It was the 23rd day of October, 2010, and fall had come to "New Awlins". He shivered as he entered the bayou this cold and eerie night. The sights and sounds in the darkness surrounded him as he entered the grove of trees. He was frightened but, clutching his offering closer to his chest, he continued on, knowing his reward was just ahead. The moon had been bright when he entered, but was now blocked by a canopy of green. He could hear the inhabitants of the bayou as well as other sounds - sounds he did not want to hear! He had to get through. He wandered through the trees and into the swampy marsh that was home to savage alligators and untold faceless creatures. The cold, damp air seemed to breathe with him as the trees reached out to snare his clothing. He would not be stopped; he must make it to his destination. He hurried along as invisible fingers searched for his ankles. He fought the urge to turn back, for he needed this experience to make him worthy to the others. Unthinkable scenes played themselves in his mind, frightening him even more. The swamp was timeless. How long had he been there? When would it end?
Off in the distance was a light signaling the end of his torture. His reward was in sight as he hurried past the remains of the less fortunate who had trekked before him. He was focused only on the path ahead. He was almost there and he began to shiver. Suddenly, and without warning, the trees cleared and he found himself amid creatures large and small, this color and that. Some so disfigured they were hardly recognizable as human; others laughed and mocked him as his shocked gaze met their glowing eyes. As he passed by, the creatures reached out for him, trying to take his offering, but he had not yet made it to the end of his journey. He must endure.
The sights and sounds continued to confuse him, but he knew he would understand shortly. Very soon, it would all become clear, and he would know that he belonged here and that, in mere moments, he would be one of the ones jeering and mocking the newcomers. He finally reached his destination, his offering was taken from him and he was accepted into to the realm of the 11th Annual RiceBaum Halloween Gala!
She was so excited. For years she tried to convince her husband that they needed to move to the big city. For years she had to sacrifice the one thing she loved. For years she had to do without. But not anymore. Here they were, getting ready to move to the nice big city of Champaign. All the years they lived in the “nice”, “quiet”, “peaceful” town of Montessouri she was miserable. They had sold their house they lived in for 20 years and tomorrow would be in Champaign.
She could barely contain her excitement as she finished packing her kitchen. She thought of the discussion she had with her husband only 6 months ago. She convinced him they needed to move to the bigger city for many reasons: Healthcare being one of them; if anything happened to them they would have to drive the 40 minutes to a well-equipped hospital; then it was how the property values were dropping in Montessouri and they would never get the money out of their house that they had put into it. Surprisingly, however, the convincing argument was that they had bigger garages in Champaign. Yes, that was the clincher. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of that before.
Earlier on in their marriage when they were very young, her husband, Thomas, wanted to build a haunted house in his garage and scare the neighborhood. He drew up plans, got prices on building materials, and spent hours dreaming about it and discussing it with anyone who would listen. The problem was his garage was just not big enough. They didn’t have big garages in Montessouri as the houses were older and smaller. He finally gave up his dream and settled into their everyday life. She hated Montessouri. Everyone knew everyone and everyone knew your business. She had a part of her life that she couldn’t share with anyone. She had to put that away too as long as they were Montessouri residents.
But no more! She couldn’t sleep, she barely ate and she sang and hummed as she packed up the house. He was outside packing up the outside and garage. The truck would be here tomorrow, then they could both live their dreams. Her mouth watered.
Two weeks later they were in their new house and she had unpacked nearly every box they brought. It was August and Thomas had a lot to do. He wanted his haunted house open for business this Halloween. He had his plans out on the dining room table, his credit card in his hand and was looking for his car keys. It was really going to happen. She was finally going to have a child.
Oh no, not that. She never wanted children - not in the maternal sense anyway, but for the past several years she thought of having a child every day. A girl…… No, a boy…… both? That was too much to wish for. She would start out with whichever one came along, at this point she was not going to be picky. You see, she was a witch. Yes, a broom riding, spell casting, hair on the chin (she tweezed twice a day) child eating witch. Her name was Hilda. Her husband called her Hilly. She came from a long line of Brumhildas dating back centuries. She was not immortal but she did age extremely slowly. However, without her main diet staple her aging was becoming more apparent, but that would soon come to an end. It was a good thing because Thomas was over 50 so she had to look relatively the same age. But she was ok with the thought that she would look just as she does today for at least 10 more years. She was very okay with that.
She claimed one corner of Thomas’ garage. She assured him she would help him decorate it for the haunted house, but she wanted one tiny part of his three car garage. He couldn’t understand why she wanted to keep her dressing mirror in her newly acquired corner, but figured that was her business. Hilly didn’t always make sense to him, but he loved her and had stood beside her when she told him she was unable to have children. They got through that hurdle by acquiring 3 black cats. Hilly had an uncanny ability to find homeless black cats and always wanted to protect them. She reasoned that children often were mean to black cats, especially in the fall when Halloween rolled around. She named them Hexx, Jynx, and Curseval. He just shook his head. He did that a lot when it came to Hilly.
They worked and worked; Hilly in the house most of the time and Thomas in the garage. She did develop an interest in the garage project as September turned into October. He was glad for the company and the help as the leaves turned from green to orange, yellow and red and the temperatures began to drop. She often brought him a cup of coffee and they sat and talked about his ideas to scare the neighborhood children.
It was very exciting for Hilly as the youngsters in the neighborhood came by and asked what they were doing. When Thomas told them his plan they would ask hundreds of questions: “Will there be clowns?” “Will there be real monsters?” “What kind of candy are you giving out?” and on and on. He enjoyed talking to them and their parents when they happened by. Hilly had to go into the house as she found it hard to keep from drooling when she saw the wee ones.
She carefully and lovingly polished her mirror when Thomas was around. When Thomas was gone, she turned around and backed through the mirror entering her private chamber where she conducted spells, read her “recipe” books and prepared for Halloween night. There was a lot to do. She had to collect a certain type of wood for the cauldron to boil over; she had to gather many different herbs and spices to simmer for hours prior to actually getting the child into the pot. Thomas was home at the moment so she polished the wood and cleaned the glass with a soft cloth before going back into the house. She smiled as she saw her reflection. Soon. Soon. Was what she told herself.
Thomas was practically in a panic and working in the garage day and night, stopping only to come in for meals Hilly prepared for him. He had asked her to help him get the final preparations made and she could not refuse as her excitement far exceeded his, but he was oblivious to her as he ran around as if his hair was ablaze covering every inch of his space in black fabric and cob webs. She helped him as well as she could, but often just felt as if she were in his way. Her moral support seemed sufficient most of the time.
She offered to run errands for him when he became low on screws, staples, etc. She said she had some errands of her own to do and would be gone most of the day. He was distracted and barely heard her. He made the list of what he needed, including sizes, types and textures of the items he needed. She made her own list of things to pick up, but hers could not be found in a store in town. She put her gardening boots in the car and left the house.
She returned several hours later with everything on both lists. She had to trudge around in the damp woods near the river to find everything she needed, but she knew it would be worth the effort. She went into the garage, handed Thomas his bag from the hardware store, kissed him on the cheek and hummed as she went back into the house. Thomas stopped for a moment and thought he hadn’t seen Hilly in such a good mood in quite some time; he was glad they made the move.
Thomas was on the roof making some final preparations and Hilly backed into her mirror entering her chamber. She started the low flame yesterday and the special broth was starting to warm up. She added some of the herbs she had picked earlier and used the large oar sized spoon to stir things up a bit, careful not to bruise the herbs. She added a few wild mushrooms, some weird looking thing she found attached to a tree – hoping it wasn’t animal feces of some type – and took a deep breath. It wasn’t ready to taste yet, but just smelling the warm, wild, musty smell of the broth made her drool. She wiped her chin, realized she hadn’t tweezed yet today, laughed out loud and backed back into the garage.
Today was the day. Thomas was so excited, Hilly was so excited and the neighborhood children were so excited. It was going to be a great day. Before she knew it, it was time to put on her hat and greet the children. Thomas would be inside the haunted house frightening the people who went through so she would be outside talking with all the neighbors about what an amazing thing this was. She gave most of the credit to Thomas, but took a bit for herself since, after all, it was her idea to move here.
She waited for her chance; but it never came. The children all came in groups and many parents came with them. She never once got an opportunity to snatch one of the little darlings and take them into her chamber. She heard screams, held trick or treat bags, gave out candy, guessed outlandish costumes and admonished teen agers for not putting any effort into their costumes. She enjoyed herself, but was becoming agitated and fearful that she would not have her just rewards.
It was getting late and the line of people in line for the haunted house was getting shorter and shorter. A police car drove by and waved, which indicated trick or treat was just about over. She felt a bit of panic in her stomach when she looked one way then the other up then down the street and saw no one, it was over. All the preparations and all the anticipation was for nothing. She took off her hat and was just about to give up when she saw a small figure walking down the street. She wondered if it was a child, it could be a child, but what would a child be doing out this late by itself? Who cares? If it was a child it was hers. She watched in anticipation as the shape came closer. It stopped at a house down the street, gave the standard “Trick or Treat” greeting to the homeowner, received its candy and walked down the driveway. The shape was moving incredibly slowly and Hilly was about to lose her mind.
She stood stick-still as she watched the shape progress down the street. As it got closer Hilly realized it was a girl. Ooh, yum, a girl. Her mouth began to water. A little fat on the bones would make the broth so delicious, the slight crisp of the skin. Hilly began to lose sight of what was ahead of her by thinking about the delicious stew she was about to enjoy. The child seemed to be taunting her, they made eye contact once as she walked up a driveway several houses from Hilly’s. Hilly was becoming agitated and annoyed which took away from her excitement of her impending meal.
It seemed like hours before the shape arrived. Hilly saw that she was, in fact, a girl but she had no idea what her costume was. It seemed a bit military, but somewhat medieval at the same time. There were athletic attributes, but also a gypsy attribute or two. The girl looked at her from under her wide brimmed hat and seemed to have be almost smiling at Hilly. Hilly explained to her that the “monsters” working in the haunted house had gone in for the night, but that she would be happy to take her through. The girl agreed after saying that she was not afraid to go through by herself and would just meet Hilly back here. Hilly insisted she accompany the youngster through the haunted house. At that the girl shrugged her shoulders, put her trick or treat bag on her shoulder and walked in through the plastic flap. Hilly followed, careful to keep adequate space between her and her dinner.
Thomas did a good job on making the haunted house spooky and even Hilly jumped a time or two at her reflection in a cracked mirror and an animatronic that make the girl jump. Hilly was shaking with anticipation as they neared her corner of the garage and the mirror which was covered in sheered fabric to make it look old and ugly. As the girl reached the mirror and stopped to look at her reflection Hilly made her move. She grabbed the child by her shoulders, turned her around so that her back side was reflecting and shoved her through. The girl made no sound as she tumbled into Hilly’s secret chamber.
Hilly peered around the dark garage to make sure that no one – man nor beast – was watching her. She lifted her dress from around her ankles, turned around and backed through the mirror. She seemed to trip when she lifted her second foot and fell flat on her back inside the chamber. She lay on the floor, stunned for just a second, and began to get up. Only when she tried, she couldn’t move. She was very confused. What happened? She looked up into the darkened chamber, illuminated only by the fire under the cauldron and saw the shape of the girl standing beside her.
She attempted to move again, but was unable to. Then something dropped onto her and it felt like acid on her skin. She didn’t know what was happening. Then the girl spoke. “Having a hard time getting up? Possibly because you are lying in a pile of salt. Does your skin burn a little? Probably the vinegar water I’m sprinkling on you.” The girl began to laugh. Hilly began to get very scared. Salt was a witch’s nightmare and vinegar water would eat your skin right off your bones. These were the weapons of a witch hunter from centuries ago.
She croaked out the words “How?” to the girl as the little demon sprinkled the water on her feet, causing them to smoke and deteriorate. “How?” asked the girl. “Let’s have story time, shall we?”. The girl sat on the floor of the chamber, very close to Hilly, being careful not to disturb the pile of salt on which she lay.
The girl began: "My name is Gretta. I am new to Champaign, I’ve lived in Montessouri for many years. I’ve been keeping an eye on you and your hapless husband. It wasn’t easy watching you every day living your boring life with your boring husband and stupid cats. Then you put your house up for sale and I knew you were on the run. I knew you couldn’t stand it any longer and had to make a move. I moved with you. I live right up the street where I’ve been watching you build your haunted house and make your secret preparations"
“How did you know?” Asked Hilly through the pain as the girl sprinkled more vinegar water on her and sprinkled a bit more salt around her to make the paralysis greater. “Let me explain” the girl said as she tucked her feet up under her, making herself comfortable. Hilly was as far from comfortable as possible and knew screaming for Thomas would not help as her chamber was invisible to the human world.
“As I said my name is Gretta. I come from a long line of Grettas. We are named for our Great Great Great Grandmother Gretel. You may have heard of her? She and her brother were abandoned by their mother and got lost in the forest - a forest inhabited by child-eating witches. Does this sound familiar to you?” the girl asked impudently. "Does it?" she insisted and pushed on Hilly’s side with a stick she took from her gypsy belt. This caused Hilly excruciating pain and she cried out. This seemed to make the girl – Gretta – happy.
"As you know, the witch did not get to eat Gretel and Hansel. This time the children escaped; but what about all the other children? What about the ones who were not able to escape your evil clutches? Well, as children disappeared, Gretal knew the cause and became a witch hunter. She handed down her talents and stories through the centuries, and we have all taken up her fight. I should tell you, you are the last witch left. Once you are gone and the mirror is shattered, the children will have to fear no more.”
Hilly had never been so frightened. She knew the witch population was diminishing, she just thought it was because children were becoming more aware of their surroundings and they were not as easy to snatch as they used to be. She had no idea.
“Say your goodbyes you evil witch” Greta said as she stood over what was left of Hilly’s body as the vinegar water had done its job quite well. “I feel sorry for your husband and the cats, but they’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll adopt Hexx, Jynx and Curseval for him. Would you like that?” Gretta could be evil in her own right, not only physically but mentally as well. Everyone knew that your cat, your companion, your confidant, should die with you, but this girl was going to raise them in the human world and teach them to hate witches. Hilly was crying now.
“Bye Bye” were the last words she heard as more vinegar water was poured over her and an anti-resurrection incantation was recited from an old worn paper taken from Gretta’s pocket. She left in a puff of greenish smoke and was gone.
Gretta picked up her belongings and backed through the mirror. Once through, she used a potion made by her ancestors to close the door forever and shattered the mirror with an item from her belt. She walked back through the garage into the moonlight and smiled up into the dark heavens. It was over. The last witch was dead. It took decades to finally complete her mission, but she could relax now. She felt relieved as she walked to her house just up the street, trailed by three black cats she could now call her own.
He stood on the inlet staring out into the ocean, watching the remaining few embers of the ship go out and the last few remnants of the vessel sink into the darkness. He hated fires. Even when he was a child, they instilled in him a fear he could never explain to his parents, nor understand himself. Nevertheless, he could think of no other way to dispose of the ship that had come upon his property. The entire ocean was his back yard, yet ships often lost their way in the blackness of the night and he had no choice but to offer them shelter and nourishment. After all, the least he could do for them was to offer them one last meal.
His name isn’t important, but I’ll tell you anyway. It is Bydingue. Demetrie Bydingue. He is of royal heritage, but he no longer enjoys the benefits of living in his homeland. He now spends his time 500 miles away from the village in which he grew up; the village over which he was Lord for centuries. He doesn’t call this home, this is not his home, it is merely the place he lays his weary head at the break of day.
He is tall for his time, standing well over 6 feet. His hair is dark and it falls below his shoulders, his eyes are azure blue, only a few shades lighter than the ocean by which he constantly finds himself. He is not a swimmer and has never attempted to catch a fish, yet he cannot tear himself away from the vastness of the sea. There is something almost magnetic about it that pulls him near and will not release him. He believes it is a combination of the death and decay that lies just beneath the surface, the tranquility and peacefulness it lends to his life or perhaps just the fact that hunters are not able to surprise you in your sleep when there is one way in and one way out.
His life is a lonely one. He has lived in solitude for hundreds of years and longs for companionship. Companionship comes easily enough for a few hours in the deepness of the night, by the dawn that too must end. His life is one that cannot be shared. He knew love once, but it was so long ago he can scarcely remember her face. His blood was warm then, his heart beat with a steady rhythm and the sun warmed his face. Those days, those years are gone. They have been gone for a long time and it seems as though his darkness will never end.
He catches himself looking at the spot where only a few bubbles remain on the water and the blackened wood has begun to rise to the surface and begin its journey out into eternity. This ship burned quickly due to its size. Some take days to disappear; this one was lit just before dawn this morning. They are always lighted just before dawn. That is his deadline – for everything. The ship, as I said was a small one. The crew totaled only 8 and the cargo was simply several crates of wine and several tons of fish stored on piles of ice. They were surely headed for the port of Gredonia. They will not be missed for quite a while. He has time. Time is all he has.
He anticipates capturing the next vessel out at sea. He can’t take any chances that too many ships will be discovered burned so close to his shore, but his needs must be met. This ship should have been saved, along with at least two of the crewmen, but the situation did not lend itself to that end. Now he must wait for the next one. He has had ample time to perfect his strategies, but mortal men being the way they are, you can not predict their behavior. He will wait for the next one. He knows there will be a next one, there always is.
The scene of the previous night replays itself in his head. It should have been quick, he is good with a sword and experienced, but he had not anticipated their strength and aggressiveness. They were not tired and drunk on wine like the previous ones have been. They were alert and not willing to surrender themselves to him. His sword was swift and his dagger useful, but the two that he wanted to keep alive were zealous in their fight. The rage that came from within him was uncharacteristic and it cost him his bounty, but he would get another chance. If only they hadn’t come at him with torches. He hated fire.
He turned his back on the ocean and headed into the tower. There may have been a light in there at one time to keep the ships from ending up on the rocks, but it was gone now. All the light he ever enjoyed in his life was gone. He needed to prepare himself for a trip into the village as was his custom when ships were in port and the taverns were full. He was a familiar face in the pub where he would sit with a mug of ale and watch. He watched everything, he missed nothing. He would sit by the fire to warm his skin in case someone were to brush up against him or touch him intentionally. People did that when they drank, they became overly friendly and always wanted to shake a hand or pat a shoulder. He hoped the fire was burning when he got there.
The tower was hundreds of years old and the blocks with which it was built had started to decay. There was mold growing on the outside of the graying rocks and in some places the rocks were almost engulfed in green moss. When standing on the balcony, as he was at the moment, he could see for miles. It was not a clear evening, but at times the moon shone brightly creating a shadowlike presence standing just behind him. The shadow appeared and disappeared as the moon shown intermittently through the clouds. The structure was not very tall, but had a large spire pointing toward the sky. He entered through the old wooden door which creaked and moaned as if in pain. There was no need to lock the door as no one would be using it but himself. The tower loomed far above the beach and also buried itself far below it. Beneath the earth it was a shelter from the storms occurring in this area, as well as a shelter from people.
He began descending the steps and as he did so he breathed deeply and enjoyed the perfume of the dank and moldy tower steps. They were slippery from age and elements, but he was experienced in his descent and had no fear of slipping and tumbling to his death. He may have feared death at one time, but no longer, now, in fact, he embraced it. He could hear the rats scurrying in the darkness as he reached the bottom of the dark tower and it comforted him. The feeling that he was the only wanderer of the night filled him with dread. Knowing that there were other nocturnal creatures made him feel a part of something; albeit a very small part.
It was several hours when he began his journey toward town and the moon could no longer be seen beyond the clouds that cloaked its light. The entire sky now seemed to be a large dark blanket which locked in the nightly moisture causing a thick fog to hover just above the ground. Gredonia was a large town when you considered its size, but when you considered how few residents it had, it was a relatively small village. There were a few shops carrying mostly dry goods used by its residents and a make shift house of worship used by the inhabitants to confess their sins and repent after a long night of imbibing and carousing. One area of town furthest away from the dock was where the residents lived. There were houses and cottages here and there divided by small cobblestone streets and trees. It was a pretty town by day he would imagine, though he has never seen it in the sun light.
On this night, as with all others, lantern lights dotted the cobblestone upon which he walked, and were reflected in his black boots as he sauntered up the main street towards the pub. He could hear the ruckus even before he turned the corner and knew the ale was already flowing freely. He was thirsty, but he knew his thirst could not be quenched this night, no matter how much he drank. One benefit was that no matter how much he drank he did not lose his senses and he knew when he awoke he would not have even the slightest remnant of a headache or remorse for his actions while intoxicated. No chance that the light would affect his sight, as you know by now the light was his nemesis.
As he continued on his way, lost in his own thoughts, a dark figure moved in the shadows and startled him. He had not seen the figure until it stepped towards him. He thought this very unusual as nothing eluded his sight in the darkness. The figure remained in the shadows, but he caught a glimpse of its shape and determined it was a female. Somehow he could not sense this woman like he could the others; he could sense no fear from her and she moved so quietly he was unsure for a moment that he had seen anything. As he drew nearer she seemed to disappear even deeper into the shadows. “How could this be?” he thought to himself as the figure vanished before his eyes. Vanish she did, but not before he saw her long crimson hair flowing out behind her. He stepped into the corner where she had been one second before, but there was no one there. The only presence was his own. The night in this corner was so dark that not even his shadow followed him in.
He could not imagine a woman alone in the damp and dark night, and surely not one bold enough to allow her hair to freely flow uncovered by even the slightest kerchief or hood. He determined she was one from which he could buy companionship if he so desired, but on this night he desired no one. Feeling confident that he had solved the mystery of the unusual woman, he continued his way to the tavern, unaware of the eyes that followed him, and his shadow. As he stepped through the doorway of the only tavern in the small village the sight of the fire blazing in the fireplace immediately replaced his thoughts of the woman of the night.
The pub was crowded as he knew it would be and the noise was almost deafening. He slowly made his way to a seat farthest from the door and nearest the fireplace where he would stay until close to dawn. It took everything in his being to sit this close to the flame, but the flame was the only thing that even slightly diminished the cold which inhabited his very being. He never grew tired as the hours wore on. He grew restless, yes restless most of the time, but never tired because the hour grew late. He asked the pudgy wench for his drink and waited for her to bring it to him. As he waited he watched several brawls erupt and then become settled with the fighters consoling each other over ale. He eavesdropped on bits of conversations about trivial items such as weather, ships and cargo. After several minutes the bar maid sat the ale down on the table and took the money he had laid out for her. She went on about her business, but not until after she gave him a wink and a wry smile while simultaneously slipping his money into her ample bosom.
The bar maid’s name was Anna and she brought him his drink each time he came into the pub. Sometimes she would even keep people away from his seat in the corner by the fireplace for him. She was endearing if nothing else and always gave her customers a wink and a smile. He knew she had 7 children and a husband who worked on the docks. He would hear her tell tales of the mischief of one or two of her children as she served drinks and food to the customers who seemed to know all of her family members by their names. He knew nothing else of her though and that was the way it needed to remain. He knew very little of the people with whom he drank and shared a story or two, but they knew nothing of him. That was the way he needed it to be.
Another fight started in the opposite corner of the tavern and several people stood on their table to cheer the fighters on. As quickly as it began it was over and both gentlemen were sitting together sharing a drink and some bread brought to them by Anna. He watched as the maid smacked both of them on the back of the head and told them how worthless they were. She continued scolding them and making sure they understood they were to go home to their poor unfortunate wives as soon as they finished the bread. The temperament of the place was suddenly subdued, but came alive again when one of the men grabbed Anna’s plump behind as she turned to walk away. That little tactic earned the drunk patron another whack on the back of the head, but awarded him a kiss on the cheek as well.
This incident had taken his attention for several minutes and when he happened to look towards the door he noticed a woman with long red hair, wearing a black cloak going outside into the cold. He had been in the same chair for hours and noticed everyone who came and went, but he did not see the woman enter the pub. Could this be the harlot he saw in the shadows? First he did not sense her presence, then she vanished before his very eyes and now apparently she had entered the establishment unseen and, more strangely, unfelt by him. She could not have entered through the door before him or he would have seen her when he came in. She had not been seated anywhere visible from his vantage point, so he assumed she had been occupied in one of the rooms upstairs. She was not short, but not tall and all he had seen of her thus far was her red hair. His need to see her up close was suddenly overwhelming. He felt intrigued by this woman as he headed for the door. Due to the fact that he was tall and had a long stride, he was at the door within seconds of it closing behind her. When he stepped out into the fog he looked in all directions, but the red haired woman was no where in sight.
For the first time in what seemed like centuries he had something to contemplate besides his own dark misery as he walked the quiet streets of the town on his way to his residence. The red haired woman. Who was she? Where was she from? How had he not seen her before? Did she just come in on one of the ships? How long would she be there? What did she look like? He wondered about this woman who seemed to be more of an apparition than a warm-blooded female, and wanted to see her again if only to convince himself that she was real.
He was in no hurry to get back to the house in which he lived so he took his time and wandered through the back streets of the small village. His heart went out to the children who were forced to live in such poverty due to the financial position of their parents. It was a shame that they knew no warmth or comfort; he sympathized with them, because he shared their plight.
As he strode through the streets a woman’s scream pierced the silence of the night. He could not tell from which direction the scream came, but it was not close to him, so he did not fear that he would be encountered. Apparently the woman’s husband was dead. He could not hear enough to know anything else, but he knew someone was no longer of this world. He knew the pain the woman was feeling and knew too that her life, already a bleak and dismal one, just took a turn for the worst. Was he a victim of his own drinking and carousing or was he robbed and beaten like so many others before him? He cared not for the situation of the screaming woman nor the victim for whom she grieved, so he continued to make his way through the streets to his resting place and was safely inside before the sun rose over the horizon.
Her name is Victoria. Her age is not important, she is timeless. Her beauty is classic. She has a slender figure and her complexion is pale and smooth much like porcelain. Her hair is crimson and falls almost to her waist. She survives in a world of darkness, has not seen the sun in many years and dearly misses it. She is alone in her existence. All of those she has loved are gone and those who pretend to love her are nothing more than a temporary distraction from her life and from which she finds only momentary comfort. That is good, that is necessary. She finds men worthless and dull, ignorant and boring. They are very limited in their interests which chiefly depend on the hour of the day and the amount of liquor in their bodies. For people in general she has no patience and she cannot hide her agitation. Most would say she has no time for those who would befriend her, but they do not understand, time is all she has.
She loves ships and finds solace in their soothing movements and sounds. That is the way she travels and, therefore, constantly finds herself by the water. She does not find comfort in the seas the way others do, but thinks of it only as a necessity. The people who live in sea-side villages are accustomed to seeing different people come and go. People in small towns such as this do not look at you strangely if they haven’t seen you before. They welcome you as one of their own, as a weary traveler seeking food, shelter, and companionship. They offer you food and drink and never give you a second thought when you are gone when the sun rises. This is important for she is never seen when the sun is high in the sky.
She shares her life with no one. She doesn’t consider it a life, only a dark continuum. She had a life once a long time ago. She remembers with sadness her father whom she adored and the mother she admired. She had a brother and he had a wife and they had a son and she had a husband whom she loved dearly. But they are all gone now. They have all gone the way of nature; they lived and they died. She lived and she died, but that was oh so long ago and still she finds herself walking dark, unfamiliar streets toward the ship on which she has purchased passage. It was late and she hurried along, weary in her steps and tired, so very tired of her anguish.
As she reaches the ship she hears the dog’s incessant barking. The dog never stops. She doesn’t know if he sleeps or eats, all she hears is his barking. As she approaches the ramp, the barking becomes louder and her temper begins to burn throughout her entire being. She did not have a good night. She attempted to satisfy her thirst, but she was interrupted and she returned to the ship still hungry. As she stepped on the wooden planks the dog ran to her her, his barking directed completely toward her as if to anger her even more. She looked at the animal, her emerald green eyes glowing in the darkness and made a sound that only the dog could hear. The dog’s eyes met hers and he immediately began to whimper and whine. He attempted to run from her, but his bladder failed him and he found himself slipping and sliding in his own mess. Finally, when he got a good hold on the floor he ran until he reached the furthest corner of the ship. He lay down and began to shake so violently he seemed to be convulsing. He did not, however, outrun her.
Finally there was silence. The dog, at long last, was quiet. His master would find him in the morning, eyes wide open and staring into eternity. His owner would find him dead and cold as the sea.
Her surroundings were black and silent as she descended the stairs into the bow of the ship; however her eyesight did not suffer in the darkness. There was no movement in the night for there were no creatures left to flee from her footsteps. The few surviving rodents no doubt scurried to the shore in search of safety and food. The lifeless shells of the ones not so fortunate were piled neatly in the corner. Neatness was an attribute it seemed she had not lost over the years. One other characteristic which remained with her was the comfort she derived from brushing her hair. It did not bring the relaxation it once did, but it brought her some relief from her excruciating existence. This daily task was the only human luxury which remained with her throughout her existence.
Her dreams, if you can call them that, are always the same. Her father is there, her mother as well. She and her brother, Alex, are together as they always were in life. She and her brother were so close in age some thought them twins. He was 10 months older than she and they were the best of friends. As children they spent every waking hour together and as they grew older they remained close. She and her brother shared all of life’s secrets up until the very end. It seemed there was one secret she would have to keep to herself for eternity.
She and Alex endured the death of their parents together and her brother took over the family business. She was his partner, but in those days people were stupid and women weren’t recognized as anything other than wives and mothers, so the business was his alone until he died. She reaped some benefit from it, however, and lived a comfortable life. She and her husband Nathanial lived a happy and successful life and she had all of the material comforts she could ask for, even after Nathanial’s death. They were never blessed with children. There was no reason that they knew of for it, she just never conceived. No blame was ever laid, they had a good and happy life together. She missed them, all of them, all of the time.
He is restless. He finds himself wandering on the beach and looking out into the dark vastness of the sea. There is no evidence of the last ship he encountered or the fate of the crew. That night seems purged from his mind for the moment. He has been pacing for what seems like hours with one single thing on his mind. The red haired woman. Who is she and why does she trouble him so? He cannot understand why a simple woman of the night has found her way into his mind. He has many things to accomplish in the nights ahead; one of which is to return to town to see if there is any talk of a lost ship and its crew. He didn’t go into town two evenings in a row due to the fact that familiarity gave way to conversation and he wanted no conversation, but it had been several days and he felt it would be appropriate to visit the pub again. As usual, he wanted simply to listen and observe.
He found himself unable to decide on a course of action. That in itself was very unusual. He always knew what to do and exactly when to do it; this night, however, was different. Should he go into town? Should he ask of the red haired woman? Again he found his thoughts turning to this female when he needed to set his mind in another direction entirely. Still, she would not leave his thoughts. When he found her he would take from her what he needed and leave her on the dark and cold street where she belonged. How dare she invade his privacy like this and not even be aware that she had done so. He would teach her a lesson; the last lesson she would ever learn. He headed into town with several hours ahead of him to accomplish his tasks he had set for himself.
His seat by the fire was occupied by a group of drunkards when he walked into the tavern. It was not as loud or boisterous as the previous evening, but it was still early and he knew it would become quite lively and animated in short time. He took up a stool near a table occupied by sleeping dockworkers who apparently had their fill of alcohol some time ago. He felt he would be unmolested here by the sleeping men and still have a clear vantage point of the door. There was a smaller doorway in the back of the pub that led to the alleyway, but it was used only by the owner of the establishment and he knew from past inspections that the door remained bolted.
His ale remained untouched for the duration of his stay and he found his frustration rising almost uncontrollably. There was a hum of conversation and he listened to it all, but there was no mention of a lost ship. Cargo was expected several days ago, but it was assumed that the ship carrying it was simply delayed by inclement weather. Inclement weather was always the reason ships were lost and crews disappeared, what other reason could there be? What would the outcome be if these mortals knew what the true reason was. He was sure that if they knew, they certainly wouldn’t be slapping him on the shoulder and inviting him to their table. If only they knew.
He was lost in this reverie when he heard one husky and dirty man talking about the woman that had booked passage on his ship. “A real looker she is” exclaimed the man. “Must be some kinda royalty too by the way she paid for her passage, even gave me extra to bring on extra large trunks for her.” Demetrie needed to learn more of this vixen, of who she was and from where she hailed. He was patient and the man kept talking. “Yep, greenest eyes I’ve ever seen, I’ll tell ya.” He was heard saying “I thought about taking her passage out in trade if you know what I mean.” With this he winked at the men he was regaling with his story and they all yelled and jeered with him. “But there is something about her that made my skin shrink up on the back of my neck do you know what I mean? So I just took her money, stowed her trunks and left her be. But I’ll bet that wench is a wild one.” Demetrie could be patient no longer. He left the safety of his stool and in no time at all appeared by the man who had been doing the talking. “This woman of whom you speak” he began “Where were you when she booked passage and what is her final destination?” The man blinked his eyes at Demetrie who stood tall over him. “Well, partner, we was sailing from Port William when she first came up to me. She booked passage this far, that’s all I know. We pulled into port nearly three days ago and I haven’t seen her a lick since. Strange one that one is, too strange for me.” Demetrie thanked the man for his help and bought he and his friends another round of drinks. By morning they would never remember this conversation.
He was still standing in the middle of the floor when Anna walked up behind him, putting her hand on the small of his back so she could get around him with her tray of mugs. The second she touched him a cold chill ran up her spine like icy fingers squeezing her. She pulled her hand away so fast that the tray of drinks she carried tumbled to the floor. As if burned, Anna brought her hand to her mouth and grimaced as if in pain. When Demetrie turned to look at her he could see fear and confusion in her eyes. He remembered this look for he had seen it many times before. He apologized for being in her way and left the pub quickly into the safety of the darkness.
Demetrie couldn’t believe what had just happened. He knew better than stray too far from the fire. He also knew it was not a good idea to question patrons. He never brought attention to himself before and couldn’t understand why he let his guard down. He would have to stay away from town for a short while and focus on obtaining a ship. He had to keep his mind straight on the task before him and forget about the red haired woman. However, the next time he saw her, she would pay dearly for the cost he incurred this night.
Anna tried to explain the incident to her husband later that night, but couldn’t find the words. She could only compare touching this man to touching a cold slab of stone in the cemetery where you went to visit your dead. She felt all cold inside and got those little bumps on her arms and her eyes began to fill up with cold tears. She couldn’t get warm even after she drank two tankards of ale at the pub before leaving for the night, even though she never let the nasty brew touch her lips. Her husband told her she had lost her mind, kissed her on the forehead and rolled over and instantly went to sleep. She could hear him softly snoring and making familiar sleep sounds. Sleep didn’t find Anna that night, and, in fact, she had terrible nightmares when she did drift off for several nights after that.
It was the house that every kid in the neighborhood had to visit on this, the scariest night of the year. It was Halloween, of course, and this particular house was everyone’s favorite. Why? What was so special about this house that stood in the middle of the block on a very quiet street in a good and safe neighborhood? They gave good candy to all the scary, funny, creative and lame costumes that rang their doorbell on October 31st. It mattered not to the homeowners how you were dressed, as long as you put some effort into your outfit. They played the same old game as everyone else by asking who or what they were supposed to be and laughing or feigning fear when they heard the answer.
Yes, it was all about the candy. On the way to the house the youngsters would speculate as to what the candy would be this year. Full size Hershey bars, giant Peanut Butter cups? No one knew for sure, but the excitement built as they grew closer to their destination.
They knew they were almost there when the goblins, monsters, fairies, robots and presidents all began to run. The foursome – Robby, Timmy, James and Steve – were too cool to run. They were, after all, middle schoolers and the candy had never run out before and they were confident they wouldn’t run out of candy before they got there.
When it was finally their turn they held out their pillow cases – another sign they were cool. No trick or treat bags for them and no pumpkins either; they didn’t hold enough candy and the foursome took no chances. There were so many kids on the front porch that it was hard to stay together. That’s okay, they were old enough to trick or treat alone if they wanted, but it was more fun with all of them hanging out.
It seemed like forever until they heard the heavy thump as the good candy was plopped into their bags, but once they heard it, they were off the porch and running to the sidewalk under the street lamp to check out their reward.
Robby and Timmy almost screeched when they saw the size of the Snickers bar they found had made its way to the bottom of their pillowcase. They waited forever for James and Steve, but headed out without them for more trick or treating, planning on meeting at Steve’s house in the morning and compare their booty.
It was almost 10:00 when they got home and Timmy was glad he was spending the night with Robby so his Dad wouldn’t know he stayed out well past his 9:00 curfew. Robby’s Dad told them to leave their pillowcases on the dining room table and go straight to bed after they brushed their teeth. They did as they were told because they knew it would be more fun discovering their treasures with James and Steve tomorrow.
Robby’s mom made them eat pancakes and juice before they went out to meet the others so they wouldn’t fill up on candy. They ate them as fast as they could, cleared their places, got on their bikes and took off for the rock. The rock had been their meeting place for 3 years, ever since it was put in the center of the square with a plaque on it remembering the founding fathers of their small town. It made an awesome meeting place.
Robby and Timmy waited until almost 11:00, but the others didn’t show. They decided to ride their bikes over to Steve’s house because he lived closer and see why they were late. When they got there Steve’s Mom said she thought he was staying the night with one of the other boys, and guessed it was James since he wasn’t there yet. They went over to James’ house but no one was home. They sat on the front porch and waited.
It was a while before James’ parents came home, but the boys ran over to their car as they pulled into the driveway. They asked if James and Steve were there and James’ parents were very confused. No, the boys weren’t there. They assumed James spent the night with the other boys. There were often times when they would just fall asleep during video games or movies at each others’ houses and the parents had gotten used to it.
Now, however, it seemed two of the boys were not at each other’s house and no one was really sure where they were. James’ Mom was very scared and went into the house calling James’ name as she went. James’ Dad looked on the back porch to see if James left his bike there.
The bike was there but James could not be found. James’ Mom told Jimmy and Timmy to go home – to their own houses – and let their parents know what was happening. James’ Dad was calling the police.
It wasn’t very long when all the parents and some policemen were all sitting in James’ house. His mom was crying and his dad was walking back and forth rubbing his hands together. All eyes were on Timmy and Robby as the policemen asked them a lot of questions. What were they dressed as? When did they last see them? What time did they get home? Why did they split up? Where do you think the boys were? Did they ever talk about running away, stuff like that.
Timmy and Robby were dressed as zombies the others as a Star Wars character and Paul Bunyan. They last saw them at the house with the good candy, they didn’t get home until 10, a little something Timmy knew he would have to explain to his Dad later, They didn’t mean to split up, there were just so many kids on the porch and they all got bounced around. No idea where the others were, no they would never run away.
The policeman asked for the address of the house with the good candy. The boys didn’t know the address, they only had to know the street, then they just followed the crowd. No, they didn’t know the name of the people who lived there and no they didn’t know the house number, but they could show them.
The boys went in the police car with the two policemen and their parents followed behind. They looked at each other and grinned. How cool was this? They were in the back of a police car and they weren’t even in trouble.
They told the policemen the name of the street and they took off. They got to the end of the street, but without all the kids running to the house, it was hard to remember which one it was. They all looked the same. The one the boys directed them to at first seemed abandoned. The doors were boarded up, the front steps were broken and weeds were up to the boys knees. This wasn’t the house they were at last night but they could have sworn it was. Last night the lights were all on, the porch steps were perfect, the grass was mowed, it was just like the other houses, but in the morning, they couldn’t find it.
The policemen went up to the house next to the one they thought was the house with good candy, but the neighbor told them no one had lived in that house for a long, long time. The boys were so confused; they knew this was the house, but then they knew it couldn’t be. The police took the boys home and said they were going to search the entire neighborhood. They told James’ and Steve’s parents they thought the boys would be safely returned by dark.
Dark came and stayed and no one heard from James or Steve. Timmy and Robby were so upset and their parents wouldn’t let them go to each other’s houses; they wanted everyone home at their own house safe and sound. Robby called Timmy’s house phone and they were allowed to talk. They made a plan to meet at the rock at midnight. They were going to go and search the neighborhood and find the house with the good candy.
They showed up at the rock and headed straight for the street they were on last night. They reached the end of it and began walking, faster and faster as they got close to where they stood under the lamp post to survey their candy. They stopped at that same spot and just stared at the house. They were positive it was the right house, but it was all dilapidated and falling down. They decided to get closer. They climbed up on the front porch, careful not to use the broken stairs and looked in the window. Nothing. They went to the other side and looked in that window. Nothing. A mouse ran across the porch and scared both junior detectives and when they bumped the front door, it squeakily opened, but just an inch or so.
The boys looked at each other and for a moment couldn’t decide what to do. Then they both stepped inside. The house was very dark and smelled like dirt. There were cobwebs in all of the corners and hanging down in the middle of the floor and the floors made noise under their feet. They didn’t have a flashlight, but their eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness and they could see a little. They stayed very close to each other as they walked into another room. This was the kitchen; they knew because there was a stove and a sink and some chairs strewn about. There were more mice scuttering across the floor, but the boys weren’t as scared this time and just let the mice run past. They took a few more steps and there was a door. They figured it was to the basement and no one and I mean no one likes to go into the basement any time of the day, much less at 12:30 on the pitch dark night after Halloween.
They stood there looking at each other again, one hoping the other would say they didn’t have to go down there, but neither one did. They weren’t breathing and the air seemed very heavy as Timmy reached for the doorknob. He turned it and it didn’t budge. He was relieved, but Robby told him to turn it the other way. When he did it turned quite easily and a little pressure opened the door. It was darker down there, but the boys knew they had to go down the steps. They sat on their butts and went down one at a time, putting their feet very carefully in front of them to make sure the steps weren’t broken.
They counted. 17 steps in all. That information may be helpful when they were coming up to leave. There was a small window on two walls and the boys could see shadows from the light of the moon. It cast an eerie glow on everything as the bushes and trees outside the window moved in the nightly breeze. The boys were holding their breath and it seemed they hadn’t breathed since they walked in the front door.
Everything was quiet and they just stood there looking around the room. It was dark and dusty and they could hear the mouse and who knows what else scurrying through their homes in the wall. Timmy was the one who broke the silence when he asked what they should do now. Robby replied in a hoarse whisper that he had no idea. They stood there for what seemed like hours, when in reality it was mere minutes. The moon rose higher and cast even more shadows on the walls and the floor. They stared out the window as it was the only familiar thing they had to look at not knowing what to do. They began walking in circles in the middle of the floor being careful not to get too close to the walls and what was living there.
The walls were stone it seemed, like most basements. But how could this be? This is the house that just last night was clean and new and lighted for all the kids in the nearby neighborhoods to visit and get the good candy. They were sure this was the same house they were at last night, but then again it couldn’t be. It was vacant and dark and decrepit and the only ones inhabiting it were the unthinkable they could hear clawing around.
They turned and started up the 17 stairs when they heard a weird sound, even more weird and somehow more terrifying than the creeping and crawling things they wouldn’t let themselves think about. After a brief discussion on step number 2 they retreated back into the basement. They again looked around, mad at themselves for not bringing a flashlight when they heard the noise again. It sounded like the legendary deceased partner of Ebeneezer Scroge was paying a late night visit to this house. The sound was like chains or something heavy scraping across a wood floor. They fought the urge to run, run up the stairs, through the kitchen, kicking whatever creature might be in their way, out the front door, down the steps and not stopping until they got to their homes, though both boys knew the other had the exact same thought. They walked around to the back of the staircase where Tim’s mom hung up all the sports equipment and old snow boots and sleds waiting for winter, Robby’s mom had insisted they put a small playroom under their stairs so the kids could play inside when the weather was bad and not mess up her clean house.
Unfortunately there was no evidence of sleds or foos ball tables in this basement as the boys felt gingerly along the wall. When Timmy’s hand came upon something out of the ordinary he let out a scream and then immediately regretted the action and put his hand to his mouth. He wasn’t sure why as there was no one or no thing around to hear him except for Robby and he was sure he would have done the same thing,
There seemed to be a large crack in the wall just under what they imagined was stair #8 leading down and stair #10 going up. He stopped immediately and placed Timmy’s hand where his had been only seconds before. They followed the crack up as far as their arms could reach and down to the floor. They heard the scraping noise again. Was it a chain? Or it could have been a shovel bring dragged across the floor. How big would a creepy thing have to be to make that kind of noise? That thought frightened the two boys almost into running up the stairs for sure this time.
They had come for a reason and they were not going to go home until they figured out this mystery. They discussed the option of coming back tomorrow morning in the bright autumn sunshine, but thought that after tonight’s escapades they would probably both be grounded for the remainder of their lifetime. They were here now, they decided to hurry up and find something so they could go home.
The crack under their fingers was very crumbly and when they began feeling around even more, the crack got wider and wider until they could see under the stairs, but they could not believe their eyes.
There was a room. There were piles and piles of the good candy, every flavor you could imagine. There were no windows or doors. They saw huge bird cages with no birds. Then they saw Steve and James. The boys stopped breathing again. This time they even stopped blinking their eyes and they were pretty sure their hearts stopped beating.
James and Steve were actually in the big bird cages. They seemed to be sleeping, please let them be sleeping. Candy bars, boxes of candy, wrapped candy, sweet candy, sour candy, minty candy, suckers, chocolates, every kind of candy you could think of was piled Inside the cages and all around the outside. The boys first thought of running home and getting their parents, but after a very brief and excited discussion it was decided that they needed to get into that room and free their friends; not thinking of how they got put into the cages and who may also be in the room.
They scratched and clawed at the crack until they could slide in sideways. Timmy was a bit taller than Rob, but they both were pretty thin, so it didn’t take too much effort to squeeze through. Once inside they stood there quietly, still not breathing, and looked around. Four cages in all, but only two had people in them. There was a door to their left, but it was closed. There was only one small light bulb hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the room. Other than that, the only other things they could see was their friends.
From where they were standing it looked like the cages had a door that was chained closed and the chain hung down in front of the outside. That must be what the boys heard, one of their friends moving the chain around trying to get out. They began to walk across the floor very slowly, stifling the urge to run to the opposite side and make sure their friends were okay. They reached the cages and began to shake the sleeping boys through the rungs. They both woke up immediately and began yelling at Timmy and Robby to run and get out and get help. But before they could do anything the door at the end of the room began to open.
The two captives pretended to be asleep and the two would-be rescuers lay down on the floor behing the cages hoping they couldn’t be seen. They could barely see the door opening and heard two very small voices talking in a very calm and quiet manner. They peered over the piles of candy and the sleeping boy to see two very old people – a man and a woman – walking into the room. They were older than James’ grandparents and they were the oldest people any of them knew. The boys looked at each other.
As the two sweet old people came closer the boys could hear what they were talking about. Something about fattening up these two sweethearts so they could eat them. Eat them? They were sure of it. They only came across half way and saw the boys were sleeping. They turned around to leave and the old woman told the little old man that it was nice they were sleeping for when they woke up they would be hungry and would eat candy. She hoped they were good boys and did as they were told because she was very hungry as she hadn’t eaten in a year. A year?
All four boys lay very still for what seemed like days. They had no idea how long it actually was, but once the door closed and they were sure the old people were gone they all started talking at once. Aparently these old people were monsters in disguise and every Halloween they lured kids into their house by giving out the good candy to the trick or treaters. They disguised their house to look like everyone elses’ on the street and hundreds of kids would come to get their candy. They simply snatched two or three kids from the crowd and no one ever suspected a thing. Sure, people had come to the neighborhood and asked everyone if they had seen any kids out late the night before, but they never stopped and questioned anyone at this house because it was dark and deserted. The neighbors always seemed confused about all the trick or treaters the night before as this house had not been lived in for many years. If they did see anyone around the house it was just a sweet old couple that bothered no one.
The boys began to look around for a way to get Steve and James out of their cages; who by the way were still in their costumes from the night before. Steve was still dressed as Darth Vader and James was dressed as Paul Bunyan. Unfortunately, the light saber nor the axe were in the cages with the boys.
The search began for the weapons used the night before to complete their costumes. The two in the cages could not remember how they even got there or where the rest of their costumes might be. After a long time searching under candy and gum and suckers, feeling sick from the smells of sugar, chocolate and peanut butter, Timmy came upon Paul Bunyan’s axe in the corner right next to the light saber.
Neither weapon was heavy duty enough to break the locks or to undo the chains keeping the boys in the cages. They were just thinking about what to do and discussing their options when the old people came in the door again. This time the boys were not paying attention to the door and they were surprised by the old people. The old woman began screaming, a loud ear piercing scream and she began to run toward the boys. The old man was following close by and all of a sudden his eyes seemed to be glowing bright red.
Thinking very quickly, the two boys who were free to run around the room, charged at the old couple, tripping them with the light saber and hitting them in the heads with the axe. They were not hurt and they didn’t stay down too long, but seemed to be very confused by the light saber’s light and noise. The man began flailing his arms about his head and seemed to be in pain. The old woman, however, was still running around trying to grab Timmy. He punched her in the face and she fell to the floor; but when she got up her eyes too were glowing and her teeth seemed to have grown inside her mouth into something you would see on shark week.
The boys in the cages were screaming that the keys were on the old man’s suspenders and to grab them and throw them over. With the old man’s arms waiving up by his head, Timmy grabbed the key ring, ripping the old man’s suspenders and threw the whole thing to Steve who caught them the first time. Steve was an outfielder on the Little League team. He rarely missed a ball and it seemed he could catch keys as well.
In no time both boys were out of the cages and running towards the old couple. They were screaming and gnashing their teeth with their flashing eyes glowing red. The boys were scared, more scared than they had ever been before, but their excitement and adrenaline kept them going. It took three of them to get the old man into the first cage and then went to help Timmy with the old woman monster thing. They threw her in the second cage, locked it tight and wrapped the chain around both cages very tightly.
No words were exchanged as all four boys ran through the crack in the wall, up the 17 stairs, through the kitchen, careful to avoid the obstacles the chairs created, through the living room, down the broken stairs from the porch and all the way to Robby’s house. Nothing was even said as they sat on the front porch waiting for Steve and James’ parents to come get them, along with the police.
The boys told them the whole story and sent the police straight to the house and down into the basement, explaining about the crack in the wall under the stairs. The police left immediately after the boys convinced everyone they were fine and didn’t need to go to the hospital. Each boy went to his own house that night, with a vow to meet the next day just to retell the stories of this night.
Timmy’s dad got a call the next morning from the police department. He was mad and demanded to know just what was going on. The police went to the house and found it just as they had the night before. Yes, the porch steps were broken and yes, there were 17 steps down into the basement but that was the end of the similarities to the boys’ story. There was no crack in the wall under the basement, there was no sign of anyone – young or old – having been there, except for maybe the four boys who dreamed up this whole story - for quite some time,
The boys met the next morning after finally convincing their parents they were only going to the park and would be back in 2 hours. Timmy’s Dad made him take his phone in case anything weird happened again. Steve had his Mom’s phone with him when they showed up at the park. Timmy and Robby had brought their pillowcases full of treasures from the other night, but when they opened them up to inspect their contents, the smell of sugar, chocolate and peanut butter hit them smack in the face. They walked over to the nearest trash can and said goodbye to the last trick or treat candy they would ever eat again.
The dearly departed were frustrated, very frustrated and there was nothing they could do. They had planned a party and it was not going to happen. Why? Because Old Roy Bydingue wouldn’t die. That’s all he had to do – die. And he refused. He was as cantankerous and mean as ever and something had to be done, but what?
Wait, let’s back up a bit and we’ll fill you in. We have time, we have eternity’ how about you?
It was the year 1716 and it was a bad one. The weather was bad; nothing but heat and dust. The sun blazed down on the Gulch every day without a break. Then, when the residents thought it couldn’t get any worse Chester got sick. Not just every day sick, but bad sick. His face swelled up, he broke out in a terrible rash, developed a fever and died. This all happened in about 3 days. His family, still in shock, buried him.
Then Chester’s wife Mabelle came down with it. She took 4 days to die. Her family buried her. This went on for weeks, it seemed the plague as they named it, thrived on the heat and took just about every resident in Vulture Gulch within the year. There were only 10 residents left on the living side and they were sure they were going to survive.
The dead watched from the other side. They watched as each person got sick, swelled up, broke out, burned up and died. It was terrible – at first. Then the more people that came over to the dead side, the better things became. The dead don’t have to sleep. The dead don’t have to eat. They don’t have to use the bathroom, pick up their socks (they only have one pair – the ones they were wearing when they died), they didn’t have to clean the house, go to school, go to work, feed the horses. They didn’t have to do anything they didn’t want to do.
So, what to do with all this free time? Well, they talked and got to know each other; husbands actually liked their wives again and wives liked their husbands a bit more than before. The kids could play whenever and wherever they wanted, there was no danger of getting bit by an army ant, swallowed by a snake, or eaten by one of the millions of vultures circling overhead.
But they were getting a little bored after 10 or 20 years and wanted to have something to look forward to. The dead don’t have many things to look forward to except walking and walking and walking, oh and walking the earth.
But boredom was relieved when they looked upon the living. Only 8 were left and they were the stubbornist living rascals anyone ever knew. They still did their chores and played poker, cooked steaks on the grill and picked their teeth. They didn’t know how to work in the fields, the farmers were dead. They forgot what a cake and pie tasted like because the bakers were all dead. They ate steak and pork chops and bacon because they knew how to tend to the animals.
The dead watched on and the living lived on. Then one day one of the dead had a great idea She wanted to have a party. A big block party like they used to have for the Fourth of July and the harvest. They would have food and drink and music and fun, fun, fun. Everyone agreed that it was a wonderful idea and everyone started thinking about what they wanted to do. There was only one catch. They wanted to have it in Vulture Gulch, but couldn’t go back into town as long as there was a living resident there. It was all or nothing. Everyone was alive or everyone was dead.
To ensure that all the residents of Vulture Gulch would be dead in time for the party, they planned it for the year 1918. That was about 50 years from right then and they were sure everyone would be dead by then and they’d have the whole town to themselves again.
They waited and they watched. One of the living residents got bit by a rattle snake, right through his boot, and he died a week later. That left seven to go. They seemed like they were pretty happy just to be living and were in no hurry to go to the other side.
Time goes on forever for the dead but goes pretty quickly to the living. It got nearer the date they had planned for the party and there were still a few people on the other side. The dead didn’t want to have the party on their side, so they took a vote and decided to move the party back another 100 years.
The living were still living and the dead were still dead, but the dead were having a great time. They had all gotten to know each other better and were very happy with their deaths. Families were together and friends were still friends. With no jobs or chores to get in the way, they realized they really liked each other so the idea of waiting 100 more years really didn’t bother them.
Now the living were getting a little old and were having a hard time getting along. They had to try to keep all the animals in Vulture Gulch alive so they could eat and they had to keep the saloon open so they could have a place to relax. They had to keep their houses picked up and had to wash their socks. They were not very happy with the situation.
Two of them got in a fight and shot each other. They died and were buried by who was left. When they did the burying it seemed like they heard talking and laughing coming from the graveyard, but knew that was impossible. The dead were dead and that was it.
So for the six living residents of Vulture Gulch the sun still blazed down and the dust still blew. Some of the animals passed away and food was getting scarce. Two more died in their sleep and were buried. The dead partied on and welcomed their new friends.
Time had passed and there were only four residents still alive. The dead watched them trudge through their daily lives and continue on living. One of the dead had an idea. Let’s haunt the town and scare them to death. After much thought and planning it was agreed. Several of the dead could enter into the living area and haunt the living. They knew their time beside the living had to be short, so they had to be smart about their haunting.
The first time they went to the living side, two dead went to try it out. The living were asleep so they just walked around the town breathing the hot dirty air. They looked in on the sleeping men, but no one knew they were there. They thought it would be funny to leave a sign that they were there so they took the laundry the men had washed during the day off the clothes line and put it in the water tank. They thought that was pretty funny and laughed as they went back to the dead side.
When Theo woke up and went to put on his socks and saw they were gone, he went, bare feet and all, to Clem’s house to get his socks back. He was mad and sure Clem had taken his clean socks and he hated to wash socks. Clem had no idea what Theo was talking about and he looked outside at his own line and saw no socks. They decided Chip must have taken both of their pairs of socks so they went to pay a visit to Chip and get their clean laundry back.
Chip, of course, had no idea what the two men were talking about when they stormed into his room and woke him up shouting and putting on about clean socks, but the men didn’t believe he was innocent. There was a fight and both Chip and Theo went to the other side after Clem hit them both in the head with a frying pan.
The dead were in shock as they watched what was happening; this was fantastic. This turned out better than they could have ever hoped. Only two to go. The years had gone so quickly and it was almost time for their party. Food was being prepared, decorations were being collected and everyone was getting excited. They had waited 150 years for this celebration and no one was going to cheat them out of it this time. But first they had to deal with the two livings.
Part of the problem was solved when Sam woke up on the dead side the next morning. When Roy Bydingue (Ol’ Roy as they used to call him because he was old 150 years ago) noticed that Sam had gone to the other side he started running around and yelling and said “Woo Hoo.” I did it, I outlived everyone.” He laughed and shook his fist into the air.
The dead were not happy and put their heads together to finally deal with Ol’ Roy. Late that night two of the dead poisoned Roy’s watering hole, thinking that would take care of things. Well the next morning when Roy went outside he saw some of the coyotes dead lying beside the watering hole. He knew something was up so he headed straight to the saloon and poured some whisky, then he took a bottle back to his house to use to comb his hair and brush his teeth. He was pretty smart for a living.
The next night several dead went right into Roy’s bedroom and tied a noose around his neck. The plan was that when Roy woke up, he’d get all tangled up in the noose and hang himself.
But when Roy woke up and noticed the noose around his neck, he adjusted it and wore it like a necktie all day and night.
So here we are, frustrated and angry dead people and we are at our wit’s end. Nothing we have tried to do seemed to work as Ol’ Roy was smarter than they thought and still mean and ornery, laughing at them every step of the way.
It was three days before the party and it was decided. Roy was going down, ready or not. So that night four dead men crept over to Roy’s house. It was against all the laws in the universe for them to kill him themselves, but they had a plan. They tied up Old Roy right where he slept. There was no need to keep him quiet because he had finished off his tooth brushing whisky and his face washing whisky too and he was dead to the world…… If only.
The four visitors from the dead side gently carried Roy to a hold that mysteriously appeared right in the center of town. They filled in the grave with the dirt that was just taken out of it and tapped it lightly with their shovels. They knew Old Roy was not long for this world and would soon be in theirs. Finally.
The party will go on.
It had been raining for three days and nights and the captain would not leave the dock. The waters were treacherous, the winds of hurricane force and he would not jeopardize his men or his ship. Little did he know, the longer they remained in port the more danger his men would be subjected to. She remained in her quarters looking out the window at the rain coming down in sheets through the port hole. She didn’t mind the rain, but she did mind the fact that no one would be out of their house these nights and she would not find the companionship for which she yearned. She ventured out last evening, but the town was quiet, even too quiet for her liking. She maneuvered around the streets unseen and virtually invisible, but she was uneasy nonetheless.
The rain drove everyone in and even the pub was closed. The lanterns were lit, but the only shadows that were cast were those of the lights themselves. All residents were inside their homes enjoying time with their families for once. Sailors and crewmen remained on their ships and passengers remained in their quarters. Poker games and beer were going on on the ship on which Victoria booked passage and at times the men got quite noisy. She held no illwill toward these men, she knew they were just occupying the time until they would be busy setting sail and heading for their new destinations.
She left her cabin to enjoy the air above deck that was not so stagnant as the stale air she breathed while in her quarters. The night was cloudy and though the rain had not subsided completely, there was some temporary relief from the downpour. She heard footsteps behind her and when she turned around to see who was approaching, she was grabbed from behind and her mouth covered to keep her from screaming. The man who grabbed her forced her into one of the many dark corners of the deck. He had been drinking and though he was twice her size, he didn’t have complete balance and stumbled several times while attempting to steer her into the darkness. His mouth covered hers and pressed her lips into her teeth so hard that she soon began to taste her own blood. She became angry and the thought that this man caused her injury infuriated her beyond all reason.
His body was never found and the captain simply replaced him several days later when they were finally able to set sail. Sailors were often found taking up with other crews when promised a higher wage or more liquor and the captain just assumed this is what had happened to the man. Victoria awoke the evening after the incident feeling more satisfied than she had in a long time. She decided to take up residence in Gredonia and relinquished her passage on the ship. The captain seemed somewhat relieved when she advised him that she would not be sailing with him this night and that he could keep the full fare which she paid him.
When she offered a grieving widow a substantial sum of money for the small cottage at the edge of the village, the woman was elated. The woman took her money, signed a handwritten Deed to the small house, and left town with her three children that same night. She took Victoria’s place on the ship headed for Maltavia where she had a sister with whom she and her children would reside. Once again, the captain of the ship was relieved to deliver her belongings to her. He did, however, avoid Victoria’s gaze when she tried to thank him for helping her. She could tell he was afraid and uncomfortable and it was good that his ship was setting sail in the morning. She could take no chances that someone would become suspicious of her.
The cottage was small and not very clean, but it would serve her purposes for she only needed a temporary residence. Her new home once belonged to the town butcher and it had been built upon a cellar far beneath the earth in which the butcher hung the slaughtered meat to store it at a cooler temperature. She found the cellar cold, dark and inviting. The lingering smell of blood, as well as the sound of scurrying rodents seemed to comfort her as she slept. She was tormented by dreams, however. Dreams of a large hulking image shadowing her through the town. No matter how she tried to lose the figure he seemed always at her heels. The figure had no face in her nightmare, but she could make out long dark hair well past his shoulders and his eyes seemed to glow in the darkness. The thoughts of this man stayed with her a long time after she awoke.
Weeks later she had devised a plan. She would buy passage on a small ship and head for a new land. She no longer felt comfortable here and decided it was time to leave. This town was too small and the residents too curious. She knew the captain of the ship had talked about her at the pub and had his crew convinced she was a witch. He warned those who would listen to steer clear of her at all cost. It was good that he was gone and had more than likely forgotten about her by the time his ship set sail without her. She needed a larger town with a lot of people so that she could exist unnoticed. She would ask around in town tomorrow evening if anyone knew of a ship that would take her away from here.
She ventured into town that evening with nothing in particular to do and spent a good amount of time watching the villagers who were walking the streets along with her, but having no idea she was even there. There were times when women would hold their children a little closer, or would turn around and walk in the opposite direction as if some unpleasantness lay ahead. Most of the time people walked past where she stood quickly and pulled their coats a little closer, with no idea why they were doing so or why they were feeling uneasy. She felt almost amused by these people. Almost.
Without warning she saw him. He was tall, much taller than she. He had long dark hair and he walked as though he were very sure of himself. He seemed to simply appear in the area where she stood and she did not see him approach. He became still and cocked his head as if listening for something. He did not hurry along, nor did he seem uncomfortable or afraid by her presence. In fact, he stayed where he was for several moments peering into the darkness as if willing himself to find her. That was impossible, she could not be sensed and certainly not seen, and she had not made a sound, but somehow this man sensed her. How? Who was he and why was he so different? She was feeling very unsettled and confused and turned to leave. In an instant he was standing directly in front of her. He blocked all else from her view and when she put her head back and looked up to the star-filled sky, she saw no stars, but looked directly into his eyes. For the first time in what seemed a lifetime, she was afraid.
She was like no one he had ever come across. She made no sound at all, not even when she saw him standing so close to her. He could not sense nor smell her and he sensed her confidence. She was almost invisible. He found these facts intriguing and a little disturbing. He wanted to talk to her, but found himself unable to think of anything to say. He wanted to shake her for causing him such discontent, but he could not raise his arms to her. He wanted to take her by the neck, but found he could not. It was several minutes of tense silence. There was an electricity in the air that was not there a moment before. He looked at her for the first time. She had a pale complexion and beautiful red hair. She was unlike the other women of the evening he had encountered, surreal was the word that came into his mind.
People passed them in the street, but seemed not to notice them at all. It was a cold evening and the air hung in damp sheets which kept most of the residents inside by a fire. The tavern was alive and the lanterns were lit all around them, but they remained in the shadows. He looking at her and she looking at him, neither one seemed able to take a breath. The night was silent as they stood there alone but together. He had not been this close to a woman in a long time without thinking of only the warm blood coursing through her veins from her temples to her toes. He could think of nothing at this moment except for the beauty who stood before him. She did not seem frightened by his presence and she did not try to run from him. She was definitely different and he was intrigued.
It seemed like an eternity that they stood there in the cold and darkness not speaking, not diverting their eyes from each other. He felt an attraction for this female which he had not felt for what seemed like centuries. He wanted to talk to her, to touch her, to find out who she was and from where she came. But he could do nothing but stand in front of her. He felt a flood of emotions which he had not felt for so long they were foreign to him. He felt remorse when he thought what must be done and sadness in the fact that she would not see the morning light, but this was his life and, unfortunately, her demise.
He was different. He sensed her, he saw her, he heard her. That, in itself, was unusual. She wanted to ask him who he was, but she could not find her voice. She wanted to hurt him for invading her dreams, but she could not blame him, for he knew nothing of the intrusion. She hated men as you know, but she felt no hatred for this one. She saw him in the flesh for the first time. She saw him several weeks ago in the alley, but never gave him a second thought until the dreams started; now here he was standing so close to her she could not breathe.
She tried to avoid his gaze, but seemed hypnotized. His eyes were the most beautiful blue she had ever seen and they seemed to glow in the darkness. Why did he not say something? Why did he not just rob her if that was what he was going to do? Why could she not tear herself away from him? She felt herself desiring to share the shadows of the night with this tall and dark man. For the first time in so long she actually felt a warmth erupting inside. She welcomed the long unfelt sensation.
He seemed to be willing her to do something, to move, or to speak, but she was unable. She thought he took a step toward her, but she was so lost in his gaze that she could not be sure. She felt confused and uncertain. She took a step backward to lose herself deeper into the darkness. She began to feel afraid, this man seemed to look directly into her soul and she feared he would find only a cold and empty dark hollow where her soul once was. She feared for the first time that someone would discover her secret and that was not allowed. She did not want to have to hurt this man, but knew that he would not see tomorrow’s sunrise.
She needed time to think, but her mind was a whirlwind. He took another step toward her and reached out his hand. He was going to touch her and that also was something that could not happen. Though she wanted it to happen very much, with every bone in her body. She wanted to feel his strength, to touch his skin, to hear his voice which she imagined to be low and soothing. She wanted all these things, but they were impossible, she was not like other women.
When she regained her senses she realized he was closer to her, too close. She needed time to think, time to figure out what she should do, time to discover more about this man now that she knows he is real. But he was not affording her time, he was touching her, her senses were reeling. She had to go, so go she did. She rode along the evening breeze to safety. She could see the look on his face as she took her leave and felt sorry for him for she could feel his frustration; she was feeling it too. But she had to take leave. She would see him again, she was sure of it. She was far enough away from him to feel safe, but not far enough away to avoid the sound of his frustration and anger. She was sorry, so sorry for this night and also for the night in the near future that would be his last.
He took one step toward her intending only to touch her skin, stroke her hair, and taste her essence that would end her life. He reached out to her slowly, never taking his eyes off hers. She seemed to sense his intentions and took a step backwards. He wanted to assure her he would not cause her any harm, but of course, he could not do that. He wanted so many things from this woman, certain that he would not obtain them in the short time they had to spend together.
He seemed to be moving in slow motion and she seemed to be mimicking his every move. He took one step more which moved them deeper into the shadows. He made his final move to touch her. Still unsure of his ability to speak, he intended to touch her arm, to reassure her and set her fears aside. When he did so he found only the dark and damp air. She was gone. There was a slight breeze and on that breeze he would swear that he heard the word “Scarlet” spoken in a soft whisper. The green eyes he was gazing into only seconds earlier were no where to be seen. The porcelain skin he longed to touch was out of his reach once again.
In the days and nights that followed, villagers would tell of how the screams of an animal pierced the air that night. The animal was surely hurt and terrified from the sound of its cries. It was assumed it must have somehow become tangled in a fisherman’s net or mortally injured to make the horrifying sound the villagers heard that pierced the darkness. A sound so terrifying that it woke up sleeping babies for miles and sent men out into the night with guns and daggers to ensure the safety of their families. In the morning, however, no animal was found which could explain the disturbance the night before. No one would ever be convinced it was the frustrated cry of a man.
He could not rest. He was furious. It had been two nights since he saw her and he could still feel the fire burning within him. He would find her and she would be sorry. How dare she lure him into the shadows then disappear. He put no thought into how this happened, only why. He thought the female was merely playing a game with him. A game that would prove deadly. He stood by the ocean watching the waves slowly drift in and out. He would find the woman, of that he was sure; what he was unsure of was what exactly he would do with her.
He walked along the shore under the moonlight for several hours and eventually began to lose his fury. He began to dwell on the female more rationally. First of all, who was she? She was not like other women he was sure of that, but just how different he had no idea. She seemed to be able to see him before he saw her. He sensed something from her, but not fear like the others. When he was with her there seemed to be an electricity in the air that he could not explain. He had to find her, yet he hesitated going into town. Was she here in search of him? Did she know of his terrible secret? He knew when she got here, the captain from the ship spoke of her, but apparently she came here alone and remained alone. He would venture into town tomorrow night, he had made up his mind.
She was haunted by the stranger. She was nervous and afraid. For the first time in centuries she was afraid of a man. How could this be? She constantly asked herself. He is a mere man, how can he sense what no one else can? Why is he not afraid like the others? These were questions she could not answer. She was afraid of the answer. Did he come seeking her? What did he know of her? How long had he been in Gredonia? She needed to go among the townspeople and see if she could learn of this phantom, but was afraid to go out. The weather was still cool and only a few of the villagers were out until the wee hours of the morning. She had to go out for she was hungry, but she also required answers. She procrastinated. These feelings were foreign to her. She had been isolated for so long she didn’t understand how she could feel afraid. She was the one to be feared, not the one to feel fear. She was not sure that fear was the only emotion she was feeling; there seemed to be a static in the air when she was close to him. She decided that she would venture into town the following evening in search of some answers.
Her dreams were disturbing again this night. She was with her husband, they were dancing and laughing and very much in love. The next thing she knew her husband was sick lying in their bed with no hope. All the doctors in the town in which they lived as well as the towns surrounding theirs held out no hope for his recovery. She was to accept this fact and do what she could to make him comfortable. She refused to accept their diagnosis and was determined to find help for the man whom she loved with all her heart. All throughout her dream her husband lay helpless and pale in their bed, unable to move and finally, toward the end, unable to speak or open his eyes, yet he lay there, still and barely breathing. She still loved him.
Then without warning she found herself in that horrible, terrible foreign land. She had gone to seek untraditional help and medicines, willing to pay whatever the cost. She took all her money and jewelry with her to pay this doctor what he required, but it was not money or jewelry he wanted. The Charletan promised her it would cure her husband, that he would be with her for the rest of her life and they would be happy and healthy until they were both very old. Then he told her of the cost; the one thing only she could give, the one thing that made her who she was, the one thing that would send her to heaven when she died. He wanted her soul. He demanded her essence, her innermost self. He assured her it was the only thing he would take in exchange for the potion he made for her.
He walked out of the shack it had taken her weeks to find and told her to think about it and let him know her decision. She had until dawn he told her. But she knew she had to make her decision now and she made it for her husband and herself, so that they could live many years together. She agreed.
The pain was exquisite but lasted only a moment. She felt warmness like she had never felt before, then she felt only cold moving into her, she felt as though she were turning to stone. She felt weak and strange and tired, so very tired. When she awoke she did not know how much time had passed since she had given in to the stranger. Had it been hours, days, weeks? She had no idea and there was no one and nothing in the shack by which to tell. She was alone with a black bottle of potion closed by a cork and sealed with melted wax and twine. It was her husband’s salvation, yet it was her life that was in that bottle.
Though it was dark outside she felt no fear. She did not give a thought to any creature that may be lurking in the night, ready to pounce and tear her to shreds, devouring her before she could complete her journey home. In fact, she felt a courage that she had never felt before. She ran, running faster than she had since she was a child playing with her brother. She ran through the bramble of the forest, through the trees and over the hills. She made it home in what seemed like hours from a journey that had taken her weeks only a short time ago.
When she arrived at the house, she knew before she even walked through the front door that she was too late. There was a coldness and loneliness about the house that she could only identify as a sense of mourning. She was too late, she felt it and she felt her heart break in her chest. She entered the house and there her husband lie, in a casket in the drawing room, surrounded by people with whom they were friends. She collapsed into a darkness from which she has never recovered. She retreated into herself for a very long time. She was depressed and lonely and her tears were incessant. Yet, she never physically felt better. Her hair shone when she brushed it, her skin was almost translucent and she felt inexplicably energized. She no longer slept at night, though she didn’t immediately understand why. She was up until dawn walking along the dew- covered lawn, with only the moon and stars to keep her company.
She spoke with her husband during these walks and it made her feel better. She spoke with him as if he were walking beside her. She told him how she would search the ends of the earth until she found the imposter who promised her a long and happy life with him. She felt as though he would help her formulate a plan, however, she had no idea where to start. She knew not his name, the place he called home or his occupation. She learned of him from her housekeeper who knew much of the dark things and black magic. When she returned home, however, the housekeeper was gone; no doubt into hiding in fear of the wrath that would be raged upon her.
Victoria awoke as she always did with tears in her heart and a lump in her throat. She missed her husband and the happiness they shared. She missed the feel of his arms around her and the brush of his lips on her face. She loved lying beside him, smelling him, breathing him. She hated the night. Although this night her thoughts were quickly replaced by the tall dark stranger about whom she must learn. She promised herself it would end tonight.
Anna went to work. It was the first time in a long time that she could bring herself to walk into the pub that was once comfortable and inviting to her. She hadn’t been at work since the night she touched the handsome stranger. There was no explaining her situation and there was no logic in it. The stranger was merely a man of muscle and, more than likely, worked on the ships that came through. She tried to convince herself of this and that the fact that he was so cold was due to the coolness outside. That was why he was in front of the fire, of course, to warm himself. But there was more. When she merely touched him she felt as though everything good in her was gone. She wanted to cry - no she wanted to scream and flee at once. She sensed darkness, a darkness from which there could be seen no light.
She had been sickly ever since. She didn’t understand it herself; all she knew was that she didn’t feel like herself. There was something wrong, not with her necessarily, but with everything else. Since that night when she was forced into him by the unruly patrons things had not felt the same. The flowers were not as bright, the sun seemed dull in the daytime sky, her food did not taste good and she felt no happiness. All this from a single touch. She was tired for sleep eluded her at night and when sleep did finally find her in the hours just before dawn she was tormented by terrible nightmares. Nightmares of cemeteries and things long dead and rotted.
Her husband had had his fill with her constant distraction and he told her she needed to go back to the pub. They had kids to feed and his job at the docks was not enough to bring in the money to feed the lot of them. If she was sick, go to a doctor he told her, if she was not, get to feeling better and get on with it. She knew she wasn’t sick and even if she were to go to a doctor what would she tell him? She didn’t know. If she were to tell him how she was feeling he would have her locked up for sure. So today she washed her face, pulled back her hair, put on her apron and left the house.
The walk to the pub was ordinarily a long one, but this night Anna got there before she was ready. She stood by the door and willed herself to go in. She prayed the dark man was not in there and she hoped the men inside would behave themselves for she was in no mood to deal with their mischievousness tonight. She had a hard enough time getting her babies to bed, she had no taste for dealing with these boys just now.
As she stood there the door opened from the inside and two patrons wrestling each other for what looked like a piece of bread spilled out into the night. When they saw her, they immediately forgot what they were fighting over and hugged her and welcomed her back. They cheerily told her they hoped she was better and they missed her. They each took an arm and walked into the pub with her and announced to the whole place that Anna was back. The patrons all toasted her and in turn hugged her and wished her well and were glad she had returned to them. Nervously, Anna looked at the fireplace and saw there was no stranger sitting by the fire. Her prayers had been answered and, scolding the fighting boys, Anna got on with her work.
Demetrie posed as someone just coming off an arriving ship. He asked the workers if they had seen his wife who had arrived several days before. He described her as fair skinned, with long red hair. She would have arrived by herself and needed lodging. Had anyone seen her? Most of the workers said they did not, however, one man, who apparently was just leaving the little town said that he had seen her walking the street towards the pub from the opposite side of town, but that he didn’t speak to her. He knew nothing of where she was staying or what her business was in town. Demetrie handed the man a token of his appreciation and headed off in the direction he began. Actually, he had no direction at all.
He left the dock in search of this woman who had, until this point in time, been very elusive. Once found, he would interrogate her, he would punish her for his torment these past several nights, and then he would take what he wanted from her. She was unaware of her intended visitor and he would catch her off guard. He almost felt like whistling as he proceeded to the area of town which the man directed him. He finally felt as though he would find her this evening and for the first time in centuries, he was elated.
His lightheartedness ended when he thought about what would happen when he arrived in the village. In another lifetime he would be looking forward to an evening of dining and dancing with a beautiful woman. A romantic evening filled with lively conversation, drinking champagne from crystal flutes, and holding her to him while they waltzed. The night should last until the morning when they would watch the sun rise over the horizon. He would deliver her home and return to his residence where he would lie awake for several hours replaying the romance of the evening. This night, however, would not end in that fashion.
Romance was denied him, as was lively conversation and holding a woman while they waltzed. It had been so long since that night when his life was changed forever; yet he remembered the details like it was yesterday. It was a simple robbery. It should have been a regular, run of the mill mugging, but something went terribly wrong. His father did not like him carousing with the help who lived in the cottages on the other side of the property, but he found them fascinating and wise. He liked to hear them tell their stories of voodoo and dark magic and he loved the dark women that brought immense pleasure for a mere pittance. In fact, his first adventure with drinking was with these hired hands and they paid for his first experience with one of the more knowledgeable women of town. He considered them friends.
He had been away on his father’s business and visited their shack upon his return. They were glad to see him and offered him food and drink and a place at their card table. They had taken his money, but he had enjoyed this evening more than any other while on his trip and was happy to be home.
It was almost dawn and he was on his way to the house when the attack occurred. There were four, maybe five, of them. They beat him with their fists and wooden posts. He put up a good fight and got a few punches in, and though he was young and quick, he was no match for the group. He had little money in his pocket and all they got from him was his ring and a gold necklace he had been given by his mother on his 20th birthday. They seemed disappointed and dragged his body for several yards. He was on the verge of losing consciousness, but distinctly heard a woman’s voice.
She was tall, dark and beautiful. She had a dark mystery about her which he would think about when he was feeling better. The woman ordered the men to remove what was left of Demetrie’s coat and ascot. They obeyed immediately. The woman appeared in front of his face and straddled him. He realized the muggers had dragged him into the cemetery and he was leaning against something cold and hard which he later came to realize was a tombstone. She touched his face and complimented him on being such a handsome man. She leaned down and he thought she was going to kiss him; however, she whispered something terrifying into his ear. He tried to get to his feet, but she was still on top of him weighing him down and he was beaten and broken and weak. He immediately felt a shar and immense pain followed by a warm sensation flooding throughout his body. Though his eyes were open, he could no longer see the moon or the muggers as she was leaning directly over him and her full and curly hair cascaded over his face. He drank in her essence and remembered thinking she smelled of the earth and for a moment he realized he was enjoying the sensation she caused throughout his being. Shortly, however, the warm and enjoyable feeling was quickly replaced by a heavy cold sensation. That was all he remembered.
He awoke several days later in his own bed in his father’s house. They found him the day following the attack in the cemetery and thought he was a dead man. He had a broken leg, several ribs were broken and he had lost enough blood that he should not have awakened. Two days later he was standing and a week later he was back at the shack of his friends drinking beer. No one could explain his miraculous recovery. It was attributed to his age and it was believed that the doctor must have misdiagnosed his condition. In fact, his bruises disappeared, his broken bones mended completely and he never felt so physically fit in his life; his love of the hours of darkness seemed more attractive to him than ever and he found himself sleeping from dawn to dusk. He learned that his physical fitness and love of the night was due to his new metabolism and in the years to come, he would come to think of this newfound lifestyle as a curse. A curse he would bear for eternity.
Maybe it was a good idea to go to a yard sale in the snooty part of town where the houses were perfect with their perfectly manicured lawns, their perfect cars parked in the perfect garages and all the kids with their perfect selves rode their perfect bikes perfectly on the perfect side of the street.
Melanie didn’t live in the snooty part of town. In fact, she just moved to an apartment in the very-not-snooty part of town. She and Brad lived in a very nice neighborhood in a very nice house with very nice neighbors. But she no longer lived the very nice life she had grown accustomed to.
Why? There were a few reasons, but the main reason was that Brad decided he no longer wanted a monogamous relationship with his wife of 6 years and would rather sleep with just about any female – please let it just be females – he met. He was one of the top 3 sales representatives for a pharmaceutical company so he traveled quite a bit and maintained relationships with doctors, nurses and other medical professionals. Everything was very nice up until about 8 months ago when he abruptly announced that he needed a divorce. He didn’t want a divorce, he needed a divorce. As did she, it was the best thing for both of them.
She felt like she had been kicked in the stomach; she never gave up her job like some of her friends did when she got married, but her lifestyle was still changed and not for the best. She didn’t want, nor did she need a divorce, but nevertheless here she was traveling to a yard sale in the snooty part of town to find some decorative items for her new apartment; something without Brad’s influence.
The bright green sign indicated the sale was just around the corner and there it was. No parking was to be had near the sale, so they pulled up three houses down the street and walked over. There were the usual horrible paintings, baby clothes, outgrown sports equipment and other sundries from inside the house that the family no longer loved or wanted. They looked around and Mom found a set of tea cups and saucers she successfully negotiated down to $5 with the hostess, but assured the woman they were not finished looking.
Melanie didn’t really see anything she felt she couldn’t live without and was ready to leave when she came upon some in badly need of polish flower vases. There were three in all, one about 5” tall, one 7” and one not more than 9” tall. They weren’t really round, but not square either; they seemed to be made of what appeared to be many small triangular panels glued together with a weird, iridescent type of fabric or mirror on which the panels were placed. There were corks in the top of each vase, but there was definitely room for a small bunch of flowers once the corks were removed. She tried to look inside at the yard sale, but before she could uncork one the woman said they had belonged to her mother-in-law and had been stored in their garage for the past 3 years after the woman’s death. She assured Melanie some hot soapy water and perhaps a bit of silver polish and they would be good as new, maybe better.
At the insistence of her mother and after witnessing her mother’s negotiating skills once again Melanie took the trio home for a mere $7.00. Her Mom chatted on and on about their purchases and asked if Melanie would like to stop for a fancy coffee – her treat. Melanie was in no hurry to get home, so she agreed.
After quite a pleasant afternoon with her Mother, Melanie had plans to go out for a wine tasting with her girlfriends. She wished she had time for a nap, but since she didn’t, she grabbed a quick shower, changed her clothes, tied back her hair and headed out to the hotel hosting the wine tasting. Many of Melanie’s friends had husbands and one had two year old twins, so they all made a pact to meet for a girls’ night once a month. Some months it was a salad and iced tea at a small bistro in the mall, but tonight wine was on the menu and Melanie was glad of it.
About an hour and two glasses of Chardonnay into the evening Brad walked into the hotel lobby. He didn’t notice the four women at the table because his eyes were glued to a buxom red head with a dress so short she couldn’t walk in it and heels so tall walking was practically impossible. She tried to be nonchalant about seeing him and act as if it didn’t bother her, but her fun was over for the evening. Brad and his date stopped at the front desk, retrieved a card key and headed straight to the elevators. Melanie thought maybe she needed to go to hotels on the snooty side of town too and avoid riff raff. This made her snicker to herself.
She got home about midnight, fed and petted her cat Seymore. While she spent quality time with her feline roommate she pulled the largest of the three vases from the box in which they were packed after being wrapped in tissue paper. She carefully unwrapped it and sat it on the counter. Seymore sniffed at the vase then began to meow very loudly, swat at its base and back away ignoring his favorite salmon dinner.
Melanie laughed at the way Seymore acted just be seeing himself in the mirrored prism of the vase. “Silly cat” she thought, turned out the light and went to her room. She was asleep almost instantly and didn’t hear the vase crash to the floor as Seymore swatted it off the counter. When she woke up in the morning she scolded the cat for being ridiculous and put the vase back into the box.
She went about her normal Saturday chores and looked over at the box containing the vases as she wrote “silver polish” and “flowers” on her shopping list. She finished her cup of coffee, rinsed the cup and left to run errands.
When she returned a couple hours later Seymour again received a scolding as the box of vases was now on the floor and the largest one had rolled away from the others who were still wrapped from yesterday. Seymour got locked in the bathroom until he could learn to behave, which Melanie knew would be never, but his restraint would last at least 10 minutes before she grew tired of hearing him cry and whine, not to mention shred her shower curtain which he did on a previous tirade.
After she picked up the vases and placed them on the table once again she carried in the dry cleaning and groceries and began putting everything away. She felt Seymour had been punished long enough and let him out. He ran past her right to the dining room table, jumped up on it and sat very still looking at the vases. He didn’t purr, meow or swat at them; just looked and watched.
Melanie was lost in her thoughts of last night, first laughing at the fun she had with the girls then frowning when she pictured Brad and The Bimbo. She laughed again when she thought that would be a good name for a sitcom then began thinking who should play the parts of herself, Brad and, of course, the Bimbo,
She grabbed a clean rag and the bottle of newly purchased silver polish, grabbed a diet soda from the fridge and sat at the dining room table. She had to force Seymour off the table and did so in order to look closely at the trio of mirrored vases. They were really quite pretty, but what she liked about them most was that she had never seen anything like them before. Brad would never have wanted them in his house because they wouldn’t fit in with the ultra modern décor he preferred.
As she polished the larger of the vases she thought about Brad and got more irritated as the minutes went on. She had never polished silver before and was not sure when she was finished. They didn’t really polish up like she wanted and thought perhaps she should have just washed them in hot, soapy water instead. She removed the corks from the two smaller vases but the larger vase proved to be more difficult to pop. She wiggled it and wiggled for several minutes before it finally came loose. There was a weird and musty smell that emanated from inside the vase and decided she would wash it out and hoped it didn’t ruin her polish job.
She filled the sink with hot soapy water and placed the vases in it. She had barely turned around when she heard a light choking sound and was afraid Seymour had swallowed one of the corks. Seymour was fine and in fact was looking into the soap bubbles in the sink. He shrieked and took off into the bedroom when the bubbles seemed to grow and spill out onto the kitchen floor. She barely had time to comprehend what was happening before a very tall skinny man appeared in front of her.
She stood there with her mouth open for quite some time watching this weird man shake the bubbles from his hair and beard. He was coughing and she barely heard him ask her what she was trying to do, drown him?
As was her nature, she yelled back at him asking what he was doing here in her kitchen and who in the world was he? She needed to sit down right now and felt the room spinning around her. Seymour was nowhere to be found and there seemed to be a strange man in her kitchen whom she didn’t invite. Everything went black and she hit the floor, completely missing the rug in front of the stove, hitting her head directly on the hard porcelain tile.
When she opened her eyes, she was very confused. Why was she on the kitchen floor? Why was there a couch pillow under her head? What day was it? Etc. She lay there for a moment and tried to get her bearings. When she moved her head it hurt. When she sat up she became dizzy and a bit nauseous. Then she heard him. “Well look whose awake” came a man’s voice from the dining room. “It’s about time, I think your animal is hungry”. She looked around, careful not to move her head too quickly and saw him. Now she remembered. She was feeling extremely vulnerable sitting on the floor with this stranger looming over her.
She steadied herself using the kitchen counter and noticed her socks were wet from the water from the sink which spilled out onto the floor. It was all coming back to her now. She looked at the strange man who was, typically, standing in front of her with his arms folded across his chest. She half expected him to have a turban and a purple vest on, but he was dressed simply in baggy pants and a plain t-shirt. As Melanie looked the stranger in her kitchen over from head to foot he seemed irritated. “Just take a picture and you can look at me all day long.” Said the stranger. Geez, can you say “awkward?”
She blushed and she had no idea why. This strange man appeared in her kitchen without notice and he was irritated at her? Okay. All she could think of to say to his was “Thanks for the pillow” as she picked the couch pillow up from the floor. “No problem. I tried to pick you up, but you wouldn’t budge. Have you thought of cutting back on cookies?” Oh my goodness, this man was insulting her right in her very home. She ignored him.
“Who are you?” she asked the man in a voice that was trembling and not as strong as she tried to make it. “Where did you come from?” He turned around with his back to her, still keeping his arms folded and walked to the couch and sat down. “Seriously? Where did I come from? Did you not try to drown me in that water? Did you not see me come from the bottle you were polishing? Please don’t expect me to believe you are that naïve.”
Again, he was so sarcastic. After a few minutes of bantering back and forth she finally found out he was a magician and was purchased from his owner by a woman about 20 years ago. She, however, did not try to drown him and they became close friends until she passed away recently. He had been waiting in the bottle since being packed up with her belongings and shoved into the garage. “Do you know how boring it is to be stuck in a garage for years?” He asked “And then get rescued only to nearly drown and accosted by a feline who now is too afraid to even come out from under the bed. By the way, where is the rest of your dwelling?” “The rest of my dwelling?” she asked. “Yes, ‘dwelling’ you know, the noun, a building or place of shelter to live in, place of residence, abode, home, blah blah blah” he snickered at her. “Yes, I know what a dwelling is”. Apparently, he was used to much bigger homes, palaces he said and wasn’t sure why she was living in the servant’s quarters.
After a brief but sarcastic conversation it was learned that he was in fact a genie, which he felt was the wrong term to use and was usually utilized by the ignorant, profilers of this century. No, his name was not Aladdin and no, he did not previously reside in a lamp. His name was Baldorf, he lived in an expensive decorative vase, and yes, unfortunately, he had the power to grant certain desires. When she asked if he was a genie to grant her 3 wishes he became incredulous. “No, I am not the traditional Genie and I do not grant wishes. I am a magician – a therapist of sorts – who would guide you to benefit from my powers to assist you in reaching your desired goals.” She didn’t like him. He was pompous and arrogant, but if he could grant her wishes…………
She asked how many goals he was willing to help her reach and he told her three, possibly five. It depended on her attitude. “My attitude?” she was so highly annoyed. I wish you would just give me a straight answer. “Now you have 4 wishes left.” She immediately realized what she said. She had to be very careful from now on.
The silence was awkward as he looked around her small apartment and stared at her. She asked him to tell her his story. He came from a long line of genies. When their powers of granting wishes was discovered, leaders from faraway lands would kidnap them and keep them as prisoners to do their bidding. At that time there was no limit to the number of wishes one genie could grant and their usefulness went on forever.
He was kidnapped from his original palace centuries ago by a fat and selfish king who only wished for food and dancing girls. Day in and day out. When he would awake he wanted food after his appetite was satiated he wanted girls. He was a pig, but he was this genie’s owner and nothing could be done about it; that is until the king was robbed and along with possessions taken from him was the genie in a bottle.
His new owner did not know the number of wishes was limitless and was promised only three. He and his bottle were tossed aside after the three meaningless wishes were granted and he sat in a desolate church until he was found and purchased by the tourist with whom he lived for many years, more as a friend than a possession. She asked for very little and at the end he could have prolonged her life had she only asked, but her husband had died suddenly years prior and she was ready to go be with him.
Now, here he was with this simpleton who had used her first wish by merely being impetuous. He sat there on her couch looking at her and when he realized his silence made her nervous, decided not to speak.
“So how do I get you back into the bottle?” She asked him finally. He told her once it was completely dried out she simply had to politely ask him to return to it. In all actuality she could order him into the bottle, but why share this tidbit of information with her?
She dried the inside of the bottle and politely asked him to return inside, which he promptly did with a small and very unceremonious puff of smoke. She needed time to think and his silent staring was all she could bear at the moment.
The cat finally came out from under her bed and she stroked his fur and told him all about the happenings of the past hour. She was very nervous and unsure what she should wish for. There were many things she desired, but were they worth wasting a wish on?
When she let Baldorf out of his bottle several days later she learned that wishes could not be granted with the genie inside the bottle. During their conversation the phone rang and it was her ex husband with news that he was planning to marry and he wanted her to hear it from him and not from her dramatic friends. They had set a date and he wanted her to be happy for him. “Happy for you?” She blurted out then cried into the phone “I wish you were dead.” At the instant the words left her mouth she realized what she had done. She looked with horror at Baldorf and he simply help up 3 fingers. She screamed into the phone, but all she received in return was silence. What had she done?
She received a phone call a few hours later from her mother who had heard that her ex husband suffered a massive heart attack and didn’t make it. She didn’t mention the fact that the scoundrel was getting remarried. “Scoundrel?” she asked herself. She was a murderer how could she call her dead ex husband anything but an innocent bystander?
She placed Baldorf back into his bottle and there he stayed for weeks. She attended Brad’s funeral, never uttering a word to anyone about what she had done. She went to work, came home and went to bed. She felt she didn’t deserve anything else.
One day she was late for work because her car wouldn’t start. She knew this was going to happen as there had been signs that she needed work done to her 10-year old vehicle, but she was in no financial position to get repairs made. Then something dawned on her. She went inside her house, popped the cork on Baldorf’s bottle and bade him step outside. When he was completely visible to her she simply said “I wish I owned, free and clear, a brand new Mercedes SUV – blue.” He blinked and she looked outside. There in the driveway was a beautiful blue vehicle where her old one had stood only moments before. She went outside, opened the glove compartment and found a title to the vehicle, with her name and her name only on it. She was elated. She looked at Baldorf and he said “Two more.”
She immediately put him back into the bottle. She drove to work in her beautiful new vehicle, feeling better than she had in months. Melanie thought to herself that her dwelling was awfully small and her clothes pretty old, maybe her mother deserved a new car too. She couldn’t stop thinking about what she would wish for next. She wondered if she could wish she were two sizes smaller than she was. Could he do that? Then she had another brilliant idea.
When she got home she carefully got Baldorf out again. “Well, twice in one day. To what do I owe this honor of breathing air that smells like cat and putrid tuna?” I wish I owned a beautiful house at 1847 Pawtucket Lane in this City – the snooty part of town. He blinked and a set of house keys appeared in her pocket.
He told her she had only one wish left and she should consider this one very, very carefully. Perhaps she could consider wishing for something for someone else; though he knew that rarely, if ever, happened. She wished she had 5 more wishes. Baldorf didn’t see that coming and was angry that she had thought of wishing for more wishes. He simply blinked and said “Very well, you have 5 wishes left.”
She was so very pleased with herself as she watched him return to his bottle that she decided she deserved a night out with her friends. After a few phone calls she was sitting on a stool with her friends with her first glass of wine in front of her. She knew that Baldorf was home in his bottle and she was safe to say anything she wanted.
She had several more glasses of wine and when the cab driver dropped her off, she immediately went to Baldorf’s bottle. She was quite tipsy and he knew she was going to wish for something ridiculous. She did. She wished for a friend for Seymour, a closet full of new clothes just her size, a big screen TV and just as she started to say something else he reminded her she had but 2 wishes left. He was hoping she would wish for something for her mother, or mankind in general, but she didn’t. She wished for a pepperoni pizza then, after eating half of it, promptly fell asleep.
She didn’t take the time to request Baldorf return to his bottle before she began snoring very unattractively on the couch. He made himself comfortable and after a few hours of coaxing, Seymour and his new friend jumped up on his lap and he began to pet them both, scratching them behind the ears and earning their friendship.
When she awoke as the sun was coming up she realized that she had been drunk-wishing and was afraid she had used them all up. When she asked Baldorf how many wishes she had left he simply wrote the number 1 in the air. He was terrified that she was going to wish for more wishes and it was never going to end; however, she simply said “I wish I had never bought you.” With that, in an instant she was in her small apartment with her small tv, one cat, old car, ratty clothes and engaged ex-husband and she only had one thought: “I’m hungry, I wish I had a pizza.”
Now she heard children. When she first started hearing the voices there was only one, a woman. Her Grandmother, but her grandmother would never tell her to do the things this voice told her to. Then there were several talking to her all at once. There were men and women all telling her stories and forcing memories into her head and telling her to do things that she didn’t want to do.
Melinda thought the voices would stop once she burned down the house; after all they told her to do it. Then when they kept talking to her, telling her to take things that did not belong to her from people whom she didn’t know she didn’t listen. She thought that would chase them from her mind, but it didn’t.
Her name is Melinda and she now lived alone in the house that belonged to her grandparents. It was once a happy place where she and her brother played inside and out., running through the house laughing and enjoying each other. Those years were the best of her life. They spent summers here with their grandparents and then went to stay permanently when her parents were murdered. They were on their way to a wedding when their car broke down and her Dad pulled it over to the side of the road. The car and their personal belongings were taken along with their lives. She was 9 and her brother was 12.
Five years later her brother was killed in a hit and run car accident. The driver of the other car was never apprehended. She then lived alone with her grandparents until her grandfather passed away after a stroke and her grandmother followed him 6 months later.
She loved her parents and couldn’t imagine her life without them, but she got through it because she had her brother. Then when Melinda buried him at the age of 14, she felt completely lost. Her Grandmother was her rock and helped her survive his death with love, support and therapy. Then when her Grandfather passed away when she was 22 she felt a bit better able to cope with another death; after all he had lived to the ripe old age of 87 and she wasn’t completely alone. But when her Grandmother passed away she gave up. She fell into a dark abyss from which she never thought she would recover.
She had a dream one night, in which her Grandmother was talking to her. She was saying soothing things like everyone was together and they were happy. They missed her, but knew they would have to wait a long time until they saw her again. This made her feel a little better and hoped when she awoke that she would hear her Grandmother’s voice again. She heard nothing.
Several weeks later just before dawn her Grandmother spoke to her again. She told her to get out of bed, shower, and get herself together. She needed to go back to work and get on with her life. Melinda awoke shortly after the dream, got out of bed, showered and made breakfast. She spoke with her employer and said she was ready to return to work. Melinda worked as a copy editor at a local publishing company. She had been there for 2 years and they said they’d hold her job for her as long as she needed. He agreed she could return to work the following Monday and he told her to enjoy her last weekend off as things were very busy at the office and she would be putting a lot of overtime.
She felt good. She straightened up the house, went to the grocery store and washed her car. Grandma always gave good advice. This is just what she needed - to get herself together and get on with her life.
Monday came and she went back to work. Things were fine for a while, then one night a voice came to her in the night. It wasn’t her grandmother’s voice. She had no idea to whom it belonged, but it said things to her – things she did not want to hear, but she couldn’t not hear it. It told her she was was going mad; she was losing what little piece of her mind she had left. It told her she would soon discover the truth of her friends and coworkers. She would learn that they had a grudge against her and their hatred would eventually destroy her.
She didn’t think her friends and coworkers were acting differently towards her, they seemed fine. They seemed to like her. But the voice. The voice told her that she was just being foolish. If she was honest with herself she would see the signs.
She refused to hear any more. She turned the television set up loud and buried her head in a book she was reading. The voice came back only for a second and it was laughing; laughing at her. Grandma would never laugh at her.
One night the voice came to her again. She was sure, even in her sleep, that this was not her Grandmother’s voice, but she listened anyway. The voice spoke of her last weeks at work. She reminded her about a time when there was a group of people at the coffee shop where they had congregated before going into the office. They were deep in conversation until she walked up to their table. They stopped talking immediately and just looked at her. She was waiting for an invitation to sit down, but when none came, she waved and walked to work. “Why didn’t they invite you?” the voice tormented.
She heard “Then remember the day at lunch you decided to run some errands so you didn’t eat your usual vending machine sandwich and soda with your so-called friends. During the afternoon no one even asked where you had gone. They didn’t even notice you weren’t there.”
Then the voice taunted her with something she had completely forgotten about. It was surely a non-incident, but the voice made it sound much, much more. “Remember when you caught one of the mail clerks staring at you on that rainy afternoon and then when you looked at him, he simply looked away? It’s because he thinks you are ugly.”
Was the voice right? People surely were acting strangely, but it could all be a coincidence. It was like the woman was inside her head and heard her thoughts as she began to laugh hysterically. “Coincidence? You are even dumber than I thought.”
Work was strange. The people were strange. She noticed small things that had gone unnoticed before; she noticed people scattered when she came near and stopped talking when she walked by. The voice assured her they were talking about her and not very nicely at that.
The office was going to be closed for the Christmas holiday as it always was from December 24th to January 2nd. She was happy for the time off and looked forward to some rest. She was sure the voice would stop now that she would just be at home by herself.
Well, the voice didn’t stop and now there were more. There was a man’s voice – not anyone she recognized, another female, sounding younger than her grandmother and the wicked one, and others. They all seemed to be talking to her at once and saying mean and horrible things. They talked about everyone she knew and how she needed to get the out of her life. They laughed and said she had to not be afraid of everything and start doing what he was told. There were times when she couldn’t even hear her own thoughts for the voices in her head were incessant.
But then there were times when the voices stopped altogether. That was almost worse. She was afraid to have her own thoughts for fear that they would hear and laugh at her and call her names. She couldn’t concentrate long enough to listen to music or read her book or watch a movie.
One of her friends called to invite her to a New Year’s Eve party they were having. She was delighted and accepted immediately. She began thinking of what she would wear, a hostess gift she would bring, if she should get her hair done; all the things one thinks of when going to a fancy party. It was all very exciting until the voices came back.
“You know why they invited you, don’t you? They want to laugh at you.”
“You aren’t really thinking of going are you? You aren’t going to be as pretty as everyone else.”
“You know they are all evil and hateful.”
“They need to die”
“All of them. They need to burn. You need to kill them.”
Those last voices scared her to the bone. She didn’t know why they needed to die. She couldn’t imagine hurting anyone in any way. She would never ever ever cause damage to anyone. That was today.
The voices chanted to her through the night in a tone so low she didn’t even notice as she slept. They whispered: “They must die. They must die. They must die. You must burn them. “ over and over in her sleep. When she awoke she felt like she had not rested at all, but was determined to go shopping for a new dress for the party. She left her house and went directly to the hardware store where she purchased a gas can, a butane lighter, some rope and some wire cutters.
She went back to her house, put them in the garage and headed to the mall. She purchased a very sexy black dress, shoes, earrings and gloves. She never thought about gloves before, but they looked so pretty with the dress. She was exhausted when she got home and fell asleep immediately when her head touched the pillow. She didn’t even remember her side trip to the hardware store, but that was ok. They knew about it.
The party was just days away and she was beginning to panic. She had survived Christmas by cooking herself a good meal and watching holiday movies. The holiday was nothing like the ones she remembered and in fact, just wanted to ignore the day altogether. She couldn’t stop thinking about the party, mainly thanks to the voices in her head telling her all the reasons why the people she had known as friends had to die. She had learned to ignore them. At least she thought she did, when in reality all she did was push them further into her subconscious where they could do much more damage.
The day of the party arrived along with several inches of snow and wind. She decided at that point not to get her hair done and to just wear it up so it could survive the wind. The voices had been silent but she could hear them beginning to start up again. At one point they were all so loud inside her head that she felt as if her eyes would explode.
She picked up the phone and called her friend. She told her she had woken up with a migraine and would not be making it to the party after all. The friend said she was sorry to hear that as they were all looking forward to spending the night together. She didn’t believe her. She was lying. She was just disappointed that she would not be there for everyone to laugh at. They wanted to laugh at her dress, her hair, her gift, her bottle of champagne; everything. They were just disappointed that she would not be there for them to torment.
She didn’t remember making the call as she climbed into the warm and softly scented bubble bath. She didn’t remember the call or the thoughts afterward as she slipped into her dress and shoes and gloves. She didn’t remember the phone call at all, nor did she remember placing her hardware store purchases into the trunk of her car. She also had no recollection of going to the gas station two days ago and actually putting gasoline into the gas can. She recalled none of this as she grabbed her champagne, the hostess gift and her coat and walked out the door. She did, however, notice the voices were very quiet at the moment. Something she was very glad of.
She timed it so she would be one of the last ones to arrive at the house of the party. She didn’t want to be one of the first ones, and not the very last one. Timing was very important when arriving at a party her Grandmother told her. Entrances were all that mattered; they were much more important than exits. This would come in handy a little later.
She entered the party just as she had imagined. Everyone was so beautiful in their fancy party attire; the women in dresses and diamonds and the men in dark suits, some in tuxedos. It was a beautiful night and the house was decorated spectacularly with candles and lights and a wonderful fire in the fireplace. The fire was beautiful, possibly the most breathtaking fire she had ever seen. She was mesmerized for only a moment when her trance was broken when someone came up to her and told her how divine she looked.
One small voice snickered in her head. That was all. She chatted with her friends, she drank champagne, she danced to the music and tasted every morsel on the buffet table. It was too bad she would be leaving soon. She looked around the room at all of the people who had come to the party. She noticed them all looking back at her. She became uncomfortable and very warm. They were laughing, laughing at her no doubt and at her stupid dress and shoes. They pretended not to be paying attention to her and pretended to be talking to each other but she knew. She knew what they were talking about and laughing about and smirking about. Her. She was disappointed that she had fallen for the ruse and actually thought she was having a good time and was welcome at this party. The voices, the extremely quiet voices were right. But where were the voices now? She could barely hear anything inside her head. She could barely hear what they were saying to her.
“It’s time my darling.”
“You know they need to die. All of them”
“You know what to do.”
She quickly and quietly went into the bedroom and grabbed her purse and coat. Without attracting any attention, she slipped out the back door and into the night. She went straight to her car and opened the trunk. She had no idea what she was doing. She was focusing only on the voices and what they were telling her to do.
She retrieved the rope, gas can, lighter and wire cutters with her gloved hands. She approached the house and tied all exterior doorknobs tightly to the porch posts, both front and back.. As she poured gasoline on the bushes and trees, as well as the outdoor carpeting, patio furniture and the green garland hanging from each eave of the house she paid attention to every wire she saw. She poured gasoline under the garage door, making sure not to get any on her beautiful new gloves. She then snipped the wires she saw draped around the house, mostly under the eaves of the roof. She knew she had done something right when the music stopped and some of the lights went out. That’s when she used her lighter.
As she walked to her car with her supplies in her hand she saw the outside of the house engulfed in flames. It took a moment to get started due to the snow on the ground, but it took off pretty well in just a few seconds. She could hear screams as people realized what was happening and could see them trying to get out of the doors which was impossible. As she drove away she noticed some people had gotten out by breaking windows, but some of them were on fire as they fell into the snow. She simply drove away leaving behind the burning house of a friend and her burning friends in general. She was thinking that they would have to find someone else to laugh at now because she was going home.
The next morning she awoke to the awful news. How could this have happened, she was at that party. She had a great time. She knew most of those people and had just been drinking and eating and dancing with them. It must have happened after she left, she left early. Why did she leave early? She must have had too much to drink. Then the thought of driving home after drinking too much hit her and she ran down to the garage to check on her car. The car was fine. It was perfectly parked as if a stone sober person parked it. She checked it all over, inside and out and everything was fine. That is until she opened the trunk.
The smell of gasoline hit her first; then the sight of the lighter and all the other items in her trunk seemed to be looking back at her. She fainted. When she came to she was still in the garage on the floor next to her car with the trunk open. She had a splitting headache and a terrific pain in her heart. She knew what happened last night. She knew how the fire got started. She knew everything. She knew she did it. What she didn’t know was how or why. She would never hurt anyone, much less the 57 people she had killed and the 32 that had been hospitalized.
The voices began all at once, every one of them at high volume. They were rejoicing in her act. They knew she had done it, they had watched. They knew she was too smart to believe they actually liked her and decided they had to die and had taken matters into her own hands. This she heard from inside her own head. She went to find her Grandfather’s gun.
She trudged up the stairs to where her Grandfather’s belongings were stored, her heart and soul so heavy she could barely pull herself from one step to the other. She was numb. She couldn’t think, she was barely breathing and her heart was pounding in her chest from the pain of what she had done.
The voices came back abruptly and she almost fell backwards down the stairs. The volume with which they were talking was unbearable. Her one thought was that it would be over soon, everything would be over and she would enjoy infinite silence.
Some of the voices were screaming, some were laughing and some sobbing. She assumed the sobbing was from her mother and grandmother at the disappointment they felt towards her actions in the last 12 hours. This was almost as unbearable as what she did to her friends.
“Friends?” One of the voices screeched. “They were not your friends, they were taunting you, making fun of you, and using you for their entertainment.” She knew that wasn’t true. She reached the top of the stairs and inserted her key into the antiquated lock. The door opened with a creak and stirred up a cloud of musty and stale dust. She stepped into the room and fell to her knees and began opening boxes of items that belonged to her Grandmother. The sorrow she felt was unbearable. She lay on the floor embracing a pillow that still smelled like him and sobbed like she had never sobbed before.
The voices did not stop and she could not push them out of her mind. The children were the worst. They were saying terrible things in their childish singy songy voices that made no sense, but struck directly to her heart. Words like “you killed them all. All of your friends are dead. Now you are all alone. But don’t fret, you still have us and we will never leave you. Never leave you. Never leave you.” The song went on forever and in the foreground she could still hear a woman’s sobs and men laughing at her. She had no idea to whom these voices belonged, only the sobbing woman.
When she awoke she was in her bed under the covers. It was dark outside and the snow was silently falling creating a beautiful white blanket over all that was dark and evil. She stepped to the window and looked out. Her eyes burned and her throat was dry as a bone and felt as though she hadn’t eaten in a week. She turned on the lights in the kitchen and poured a glass of water and that’s when she noticed it. The voices were quiet. She actually heard nothing inside or outside of her head. Her thoughts were her own and when she started thinking again her thoughts went back to the news of the fire, the gas can and supplies in her car, the fact that she had no memory of the previous evening she had to fight back tears, she didn’t think she could possibly have any tears left, but why take a chance?
She knew she had lost her mind. She wasn’t sure when or how, but she knew she was insane. Only an insane person would do what she did. Would it be a proper defense in a court of law? How would she be sentenced? Life in prison? Life in an institution? The death penalty? She would prefer the death penalty, but that would take far too long. Then she remembered she was on her way to the attic to gather her Grandfather’s gun and pronounce a life ending sentence, then woke up in her bed. Another black out? She hoped she didn’t leave the house in her coma-like state.
She ate a peanut butter fold over sandwich, swallowed a bit of milk before realizing it was sour, spit it out and went upstairs carrying a cold glass of water. She crawled into her bed and drew the covers up to her neck. She was just dozing off when she heard someone whisper: “You are not crazy. You are the smart one.” Then on the heels of that, “They deserved to die for what they did.” Then another voice then another then another and so on and so on until the tears flowed freely again. She needed help, she needed to call the police, she needed to call a doctor, she needed to ……
She woke up and the sun was shining and the voice on her alarm clock welcomed her to January 4th. January 4th? She lost three days. Surely she hadn’t slept for three days straight. Then a though hit her that she had hoped to Heaven that she had slept and only slept for the previous 72 hours. She used the bathroom and went downstairs to put on some coffee. She stopped at the foot of the stairs. Apparently she had been very busy for the past few days.
The house was pitch black even though the sun was shining brightly just outside the windows. However, now the windows were covered with blankets; almost every blanket in the house now was tacked up at every window and door of the house. She remembered nothing In the kitchen blankets covered each window, the back door and she could even see the door to the porch was covered. There were no signs of any life outside the walls that imprisoned her. The voices began then, speaking jibberish in a language foreign to her. They were laughing, singing, screeching and howling inside her head. She couldn’t bear it for another moment. She opened the door which contained the key to the attic and searched frantically, but the key was not there. She thought, amid the explosions happening in her head, that she may have left it on the stairs the other day when she went to the attic with a mission.
She ran to the stairs and climbed them with an energy she had not felt for weeks, but the key was not there. She desperately needed to find her Grandfather’s gun and blow the voices out of her head and in the process end the life she had hated for years. But the key was nowhere to be found and she sat on the steps and tried to think. Why did she cover the windows? What did the voices tell her to do? She was frightened at the prospect of what she may have done.
She screamed at the voices to stop, to leave her alone, to let her think. They stopped just in time for her to hear the doorbell ring. Panic immediately welled up in her heart and throat. She thought for a moment about ignoring the bell. Who could it be? Who would want to speak to her? The visitor rang the doorbell incessantly and began banging on the door with the bang only police officers could produce. She started down the stairs.
Yes, it was two policemen in blue uniforms and their patrol car still running in the driveway. They confirmed her name and asked if they could come in and talk to her about a fire that occurred several nights ago. When she stepped aside to let them in she looked out into her yard. She noticed a path was shoveled from the garage to the street and her foot-prints disrupted the bright white blanket which covered the rest of the yard. She didn’t remember coming outside and where was she planning on going?
She offered the two men coffee which they declined. They looked around suspiciously at the blankets hanging on the window and she offered a sad explanation about the house being old and drafty. They didn’t believe her, but they went on to the questions at hand. Had she been at the New Year’s Eve party at the house that caught fire and killed 27 people and injured 32 others. She felt sick to her stomach and a freight train tore through her head just as she was about to speak. She grabbed at her head and one of the officers asked if she was ok. The pain was unbearable and she began to cry. She wanted to tell them everything; to confess to everything and ask them to impose the death penalty immediately.
She was trying to talk to the gentlemen sitting in the front room of her Grandparents’ house but each time she started to speak the pain in her head became extreme and brought her to the point of screaming. One policeman caught her as she fainted keeping her from hitting the floor while the other dialed for an ambulance. As the officer waited in the doorway for the paramedics a gentleman, introducing himself as her neighbor across the street described her actions of the previous evening throughout the community. He relayed information to the office about how she went from house to house, yelling that she knew they hated her and she was tired of the torment and they were all going to burn.
The officer thanked the man and invited him to come to city hall and make a formal statement. The man agreed and watched as the paramedics pulled into the driveway to fetch his neighbor. She was screaming as they two responders entered the house, but was calm and still when when brought her out on a gurney and placed her in the back of the ambulance.
The entire story was never revealed and after 13 months of medication, counseling, attorneys, doctors, detectives, institutional administration and frustration, she was sentenced to an institution for the criminally insane until the state felt she had been sufficiently treated and cured and could be released.
She went quietly, never making a sound. In fact, she hadn’t made a sound since that day over a year ago when she wanted to confess to the two policemen who just wanted to talk. She didn’t speak, she didn’t cry, she made no sound whatsoever. The orderly felt bad when checking on her in her cell in solitary confinement. He wondered it was like having no one to talk to and no one to talk to you, his heart went out to her; such a pretty girl too.
The orderly was very kind to think about her loneliness, but he had no idea what it was like for her. Melinda had climbed into her own head and was kept busy talking to the 52 people who had lived there since her Grandmother passed away and the 27 people who had just recently taken up residence.
Victoria walked. And walked. She found herself on the dock and came upon a man helping an elderly woman with her luggage. Before she was fully aware of her intention, she heard herself ask them if they had by chance seen her brother who arrived earlier on another ship. She wasn’t sure of his arrival date and described him to the man as tall with long dark hair and brilliant blue eyes. She immediately became embarrassed by the lack of information she had of this man whom she referred to as her brother. She knew not what he wore, how tall he might be, or where in town he may have been seen. She didn’t even know his name and feigned that he may have gone under a different name as he was running from bill collectors. She scolded herself for behaving like a school girl. When the man on the ship had no information for her, she headed for the pub. She was angry. Angry at herself for acting so irrationally, but more importantly she was angry at the tall stranger who had invaded her dreams and every waking moment. “He would be sorry” she told herself, he would pay the dearest ransom of all. She almost smiled at the thought of how she would end his life for the torment he caused her.
When she entered the Tavern she felt sure she would find the handsome stranger inside. She looked by the fireplace. Nothing. She looked at the bar. Again nothing. She asked one man who was sitting alone if he knew of her brother and again described him as she had done on the dock. The stranger assured her that he had not seen such a man, but if she needed someone to tuck her in at night he would be more than willing and with that he patted her behind. She snapped his neck without a second thought and it happened so quickly that no one gave him a glance. She realized she was irritable and must learn to watch her temper as she sat the dead man in a chair.
The bar maid, who the patrons affectionately called Anna, approached Victoria and asked what she could do for her. Victoria described the man she was looking for and told the maid that he sometimes sat by the fire. The woman’s reaction was not what Victoria expected. Anna stuttered, took a few steps backwards and spilled the tankards of ale she was carrying as she dropped her tray. She immediately tried to collect herself and assured the red-haired woman that she knew nothing of the man she was seeking and it probably was best that she leave the pub straight away. Victoria knew this woman could help her, but obviously was unwilling for some reason to share her information. When Victoria went around the bar and touched the woman’s arm, the woman screamed a blood curdling scream and fainted dead away.
From the others in the tavern she learned that the barmaid had not been well. Anna’s friends got her to her feet and as Victoria walked out the front door, she heard the woman screaming hysterically of cemeteries and things that walked the night and of a cold, hard touch. Victoria cursed to herself. The woman could be of no help to her. She knew she should not have touched her arm. She was very familiar with the reaction her touch brought from the warm blooded creatures she encountered.
She was on her way back to her residence to think what to do next when Victoria heard several dockworkers talking about the stranger who lived on the inlet in the old stone lighthouse. They wondered about him because he seemed to be alone in the world. No one ever saw him in the company of a woman, or in town to buy supplies. Seeing him only occasionally at the pub they opined he was either mad or just so rich that he had no time for regular townspeople. They further speculated that he paid workers to supply him with wine, food and women, though no such supplier could be identified. Anna would have kept her stride except for the comment made by the smallest of the men. He said he thought the man was a nice enough fellow, but that his eyes were so blue and cold that they seemed to peer directly into his soul. He stated those eyes made him feel somehow dead and cold inside.
The men all laughed at this, but quieted down when they saw her approach. Victoria feigned interest in the blue-eyed man and told them that she and her husband had business with him. She then asked them how to get to the old lighthouse. They gave her vague directions and told her that it was no place for a lady and that she should wait until morning and have her husband go in her stead. She assured them that she would heed their advice, thanked them and went on her way. When the men were out of sight, she turned from her intended destination and headed toward the inlet.
The evening started out like any other for Demetrie. He walked. He thought. He grew angry. He had not been successful in his attempts to gain any information regarding the red headed vixen who eluded, yet intrigued him. He had never, even before his curse was placed upon him, been tormented by a female to this extent. His sleep had been tormented for centuries by various visions and memories, but for the past several days he has had but one vision and that is having his way with the redhaired wench then snapping her neck as though she were a tiny bird. This thought lately filled his waking hours as well and he was angry. He was also hungry, but in no mood to eat. He thought for a moment of going into town to see if his prey would cross his path again this night, but knew that since Anna had touched him and reacted so harshly, he needed to refrain from visiting the pub for a while.
He walked to the beach to watch and listen to the waves rolling to the shore. In the moonlight he could see the creatures of the night scurrying away from his footsteps. He hated the water, I think you know that. But it was his only solace this evening. The lights from the lighthouse on the other side of the shore was a steady glow. It was a clear night and the moon was full. There would be no ships losing their way and, therefore, no food was to be provided for him. He was hungry, yet he would not eat. Not until he found her, then he would feast upon her body, her blood, her essence. This thought brought him a small amount of refuge from his torment. A smile almost came to his lips. Almost.
He contemplated returning to his retreat, thinking that the darkness and cold would bring him relief. He then thought better of it. He needed openness to gaze upon the stars and peer out into the darkness of the ocean. He would only feel stifled inside the stone walls and that would only agitate him more. He continued to walk.
She didn’t know how far the lighthouse was from town, and could not risk being outside when the dawn broke over the ocean. She changed her mind to go there right away and made plans to set out the first thing next evening and follow the directions the men had given for her husband to accompany her. Stupid men. She needed no man to accompany her nor to protect her. If only they knew who - - what - - they were dealing with, they would be more appreciative of her survival abilities. If only they knew.
Victoria had one more night of torment and then tomorrow he would be hers. She would feast upon him and teach him one valuable lesson. He would be taught that not every woman swoons at the sight of a tall handsome man and that there are women out there to be wary of. Unfortunately, the lesson would come too late for him to use in the future. He has no future.
Upon returning to her residence she found her way effortlessly in the dark and lay down to rest. She anticipated a dreamless sleep with no visions of the man. She had found him and would deal with him soon. Very soon.
He finally returned to the lighthouse where he wound his way down the spiral stone staircase without the need of a lantern. There was no sound of scurrying rodents for they had either died at his hands or abandoned their home. No need to worry. There would be more. There are always more.
He resigned himself to the fact that he would venture into town tomorrow evening to, once and for all, find information on the woman. Surely, by now she has been seen by the townspeople and they would know of her whereabouts. Or perhaps he would see her in the pub and start up a conversation that would allow him to escort her into the night. Females were easily persuaded once they had a bit of ale in them to do just about anything. Of course, she would not have to do anything but leave with him. He would take care of the rest. Once and for all.
He laid down for a restful sleep. However, sleep eluded him for quite some time that evening. There were no sounds of an impending storm or of wind that would gust and ebb. There was no food available for him and now he could not find the rest he so dearly needed. One more night he told himself. One more night and this torture would be over.
Victoria set out on foot. The castle could not be that far away from town or else the stranger would not have been able to make it to town on his own volition as often as he seemingly did. She did not take the roads, however. She went overland. The rocks and bushes did not seem to bother her. She maneuvered the terrain well and at times seemed to float over treacherous rockbeds or crawling creatures. She made good time and was confident that she could take care of her task at hand and be back in town before the sun rose.
She walked for what seemed like hours before even catching a glimpse of the castle far up ahead. She could not be sure just how far it was and could not gauge it by her night vision, for she could see at night as good as any nocturnal creature. Better than some.
She continued to walk and grew more annoyed with each step. Not that it was so far away or that she was tiring. Only that it was talking so long for her to reach her destination and end her torment. With each step she grew angrier and angrier and feared that she would lose her temper again and not enjoy her prey as she had hoped. She had to calm herself.
She could see a figure in the distance coming toward her. A man. A tall man. Could it be? Could she be so fortunate as to have the object she sought so hard come right into her hands? She stopped and listened. There was only the sound of the ocean and of the night. There was no one else in sight. Her anger left her immediately and she could feel herself anticipating the kill. She assumed it was the kill she was anticipating. She thought that perhaps she would be disappointed when it was over. She had something to occupy her mind for these past few days that she had not had for a long time. She thought of something other than her own misery. She stopped in her tracks when she realized that she had not had the dream of her long lost husband since she met the tall stranger.
Demetrie set out for town. He had gotten better than halfway to his destination and he began to feel an anxiety he had not felt for some time. Finally he would find refuge from his torture and go back to his solitude. He felt no remorse for what he was about to do. He felt only relief and anticipation. He began to wonder, however, was it anticipation that he would be finished with the red haired female forever, or anticipation that he would gaze upon her hair once more. He admonished himself for such a foolish idea and began to walk faster.
The lights of town were far into the distance, but he had no difficulty in seeing them and making out just where the pub was located. What if she was not at the pub? What if no one had seen her? What if she had already left on another ship? These were all distinct possibilities, but he would not let himself dwell on them. She would be there. He would find her. They would have one moment together and that would be it. It would be over.
He walked on the shoreline and did not see the woman coming toward him for she walked inland. He was so lost in his thoughts that he did not feel her or sense her in any way. He walked this way many times before and never even thought that someone would be out at night, except for maybe some young lovers being foolish and running from their parents’ homes to romp in the moonlight. He came across just such a couple years ago. Unfortunate. They were young and seemed very much in love. They could have had a happy life together.
She could see him in the distance walking. His gait was so liquid he seemed to be floating along the sand, undeterred by the debris that had been swept on the shore by the everchanging tides. She watched him. He walked. She stood where she was and watched him from the shelter of the bushes far from the water’s edge. He stopped and looked in her direction, seemingly right into her eyes. His change of direction startled her so she almost lost her balance. Startled her? Yes, startled her. How could this be? No man has startled her for an eternity; but she realized this was no ordinary man.
He continued to look in her direction for several moments held in time. He then resumed his walk. She felt flushed – if that was possible. She almost felt warm for the first time in an eternity. Her anger flooded her like the waves slapping against the filtered sand of the shore. He would pay. That’s what she told herself. He would pay. She had every intention of continuing on her journey, but knew her reward was headed the other way, so she retreated back the way she had come. She would catch up with him and follow him until it was time for her to attain her final reward, while sending this stranger to his. She continued on her journey.
Since the evening she laid eyes upon him, she wanted him. Since the moment their eyes met he had not left her mind. Since the time he surprised her by appearing so close to her that she could almost feel his presence upon her own, she wanted him. But how she wondered did she want him? How did she plan to have him? Would she make it quick for him or slow and satisfying for her? She pondered this while she walked and thought. Oh how she thought and it disturbed her. For the first time in centuries, she had something to look forward to.
He stopped. He thought he heard a noise in the distant bushes and it unsettled him. He was not used to becoming unsettled and stopped to see if he could smell a threat on the air. He stood for a moment, focusing on the area from which the sound emanated, but heard nothing and sensed nothing. Sensing nothing was very unusual for him. He always sensed a person, an animal or even a storm upon the breeze, but nothing. All was still. He strained to see a shape deep in the bushes, but felt his eyes must be playing tricks on him for he would sense if an animal or a person had been in the bushes, but there was nothing. His tensed muscles relaxed. He was distracted by the redhead and he could not afford to be distracted. There was too much to do. Since the incident with the bar wench at the pub he had stayed out of town, but his hunger grew and he knew that fish or rodents were not what he needed to satisfy it. He needed something larger, warmblooded, redheaded. That’s what he needed and he would have it by the end of the evening or there would be hell to pay.
He remembered when he first laid his eyes upon her. She was hiding in the darkness and at first he had thought she had been a lady of the night, but they didn’t hide, they flaunted themselves. He remembered hearing a whisper hanging in the night air and as he turned around she was there, standing immediately in his presence. How could he have not heard or sensed her? How could he not have smelled her aroma? It was maddening to him and he knew that until he found out what made this female so different he would not rest. Though rest was not something that found him easily. She would pay and he would delight in her blood. He continued on.
One car. One trash can. One very small moving van. These are the things the neighbors noticed about the new resident. The house he purchased was on the smaller side for this neighborhood, but it was still very nice. All the houses in this area were nice. It was a community of only 250 homes, very quiet and was gated with a security guard acting as a vigilant sentry around the clock ensuring that all visitors had the purest of intentions when entering through the large wrought iron gates.
He was new in town; moved here because of his work. Not for his work, but more because of his work. He was a sales representative for a large software manufacturing company and traveled. A lot. He wanted a house in a nice quiet community where he could rest assured his house would remain unbothered when he was gone and that the police did not feel the need to frequent the area.
He had no pets and did his best to find a house with no animals in the vicinity. He hated the barking and sniffing and snooping all dogs did. It wasn’t their fault, it was their nature, but he didn’t like it. Cats either. Though they didn’t bark or use the great outdoors for their personal lavatories they could be nosey and he hated nosey. He couldn’t afford nosey.
The neighbors were a bit older than he which was fine because he didn’t want a bunch of rowdy and obnoxious juveniles riding their assorted bikes, scooters, etc. up and down his driveway and creating havoc wherever they went. He knew he had found his perfect place. The neighbors to his right were curious as to why he was alone without a female to take care of him. He explained that he recently became a widower and he just wasn’t ready to move on yet. That worked beautifully and the subject was not brought up again. The neighbors to his left were curious as to how he could fit his car into his garage. Some of the others on his street parked their cars in their garages, but most just left them in the driveway, leaving room for whatever lurked behind the closed garage doors.
When he lifted the door to his garage people always looked in; not being nosey he thought, just curious. One refrigerator, one very large chest type freezer. The only visible tools were a saw, some hammers and not much else anywhere. The only other thing that was noticeable was all the household cleaners on the shelf. Cleaners and rags and industrial sized plastic bags. No one thought anything other than he was a neat freak
His yard was impeccably landscaped, his car, a simple white 4-door BMW, was always immaculate. He kept to himself and the only evidence that he was home on those rare occasions that he was home, was the blue glow from his television set which could be seen through the plantation blinds that covered every window in the house.
A weird bird. That’s how they referred to him. A weird bird indeed. He declined every invitation to the block parties that were held every 4th of July and Labor Day. He declined each invitation to dine with his neighbors and to meet their very attractive and eligible daughters….. and the invitation to meet one couple’s son came once, which he also declined. He always said he was working.
He had one hobby the neighbors surmised as woodworking. They came to this conclusion by the sounds that emanated from the garage when he returned from a business trip. Though he always seemed to arrive home in the wee hours of the morning because no one ever saw him actually return home; he was just there some mornings.
He hated the neighbors, he hated the armed sentries at the gate, he hated the kids in the area even though they were adequately respectful and quiet. He hated everyone. He never had a wife, he never wanted one. He never had a girl friend, they just got in the way. He never had a sibling and was glad of it. In his line of work it was good to hate everyone. That’s the only way he would be able to sleep at night.
A software manufacturer sales representative seemed viable. No one asked any questions because they were afraid you would take off on your sales pitch and no one liked sales pitches. If you said you were in the food industry or medical industry or information technology industry someone always wanted some free advice or samples. No, after years of lying about his profession, this one seemed to fit. Software Nerds were weird and people tended to keep their distance. That was good.
As he packed for his business trip on a quiet Tuesday afternoon he read over his paperwork. Name: Gerard Penham. Occupation: Lawyer. Address: 4562 Purple Sunset Dr., the city was omitted as he knew where he was going. The reason for the assignment? He didn’t know and he didn’t care. He would follow the process as he always did.
It had been a few weeks since his last business trip and he really needed this one. He needed to get out of town and away from these neighbors, he needed the money as this lifestyle – house, BMW, travel – was not cheap and, most importantly, he was hungry.
He packed the usual clothes, toiletries, shoes, maps and 2 rolls of plastic sheeting, some nylon cord and a hunting knife. When a business trip was within a few hundred miles of his home, he drove there for obvious reasons. When it was a trip taken by plane, he traveled very lightly and shopped when he arrived.
Luckily, this trip was a quick 130 miles from home and it was a Tuesday, so he had 2 days within which to drive to his destination. Packing took approximately 30 minutes, he loaded his car, set the alarm in his house and backed down the driveway. He drove slowly until he saw the garage door close completely and the home security app on his phone told him everything was armed. Then he drove at his normal speed out of the complex, waiving as he passed the half-asleep sentries at the gate.
He stopped for the night at a small, nondescript motel far off the freeway. He checked under his seat making sure his lock box was right where it should be, grabbed his back pack, threw his hunting supplies in the trunk and checked in. He requested a room on the third floor, took the key, stopped at the vending machine and selected dinner, went to his room and settled in for the night. He was hungrier than the beef jerky would satisfy, but it would hold him over until Thursday when he would eat well after he completed the task at hand.
He slept well and woke refreshed and, of course, still hungry, on Wednesday morning. He showered, watched some tv and returned the key to the office just minutes before the 11:00 am check out time. He had made no calls and ordered no movies. His bill was settled and he once again slid behind the wheel of his BMW. He consulted his map and headed North. He would double back in an hour or so and head west to his destination. He needed to appear to go in a different direction just in case anyone was watching him. He felt uneasy with the most expensive car in the parking lot and people tended to watch you to see what you did just in case you just happened to be someone. Humans never wanted to miss an opportunity to take a picture with some self-proclaimed celebrity or anyone they felt to be more important than themselves. He often felt the eyes of other travelers upon him as he drove away and this time was no different. Humans……
When he was younger he wished he was human. He doesn’t really remember when he was very young. It was like he just appeared here one day fully clothed, a bit street smart with money in his pocket. He has no parents or siblings, he has no past and not sure of his future, or even his present if he were being completely honest. He had an idea who he was and where he was from, but it was only a vague idea and wasn’t sure any of it was real. He remembered his first house, his first car and that was about it. He had no one from which to learn what he was supposed to do or where he was supposed to do it. He was just here trying to survive and figure things out.
His thoughts wandered back several years when he had accidentally heard someone talking on the phone about taking care of someone. By the end of the conversation he knew what they were talking about and approached the man whom he had overheard. After some convincing that he was not law enforcement and even more convincing that he was not sent by the man’s ex wife, they made a business deal. He didn’t need a lot of money right now, he didn’t live a normal lifestyle so the deal was much to the benefit of the man on the phone. It was simple; find the man they were talking about outside the city where he liked to hunt and kill him. It didn’t matter how or with what, just make sure he never made it back to town. That was it, and it had to be done before Sunday. He didn’t know why, that didn’t concern him. He received a picture, and an address, along with ten $100 bills and the deal was made. The man on the phone didn’t want to ever see or hear from him again.
It was actually easy. He found the man and followed him home. He waited outside the house until he saw the man load hunting gear into his car, get in and drive away. He followed him again. He followed him through a fast food restaurant drive-thru and then off to the woods they went. A parking space was found and the would-be hunter got out and began to retrieve his gear. It took just a short time for the target to get his supplies from the trunk of his car and walk into the woods carrying his drink from the fast food restaurant. He exited his car which was parked around the corner in a small turn around, completely out of sight. He also took his rifle and his fast food drink, a knife and some plastic bags and followed once again.
The rest was easy. He pulled his trigger just once and made a small circular hole in the back of the head of the man he did not know. The man fell to the ground, spilling his drink and dropping his hunting rifle. He took his time getting to the dead man and even though he was sure he had expired, he pushed him with the toe of his boot. He then picked up the man’s left foot and dragged him further into the woods. Hunting season had not officially started yet so they seemed to be the only ones in the area. He stopped when they were far into the woods and completely out of sight of anyone who may be driving through. He remembers that day like it was yesterday.
When they got to the secluded area, he began with the feet. He took the hunting knife off his belt and separated the man’s right foot then left completely from his leg. He took the boots and socks off the now-severed feet and put them aside. He peeled some of the skin, along with as much flesh as he could from the man’s thighs and abdomen. He carefully placed his treasures in a bag, tied it at the top, and carried it and the deceased’s boots and socks to his car. He left the remains for the animals in the woods. He took his time walking back to where he had left his car and took a good sized bite of the flesh from his victim who now lay in the woods as food for the animals. He preferred his human cooked, but he had been hungry for a while and ate it raw; it was a bit salty and tough, but it was what he was waiting for. When he got back to his car he put the bag containing the man’s remains in the trunk along with the boots and socks and drove away.
That was his first of many jobs. He never went searching for the jobs, they just seemed to find him. The money was good and no one ever asked him any questions when they were making the deals. They didn’t want to know any more about him than he did about the would-be victims. Most of the jobs were bought and paid for, but sometimes he did what he liked to call charity work. He would come across some very bad people and take it upon himself to take them out. Men or women, he had no preference. Women just tasted a little sweeter at dinner and their flesh wasn’t as tough.
When he finished this job, like the others, he would find a place to leave most of the remains for the animals. He was lucky enough to have a large percentage of his jobs take place out of the city, near woods, forests or the desert so he had little to worry about when it came to disposal. For his city jobs, however, he had become an expert as dismemberment and since not all the remains were recovered, the investigations rarely went anywhere and the murders went unsolved.
This job completed, he was heading home with a trunk full of meat. When he got back to his house he would freeze most of the food, but he would make a glorious meal and eat until he was completely full. He would keep some in the freezer for those times when he was hungry and the jobs were scarce.
This was his life and he was content for about 6 months in this new house with his not-so-nosey neighbors. He was eating well and traveling pretty consistently. He had no worries at the moment.
He had gone on a trip to the Pacific Northwest where he actually had 2 jobs to do in a 10-day period. He drove once again and decided to take his time and enjoy the scenery and the climate as he favored wet and dreary with a touch of clouds. As he drove he thought about selling his current house and buying a house here. He thought that was a great idea.
While he was gone for almost two weeks, some damage to the underground electric conduit in their neighborhood was done by a worker and their houses all lost power for about 20 hours. Once the conduit was repaired, the power returned to normal. No one told him about the power outage.
When he got home he noticed nothing out of the ordinary other than a faint rancid smell, but that often happened when he returned from a trip and had sealed up his house. He put his meat in the chest freezer, careful to put it under what was already in there so it could be eaten in order, and went to bed. The next day he did the normal chores expected of humans. He mowed his lawn, took out his trash, washed his car, all the things people did on the weekends. He checked the calendar on his watch several times to ensure it in fact was a weekend.
He cooked some of the meat from the freezer in the garage, ate and went out for a walk. He had walked for about 45 minutes and was just about to turn around and walk back towardshis house when he got a terrific stomach cramp. He sat on the sidewalk with his feet in the gutter and waited for it to pass. It only took a few minutes and he felt fine; attributing the cramp to walking right after eating a large meal. Just as he got to his driveway the cramp came again with such force that he cried out and doubled over. He rushed into the house and headed straight to the bathroom where he lost everything he had eaten for at least a week.
He was sweating and cold at the same time and exhausted like he had never been. He wanted to go to bed, but was afraid to leave the white porcelain that had become his best friend. He couldn’t take himself to the Emergency Room because he had no idea what they would find; he had never been to a doctor in his entire existence. He laid down on the cold tile floor with his forehead touching the base of the toilet and fell asleep.
That’s where they found him several days later. In his haste to get into his house that night, he left his garage open with the intent of closing it when he felt better. The neighbor on the left came to tell him the power was lost again, but with no power to the doorbell, they had to enter through the garage. They called his name over and over and when he didn’t respond, they decided to contact the police department so an officer could go into the house. They stood in the garage and strained to hear any sound from inside the house. However, when they walked further into the garage the stench hit them. The wife of his neighbor began to gag violently and ran out just before she omitted all over the impeccably manicured front lawn.
When the police arrived they found a decomposed body on the floor of the downstairs bathroom. It had been in the house for several days with no air conditioning and temperatures had risen to close to 100 degrees with very high humidity. They found the rotting lump of oozing mess on the floor which didn’t even resemble a human at this point. Meanwhile, another officer opened the freezer in the garage, discovering immediately where, but not what, the horrible stench was coming from. The house was closed off for weeks with bright yellow Caution tape stretched from property line to property line. Neighbors were questioned and reports were taken. Investigators spent hours in the garage and finally removed the refrigerator and freezer.
No one really knew what was going on in their once very quiet neighborhood then one day the newspaper headlines read: “Remains Found in Home of Suspected Cannibal who Died of Apparent Food Poisoning.”
Paul Merchant was a photographer. He had a small photo gallery in New York City where he showcased some of his work. And once a month, he hosted an exhibit where he managed to sell enough prints to keep him going for another month. The show usually included works by some fellow shutterbugs. One of these shutterbugs was Jordan Mitz. Jordan was a talented photographer, and sold almost as many prints as Paul. In fact, Paul had been toying with the idea of asking Jordan if he would like to come onboard as a business partner. So when Jordan recently suggested to Paul that all of his photos were starting to look alike, Paul took this criticism to heart and immediately started planning a weekend road trip to find new material to capture.
Bright and early Saturday morning, he put a "Gone Fishing" sign on his gallery door and headed up the coast. He was thinking he'd like to find a small, nostalgic fishing village or maybe an old whaling town. But all the towns he drove through for the first few hours were either unglamorous and run down or over-painted tourist traps. Finally, around noon, he entered a small harbor town with boardwalks and a small pier on one side of the road and a string of bars, restaurants, and inns on the other. He chuckled as he read some of the signs: Sea Dog Pub, Blue Anchor Inn, something Serpent something (paint was too faded to read), The Catch of the Bay, Oyster Bed and Breakfast, The Olde Harpoon, etc. He was hungry, so he mostly concentrated on the restaurant signs for now. But none of them had any cars out front, or even looked open for that matter. Finally, at the far edge of town, he saw a few cars parked at the Red Barn Grill, and so he pulled in.
Outside, the building looked like it was waiting for one last sea breeze before collapsing in a flury of dust and splinters. Inside, however, it looked like it already HAD collapsed, then somehow reassembled itself just in time for the lunch crowd. To the right was a dining room that actually appeared to have dust on its tables and chairs. In front of him was a register and a door to the kitchen. To the left, a small pub with a short walk-up bar and a few tables. At two of the tables were the apparent owners of the cars out front. Conversations ceased as the front door squeeked closed, and everyone at the tables looked up. Paul immediately felt like he had made a huge mistake in choosing this particular spot for lunch. The conversations resumed a few seconds later, and Paul was able to pick up a few words: ...city... ...lost... ...chowder... ...pirates... And after each of these the men would look up and laugh.
He was just deciding to leave and take his chances in the next town when a short but sturdy woman stepped out of the kitchen and sized him up. "You look hungry" was her greeting, and she led him to a small table near the bar, only a few feet away from the others. Paul ordered the lunch special - crab salad sandwich and a beer. To go. The woman wrote it up and passed it to the kitchen, then stepped behind the bar to pull the beer. "You'll have to drink this here, but I can grab you a bottle of water to take with you." Paul nodded and mumbled "Thanks". Conversation had once again ceased, so he took a deep breath and addressed the room in general. "Um, I'm a photographer, and I'm looking for someplace to feature in my next photo exhibit. You know, rustic buildings, landmarks, stuff like that. Anything like that around here, maybe an historical site nearby?"
One of the guys stood up, turned around, grabbed his crotch, and said "Yeah, I got yer historical site ri-".
"Jonathon!"
The guy's head spun around, saw the look on the woman's face, and returned to his seat with a sullen apology "Sorry Maize". This time the laughter that followed was at least directed at the local and not at the visitor. Maize delivered Paul's beer and said "Don't worry about them" and shot them all a warning look. "And to be honest, unless you want to call your exhibit 'Rust and Rot', there's really not much around here worth looking at."
An old man at the table nearest Paul volunteered "Why don't he go find Marina Bay?" One of the regulars choked a bit on his beer, and Paul expected to hear another round of laughter at whatever inside joke the old man had just shared. But instead the other guys just sort of grunted and reached for their beers. Maize shot them all another warning glare, more severe than the last, then headed back into the kitchen.
"Seriously," the guy continued quietly as he turned his chair toward Paul. "You ought'r go find Marina Bay. I promise you, people will be talking about them pictures for years!" The other guys, suddenly quiet and helpful, all nodded. "Yeah, Marina Bay. Yeah." They turned back to their tables and their conversations when Maize came back out with a sandwich and a bottle of water in a brown paper bag. Paul paid and finished his beer, in a hurry to get moving again, while Maize returned to the kitchen. As Paul stood up to leave, the old guy glanced at the kitchen then scooted his chair a few inches towards him. "Go find Marina Bay. I'm tellin' ya, you'll be glad ya' did."
Just to get them off his back, Paul sighed and asked "Ok, how do I find... Marina Bay?"
One of the other guys mumbled "Don't worry - she'll find you!", then snickered into his beer.
Ignoring him, the old man continued, "Drive north about 2 miles, then turn right on a gravel road and follow it to the beach. From there, walk about a quarter mile north along the shore, and you'll find Marina Bay. It's about 5 or 6 coves away. Just look for the old wood pilings sticking up out of the water."
Paul glanced around the room to see if the others were holding back their laughter at the grand prank the old man was playing. But they had all once again turned serious, and nodded in agreement. Paul thanked the old man, grabbed his lunch, and left.
Once back in his car, Paul opened the sandwich and took a bite. Then another, and another. Then he took a swig of the water. "Ok", he told himself, "that should hold me until I get there. Then I'll have a picnic at the World Famous Marina Bay and finish the rest". With that decision made, he pulled back onto the road and headed north.
He missed the gravel road the first time and had to double back to find it. But once on it, it took him straight to the beach, just like the old guy said. Well, to the shore anyway. He could hardly call it a beach. It was course pebbles with more than a few rocks, littered with tangled up lengths of fishing line, rusty hooks, half-buried styrofoam containers once full of worms, and more beer cans and pop tops than he could count. Apparently littering was encouraged around here. He stuffed his sandwich and water into his backpack along with his camera and gear, locked the car, proceeded to the northern end of the small cove, and started hiking north.
The shoreline was sort of scalloped-shaped, with alternating outcrops and coves. The coves were small, and became rockier but no less littered the farther north he went. Each one featured greenish foaming water, muddy gravel, and a backdrop of the kind of stunted trees one usually finds along the shore. After 30 minutes he was ready to turn back, and was already fantasizing about slashing several sets of tires. Then as he stepped gingerly over one last outcrop, he stopped cold. The cove in front of him was beautiful. Pristine. Straight out of a caribbean brochure. The beach extended 25 or 30 feet up from the water then disappeared into a dense growth of palm trees and clean, small bushes. In the water, the sand went out 100 feet and you could still see the bottom, with small fish darting back and forth. And sticking up in the center of the cove, near the water line, was a series of wooden posts in two parallel lines. Obviously the remains of a magnificent pier. He reached into his bag, pushed his sandwich out of the way, and grabbed his camera. He snapped a bunch of photos, then set his camera back in his bag, beside his now forgotten sandwich. He took a few seconds to take it all in from this vantage point, then continued over the outcrop and walked across the fine, white sand toward the center of the cove and the pilings.
Paul stopped once he reached the first post. His hand rested on it as he gazed out over the water. Absently, he felt the smooth varnished finish and traced the raised knots and subtle grain. He looked at them again, up close. The two lines of posts were slightly curved, and one row was slightly higher than the other. And the posts themselves were bowed, reminding him of something... Then it came to him - a ship! This wasn't the remains of a pier, it is a beached wooden ship! He slipped his backpack off and opened it wide, then pushed the sandwich out of the way to grab his camera.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Holy mother of poseidon!!! Paul spun around, gripping his camera but flinging his backpack in one direction and his sandwich in another with neither, by some miracle, landing in the water. He stood there, eyes bulging, hands shaking, mouth agape, and heart waiting a few more seconds before starting up again. Who-What-Where-Who-How-When-Who...? The questions flashed through his mind like a microfiche reader in search mode. He stood there for an eternal 2 or 3 seconds while she waited, gazing out at the water, as calm and still as a statue. She was tall, slightly taller than Paul, with sad, steel-gray eyes and a fair complexion bordering on pale. No, not pale. Milky. Her hair was unbelievably black, reaching down to her waist but pulled together somewhere behind her. The colors of her eyes, skin, and hair combined to give the impression that she was a living black and white photo, printed in a million shades of gray on the finest paper. She wore a simple full-length dress, blue with soft white lace trim.
Slowly, Paul regained control of eyes, hands, mouth. And apparently his heart, which he could now hear beating over the sounds of the ocean. Next, he began sifting through the millions of questions that a moment ago were fighting for seniority, and finally spoke.
"Yes."
He was momentarily surprised at his first contribution to this conversation, but then realized that he was simply answering her question.
"Yes," he repeated, "It is beautiful".
She stared eastward for a few seconds more, then shifted her gaze downward slightly, as if deciding whether this man was worthy to share such a beautiful sight. Eventually she turned just her head to look straight into his eyes, smiled just enough to be considered a smile, and extended her hand. "Hi. I'm Maureena. Maureena Bey."
Paul just stood there blinking. Maureena Bay. Or Bey. Probably Bey. But definitely Maureena. And the way she said it made it sound nothing like Marina. He briefly tried to remember exactly how the old man at the Barn Grill had pronounced it. "She'll find you", one of the guys had said. Now he got it. He exhaled. He even smiled, as he realized this was a joke afterall. This was probably the old guy's daughter. Time to let her know that he was wise to the joke.
"So... when he called you, did he tell you about the photo exhibit?"
Maureena didn't immediatelly respond. She continued to stand still, staring out at the horizon beyond the shallow rolling waves, her face peaceful but with a hint of longing. Then as Paul's question sank in, her eyebrows furrowed slightly and her lips pursed.
"I'm sorry?" And reluctantly she turned away from the sea to face Paul for the first time. Her head tilted slightly. "When who... photos...?" She softly shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."
Paul looked and saw no trace of humor in her eyes. No twinkle of someone holding back a "Hah, I gotcha!" laugh. She was sincerly baffled by his question.
Embarrassed, he looked down, then out at the sea, seeking an answer to this puzzle. "I'm... sorry. I assumed someone sent you down here to meet me." He suddenly realized she had introduced herself but he had never responded in kind. Glad for the change of subject, he extended his hand.
"I... never introduced myself. I'm Paul Merchant."
She took his hand but only held it for a moment then dropped it without a single shake. Her eyes were once again losing focus, and her head, as if drawn, began to turn back toward the sea.
Paul continued, "I, um, I'm a photographer" and held up his camera as if to prove it. Maureena turned back and looked at the camera, then smiled.
"A photographer. How exciting. And you're here to take pictures of me or of my lovely cove?" She stepped back and spread her arms as if to offer both to Paul. Since she seemed to be holding the pose, he brought his camera up and snapped a few pics of her with the palm trees in the background.
She turned once with her arms still out, then dropped them and stepped toward the water. "I come here every day," she stated, then stepped gracefully up onto the closest piling and turned again, keeping perfect balance. She paused long enough for Paul to snap a couple more pictures then leaped to the next piling, then the next and the next, never losing her balance even once.
By now, Maureena was about 20 feet away from the shore, standing on the last post in the line, several feet above the water. She turned to face Paul and he took a few more shots, noticing just then that in the background there was a beautiful white sailboat, heading north. When Paul lowered his camera, Maureena returned to the beach, one post at a time.
Just as she stepped down from the last (well, actually first) post, Paul noticed his sandwich in the sand next to it. It was a complete loss, but that reminded him of the other item he slung when Maureena first appeared. His backpack was a bit muddy but nothing inside was broken.
Maureena walked up to him, extended her hand, and simply said "I have to go". Confused and disappointed, Paul hesitated but then extended his own hand and, like before, didn't as much shake it as briefly hold it. And then she turned and began walking away.
Paul wanted to call to her to stop and stay a while longer, but instead simply watched her head up the beach toward a narrow clearing in the bushes by the palm trees. He wished he could take one last picture, but felt that doing so from behind her back like that would be improper. As if she heard him, she stopped at the edge of the trees to turn and pose for him one last time, blowing him a kiss.
And then she was gone.
"I gotta tell you, Paul, I had my doubts. I really did." Jordan turned away from the framed prints and looked first at the large crowd that was getting larger each hour, then up at Paul. Paul waited.
"When I first saw these," Jordan continued, "I thought they were for some commercial project you'd picked up." Paul looked out over Jordan's head at the crowd, secretly wishing they'd leave.
"But once again you've schooled me. I still have much to learn from the master." Paul looked down at Jordan and wished he would also leave.
"So, here's to yet another brilliant and successful exhibition," he concluded as he raised his drink. Paul dutifully clinked his glass and took the customary sip, then they both turned once again towards the framed photographs.
"But I gotta ask ya," Jordan continued, as he looked at the closest of four photos. It was a long shot of a littered, rocky beach with foamy green water lapping at it.
"The name of the exhibit..." Jordan went on as he moved down to the second photo. This one was a close-up of an old, splintered rotting post sticking up a few inches out of the pebbles, with a mud-covered sandwich dumped next to it.
"Why?" Jordan asked, as he moved down to the third photo. This one showed several old splintered and half-rotted posts sticking up out of the water, with a couple barely breaking the surface. In the background was a rusty cargo ship making its way north.
"Why did you call the exhibit 'Marina Bay'?" he finally asked as he turned to face the last photo. This one was Paul's favorite for some reason. It was another shot of the littered beach, facing away from the water and towards the trees this time.
Paul sighed, then turned to answer. Looking up into steel-gray eyes, he explained "Why, I named it after you."