We Raise Cows Here, Not the Dead

Erie, Pennsylvania

June 16, 1867

A lonesome howl permeates the night's stillness.

“Wolf?” Serenity asks.

“Patches.”

“Patches is dead. I don’t want to hear it, Seth. Dead dogs… Ghost armies. You’re imagining things.”

Serenity tries to resist Seth’s gentle tug on her hand, but she eventually gives in, letting her husband pull her to the edge of their property.

The Atlas’ house and half a dozen other cabins overlook Solstice Valley, where Union forces had massacred an army of Confederate soldiers two and a half years earlier.

Seth puts a protective arm around Serenity’s waist.

A dandy dresser with a quick mind, thirty-four-year-old Seth Atlas fought for the Union and has served as Erie’s Mayor for the past year. A fresh-faced, full-lipped woman with thick blonde hair, mild eyes, and porcelain skin, Serenity has known Seth since childhood and has been married to him for fourteen years.

Until two weeks ago, they shared a skepticism about the strange goings-on in Erie.

Serenity stares at the blood-red fog engulfing the valley.

“…They should be along any minute now…,” Seth says.

“I told you, Seth, you’re imagining things.”

“Me and half of Erie? Take a deep breath. What do you smell?”

“…Tobacco…”

“That’s right. And I don’t smoke.”

“So why have they come back?” Serenity asks.

“It’s the anniversary of the Battle of Solstice Valley. Remember Wiley Sutton?”

“The self-proclaimed preacher? He was off his head, even for a zealot.”

“He saw them this time last year, but no one believed him. He left because he thought they were after him. Turns out they’re after everyone… Now listen, and watch.”

Serenity hears men marching in time.

A chorus of men’s voices sing, “Oh, I wish I was in the land of cotton, Old times there are not forgotten. Look away, look away, look away Dixie Land!”

A group of soldiers in gray uniforms comes into view. Their uniforms are bloodstained, dirty, and torn in places where they have been shot. They scatter, crouching in the undergrowth, preparing to attack.

The sound of phantom bullets ricocheting off trees and exploding shells makes Serenity reach out for Seth.

The red fog engulfs the soldiers.

The sound of disembodied voices crying out in pain makes Serenity bury her head against Seth’s chest.

“There you have it, love,” Seth says. “Proof we’re being haunted.”

                                               ***

Nora Epoch hears hoofbeats. She figures its Fergus, her hired hand, ambling home after another night at the Liberty Pub.

“I don’t care if he is a war hero, I’m gonna fire that no-good sod.”

For the third time in a week, Nora considers selling her farm and moving into town. Lately, she has come to hate the solitude, and her close proximity to the site of the Battle of Solstice Valley has her imagining things.

She draws back the curtains, looking out her window.

A headless man in a blue uniform rides by.

Nora’s scream lodges in her throat.

Heavy boots thump on the porch’s wooden floorboards.

Nora cringes as the doorknob turns.

Fergus enters the house.

“Sorry, miss. Didn’t mean to scare ya. I was lookin’ out my cabin window. You ain’t gonna believe what I saw.”

“…A headless Union officer…”

“Yes’m. He faded away soon as I come out my house.”

                                               ***

The meeting hall buzzes with excitement as nearly all of Erie’s 220 residents try to speak at once.

Seth bangs his gavel against the table, calling for order.

Amari Stokes, the owner of the Dry Goods Store, shoots up from his seat. Slender, with thin black hair parted down the middle and a droopy mustache, Stokes has fattened his purse over the past two years as Erie has struggled to rebuild from the war. He is always dead set against rocking the status quo.

“You’re imagining things!”

“All of us?” Nora shouts in return.

“There’s such things as mass delusions, Nora.”

Harlan Hammersmith stands. The broad-shouldered, bearded blacksmith’s chest heaves as he speaks. “I’ve seen the headless rider, too. He’s wearin’ a Union uniform, that of a Captain.”

“…My husband was a Captain…,” Wren Wakeman says. The sad-eyed, petite widow continues to mutter to herself. “When I told him I loved him, he always replied, ‘I love you like the stars above.’”

Serenity wraps her arm around Wren, hugging her close. “It’ll be all right, dear. You’ll see.”

“I seen the Captain staggerin’ along the road, leadin’ his horse,” Harlan continues. “He’s a gruesome sight to behold! If I’m gonna imagine somethin’, it’s gonna be a slim-waisted painted princess, not some poor headless spirit!”

“And he’s not the only ghost around here,” Winsome Price adds. The gray-haired spinster and owner of the town’s dress shop speaks with determination. “My house overlooks the field of battle. I’ve seen men, dozens of them, marching toward Solstice Valley. They come out of a fog, and when it clears, the soldiers do too. The fog’s red, the same color as blood, and that’s a sign. It’s a sign we’re all doomed.”

The crowd rumbles anxiously.

Honser Nootbar politely raises his hand. The meek, bespectacled headmaster of the school clears his throat and asks, “And what about the spheres?”

“Spheres?” Seth questions.

“Balls of light. I’ve seen them bounce around the trees at night like bees. And I’ve heard voices, men mumbling to each other.”

“And my hotel is normally full, but presently, it’s empty because of these spirits,” Booker Brown adds. Smartly dressed in shiny shoes whose sheen matches his bald head, Booker narrows his beady eyes and points an accusing finger at Seth. “I’ve got a woman in white walking my halls, weeping and wailing half the night! What are you going to do about that?”

Seth speaks solemnly. “We’re suffering a divine punishment for our nation's sins.”

“Say it plain, Seth,” Harlan says, “Ghosts have taken over Erie, and they’re ruinin’ life for the livin’. Somebody needs to tell ‘em they’re dead.”

***

The buckboard pulls up to the Elysian Hotel's entrance, burying Seth and Booker in a cloud of dust as it grinds to a halt.

Booker gives Seth a skeptical side glance as a plump, opulently dressed middle-aged woman steps down from the buckboard. Seraphina Strong is notably short, less than five feet tall, with grayish-blue eyes, and wears her waist-length raven hair in a ponytail. What strikes the men most is the large gold amulet on her chest. At its center is a blood-red ruby shaped like the All-Seeing Eye of Providence.

“This is your solution?” Booker questions.

“The Union army owes Miss Strong our lives. She came to General Lowe two days before the battle and told us the Confederates were going to try to take Erie by crossing Solstice Valley.”

“Well, you may feel you owe her. I certainly don’t.”

Booker reluctantly shows Seraphina the rooms in the hotel where the woman in white has been seen, then escorts Seth and Seraphina to the hotel’s parlor to conduct business.

Seth gives Seraphina an envelope. “I’m handing you half of Erie’s annual budget...”

“Against some of the Town Council’s better judgment,” Booker says pointedly. “We raise cows around here, not the dead.”

“I’ve never failed.”

“I think you’re a charlatan,” Booker snaps. “There’s no such thing as a medium. You’re lying.”

“I can prove to you that I can communicate with the dead, Mr. Brown… Your telegram was appropriately desperate, Mayor, but I need more information to help you.”

 “The Rebs couldn’t beat us fair and square on the field of battle, so they figure to get even in death by haunting us,” Seth says. “The Battle of Solstice Valley was a slaughterhouse for the Confederates. I know, because I was there to protect my home. Many of my fellow troopers still wake up screaming, reliving the carnage. We trapped the Rebs in the center of the valley near my house. They fought valiantly, but we outnumbered them three to one. When they ran out of ammunition, they scavenged for bullets among the corpses piling up and kept shooting. We killed over 1,000 Johnny Rebs. Not a one escaped. They lay with their glassy eyes staring up at the blazing sun. Others died with their teeth clenched in agony. Some were in pieces. Limbs were scattered everywhere. Now their restless spirits haunt us, wandering the battlefield and disrupting life on people’s farms and even in town.”

“Did you bury their bodies?”

Seth’s face flushes crimson. “There was a war going on, so we left them to rot in the sun. Besides, we had to bury our own and prepare for another attack. We burned the horse carcasses first because they emitted a heavy stench. It was weeks before we buried the soldiers. By then, their faces were black, and their bodies were bloated beyond recognition. We dug a common grave and shoveled them all in together. We’ve doomed ourselves for disrespecting them…”

“Ghost armies are ethereal manifestations. They can’t harm or kill the living,” Seraphina says. “When those soldiers died violently in a small area, their strong emotions, agonies, and traumas were left behind. The soldiers, Rebels and Union alike, are still on duty, reenacting their last moments, stuck between worlds and unable to complete their journey to the afterlife.”

“Can you take them there?”

“This little lady is full of hokum, Seth,” Booker insists.

“You want proof of my abilities, Mr. Brown? We’ll start with your woman in white.”

                                               ***

Booker looks at his pocket watch.

“Just my luck. She’s late.”

Seraphina sips her tea, snickering. “It’s a woman’s prerogative, Mr. Brown.”

Moments later, a woman’s wail stiffens both men.

Seraphina leads the pair into the lobby.

A ball of light materializes, taking the gray silhouette of a woman. The woman drops to her knees, sobbing.

“My God,” Seth utters, covering his mouth.

The woman’s translucent form turns to look at them.

“…Help me… Help me find my boys…”

Wailing, the figure dissipates.

Booker’s voice shakes. “That was different. Before, she was just a misty cloud, a silhouette. She never took shape before, and she certainly never spoke.”

“They make contact with the living when they sense there’s someone nearby who can help them.”

“I know her,” Seth says. “That was Mary Turnball.”

“She lived here at the hotel after the war,” Booker notes.

“That’s why she’s haunting you. She considered this place home.”

“She loved her sons more than anything else in the world,” Seth continues. “But they followed their father’s leanings when it came to the war and joined the Confederacy. He was a no-good cur who deserted at the first chance he got. Her sons fought at the Battle of Solstice Valley. Our cannons blew them apart. Sad to say, I fired one of those cannons… We picked up what was left of them and threw them in the common grave with the other Rebs.”

Booker begins to mutter incoherently, pointing at the ceiling.

“What…What the hell is that?”

Three balls of light circle overhead, dancing playfully.

“How many sons did Mary Turnball have?” Seraphina asks.

“Three,” Seth answers. “Are you saying?...”

“Yes. Those spheres are Mary’s sons. Mary’s spirit cries out for her boys because she can’t find them. They’re on separate astral planes…”

“Ass-what?” Booker questions.

“They’ve taken separate roads in death. People who die violently have trouble coming to terms with their demise…”

“All Mary did for a year after her boys’ deaths was cry,” Seth recalls. “The grief weakened her. She died of a broken heart.”

“Mrs. Turnball died by her own hand. She was at peace with the way she died. Her sons were not. So, I’m going to reunite the Turnballs.”

                                               ***

Seraphina touches her amulet. A blinding glow of red light emanates from its center, filling the lobby’s expanse.

“Great maker of all things, Mary Turnball roams the earth in unbearable pain. Wrap your arms around her, embrace her, and take away the grief she carries over the loss of her precious sons.”

A male figure takes shape before them. The glowing figure has wide white wings, the face of a handsome young man with curly, shoulder-length blonde hair, and kind, understanding blue eyes.

Booker drops to his knees, crossing himself.

The apparition raises its hands. The three spheres of light come to him, circling above him.

A smoky haze appears next to the figure.

Mary Turnbull materializes, looking up at the swirling balls of light.

“…My boys…”

Seraphina smiles. “Great Maker, I ask you to replace the turmoil these souls endured on earth with comfort and peace as they make the transition to your world.” 

The male apparition nods peacefully. He, Mary, and the spheres disappear.

Astonished, Booker asks, “Was… was that an Angel?”

“I’ll leave you to decide… And remember, Mr. Brown, if you continue to doubt me, I can turn you into a ball of light, too, only it won’t be an angel escorting you to the afterlife you deserve.”

“Well, I’m no naysayer,” Seth says. “What’s next?”

“A funeral.”

***

 The following evening, the townspeople gather on the hill overlooking Solstice Valley.

The battered and bloodstained Confederate soldiers appear, marching in lockstep across the valley.

They halt in the valley's center. Their lifeless eyes gaze toward the hill.

The soldiers salute Seraphina.

Seraphina touches her amulet. A blinding red light emanates from its center, brightening the encroaching darkness.

The male apparition appears in the sky above the ghostly soldiers, its massive wings spread over them.

“Great Maker, these restless men fought hard and suffered greatly. They followed their beliefs, right or wrong, and are no less heroes than those who vanquished them. They are lost, unaware that their service has ended. Grant them eternal rest with their loved ones.”

A thick red fog gathers at the edge of the field.

The men snap to attention. Singing “Dixie,” they follow the apparition into the fog.

Seraphina smiles. “Now, there’s just one poor soul left to make his final journey.”

                                               ***

The next afternoon, the townspeople gather again on the hill above Solstice Valley.

Seth surveys the valley, telling Booker, “The battlefield looks more peaceful now.”

He glances at Wren Wakeman, who is crumpled in Serenity’s grasp, sobbing quietly.

“I wish we didn’t have to expose her to this. She’s very fragile.”

“She has to be here,” Seraphina replies. “This is for her.”

Seraphina addresses the crowd. “Captain Will Wakeman was killed when a Confederate soldier came up behind him and decapitated him. In the excitement of the battle, his head was lost, and he was buried without it. You have to find his head.”

Booker protests. “Are you mad, woman? It’s been two years since the battle. The animals have gotten to it by now. All that’s going to be left is bone, and there are probably dozens of other skulls still lying about.”

“Then bring them all to me.”

                                               ***

A dozen skulls line the wall near Seth’s property.

Wren swoons at the sight of them.

“Is one of them my Will?” she wails.

“Let’s hope so,” Seraphina replies. “There’s no need for all of you to stay. I thank you for your assistance, but those of you who are squeamish, like Booker Brown, should go home.”

The crowd disperses, leaving Seth, Serenity, Wren, and Harlan.

“Now what?” Seth asks.

“We reunite Captain Wakeman with his head. From there on, it’s up to him.”

                                               ***

At dusk, as the sun exchanges places with the moon, the group hears a horse approaching.

Looking across the Valley from their perch on the hill, Seraphina reaches for her amulet. The night sky turns blood red.

The sound of hooves pounding the ground draws near. The headless captain and his horse thunder to a halt before them.

Wren faints into Serenity’s arms as Captain Wakeman dismounts.

His animated corpse toddles toward the skulls. It hesitates, then picks up one and fits it on its neck.

Blood washes over Captain Wakeman’s skull, restoring his handsome features.

“WILL!”

Serenity and Harlan hold Wren back.

A blinding light shines above Will, forcing them to cover their eyes.

The angelic apparition appears beside Will’s now-translucent body, cradling him in its wings.

Seraphina looks into Will’s sad eyes. “Don’t worry, Captain. I’m sure the good people of Erie will see to it that Wren is taken care of.”

Will nods in thanks.

“Of all your lost souls, Great Maker, perhaps Will Wakeman is the most tragic. He was torn away from a woman as devoted to him as he was to her. Help him understand where he belongs.”

Wren wriggles in Serenity’s grasp. “No, please! Bring him back to me!”

Will’s gentle eyes meet his wife’s. “I’ve heard your prayers, my love, and it saddens me to know you’re still in pain. You keep praying for me to come back. Don’t… This is where I’m meant to be now. Remember, until the day we meet again, I love you like the stars above.”

Will and the apparition fade from view.

For a few moments, Wren's crying is the only sound.

Serenity looks up at the night sky.

“It’s snowing.”

“In June? After everything I’ve seen, why not?” Harlan says, chuckling.

Serenity bends down, touching the earth. “It’s not snow.”

“It’s paper,” Seth says. “Paper, in the shape of stars.”