Chapter Eight: Ghastly Rumors

"Why would you let him give you a shot?"

"He's a doctor!"

"Did you see his M.D.?"

"Professor Bradford told me."

"And she's your friend?"

"She's a scholar!"

Julia Tyler was angry and out of breath. She didn't like the way Matt kept twisting her words, making her feel more and more like a fool. But at the same time, she felt more alive than she had in weeks. Matt's jarring presence had awakened a gnawing sense of doubt. How much did she really know about Dunwich Manor?

"So she picks you to come up here and you don't ask why?" Matt looked at Julia in a pitying way. "To me, that spells easy victim."

"Victim of what?" Julia gave the cocky bad boy a withering look. "You're the one who pushed me in the swamp. You're the one who's been rude to me from day one. Ben and Aunt Caroline and their friends have been extremely considerate."

"Aunt Caroline's up and around, and she's looking livelier than she has in years," Matt remarked. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling just fine, thank you," Julia said, in a snippy little voice. She sneezed. "At least I will be fine, when I get over this infection. Ben, that's Dr. Carlson, says I probably got it from the swamp."

"And all you need is a little peace and quiet. A nice long rest, that's what Dr. Ben wants to give you. You know, like in the grave."

Julia shuddered, but she refused to play the damsel in distress. Great big Matt thought he was tough and hard. Well, so was she. "Yes, rest. I was resting just now when you disturbed me."

"You were sleeping when I walked in. But you had your witch trial notes spread out all over the bed, like you were trying to work but couldn't. Did you fall asleep right in the middle of something?"

"Well, I . . ." Julia's cheeks turned red. Lately she had been feeling more and more sluggish. It was hard to keep awake. Before she could think what to say, Matt picked up a yellowed sheet of paper.

"Madge Tarleton came to me in a dream," he read. "Madge Tarleton drained me of my strength. So weak . . . so weak . . ." The way Matt read the faded notes and then dropped them on Julia's lap made her feel like he was putting flowers on her grave.

"Those words were written in the year 1697." Julia remembered feeling uneasy when she first read of Madge Tarleton's powers. But Madge was convicted by a prejudiced, Puritan all-male jury. The frightened village girls who testified against her had probably been forced to do so. They had been caught red-handed by Silas Dunwich, dancing naked in a trance before the Horned God . . .

"Yeah, well these words were written in 1931." Matt finally got around to the newspaper clipping he'd brought up to Julia's bedroom. "Boston's Negro neighborhoods have often been the target of Irish violence, but Mother Elsie Flanagan offered refuge to several young women of color. Although she was reported to be of great age, the Irish widow jumped from a tenement window, evaded pursuit and vanished before she could be questioned by police. The remains of the Negro girls were soon recovered, but no church burial was possible. The condition of the bodies caused much alarm and ghastly rumors among the Negro people. The three girls had been missing only a few days, yet their remains were little more than dried-out husks."