My heart was pounding and my panting breath fogged the glasses propped on my nose as I ran for my life through my own home. A cramp grew in my leg, but a small voice in the back of my head kept telling me that I could not stop. The intruder stayed close on my heels. Relentless, seeming too inhuman too be able to keep running this long and still be acute. I clambered into a small closet, pulling my skirts just as the door slams shut and I locked it behind me, believing that I had lost him. I waited in the darkness, hoping- praying- that these murderers would leave us.
"Would you like a cup of tea, Darling?" I asked my husband, putting the large iron kettle on the stove. The pilot light clicked twice and a small flame bursted into life when I dropped the match. Herman and Boyd ran across the room closely followed by our grey tabby, Ty, who had a length of yarn tied to the end of his tail. The feline meowed and angrily scratched at the string when he collapsed at Josiah's feet. "Boys, please take that string off of Ty before he hurts himself." I commanded.
"Yes Mother." They replied in unison. Ty lied still by Josiah when he saw the boys coming toward him. He was a good cat; never temperamental and very gentle around the children. Herman and Boyd argued over who would untie the knots first and began to push and shove each other.
"Herman! Boyd!" I shouted, irritated at my sons' lack of self-control. "What did I tell you about arguing on the Lord's Holy Day? You're disrupting your father, our guests and myself."
The boys hung their heads in shame, "We're sorry," whimpered Boyd. Herman scuffed his shoes against the rug, sending puffs of ash from the fire into the air. I could tell he was trying to be strong for his little brother, who was very fragile when it came to punishments. Josiah had always told Herman that it was his responsibility as the next man of the house that he should be mature, brave and thankful for all he had. Herman tried so hard to obey his father's wishes. Usually, he did very well; only on rare occasion did he forget his place.
"Hush up now and go practice your verses." I told them, already feeling guilty for scolding them. Their heads still hanging, my sons walk to their own table in the corner of the kitchen, pick up their books and begin to practice.
Katherine, Lena and Ian are playing with their new cornhusk dolls on the rug in front of the merrily crackling fire. Paul, our youngest son, watches them eagerly. He was just at the age where he was strong enough to sit up on his own. But when he became so entranced by the girls' dolls' fantasy lives, he would sway to one side and then quickly catch himself. Paul would then concentrate so hard on something else so as to keep himself from losing balance. No matter how hard he tried, he could not resist listening to his sister's stories about their dolls.
"Josiah?" I asked again, eyeing my husband. His nose was stuck in a particularly large volume and simply refused to re-emerged. Dodging Ty as he scampered out onto the front porch, I walked over to Josiah's rocking chair next to the fireplace. "Darling?" I asked, gently tapping his shoulder.
Josiah mumbled something and raised a finger as to ask for one more moment of silence. His eyes had scanned the page and placed a leaflet in his last page, "Yes? What is it Sarah?" He said, placing his glasses in his coat front pocket. Josiah took my hand in his, stroking my palm with his thumb and gazing lovingly up at me.
"I said: would you like a cup of tea before bed?" I repeated.
Josiah shook his head and slowly stood up, his chair creaking with every move he made. "The children should be getting to bed. It's late." He glanced over his shoulder at the children, who had begun the stand and walk towards their bedrooms. Josiah turned back to me and whispered very quietly, "I have something very important that I need to discuss with you."
I did as my husband asked. After all of the children were washed, brushed and dressed for bed, I went to each one in turn and kissed them goodnight. Lena and Ina, who were spending the night in the sewing room, were the last that I tucked in. When I closed their door behind me, I looked into the kitchen to see Josiah looking worriedly into the flames. I was nervous in approaching him. Every once in a while, he would be in these terrible moods where he would vent all of his rage and frustration at me. Never before had he hurt me- and I know he never would- but his tone of voice always made me uneasy. "Is something the matter, Josiah?" I twisted and tugged anxiously at the hem of my apron.
"How quickly do you think we could disappear?" Josiah questioned. He still gazed into the flames as if he would find the answer he was looking for if he looked into them long enough. Cautiously, I stepped towards his and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. The rough wool of his jacket was hot, but not from the fire. For the first time in all the years that I have known my husband, he was showing signs that he was truly horrified. But of what, I could not tell.
"What are you talking about?" I asked. Josiah seemed to not have felt my hand because when I spoke, he jumped. His eyes were starting to fill with tears. He wiped them away eagerly. He was shaking terribly and could not control himself. What could have possibly happened that Josiah was so terrified? I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my head on his shoulder. On tip toes, to stay in this position, I began to hum a soft lullaby in his ear.
"I can't lie anymore." Josiah began, "There's been some trouble and I think it would be best- for our safety- if we went away for a couple of days. A week at the most. We could visit your parents or stay with my mother. We just need to get away." He took loud, sharp breaths and ran his fingers through my hair.
"Are you so sure?" I stopped humming and looked into the fire. "Maybe you're just overreacting and this is nothing worth worrying about." Grasping his hand in mine, I slowly began to pull him towards the stairs. The grandfather clock in the parlor was chiming 11 and Josiah's eyes were battling to stay open. "You need to sleep; you're exhausted."
"No, Sarah." Josiah snapped at me and squeezed my hand. He pulled back to him and cradled my jaw with his palm. "This is not something that we can just brush to the side. We need to make the decision tonight."
"Are you certain that this is absolutely necessary?" I asked, Josiah nodded.
Sighing heavily, I looked up at the staircase, my children so close. I thought of them, their safety. The possibility of what might happen if we stay was more than enough to convince me that Josiah was right.
“All right, first thing in the morning, once Lena and Ina are gone, we’ll pack up what we need and leave.”
My husband wrapped his arm around me and kissed my forehead- somehow I did not feel any better. He told me, “This is for the best.”
“I hope you’re right.” Then I let his arms fall away and he left me alone in the kitchen. The fire crackled and popped, dying after a long evening of constant warmth. My mind raced and I wished for the worry to stop, to be content and at peace for once.
I took a handful of dirt from the pot next to the fire and scattered them across the glowing embers, burning and hissing as their oxygen was stolen. The last candle in the kitchen burnt brightly and I took it in my hand, guiding my way up the stairs to the bedroom I shared with Josiah.
By the time I had dressed and readied for bed, Josiah was already buried under the many quilts I had made since we were married. His back was turned to me, I crawled into bed next to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He did not stir. Still, I bent forward and kissed the spot where my hand had been. I trusted him to do what was right, and I would follow him.
Those thoughts should have provided my mind some peace so that I could fall asleep, but hours later, the moon had fully risen in the night sky and I was still awake.
I pulled the covers back and went down to the kitchen, thinking that a small snack would soothe the uneasy feeling in my stomach. The small room seemed to be the same as I had left it. The fire was only a dim light now, so I had only the feeble candle in my grasp to guide the way.
I took out a plate, a knife and several things from the pantry. A loaf of bread, some dried fruit. Picking up the knife firmly, I set the loaf on the table before me and proceeded to cut a slice for myself. There was a creak across the room, my head whipped around to find the source of the noise.
Nothing.
The fire crackled faintly, letting out it last dying breath. The room was almost in complete darkness. Outside, the moon shone brighter still and lit up the tiny kitchen. The only difference, the pantry door, which was several steps to the left of the hearth. The door was usually kept locked so as to keep Ty and other animals out, but now it was open. Creaking menacingly, the door slowly swung until the knob hit the wall with a small thunk.
It was only the door, I told myself. I was shocked that I was so spooked when I knew for a fact that the only other people in this house were now soundly asleep. I waited for a moment, breathing deeply as I stared at the door. When I mustered the energy, I went over and shut the door tightly. I resumed cutting the bread. But every few moments, I would glance over at the pantry, wondering if it would dare open again.
There was a searing pain in my finger. The sharp metal pierced my hand, scarlet blood dripping from the tip of one finger. For such a small cut, it gave a sufficient amount of blood. I went over to the cupboard and got a bowl, filled it with water and soaked my hand in the liquid, drying it with a cloth afterwards. I applied pressure with the cloth, and the blood leaked from my veins, turning the white fabric dark. Very clumsily, I take my plate of food and the pan of water to the table. I sat down with my back to the fire. The water was cool but felt so good in the hot, humid air of June.
And then I heard it again, the creaking of the pantry door. I looked back quickly and there was no one there, as I had suspected, but the door to the pantry was wide open, two or three feet at the least. Too tired and with the throbbing pain in my hand, I remained sitting at the table. Eventually, my hand stopped bleeding and I tenderly observed the wound. I wrapped it carefully in the rag and stood up to get another cloth.
The sight that met my eyes almost made me collapse.
The pantry door had been closed and firmly locked.
Swaying back and forth, I heard a chuckling from the other side of the room. I turned my head to see a tall, dark man standing in the shadows of the room. His face was unnoticeable in the dark. My only source of light, the fire, had died out. He began to approach me. The only thing I could see was the dull glint of the blade of an ax.
I bolted to the staircase, heading for the safety of my bedroom where Josiah would protect me. The intruder caught my arm halfway up the stairs, but I managed to pull it away. “Don’t be shy, darlin’” He said slyly.
My heart was pounding and my panting breath fogged the glasses propped on my nose as I ran for my life through my own home. A cramp grew in my leg, but a small voice in the back of my head kept telling me that I could not stop. The intruder stayed close on my heels. Relentless, seeming too inhuman too be able to keep running this long and still be acute. I clambered into a small closet, pulling my skirts just as the door slams shut and I locked it behind me, believing that I had lost him. I waited in the darkness, hoping- praying- that these murderers would leave us.
Clasping my hands together, I began to mouth a prayer. The door flew open and the man grabbed me by the arms. He wrenches me out of the closet and threw me on the floor of the hallway. My face came in contact with the floor and I tasted blood in my mouth. I rolled over onto my back and watched the ax man stare at me in the darkness.
From downstairs, I heard a little girl shout, “Lena!” It was Ina. “Get off of her! Lena, wake up! Lena!” There was a slap against skin, several loud thuds and then silence.
Poor Ina. Poor Lena. I feared that the man’s accomplice had already gotten to my own children. I glanced at the door across the hall. It was still open, just a little, as I had left it when I put them to bed earlier. But I could not tell if my children were in there or in heaven.
Another man climbed the stairs, adjusting his trousers and securing his belt. I lay helpless on the landing, at the mercy of the two men. “Just this one left?” He asked the other man.
“Her, and the last room.” Hearing this, I quickly scrambled to my feet and ran to the door.
I pulled open the door and began to shout, “Childr-” One of the men came up from behind me, grabbing a handful of my hair in one hand and clasping the other over my mouth. He pulled me away from my babies and took me to my own bedroom. Again, I am thrown to the floor.
“Josiah!” I said, weeping as I pulled myself up onto the mattress. “Wake up, please, Josiah. The children, they’ve-” But when I shook my husband, and he did not respond immediately, I realized the atrocity before my eyes. My husband was no longer there. The body which had been his only an hour ago lay there. It bore no resemblance to my beloved Josiah. His skull was shattered, bashed in, leaking blood onto the sheets. “Oh God, no…” I whispered to the corpse.
From the room next door, I heard the air make way for the ax, as the man swung it time after time. A faint whimper escaped my lips. There was nothing I could do to save them. I turned and saw the man standing there, guarding the doorway. The shorter one came back and handed the axe to his comrade.
I grabbed Josiah’s cold hand, closed my eyes and began to pray again.
“Holy Mary, mother of God.”
The clearing of a throat. A chuckle.
“Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.”
The creak of wood and the swoosh of an axe.
“Amen.”
My hour had come.
The next morning, Josiah Moore, his family and Lena and Ina Stillinger were found dead in their beds. The house was locked, the windows covered and little evidence was left behind. Their skulls had been continuously bashed in to the point that they were no longer recognizable.
The Villisca Axe Murderers were never found.
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