Stel Parad by Lisa Menzel

Author:Lisa Menzel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: I&M Canal, Haunted Cemetary, Native American Lore, Chicago, Apothecary, American Ghost Stories, 1800s
Publisher: BHC Press
Published: 2020-08-17T00:00:00+00:00

Midnight, All Hallows’ Eve

The Spaniards took the women and children first. When the men beseeched their safe return, invaders wrote in their journals how much the natives loved their families. On the final landing of these feather-patterned stairs, I read over our “debts.” The fire blazes, reminding me of England’s hearth tax to settle the king’s debt. Five years into his reign, after his predecessor was executed outside St. James’ Palace, most would have the plague. That was when Spain married England, providing no children. Instead, they conceived illegitimates. They blamed an ensuing fire on the bakehouse on Pudding Lane. Next, they shifted it to Catholic conspirators. At last, a man made a false confession and it was all forgotten. For two centuries, the Natick bible has been the indigenous man’s horror. A man married on the Erie Canal professed the Iroquois would be removed within a generation. That vision will not come to fruition. I see those men we fought over trade swelling by leagues in the next two centuries. St. Piran replaced the inquisitor, the man perpetuated as being tied by the Irish to a millstone. Going over the cliff in a storm, swells carried him to Cornwall where he died of yellow fever. The Natick bible asked if they knew each other in hell. Judging by the changing windows, I’d say most certainly.

Cathedral doors opening, Mandeville carries a pail of earth. Tossing it into the hearth, the inferno replies, “Is siv ereuqniler, sitamiced: If you want to leave, the tithe.”

“I’ve already contributed!” Focused on the carriage port, he heads to the darkened kitchen. On the butcher block, hand wrapping the pot rack, hunches Ghost Rabbit. From the lip of the counter, he swings, kicking Mandeville down the cellar stairs. The door slams, the judge beseeching rescue.

“He must serve his fate up high,” Ghost Rabbit attests.

At the window, Nontie beckons.

Ghost Rabbit bids I go.

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