Whistling Past the Grave

Brunnendorf, New York September 1725

It was a splendid day for a burial. The ripened amber wheat, nearly ready for harvest, waved and bobbed with the gentle breeze and hypnotized the eye. The eight feet tall golden sunflowers hurtled up to the sky and watched the funeral procession with each of their single, wise, knowing chocolate brown eyes. Their rich green leaves united with the wind and clapped against each other, applauding their approval of another entity that would be planted in the rich fertile soil. The reddened mature sun of autumn was also an observer and radiated shafts of light and heat upon the three dozen people dressed in black.

The earthy, fruity, and musky scent of mature apples and multicolored fall leaves greeted the parishioners as they exited the simple white clapboard church, carefully stepping around the gray tombstones that stuck out of the ground like rotted teeth.The gaunt Reverend Whistle, severe in dress and appearance, led the charge into battle clutching his oak cross in his withered hand. He opened the rear cemetery gate that joined the two sections of gray stone wall and proceeded to leave the blessed area to the semi-wilderness just beyond. He positioned himself between the two freshly-dug graves and waited for the rest of his flock to join him.

Hester pushed back a lock of wavy brown hair that the breeze had dislodged and hurriedly shoved it back under her hood. She did not dare to draw any unwelcome attention to herself, lest she share the same fate as her sister, Ruth. On the precipice of eighteen and all alone in the world now, she bit her lip as her green eyes filled with tears and looked up at the ancient Hemlock trees. Anything was better than staring at the open pit that would soon swallow up Ruth's body.

The familiar and welcome sound of Agnes clearing her throat caught Hester's attention and she turned her head fully to the right as her hood would have otherwise obscured her view. Agnes met Hester's eyes with her own hazel ones and nodded slightly. As their gaze broke, Hester noticed Agnes had refocused her attention on the two unfilled trenches. It was not Ruth's final resting place she was staring at, with the rough pine casket next to it. It was the hole that had been dug at the same time-the one that had been intended for Agnes.

Reverend Whistle began the service and both young women snapped to attention, loathing his thin, reedy voice. A small fox- like reddish dog with a squirrel-like tail and intelligent eyes sat by his feet and paid rapt attention, along with everyone else, to the Reverend's words.

“Our community is gathered today to commit the body of Ruth Harmon to the earth. Although she lived amongst us for all of her nineteen years and continued to serve our town in the capacity of baker- continuing in the tradition of her recently departed parents- her death comes as both a warning and example of what happens to the evil practitioners of witchcraft.”

Reverend Whistle removed the well-used snot riddled embroidered handkerchief from his coat pocket and blew hard into it. He examined the olive green discharge before he continued.

“As you are aware, Ruth deserves no such distinction or protection of being buried in the holy ground of the churchyard, but must be interred nonetheless to avoid the evil that may escape from her rotting corpse and infect the innocents gathered here. Her parents may be turning in their graves with shame and horror back yonder in the churchyard. Thank goodness they perished from the smallpox last winter, so they would not have to endure the pox of having such a daughter.”

Hester's wan face became flushed with anger and she grasped the smooth, sharp-edged shells of Ruth's necklace that she held in her right hand even more tightly. She bit down on her tongue to keep from speaking out.

Agnes's reddish-brown freckles seemed to leap off her face, but she too remained silent. After all, she and that red dog equally shared in the blame for her best friend's death.

Reverend Whistle continued his unholy sermon. ”It is thanks to Agnes Hunt that this evil was exposed. The shaking and spasms of her own body cannot be explained in any other way. One must conclude that there is deviltry afoot! I am grateful for the wise judges who were set to make the long journey here from Albany to try the accused, but whose services were rendered unnecessary due to Ruth's untimely death. Lastly, it is because of our city's residents' bravery and honesty providing eyewitness testimony to these strange happenings, that justice has been served. Step forward, line up and announce before our assemblage and God what you have seen!”

Ten people total- men and women alike-wearing their most pius faces, formed a vertical row and each took their turns to relay their personal stories about Ruth.

“ I had dysentery for a full day after eating a loaf of rye bread Ruth baked.”

“Ruth patted my best milking cow and she dried up two days later.”

“Ruth looked at my red hen sideways and the bird rolled on her back and died, her little legs sticking up in the sky.”

The testimonials continued. Last, but not least, was Agnes. In an unemotional and low voice she said, “ I do not remember entering into my spasm on the village green. I was told later that my arms and legs were shaking violently, my eyes rolling back in my head, and I was speaking in a strange, guttural language. What I recall when emerging from my delirium was a dream about this stray red dog, seated next to the Reverend. He spoke to me in human tongue and said the witch among us could be ferreted out. This could be determined by baking a bread of rye meal, in combination with a jar of my urine, over hot ashes. Old Boy, as he is called by so many of us, would be fed this confection and then would be able to name the witch. I relayed this information to the good Reverend Whistle, who witnessed my affliction. He, in his infinite wisdom, suggested that Ruth would be the best qualified to prepare the loaf, descending from a long lineage of bakers.”

Old Boy stared up at Reverend Whistle lovingly and licked his snout with his long red tongue, seemingly tasting the delicious urine bread.

The Reverend continued Agnes's story. “Ruth was reluctant to bake this manna from heaven that would root out evil. I warned her that her neighbor and friend, Agnes, seemingly had a demon force occupying her body. Agnes would be looked on with suspicion and shunned by the community. As you recall, her own mother, Charlotte, disappeared without a trace this spring-suspicious indeed. A few of my own parishioners admitted to me in confidence that they are reluctant to avail themselves of the herbal remedies and tinctures Agnes prepares.”

Old Boy scratched his dog-eared left ear rapidly, his left leg a blur of motion. Reverend Whistle bent down and pinched the dog’s afflicted area with his thumb and pointer finger and massaged gently. “This miraculous and brave canine waited patiently, along with three witnesses, for the bread to be prepared. First, Agnes supplied the urine and then Ruth combined it with rye meal, yeast and ashes. It was baked, cooled and then offered to Old Boy. William, you saw Old Boy devour the bread. Tell the flock what he said! “

William, red-faced and red-eyed, snatched the black hat off his head and stammered nervously, “Ummm.”

“The cat has William's tongue. Perhaps too many spirits last night. Maybe a short period in the stocks may spur his memory.”

“ I recall now! Old Boy said, “Ruff, ruff!”

“On the contrary. He said, “Roof, roof !”

Old Boy settled the matter and spoke enthusiastically, “Roof, roof!”

The Reverend said, “Plain as day. He named Ruth as the practitioner of witchcraft and the resultant mischief and misery. Even with all this abundant evil, God was merciful and smote her down instantly whilst we were binding her hands and feet. The evidence was strong against her and she was likely to be found guilty. The river would have been her watery grave. Unless she survived that, and instead would have been tied to the burning funeral pyre.”

He paused, looked over at Agnes and waved her towards him. “You are lucky indeed to have no recurrence of these spells or have Old Boy name you a witch, like Ruth. As you can see, we readied another grave for your corpse in case of either event. You should be grateful.”

Agnes tucked a stray red curl behind her ear. “ Indeed, I am thankful for being spared.” Reverend Whistle waved her away, and the relieved Agnes nearly fell into the rectangular opening in the ground in her haste, as she scurried back to her place in the crowd.

Reverend Whistle looked at the gathering and spotted and summoned his next quarry. “Hester, come here!”

Hester approached the holy man with trepidation mingled with anger, her knees buckling. Whistle turned around and motioned at the four husky men standing behind him, coiled to spring into action. They surrounded Ruth's coffin and each grabbed a rope handle on each corner, lifted the load in unison, and lowered the fawn-colored pine box into the ground. Hester used every ounce left of resistance to keep from jumping into the pit herself and waited for Whistle's next outrage.

“Hester, I will grant you the privilege of throwing your offering-a bouquet of goldenrod I believe?- on the coffin to wish your sister farewell.”

Numbly, Hester let the lovingly-picked bundle of sunny, densely-clustered flowers slip through her fingers and heard the dull thud as they made contact with the wood. The taste of vomit burned in her throat as she swiftly walked away.

The Reverend finished his final remarks, “Since there will be no prayers or blessings today, all I will say is that an oak tree will be planted on her grave to contain her evil spirit. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Go in peace! Come on Old Boy!” As he let out a piercing, joyful whistle, the spartan Whistle and the loyal dog made their way to the rectory as the crowd dispersed, talking in low voices and gossiping amongst themselves.

Hester slowly wound her way around the outside of the stone wall, sorely tempted to visit her parent's graves but didn't want to draw more attention to herself. She wanted the earth to swallow her up like Ruth. She hadn't noticed that Agnes had slowly been approaching her from the graveyard side of the fence. Agnes whispered, “I can stop by later?” Hester nodded her head curtly and kept walking.

When she was out of earshot of everyone, the swirling, angry, sad and bitter thoughts trickled down from her brain and sprang off her lips. “Nobody defended Ruth. She has watched their children. Brought bread to the sick. Listened to their tales of woe. Yet so eager to speak against her and outdo each other with their wild stories. Willing to be duped so easily by a bunch of nonsense and superstition. And even Agnes-her best friend and mine. Our joyful hours exploring, laughing, crying and sharing secrets. Why did I agree to see her?”

Hester heard the babbling stream and passed the cluster of ghostly birch trees -her favorite things- but now everything was cast now in a sickly, ugly yellow light. As she entered her small stone cottage, she muttered, “ I let Ruth down and do not deserve her. I suffered from the same contagious affliction as everyone else and did not speak out to defend her- fear held my tongue. If she did not die so suddenly, I wonder if I would have found the courage to condemn this absurdity.” Hester collapsed on her narrow bed and sobbed silently, the white-hot tears stinging her face. She fell asleep while thinking of her plans for escape. It wasn't safe to remain here.

When she woke a few hours later, she felt the hollowness of pain and hunger in the pit of her stomach. Although there were many loaves of fresh rye in the house, Hester felt the compulsion to make more. She yearned to feel the ingredients in her hands, to knead the dough as she worked through her thoughts. To smell the warmth and comfort of newly-baked bread to remove the stench of the day. Hester was taking the batch out of the oven on the side of the fireplace when she heard the knock on the door. She wiped her floured hands on her apron and opened the door for Agnes. Except it wasn't her red-haired friend-it was Reverend Whistle and Old Boy.

Whistle didn't wait for Hester to invite him in and instead pushed past her, taking a seat in the chair by the hearth, Old Boy at his heels.

Hester felt her heart sink in her chest as blackness permeated every pore of her body. Frozen to the spot in fear, she watched Whittle's familiar leer slowly spread across his gaunt face. The same expression she saw him sometimes display with Agnes and Ruth. A vacant look in his eyes but a wide grin, displaying rotted teeth. She stifled a scream and headed for the door.

Whistle and Old Boy were on her in a second. No sermonizing but pure action, Whistle ripping off her apron and covering her mouth with his thin translucent lips. Hester sank to the floor, with the Reverend throwing his scrawny body on top of her.

Agnes poked her head through the pine door, slightly ajar. She yelled, “Stop!”

Whistle was startled and it gave Hester the chance to push him away and stagger to her feet. He said, “Leave us alone, Agnes. No longer will I allow you to spurn my advances. Be ready for my visit in an hour. You have seen that no one will dare oppose me. Your bed awaits you, right next to Ruth's, if you so choose.”

Old Boy's intelligent amber eyes first looked at Hester, then switched to Agnes and finally settled on Whistle. He growled and moved menacingly towards the Reverend.

“What's the matter, Old Boy? Have a stomach ache from the urine bread? You're my loyal friend.”

Old Boy answered Whistle without taking his eyes off him. “ My name is Fang, not Old Boy. I am the consort of the Hunt family, a coven of witches. My sharp teeth have three times the venom of the timber rattlesnake. It will be a slow death-first you will have difficulty breathing. Your body will go into shock and I hope the rats feed on you before the villagers find you!” Fang sprang on Whistle's neck and bit down hard. Whistle could only stare, paralyzed with shock. He tried to scream, but true to his name, he could only manage a whistle that emanated from the holes in his neck.

Fang barked, “Follow me!” The trio ran out of the house, with the canine leading the way as he guided them through the wilderness. When they reached a clearing in the forest two miles away, Fang stopped as they paused to catch their breath. Hester panted, “I should go back for my things!”

Ruth stepped out from behind an ancient Hemlock tree and held out a small bag tucked in her apron. “No need,” she said with a smile. She hugged Hester and held her upright, to keep her from falling over with shock.

Fang said, “It's time. Everyone grab hold of my collar and hold on tight!”

Hester looked at Ruth in panic. Ruth said, “It is part of the plan. Be brave and do what you're told!”

The three women bent over and grasped Fang's collar, decorated with gilt moons and stars, with both hands. He rose fifty feet in the air, the women clinging on for dear life. Fang started to spin like a top, rotating slowly at first and then with dizzying speed-like the tilt-a wheel at a fair. They shut their eyes as their stomachs lurched and protested. Slowly, slowly Fang stopped spinning and they were gently lowered to the earth. They fell together in a heap and looked out at their surroundings

Schoharie New York 2025

Agnes's mother, Charlotte, and her Aunt Katherine jumped off the porch and ran down the hill to greet the young women. Fang danced on his hind legs, begging to be pet by Katherine. Charlotte poured peppermint tea to settle everyone's stomachs while Katherine told the family history.

“ When I was twenty-one back in 1705, a peddler woman gave me Fang as reward for treating her smallpox. She was done with traveling through time and wanted to retire. You have to be a woman and at least eighteen to hitch a ride with Fang.”

She looked at Charlotte and Agnes with affection. “Agnes was a toddler and Charlotte couldn't leave her behind. Fang took me forward nearly 300 years and I've made a good living, selling medicinal herbs. Last spring, I sent Fang back to fetch Charlotte and Agnes. Agnes refused to leave without Ruth, and Ruth wouldn't budge until Hester was old enough. By the way, Happy Eighteenth Birthday Hester!”

Hester was mesmerized by the airplanes and automobiles in the distance as she listened to Ruth and Agnes explain how they tricked Whistle. How Ruth broke into Whistle's home while everyone was at her funeral and left the valuables he had stolen from them in the hands of the honest village elder. The story of how Fang took care of Whistle. In the middle of the excited talk about their future plans, Katherine issued a warning, “ Fang brought us towards the light, towards progress. In 2025, there are those who want to drag us back.”