Sarah Muldane's Moldy Bones

Sarah Muldane's Moldy Bones

If you walked the length of two football fields north from our humble boyhood homestead, you'd come to the old abandoned Witcher place. It was a delightful destination for adolescent boys because it had everything. There's the dilapidated farmhouse with a sagging roof, dark windows like gaping teeth, the entry door hanging on one hinge, and dry shrubs and tumbleweeds all around to blunt and obscure everything quite nicely. You could follow caterpillar tracks along the dirt floors throughout the shadowed rooms and watch the stained wallpaper peel off in waves. Sometimes there were beetle carapaces or snakeskins to collect. And out back was the well, deep and dark and mysterious. Perfect. My younger brother and I hunted rabbits and racer lizards there with our BB gun whenever we could sneak away. Bro's name is Jules, and I'm Beanbob. That's not the real me, but that's what everybody calls me. We were around the seven-to-nine age range when this story took place.

Want to know the best part about the Witcher mansion? The best part was that the place was haunted. Or, as Granny Elsa would say, it was hainted, which is ever so much more sinister than a mere ghost infestation. The old owners, the Witchers, were long gone and forgotten by the community. They moved because of drought or failed crops or whatever. I preferred to believe a minority opinion of my own that they were all massacred by Indians or pirates or somebody and their bodies dumped in the well. Jules concurred. The best version of the legend, however, was that previous owners long ago had a young daughter whose bedroom was most likely the last one behind the kitchen. Her name was Sarah Muldane. The story goes that Sarah Muldane, whoever she was, fell (or more likely was pushed) into the well for a Halloween prank and never came up again. Thereafter, every year she likes to rise up from her dismal home every Halloween Eve and see what she can scare up. I think Sarah's misfortune and her thirst for vengeance are the real reason the Witchers left. Nobody wants to live in a place where some specter might sneak into your bedroom late at night and cause trouble. No, I no longer believe ghosts can hurt you; but I think they can cause you to hurt yourself.

Jules and I mostly avoided the well each time we visited. It's indecent to disturb the spirits of the deceased. Until one day that changed. Bro and I got to coveting that pulley thing over the open hole, the gadget that helps you lower a bucket to get water and raise it to drink it. I recall some vague idea about running a zip-line from the windmill to the chinaberry tree or something. Anyway, we fetched some good rope, a small crowbar, and some sardine sandwiches (in case the job took longer than expected). What we forgot, in the excitement of the moment, was that it happened to be Halloween Eve. If we'd not been so wooly-headed that day, we'd have stayed home and made mud pies under the overhead tank.

Fully equipped and motivated, we struck out for our objective. Predictably, the conversation fell to discoursing about Sarah Muldane while on these trips. Here's the discussion as well as I can recall it:

"Hey, Jules. Do you really believe the ghost of ole Sarah Muldane is down that well?"

"Yeah, I kinda do believe it. But I don't think she's a ghost."

"Then what is she?"

"I think she's a skelle-ton."

"A skelle-ton, huh? You jes might be right 'bout that. What say, when we get there, and while we're taking that pulley we need, that we check it out and see if she's really down there?"

"Well, I donno "bout that. If she's there, she might grab us and do stuff to us."

"Like what, exactly? I always knowed you was a fraidy cat."

"Well, she might try to scratch us on the face, or poke our eyes out, or choke us to death with her cold, bony hands. Or worse yet: what if she wants to kiss one of us? I don't wanna be kissed by no bone girl. Or any girl."

"Well, if she tried that crap, we'd just shoot her with the BB gun."

"That won't work, Beanbob, you dumbass."

"Why won't it?"

"Cause skelly-tons don't got no meat on 'em. The BB would just pass through between the bones or bounce off one of them."

"Not if we hit an eyeball."

"I just told you, Stupid, they don't have eyeballs."

"Then how would they see to scratch us?"

There was a pause here. Jules isn't the sharpest pitchfork in the barn, and he's what you call a "slow thinker."

"How would I know that? I'm no expect on skelle-tons."

"It's expert, Dingbat, not expect. Well, then, we'll put one through her eye sockets and right on into the brain. Nothin' survives a bullet to the brain."

"If skelle-tons have a brain, it's probably like the stuff we pulled out of that punkin we carved last night."

"Okay, then, we'll jes shoot her in the pecker. That hurts something fierce, and it'll make her leave us alone."

"And you call me stupid? Girls don't have no peckers."

There was another dialogue pause here. This was interesting news and something of what we call an oxy, Moron.

"How do you know that? Besides, how would they pee?"

"I found one of Pa's men's magazines. The pictures don't show any peckers a'tol. I don't know how they pee; maybe they have inside tubes or somethin'."

"Where are these magazines? Why didn't you show me? I could have explained things to you."

Jules didn't answer. Again. He was never much for sharing or thinking. The subject was dropped then cause we'd arrived at the enigmatic half-acre. It was time to go to work. I climbed up to the line and bucket construct, powered by big brother bravery, and started to pilfer the needed pulley apparatus. I can sure come up with some cool self-help projects. The draw rope and bucket were hanging over the open well hole where they were supposed to be. But I should have adjusted my skill to remember that objects here were decades old and totally neglected by the attention of all mankind.

You already know what comes next. The whole enterprise went south when the bracing over the well collapsed, and down I went into the depths of oblivion and terror. On the rapid descent, I could only apologize to poor Sarah Muldane; I was going to crash onto her chalky bones and break them into 126 pieces. I hit with a thud, followed by another thud that was the iron pulley aimed at my head. No worries. Except I got the wind whooshed out of me and busted my lower lip on my right knee. There was no water, and the well was a shallow one compared to others of its kind. The bottom was a bit mushy, sort of like soft sand, but not quite mud. Those fortunate provisions were likely what saved me from serious injury but did little to relieve my troubled mind. It was gloomy in the depths, and the surroundings were more shadow than substance. Looking up, I could see the stars. Did you know you can see stars in daytime if you're in a black hole?

Jules was alarmed at what had just happened but tried to be helpful. He immediately threw down our coiled rope. I guess he thought I might need it to get out. Little brother didn't make valedictorian of the third grade. But, by way of supplemental aid, here also came a sandwich to sustain me while we pondered the crisis.

Jules was quick to offer positive help:

"Here, Beanbob, take this rope and pull yourself out. Are you hurt real bad, or dead? Do you want some Fritos to go with that?"

Beanboy responds with appreciation:

"What do you think, Dingbrain? I just fell down a deep well, and I think I lit on Sarah Muldane's bones. One of them is poking me in the back, and she's pullin' me deeper into the muck, Jules. What if she wants to eat boys instead of a sandwich? Or maybe she plans to give me to the devil. I think I hear rats down here. I hate rats! What am I gonna' hook this rope to, Pebblehead? Thin air? And all of it just made me remember that it's Halloween."

"Oh my Lord, Beanbob. What're we gonna' do? I forgot it's Halloween too. Sarah Muldane's got you good and proper fersur. I guess you're a goner, pure and simple. You're a good brother though, so try hard not to die out on me, okay? Whatever you do, don't let her bite you or smooch you; you'll get bone disease if it's catching. But, jus in case you don't make it, can I have your Rockem Sockem robots?"

"Here's what you gotta' do, Dorkwad. Listen up. Go fetch one of them long planks that's broke off from the house and slide it down here. And get a move on. Sarah's choking me jus like you said, and I ain't got much air left."

"O Lord! OK, I'm goin' quick. Maybe you should sing a Sunday school song while I'm gone? It might help."

Here we have to pause again while Jules went in search of a long 2 x 4 or something. But I didn't think a verse of The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round was going to do much good. I tried it anyway.

Finally. Jules made it back. He had a rotted board and was trying to slide it down to me. Somehow, I managed to climb up the slanted plank like you'd shimmy up a tree. The wood bent to a bow but, thank the angels, it didn't break. Up top, Jules was crying and shaking. I fell to hugging him so he couldn't see if I got tears too. One of us had to be strong.

Strong one Beanboy sums up:

"Well, Jules, Sarah Muldane didn't get us this time. I hope she forgives me for falling on her bones. But we lost the bucket and the pulley, and Pa's rope and his favorite crowbar are still down there. He'll tan our hides."

"I don't want to get my butt blistered. It's all your fault that you dropped all that stuff and then pissed off Sarah Muldane and you scared me half to death."

"Hey, I know! You can scurry on down and get them tools and things, what with you being lighter than me and..."

"Oh, no you don't! I ain't goin' in that well even if you double dog dare me. I know you. Sarah Muldane will get me fersur. And while I'm sinking, you'll scoot down, grab everything, and swoop back up free as a sparrow. Then you'll hightail it home and tell Ma and Pa I got lost in a maize field. You looked and looked till it got dark but couldn't find me nowhere. Pa's gonna be mad cause we were out too late, and Ma will be scared you fell in the well and got sent to the devil. Or you'll spin one of your stupid stories and be a hero, but your innocent little brother will be gone forever and ever! I know you!"

"Calm down, Jules. I'd never do nothin' like that to you. All we gotta do is sit down and figure this thing out. I don't want no whippin' neither, and Pa always smacks me harder than he does you. What we gotta do now is simmer down and figure this out. So start thinking."

So, the two of us took our last hiatus from this tale to formulate a way to save our hides and come out on top. We were thinking hard.

Thinking, thinking, and thinking. Then, suddenly, Beanbob the clever one, says:

"I got it, Jules! What we'll do is this. Tomorrow we'll bring a ladder and trick our little sister Lennie into going down for what I accidentally dropped. She's jus another girl, so Sarah Muldane won't bother her. Don't say nuthin' about the rats. She hates rats. I know she's cute and all, but she's also young and dumb. And she'll do anything if we let her shoot the BB gun."

Jules is much relieved:

"Hey, yeah! That's a good plan, Beanbob. I'm sure glad you're smart and everything. Let's get on home. Halloween sucks. And forget about that stupid zip line."

Yep, Jules can be intellectually challenged, but he's a good enough bro. And both of us together can figure stuff out.