Chapter 8

           Thewomaninthebackbedroom,proppedupagainsttheheadboardandstaringwall-eyedatthegiantwhohadcomeintohermuddledsight,didn’tlookatallliketheMellyMooresIhadknownfortwentyyears;shedidn’tevenlookliketheMellyMooresJaniceandIhadvisitedshortlybeforeDelacroix’sexecution.ThewomanproppedupinthatbedlookedlikeasickchildgotupasaHalloweenwitch.Herlividskinwasahangingdoughofwrinkles.Itwaspuckereduparoundtheeyeontherightside,asifsheweretryingtowink.Thatsamesideofhermouthturneddown,oneoldyelloweyetoothhungoutoverherliverishlowerlip.Herhairwasawildthinfogaroundherskull.Theroomstankofthestuffourbodiesdisposeofwithsuchdecorumwhenthingsarerunningright.Thechamberpotbyherbedwashalffullofsomevileyellowishgoo.Wehadcometoolateanyway,Ithought,horrified.IthadonlybeenamatterofdayssinceshehadbeenrecognizablesickbutstillherselfSincethen,thethinginherheadmusthavemovedwithhorrifyingspeedtoconsolidateitsposition.Ididn’tthinkevenJohnCoffeycouldhelphernow.

           HerexpressionwhenCoffeyenteredwasoneoffearandhorrorasifsomethinginsideherhadrecognizedadoctorthatmightbeabletogetatitandpryitloose,afterall...tosprinklesaltonitthewayyoudoonaleechtomakeitletgoitsgrip.Hearmecarefully:I’mnotsayingthatMellyMooreswaspossessed,andI’mawarethat,wroughtupasIwas,allmyperceptionsofthatnightmustbesuspect.

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