Raven sat in the high back chair next to her grandfather's bed listening to the wet wheezy breaths that escaped his too blue lips. She watched the clock, it slow hands dragging around the circle as if nothing could speed it up.

Tick. Tock.

Her watch was for two hours. That, and not a minute more. She was promised an extra gift in the morning, and a chance to not come in tomorrow even for the ceremony, it was a no brainer.

She leaned closer when the breathing stopped. Her heart pausing and resuming with a fervent pitch. What if he died on her watch? Would mother think of it every time she saw Raven's face?

Sitting for him would be the easy part if that happened. The looks she would get she wouldn't be able to survive.

"Grandfather? It's really important that you hang in there ok? While tomorrow's celebration would be much more pleasant without you dying in the back room, I can't have you going on my shift. I'm already on the outs with mom."

His ragged breathing began again and a dusky black tongue protruded, running along his lips as is searching.

"Would you like water?"

She dipped the spoon in the cup where the ice cubes usually sat on the old pine stand. It was warm and clear without a cube in the bunch. She spooned some of liquid into his mouth, careful to lean forward and keep her hands from his mouth. Something about him frightened her now.

Her mother scolded her when she'd brought it up. "It's death that scares you, not your grandpa. He's the same man he always was. Death is a scary thing for everyone, but the sooner you see it the sooner you'll know when it's close and remember to run."

Her mother had said it like she did all things, cold and proper as if she had read it from a book that had bored her.

But Raven didn't care which it was, death or the dying man in the bed she just wanted her watching time to pass before her grandfather did.

"I'll tell you a story, would you like that? It'll pass the time for both of us. You always liked my stories when you came home from your travels.."

As expected, grandfather didn't answer. His gurgling was steady and had a higher pitch since Raven had given him the water. She scooted the chair a bit closer and cleared her throat throwing her shawl over her lap for warmth.

It started in the south, as many things do. Back in the tucked in corners of cornfields where children make mischief to pass away the hours spent breaking backs on chores. The first to fall was Mary Whitley. She was stiff and cold the morning her mother went to wake her to fetch eggs and feed chickens before her father came in from the fields.

Mary was a shy girl. Always wearing dresses and toting a corn cob doll named Anna that long ago used to sit on her dresser and watch over her in the crib. The family said Mr. Whitley had made that doll while his wife pushed Mary into this world putting all his worry and fear into his hands to complete the task.

The doll wasn't much, a few dry sheaths that housed the corn and a stub of a cob picked clean and dried. But it was dyed with berries and beets and shades of black and the face was etched perfectly by Mr. Whitley who often whittled by the fire long after the children had been asleep.

People said that doll was special. Everyone who saw it bargained Mr. Whitley for one just like it, or that doll. He always answered the same way, in as few words as possible and with a shy grin that looked almost out of place on a man bigger than most and hardened from long days in the searing sun.

"I'm not a toy maker. That doll birthed itself out of worry, I'm not even sure how I did it myself, couldn't repeat it if I tried. And that particular one is Mary's. And will be I suppose until she's willing to part with it."

People of the town believed him, why wouldn't they. He was an honest man who worked nonstop and everyone knows strange things can happen when you worry.

When Mary was found dead in her bed that morning, it was her mother that found her. A scream echoed through the town and even folks who didn't hear it felt it like a cold wind had settled in their bones. When news spread that Mary had been found dead more than one person knew the exact moment it happened, though none would say that out loud.

The doll sat on her pillow for months as hard times fell on the family. Being their only child her mother, Laura, fell into a deep sadness and Mary's father fretted so much he spent less time than he should have in the fields making sure his wife ate and rested and didn't go off into the woods without her coat or shoes.

He kept the fire burning and Laura safe and fed until winter winds forced him to leave and search for wood. When he came back after a long day he found Laura, his wife singing in the kitchen. The corn cob doll, Anna, was sitting at the table in Mary's seat.

Laura was smiling and talking a mile a minute to the doll about all the things she remembered doing with Mary. Her husband worried, it wasn't right a grown woman coddling a doll like that and pretending it was alive. But she was so happy he decided to give it time and see what happened.

The next morning Laura was at the table when he woke up, it was still dark and the chill in the room bit his exposed skin. He could hear giggles and whispers carried in from the kitchen and something stirred in him.

He rose from the bed and grabbed the doll fighting off his screaming wife as he headed toward the stove to make a fire. "It ain't Mary for God's sake. It's a corn cob doll. It's just a bit of earth and nothing else. You need to come to your senses Laura!"

She froze in place as the flames licked the wood. Her eyes not seeing Job at all, but trained on the doll like a dog looking at a piece of meat.

Job lifted the doll towards the belly of the stove and his wife collapsed on the floor. In a panic he dropped the doll to the floor and lovingly carried his thin pale wife to the bed.

He nursed her for days, spooning broth and changing clothing wet with sweat. It was all the sickness, she wasn't losing her mind, she was fevered and I almost killed her. These are the thoughts that kept him going, guilt weighing down like anchors on his shoulders.

He worried and nursed her for three days straight until finally, exhausted, he fell next to her on the bed unable to move even an eyelid any longer. The morning turned to night and the day wore on as he slept so deeply he never heard his wife stir.

When he woke he was alone in the bed except for the corn cob doll that was sitting on his wife's pillow with a sprig of her hair tied on its wrist next to Mary's.

He jumped from the bed and searched the house, and when it failed to show him his wife he searched the yard for tracks only to find nothing. His wife had all but vanished in nothing but a nightgown.

Job Whitley wasn't the same after that. He kept to himself and muttered useless things that made the people in the town nervous. His skin began to sag and his bones protruded like they do on the starving and townsfolk started chirping among themselves and decided to start leaving a warm dish on his porch to help a proud man survive the harsh winter.

First up for the delivery was Pearl Otis. Proud wife of the reverend and a tender hearted woman who never felt too uppity to lend a hand to someone in need. Unlike her husband she felt her calling was to serve the people which balanced out his belief that the pulpit and tie meant respect and a wage no matter if he worked for it or not.

When Pearl snuck up to the porch as the sun was setting she couldn't help but see shadows in the window. The sound of singing and shadows twirling made her think of dancing and happy times. Unnerved that this life could be the kind a man who looks like Job was having, she peered into the window to see Job sitting at the table talking to a corn cob doll propped between the table and chair like a visitor.

Job was using his hands and telling a story and laughing like he was with someone he'd known forever. Pearl sat the dish on the porch and ran home as fast as her legs could carry her unable to put a finger on why the vision of someone broken could instill so much fear in her.

She made her husband swear to go out there, someone had to be watching out for the man, and the town, and the way her heart pounded she knew something was off.

The next day the reverend, if for no other reason than to put an end to his wife's threats of mortal danger and refusal to make any more shepherd a pie unless he took action, took his neighbor Larken down to the edge of the woods where Job Whitley lived.

When the men got tired of knocking they went into the cabin. It was clean and warm and no sign of Job in sight. There wasn't a dish out of place or a drop in the kettle and so they waited in case he was in the field. After several hours they came to the conclusion they'd missed him, and vowed to try again the next day.

It was on the third day when Pearl's search party finally found Job's body. Perched in a clearing in the woods by two fresh mounds of dirt that had to have been Mary and Laura. The corn cob doll was still in his hand.

Pearl arranged a burial and her husband reluctantly said a few words about death, salvation and taking care of your neighbors as the townsfolk breathed a sigh of relief that the Whitley family tragedy was finally over. The sight of Job and the stories of the family were enough to make anyone feel fear and the town collectively felt lighter with it finally put to rest.

The next morning Pearl found her husband in the sitting room. His voice was quiet and she assumed he was spending time with the savior like he had on the early days when his spirit burned with hope and zeal. She tiptoed away toward the kitchen to make breakfast profoundly touched that a death had finally stirred her husband's long lost spirit.

When the breakfast was growing cold on the table she finally poked her head in to give him notice. She found him sitting on the floor still chatting but in his lap was not the large print fifty year old bible that he labored over for hours years ago. It was the corncob doll she'd seen in the window that night with Job. The same doll she'd seen buried with Job.

Fear pierced her heart like a dagger and without thought she marched into the room, yanked the doll off his lap and quickly threw it into the large kitchen oven to the curses of her husband limping his way on behind her.

The doll immediately caught fire, it's old dried bits blazing in oranges and blacks as a thick black smoke rose from the center of the oven. Pearl closed her ears as the sizzle from the corncob vibrated around the kitchen sounding like the screams of people trapped and burning.

Her husband arrived at her side and put his arm around her holding her tightly as the thick smoke swirled and waned. When Pearl closed the oven the room looked brighter and her husband smiled like the young man he was when he courted her.

"I'm not sure what just happened here Pearl, but I'm glad it's over."

She winked and him and wiped her brow with her apron. "Let's eat. Breakfast is getting cold."

Raven watched as her grandfather's eyes scanned back and forth around the room. The clock struck ten and her brother Liam entered the room dragging his feet slowly to the chair where they kept vigil.

"Mum sent me for an hour. She's still getting things ready for the feast tomorrow. Unless you want to take my shift?"

He looked hopeful, his eyes twinkling in the low light and his jaw jutting back and forth as nervous tension worked its way out.

"No way. I put in my time. Be careful with the water, he chokes."

Raven bent down and gave the old man a kiss on the cheek, his was cold and firm and she whispered softly in his ear. You're good to go grandpa. But just in case you're scared I'll leave you my doll. I'll come get her in the morning. I'm sure you won't be needing her by then."

Raven tucked the corn cob doll under her grandfather's blankets. As his muscles tensed and his breathing got louder she skipped toward the door.

"If anything happens Liam, don't let them take Anna. She doesn't like to be alone."

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