Ghost of the Broken Swing

The neighborhood was all abuzz about Doctor Mark Feltwood’s return from Detroit. As a side note, the locals first wanted to let the doctor know all about Doby’s accident. But what they really wanted to hear about was the medical treatment of the famous escape artist, and, most importantly, they wanted to hear his take on the unfortunate death of Allison Cook.

Several days earlier Doctor Feltwood had been called in from Grace Memorial Hospital to administer treatment to Harry Houdini. The famed illusionist had been diagnosed with a severe infection from a ruptured appendix. Doctor Mark knew the odds for survival were slim when he first saw Houdini’s yellowish color. Still, he was willing to give it a try since he had been somewhat successful with a new serum he and his team had developed back in Muskegon. Initially, the serum seemed to work. Houdini’s color started to change to a yellow-pink and he began to stir in a more relaxed manner. Houdini even began to calculate with the nurses how he planned to make his next great escape and joked with the red-haired one that he could use her in the act if she didn’t mind tight places. Unfortunately, the following day - Halloween, the infection grew and Houdini was unable to escape. At that moment, “broooot” - a fog horn sounded off Lake St. Clair as if to signal his passing from life unto death.

Houdini had been obsessed with death. Not only were some of his stage performances focused around the possibility of the audiences seeing his demise, but another side of his life centered on exposing those who would deceive others by pretending to communicate with the dead. He would often bet he could uncover their trickery by just sitting in their séances and observing their methods. He never lost the bet, even though secretly he wanted to lose.

As soon as Doctor Mark arrived home, Pat and Betsy were waiting on the back porch with more anticipation than just the normal hug, kiss, and welcome home. Pat was first. “Honey – you have three messages you will need to read as soon as you unpack.” Betsy couldn’t wait any longer. “Daddy, you have to hear about Allison!”

Pat scolded back, “Betsy! Let your dad catch his breath before you go blurting the events of the week. Besides, you may have to wait a little longer. I think his office is desperate for him to return.”

Doctor Mark had planned on taking a half day rest after the long, 150 mile, 5 hour ride from Detroit, but, he sighed, “Rest will have to wait.” After neatly placing his medical bag and luggage in the closet, he began to read the first of his three messages which had been delivered the day before: “A young man at the pier got his foot caught between a moving yacht and the dock and needs his ankle set.” Two hours later the second message had been delivered: “An older man from the Muskegon Lumber Mill fell from a scaffold and dislocated his shoulder.”

“Why do these things always happen when I am away?” He knew Margaret, Suzie and young Doctor Watts were covering at the office and would do the best they could for the two men. He figured they would be able to set the dislocated shoulder but they might not be able to handle the broken ankle. He also knew they would make the men as comfortable as possible and give them opium and whiskey to relieve the pain.

I swear – Pat’s party probably wiped me out and I’ll have to restock my whiskey from the …pharmacist. For the life of me, I don’t understand why a group of quilters need to spike their punch.

The last message was the most disturbing. It simply read, “Your neighbor’s daughter, Allison, needs an autopsy. Chief Mitchell asked specifically for your services. The family is quite anxious for you to release the body so they can begin the funeral processes. Will fill you in when you arrive.”

Allison? Allison Cook? Allison was just fine when I left. Pat had just mentioned a few days ago she spied out the kitchen window and saw Allison and Tommy Bartlett sneaking off during school just to get a little sparking in around the big oak tree.