What Is This That Stands Before Me?

April 23rd, 1858 - 16th Day on the Trail

This morning, I rose to find a sinister boil protruding from the left side of my neck like a grievously threatening mole poking its head out of the freshly-thawed spring ground. Bessie was able to trade half a box of our ammunition to a neighboring wagon for some slippery elm powder, and immediately set to work preparing a poultice with cornmeal. This was laid on a small piece of fabric and thus applied to the boil, until the heat from the cloth had dissipated into the skin. This method seemed to be effective in doing away with the boil; after eating some biscuits with honey, we headed west and reached the Big Blue River Crossing at midday. Lunch was our usual pemmican and dried prunes. For the afternoon, we decided to cease our travels so the children in the wagon train could get some exercise. In just over a week’s time, we should be upon Fort Kearney, and I endeavor to rest a few days, do some hunting outside the fort, and speak to the locals and friendly natives. ~WS

April 24th, 1858 - 17th Day on the Trail

Today I woke from my slumber to find that the swelling of my boil has not gone down as was previously anticipated. While it is unfortunate, such is often the case with these lesions. Bessie applied another poultice in the morning, and we started out on the trail. Along the way, off in the grassy distance, it appeared to me a man stood alone, atop one of the patches of slightly higher ground. Though nowhere near close enough to get a proper gander, it seemed he was dressed in very dark clothing which covered the entirety of his body. When I mentioned the occurrence to Bessie, she advised me to keep quiet about it, insisting there was nothing in the field. Upon second inspection, I could no longer see whatever it had been that caught my attention, and now I feel it is likely I saw a bear or possibly a wandering buffalo which, to my admittedly strong imagination, “became” human. It was good for a laugh, I suppose. We set up camp at sunset in a nondescript clearing, circling the wagons tightly and enjoying music from fellow travelers who carried with them guitars, banjos, and harmonicas. ~WS

April 25th, 1858 - 18th Day on the Trail

A fever has begun. I awoke covered in sweat, my eyes experiencing a subtle burn, and my extremities a bit weaker than usual. The intrusion on my neck seems to have grown while I slept, which is upsetting but not alarmingly so. I was roused from my slumber by a horrific dream in which a gigantic fissure grew in the earth, into which our entire wagon train plummeted. On the edge of the earth, there stood a figure in black, which pointed at me. Undoubtedly this dream was the result of the fever; or it is possibly the cheese another traveler of the trail had shared with us in exchange for some seasonings from our pantry. Certainly the figure in black was subliminal fodder left over from my misidentification on the trail of a buffalo the previous day. Whatever the case, it shook me with such force that I let out a loud yelp upon awakening, frightening the children and causing a reprimand from Bessie, until she discovered my febrile state. The notion was floated that perhaps we should stop and rest awhile, which I quickly quashed - we are not even a quarter of the way through our journey, with much harder terrain yet to come, and I feared a rest now would set a precedent which may be a detriment to our expedition. My feelings were justified as the fever seemed to wane by noontime. Another poultice was applied over the midday meal, and after we stopped for the day. The rest of the day continued without incident, but I am preparing to sleep now, even as the sun falls, that I might greet the new morning refreshed and with greater strength. ~WS

April 26th, 1858 - 19th Day on the Trail

We did not leave camp this morning. I woke up again drenched in nocturnal perspiration, well after the rising of the sun. Bessie insisted to the others in our party that we root here to properly care for my fever. I am greatly upset that we are scarcely a month into the trip, and already I am causing delays. However, I must admit that Bessie is a wonderful mother and a great caretaker to me, and often knows, perhaps even better than I do, the proper course of action - especially in regards to the health of our family. Thankfully our water keg was mostly full, having only left the Big Blue River days ago, and I partook generously as per her request. More concerning was the neck-blister, which had grown darker in color and wider in its reach. In order to combat the malady, the boil was lanced and thoroughly scrubbed with a vinegar and herb solution, then covered with a bandage. I spent the day in and out of sleep, but I feel as though I may already be getting better. I look forward with enthusiasm to setting back out on the trail again tomorrow. ~WS

April 27th, 1858 - 20th Day on the Trail

My apprehension has grown, as the fever seems to show no sign of improvement. We have lost yet another day on the trail, and I feel the weight of my peers bearing down upon me as a locomotive bears down upon the unsuspecting pronghorn. My boil has doubled in size, and now, trails like tributaries spread forth from it, covering my neck.

But perhaps more alarming is an intermittent recurrence of that vision that befell me just three days ago, and subsequently in my dreams that evening. At times, out of the corners of my eyes, the leaden figure of a man who appears to be raising an arm towards me comes to light. When I direct my attention towards the momentary incursion, I see it no longer. The fever is taking hold, and I fear I may be going mad; though I dare not speak a word of this to Bessie, for I know she is worried about me as is. I almost feel at times as though this “man” is trying to communicate something to me, a harbinger of danger? ~WS

April 28th, 1858 - 21st Day on the Trail

Bessie has taken to providing me with spoonfuls of water, as my cracked lips can no longer tolerate the act of imbibing from a cup. All but two other wagons have decided to press on, the remaining two promising to wait another few days until I recover...

Or...

I struggle now to share, even in the writing of private thoughts, the dastardly fate to which I am resigned. My neck throbs in menacing fashion. My fever is drawing the life fast out of me. My wits are waning. To write has become a task of the utmost difficulty, but I must explain what has happened to me.

I SEE THE APPARITION NOW MANY TIMES THROUGHOUT THE DAY.

From the moment I was startled out of sleep by a dream I cannot remember, there He has stood. Much more clearly now I can describe his appearance. He stands much taller than the men in our wagon train, but not so tall as to make me think what I am seeing is not there. His robe seems to be made of something between silk, smooth as ice, and wool, coarse as grain. Its color is like that of the eyes of a horse; deep black, perhaps gleaming with an almond or silver glow. It flows down the length of his corpus, shrouding all that it covers, except for his hands. My God, the unnatural frailty which betrays the sinister power contained within would be enough to make most men weep. I can do nothing but sit and stare.

But it is the face. The ghastly countenance. Terrible, horrible, unfathomable. There is no nose which I can discern. There is scarcely a mouth - a small slit just above the chin which appears neither to open nor shut from its slightly ajar position. The sickly pale skin appears stretched and wretched, the same veiny lattice that afflicts my neck covers his entire facade. His eyes are like burnt out coals, dark as night, but exuding a heat which defies explanation. When I shift my gaze to avoid the sickening spectacle, the figure simply comes to focus wheresoever it lands. What is this that stands before me? ~WS

April 29th, 1858 - 22nd Day on the Trail

Today he spoke.

“Walter.”

Just the single word finally brought tears to my eyes. My weeping so alarmed Bessie that she herself was brought to hysterics. I finally decided to explain to her what was happening, for I sense an impending conclusion, and find it unfair to keep secret the cause of my suffering from the one nearest my heart.

When I finished speaking, Bessie looked more full of displeasure than despair. Her fists clenched, she walked outside the wagon and shouted at the sky, as full of anger as I had ever seen her, “Why are you doing this!?”

The figure’s recitation of my name, however, made it all too clear to me. The trail, for me, will most certainly end here.

I fear I may never reach Fort Kearney, let alone the Willamette Valley. My pen grows heavier and heavier by the minute, but I will keep up the good fight until the very end. ~WS

April 30th, 1858 - 23rd Day on the Trail

My senses fail me. There is naught but a dull gray hue which now pervades my vision ... and the darker outline of my abominable companion, who follows wherever I should turn mine eyes.

Time has, I fear, come to an end, for me. I pray that none else should experience the torment which has cursed me, and may God have mercy on my soul.

~Walter Stephenson