Close your eyes and rest your thoughts for a moment if you will, and hark back with us to a simpler time. Victorian England, late nineteenth-century, in the year 1898, to be precise. This was a most wondrous time indeed, full of mysticism, spirituality, innovation, and a great many new things.                                               

Just as some things change, many others remain the same; such were the way of things on the outskirts of Denby, a quaint rural village northwards up the map in the English countryside. Far removed from the ruckus and clutter of a London, Birmingham or Manchester, a select sampling of this populace was steeped in a heavily and far-reaching rooted tradition that had changed little in hundreds of years. Oblivious, indifferent, and frankly uninterested in the modern hustle and bustle, this slice of the citizenry were very keen on just who they were, what they were doing and where they were going, a peace of mind and comfort they held near and dear to their hearts. Most importantly, they knew what they believed in.

     If you cross through the meadows you will find a very old church, with its stone foundation weathering away but remaining intact and supportive of the wooden structure and bell tower that rise thirty-five feet into the cool, whispering winds of the English sky. This church houses the subjects of interest, a very devout group of followers, all of them (well, a good many of them) hard working, faithful, good mannered and God-fearing in their daily activities.

     As much needed renovations for the bell tower begin on the hill outside of the church, digging uncovers something quite unexpected, as underneath they find the ground sealed and encased in stone. Further investigation reveals that the stone is not the surface, but is serving as a rooftop, leading to the realization that a chamber had been connected to the church, having been built into the hill. As the parties at play begin debating what this chamber was used for, the dominant theory prevailing as the group consensus is that it was most likely a tomb. For what purpose it had been concealed and left to rot, whether it intentional disuse, simple neglect, or reasons unexplained, shall remain hidden for the moment, cloaked in mystery. There exist no records or personal witnesses able to recount the reasoning buried away in order to shed light on this question mark, which is about to be opened. The churchgoers are soon about to learn a valuable lesson, that being that it is not always wise to dig up the past, as things are often buried or concealed away for a reason...

2: Prologue

Those that disrupt the rest of the dead may subject themselves to awakening the spirits from their slumber, at least this sentiment is embodied in various cultures the world over, although more often serving as a showing of respect as opposed to a warning. Rest assured, the good people of Denby are not on the precipice of unearthing any ghosts or monsters. What they are on the cusp of is something potentially greater and more powerful, something quite miraculous. The term ‘miracle’ has been stained and weathered to the point that the clear definition has lost its impactful bite. Just as often, anything deemed to be in the domain of the miraculous is dismissed, explained by a lack of understanding.                                  

However, not every phenomenon can be decoded and elucidated to the point of being gift wrapped and packaged with a tidy bow for public consumption. When careful study yields uncertain conclusions dressed along with a want of logic, the battle lines between the rational and the ignorant are drawn—-although what side each flag is on is just as clouded and murky as the overarching mystery. The good people of Denby have just dug themselves into such a quandary...

3: Chapter 2

The chamber door, consisting of a large slab of stone is removed in due time, revealing what all had suspected lay inside of the hidden lair, a mausoleum protruding from the white and weathered stone. As the churchgoing sleuths equip themselves with candlelight, easing into the dankness and the darkness, they find what they believe to be the lord of the manor, a former church leader buried in the center of the chamber, perhaps the founder. Surrounding him alongside of his final resting place stand several tall candle frames, housing candles that had glowed their final blaze of light and conducted their last transfer of heat and warmth many moons and sermons ago.

     Of greater vested interest to the tomb raiders are the other objects strewn about, as the chamber is filled with a Pope’s ransom of religious artifacts. Included in the collection are various crucifixes, built from an array of materials consisting of wood, copper, bronze, and gold. Portraits and paintings that appear to be many centuries old are gathered in a pile, stacked from the floor to the ceiling depicting various biblical scenes, most notably representing the stations of the cross. Alongside of them rests an assortment of vintage stained-glass windows, beautifully decorated and superbly crafted with every color of the rainbow. Sculpting is another art that happens to be represented in the find, as various statues of angels and cherubs align the casket, accompanied by the most majestic piece of artwork in this mausoleum that could pass for a museum—looming large is a life size statue of the Virgin Mary, serving as both a centerpiece of the burial chamber as well as eliciting a powerful protecting force and guardian spirit.

     In order to keep weekly churchgoers from disturbing and disrupting the serenity and order of the find, access to the chamber is strictly forbidden for the time being, pending proper investigative analysis. Not all is fool proof, and the good intention of the church leadership is no exemption.          

     The next day, some members of the congregation enter the chamber and look upon the Statue of the Virgin Mary, only today something is different--something is divine. On this day her porcelain face is sporting a new feature, as a misty deposit of tears have leaked from her eyes, gathering on her cheeks. Only these are far from ordinary tears of salt, these happen to be tears of blood...

     Unable to explain the phenomenon, the churchgoers find themselves with no alternatives apart from one possible explanation, they believe this to be nothing short of a sign from above. Word spreads quickly, as everyone in the congregation comes to experience the miracle, along with a great deal of others from Denby and the nearby countryside, as well as some from throughout England, Scotland, Wales, a collection of believers from all across the Kingdom whom have traveled from far away to catch a glimpse for themselves.

Playing outside in the rollicking meadows one morning following the completion of Sunday services are a group of children, masquerading like combatants, space explorers, mutants, some combination of the above or something else all together. Noticing that the forbidden chamber door had been left open and with no one around, the children disengage and take a detour that will remove them from their harmless frolic as they venture inside of the tomb. Imaginations soaring as they play and skip merely about from one item to the next, examining it with the wonder and astonishment that generally only comes from the eye of a child—-although in this case, the elders examined the lost treasures in the room with an equal or possibly greater than level of amazement.

     Fun and games and breaking the rules go together like ice cream and sprinkles, as the children eagerly break the fifth commandment in order to engage in the sweet tasty fruits of trouble. Picking up the various crosses, portraits and small statues for a closer inspection, the fun and games are shattered, coming to an abrupt halt when a member of the congregation returns to the tomb, ordering-—well, a more fitting and accurate portrayal was that they were ‘screaming and demanding,’ that the children carefully let go and set down the objects and vacate the chamber at once.

     Three nights later, following the end of Wednesday evening Mass, the five children that had dared break protocol have gathered in the back of the church, assembled to converse and play in lighthearted fashion, when an adult notices something peculiar-—one of the children has swollen cheeks that are bleeding. The children are chastised and punished for fighting, as the adults believe that the physical evidence of a swollen jaw and minor laceration are no more than an unsolicited exhibit of youthful fisticuffs. (Note to children, sometimes the adults not only are not always right, sometimes they are not the smartest in any given room as well). Thinking nothing of it, the families of Denby make their way into the night, returning home.

     Within hours, at approximately the same time throughout the village, the residents of five homes are awakened from the peaceful snooze of the night. The five children whom had been playing inside of the chamber on the previous Sunday each wake up telling their parents how they feel strange, a unique tingling sensation running throughout their bodies, coursing through their veins, each child equipped with heavy jaws and a dash of blood on their cheeks.

Religious symbolism and sacred artifacts, there must be an association between the children playing with them inside of the hallowed chamber, only to each develop a sensation and mark of blood on their cheeks, followed by the Holy Virgin Mary weeping tears of blood. These were the only children to be ‘blessed,’ in bearing forth the marks. This extremely surreal and mystical chronology of events leads the church to easily shake off any reasonable doubts of coincidence, declaring in one united voice, that this was nothing less than a second miracle.                     

From the crying statue to the stigmata, a miraculous sign of divinity bearing the wounds of Christ displayed on the cheeks of each of the five children that played amidst the holy sacraments blessed with the hand of God, the entirety of the congregation is convinced.

“Fear not, for our children have been blessed with the touch of God! The wounds of the cheeks bearing stigmata not of the marks of nails, but alas marks of the crown of thorns placed upon the head of Christ!” declares Father Arthur Fletcher, the leader of the church to his congregation regarding the miracle at hand, explaining the profound and glorious stigmata.

Attendance soars to the point that the church must now give three sermons the following Sunday, and tally an additional one each Saturday evening. The chamber becomes a shrine, and donations towards the church and the bell tower flourish as the magnitude of this little old church in the English countryside rises in prominence in stature alongside the likes of Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, Stonehenge, or any other iconic location in the entirety of Brittania. Queen Victoria herself is said to be in the works of planning a visit.

     Few things in life are as good as they seem, and the celebration proves to be short lived, as the affected children began exhibiting further non-pleasantries. The three lads and two lassies awake from sleep in a pool of sweat, shivering, aching, burning up from fever, and complaining and crying from this, that and the other.

     “The touch of God does bring with it some side effects, just as we encounter them in our daily lives. Fear not, in time they will pass as the body cleanses the impurities from its system. Not to say they are beleaguered by any unwanted evil, for any mere mortal would feel painful just sensing a sliver of the power of our heavenly father,” evokes the words of Father Fletcher.

     Unfortunately, the afflicted are not able to simply listen to the words and praise of the congregation, as standing strong and tall in the heat of the ordeal has left four of the five bedridden, with one soon to follow. The symptoms that had once ranged merely at painful have since risen to excruciating. They all felt sick, abhorrently ill, more ghastly and fiendish than any strain of influenza, and each had swollen lymph nodes and jaws that had turned to decrepit black, which oozed a trickle of blood, as if their faces were boils ready to explode with the slightest touch. The families begged the church to seek outside assistance, telling of the foul misery suffered by their children, speaking to the congregation of each distasteful detail, from the fevers, delusions, blackened faces and incessant vomiting.

     With nowhere to turn for help, the church reluctantly sets doctrine aside, bringing in an outsider for the sake of the children’s health. Called in is a young doctor by the name of William Hudolin, a man born, raised and residing in Denby, however he was from the far end of town so to speak, given that he was not entirely familiar with the ways of the congregation. Briefed of the ‘Touch of God’ miracle, Dr. Hudolin maintains a healthy amount of skepticism in the wake of the information, much to the chagrin of the church. It is while making his visits that he discovers something very wrong, as the doctor is horrified at the conditions of the children. Following an examination of the burial chamber and its contents, he gathers the parents, church leaders, and Father Fletcher to inform them of his findings.

“I haven not the faintest of what amounts to a miracle and what does not, that is not of my training, and goes beyond my education and jurisdiction. This chamber was concealed for roughly a century from the looks of it, and many items inside are much older than that. Your congregation may have been the first human beings to enter in many a year, but they were not the only living creatures to do so. Whether it be via pipes or natural topographical means, rats have been dwelling in this chamber, and they have been there for quite some time,” explains Dr. Hudolin.

     “What do rats have to do with the stigmata?” asks a parent.

     “Four years ago, it was discovered that there is a variation of a black rat that attracts fleas, carrying them, they bite the rats and ingest from the host the bacteria, Yersinia Pestis leading to the disease that your children have been afflicted with--the Bubonic Plague,” explains Dr. Hudolin.

4: Chapter 3

 

“Dr. Hudolin, we have had people come from near and far, we have raised thousands of pounds, a great deal of which has gone to aid charitable purposes. This holy shrine is blessed. Against all of that, you wish us to close it down?” asks Father Fletcher, a sentiment echoed by other church leaders.

     “Countless others may have been exposed to the bacteria. The charitable thing to do would be to take measures to prevent anyone else from growing ill!” demands Dr. Hudolin.

“This is preposterous, the plague? That existed in medieval times, we live in modern and sophisticated times, let me remind you that we are on the cusp of the twentieth century, the age of barbarism is dead! Just because your London-based devil thinking ilk do not respect our countryside church does not mean that we practice medievalism!” demands an outraged parent.

     “For the record, I am a Denby man. I am here to help your children. Please, I do not wish to bring harm, I am a doctor, a man of medicine, not a man of philosophy or theology, as I have explained that is your domain, and I wish not to trespass or interfere within it,” he explains.

     For all of the petty arguments and fighting that is done every day, it is amazing how humans will stand united and come together to support, protect, and defend a common interest from a common enemy. Innocent children suffering from a relatively unknown illness will often rally the troops to that effect.

     Asked whether the children are in mortal danger, Dr. Hudolin simply explains that the children must be hospitalized immediately. Diagnosing them with the rare bubonic plague, Hudolin does all he can to research the fabled pestilence that had not been seen in this particular area in at least a century and a half. Wide outbreaks of the Black Death had been common across Britain from the Middle Ages through the renaissance, and in sporadic cases through about 1750.

     At roughly the same time that the children were transported to a hospital, Dr. Hudolin sent two men into the countryside church to investigate the chamber. It is not entirely known how the transmission occurred, with the two hypothesizing that a nest of rats may have thrived underneath the chamber for roughly a century, allowing the fleas to thrive in close quarters. Most likely, when the religious artifacts were laid to rest, they were stored not only with the dead church leader, but with something living. Infected fleas may have inhabited the cozy chamber, and it is believed that the warm temperatures and humidity allowed bacteria to somehow survive in the vicinity, even if there were limited hosts to feed off of.

     Speaking of the humidity, a careful investigation in the chamber reveals a new theory about the crying Virgin Mary statue. The two later explain to Dr. Hudolin that although they did not wish to spend any more time than necessary in the potentially dangerous burial chamber, they believe that during construction of the new bell tower, which involved digging and abrasion of the stone ceiling, that it was punctured somehow, springing a leak. Rainwater washed through the ground, and combined with the humidity below, caused the misty dew to appear on the statute. As for the blood red color, such could be explained by the rainwater running through the soil, into the clay and dirt of the Earth, gathering dust and other chemical agents and slipping through the weathered ceiling onto the contents below.

     Visually disappointed by the findings of the team discrediting and discounting the ‘miracle’ of the statue, Father Fletcher at this point has but one concern upon entering the hospital, the health of the five children.

     “They are not doing well. They are fighting, and I would wish to think they have a punchers chance, but I have to be honest here. Upon closer inspection, three of the children have acquired the bubonic plague. The mortality rate of this specific branch of the plague is not nearly as high as that for the pneumonic or septicemia variations of plague,” explains Dr. Hudolin.

“Two of the children though do appear to have acquired the pneumonic variety, which has about an eighty percent mortality rate. However, young patients such as the infected children generally have weaker immune defense systems than adults and as a result face much steeper odds. The gravest realization of all, is that once symptoms have been persistent for days and have reached this level of severity, well...the mortality rate would be roughly eighty five to ninety five percent, and that is placing it on the mild side.”

     “So that is it, every fiber of your training and knowledge suggests that they are all going to die?” asks Fletcher.

     “We are doing all that we can to stop the infection. You must do your part and close the chamber immediately. Given how the children contracted the bacteria, it may very well be air born, and there most likely are some infected fleas carrying it inside the dark corners of that room as well,” replies Dr. Hudolin.

“It has been closed, and I can assure you Dr. Hudolin, those doors will remain sealed. If you would accept my apology for my brashness and lack of tact towards your theory, I would be greatly humbled,” responds Fletcher.

“No need to apologize Father Fletcher. From the research we have been able to dig up on the subject in order to enlighten us, we have learned a great deal. See, we are not used to encountering any variation of plague in our daily practice. What we do know is that the disease has progressed to an advanced state. The lymph nodes and buboes on all five patients are swollen and highly infectious. The lymph infection has led to gangrene in the cheeks of some, gangrene in the extremities of others,” replies Dr. Hudolin.

“Dear God almighty. Can you remove the affected limbs?” asks Fletcher.

“At this point, we see little reason to put these children through any more agony. The parents have been ordered to keep their distance, given the highly infectious and contagious nature of the disease. All signs indicate that the end is nigh, we simply cannot stop the advancement, and the disease is expected to cause respiratory failure or cardiac arrest within the night. Again, we are doing all that we can, but I would imagine that at this stage, you and your congregation have a greater chance of saving them through prayer. Traditionally I am not one to entertain spewing forth ridiculous pun, but these children need a miracle,” reveals Dr. Hudolin.

     The congregation joins the affected families as they gather to spread their thoughts and sympathy, praying inside of the church that evening. Following a candlelight vigil, the members depart for the night, hoping against all odds for the best, but fearing for the worst. Back in the hospital, the children are put to bed that night with doctors unaware of whether they will survive the night. Father Fletcher remains at the bedside of the children, unfazed by the inherit risks of acquiring the disease himself.

     At approximately 7:00 the next morning, Dr. Hudolin enters the secluded portion of the hospital that has been placed under quarantine. Examining the children, all five are accounted for and in good spirits, and to his astonishment and bewilderment, Dr. Hudolin discovers that the symptoms of three of the children have dissipated quite rapidly as they have reacted favorably to the treatment.

     “It’s working, Father Fletcher wake up, the treatment is working, they are responding well!” declares Dr. Hudolin to the sleeping Fletcher, slumped over in his chair.

Gone are the nausea and malaise, the bleeding and coughing, as the sputtering of blood has ceased in each of the patients. Only slight discomfort in the form of a mild headache is present, as the fevers, which had hovered in the 103-degree range, have dropped steadily, from 101, to 100, and before long breaking under 99. The swelling has diminished as the bodies natural defense system, in conjunction with the strictly experimental medicine, leads its charge in the counterattack against the infection. The gangrenous nature on the fingers and cheeks is much less pronounced, eventually relenting and leaving mere scars in its wake.

     As Dr. Hudolin sits down besides one of the lads, the one whom was first diagnosed with the plague, the boy begins to speak. “I knew that I would get better. I have the touch of God after all.”

     Placing his hand on the boy’s forehead, Dr. Hudolin cracks a joyous laugh. “You do, you absolutely do, you are right. There really was a miracle here.”

     In time, all five patients would completely recover from their bout with the bubonic. Seeking out Father Fletcher, Dr. Hudolin has a brief exchange with the church leader. “It is I who must apologize this time, as I did not believe. In the darkest moments, I had lost any and all hope. Regarding my comments in the hospital, what was said, was said in jest. Please forgive me.”

     “Your job is to practice medicine, not to pray at all hours of the day. You saved lives, you did your job,” declares Father Fletcher patting the doctor on the chest...

“Jon, do you believe in God?” Hudolin asks the senior physician of the hospital later that day.

     “Yes, I suppose so. Not a bad time to pray if that is what you’re getting at,” he replies.

     “I was just thinking, is all,” explains Hudolin.

Slowly nodding, the senior physician removes his glasses and looks out the window.                                   

“I believe that I read you loud and clear. You wonder how any sane God could infect five children with a dreaded illness from the Dark Ages, while murderers and treasonous mutinous pirates somehow roam free, undaunted, unpunished. At least, such is what I presume is racing around in your brain,” he responds.

     “Let me tell you, I am no man of alchemy. I am a man of medicine, but I have picked up on a great many a thing in my forty-five years as a physician. How could God let things happen such as this? Because if there is a God, how could he not allow it to happen, think about that for a moment if you will. Free will is the only answer that survives an application of scrutiny. Life is much like...well, that game of Baseball you hold dear. God drew up the rules and provided us the equipment. In the beginning, at least of mankind, he declared, “play ball! Only he does not serve as the umpire or as the club manager, with regards to discussing strategy, planning or making adjustments. Rather, he spends his time like a club owner, abstaining from the spotlight and remaining hidden in the shadows, leaving us to do as we please, to confront conflict and struggle and manage it ourselves”.       

“Whether he holds the power to see the future, I would argue that he likely does know, but where is the fun in that? He may choose to let life play out before his eyes, much like a spectator taking in a theatre production on a Saturday afternoon, it would be much more entertaining that way anyhow. If he knew every damn thing every damn time, what would be the damn point?” concludes the senior physician.

     “So you don’t believe he stepped in?” asks Dr. Hudolin.

“No. I do not believe that he circumnavigates daily life in order to protect us from any and all harm at all times. Still, he likely does direct carriage traffic when a situation arises that calls for it,” replies the head doctor. “Whether his will was present here, well, I will allow you to be the judge of that one,” explains the senior physician.

     Days later, Dr. Hudolin, although not a religious man in his own right, returns to the church, where he takes a stroll through the rows of pews and looks around. It is empty inside of this minor cathedral on this Tuesday, but oddly enough, he does not feel alone. 

“Thank you,” he says aloud, turning his attention upwards, not towards the ceiling but towards the heavens...

5: Epilogue

The natural and the supernatural are concepts that serve as antonyms and opposites. Although not quite befitting the Victorian Era as much as today, the fields of science and concepts of religion often clash. They are not mutually exclusive from each other, and they can work in concert, symphony or cooperation. There is no law, theory or doctrine calling for such segregation.

     Miracles do happen every day, although they do not happen in burial chambers, or on a statue, or on the face of a child. When they do come, they come not with the fanfare and fireworks of a corporate commercialized sponsorship, but more along the lines of a silent, anonymous donation. They come from the heart, and are delivered from beyond, sometimes when all hope was believed to have been lost, but only to be fulfilled.

 

END