It is said that there are fearful times when your hair stands on end. This
happened to me during one damp and dreary day in Louisiana. My hair didn't
stand straight up, but it certainly felt like that
Marty had invited me to go with him to surface hunt for Indian artifacts. Earlier in the day there had been torrential downpour, and Marty knew of an area that had recently been bulldozed over to prepare the ground for a new pasture. This was the perfect time for such a hunt, as the rain would have exposed atlatl points, arrowheads, cooking balls, etc.. Marty had obtained permission from the owner of the property to do the search, and drove his pickup to some woods adjacent to the search area. He had brought along a spade and pickaxe. His motto, remembered from his days as a Boy Scout, was Be Prepared, and although these digging tools would not be needed for a surface hunt, they would come in handy (as indeed they did), in the event surface soil had to be removed because something interesting indicated a deeper probe of the soil.
The sky was still cloudy, but there was no rain. As we hiked the hundred yards or so through the wet woods to reach the open area, we were confronted by the feared canebreak rattle snake, which looked briefly at us before racing away. I had known Marty to capture these poisonous reptiles just for fun, but to me the sight of this deadly creature was but an omen that our search was off to a bad start. In fact, it did portend the experience of horror that was to come.
We found some atlatal points immediately. This was going to be a rewarding search, and we walked along the edge of the woods, scanning the ground closely. We discovered an old tombstone propped against a tree trunk -- the lettering was eroded, but somewhat legible. "Jacques Couturier -- 1805 -18xx" . So -- the remains of Monsieur Couturier were somewhere nearby!
In our area, there are many of these old "graveyards" -- many of our ancestors were buried on their own property, and often, over the years, an isolated grave site was forgotten -- even the memories had receded and buried themselves along with the old tombstones and the wooden markers long since decayed.
Marty was about fifty feet from me when he stopped suddenly and called to me. "Percy! Look at this. Go get the pickaxe." I ran to where he was, and saw what was evidently an old grave -- the earth was sunken, and the rain had washed the soil from a piece of old wood, part of a coffin, no doubt. Marty had brought the spade with him, and began removing some of the soil from around the grave. This coffin, this corpse, would have to be moved to another area where it would not again be disturbed. We would return Monsieur Couturier's tombstone to his grave to mark its location. "The coffin has rotted", said Marty. "The lid has caved in --"
I hurried back to the truck for the pickaxe. When I returned with it, just as I was nearing the grave, Marty screamed -- "Oh my God. NO. NO. My God!" He looked at me, pointing to the grave -- his face frozen in horror. I dropped the pickaxe and ran to him. (A dreaded rattlesnake? Had Marty by mistake, grabbed one of these deadly serpents from its sanctuary in the grave?) He was transfixed, looking into the grave. I hurried to the grave and looked -- Two eyes --
Monsieur Couturier's eyes -- were staring up at me. Panic! Horror of
horrors! Screams welled up within me but could not escape my throat. I too was
transfixed as time stood still, reason vanished. The two of us were unable to
do anything but simply stare back at those two wide open eyes, staring at us
from within a fleshless skull. Human eyes. Monsieur Couturier's eyes -- which
should have decayed along with his coffin, his shroud.
Terror -- then horror. Then, a slow (too slow!) return to reason. How could it be! What on earth could have preserved those two eyes? Marty recovered more quickly than I, and by the time I was able to breathe again, he had discerned the truth -- he had reached into the grave, and removed from the skull two glass eyes. Monsieur Couturier had been totally blind!
When the corpse was
disinterred for reburial, another pair of eyes was found in the coffin.
Spares!
----------------
When Marty read this, he said that the title should not be "Eyes That
Stare", but: "Eyes that Scare the Shit out of You." He had gone
down into the grave, and when he saw the eyes -- he said that he just bounced
out of the grave so fast he did not even touch the sides! ###