As a girl, I grew up in a small town called Terry Creek. As soon as I turned eighteen, I packed my bags and hauled it out of there to as far as my old Chevy truck would take me. I built a good life and never turned back. I almost hadn’t made it out.
I had grown up with my Father Mike, Mother Jean, and younger sister Bree. Bree was one year younger then me and had always been the “problem child.” She drank, smoked Pot, and did other stupid teenage shenanigans.
It all came to a head when Bree gave birth to a baby girl when she was only fifteen. A teenage pregnancy was big news in a small town; she became a social pariah. Thankfully our parents didn’t turn their backs on Bree and her daughter Aidy, especially since Aidy’s dad refused to be part of her life.
Aidy was a sweet, but hyper, baby. She was walking shortly after her first birthday in the beginning of February. By the end of that month she had started her favorite hobby of full on running. The four of us had a hard time catching her at times. She especially liked opening the front door and running outside; she had even figured out how to unlock the door. She was exceptionally bright. My father installed one of those baby-proof door handle covers. Having a one year old running out into the street was dangerous enough, but having her do it in March was even worse in our town.
The town of Terry Creek was just like any small town 364 days out of the year. Children played jump rope and waited for that wonderful music from the ice-cream truck to hit their ears. Parents of unruly teenagers always looked like they needed a drink. There was even a handful of elderly men whose great delight of the day was to yell at children to get off their lawn.
But March 10th brought with it a whole new town. All schools and businesses closed down. You wouldn’t find a single person outside; everyone stayed in their homes with their doors and windows locked. Blinds and curtains were tightly shut and families stayed far from the windows.
It had all started well over one hundred years back. There was an old, crotchety woman named Catherine Davies. Catherine wasn’t liked by the community and the feeling was mutual. She had never liked people and that only got worse with age. She would glare and spit hatred at anyone who came close to her little house, regardless of their age.
Her hateful demeanor had made her a target for the ridicule and pranks of the younger community. It was always pretty harmless, but of course there will always be those that take a joke too far.
Randal Crowley and his cousin Jack were in their late teens. Randal’s father was the Mayor of Terry Creek and that seemed to give the boys a god complex. They were as bad as they could be, and one day they set their eyes on Catherine.
The original idea was to set her precious rose garden ablaze. She truly treasured her garden as it was one of the rare things that brought her happiness in this world. The boys were drunk and decided it would be a good idea to use some lighter fluid. Unfortunately they used far too much and as soon as the match was lit, the whole garden went up in flames, only to instantly set her front porch on fire . Randal, who had set the fire, was left with some second-degree burns on his arm, but otherwise the boys were okay. Catherine wasn’t so lucky.
The flames had spread quickly throughout the house and Catherine had been caught in the inferno. She managed to fight her way out of the house alive, but the damage was done and she was left with third degree burns all over her body. The flesh of her face had been eaten away, disfiguring her horribly.
She was rushed to the hospital where doctors were able to save her life, but nothing could be done about the horrific scars. The mirrors in her hospital room were covered for her time there as the sight of her reflection left her in a state of anguish.
Witnesses had seen the Crowley boys running from the fire and the burn marks on Randal’s arm was enough proof to show that they had started the fire. The truth didn’t matter. Catherine was disliked and Randal and Jack were the kin of the Mayor. No charges were brought up against them.
Instead of feeling shame from their actions, the boys felt untouchable. They even came up with a cruel song making fun of Catherine.
“Have you seen Davies’ skin all crispy and brown? She’s the ugliest thing in the whole damn town. Don’t look at her face unless you want to be sick, Because she’s been beaten by the ugly stick. She’s more beast than person, anyone can see. Missing her nose and with skin like the bark of a tree. If you see Dreadful Davies, then pick up a stone, Throw it at her until she runs back to her charred home. Our eyes don’t deserve to have to look at her face, So don’t be afraid to put her in her place.”
The song grew popular amongst the youth of the town and poor Catherine had even been pelted with rocks a few times. The cruelty she experienced drove her insane. Everything came to a head that March 10th.
The bodies of the Crowley boys were found at the quarry, a popular drinking spot in the town. They had died with looks of horror on their faces. Both boys were missing their eyes, as if someone had simply plucked them from their skulls. The town could only think of one suspect: Catherine Davies.
The town created a mob and marched up to the Davies places. Barely standing, the house was charred and the front door was wide open. A few men stormed in only to be shocked at the sight that met them.
There lay the body of Catherine Davies; she had slit her throat. Next to her body was a note. It read:
“Those nasty boys aren’t the only ones who can rhyme, So I make this oath in my dying time. On the anniversary of this day, Through the town I shall make my way. And if anyone should look upon my face, Where they stand shall be their eternal resting place. But I shall do one thing before anyone dies, In their last moments I shall pluck out their eyes. So when I plague you every year, Don’t forget it was your hatred that created your fear,”
Catherine was buried in an unmarked grave. The town’s people tried to shake off the haunting words, but one year later showed that Catherine had every intention of keeping her promise.
She walked through the streets in a flowing black dress. Everything was shrouded in black cloth except for her face. That day, twenty-three people fell dead in the street; all missing their eyes. And so it went on for over a century.
Every year, there was at least one person unlucky enough to be caught outside in that fateful day. Their screams would reach the ears of the families huddled together inside of their homes. The poor soul’s bodies would be found on the eleventh missing their eyes.
So the danger of little Aidy running out on the 10th of March was especially horrifying. That door handle cover was a comfort to us; alas, we put too much faith in the contraption.
The four of us sat in the living room together as Aidy played on the floor. We all sat silently, just waiting for the day to end. A scream in the distance let us know that she was coming. It was tense in our house.
It all happened so suddenly. Aidy walked to the door in what we thought was a hopeless attempt to open it. As she reached her hands and squeezed the plastic cover, it simply broke apart. The device we had put all of our faith in had failed us completely. We all gasped in horror as Aidy unlocked the door in the blink of an eye and opened the door. With a giggle, she ran as fast as her little legs would let her. I was closest to her. I jumped up from where I was sitting and made a dash for her. I was able to grab her a couple feet outside of the doorway, but it was too late. You could feel the change in the air. SHE was near. I closed my eyes and smooshed Aidy’s face to my chest. I was careful not to smother her. I heard the door behind us shut as Aidy struggled wildly to be let out of the uncomfortable position. We weren’t alone.
I stood completely blind, shaking in fear. I couldn’t stop little Aidy’s cries and soon I felt a warm breath beating upon my face. Whoever was breathing it was mere inches away from my face. The smell of burnt flesh was overwhelming, making it hard not to gag. We stayed that way for what felt like an eternity. I kept my eyes shut, my whole body shaking. The breathing continued for a few minutes before it went away. I didn’t dare open my eyes to go to the door. Instead I stood their, terrified, until the smell of rotting flesh was long gone. Then I took tentative steps back and quietly let my family know that the coast was clear.
The door slowly creaked open and I walked backwards with my eyes still closed. As best as I could, I rushed inside with Aidy. Bree grabbed her with tears streaming down her face. My father shut the door behind me and I collapsed to the floor, very aware of how close I was to a horrible death.
I didn’t blame my parents for shutting the door; if they hadn’t, we would have all been in danger. They could have seen her or even, God forbid, let her in the house. Still terror was washing over me as I remembered the smell of that breath. I was in complete shock. My parents were hugging me and asking me something but I just couldn’t understand what they were saying. I could hear my sister crying.
My terror returned as I feared for the life of my niece. Had I failed to properly shield her face and in doing so brought a lifeless corpse into the house with me. I looked over and saw a confused little girl standing up being hugged by her shaken mother. I sighed as I realized that I had not failed.
The buzzing in my ears was all I could truly focus on. Was this to be my life? Every year, for the rest of my life would I shrink away from that awful breath and rotten stench? Even if I was never caught outside again, I knew it would forever be in my dreams.
Was this to be the place I would raise my own children? A place so haunted. So… tainted…
Terror like this once a year was not worth anything that could keep me in that God forsaken town. It was one day too many, one day too horrible. No, I could not and would not subject myself or my progeny to such an annual hell.
In that moment, I promised myself that I would be gone before next March. I kept that promise. Any nostalgia or town loyalty that had kept me there had been stripped away by terror.
For 364 days out of the year, Terry Creek was like any small town. But once a year, may God have mercy on the souls of anyone who lay their eyes upon the visage of Catherine Davies… The Burnt Lady.