The Miraculous Disappearance Of

     Gramma Evans

Lucas: Lydia left four or five days ago and I'm still not really sure if any of this---what happened for those three weeks---really happened to me. I know what I saw was impossible and that she really was impossible but I need someone to believe me if only for a couple of minutes.

     It started the day Lydia "Gramma" Evans hobbled up my gravel drive looking pale as a sheet. She'd lived alone up the road in an ancient farmhouse since forever and was what you'd call an herbalist; so everyone called her "Gramma". If she heard someone in your house wasn't well, she'd come over with some special bitter tasting mixture that always worked really well. She used the water from our spring 'cause she claimed it was the purest, most perfect water she'd ever tasted. I never really had an opinion on that; her concoctions always tasted too awful to do it justice.

     When I saw her coming up the drive in such a state, I ran out to her and helped her in the house to the sofa. She looked horrible and was nearly hysterical---unable to catch her breath---so I couldn't get out of her what she wanted. After a bit, she settled down and told me she needed a bucket of our spring water.

     I asked her why a bucket of spring water was worth dying over.

     "You don't know half of it," she snapped. "And if you don't get me some quick like the good boy your late Mama reared, I'll die right there on yer carpet!"

     I thought she was delirious and her breathing was very labored. I got very worried and phoned the ambulance. When I told what I did, she started screaming at me.

     "Allister Cluny! You stop fooling around and bring me that water, or so help me, I WILL DIE RIGHT HERE ON THIS VERY SPOT AND HAUNT YOU FOR THE REST OF YOUR DAYS!"

     I was terrified she'd give herself a fit, so I went out the back door, picking up a steel bucket on the way.

     The spring on our land is about 10 feet or so inside what you might call a grotto at the base of the bluff. There's a nice shallow pool about 3 feet wide in there. At the mouth of the grotto is a big old oak tree with giant roots that tumble all over themselves straight for the pool.

     As soon as I entered with that full bucket of water, I could see her nose working. She gave a big smile and got to her feet. I told her to sit down.

     "Shut yer mouth and just follow me out to that Cottonwood tree!" she croaked.

     We got outside, she held onto my shoulder kinda heavily, and I got her to the tree. There, she knelt down facing its trunk and spread her skirt out around her. Then she took out a pouch from her skirt and started pulling stuff out of it---little bundles of sticks and feathers wrapped with strips of leather, a couple of round and smooth bits of quartz---and she arranged all this stuff in a circle around her.

     "Now I want you to go to that big old oak tree and cut four long and sharp stakes out of one of the roots," she croaked again, breathing hard. "But first, you just dump that bucket of water on top of me."

     I wasn't exactly sure how I was going to close my jaw when I heard all that. I told her she was sick and likely to give herself a chill. I told her to do it herself. But she gave me one of those withering stares that melts a man's will and his spine and his spare change.

     "You don't understand, son," she said in stern, low voice. "Right now, I can't touch anything metal."

     I couldn't dare cross her. Then I remembered the ambulance was coming, so I let her have it. Soaked her down real good.

     She waved me to go cut her stakes. I was convinced she was totally unhinged and that it would be better to humor her. It didn't take long to chain saw off a piece of the root and chop out a few long, thin stakes.

     Coming back, I thought there was something wrong. I heard her screeching something, like a chant, over and over again in a language I couldn't recognize. And she was twisting and gyrating in time with her chant in a way that sent a tingle went down my spine. I walked slowly towards her but stopped dead in my tracks when I saw that it wasn't her anymore. It was her voice, but instead of an old, frail woman, she was younger---by thirty years or so. Her hair darkened from white to gray to black and a musky reek came up from her. She scowled at me, her eyes burning with a painful concentration, and without breaking time in her movement or chant, she held out an emphatic hand for the stakes. When she had them, she tore open her blouse and drove each one crunching through her breast into her heart.

     I screamed. She pitched onto the ground in a heap.

     The ambulance arrived just then as I knelt to help her but there was nothing but clothes left. Not even blood! Nothing! She was gone!

     The paramedics weren't all that sympathetic when I finally told 'em I thought I'd made a mistake. They would been less happy with me if I told 'em about what I really saw. But after they left, I couldn't help myself but needed to look for what had become of her. So, I looked everywhere I could think of. I spent days searching; looked in my barn, my house, out in the fields, all around the cottonwood tree. Hell, I even went and broke into her place but still couldn't find a thing. After three or four days, I couldn't figure it out and decided to give up. That was the first night the dreams started.

     She called herself Lydia. She stayed all night long. First she'd start out being old, and then she'd grow younger and younger becoming just like I saw her right before she stabbed herself. But nothing would happen in them. We just sort of talked; sometimes under the cottonwood tree, sometimes out in space with the stars, and sometimes we'd be sitting on the couch watching TV. And the more it went on, the more real the dreams became---and the more intimate.

     Twelves nights went by when Lydia came to me naked and young and gorgeous. She took me in her arms and told me it was our last night together like this. I didn't understand. She said I would know what to do when the time came. I told her I still didn't understand. She just smiled at me and kissed me long and passionately.

     The next morning, I woke just before dawn exhausted, but wide awake. The dream love-making had been incredible and intense. I felt strangely renewed.

     I got dressed, made myself a cup of coffee and went for a walk. The sun was just clearing the horizon and I intended to head out to the road, but something made me turn and head to the grotto, instead.

     The grotto was dark flooded by an orange shaft of sunlight which lit up the whole place. I had never seen the grotto before at this time of day at this time of year. It was beautiful and seemed warm. I thought of Lydia.

     Sudden ripples in the pool caught my eye. There bobbing in the water was a giant white-egg-shaped sort of thing. I took it for a big white trash bag at first, but then I noticed that had a definite oval-sort shape---and that it was sort of translucent---and that it moved!

     It bobbed in the water looking repulsively alien and for a moment I wanted to go fetch a rake and tear the disgusting thing to shreds. But something drew me in and soon I slid into the cold waters of the pool to touch it. It felt like leather; some of it was firm but some of it was loose.

     All at once, it jerked and wriggled, thrashing around in the water like hooked fish. I dove to one side of pool, scared out of my wits. Something was trying to get out of that sac; something was being born.

     It thrashed and twisted for a few moments more and but gradually tried out until it only flinched in the water. Then it did nothing and I knew that whatever it was might be dying.

     I took out my buck knife and wrapped my arm around the thing. A thrill of disbelief shook through me. I cut into a loose part of the bag and slit it open along one side. The exquisite black-haired woman inside gagged up some water, then clung to me gasping for breath.

     Lydia was alive.