The Wicked Flee: One
Transgression of the Land
Oddtober Update
I wanted to update you on my Oddtober progress. To recap, I wanted to write a series of connected vignettes for my month of weird micro-fiction writing, but I ended up only write about fifteen episodes (see the previous newsletter for a sampling). I hope to chip away at the project. If I finish, I’ll package it with some other short fiction and send it out to my loyal readers. I’ll even let my disloyal readers have it. Heck, any kind of reader at all may have it, I ain’t picky…
But Now Ghosts!
With this newsletter I’m kicking off my Ghost Story: The Wicked Flee When None Pursue. I wanted to write a Ghost Story Romance and was casting about for a setting when I heard about Susan Owens’s book, The Ghost: A Cultural History. She argues that ghosts are “mirrors” of the cultures they haunt: “They reflect our preoccupations, moving with the tide of cultural trends and matching the mood of each age.”
Digging into some old ghost stories, I came across a setting I liked and went for it. I have several horror and horror-adjacent short stories that I’ve wanted to compile, but I need a few more stories to fill a volume, so this gets me one story closer. I hope you enjoy.
Schedule of Publication
I. Transgression of the Land - Today!
II. He that Hideth His Eyes -Nov 22nd
III. Violence to the Blood - Dec 6th
IV. They that Forsake the Law - Dec 20th
V. He Shall Fall Himself into His Own Pit - Jan 10th
VI. Bold as a Lion - Jan 24th
“Sowles departed do not come again and play boo peape with us.” —Robert Wisdom
When I was at Washington College, one year after its centennial, I played a minor role in the discovery of a major scandal; one that directed my life to an overall more redoubtable and romantical path. At that time, Dr. Godwin Stonecraft was the college president; a learned man, and an eloquent preacher, blameless in his life, and earnest in his belief of the spiritual world.
It was on just this point that he labored to turn us from our modern assumptions, materialistic and vain. The spiritual world, he protested, was thick and enthralling; it would speak to us if we would let open our ears. At times, I’ll admit, he sounded more the ancient heathen afield than a man of civil education, but he beshrewed our objections.
It was not the cheap bugaboo of charlatans, spooks, and old world nursemaids which he advised. He reviled the superstitions of the lower class, was always eager to dispel their errors, and to remove the fears excited by diseased imaginations. "Attend the spirits who would see your good," he would preach. "And resist the spirits who would weaken us through their connivings."
One day I was plodding over a page of stiff Greek from the hand of Sextus Empiricus. Perhaps it was my foolishness, but I could not attain the truths that were presumed within. I was, however, able to fling it aside and let the lexicon fall to my feet. I remember what I said perfectly. "Hang these ancients, they are a blight to cogent thought!" It was near upon Christmas, and the ideals of the faraway dead did not compare with the living scintillations of beauty which danced in my mind; sweet susurrating skirts and honey gold hair, and the unyielding scent of ambrosia.
Forgive me, I was young, and I'd read the dirty parts of Ovid.
While I was in this state of most unpleasant perplexity, there was a knock at my door. I knew it at once to be that of my roommate. He informed me that the great doctor wished to see our class in his study.
We were thus invited —that is, we had as strict a summons as any soldiers could receive from their commander— to appear at his residence, the famous house under whose roof so many illustrious men have found shelter.
It could not take much time to collect the designated young gentlemen together. Before we met, each individual brain was greatly exercised with speculations concerning the cause of our being thus summoned to the study of our venerable head. When we were collected, the various streams of conjecture thrown together in a torrent was a grand effervescence which exceeds my powers of description. It was always an epiphanic hour when we came face to face with Dr. Stonecraft.
We were unaware that any mischievous deed had been committed which would explain our summoning. We all felt a bold conviction of individual innocence. Indeed, all college fellows are the very pictures of innocence until they are proved otherwise.
I found out later that one of my friends, whose shaggy head could never be ordered by comb or brush more than the tossing waves are subdued by the shadows of passing clouds, with a thin pointy nose and bright red cheeks be it summer or winter, whose name was Vicus, had indeed some minor troubles of conscience concerning a stolen towel from the faculties shower room a few days before. For his theft, a corpulent geometry instructor by the name of Winnard Spillwell had been forced to stride unadorned down the hall, his honor shielded by a mere wicker waste-paper-basket, commissioned hastily when the shy shadow of Ms. Delia Rump appeared. The stolen artifact had remained hidden beneath Vicus's bed and his fear of discovery grew greater by the day.
Still, on the whole, we were calm. All felt the necessity of a general sunshine of countenances. It was our wisdom to look as if we expected some compliment from the head of college. Curiosity was in every mind.
At the door of the study, one of the most respectful knocks ever given proclaimed our presence. The fine, manly voice which we so well knew, called on us to enter. We were received with that courteous dignity which characterized the doctor. All scanned the noble head, and no foreboding thunder-clouds were there.
It is something to have seen Dr. Stonecraft in the pulpit, in the class-room, or in the study. He was somewhat taller than men in general, and had a frame of fine proportions. His countenance was ignited with intelligence. Large blue eyes seemed to search your secret thoughts— and yet in all manliness of inquiry— promising cordial sympathy with all that was elevated, and a just indignation at the contemplation of any moral evil. His brow was spacious. His whole face spoke of hard study, polish of mind, of patient thought, of one who walked among men as a king. His voice was full and harmonious. His address was dignified and urbane. The stranger must trust him, and his friends confided in him.
Before he spoke we were at ease. Our surprise took a new channel as he entered on the business of the hour. "Gentlemen," said he, "I have sent for you, that I might have your cooperation in a plan, which may greatly benefit either your spiritual lives or perform a goodly service to one of our neighbors."
He continued, "Mr. Harvester, who lives two miles from the college, having undergone some hardships of late, has sought to let out a house on his property to ease the burden of his debts. However, he cannot persuade anyone to reside in the lonely stone house at the far end of his land. It is a comfortable dwelling that is rather picturesque; standing, as it does, near the shade of a thick wood, and on the bank of a small stream which empties into our fields. The people say that the house is haunted. Family after family has forsaken it in dread."
Dr. Stonecraft rubbed his temples as if projecting the sentiments mentally into our very brains. "I have not had patience to listen to the various narratives concerning it. Several honest and intelligent men have avowed that terrible noises emanate from the house and strange fumes are smelt."
We murmured. Vicus and I exchange dubious glances. We were not among the initiates of Dr. Stonecraft's beliefs in paranormal phantoms, angels and demons, and even farther from the ignorant babblings and fairytales of commoners.
"Now, be they real or false, we must put an end to hearsay and idle chatter. It should be either confirmed and studied, and verily trumpeted about the nation so that the powers of the spiritual world be not dismissed or else exposed as superstition, censored heartily lest our institution, celebrated for its learning, should be regarded as a haven of dupes and imbeciles. We'll prove it either way so that it will not be a blot on our fair reputation."
The good doctor then proposed his plan that a few of us seniors spend a night in the house. Permissions to do so had been granted in hopes that our survey would end the specter speculations. The hope of Mr. Harvester was that an accounting would save him from loss and greater inconvenience.
"You have no fear of ghosts, I know," continued Dr. Stonecraft. "In all probability you will hear no sounds to disturb you. If you hear any peculiar noise, be still, avail yourself of reason and appropriate doubt, but do not drive all thoughts of intervening ghosts from your mind. You might just find that this world is with devils filled."
His grin seemed tight, like a gambler shielding his vest with his cards. He concluded, "I leave the matter in your hands. I am confident that my trust in you will be attended to with the truth that I desire."
We departed, various of us excited, perturbed, dubious, and manic. As we walked to our rooms I cupped my hand conspiratorially to Vicus. "I think Dr. Stonecraft suspects failure in finding poltergeist."
With a twinkling of his eye, Vicus replied, "Why say you that? He seems earnest that the truth be accounted for. And certainly affirming spirits would go a long way in proving his thesis to the materialistic world."
"Ah, but think of the consequences," I said. "Dr. Stonecraft is a good and caring man. What happens if ghosts be found? Poor Mr. Harvester would be doomed to go without a tenant. His need is real. I have heard it from his daughter."
Vicus smiled at this. He too knew of Charlotte Harvester as did all youths within fifty miles. She was comely, wheat blond, long legged and elegant to the point of airiness. She drifted like a dream down even the roughest path. She, truly, was a daylight ghost that haunted every man that saw her.
"I suspect Charlotte is at great pains to secure her father's estate," said Vicus. "If only some wealthy bachelor came calling, he could lift them both from poverty." He tittered cruelly.
My face flushed with annoyance. He was teasing me. Damn him. He had suspected my plans of making more dear my acquaintance with Ms. Charlotte Harvester. I intended to wait until graduation before declaring my feelings, but he knew my heart.
"Charlotte is a devoted daughter and knows her worth," I said as scolding as I could without letting my easy smile depart. "Disproving all claims of haunting would allow Mr. Harvester to find a tenant. I intend to examine every ghost to the molars."
Vicus laughed. He found his room and rapped upon the door to alert his roommate Pookins of his entry. This was necessary because Pookins went often without his trousers. The passageway went dim. The clamor of the day was ending in eerie silence. Vicus entered, but, turning, leaned into the threshold to speak one last word.
"Perhaps you're right that Stonecraft means to do the Harvesters good by disproving ghosts and ghouls."
"Of course. He's a good man, Vicus."
"Or he means to verify the ghosts to his own acclaim and then purchase the house at great discount. He is a good man, no doubt, but he is an ambitious man."
He shut the door, leaving me in my personal darkness.
…The End of Part One…
Gift Idea
I came across this odd lamp, but even more odd was the text accompanying it. I had to throw it together and post it to my Facebook page (which you should follow if you like science and a weird meme or two).
See you in a couple of weeks for part 2. Cheers!
"sweet susurrating skirts" Nice.