The Weight of Blood (93)

We’re a small town. Small town, small police force. When we call for backup, we’re calling the state troopers, a good thirty to forty minutes away. With the power out and phones down, I had to floor it to the nearest rest stop to ring them. That was more than enough time for Maddy to burn us all up.

The country club ain’t that far from Main Street. The old train station was built that way on purpose, to attract new settlers. It took Maddy a little over an hour to walk them three-plus miles home.

By the time I brought the cavalry, my station had burned down, along with half the town. Most of the hydrants were bone dry—it’s why the fires ate us up so quick. Maddy’s house was the last to go. Weren’t sure if she was inside or not. Alive or not. And God help me, I was praying for the latter. Lost almost my entire squad that night . . . my youngest boy . . . gone.

It wasn’t some race riot or uprising. Don’t know where them rumors came from, but they need to stop. It was Maddy and Maddy alone that made that train run off the tracks and lick us up good. No one helped her. And ain’t no looting either. No one even had time to run in and grab a loaf of bread, much less steal some flat-screens and fancy purses.

We blocked the street the Washington home was on so them dumb tourists and eager beavers would stop passing through. We’re a town, not a freak show! I ain’t got the manpower to babysit and entertain these yahoos. And we’ve had all kinds of people come sniffing. Witches, ghost and UFO hunters. Matter fact, about a year after it happened, two men came to the station, claiming to be Maddy’s uncles, asking if we’d seen her ’cause they “knew” she was still alive. I told them to get lost!

I regret a lot of things from that night, but my biggest regret was not staying. Maybe things would’ve turned out different. Maybe my boy would still be alive.

FROM THE SWORN TESTIMONY OF JULES MARSHALL

We’ve been doing active shooter drills since the second grade. We’d all seen those PSAs warning us to look out for students who’d been bullied. But Maddy wasn’t bullied. She came into the seventh grade acting strange. Brought all that attention on herself, wearing those weird poodle skirts and that smelly sweater every day. No one did anything to her. She just hated white people. Everyone knew that. Hated us ’cause she wasn’t us, even though she was pretending to be.

Growing up, I learned how to play dead with my brothers. That’s the only reason why I’m still alive. She would’ve killed me. Folks say Black people can’t be racist, but she hated us. You could see it in her eyes.

I don’t know anything about some paint. Yeah, it came from my daddy’s store, but lots of stuff came from my daddy’s store. That doesn’t matter. A little paint doesn’t mean you go killing everybody. Just like when someone gets killed for resisting arrest, you don’t go burning down other people’s businesses. It’s selfish.

Just look at me! Lost my friends, my boyfriend, my arm . . . all thanks to her. I hope she burns in hell. In fact, hell would probably be too good for her.





Twenty-Nine


MADDY DID IT

EPISODE 12

“There Are No Winners Here”

Michael: So, Tanya. It’s our last episode. For now, at least. And I don’t know if I’m more anxious or curious to hear your final thoughts.

Tanya: It’s hard to form any sort of rational conclusion. What we’re missing here is forensic evidence. Statistical and analogical analysis. The type of data we’re working with is anecdotal at best. Observations from witnesses during a traumatic encounter, strong opinions without supported facts or even logic . . .

Michael: But you can’t boil this down to hearsay and mass delusion?

Tanya: Alright. Let’s say I do believe that Prom Night happened the way everyone says it did and that Maddy is, in fact, very much still alive. The fact remains that she was an innocent bystander in a long overdue comeuppance for a town holding on to outdated ideologies. And instead of holding the community at large accountable for their actions, everyone has continued to place blame on the greatest victim, creating a monster out of a young girl and using her legacy as a scapegoat to avoid self-reflection. The very title of this podcast, Maddy Did It, shows a lack of understanding of the consequences of one’s actions. To me, Maddy didn’t do anything. So whether she was a witch or not, alive or not, is inconsequential to the larger issue at hand.

Michael: Which is?

Tanya: Mike, when we first met and I had never heard of the massacre, you pitched it as more of a paranormal phenomenon. That Maddy had superhero-esque capabilities. But what you unconsciously left out is how societal racism played a large role in the incident. Which, as a white man, would be rather typical. Even if we took race off the table, identity would still be at play. Because if she had been who she was meant to be from the start, if she’d been allowed to just be herself, in fact if everyone involved was allowed to be their true authentic selves without fear of recourse or ridicule, none of this would have ever happened.

Michael: Wow. I guess I never really thought of it like that.

Tanya: So how about it? What did you actually learn from all this?

Michael: Me? I . . . I’m not sure.

Tanya: Mike, you’ve spent years obsessing about this one girl. In a perfect world, what outcome did you expect?

Michael: Well, I guess I expected or wanted . . . confirmation. I wanted to show the world that she was real. That her power existed.