Wynton
It was the summer of 1952 when the Bloom family had to leave their over-large city home for a more modest place in the Louisianan countryside. Mr. Bloom had lost his job and they couldn’t afford the old place any longer.
The new place was not far outside New Orleans, and it seemed to borrow some city-charm from its neighbor. Still, it was a country home through and through. It sat comfortably between two expanses of blue magnolias and possumwood but a swamp nearby kept it from feeling too cozy. It was white, two-storied, and a bit askew. All buildings with a dark history are a bit askew.
The Blooms were well aware of this building’s past. A middle class black family lived in the house before them. However, Louisiana was hostile in the 50’s and blacks never felt completely safe. The middle class had it especially bad. Their own people resented their relative success and shunned them for it. Unfortunately, the supremacist whites did not differentiate between the higher-ups and lower-downs of black society. All blacks were hated equally. As a result, the family who occupied this humble country home before the Blooms could not be spared the wrath of the ignorant and the hateful. The Blooms had heard all of this, but their unfortunate circumstances pushed it all aside.
The day the three members of the Bloom family moved in was hot. Elijah, the son, complained throughout the whole process. To him, moving furniture with his father was a lousy way to spend a summer afternoon. Still, the two of them, dripping with sweat, did their best to get all the furnishings into the house to a busy Mrs. Bloom.
“I want to tidy up things with mom,” said Elijah during a break.
“No sir, that’s work for a woman,” said his father, “you’ll stay out here and help me.” His father, a city man by nature, found the manual labor liberating. “I have to go ask your mother a question though,” he said, “why don’t you work at bringing that table over there into the kitchen in a little bit?”
Elijah watched him disappear into the house and then went over to the table. It was awkward trying to find a way to haul it in. He dipped under the top and placed his shoulders in a supporting position, but he hurt his back trying to stand up. He placed his hand on his lower spine and cranked himself upright. He nearly fell back over when he saw a black boy standing on the other side of the table.
They stood facing each other for a while, no one speaking. Then the black boy spoke.
“Sorry sir, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m not a sir. How did you get over there so quiet?” asked Elijah.
The stranger ignored the question.
“I’m Wynton sir. I’m your neighbor down the road a bit. I thought I’d pay you folks a visit.”
To Elijah, Wynton looked strange. He couldn’t figure out precisely what it was about him, but he almost looked empty, like his skin was a shell holding nothing inside. He didn’t feel like speaking to this boy, and the silence between them lasted a minute or two.
“Well, I’ll be goin' then, I see you got work to do.”
Wynton made his way towards the dirt road in the distance. Elijah watched him for a while before dipping back under the table. A voice cried out from the house.
“Son, what’s taking you so long?” His father started walking out to him.
“I was talking to the neighbor boy. A negro boy,” replied Elijah. He looked for Wynton in the distance but he was gone.
“Neighbor boy? And a negro? I didn’t know any negro families lived around here anymore,” said his father. He surveyed the landscape for a while, tracing the dirt road’s path to the west. “Must have been quite a long walk out here,” he said and then leaned down to help Elijah with the table.
“It didn’t seem to bother the kid,” replied Elijah.
*
The Blooms' first months in the house passed without much excitement. Mr. Bloom took what work was available at nearby farms and in the city. Mrs. Bloom initially struggled with the transition to a home void of maids, but she adjusted eventually. Elijah, like most children, spent the summer playing games with imaginary people in the back yard. He had forgotten about his encounter with Wynton, and his family’s initial shyness in this new place kept Elijah from seeing him anymore.
One evening brought the incident with Wynton back into Elijah’s mind however. His father, grateful for work he had been provided, invited a neighbor over for dinner. The man owned a farm two miles west of the Blooms' home, and he had offered Mr. Bloom temporary work picking sweet potatoes.
During dinner, everyone at the table was quiet as they ate, and Elijah would sneak glances at the man in between spoonfuls of stew. The man’s grey hair hung down to his shoulders, and his eyes were olive-black but radiant. Elijah felt himself drawn to the man’s eyes throughout supper, but he would sink his head whenever they made eye contact.
“Fine meal Mrs. Bloom,” said the man after everyone was finished.
“Thank you. Lord knows this is the only dish I can cook well.”
“No, no, you don’t do yourself justice,” replied Mr. Bloom as he placed his hand over Mrs. Bloom’s. “Besides, we’re just happy to have a neighbor over for dinner. We’re only just starting to meet you all,” he continued.
“Oh yes, everyone’s real excited to meet you folks,” said the man.
“Say, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. My son Elijah had a negro boy introduce himself to him during our move-in, but I’ve yet to meet the family. Whereabouts do they live?”
“Negro family you say? No negro family lives around here anymore. Nope, not since what happened here in this house.” Elijah thought of Wynton but didn’t dare say anything. “Just downright terrible what they did to that boy and his family.”
“Yes, we heard some stories,” replied Mr. Bloom.
“The details are tragic,” continued the old man. “Boy does nothing wrong; it was his father who made those white boys mad. But the boy pays for it alright. “
“They didn’t really find him out in that swamp nearby did they?” asked Mrs. Bloom. Her voice wavered as she spoke.
“Oh yes, that’s where he was. Them white boys grabbed him one night, dragged him around something terrible, and dumped him in the swamp. They found the boy with an arm missing,” said the old man. The man broke into a coughing fit and both Elijah and Mrs. Bloom shifted uncomfortably in their chairs.
“Yes, we heard those terrible things,” said Mr. Bloom when the old man stopped coughing.
“Naw, those weren’t the real details though,” said the old man in a near whisper, “I know the real details.”
“I’m not sure we want to hear about such things any more,” interrupted Mr. Bloom.
The man continued anyway. “They found him washed up on the swamp bank still holding a piece of driftwood up to where his arm used to be.”
“Oh for God’s sakes! There’s a child in the room, and this talk isn’t appropriate for any of us,” cried Mrs. Bloom.
Nobody said anything more on the subject. The old man left after thanking them for the meal, and the family went to bed, each of them feeling uneasy. That night, Elijah had trouble sleeping. It was uncommonly hot for autumn. Elijah got up and paced back and forth past the window in his room numerous times. It was the fourth time when he caught sight of something down across the yard by the trees. A boy was standing there.
Elijah squinted. The figure was illuminated by moonlight but difficult to make out in much detail. He stood facing the house, but he didn’t move towards it. Elijah realized it was Wynton. He was sure of it. The boy standing in the yard was black and had about the same build as Wynton. Something was different about him though. Elijah thought he looked paler than before. He also appeared to have one arm tucked into his shirt, so he almost looked like half a boy. Elijah backed away from the window slowly and didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.
*
Elijah grew more wary of his surroundings as time passed. The house seemed normal at first, but things didn’t seem entirely right after the old man had visited. Nighttime was the worst for Elijah. He would still see Wynton in the distance on some nights, but he never responded to Elijah’s waving or shouting or anything at all. Now, whenever he saw Wynton, he would quickly dive into his bed and hide under the covers. Eventually, he would sweat himself to sleep.
One such night was different. Elijah noticed Wynton in the yard, but he was closer to the house than normal. Like usual, Elijah hid under the covers and waited for sleep to come. A noise kept him awake though. It started as a humming coming from the floorboards, but it slowly grew in intensity. A melody became clear. It sounded like a dirge, and its limping tune echoed through the upstairs hallway. Trombones, tubas, and trumpets all played together in a twisted figuration that reminded Elijah of New Orleans jazz bands. Where it was coming from he didn’t know. No one in his parent’s room was responding to the noise, and Elijah was worried. Eventually, the music died down and was replaced with a mournful whistling which sounded unmuffled in his room. He screamed and passed out.
After that incident, he started experiencing hallucinations during the night and his parents grew concerned. They attributed it to his lack of sleep and a doctor was called in. The doctor warned them Elijah needed more sleep or he risked more serious developments. Sleep never came though and the visions became more detailed. They consisted mostly of swamp reptiles crawling on his walls, but the reptiles would open their mouths and scream motor noises at him. He would also hear the brass music occasionally, but he rarely saw Wynton anymore.
On one blue winter night, Elijah managed to fall asleep quickly. The sleep was disrupted as usual, but the cause wasn’t reptiles or brass noises. He heard a moaning in the hall, and he sat up in bed. As he looked to the door, he realized the floor was covered in water. It was coming into the room through the bottom of the door, and Elijah went to block it off with a bed sheet. The more he tried to stop the flow, the more it persisted and the louder the moaning in the hall grew.
He opened the door and looked down the hall. The bathroom light was on. The moaning had stopped, but Elijah went to investigate the illuminated bathroom. When he neared it, he heard another sound. A whimpering came through the bathroom door. It was a pitiful sobbing which intensified in waves. Elijah knocked on the door and someone spoke. It was a whisper at first, but it soon grew into a screaming plea.
“Oh Lord, the water’s comin'. Oh Lord, it’s them floods again. If only I could swim Lord. I can’t swim Lord!”
An icy bellow boomed through the hallway and Elijah ran to his parents bedroom. He pounded on the door and his mother opened it.
“Elijah, what in God’s name...” she stopped to survey the hallway. “Oh my God Elijah, the floor is covered in water. What did you do? ” She was yelling and shaking him by the shoulders. He looked back into the hall and saw the bathroom door was open and the room was dark. He could hear the faucet overflowing onto the floor and into the hall.
He passed out again.
*
Wynton was appearing in the house now, and the first time Elijah saw him was during the daytime. Walking downstairs for breakfast one morning, Elijah descended into the living room and stopped. Looking through the screen door into the house was Wynton, milky-eyed and hunched over. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and Elijah’s eyes widened at what he saw. Wynton’s right arm had been replaced by a lumpy mass of bone and skin, he looked unnaturally thin, and there was a swamp lizard clinging to his bare chest. His head shifted towards Elijah, and Elijah sprinted into the kitchen. Elijah realized his visions were getting worse, but he refused to tell his parents about Wynton for fear they might send him away to the doctors.
The next time Elijah saw Wynton was during a midnight trip downstairs for a snack. He ran to the kitchen, fearful of the possibility he might begin hallucinating again, and quickly grabbed a milk bottle out of the fridge. Before he shut the fridge door, he began hearing a whistling coming from near the sink which sent a wave of cold through him. He looked over to the noise and saw Wynton leaning over the sink, staring down into the drain. He kept flipping the faucet on and off, watching the water disappear in the sink. Elijah tried to speak to him this time, and Wynton seemed to acknowledge him. He briefly looked in Elijah’s direction, but he then focused on the house’s back door and moved towards it. Elijah watched him lumber across the kitchen and out into the yard.
The last time Elijah saw Wynton in the house occurred on the first spring night of the year. Elijah hadn’t been having hallucinations for a month, and he was beginning to believe the worst was over. He awoke in the early morning and got up to use the bathroom. He dragged his feet through the hallway, rubbing his eyes with his fists the whole time, but he stopped abruptly. He heard a slow breathing emanating from behind him. He twisted his head and recoiled at the sight of Wynton standing in the hall near the top of the stairs. Elijah sprinted back into his room and slammed the door. He dove onto the bed and peered through the side of his quilt at the bottom of the door. A light flashed on in the hallway and walking could be heard. Elijah watched as two shadows, the shadows of feet, made their way to the base of his door. He screamed and couldn’t remember what happened afterwards; it was another blackout.
Elijah was angry now. He was embarrassed by his cowardliness, and he resolved to confront Wynton the next time he appeared to him. Elijah neglected sleep, preferring instead to sit at his window and wait. He would survey the yard for hours every night, waiting for Wynton's figure to emerge from the trees.
On one rainy April night, he sat with his head propped against his room’s window, fighting off the urge to sleep. Suddenly, he made out a shape in the woods. Slowly, it entered the yard and started walking towards the house. Elijah’s heart jumped and he ran downstairs. He grabbed a fire poker from the fireplace and ran out into the yard to confront Wynton.
“Wynton! You leave here now! Now!” he yelled as he approached him. “You aren’t playing games with me any more!” As he neared Wynton, he saw a glassy glow in his eyes that made him look unconscious. However, when he saw Elijah’s weapon, his gaze cleared up and he became more animated.
“Sir, what is that sir? Sir, I don’t know what I did to make you come at me like this! Put it down, please, sir,” pleaded Wynton.
“No, you get out of here now,” Elijah demanded in between heavy breaths. He started swinging the iron rod at Wynton and Wynton started retreating.
“I’m sorry sir, I never...”
“Get out of here!”
“Sir! Sir, you got the wrong...”
Elijah connected a blow to Wynton’s armless side, and he coughed blood. Frightened and bruised, he turned around and dashed back into the woods towards the swamp. Elijah watched him go and screamed a primal scream when Wynton was out of sight. He dropped the weapon and walked back to the house. Dripping wet, he dragged himself up into his room and into bed. Immediately, he fell asleep.
The morning came in a blaze of purple, orange, and blue. The light journeyed into Elijah’s room and met his shut eyes head on. Slowly, his eyelids creaked open to let the day in. He smiled when he thought about the night before. His right leg started to itch; he tried to scratch it. The look on Wynton’s face! The itch wasn’t going away. That look of desperation and regret! The itch was getting worse. Wynton was gone for good!
Irritated by the persistent itching, Elijah threw the covers off him with his left arm and nearly vomited. In place of his right arm was a lumpy mass of bone and skin covered in dried blood. He tried to scream but no sound came.
In his mind, the brass music played again.
