‘‘The Dread Body of Westing Hills’ may well be gone by the time these words reach publication, but the attraction (if the word can be said to apply) is included for its present effect upon the Wayside and the tension that has risen between those who dwell there.
Unlike much of the Wayside, ‘The Body’ is relatively easy to spot by those who seek it. In the historical Westing Hills neighborhood, on the corner of Madison and 5th, it looks as though a man is napping in the grass, head resting upon arm and torso well into the drainage ditch behind. In reality, the man is quite dead and has been so for some time- long enough that one feels no compulsion to check vitals for confirmation. That the man rots is not a debatable point but that the body was once a man is fiercely contested by those who wander near.
For all ‘The Body’ is theoretically visible and for all it should provoke fear or repulsion in those who pass it in the course of their daily lives, one feels a sense of justice in sighting the corpse’s sad state. Most ignore it- a thing that exists only in the peripheries, that warrants no attention. Having seen ‘The Body,’ a witness finds it difficult to muster the initiative to call the police and the police, when called, do nothing. One struggles to name it any other thing but an object.
‘The Dread Body of Westing Hills’ is to rot on the street, it seems, protected by magic or destiny or compelled indifference. It does not resist covering, but those who hide it face backlash from those who believe the Wayside should be left in its natural state. For every hand that draws tarp across ‘The Body’ there is another that peels it from the rot. For every attempt to push ‘The Body’ further into the ditch, there is another to drag it onto the sidewalk. In response to a video of an unknown visitor closing the man’s eyes, ‘The Body’s’ eyelids have gone missing, confirming, for many, that something remains nearby (further in the peripheries, perhaps) to mete out the punishment in its own, patient way.’
‘The Body’ is still rotting when I find it. Its skin is largely unbroken but it roils with insects. It hardly smells until I stand over it, at which point the stench becomes unbearable. Whatever maintains the man’s sight must preserve its whole, drawing out the long decomposition. I slop gasoline at ‘The Body’ from a careful distance, eyeing the street, the trees, the windows of nearby houses. Nobody moves to stop me.
The Stranger earmarked ‘The Body’ for burning and his reasoning was sound. Having studied the margins of his book, I realize the Stranger’s reasoning was well-considered and, when I arrived at the corner of Madison and 5th, I never doubted that this was a thing that should be finished.
The corpse goes up in flames, hissing and cracking and curling in upon itself. It warms a cool autumn evening and casts my dancing shadow into the street. When it’s near embers, passersby finally begin to see it.
Sirens in the distance.
-Traveler
