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Usually when I bring them down to the basement, they're unconscious, but this one starts coming around as I'm carrying her down the stairs. I hurry, hoping to get her into the Cradle before she's fully awake. But when she sees it she just goes crazy, hitting and kicking. She's pretty scared and almost gets away. I don't know how many times I have to hit her to stop her fussing, but my fists are sore by the time I get her quieted down.
Normally, I take off their pants and underthings before putting them in the Cradle, but I figure the sooner I get this one situated, the better. I get her in, strap her down, and fasten her ankles into the stirrups. While I'm doing this, I'm afraid she's going to try to get away again, but all she does is lie there and sob. I'm glad. I'd really hate to have to hit her anymore.
The next thing I need to do is get the Biter on her to keep her from making too much noise and distracting me while I'm working. I made it myself from good, sturdy leather. It's a little chewed-up. I really should get around to replacing it one of these days, but it still works just fine.
When I go to put the Biter on her, she gets some of her fire back and starts yelling dirty words at me. I tell her that if she doesn't stop acting up, I'll kill her. I try to sound real menacing, although I could never really kill anybody. For a second, I'm afraid she doesn't believe me, but then her eyes go wide and she quiets down. The Biter fits easily over her head and I adjust it in back so it's nice and snug. She makes a little mouse sound in the back of her throat as I do up the last buckle.
I feel guilty for lying to her and scaring her like that, but I tell myself it's for the best.
She starts whimpering then, and tears begin to stream down her cheeks.
"Hush, now," I say, just like Daddy used to."This won't take long. And when we're finished, you'll be all better."
When I got sick, Daddy never took me into town to see a doctor. He said doctors didn't know what they were doing. Said I was better off with him taking care of me. Whenever he was doctoring me, he'd speak real soft and kind, like you do to soothe a skittery animal. It always calmed me right down so Daddy could get on with his work. So when they wake up, I try my best to put them at ease, but no matter what I say or how kindly I say it, it never seems to work. They still cry and shake, just like this one. Guess I'm just not as good a doctor as Daddy was. But I get the job done.
I go over to the workbench. I plug my doctor tool into the extension cord and turn it on so it can warm up. Then it's time to take care of those jeans.
I put my gloves on first, to protect me from the poison. I can't find real doctor gloves at the store, so I use the long, yellow rubber ones, the kind city folk wear to do dishes.
I go on over and start to unbutton her pants. Her eyes get real big and she shakes her head. I know what she's thinking, but I would never do that to her, would never take the risk. I know better.
I pull her jeans down around her knees. I consider leaving them on her, but then I won't have enough room to work. I go back to the workbench and get the scissors. When she sees them, she starts whuffling behind the Biter.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I tell her. "I just need to get these jeans off."
The scissors are rusty and could use sharpening, but finally the jeans come free and I toss them in the corner. Now for the panties.
I don't like touching them down there, because of the poison. But if you really want to help people, you sometimes have to do things you don't like. So I do it. Besides, I have my gloves to protect me.
I shut my eyes so I won't see it when I pull her panties down. When I get them down far enough, I sneak a quick peek. I'm relieved to see it's not her time of the month - the poison's worse then. I cut off the panties easily and toss them on top of the jeans. I put the scissors away and then check on my tool. Almost ready.
I turn to her, keeping my head down so I don't have to see the horrible thing between her legs. But I can't help smelling it: the foulness of rotting meat.
Daddy used to say the problem with women was they had openings - gateways, he called them. Daddy said the Bible was wrong, that while God made Adam, He didn't make Eve. Daddy said another god called Shub-Niggurath made her, placing a opening between the first woman's legs to create a passageway between our world and a place Daddy just called "Outside."
Sometimes all that comes through a woman's gate are babies, Daddy said. But other times things come through. I asked Daddy what kind of things, but he would just shake his head.
"The way you can tell a woman's gate has gone bad is when it festers and her juices turn poisonous. The smell will give it away every time. The poison makes them crazy, son, makes 'em willing to do whatever they want her to. She'll let anything crawl through her gate then. Anything at all."
That's what happened to my Momma. Her gate festered and she got the blood fever. Got it so bad she lost the use of the whole right side of her body and went feeble-minded. She would sit still in her rocking chair hour after hour, nonsense words dribbling out of her mouth just like she was a baby.
Eventually, she got so bad that Daddy feared something awful was due to come through her gate soon, and so he put her out of her misery. Like to broke his heart. He passed on soon after that. I buried him myself, out in the field, right next to Momma.
I tried to go on without Daddy, but no matter how hard I worked, I couldn't keep up the farm alone, and finally I just gave up. I didn't know what to do with myself for the longest time, but one day I got to thinking about Momma and it hit me. I realized that every woman, everywhere, suffered from the same problem my poor Momma had. They all had open gates. And if left alone, those gateways would eventually go bad, allowing the Ones from Outside to pass through into our world. And that's when I found my new purpose in life. My Daddy taught me a lot about doctoring over the years, and I decided it was high time I put that learning to good use.
The first few died before I learned how to do it right. I'm real sorry about that, but I figure they'd be glad to know their sacrifices weren't in vain. Since then, I've fixed up fourteen women, and they all made it through just fine. This one will be number fifteen.
I found her walking alone in the park. I grabbed her, knocked her out, put her in my van, blindfolded her and drove her to the farm. When I'm finished I'll blindfold her again (although they usually don't regain consciousness for a good while after I fix them) and then drop her off some place different from where I found her. Maybe down by the river this time. I have to be careful, for there are many who don't understand about the gates and the Ones from Outside and would try to stop me. I can't allow that; my work is too important.
The tool's ready.
I used to use needle and thread, but I never did learn how to sew real well, and besides, it was too messy. But then I came up with this, and it works just fine. And it used to be Momma's. I think she'd like that.
I thumb the button and release a little steam into the air. Her eyes go white with fear and she screams around the Biter.
I try my best to sound like Daddy. "It may hurt a little at first, but it'll all be over in a few minutes. And then you'll be safe. We all will."
She tries to pull free of the Cradle's restraints, but of course she can't.
I press the iron against the dark gash between her legs and hold it tight, listening to the satisfying sizzle as the poison burns away and her gateway is sealed shut forever. She screams and screams, and even with the Biter in her mouth, she's so loud, I think my eardrums are going to burst.
This is the worst part of being a doctor. But sometimes you have to hurt your patients a little if you want to help them.
Copyright © 1997 Peter A. Worthy
"Just a Simple Country Doctor" © 1997 by Tim Waggoner
