and return her to her earthly resting place. Father says, "Thank you, Reverend, for your help bringing peace to both William and Lillian." Father supports mother as they walk to their carriage.
Reverend Mather eyes me and says, "William, these organs must be totally eaten, if they are not Lillian's specter will continue to come to you."
Burning bile burns in my throat, I retch. Reverend Mather approaches me and places a hand on my shoulder and says, "Not to worry, son, I will prepare the organs and share the repast in communion with you; the two of us must be sure to consume every morsel or Lillian will not rest."
At sundown, I reluctantly sit at the kitchen table in the pastor's house to perform the odious task of eating my sister's organs. Reverend Mather had boiled Lilly's lungs, cut them into strips and fried them in a black cast iron pan with olive oil and garlic. I bite into a strip--it's tough and hard to chew. I almost gag when I think what I hold in my mouth, but I swallow hard and get the morsel down. I continue chewing and swallowing, fighting to hold Lilly's lungs in my stomach. Reverend Mather has no problem, in fact he seems to savor each bite. He says, "Don't you think the olive oil and garlic give them a nice taste?" I nod my head. Together, we finish the lot. Then the Reverend proudly presents the human kidney pie, he baked. "I hope you don't mind, William, but I decided to add onions and potatoes." He cuts the pie in half. The crust is surprisingly flaky, and we begin to eat. I hear the Reverend smack his lips after he forks each piece of the pie into his mouth. I must admit the pie was fairly tasty.
The ordeal over, I'm comforted by the knowledge that Lilly is now at rest. My parents are waiting as I enter our home, I bow my head and simply say, "It's done." They smile, my father says, "Pray for your sister and all will be well."
I go to my room, undress and put on my night shirt, kneel by my bed and say my evening prayers anticipating good night's rest. My sleep is peaceful for two weeks. However, early this morning when the grandfather clock in the hall chimed three, I'm awakened by a bright illumination as the ceiling yawns open and Lilly comes.
I exclaim, "No, Lilly, why are you here? Reverend Mather said you would be at peace."
She says, "Willy, you are ready, it is time," and extends her hand; a radiant smile graces her face. I began coughing, blood oozes from my nose and mouth, I feel as if a cow is sitting on my chest.
"Come," Lilly says. I hear Reverend's voice echoing, "It is good; go with her." I can't resist, I grasp her ethereal hand. Suddenly, I am weightless, I'm being pulled out of myself. The two of us are floating through the opening in the ceiling and into the light. I look down, I see a mask of death shrouding my face.
Lillian, my twin sister, passed away on October 24, 1888. She was only 18 years old when she died of consumption. Troubled, in the morning, I speak to my parents about her presence. Father smiles, places his arm around my shoulders and in a sympathetic tone says, "It's natural, son, you are a twin, you were in your mother's womb together. Believe me, it's only a dream." I look to Mother, she nods her head and says, "Father is right."
My father built and owns a profitable textile mill. We know that God has preordained our family to join him in heaven. Here on earth we live a comfortable life in Quincy, Massachusetts. The only great misfortune that has befallen our family is Lilly's death. I miss her terribly. She was not only my twin sister; she was also my best friend. Everyone loved her; she was a kind-hearted girl who firmly believed that blessed upper-class people owed something to the less fortunate; thus, she gave her time as a volunteer at the Children's Home. Mother was against the work; she warned that the children who live at the home carry all types of diseases, and Lilly needed to find some other charitable work that was not a danger to her health. However, she disregarded mother's warning, saying, "It's God's will that I help these poor children. They need care and love; they have had so little in their lives."
I tell my parents about Lilly's visit and that while she was present, I coughed incessantly and felt a weight pressing upon my chest. Their eyes widen and their lips pull tight. Father soberly pronounces, "William, you must see Mr. Reverend Mather and tell him about this occurrence." Mother nods her head in agreement and says, "I know the Reverend Mather will be able to make sense of this happening to you."
My parents greatly respect the leader of our church who is a descendent of the well-known Puritan clergyman, Cotton Mather, who wrote books about the spectral world. Father confidently says he is sure, given his ancestry, that Mr. Reverend Josiah Mather will be familiar with such spiritual happenings. Mother and Father both believe with his help and my prayers, Lilly's spirit will gain peaceful rest.
Father arranges for me to meet with Reverend Mather. I must confess I'm nervous because of the Reverend's red-faced, hellfire sermons. However, when I enter his home, he smiles and bids me welcome, shows me to his study and says to have a seat. After we are both seated, he asks in a gruff, low voice how he may be of help. I explain about Lilly's visit and that she begged me to join her. He scrutinizes me with crepe-crinkled eyes. "I see," he says, pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his rather bulbus nose and forehead. He utters words I don't understand, rises slowly and begins to saunter about the study. He pulls a dark bottle from a cabinet along with a slotted spoon. The bottle is labeled Absinthe. He says, "This libation awakens my messenger to the Lord." I thought it odd, but perhaps it was a hallowed drink that holy men use when praying for help.
I watch the Reverend, pull the cork and sit. An earthy, damp aroma wafts about the room as he pours the green liquid into a crystal goblet and lays the spoon upon the rim. He carefully places a sugar cube on the spoon then slowly pours water from a pewter pitcher over the sugar cube; the liquid in the goblet turns a milky green. He closes his eyes and tips the glass allowing the liquid to slowly trickle down his throat. Lowering the goblet, he says, "My spiritual messenger will soon transmit the Lord's advice to me."
Turning in his chair, he stares out the window over-looking the parish cemetery. I too gaze over the tombstones and wonder about his method communicating with the Lord. However, after a short time, he murmurs, "Yes, yes," rises from his chair and pulls a black book from a shelf behind his desk. As he opens it, I see the title, Curses and Cures from the Invisible World. He thumbs through the pages, halts, reads for a few seconds and turns to me with glazed eyes and says, "My son, there is only one way to stop a specter from yearning to be with a loved one. "You have an answer?" I say.
"Yes, but she must be dug." I bellow, "What! You mean take her from her grave?"
"Yes," the Reverend Mather says, "and the organs most afflicted by the disease must be totally consumed. Only when this is done, she will be released from you and she will come no more."
Nausea whirls in my stomach, a wave of horror pounds the shore of my brain, cold sweat beads appear on my forehead. "Reverend," I gasp, "I can't believe what I am hearing from a servant of the Lord. How can this be true! How could the Lord say to dig Lilly up and eat her organs." Reverend Mather quakes a sad smile and says, "It's the only way, my son, that your sister will be able to rest."
My brain reels and my heart is gripped by fear; a shroud of feverish sweat encases my body. I keep rubbing my hands against my coat, trying to dry them with little success. I burst through the front door, call for my parents and tell them what Reverent Mather said I must do. Mother puts her hand to her mouth muffling a whimper, then she takes my hand, and whispers, "He is a man of God, he must know the correct thing to do." I looked to my father; he bows his head in agreement saying, "God's will must be done."
Early the next morning, as the sun bleeds into the brightening sky, five of us, including Ephraim, the Reverend's assistant, go to the graveyard behind the Second Reform Church of the Savior. Father and Ephraim carry shovels. I note that Reverend Mather is carrying a black doctor's bag. I wonder how many times he has done this before. Father and Ephraim unearth Lilly's cherry wood casket and the Reverend lifts the lid. Lilly is wonderfully preserved. She appears much like the day she was laid to rest. She is attired in her favorite deep purple dress; her strawberry blonde ringlets frame a tranquil face. The three men and I carefully lift Lilly from the satin lined bed. As we carry her, decaying red and white rose petals fall from her dress. We place her on the quilt mother has laid upon the grass. Reverend Mather unfolds Lilly's hands and places them at her sides. He positions his hands under her shoulders and lifts her into a sitting position exposing a long row of buttons along the back of her dress.
"Mother," he says, "please unbutton her dress and pull it down to her waist." Mother hesitates. "It is God's will, Madame." Mother, hands shaking, fumbles with each button. After she completes the task, the Reverend bows to her and says, "Thank you." He opens his bag and takes out a scalpel; the knife blade gleams in the morning sun. He deftly slices into Lilly's chest, underneath her limp arm to her back. He folds back layers of skin, reaches under her ribcage and carefully removes her lungs. He posits them into a silver bowl held by his assistant. He then turns Lilly on her side and removes both kidneys. He explains these are the organs known to be ravaged by consumption. The Reverend then places the kidneys in the bowl with the lungs, holds the organs over his head, looks down at Lilly's body and then up to heaven and says, "Oh Lord, thy will, will be done."
My mother sways, her head falls back, my father catches her and lays her softly on the ground. He pats her hand. Mother opens her eyes. Tears flow.
Reverend Mather says to my parents, "Soon Lillian will be spiritually at rest. I will stay with Ephraim and return her to her earthly resting place. Father says, "Thank you, Reverend, for your help bringing peace to both William and Lillian." Father supports mother as they walk to their carriage.
Reverend Mather eyes me and says, "William, these organs must be totally eaten, if they are not Lillian's specter will continue to come to you."
Burning bile burns in my throat, I retch. Reverend Mather approaches me and places a hand on my shoulder and says, "Not to worry, son, I will prepare the organs and share the repast in communion with you; the two of us must be sure to consume every morsel or Lillian will not rest."
At sundown, I reluctantly sit at the kitchen table in the pastor's house to perform the odious task of eating my sister's organs. Reverend Mather had boiled Lilly's lungs, cut them into strips and fried them in a black cast iron pan with olive oil and garlic. I bite into a strip--it's tough and hard to chew. I almost gag when I think what I hold in my mouth, but I swallow hard and get the morsel down. I continue chewing and swallowing, fighting to hold Lilly's lungs in my stomach. Reverend Mather has no problem, in fact he seems to savor each bite. He says, "Don't you think the olive oil and garlic give them a nice taste?" I nod my head. Together, we finish the lot. Then the Reverend proudly presents the human kidney pie, he baked. "I hope you don't mind, William, but I decided to add onions and potatoes." He cuts the pie in half. The crust is surprisingly flaky, and we begin to eat. I hear the Reverend smack his lips after he forks each piece of the pie into his mouth. I must admit the pie was fairly tasty.
The ordeal over, I'm comforted by the knowledge that Lilly is now at rest. My parents are waiting as I enter our home, I bow my head and simply say, "It's done." They smile, my father says, "Pray for your sister and all will be well."
I go to my room, undress and put on my night shirt, kneel by my bed and say my evening prayers anticipating good night's rest. My sleep is peaceful for two weeks. However, early this morning when the grandfather clock in the hall chimed three, I'm awakened by a bright illumination as the ceiling yawns open and Lilly comes.
I exclaim, "No, Lilly, why are you here? Reverend Mather said you would be at peace."
She says, "Willy, you are ready, it is time," and extends her hand; a radiant smile graces her face. I began coughing, blood oozes from my nose and mouth, I feel as if a cow is sitting on my chest.
"Come," Lilly says. I hear Reverend's voice echoing, "It is good; go with her." I can't resist, I grasp her ethereal hand. Suddenly, I am weightless, I'm being pulled out of myself. The two of us are floating through the opening in the ceiling and into the light. I look down, I see a mask of death shrouding my face.
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