The Haunting of Davis McAllery

The snow gently fell down upon the latest steel and brick additions to the town; draping Irenay in a fluffy blanket of frozen sky-refuse. Now, the down o f Irenay was an old one but the revolution in technology and recent fashion added a touch of a modern world. The townspeople were a friendly kind; always making 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.
Davis, while a well-meaning gentleman, was seen as strange in their opinions. The rest of the men in Irenay always kept up with fashion and wore cravats of only the finest material, always neat and without blemish. Davis, on the other hand, wore tattered old coats; their black fading into a morose grey. His hat was obviously fourth-hand, its sides gone limp with use and age. The man’s hair seemed to shout the lack of care given by its owner. On his face, his eyes lay wearily in their sockets, yet constantly seeming to grab for some far-off truth.
McAllery, years ago, was once married to a beautiful woman, the pride of Irenay. Gentlemen from the whole town had fancied her and always asked each other, only in the privacy of their own sitting tooms, why the strange man in the town had won her. Laura McAllery was slightly tall and slightly short, plump and bearing rosy cheeks. Her hair was a raven shade and described once by Davis as “having been sewn from the very thread of heaven”. Large, green eyes echoed a contained happiness and contentment from her porcelain skin. Davis had always loved her with all of his heart, and vowed to do so for eternity.
Not a year into their marriage was Laura 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.
One night, in December of 1820, Davis was awoken by a particularly violent cough wrestling its way from Laura’s fading lips. Himself being awoken by the terror, he grasped her hand gently and assuringly telling her that all was well. The red water relieved itself of her mouth, handful by horrible handful until she was trembling postrate. Her caring husband shifted her ebony bangs from her eyes and kissed her chilly forehead; hoping love would infuse itself with the disease and give her another day. Letting out a final sigh paired with a loving expression, she laid still. In that moment a piece of the man died.
That was the moment to change everything. Davis quit taking interest in his appearance and only smiled mildly and merely whispering “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.
Millicent too came to reside with Davis and all was well; for about two months. Something broke their morning routine. Wile reading the latest literary periodical and his new love cooking 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, calling her name and holding her face in his hands, shaking her shoulders to call her back. No response but once again, a final breath and caring disposition.
He immediately dressed her for burial and laid her to rest beside Laura in the small yard behind the house. Wiping the earth from his tired hands, he 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. Letting his hands fall and his head 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.
All was still as the ghostly tones faded from the eerie hallway. Davis sat still, as though the air ewere 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. Shaking 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.

* * * * * **

Davis stood at the end of a hallway; dank and reeking of fear. The fear; however, smelled and felt nothing like his own. His shoes were more tattered than usual and he was sweating ice-water. Thoughts of his own creation flew about him, as though they had sprouted wings from each letter. Lately he had been taken by his thoughts, but this was entirely another kind of thinking, frantic and unknowing. There he stood in the impending darkness, which seemed to swallow him and his mind whole. He could feel the presence of some other being. Remarkably, there was no one to be seen, no one other than himself. The chilled realization of some unuttered horror swept over him. Davis opened his mouth in a desparate and trembling attempt to speak.
“Millicent?”
He called out in the pitch tinted depths. Honestly, the poor man hadn’t the faintest clue as to what he was doing puttering out the name of one deceased. Tones reverberated off of every crevice and seemed to lash back out at him with lonely violence. Once the replies of his own voice faded, he became aware of the state of his house. The carpet seemed faded and fraying at the edges. The familiar paintings that lined the walls were missing and the carefully-chosen wallpaper was ripping itself free from the walls. Greatly loved books, usualy stacked in a neat pile on the table, were nowhere to be seen. Even the lights were put out; the candles missing their wicks. Something was definetly amiss.
“Laura?”
His heart’s cries echoed off of the bones of the house like those of an orphan child late at night, uncared for, tossed aside. A shiver rushed over him, frozen in time. He thought of time and how long it had been since he’d heard either of his lost loves speak his name or even spill a word. With a glance to the clock, he observed the sudden halt of each hand. No inkling of what was happening entered his mind. A foreign noise startled him with its rough volume. It seemed to come from around the end of the corridor, Davis took a step forward and fell off of the dream-floor. Abandoned by a wooden soil, he now plummeted into some black beyond.

* * * * * * *

“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. Relieving 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 kitchen window this time, the mocking scene of a wintry final rest. Horrifying ideas rolled themselves into te fibre of his consciousness. Resting one hand upon the rim of the counter, he pondered for a moment. Of course she was dead. I saw the both of them die and Millicent felt exactly as Laura had. But what if they aren’t? What if they’re lying there waiting for me to retrieve them?! Madness, this is an insane man’s folly. What if she really did call out to me? Merely the wind! Of course, nature’s way of toying with a confused soul. But honestly, perhaps that wasn’t her final breath that I felt escape her lips. Perhaps it was a plea! No… He thought and he thought again, ideas to terrible to utter yet so engrained in his mind that he couldn’t shake the images.
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 worl 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.
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 idsolated 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.

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

The chill ran through his body as though powered by some preternatural force. The shiver down his spine felt remarkab ly like fingers of the dead, feeling 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.

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


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.

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.
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."

At those spilled words Davis thrust the blade of the shovel directly through Laura's neck, causing her to be beheaded. This poor man in such a tumultuous 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 impassioned 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 impassionede 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!

The man, recently thrust into a new state of being by the delusions which swam 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 who surveyed the shovel in Davis' hand with a mildly concerned look. He could hear the other man whistling a disgustingly merry tune. The contrast of the smartly dressed adult and the disheveled chaos 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 singular soul with no words, as usual.

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.

He took one purposeful step into the property and gave one deep exhalation of determination. One by one Mr. McAllery set to introducing the corpses to the light and a legitimate death, just as he'd given to his deceased wife and lover. Surprisingly no soul left their dwellings to look upon this queer sight. The work had been done, liberating the dead, relieving them of their supposed suspended passing on. It had taken him a few excruciating hours filled with sweat, tears, and the freezing cold of winter. So many faces, changed, but familiar seemed to smile at him from behind an imaginary veil. He sat by the tree and reveled in his labour; surrounded by fresh earth and roughly replaced caskets. One leg arched while the other lay straight in front of his form. He rested his right arm on the leg and thought. 'Free, my loves, free. You shall suffer no more...'

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.

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?

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.

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