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from Passing Strange: True Tales of New England Hauntings and Horrors
Danville's Divine Comedy
Four Church deacons, three ministers,
three medical doctors and five others testified as eyewitnesses to this event.
by Joseph A. Citro
Among the ranks of those New Englanders who have returned from the dead is an obscure Vermonter named John P. Weeks.
John P. Weeks died „ but he just wouldn't stay dead. And all the strange events following his demise on July 16, 1838, are true.
To prove it, a corroborating document exists, written in Weeks's own hand. It bears the signatures of thirty-one Vermonters. Fifteen of them were eyewitnesses to the miracle, including four church deacons, three ministers, and three medical doctors.
Even today, townspeople still swear the following events actually happened.
At the time of the marvel, John P. Weeks was a 26-year-old farmer and a lifelong resident of North Danville, Vermont.
In the blistering heat of that fatal summer, Weeks took sick with a painful disease, diagnosed as "inflammation of the bowels," or, as we would call it today, appendicitis.
For six days he writhed on his bed in nearly unbearable agony. Three doctors from the surrounding towns examined him, but offered little optimism. They'd seen the illness before and knew it was usually fatal. There was nothing anyone could do for him.
So day after day, everyone watched as John's misery continued.
His wife, along with their relatives and friends, wept helplessly at his bedside. The doctors tried unsuccessfully to ease his torment while local ministers took turns praying for his soul.
On Saturday, the sixth day of his ordeal, everyone abandoned what little hope they had left. They watched powerlessly as John P. Weeks closed his eyes and faded into unconsciousness.
At last, the stillness of death settled over him.
After the doctor confirmed the bad news, John's family began the process of "laying him out." Some heated water to wash his body, while others began removing his clothing.
You can imagine everyone's surprise when all of a sudden John sat up in bed and called for his pants.
Before the mourners' unbelieving eyes, the dead man climbed out of bed, then walked unsteadily to the door. There he stood transfixed. He seemed to be watching something no one else could see. At length, he raised a hand and began to wave.
* * * * *
In time, Mr. Weeks recovered completely from his illness. He survived two wives, fathered fifteen children, and lived to the age of 70.
Over the years, he told time and again the story of the miracle in which he had participated. He even wrote a narrative account, describing all the things that happened to him between the time the doctor pronounced him dead and the moment he sat up looking for his trousers.
"While I lay in this situation," he wrote, "I looked towards the east door of the house and saw a great reflection of light ... lighter than the sun. I then saw two Angels advancing toward me, and the nearer they came, the brighter they shone.... One of them touched me with his finger and my spirit left my body.... The other angel sat and watched over my body while my spirit was absent from it....
"One of the angels left the house and I followed him, floating in a path of light."
Weeks said that when he looked down at himself, he saw no flesh or blood. All he saw was his own spirit, formed in the familiar shape of his body.
Then he noticed that his angelic guide carried "a small trunk in his arms, about five inches each way." Naturally, John wondered what the mysterious box might contain.
As if he were some Yankee version of Dante Alighieri, Weeks followed the angel through what he called "The Valley of the Shadow of Death."
Looking around in this shadowy, sinister region, Weeks saw "a multitude that no man could number, in a dark, lost condition. They were weeping and wailing and trying to climb out of this place, only to fall back again."
Next, Weeks ascended a bright and glorious path about 3 feet wide, to the land of Paradise. Upon entering, the angel put down the mysterious little box. Weeks expected it might contain a golden crown to be placed upon his head. But the little box remained closed.
Weeks describes "the beautiful plains of Paradise" as only a Vermont farmer might: "The land," he wrote, "is perfectly level, grass perhaps half an inch high, no trees, nor stumps, nor stones."
He went on to discuss the climate, which he says, "was delightful... no clouds, no storms, no winds „ the air neither too hot or too cold, but always agreeable."
The layout of Heaven seems to resemble that of a typical New England small town. In the same way that Vermont has a Danville, a North Danville, West Danville, and South Danville, Weeks's Heaven also is similarly subdivided.
He described a "Second Heaven" that lies to the east of Paradise. East Heaven is filled with genderless angels singing songs of praise.
And, he said, there's even a "Third Heaven," above, but clearly visible from, the Second Heaven. Mostly it's made up of God's golden throne "... ten thousand times brighter than the brightest gold," and more singing angels.
Weeks wanted to stay in Paradise, but, alas, his work on earth was not finished.
Leaving the mysterious little trunk in Heaven, the angel led John back to North Danville. On the way, they detoured through Hell again, just to give him a second glimpse as a reminder. As they watched the tortured throngs, the angel instructed John to be sure to warn all sinners not to come to that place of torment. When John agreed, they headed directly back to earth.
There they found the second angel still watching over John's lifeless body. The angel touched John's body three times and his spirit returned to it. The sensation, John said, was like entering an icy-cold room.
And that was the exact moment John P. Weeks sat up and demanded his pants.
He then rose and walked haltingly to the door, following the two departing angels. They paused at the threshold long enough to assure him he'd get completely well.
Sure enough, John P. Weeks recovered „ just as the angels promised. And he kept his promise to them. He spent the rest of his life telling people about his tour of Heaven and Hell and warning sinners about the hot and hopeless place he had seen on his way from North Danville to Paradise.
"All this is true," Weeks wrote, "and Heaven is my witness."
* * * * *
All true! Maybe.
Real? Certainly. To John P. Weeks the experience was every bit as real as the sickness that brought it about. The episode changed his life, provided a calling for his remaining 44 years.
And when he died for the second, and presumably final, time, I suspect he bypassed the hopeless regions altogether. I have every confidence he soared directly to his little farmhouse on the outskirts of North Heaven where, at long last, he got to examine the contents of that mysterious little box.
Excerpted with permission from Passing Strange: True Tales of New England Hauntings and Horrors.
Joseph A. Citro lives in Burlington, Vt.
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