(BEKALE) II. The Graves Kiss

II.THE GRAVE'S KISS


In 1988 I had been approached by one of the few clergymen left in Bekale to take on the role of Sunday school teacher, I had already been a resident in town for over twenty eight years now, and since I had been the only man experienced with other Christian groups over the years, the people had thought of me as an idea choice; and since the previous instructor died from pneumonia just days before, it was imperative that a decision was made as quickly as possible. I considered turning down the opportunity, as I hadn't been a man who'd held the words of the bible close, though it would at least help to ease my constant state of boredom whilst I waited, and at most strengthen the towns trust in me; so early in the following morning my answer was given.
Throughout the years I hadn't shown much interest towards the age-old Vantod church, only briefly glimpsing at the rather plain features of its archway doors and poorly maintained wooden exterior, appearing as though the main structure had been a late addition to its tower which had been located directly in its center. When I walked into the old woodland church I noticed that although it had a rather rough exterior, its interior had been kept nearly picturesque, with scarlet carpeting and displays of small statuettes depicting scenes from the bible; its only flaw being a strong smell of mold which had emanated from two small trap doors leading down towards the basement.
During my second year of teaching the decreasingly religious town I met a unfortunate boy stricken with an awful sickness Bekale's people had named the Grave's Kiss; a terminal condition causing the loss of pigment in the eyes, skin to fade into a pale grey, and it's victims' bodies to slowly shut down before finally ceasing to function entirely.
The children had called him Phickly; a crude mishmash of his real name, Phillip and sickly, he and I hadn't much chance to grow close during the final stages of his sickness due to my own selfish fear of contracting the disease which had by now reduced him to nothing more than a wheezing skeletal figure void of almost any features he had once had. Out of curiosity I had consulted the town's supposed doctor, a strange man going by the name of Pete Borrows, asking for information regarding the Grave's kiss. The answers I had been given left me wondering just how old Dr. Borrows really gotten his title, for I was presented with a compilation of local accounts and left with the words "Tis' death" before being asked to leave.
The information I had been provided spoke of several cases over the last thirty two years, all pertaining to poverty stricken individuals who had gone mad with hunger, resorting to the consumption of long dead animals, and then finally the rotting corpses resting beneath the Vantod's cemetery. What the book had been suggesting brought forth terrible images of my student kneeling over an exposed grave and feasting upon its decayed forbidden fruit, surely he hadn't become infected from atrocities such as these?
Before I had the chance to confront young Phillip I was visited by Dr. Borrows and told that the night before he had been found unconscious just outside his home on Bekale's outskirts, it seemed a pair of travelers had found him and rush him to Bobcaygeon for treatment; where he was later quarantined by concerned officials.
Feeling defeated over my failed efforts in discovering the truth behind the sickness, only knowing that it could have possibly been brought on by necro-cannibalistic behavior, I retreated to the confines of my home. And just as I was about to finish my nightly routine of a meal, and light reading, I found a small note hidden curiously between a set of Biblical study guides I had addressed to my students. It had been fashioned from an old piece of newspaper faded from age and held together by no more than a paperclip I had recognized as one of my own.
My eyes grew wide as I read what few words it had to say - shocked and amazed, yet perplexed as to how its author had come to receive such a message. It seemed as though perhaps though the strange eastern woman had been what she claimed to be and perhaps my wait was not completely in vain, and so I kept that shred of paper close until this very day; haunted by words passed down to me by the hands of a dying child.

I had a dream 'n she say's for me to tell ya' sir, that she hasn't forgottin' yet…
-God Bless- Phillip Marlow