Under the Cold House

Eliza Ferguson had been sent down to the Cold House for the last mason jar of fig preserves from the previous summer.

It was the third of March, and the south Mississippi weather was beginning to warm, but Eliza shivered as she stepped down into the perpetual cold. She pulled her coarse knit sweater closer. Even her lantern seemed to burn cooler down here. The air smelled of wet sawdust and roots.

When Isiah Ferguson, Micah Sessums, and Samuel Fairley had pooled their fortunes to build the railroad Cold House near Winsome Creek, they agreed on one thing: good fences make good neighbors, and each family would keep its secrets—and its lock room—separate.

But this day the Sessums lock room stood open and Eliza Ferguson heard crying.

She pushed the door wider.

Micah’s wife, Sarah Sessums, sat in a dark pool on the floor, her dress soaked with blood. She lolled against a stack of crates.

A tiny thing lay against her breast, wrapped in a white Fairley christening gown. For a moment Eliza thought it was a baby.

Then it moved… wrongly…

“Mrs. Sarah… What on earth…”

Sarah looked up.

“…liza—don’t…” the Sessums matriarch slurred.

Eliza saw blood on Sarah’s hands. One side of her bodice was torn away, and the little creature rooted blindly against her, making a wet, slurping sound.

Sarah’s eyes filled with tears.

“M— was… hungry.”

Eliza stared at the thing.

“That’s a baby?”

“No.” Sarah shook her head.

Eliza took a step backward.

The creature made a clicking noise and tightened its tiny fingers in the Fairley gown. Something clicked, seemingly in response, beneath the stack of crates.

Sarah smoothed the christening gown over the creature, leaving a smear of dark blood. 

“What is it?” Eliza asked. 

Sarah’s eyes drooped closed. 

“It’s a Sessums.”