Devils Dressed in White by Anthony Everett

Fire licks the night’s sky. The cords bite into my wrists. Sunk their teeth in deep, too.

I screamed and cried ‘til my throat went raw. 

The inferno I called home—the home my bound hands built—dried my tears, and the white ghosts surrounding me stared, laughing ‘til my agony passed.

The devil approaches me, fixing the zipper on his gray wool pants.

“Ya know, I’ll be the first to say it.” He’s licking his lips. Teeth sharp ‘like a grayback’s bayonet. “And, look at me when I say this boy, ‘cause this is a compliment.”

He towers over me, face unmasked and twisted with pride and lust and hate and disgust.

“I ain’t one to enjoy a coon’s company, but that black berry sure is sweet.”

Ma’s hollow eyes and frenzied face shriek at me from inside the blaze.

She’d said the Devil would howl with laughter when he got ya. These white-hooded klansmen ain’t too different.

“We killin’ this one, boss?” 

Said demons got a pecking order, too.

I laugh.

Pecking order. All I see is the order my family swingin’. They strung up good.

Pa, my sisters, my brother.

My baby.

And, then, Ma.

Ain’t swingin’ now though, being ash and all.

“I ain’t one to kill a soldier outside of battle.” The man-made-devil spits in his demon tongue. “Leave this nigger tied. If the fire gets him, fine. If not, it’s a kindness.”

He turns on his hell-horse. His demons turn with him, hootin’ and hollerin’ back to Hell.

I taste the butt-end of an Enfield rifle, and thankfully, I get a moment to forget.

***

I hate white.

I mean the snow. 

The color white, itself, symbolizes purity. Innocence. During the Southern Rebellion, white meant surrender. Showed a desire to parlay.

But, with these white-grayish storm clouds, it means…well, I ain’t sure, but it ain’t nothing good. 

Persephone, my black mare, shifts under me performing a little trot, and licks at the wet air. Her black mane is soft and damp. She’s got a case of gooseflesh, though. Persephone’s never been one to dislike a little chill, but all her dancing and neighing sets my heart aflutter. I pull my collar a little tighter round my neck. 

“There’s a chill in the air, Jim.” Clementine holds me tighter, shivering a bit.

“I hear you, little lady.” I say, not looking back at my wife. 

To Persephone, “Get me home, girl.” 

My timber frame cabin comes into view as snowflakes begin to fall. By dusk a fresh sheet of snow rests on the ground, accompanied by a blizzard showin’ no sign of quittin’.

Of course that meant Persephone came inside. Can’t leave her tied up to her post during a snowstorm. I strip her saddle off her back, setting it down in the corner next to the hearth. 

Persephone settles down on a bed of hay, cozy in front of the heat. Ol’ girl needs a warm spot. 

The fire’s kindlin’, and there’s a stew goin’. Rabbit and carrots steeped in thyme. My favorite, courtesy of Clem. Makes the cabin smell lived in.

Across the fireplace is my table. Made it from a block of black oak. Clem said I had a knack for craftin’ things. Her encouragement was part of the reason I ran North for the Union. Them recruiters took one look at my talent for woodcarvin’ and put me to workin’ as a craftsman.

“Jim, let’s get this puzzle finished while we wait for supper.” Clem says.

“Clem, I don’t feel up for that much right now.”

“Jim, please. Ain’t else much to do while we wait this storm out.” 

I sit. Atop my table sits an unfinished puzzle, one Clem made for me. I’ve been tryin’ at finishing for a while, but there’s a piece I can’t seem to connect. 

Lost the piece years ago, though I doubt Clem’s noticed.

The puzzle makes a picture of a gray sky over a wide prairie field. There’s a herd of grazing bison. One stands out, a great big white one, in some sort of mania. Hysterical-like, reared up on its hind legs, ready to stamp down on a braying doe underfoot. Its eyes red like hot coals and steam erupts from its over-sized nostrils. 

It’s a terror.

Clem’s beside me now, tryin’ to guide my mind into putting that last piece in place. 

“You can do this. Look at me, Jim.”

I feel hot. I wanna get up, get away from this damned puzzle.

“Clem, I can’t.”

I’m grippin’ the table tight. 

“Jim,” There’s a tone to Clem’s voice I can’t place. I look up from the puzzle to see gray wool pants and the face of a long-forgotten devil. The missing piece—my memory and my grief—come alive.

“LOOK AT ME, BOY!”

I’m screaming. 

Persephone’s bucking ‘round the room. Her hooves collide with the hearth, knocking stew and fire onto wooden walls.

Like that, I remember that horrible night. I remember Clem. 

My baby, my wife, is swinging from the rafters of our old home. Rope bitin’ into her neck the way rope bit into my wrists.

The fire’s spreadin’.

Smoke’s curlin’ up round the rafters, and Clem’s there, swingin’ gentle-like, toes brushin’ the air. 

Her eyes don’t see me. 

“Clem?” I whisper, reachin’ up. My hands pass through nothin’ but smoke. The rope creaks.

The snow outside’s howlin’, laughin’, white upon white upon white. So much white it swallows the world whole.

The fire’s dyin’ back. Or maybe it’s just gettin’ buried under the snow pourin’ through the cracks in the roof. Can’t rightly tell.

I sit myself back down at that oak table. The puzzle’s still waitin’. That last piece, the white bison’s eye, somehow sits in my palm, warm as a coal.

“James,” a voice says. Soft. 

Maybe Clem’s. 

Maybe not.

I press the piece in place.

Puzzle’s complete. The prairie, the sky, the beast. I see it clearer than before. The bison’s not tramplin’ no doe. It’s standin’ over somethin’ else.

Over me, and over Clem, the little doe, gone. In the picture, my own eyes are red and my hands are raking my face as my mouth is stuck in a perpetual howl.

Seems Clem was right; there ain’t much else to do.

Outside, the wind starts laughin’. Laughin’ like the wraiths.

Like the Man in the Gray Wool Pants.

I look at the door, but it ain’t there. Just snow driftin’ in, and fire glowin’, and all that white swallowin’ me up again.

I reckon I’ll sit here a while longer. 

Clem’ll be back soon, wantin’ to finish another puzzle.

And the fire’ll keep us warm.