Pull The Nightshade

By Tim Symington

Sara Agnew had not seen her beloved Uncle Jacob Schroder in seven long years, not since the funeral of her Aunt Clarice. Now, having received word that Uncle is languishing in hospital, apparently near death, she is racked with guilt. Sara therefore, along with her husband Oliver, and their little son Bengy, leave the city and travel the 150 miles to the rural town of Kiertville to be near him, initially for a week. Upon seeing her uncle, Sara is shocked at his deterioration. His response to her is a confusing mixture of harshness and absent-mindedness, while sometimes lucid and sometimes seemingly demented. Towards Oliver the old man displays disdain, and to the boy mere dismissiveness. Thus Oliver despises the old man. Yet Bengy in his innocense adores him; the boy shows his affection by bringing wild flowers and blackberries as gifts. Oliver however, wants nothing more than for the week to end, so having reluctantly done his duty, can then return to the city.

Each evening the Agnews stay out at Uncle Jacob's farm, and each morning they return to the hospital to keep vigil at his side. The inevitable tension builds between Oliver and Sara, until one evening it erupts. The next day in her disgust, Sara goes alone to the hospital, leaving Oliver to brood at the farm, and to babysit. But a chance encounter with a stranger later that day positively changes Oliver's perspective regarding his uncle-in-law. The following day, to everyone's surprise, Uncle Jacob too has had a dramatic change of demeanour, and he immediately takes both Oliver and little Bengy into his good graces. In fact, he dotes on the boy, and the boy hero-worships him. Sara especially is relieved and grateful.  

However, when Uncle begins talking in riddles and addressing young Benjamin with trance-like cryptic speech, Sara becomes spooked and extremely frightened. Later, when the couple discuss this, Oliver cannot understand Sara's reaction, but nonetheless trusts her intuition as potentially right, as Sara keeps insisting she feels something is drastically amiss, and perhaps even sinister. Sara contacts the one person she knows might have the answers she seeks: Gladys Galbraith, her uncle and late-aunt's longtime friend and neighbour. Sure enough, when Gladys is pressed by Sara to share what she knows, some heart-rending facts emerge from the past that brings the couple understanding of Uncle's mysterious outbursts. Unbeknown to them at that point, the soul connections of the family were yet to continue their unfolding consequences in unexpected turns.   

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tim Symington
• Release date: Feb 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224312030

Tim Symington

Tim Symington lives in Rotorua, New Zealand, with his wife Rebecca. Between them they have a dozen adult children, and well over a dozen grandchildren.

Book preview

Chapter One

Sara’s Uncle

Jacob Schroder was dying. His niece, Sara Agnew, was his only remaining relative. It was she who received the depressing news from a doctor at the hospital in Kiertville, 150 miles away from where she and her husband Oliver lived in the city of Asterbon.

My advice, said the voice over the phone, who had introduced himself as Doctor Pettigrew, is to make your way over to see your uncle before it’s too late.

Sara bit her lower lip.

We don’t know how much time he has left, continued the doctor, but not too long I suspect. That’s my recommendation Mrs Agnew, that you come soon. I’m sorry to say, but it might be the last time you see him. The doctor paused, awaiting Sara’s reply.

Finally, she spoke. Thank you for informing me doctor... I....

But she could not finish her sentence. Her mind was bathed in sorrow. Sara loved her uncle, dearly. Now she felt the sharp stabbing guilt of not seeing him in seven years; always planning a visit, but never quite making it, constantly putting it off, as other more immediate priorities kept crowding in. The doctor heard Sara inhale dolefully.

Mrs Agnew, he offered, there’s a motel here in Kiertville. I could book a room for you, if you’re not up to it yourself at the moment.

Oh, no doctor. Thank you, Sara replied demurely. Thank you for your concern, but my uncle has a farm on the Old Coach Road. We can stay there.

Right. I see, said the doctor. That’s even better.

I’ll talk to my husband tonight, about coming to see my uncle, said Sara. And I’m sure we’ll be out to Kiertville either by tomorrow, or the next day. Is that okay doctor?, Sara asked through anguished breaths. Will he survive until we get there?

I’m sure he will Mrs Agnew. Your uncle’s condition is currently somewhat of a mystery to us – one day he seems on the verge of death, yet the next he rallies and wants to be discharged, then he’ll regress, sometimes worse than before. So, we’re very cautious, keeping him at the hospital, monitoring him closely. It’s far too risky to send him home, the doctor explained. But you’ll see how consequential his condition is when you get here.

He continued. However, to answer your question, we’re almost certain your uncle will be awaiting your arrival. He speaks so highly of you – that is, when he’s lucid. But try not the worry Mrs Agnew, just come when it’s most practical for you. But as I’ve advised, I’d make it sooner, rather than later.                  

As Sara got off the phone her head dropped, and she sniffed quietly.

Mama sad, said a little voice from down on the carpet. Her toddler son Benjamin, nearly three years-old, looked up from his toys. Sara stretched out both arms, and little Bengy came for a hug.

Yes, Mummy’s sad, because Uncle Jacob’s not well, talking to the lad as he gazed into his mother’s glistening eyes.

Unca Ja-ub, repeated Bengy.

Yes, Uncle Jacob. We’re going to see Uncle Jacob.

See Unca Ja-ub, Bengy said proudly.

Sara let out a gentle giggle. Her son’s sweet nature and rapidly emerging intelligence always brightened her, no matter how she was feeling. In that moment her cloud of worry lifted and she knew undoubtedly that they would soon see her dear Uncle Jake, alive.  

Two days later, the family of four were heading along Highway 95 to Kiertville. As Sara’s husband Oliver drove, he tapped the steering wheel impatiently, thinly disguising his reluctance to even be going. But Sara didn’t notice that. She was too lost in her thoughts, concerned for her uncle, afraid of what they might find once they reached the hospital. In the back, little Bengy slept soundly in his car-seat, and alongside him was the fourth member of the family, Ajax, their Golden Labrador.

Oliver and Sara were a couple in their mid-30s, married ten years, leading busy lives, dealing with bills, just managing to keep up with the mortgage payments, and simply trying to stay afloat and inch ahead. A few years earlier Sara had pleaded with her husband to start a family. Oliver had argued they could not afford a child. But to placate Sara he finally and reluctantly agreed, yet had been quietly resentful to contemplate they would be living on only one income while she took maternity leave. But, when baby Benjamin was born, Oliver then understood why his wife had wanted a child. Oliver by nature was a cool-headed choleric, guided by pragmatism and logic, not by feelings. However, their son, little Bengy, was the only one who could touch his father’s heart as no-other could, and he doted on the boy.

As he drove, Oliver glanced over to their sleeping toddler and smiled to himself. He then looked to his wife, who was still gazing zombie-like at the road ahead, tense with anxiety. He knew it was time to show some concern, though an unnatural effort on his part.

Sara, honey. You okay?

Sara snapped out of her trance and turned to him. Huh? Sorry, what did you say? I was far away in thought.

Yes, I see that, Oliver said, trying to sound caring. You’re worried about your uncle, no doubt. I understand that babe. Er, have I ever met him before?

Yes Oliver! He was at our wedding.

Yeah, but that was a while back, Oliver protested. I mean we had lots of people there.

I can’t believe you can’t remember him, Sara said disappointed. He’s the one you joked about saying wore a garish 1970s suit, sat by himself drinking punch all night, virtually speaking to no-one, while his wife in the meantime, my aunt, was cheerfully doing the rounds socialising with everybody.

Oliver stifled a chuckle. "Oh yeah, that was Uncle Jacob. Now I remember. How come we never saw him after that?"

Sara looked down, embarrassed.

I did see him once after that, at the farm, seven years ago at my aunt’s funeral, said Sara, abashed. At the time you were in hospital in Asterbon recovering from appendicitis, so that’s why you didn’t come with me, remember?

Yeah, I remember now. You weren’t yourself for weeks after you got back. I think I recovered from my operation way before you recovered from your aunt’s death. Noticing Sara’s obvious discomfort at the subject, Oliver changed tack.

Tell me about your connection with Uncle Jacob – I know you’ve told me before, sorry. I forgot. But how is it you’re his only living relative?

Sara eyed him with exasperation, knowing he really wasn’t much interested, but nonetheless was making an effort.

Well, as I’ve already told you, said Sara in a droll tone, my mother was Uncle Jake’s only sibling, his younger sister, while he and Aunt Clarice never had children.

Oliver smirked a little, saying: "Thanks for the clari-fication my dear", playfully using Aunt Clarice’s name in word association. That did the trick, making Sara smile a little, easing the anxiety she’d been feeling for most of the trip.

Finally, 3 ½ hours after leaving Asterbon, the Agnews arrived at their destination. Kiertville was seemingly in the middle of nowhere, a small isolated farming town with a population of about a thousand people. Sara’s stress levels piqued again as they pulled up to the modest little hospital on the main road. A name above the entrance read: ‘St Luke’s Hospital, Kiert_ill_’ – the letters ‘v’ and ‘e’ having long since fallen from the sign, conspicuously revealing the word ‘ill’, attached ironically to a place providing healthcare.

When Oliver saw that he muttered to himself: Oh hell, what sort of a place is this?

Oliver’s primary thought was of how soon they could leave the hick town and get back to their normal city life. But grudgingly, he knew he had to demonstrate restraint, and show his wife the foreign emotion of sympathy, as she was confronting the real possibility of her uncle’s imminent decease. Oliver unfastened Bengy, now grizzling a little from being awoken, and held him against his chest. Sara haltingly got out of the car. Despite the warm late summer weather Sara looked pale, and trembled slightly as she gazed at the hospital entrance. Oliver put his free hand around Sara’s waist, and together they walked in to the facility. A portly nurse approached them and asked who they were looking for.

Oliver spoke: We’re the Agnews. We’ve come to see Jacob Schroder – this is his niece, Sara.

Oh yes, we’ve been expecting you, she said cheerily. Come this way. I’ll take you to Dr Pettigrew. He’s with your uncle right now. The nurse turned and they followed her down a short corridor. Soon she stopped at an open door and motioned them in, while saying simultaneously: Doctor, the Agnews have arrived.

But before the doctor could answer, or before Sara had time to compose herself, Oliver strode into the room, pulling her in with him. Sara immediately froze. There was her uncle staring at her with large unblinking eyes. He was propped-up in his hospital bed, gaunt and frail in appearance. His thin face was morose, and his eyes had a severe icy gaze. Sara’s heart sank into her stomach, and she instantly felt nauseous.

Uncle... Uncle... I... I..., she stammered, still rooted to the spot.

Oliver spoke up, vying for her attention: Hun, the doctor’s trying to talk to you.

What?, said Sara, confused.

Since entering the room every other person, apart from her uncle had vanished from Sara’s vision. Now her sensory faculties readjusted as the doctor spoke to her directly.

Mrs Agnew, I’m Doctor Pettigrew, we spoke on the phone, said the white-coated physician. This must be quite a shock for you, a bit confronting to see your uncle like this. But right now he’s in an unresponsive catatonic state, though his eyes are open, he’s probably unaware of our presence.

Sara’s own eyes misted.

Please Mrs Agnew, reassured the doctor. I’m certain your uncle will gain lucidity soon, perhaps in a few minutes, or in an hour or two, as he always has before, and he’ll be very happy to see you then.

Sara gave a nervous sigh of relief, and Oliver squeezed her shoulders. Little Bengy, from the security of his father’s arm and with big-eyed wonderment, pointed at the old man in the hospital bed and stated coyly: Unca Ja-ub.

They chuckled at the boy’s innocent charm, doctor and nurse included. Uncle Jacob however remained motionless and mute. Dr Pettigrew was a man in his early-60s, with dark eyebrows, thick silver hair, and wise kindly eyes. Sara felt comforted by his very presence, while Oliver invited him to call them by their first names, explaining they felt too young to be called by the formal-sounding ‘Mr and Mrs Agnew’ just yet. The doctor nodded deferentially.

Oliver asked: Doctor, how did you know Sara was Jake’s only relative, and get our phone number?

Mr Schroder, your uncle, he himself told us, answered Dr Pettigrew. Like I said, he’s been rational quite frequently in fact, and Sara, Oliver, that’s when he informed us. But we’ve had to be strict with him, telling him he must remain in hospital indefinitely, for his own good. Of course, he was reluctant, but he immediately took a turn for the worse, and it’s been touch-and-go ever since. That was three weeks ago.

Oliver inquired: Is there more you can tell us about his condition?

Yes, and I’m glad to tell you face-to-face, rather than over the phone like the other day. Sara became worried at the doctor’s words, and peered over at her uncle still trance-like in his bed.

Sara, your uncle has had several TIAs, mini-strokes, over time, and we fear he’ll continue to have them. We’ve also diagnosed him to have dementia; which comes and goes spasmodically.

Tears returned to Sara’s eyes at the devastating news.

So you see Sara and Oliver, he’s in a dire situation, unable to return home with any degree of safety. But also, more pertinently, sorry to say, he’s likely close to the end. And bear in mind he is 86 years of age.

Sara’s tears trickled down her cheeks. Oliver hugged her tightly with his free arm, and young Bengy touched his mother’s hair tenderly, both offering their comfort.

Mama sad, said Bengy in his cute voice.

Everyone smiled, and the atmosphere became lighter. Sara looked around her uncle’s sparse hospital room. There was no tv – the nurse, whose name was Anna, said Mr Schroder had specifically told them to remove it, as he hated televisions. The only decorations were a couple of innocuous paintings on the walls, and a plastic vase containing wilted pink carnations. On the nightstand beside the bed were two items: a bowl of fruit, and a tattered old King James Bible, which was her uncle’s most prized possession. By now he had slid down into the bed and was soundly asleep, his chest rising and falling with each breath. Sara moved over to him, drew up the blanket snuggly under his chin, and kissed him delicately on his cheek and forehead. Yet he did not stir.                

For the next three hours Sara sat at his bedside patiently hoping for some sign he would awaken. Yet he remained unconscious in deep sleep. In the meantime, Oliver took both Bengy and Ajax to the park opposite the hospital. He was restless and impatient, wanting something to happen. Anything. Oliver was not the sort to sit around waiting – that drove him crazy. When he could take it no longer, he put Ajax back in the car, returned to the hospital room, and straining not to sound irate, pleaded with Sara to go.

Hun, it seems clear your uncle’s not waking up today. So could we just get outta here? We can come back tomorrow. We’ve still got to go out to his farm and get settled there. I mean, I’ve never been there so I don’t even know....

Sara cut in. Yes okay, we can go. Oliver was surprised, and relieved.

I can see you want to go, she said listlessly. We’re all tired, and you’re right Uncle’s not waking up, and we’ve got to get out to the farm and get you and Bengy familiar with the house. It’s really big. Plus, we’ve got to get some groceries first.

Oliver was so glad he and Sara were thinking along the same lines. It had been a long day, and an especially emotional one for Sara. She was drained; they all were. Turning to Oliver she said: Hun, ask Nurse Anna where Uncle’s house keys are.

Soon he returned. The nurse gave me this number, your uncle’s neighbour, she’s got the keys, and will meet us at the house.

Good. That will be Gladys. I haven’t seen her in years.

Sara again kissed her heavily breathing uncle, with still no response, and quietly bade him farewell. See you tomorrow Uncle Jake, she whispered in veneration.

Chapter Two

The Good Neighbour

After a few miles driving along the Old Coach Road Sara suddenly pointed at a small cemetery coming up on their left, about sixty feet back from the road. Look babe, that’s where my Aunt Clarice is buried, as well as my grandparents and great-grandparents.

Oh, okay, responded Oliver. Did you want me to pull-in?

I’d love to thanks hun, but we can’t right now, Sara replied. We’ve got to meet the neighbour with the house-keys, and she may be waiting for us already. But I definitely want to visit, either later this afternoon or tomorrow.

Sure thing hun, replied Oliver, secretly relieved they wouldn’t be stopping just then. 

Within another three minutes of driving past the cemetery, Sara spoke-up again to Oliver, pointing ahead: There, at this next mail box, turn in there – that’s Uncle’s farm.

Man, said Oliver, I didn’t know it would be so far out of town.

It doesn’t seem that far when you’re used to it, said Sara.

They drove up the long gravel driveway, up a gradual rise, and soon a large old weatherboard house came in to view; its green paint exterior badly faded, and surrounded with overgrown shrubs and tangled trees, and a large unkempt bougainvillea vine obscuring half of the veranda. Parked near the house was a red truck, also with faded paint. On the truck’s door was a sign: ‘Galbraith’s Poultry’. As they pulled-up, the vehicle’s door opened and out popped a stout smiley-faced lady in her late-50s, with a full mane of windswept hair, mainly brown but with a few strands of grey, not quite touching her shoulders, and she was clad in gumboots and a gaudy red and yellow floral dress.

Gladys!, Sara exclaimed as she sprang from the car, and the two women embraced excitedly.

It’s been a couple of years girl, said the gumbooted lady with cheeky sarcasm. How you been? Oh, sorry about your Uncle Jake, he’s real sick. You saw him at the hospital, right?

It was hard for Sara to answer before the older woman asked another question. Oliver walked over with Bengy, as the dog ran around playfully.

This is my husband, Oliver, and this is....

I’m Gladys, but folks call me GeeGee, she interjected, known Sara since she was a kid. So married now? and this must be your boy, he’s adorable, as she ruffled Bengy’s blond hair. What’s his name?

Benjamin, said Sara.

Oh what a lovely name, Gladys gushed. So Oliver, what you been feedin’ your wife?, and she squeezed Sara’s shoulders in jest. You’re so thin girl, you need some meat on them bones, must be the stress of city life. You oughta move back out here, to fresh clean air and good country livin’.

Oliver baulked at the thought, and countered with what he thought to be a joke. "No Gladys, Sara thinks she’s fat not thin, so we’d better stay in the city, coz if country life’s that good she’d really balloon." Neither woman thought his humour funny, and Sara’s cheeks darkened.

Gladys quickly changed the subject by handing Oliver a set of keys. These will open the house, and the rooms and cupboards and things. It’s a big house, you’ll see. Sara knows.

They all moved up the steps to the veranda and front door. Ajax bounded up with them, panting happily.

What a gorgeous dog, effused Gladys, as she grasped Ajax’s neck affectionately.

Yes, we love him, replied Sara. "His name’s Ajax. He’s