Chapter Three: Whatever the hell it is, it ain't right.

March 1887

                Charlotte pushed her heavily pregnant frame from the large four-poster bed and slid into her thin satin robe when she heard the front door to the home she shared with her husband slam closed. She let out a sigh when she realized that her husband was obviously not happy. She glanced out the window at the rain and wind currently battering their farm.

                It was the middle of the night and Jackson was just returning home from his trip into town which meant things had not gone well with the tobacco buyer. She lay her hand over her stomach. They had desperately needed things to go well with the tobacco buyer. Charlotte's hand was trembling as she opened the bedroom door and walked down the hall toward the staircase. Jackson was sure to be in a terrible mood and whenever Jackson's mood went south he took it out on her.

                Jackson had once been a wealthy man. The grand house they still lived in could attest to that fact, though if anyone took the time to really study their home, they would realize that everything was beginning to show its wear and age.

                Charlotte's parents had forced her to marry the rich Tennessee tobacco grower nearly eight years before when she had been nineteen and he thirty-five. He had wanted a pretty, quiet, meek woman to give him an heir while tolerating his temper and his affairs, and Charlotte's parents had wanted the money that came along with giving her to the man.

                It had taken seven years for Charlotte to finally get with child and Jackson had roared with rage and accused her of waiting until he was a pauper before giving him another mouth to feed. Not that there was ever much to eat here as it was.....

                Charlotte came down the stairs but Jackson was not standing beside the door in the foyer. Strange. He usually waited right there for her to join him. As a matter of fact it was clear that the man had kept his muddy boots and wet coat on as he walked back toward the dining room and kitchen.

                Charlotte cursed under her breath, knowing she have to clean the mess before she'd be able return to bed. She put a hand on her aching back, she was due any day now and her body seemed to hurt all over all the time. 

                The crashing of dishes in the kitchen had Charlotte all but running in her bare feet toward the sound. Was Jackson so drunk that he had fallen? She burst into the kitchen and then skidded to a stop on the cool tile floor.

                Jackson had his back to her, but she recognized his coat. Her eyes widened when she saw the blood all around him and the drops steadily dripping from his hands into the puddle that was forming on the light colored tile. Had he been attacked? Had her husband been shot?

                "Jackson?" she asked cautiously and instantly his movements stilled. Charlotte's heart was thundering in her chest and she covered her large stomach with her hands, as if shielding her unborn child as Jackson turned slowly.

                His movements were... twitchy. He kept pausing and starting again and it seemed as if it were hard for him to make the motion.

                Then Charlotte saw his face and her legs nearly gave out beneath her. That was not her husband!  It was his body but those were not his eyes! Those were gray lifeless orbs staring out at her from a face that was bloody and covered in sores and.... Were those bites?  There was a gaping hole in Jackson's chest and that was where the blood was coming from, covering the floor.

                "Jackson...." Charlotte managed to gasp. "What happened? You need a doctor!"

                "Gnaa...!" Jackson moaned and he began taking choppy steps in her direction. His thin, pale lips pulled back in a sneer and Charlotte saw his blood covered teeth snap together. Jackson had always had a temper and he'd been heavy handed with her on more than one occasion but right now he looked.... Monstrous. He looked like a walking dead man and he looked like he wanted her to join him.

                Charlotte screamed then. She turned on her bare heels and ran as quickly as her bouncing belly would allow her to. She could hear Jackson behind her, his boots pounding on the polished wood and that horrible sound coming from his lips.

                Why was he trying to kill her? What had happened to him? What in the hell was going on?

                Charlotte ran into the den and realized that in her panic she'd reached a dead end and backed herself into a corner. She was panting for breath, her heart was racing and the pains were intensifying in her low back. She turned and saw Jackson standing in the door. His arms reached for her. His long thin fingers were stretching and grasping toward her as he stepped forward.

                Charlotte wasn't even aware of what she was doing as she grabbed the coal shovel from beside the fireplace and swung, catching Jackson in the arm and causing the man to scream as he stumbled to the side, tripping over his feet and tumbling to the floor.

                "I'm so sorry, Jackson!" Charlotte exclaimed, stepping toward him to help her husband. Clearly he was sick and needed her help. Tears poured down her cheeks as she neared him and then he hissed and leapt to his feet, coming toward her again with a rage on his face that made him unrecognizable.

                Charlotte sobbed as she backed away and gripped the small iron shovel in her hands. His arms stretched out, his fingers closing around the fabric of her robe. Charlotte screamed and swung the shovel again, catching him in the head. He fell sideways again but this time Charlotte did not try to help him. Instead she ran. She ran from the room and then from the house, going out into the night, the rain quickly soaking through her robe and nightdress and plastering her dark hair to her face.

                "Help!" She screamed, her voice drowned out by the rushing of the wind and the thundering rain. She could hear Jackson behind her. He was stumbling through the house and letting out that God awful 'Gnaaaing' sound.

                "Charlotte? Charlotte what's going on?" Britton asked as he stepped out of the servants quarters that attached to the side of the house. He was the only servant still left in their employ since the money had begun to run out.

                "It's Jackson!" Charlotte screamed running to the old man and seeking comfort in knowing she was no longer alone. "He's gone crazy! Something is wrong with him and he's trying to bite me."

                Britton appeared as if he worried that she was the one who was crazy but then Jackson stepped from the house and the old man let out a cry of shock.

                "What in the world...." Britton gasped, shielding Charlotte's body with his own as Jackson started toward them with those shuffling, jerking steps.

                "What is wrong with him?" Charlotte sobbed with desperation and clung to the back of his robe.

                Britton shook his head slowly. "I don't know. Whatever the hell it is, it ain't right."  He took the shovel from Charlotte's trembling hand. "I'll protect you and the little one, Charlotte, you just go hide yourself now."

                Charlotte wanted to argue but the pains were getting worse and a gush of wetness between her legs told her that her water had broken. She ran to the servant's quarters, turning just in time to see Britton swing at Jackson with that shovel, missing and slipping on the muddy ground. Charlotte screamed in horror as Jackson fell upon the old man and sunk his teeth deep into his neck, twisting roughly and rending out a large chunk of flesh.

                Blood gushed from Britton's neck and Charlotte vomited on the rock steps. She saw Jackson lower his head again and this time she turned her face away and ran into the servant's quarters. She wasted no time before engaging the lock on the door and locking the shutters on the one window as well.

                She prayed that would be enough to keep Jackson out. Charlotte stumbled to the fire, trembling, crying and hurting both physically and emotionally. Her husband had just tried to kill her. He had killed Britton, a man who had been in her husband's employ for over twenty years.  He had bitten him! Eaten his throat! Charlotte felt her stomach roll and she vomited again on the worn rug.

                She fell to her hands and knees as pains racked her body. Slowly she crawled closer to the fire, slipping out of her soaked robe and nightdress. She grabbed a worn green blanket and wrapped it around herself as she settled herself down beside the warm glow of the fireplace.

                She let out a scream as the pains intensified. She was going to have to do this alone. It was time for her child to be born.

                It seemed to be hours that Charlotte writhed and moaned in pain. She could hear Jackson beating against the wall and while it had scared her terribly, she had relaxed upon realizing that he couldn't get in. She was safe.... For now.

                Sweat slicked her skin and she trembled and shook with the force of the birthing pains.

                When the tiny cries of her child finally filled the air inside the tiny servants house Charlotte wept more tears. She was spent as she lay her beautiful daughter upon her breast. She had no energy to clean either of them up just yet. She did reach out and grab a fire poker from beside the fireplace, holding the cold piece of iron in her hand as a defense just in case Jackson found his way in here.

                Charlotte felt her head begin to spin as her eyes felt heavy. She needed rest. She looked down at the innocent sleeping face of her daughter and that was the last thing she saw before her eyes slipped closed.