Desperate Remedies

April 2^nd, 1896

Benjamin Cornelius Cornwell was blankly staring at the emptiness. At a void beyond their realm, it seemed. Sitting vegetatively, catatonically in Saint Jean de Dieu’s big day room situated at the ground floor. Where he spent most of his time. Gazing outward, northward, beyond the veranda-like bay window which offered a full view of Saint Jean de Dieu’s garden. Meanwhile an ever affluent agitation of personnel, composed of mostly nuns, sisters, kept the overwise nursery home-looking place somewhat alive. And God knows the place had sheltered its fair share of horror in the past. It’d played Switzerland during the Civil War, and thus welcomed a regrettably ever affluent swath of injured soldiers from both sides. The Union and The Confederacy were treated, tended to the same way, with the exact same care and compassion and love. Conflicts weren’t permitted within these walls. God was watching.

Leopold patiently sat across from Benjamin. Longly staring at him. Squinting, narrowing his eyes in the hope of maybe, just maybe, perceive a glimmer of consciousness somewhere in there. His state remained the same, unchanged. Moodless. Confined to this chair. Showing no sign of any amelioration. None whatsoever. If anything Leopold had the awful sentiment that his state somehow worsen each passing day. Simmering further into that inner-well of his.

Two weeks prior

Benjamin was a ratherly quite amicable and jovial, albeit somewhat simpleminded, lad. Think Hodor meets young Ben Hanscom meets Quasimodo.

Although his simple-mindedness did not spare him from being aware of his regrettable physical difference. But most of the time he didn’t seem to mind it. He was a kindhearted soul of simple tastes. He enjoyed his freedom in the vast open cornfield. He also loved the company of children. The one who knew him well and thus were accustomed by his otherwise off-putting difference. Those who treated him fairly. Some even called him Uncle Benjamin. Like Sally and Michael.

He worked at the Mills sawmill, in Sawyer, Wisconsin. Sometimes amusingly referred to as The SawMills. Where he happily lived. He lived in what used to be an old grange. When not busy sawing wood Benjamin did what he did best, carpentering. He had hands of gold when it came to building furniture. A veritable artist.

Before the sawmill stretched northerly an expanse of golden cornfield. The sweet melody of the wind breezing down across the cornfield. God! How Benjamin loved that sound. Aside the cornfield, on the right was the grange. And next to the grange stood a quite massive and somewhat towering silo. The phallic copper made, with a lepidic pattern, grain fertilizer bin was erected vertically. It was of a baby blue color. It looked like some kinda giant scaly worm coming out from the ground.

Benjamin Cornwell was just finishing his latest handiwork, his own handmade present for his brother Leopold’s upcoming 39^th birthday, on March 29. Absorbed, he was contemplatively, contemptibly looking at the large and long rectangular table. Massive and hefty-looking. Which he had meticulously built from two sorts of very thick and strong and broad dark hardwoods. Calamander, hazel brown in color with black stripes. And dark Greywood with even darker stripes. The table was ornamented with a very thick and even harder Rosewood contour. Solidly fixated. With its sumptuous dark red colored surface with an almost black wavy grain.

When asudden Benjamin heard Sally calling his name in panic. She was shouting his name as she was rushingly running from the grain bin and toward him.

Sally and her twin brother Michael Mills, children of the sawmill’s owner Everett Mills, and their little friend Rudy Wilcox were insouciantly playing around. Somewhat unsupervised, as they were used to. Their father was away for few hours. And so he trusted Benjamin to keep an eye on them from time to time. Rudy, Sally and Michael were around 7. At one point they dared each other to climb the silo’s ladder to the top. Michael was the first to proudly accept the challenge. But once up there, against the vehement protestations of his twin sister, Michael opened the triangular lid. Just to have a quick peek inside the belly of the thing. Michael somehow ended up falling into the silo. Rudy courageously climbed up and hurriedly grabbed Michael’s hands while trying her best keeping her precarious balance up there.

Upon hearing that Benjamin precipitately sprinted across the cornfield and climbed up the silo in no time. Despite his dysmorphic and heavy physique Benjamin was surprisingly quite agile and quick.

Thankfully Benjamin managed to pulled Michael out easily. The poor kid was in shock but otherwise okay.

But in doing so Benjamin lost his footing and his massive heaviness fell into the grain bin. Suddenly an air pocket sucked him down like quicksand. And in less than ten seconds there was 18 inches to 2 feet of corn above him. He had his left arm above his head, with about only an inch of his fingers visible.

Sally ran for some adult help.

Sally came back with her father and Rudy’s father – Brat Wilcox – as well as two other men.

‘Holy cow! He’s still breathing!’ Had exclaimed Brat, once they managed to bring him out of the deathly entrapment, and down. After a lengthening and lengthening moment of uncertainty – or certainty that he was as good as dead – Benjamin came back from the other side. From the great Darkness from beyond. Not before first profusely vomiting an impressive amount of obstructing grains.

Yes, Benjamin was breathing. But Benjamin was also now stuck in this catatonic state.

He had been ever since.

Leopold Cornwell dearly loved his brother. When he took care of something, or someone, he took care of it. No matter what. No matter the unpleasantness and how much time consuming it proved to be of a task. His word was his bond. He was an honorable man of honor and principles. After all, he was blood. They were both blood. Whether he liked it or not. And you cannot turn your back on your own blood. From an early age, Leopold vowed to protect and look after his even lesser fortunate little brother. Both were abandoned at the foot of this very same place they were presently at, Saint Jean de Dieu. 37 years ago. Back in 1859. Leopold was two. And Benjamin was a newly born baby. In the, already back then, protective cradling harms of his brother. Their name, Cornwell, came from their ‘adoptive father’ in the person of Father Cornwell. Maximilian Cornelius Cornwell. Cornwell was Polish, German, French and English. Founder of Saint Jean de Dieu and who ran the place at the time. He took the two rejected infants under his wings. With the precious help and love, as well as a fair dosage of tested patience, of Sister Martha Esau. He was one of – if not the most – kindhearted soul who ever existed on God’s blessedly green earth. He was an inspiration for all. Generous. Patient. Gentle. Kind. Caring. Loving. A true Saint. He lived a good life. Purposeful. Fulfilled. A life of enrichment. Of shared enrichment. An inspiring life, anyone aspires to live, to be blessed with. He passed away back in 1867, at the honorable advanced age of 94. Strong until the very end. Spared of any illness that usually come with old age, he had died peacefully in his sleep.

Leopold had been diligently – dutifully – coming every single day for the past two weeks now.

Some medical specialists of the time often affirmed that should Benjamin hadn’t been such as he unfortunately was he would have looked a lot like Leopold. Apparently they would have looked somewhat twin-like. At the very least a strong and obvious resemblance would have been undeniably there. It was hard to believe. Hard to see yourself beneath all this accumulation of protruding malformations.

Leopold, as for himself, was ratherly, arguably a good-looking man. He wore his dark brown hair impeccably slicked back. His dark brown short boxed beard parsed with shocks of salt and pepper.

‘So, how are we doing today, Benjamin?’ A voice abruptly called. A smile in the voice. From behind both of them. It was Sister Martha Esau. Now 68. Her visage was now very much wrinkled. She looked older than she actually was. Four years ago she had suffered a very minor stroke which left her with a, barely noticeable, speech impediment due to the now slightly drooping right side of her mouth. She was The embodiment of kindness and patience and compassion and tolerance.

Leopold slightly turned. And here she was. Casually standing between them. Benjamin, as for him, didn’t even flinch. No acknowledgment, none whatsoever. He remained perfectly stationary. Unchanging. Unvarying.

‘No better than during my last visit, I’m afraid.’ Leopold said soberly.

‘Give it time, Leo. These delicate matters ask from us to be patient and understanding.’ Affably. Optimistic.

Leopold remained silent for a token moment. Gazing at his brother. Who was continuously, uninterruptedly staring. Glassily. Disconnectedly. Immobile. Impotent. A somewhat sallow tint upon his visage.

Sister Martha patiently, serenely observed the scene. Her eyes of a baby blue-ice color. Her gradually more and more foggy, veiled eyes. Her eyesight was increasingly degrading. She was slowly but surely heading toward blindness. She knew it. There was no denying it. It was tough to be forced into total darkness before by the grace of God going into the heavenly light. But she had made her peace. The Lord was fair. Always. The Lord was all about fairness and balance. So, if darkness was where she was heading, then darkness it shall be. She didn’t need her eyes in order to continue her job. She never did. Granted, a fairly decent eyesight is never neglectable. But, from the very beginning The Lord had blessed her with a heart-shaped eyesight.

Sister Martha then suggested Leopold to take Benjamin for a stroll outside in the garden. ‘It’ll do him some good.’ She added softly. Encouragingly.

Leopold agreed. He got up. Towering over Sister Martha with his 6 feet 1.

Benjamin stiffened as his brother helped him getting up. He definitely did not wish to get up. But, with gentleness and the kind motherly words of sister Martha Benjamin went from vegetative sitting position to standing up. She ever so gently caressed Benjamin’s hunched back, while placing her hand under his armpit. Benjamin then became somewhat more cooperative. And let himself guided. Leopold diffidently aped Sister Martha. Somewhat awkwardly hazarding a hand under his brother’s armpit. And both guided Benjamin, accompanied him in his very slow and somewhat rusty verticalization.

Benjamin finally got on his feet. And stood there, motionlessly, expressionlessly, like an inanimate mannequin.

Sister Martha. ‘Go ahead. One slow and steady pace at a time.’ She encouraged.

And so, Leopold took it from here. And off they both went abreast. Unheedingly. Steadily. Benjamin walking with his shuffling gait across the blistering creosoted parquet. And so they both walked away, under the approving gaze of Sister Martha. A satisfied half-smile. An expression of content on her sweet visage.

Leopold and Benjamin were now strolling outside, in Saint Jean de Dieu’s garden. Their back to the bay window. The whole garden was this beautiful, sumptuous haven of harmonious greenery bordered by perfectly kept, trimmed edges. A vividly green enclosure. Nothing too fancy, mind you. But ideal for some peace of mind. It was an appeasing sight to behold. Therapeutic. Medicinal.

Along both side were a succession of arcade of edges. Harmoniously, neatly spaced.

As they very slowly strolled about. Leopold inhaled a lungful of air. ‘Would you look at this! We’re blessed with another sunny day. And god knows that doesn’t happen that often during this particular season of the year.’ Smiling mirthlessly.

But sadly, all Leopold got in return from his tagging along interlocutor was the same unresponsiveness. Benjamin kept blankly, glassily glaring straight ahead. While languidly shuffling across the soft manicured green parterre. Hunched.

They were walking towards a small little arched wooden bridge passing above a small pond. Leopold exhaled a light sigh, trying his best to keep understanding and patient with his – estranged – brother.

Leopold – with a preoccupied expression upon his face – was observingly gazing at Benjamin while now setting foot upon the wooden bridge. As he did so, the first wooden plank all the sudden gave away, precipitating Leopold into a brutal yet fairly brief fall.

Leopold’s fall was cut short. And he now found himself waist deep in a puddle of water. He immediately attempted to ungainly climb up the well. But his repeated clumsy attempts were in vain.

Meanwhile, as this happened, Benjamin did not even quack. He did utterly nothing. But merely kept disconnectedly staring into the distance. Miles away, weeks away from that very well. While Leopold was stuck, prisoner of this confined space, Benjamin as for himself was – and had been for the better part of the last two weeks now – still stuck inside his own personal confined space.

‘Ben!...BEN!! For God’s sake! Look down at least! Down here!...’ Exasperatedly. ‘Don’t you dare leave me here!! You hear me?!’

Then, something started to occur. Something unpleasant. To say the least.

‘What the devil is this?!’

The water Leopold was in started to turn into some foaming flesh eating acidic substance. Eating at him from below. From under the surface. Ruthlessly feasting on his right leg. For a start. Already dissolving his kneecap while simultaneously attacking his ankle. Dissolving it away. The pain was beyond any rational word. His bulging rheumy eyes were now red and veiny. His whole entire body was overwhelmed with spasmodic jitterings. The pain was so intense it literally winded him. Rendering him unable to utter a single word or sound. Save maybe for broken, muffled bemoanings.

His ankle, his entire ankle was sectioned. His right foot now lied down at the bottom of the well, separated from the rest of his leg, separated from the rest of his body.

And as Leopold was on the very imminent brink of consciously bailing out he found it in himself to finally spate out out of sheer desperation.

‘I beg of you, take him! TAKE HIM!! Not me! Look at him, look at him! It would be mercy!’

The feasting Well interrupted its feasting. And pondered.

The water suddenly shimmered.

He is purer. There shall be more to feast upon.

It then shimmered again.

Wish upon the Well. And I shall oblige to your demand.

And wish upon Leopold did.

One moment he was at the very bottom of that hellish well, inside the belly of that ineffable abstract profounder, and the very next he was back up there, lying on his belly upon the grassy parterre. At the Well’s edge. Now short of one right foot. Somehow the excruciating pain had considerably subsided. Now his right leg felt almost...numb.

At first he gazed around him and noticed the unmissable absence of his brother Benjamin. He then remembered what he just a moment ago had uttered. Without really meaning it.

Or was I?...Oh, God!!

Horrified Leopold gazed downward. And sure enough, there he was. Benjamin was now standing exactly where Leopold had been a moment ago. Circled by that undulating shimmery liquid thing. Benjamin stood there. Unresponsively. Catatonically. He simply kept staring at the brick surface. Leopold frantically looked around for some rope or something. He desperately wanted to scream his lung out for some help. But no sound would come out of his aphonic vocal cords.

He once again gazed around for something. Anything. Finally he removed his long coat. And threw it downward, hoping to have the necessary strength to pull his massively heavy brother up, should this one even wished to be save at this point.

The Well’s water then shimmered.

Help him, and you shall regret it...greatly.

Leopold ignored the warning and tried helping his unresponsive brother.

The Well’s water then shimmered once more.

Accomplishment is your prime obsession, I see.

Once again, the Well’s water shimmered.

As it did so, all the sudden his body was submerged by an ineffably overwhelming wave of pain. Steely. Unbearable. Crippling his entire being with unutterable torturous suffering. Before his very own eyes his body was going through a traumatic transformation. His normally proportioned shape now morphed into something more...monstrous. More dysmorphic. It was almost as if something bestial and savage was making more room from within his own self. Too confined. Uncontainable. He could feel it. In his bones. In his muscles. His ligaments. The nerves too! God! The nerves were vividly alert. More than they’d ever been in his entire life. He could feel the ligaments and muscles and nerves of his entire self like stretching and stretching. Cracking like bamboo as they grew and grew, more and more. Gaining more and more volume, as did the rest of his body. This at present too restrained space. He was like restrained by some invisible chains. Unable to move, save for the spasmodic jerking. Under the insurmountable pressure and inhuman ache is grotesquely contorted body was. Body which was getting heavier and heavier by the second. Gaining in mass and volume. The pain was ineffably excruciating. Utterly bleak.

As the traumatic violating transformation occurred tears started to well upon his face.

Upon A face.

Not his anymore.

But his brother Benjamin The Hunchback’s own dysmorphic face. As Leopold was now staringly looking down at himself, baved waist deep in the Well’s stagnant shimmery water.

The water Benjamin was in then once again started to turn into the foaming flesh eating acidic substance. Eating at him from below. From under the surface. Aggressively feasting on his lower body.

Benjamin barely uttered a sound. Save perhaps for scarce muffled bemoanings weakly echoing inside that brick silo of his.

This time a silo he shall never climb out from.

The End.