by Joe Stanley

A number of well-wishers visited me over the next couple of days. Most of these were understandably curious about me and there was a sense of hesitation as to my ability, albeit an unspoken one. I could sympathize with them as the previous doctor had departed suddenly and left them feeling abandoned. But eventually patients began to arrive and I found that they accepted me once they overcame this initial doubt.

Among the typical hypochondriacs, many of the village’s more venerable residents came to me. There is so much wisdom and history to be learned from our elders (not to mention their often colorful character) that I always enjoy their company. And it was from them that I learned that my predecessor was not quite the villain I had thought him to be, but that he had struggled with some unnamed difficulty until the pressure had become too great. But as to the nature of this problem he faced, I was given no clue until the night of my dinner with the Mayor and company.

It was a sweet summer evening, with honeysuckle heavy in the air. The meal was as extravagant as any the restaurants of the city could produce. As the night progressed the talk was small and superficial until we retired to the grand room which adjoined the dining room. The mood changed so rapidly and dramatically, that I was somewhat intimidated at the thought of what was coming.

They looked from one to the other, almost seeming to speak without words. There was a reluctance born of difficulty to be seen in these exchanging glances. It was, of course the mayor who began.

“How much have you learned about our last doctor?” he asked. I told him the little I had gleaned.
“There is…” he began, but paused as if searching for just the right words, “…a kind of… sickness…, yes, that’s what it should be called, a sickness, a terrible sickness that strikes randomly at least a few times each year.”
“Please, describe it to me.” I requested, ready to provide whatever help I could. Sadly, I must report that his description, as I would discover was very accurate.
“It afflicts the young men and women of our village. They suffer from an ever-increasing lethargy. Hard working young men, for instance, suddenly grow clumsy and weak. Within days, they are bed-ridden and waste away, plagued by horrible dreams and a descent into what can only be described as some kind of psychopathy or delusion before they expire.”
“It is always fatal?”
“Indeed.” spoke the stony-faced Reverend, “But I disagree that it is an illness.” but the Sheriff interrupted before I could ask him what he meant.
“Thought twas poison,” grumbled he, “Maybe bad well water… but all would be sick if twas the case.”
“It is not contagious?”
“It does not appear to be contagious, taking only one from houses full of people. There is no obvious connection between the victims who are taken months apart.” replied the Mayor
“And how often?”
“In a good year we lose only two or three.” answered the reverend, “Four or more in a bad one.”
“Old Doc struggled with it for years.” added the Mayor, “He took each loss as a personal failure, and devoted himself to the case, even corresponding with other physicians in his search for a cure. He never made any progress until last year. He told me he had discovered something incredible, unbelievable even, but he would not say anymore, insisting that he needed to verify his suspicions. This was the last day he was among us. By the morning he had vanished. Perhaps he was wrong and simply couldn’t take what he considered to be failure anymore. He left in a hurry, taking only a few personal items and riding out in the middle of the night, to where, we cannot say.”
“He told you nothing of his suspicions?”
“Frankly, I don’t recall exactly what he said. We have, sadly, grown to accept such a terrible price and had little hope of making it cease. I believe he had muttered something about not understanding why he hadn’t seen it before, but he was a man possessed…”
The Reverend grunted with an impatient disdain.
“…and was gone from my company almost as soon as he uttered the words.”
“And you Reverend,” I inquired, “You do not think it is a disease? Pray tell me what are your thoughts?”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways. He giveth and taketh as it is written. Through him all things are possible, but I tell you now, he is not the only force who acts upon the world of man.”
“You mean…”
“Satan! What but a witch or devil could do such things?! We are being tried. There is an evil force among us. I have sat and prayed for the lives and souls of those under the oppression of the Evil One. The doctor was not the only man to take these deaths as a personal failure. And I take it as a sign of the end of days, as it is written that terrible evils will be unleashed upon the world to punish the sins of man.”
“If that is the case, then surely I can be of little assistance…”
“The truth is we just don’t know what it is.” interjected the mayor, with an obvious impatience of his own.
“Well, gentleman,” I said quickly, sensing the embers of many old arguments flaring to life, “It is my duty to see to the health and well-being of the people of this village. I will do everything I can to stop it.”

And with this, our evening was concluded. I spent the night tossing and turning before sleep found me. I struggled to place the symptoms with a cause until I drifted off. But I knew that I was still largely in the dark. Unfortunately, there would be little I could hope to accomplish until the malady resurfaced.

And then I would have to race against the clock.

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