1.  “Lost in the Storm”

            John Elderberry was watching television when a firm yet feminine touch squeezed and massaged his shoulders.  Jill, his wife, whispered into his ear, “You’re putty in my hands.”

John chuckled, “Yeah.  I don’t mind.”

Jill kissed his cheek then left him to his television program.

John heard Grace, his nine-year-old daughter, rambling to her best friend, the cute and perky brunette, Annie DeSilva.  “Totally,” his daughter said about something obviously “important.”

“I know!” Annie agreed.

John pointed the remote control at the television and amplified its volume.

Later: “Dad?” Grace addressed him, coming into the room with Annie.

“What?”

“Can you take us to the skating rink?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because my program isn’t over yet.”

“When’s it going to be over?”

“It just started.”

Grace insisted, “Record it.”

“No, I’m going to watch it.”  Grace huffed.  John suggested, “Ask your sister.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know.  You girls only tell me where you’re going when you need me to take you there.”  Grace huffed and rolled her eyes.  John suggested, “Ask your mother.”

“I already did.”

“Later,” the man shooed his daughter out of the room.

Later: John was on the computer when his daughter came into the room.  “Dad?”

“What?”

“You forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“Never mind.”

“I’ll take you to the rink.”

“Never mind, dad.”

“I’ll take you!”

“Never mind.”  Grace left the room.

Dinner: John, Jill, Grace and Annie were all together at the table when Mrs. Elderberry told her husband, “You need to take Annie home, after supper.”

“I thought she was spending the night.”

“She was, but her brother is coming home tonight.  Her mother wants to have a surprise party for him.”

“I’ve been playing chauffeur all week.  Her mother can pick her up.”

Jill coughed and hinted towards embarrassed little Annie.  John tittered.

On the road: John was driving towards the sunset when he read aloud the sign, “Eldritchville?”  He wondered, “Where are we?”  He continued on.

The dark, rainy night flashed with lightning and boomed and cracked with thunder.  John Elderberry drove his van through the storm.  He could barely see ahead of him for all the rain and blackness.  Only lightning and the van’s headlights shed any light on this otherwise completely dark town!

“Dad, you’re passing the same monument again,” Grace told him.  He glimpsed the statue of a naked young girl atop a pedestal as he passed it.

Annie commented, “I think we’re going in circles.”

“How?” Mr. Elderberry disbelieved.  “I haven’t made any turns.”

“Maybe the road curves a little.”

“I don’t think so.”

Grace insisted, “Dad, we’re going in circles.  Maybe we should stop and ask for directions.”

“Don’t sound like your mother.”

“We’re going to be late!”

“Not now, Grace.  I need to keep my mind on the road.”

“We need to ask for directions.”

“From whom?!”

“The storm knocked out the power, but I’m sure there’s people in some of these places.  It’s not that late.”

“Maybe.”  Mr. Elderberry drove straight ahead… but still passed the same monument!  “What the…?”

“It’s the same monument, dad.”

“I know!”  He made a left turn.  He drove on awhile.

“There it is,” Grace pointed ahead at the same monument of a naked girl.

“I don’t believe this!”

“Dad, ask for directions.”

Mr. Elderberry pulled into a filling station and honked.  No response.

Annie speculated, “Maybe they closed and went home because of the storm.”

Mr. Elderberry grabbed his raincoat.  “You girls lock up.  Get some sleep.  It might be awhile before I find somebody.”

“Dad, you shouldn’t walk around…,” she was interrupted by a boom and crack of thunder.  “You might get struck by lightning.”

“I’m not worried about it.”

“I am!”

“You’re not your mother.  Stop acting like her.  I’ll be fine.  You girls just lock up and maybe get some sleep.  I’ll be back.”  With that, he darted out into the rain.

The pouring sky flashed and rumbled, but Grace and Annie were dry, warm and comfortable.  They helped themselves to snacks and warm drinks.  Suddenly they heard a noise: Someone was trying to open the side door.  “Dad?”  Why was he keeping himself below the door window?

“Don’t open it,” Annie whispered her plea.

The girls hid together on the floor and pulled a blanket over themselves.  The flash of lightning sporadically filled the vehicle.  Rain pelted the roof and thunder boomed.  Whoever was trying to open the side door… stopped.

“Maybe it was your dad,” Annie hoped.  Then why had he not identified himself and asked them to let him in?  Why did he hide below the window?  Suddenly someone tried to open the back doors!  They stopped.

The girls hoped it was Grace’s dad playing a trick on them.  No: Whatever was out there made the stomach sick, the heart faint and the blood run cold.  It was not who they hoped it was!  The girls could literally feel the menace, the evil that was just outside.

The thing tried the front doors.  They were locked.  Though under a blanket and too afraid to look, Grace and Annie knew when it was looking in.  A face they never wanted to see was looking in, knowing they were there!

John ran through the rain from building to building and knocked.  No one answered.  Coming to a hotel, he looked inside the lobby: Only darkness.  He tried the door.  It opened.  John went in.  “Hello?!”  No response.  He turned on his flashlight and walked down a corridor, knocking on doors.  “Hello?”  He went upstairs and tried the same thing.  “There’s no one here,” he concluded.  He pulled out his cellular telephone and dialed “911.”  John thought to himself, “The police will know if the town’s been evacuated.”  His phone seemed to be working, but the number he dialed did not.  He tried to call home, to ask his wife Jill if anything was on the news.  His home phone number did not work.  Every line he dialed was completely dead!  “The storm?”

Going back downstairs, he found telephones and tried to make a call.  Every line was completely dead.  “The power’s out and the phones are out.  There’s nobody here, either.  What’s going on?”

John went back out into the tempest and headed back towards the van, passing the same inescapable monument.  Had the town been evacuated for some reason?  No.  The parked cars and trucks were too numerous.  “Psst!”  John looked around.  Thunder cracked.

“Hello?!” John called out.  There was no response.  All was dark except for the flashing of lightning.  All was quiet except for the downpour and the boom and crack of thunder.

“Psst!”

John turned.  A bright flash revealed someone standing nearby, facing him.  The lightning flickered and the figure was gone.  “Hello?!” John ran in that direction, then stopped.  Something was wrong.  Something was very wrong.  John ran back towards the van.  He had to get back!

Returning to the vehicle, John was concerned at finding the sliding door open!  “Grace!”  He looked inside.  The girls were gone!  Suddenly something grabbed his ankle!  He kicked and jumped back.  Someone was under the van… chuckling.  Whoever it was, they crawled out on the other side and disappeared into the dark, rainy night.  “Hey!” John called after them.  He stopped and looked around.  “Grace!” he called over the boom of thunder.  “Grace!  Grace, where are you?!”

John was running about town when he noticed headlights approaching.  “Hey!” he ran out into the road and flashed his flashlight at the vehicle and waved his arm.  The machine sped up.  John jumped out of the way.  It was a van, his van and it had veered to hit him!  “What’s going on?!” John cried.  His van was turning around for another pass.  John ran towards a department store.  The automatic doors were closed, but unlocked!  As the van sped towards him, John forced the doors open and darted inside!  The vehicle screeched to a halt, then backed up and sped off.

John turned off his flashlight and waited.  The storm raged outside, but his mysterious attacker never returned… as far as John could tell.  Mr. Elderberry turned his flashlight back on and searched the store for anything useful.  Someone had already looted all the guns and ammunition.  “Oh, that’s wonderful.  That lunatic might have a gun.”  John armed himself with a crowbar and a hunting knife.  He chose a backpack and filled it with anything he thought might prove most useful (and that he could carry).  He then ran back outside into the storm in desperate search of Grace and Annie.

John turned off his flashlight.  He could see, though barely, without it.  If the lunatic who was stalking him had a gun, John did not want to be an easy target.

John was wandering about town when he noticed a light.  Flashes of lightning revealed that it was coming from the window of the town hall.  If the lunatic was there, then maybe so was Grace and Annie!  John ran to the town hall.  The door he tried was not locked.  His crowbar held ready, John went inside.  Lightning sporadically illuminated the interior.  John did not see anyone, yet.  He quietly ascended a staircase and reached a pair of closed double-doors.  Horrid possibilities (and equally likely impossibilities) of what might be on the other side, came to John’s mind.  As he opened a door, he cringed at the seemingly loud creak of the hinges.  He found himself in a courtroom.  A voice uttered, “Guilt is evil in defiance of the law.  Righteousness is evil in the name of the law.”  The voice snickered… then boisterously laughed!  “I see you and your trusty crowbar.”

John turned on his flashlight and looked about. Where was this man?!  “Who are you?!  Where’s my daughter?!”

The voice imitated in mockery, “Who are you?  Where’s my daughter?”  He chuckled, then all was silent… save for the storm outside.

John discerned that the voice was coming from behind the judge’s bench.  He turned off his flashlight and moved towards it.  “Tiptoe!  Tiptoe!” the hidden menace mocked.  He knew John was coming.  The door to the judge’s chamber opened then closed.  John ran up to it.  A shadow lunged up at him and slammed him against the wall!  Lightning revealed a crazed face with wild, bulging eyes and a demonic grin!  “Sucker!” he laughed maniacally.  He snapped his teeth at John’s throat, but John held the man’s head at bay.  The lunatic flung Mr. Elderberry into the judge’s bench and started kicking him, laughing all the while!  John sprang up and tackled the madman.  The two bumped into things, tumbled and rolled on the floor in a desperate, clumsy scuffle.  “I love you,” the lunatic claimed.

John punched him in the face, dazing the man.  “Where’s my daughter?!”  The lunatic sniffled and sobbed.  “Where is she?!”

The madman became eerily calm.  “I don’t know.”

“Tell me!”

The lunatic flung John aside then dashed for the double-doors in the back.  He turned and shouted, “If I had a girl, I’d have better things to do than bother with you!”  He stuck his tongue out and grinned.  “Is she pretty?”  He then disappeared into the shadowy depths of the building.

John returned to the storm in search of Grace and Annie.  He knew the lunatic, for all his madness, did not have them.  John suspected, in his gut, that evil abounded in this town.

Mr. Elderberry wandered about when he noticed light coming from what appeared to be a community center.  He ran over to it and peeked through a window.  The interior was lit by portable lamps.  People were inside singing, dancing, eating and or drinking.  Everything looked almost normal, but felt wrong.  John noticed something: a naked, cooked child lying on a platter!  An apple was wedged in the hapless thing’s mouth.  A man cut slices from the thing’s buttock and offered them to eager children who were holding paper plates!  A little boy noticed John peeking in and pointed at him.  He spoke to the man, who looked at John and sneered.  Mr. Elderberry ran!

John ran and ran.  He eventually hid, caught his breath and waited.  Hopefully those people would not follow him through the storm.

John thought: The cooked victim being eaten by cannibals was undoubtedly a small child, thus not Grace nor Annie.  In a sad way, that was a relief.  Still: Mr. Elderberry now knew what type of real dangers were afoot!  In his heart, he somehow knew the girls were all right… for now.  He had to find them, or else….  John did not want to dwell on the horrid possibilities.  He resumed his search for Grace and Annie.

The tempest lessened, but still raged as John meandered about town.  “You again,” he said passing the somehow inescapable monument.  The statue of a naked young girl looked uncomfortably familiar.  “Don’t join the madness,” John warned himself.  “This place is crazy enough without you.”

John was searching a shopping plaza when the storm renewed its intensity.  Flashes of lightning revealed dozens of people running towards him!  “Hey!” a man shouted.  “We’re coming to help you!”  The others laughed.  The thunder rumbled as if the sky itself was laughing with them.

John ran.  He zigzagged, climbed over fences and would sometimes hide, but the mob was always close behind him!

A woman cackled.  “Keep running!”  Some of these people had guns, but no one fired a shot.  Were they all just having fun?

John slipped into the department store he had looted earlier.  He slid the doors closed and hid, hoping that none of his pursuers had seen him go in.  He heard the door sliding open.  Lightning flashed.  The mob was coming in!  John fled deeper into the store.  He could tell by the shadows and footfalls that they were fanning out in search of him.

John snuck into the back, hoping to escape out a fire exit.  He risked a glimpse of the stockroom with a short sweep of his flashlight.  One of the shadows seemed to have moved!  John heard whispers and footfalls nearing from behind.  He turned off his light and approached where he had seen the exit.  Something lunged at him!  He struck the attacker repeatedly.  The thing tried to spring at him, but John kept beating it back.  How much punishment could this person or thing take?!

“Over here!”  Someone shouted.  The others were coming.

John beat his attacker to the floor until it stopped moving.  Lights and shadowy silhouettes were coming!  John found and darted out the exit back into the stormy night.

Grace and Annie sat together huddled in a post office lobby.  “How’s your dad going to find us?” Annie wondered.

“I don’t know.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hey!” Annie pointed out the window.  A flashlight shone through the rain.

“Wait!” Grace warned when her friend was about to run out to whoever was out there.  Lightning flashed.  It was Mr. Elderberry!  The girls ran out into the rain to greet him.

“Dad!”

“Mr. Elderberry!”

John heard childlike voices before thunder drowned them out.  He saw Grace and Annie!  The girls ran into Mr. Elderberry, hugging him.  John embraced the two together.  “We need to get out of here,” he told them.

Grace pointed at the post office, “We found a place to hide.”

“Good.”  The man followed the girls.  John explored the building, then helped the girls over the counter.  They all huddled together and listened to the tempest raging outside.  “You girls get some sleep.  I’ll watch over you.”  The girls cuddled him and were soon fast asleep.  They felt completely safe, just because he was with them.

John snuggled the two younglings.  “Don’t have any nightmares,” he told them.  “I’m sure you had plenty of that while you were still awake.”

2.  “Voices in the Gloom”

John awoke, surprised that he had fallen asleep.  Gray light was pouring in and all was quiet other than the restful breathing of the two girls.  It was morning.  John looked at his watch: It was 8:30.  Grace and Annie were still soundly sleeping, as if there was no danger in the world at all.  John played with their hair.

When the girls awoke, they blinked up at him.  “Good morning,” he smiled.  He gestured for them to be quiet, then peeked over the counter.  The town outside was enshrouded in thick, oppressive fog.  John sighed, “You can’t win.”

Mr. Elderberry held his crowbar ready and led the girls out into the fog.  John was startled when he heard something nearby clatter.  Grace tugged on his sleeve and pointed in that direction, her eyes wide with fright.  John nodded down to her and led the girls in the opposite direction.

They eventually came to the deserted hotel Mr. Elderberry had explored earlier.  Going inside, they found bread, crackers, chips, drinks, canned foods, etc.  John used his crowbar and pried open vending machines.  They found an open room upstairs (apparently, it was being cleaned when whatever happened to this town happened) and claimed it as their own.  John checked the closet and under the beds (just in case) and peeked outside the window.  “We have food, drinks and a place to stay, for now.”

Grace wondered, “For how long?”

“For now.”

Annie enquired, “When are we going to leave?”

“When we can.  You two just make yourselves at home and whatever you do, be quiet.  Talk and walk softly.  Stay away from the window.”

Annie thought aloud, “My mom’s probably worried.”

John blurted a laugh.  “Sorry.”  He coughed then told the girls, “Everything’s going to be all right.”  He hoped so, anyway.  “You girls lock this door when I leave and don’t answer it!  I know you’re here.  I won’t knock.  I’ll tell you it’s me if it’s me.”

“Dad…,” Grace was worried.

“I’ll be back.”  He feigned a smile.  “Just remember what I told you: Don’t answer the door.  If someone knocks or you hear something, just be quiet and pretend you’re not here.”

Grace whined, “Dad…”

“You two help each other and barricade this door.”

“Dad, don’t go!”

“I have to find a way out of this town.  It’s too dangerous for you to come with me.  I’ll be back.”  The girls pouted, obviously still worried.  “Nobody knows you’re here but me.”  He squeezed the girls to himself, patted their backs, kissed them and tousled their hair.  “I’ll be back.  I promise.”  As he left the room, he reminded, “Lock the door and barricade it.  Do not answer it.”  With that, he left.

John walked the foggy streets of the silent town of Eldritchville.  Every car, truck and building seemed deserted.  John passed the monument twice when he thought, “Am I going in circles again?”  He moved on.

Eventually he heard the faint, distant cry of, “Help me!  Help me!  Please, help me!” then a scream!  The shriek was overwhelmed by laughter… then silence.

John listened, trying to hear over his own pounding heartbeat and heavy breath.  Other than his own terror, there was only the eerie stillness.  Had someone truly cried out for help?  Should he investigate?  What if it was a trick?  What if it was too late?  What if there was nothing he could do to help?  What would happen to the girls if he died trying to be a hero for someone else?  Why ponder the unknown?  Whether out of foolish compassion or suicidal curiosity, John did not know, but regardless, he went to investigate.

As he ventured through the fog, his crowbar held ready, John was perturbed to hear… whispers.  He hid, looked and listened.  The faint chatter was all around him!  Did they already know he was here?  He resisted his panicked urge to run and instead, stealthily backtracked.  When he no longer heard the phantom whispering, he stopped, looked and listened.  Whether the cry for help had been a trick or genuine, John did not know.  Regardless: there was nothing he should or could do about it.  He explored elsewhere.

John was crossing the grounds of a gasoline station when he glimpsed movement.  He hid and readied his crowbar.  He heard an indistinct whisper… and a giggle!  Whoever was out there, they seemed to know where he was.  John ran to the cover of parked vehicles.  A shotgun blast shattered a car window!  Maniacal laughter followed.  John peeked under the car.  Another shot boomed.  Pellets ricocheted under the car and pelted John’s face!  Cruel mirth followed.  John was startled, but all right.  He darted away from the vehicles and around a corner.  He ran and ran.  Eventually, he hid… and waited.  John heard chuckles, giggles and footfalls– all around him!  He sighed, “Oh, no.”

John ducked into a restaurant and out the other side.  He ran into a man wielding a pistol!  He knocked the stranger aside and beat him down with the crowbar!  John was shocked to realize that the stranger was a uniformed policeman!  The officer aimed at him.  John was faster.

Mr. Elderberry left the scene armed with a pistol and wearing a policeman’s belt.  He darted from cover to cover when he heard someone running after him.  John fired into the fog.  A man’s voice taunted, “You missed me!  You missed me!  Come on over and kiss me!”  John then heard the smacking noise of an exaggerated kiss.  The shrill laughter of men and women followed… then silence.

“I hate these people.”  John’s blood ran cold when he was suddenly surrounded by laughter!  A storm of gunfire and hurled objects rained around him, shattering windows and sparking off of walls, the street and sidewalk.  John darted into the depths of a shop and out the other side.  He ran, zigzagged and jumped and scaled over walls and fences.  He ran and ran!

John eventually hid… and waited.  If anyone was nearby, they were being quiet.  He moved on.  Hearing a distant scream, then laughter, he backtracked.  John eventually hid in a secluded spot behind a church.  He listened, but only heard his own breath and heartbeat.

John hoped the girls were all right.  He looked at his pistol, the one he had acquired from the policeman.  Was the officer actually arriving at the scene to help?  Whether he was or not, John could tell by the look in the policeman’s eyes that he had a deadly intention when he aimed at him.  Then again, John did pummel him with a crowbar.  Maybe the officer believed he was defending himself.  Maybe not.  John closed his eyes and leaned against the church wall.  He needed rest, not the trouble of pondering unanswerable questions.  Right or wrong, good or bad, what happened, happened.

John opened his eyes.  The white fog was now gray; he had fallen asleep and it was now late in the day.  Grace and Annie were obviously fearful, wondering why he had not returned.  John headed out into the thick fog to return to the hotel hiding place.  Unfortunately, he was lost!

John happened upon the monument again.  For once, the inescapable thing was welcome:  He now knew where he was.  Continuing on, he felt his blood cool and his skin crawl.  Something evil was nearby.  He hid, watched and waited.  Eventually, “it” came into view.

The bosomy thing’s plump body was garbed in skimpy rags, its complexion sickly and ashen.  Though its form was that of a woman, the grotesque face under the head of long, straight, pure white hair was barely human.  Its eyes were so pale as to look almost wholly white (save for the black dots that were pupils).  Its countenance seemed inherently a sneer and whenever its bluish-gray lips parted, there was a hint of yellow fangs!

The thing outstretched its hand and mumbled.  It then looked straight at John and grinned!  The man ran and ran.  Whatever the hideous creature was or wanted, John did not know, but he could feel its sickening malevolence!  John darted into a shop and looked for its back door.  Suddenly he heard the front door behind him open and close.  John hid in the shadows of the backroom, aimed his gun at nothing… and waited.  Where was the back door?  Finding it, John slipped out.

Later: John could see the hotel where Grace and Annie were hidden.  He could also feel himself being stared at from behind.  Was he being followed?  John passed the hotel and continued on.  He ran.  He could hear soft footfalls sounding behind him!  When he swung around aiming his pistol, he was tossed into bushes!  His attacker cackled as she pulled him up and slammed him against a wall.  John held the stout, busty hag’s yellow fangs at bay as she snapped at his throat!  She rasped, “Where is she, John?”  She pressed him to the ground.

John tried to aim his pistol at her.  He pulled the trigger.  The weapon clicked: It was empty!  The hag cackled, “No bullets, John?!”

The man rolled the hag over.  Her arms and legs tightened around him in a lewd embrace.  She tried to bite his face and neck!  John drew his knife.  The hag screamed at feeling something pierce and tear her belly!

Later, at the hotel: “Grace, it’s me, dad!”  John could hear the girls clearing the barricade then unlock the door.  As soon as Mr. Elderberry was inside, he locked the door.

“Dad?” Grace noticed blood on her father’s clothes.

“Not right now,” John said as he rebuilt the barricade.

“Dad, what happened?” Grace pointed at the bloodstains.

“I killed what might’ve been a woman.”

“What?!”

“Never mind.  I’m not thinking straight, right now.  Was everything all right while I was gone?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“Dad?”

“What?”

“What happened?”

Annie hoped, “Did you find a way out of here?”

“Not yet.”  John checked the barricade.  “I’ll try again tomorrow.”

The three froze upon hearing a bloodcurdling shriek.  After a while of tense silence, Annie asked, “Should we peek out the window?”

“No!” John answered.  The goose-bumps returned upon hearing a shrill cackle.  He whispered, “Never peek out the window.”

That night: Grace and Annie slept together in the same bed while Mr. Elderberry sat next to the window.  He dared to peek outside.  The moonlight was bright and the fog had thinned, allowing John to see shadowy forms move among buildings or cross the street.  “I wish this town was deserted.”

The telephone rang, waking Grace up.  Her dad sat next to the window, looking out but seemingly unnoticing the loud ringing!  “Dad?”  He ignored her.  Annie was still soundly asleep.  Was Grace the only one hearing that incessant ringing?!  She got up out of bed.  “Dad, didn’t you say the phones are dead?”  He did not respond.  “Dad?”  Was he ignoring the ring and her?  Grace considered answering the telephone, but hesitated.  It rang and rang.  Grace answered it, “Hello?”

A girl’s voice asked, “Grace?”

“Who’s asking?”

“A friend.”

“Really?”

“Yes.  Come outside and maybe you’ll recognize me.”

“No way.”

“Look out the window.”

Grace’s father had fallen asleep.  She went to the window and looked outside.  She barely saw a girl (her own age) through the darkness and fog.  The person seemed to be holding a cellular telephone.  Grace heard the girl’s voice say through the receiver in the hotel room, “Come outside!”

Grace was surprised to see that the barricade against the door had been cleared.  She picked up the telephone and asked, “Have you been in here?”

“No.  Come outside.  Please.  I can’t stay out here long.  It’s too dangerous.”

Grace went out into the corridor and closed the door.  She heard the lock click!  She tried to open the door.  It was indeed locked.

Grace went downstairs and outside.  The girl was already there to greet her.  “Hello, Grace.”

“Who are you?  How do you know my name?!”

The girl smiled.  “You tell me who I am.  You tell me my name.”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Prudence?” Grace guessed.  The girl nodded.  Grace insisted, “I only called you ‘Prudence’ because you look like a ‘Prudence.’  I don’t really remember you.”

“They’re looking for you.”

“Who?”

“The Teacher and his hags and priestesses.  The Purifier, his enemy, also seeks you, but to destroy you.”

“Destroy me?!”

“Yes.  You are the Mother to be.”

The girl and Grace became tense when they heard a giggle.  Suddenly they were surrounded by maniacal laughter!  The ominous mirth grew louder and louder!  “Grace!”  The girl pleaded, “Wake up!”

“What about you?!”

“Wake up before it’s too late!”

Grace awoke next to the still sleeping face of Annie.  “Grace?” she heard her father address her.

“I’m all right, dad.”

“Were you having a nightmare?”

“I’m not sure.”  Her father chuckled.  “What?” Grace asked him.

“I know what you mean.”

John was back on the streets of Eldritchville.  The fog was gone but the morning was dark with overcast.  “Never a sunny day in this town.”  Mr. Elderberry thought about the dream his daughter told him about.  “Was it really only a dream?”

John sought the corpulent, ashen-complexioned body of the white-haired “woman” he had killed yesterday.  Not sure it would stay down, he was greatly relieved to find it still lying where he had left it.  “You looked dead before I killed you.”  John stared at the yellow fangs that were in its gaped mouth.  “Thank you for staying dead.”

John moved on, hoping to somehow find a way out of this cursed town.  Hearing a slight noise, he hid, watched and waited!  He saw another one, another bosomy, sickly looking hag.  This one wielded a punching dagger that had a red crystal set between the blade and her knuckles!  The monster’s pale, virtually white eyes looked around, as if searching.  The hag soon disappeared in another direction.

Later: John was in a pawnshop looking for weapons and or anything else useful– when he heard a murmur in the back!  He readied his pistol and waited.  He could hear whispering, then all was quiet.  John thought, “I know you’re there, so you might as well show yourself so I can shoot you.”  Whoever or whatever it was, John was ready.  Well, he hoped he was ready.  He peeked outside to make sure the building was not being surrounded by a hungry mob of freaks.

John heard a child’s voice say, “Maybe he’s gone.”

A woman’s voice urged, “Shhh.”

John’s skin did not crawl like usual whenever he was in the presence of lunatics or hags.  “Hello!” he risked.  “My name is John Elderberry.  I am neither a hag nor a cannibal.”  No answer.  “I’m coming over, but not to hurt you.”  John walked to the back.  A gunshot sent him diving behind cover!

“Leave us alone!” a woman sobbed.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”  John believed he had glimpsed a woman armed with a pistol guarding children and an old woman.

“Yeah, right.  When my husband gets back, he’ll blow your head off!”

These people were not freaks.  They were terrified, normal people.  In their fear, though, they were just as dangerous.  John assured, “I’m not one of the freaks.  I’m just a normal guy trying to get out of this crazy town.”

The woman laughed mirthlessly.

“My name’s John Elderberry.  What’s your name?  You can tell me your name, can’t you?”

“Leave!  My husband won’t care who you are if he finds you here!”

“Yeah,” John sighed.  “Maybe not.”  He made his way to the front and out the door.  “Even the normal people are crazy.”

The hotel: The girls were together on their bed playing cards when Annie commented, “I wish your dad wouldn’t leave.”

“He has to.”

“I know… but I wish he wouldn’t.”

Grace giggled, “I’ll protect you.”

Annie rolled her eyes, “Thanks.”

The two girls resumed their game.  Annie eventually worried, “What if he doesn’t come back?”

“Don’t even think about something like that.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t want to!”

Grace hoped, “He’ll be back.”

The girls heard someone walking down the corridor.  Annie whispered and hoped, “Your dad?”

Grace gestured for her to be quiet.  The girls felt cold and ill.  The presence was not who they hoped it was!  They could feel the sickening evil stop just outside of the door.  Did it know they were here?  The girls nearly screamed when they heard the door being tried!  They knew who was there.  They did not know his name, nor his face, but they knew it was him.  Had he been looking for them all this time?  In her heart, Grace knew that she was the one he wanted.  He hated her.  He would tear Annie apart, just for being Grace’s friend!

John was shaken by a sudden, growling thunder.  The deathly stillness that followed was not reassuring.  John ran back towards the hotel.

The hotel: “Did he leave?” Annie hoped.

“No.”  Grace could still feel the sickening chill of his presence.

“What’s he doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why is he waiting?”

“I don’t know.  Maybe he figures we’re not going anywhere.”

“I hope your dad hurries back.”

Grace gasped.  Was the evil waiting for her father?!

John hid as two hags passed him.  Each of the portly things held a punching dagger with a red crystal set behind the blade.  John wondered, “Are you the ones responsible for all this?”  He was startled when the two stopped… as if they could hear his very thoughts!  They brandished their weapons and looked around, then moved on.  When they were gone, John continued on… until other people crossed his path.

A group of men and women, some of them armed, ran by, glancing over their shoulders and whispering as they did so.  Were they lunatics?  Whether they were or not, they seemed uneasy.  When a hag appeared behind them, the group darted out of sight, obviously fearful.  “Hags and lunatics aren’t friends?”  Regardless of whether there was animosity between them or not, the hag seemed disinterested in them.  She seemed to be looking for something… or someone else.  “Grace.”

John slipped away then continued on.  He hid when he spotted them: A slender woman with long, dark hair led a dozen of the fleshy, sickly gray, white-haired hags.  The brunette, obviously the leader, looked beautiful, despite her severe countenance.  Then again, her present company awarded her a favorable comparison.  Fortunately, these people, whoever they were, were walking away from the hotel.  “Hags and priestesses,” John remembered his daughter telling him.  Who was the “Teacher?”  How many hags and priestesses did he have?!  “Obviously a cult of some strange, depraved sort.”  He moved on.

John was coming out of an alley… when he happened upon the group of men and women he had seen earlier.  At first they were startled… then they grinned.  John blasted a man in the face and another square in the chest!  He darted back into the alley, shotguns booming and pistols and rifles cracking after him.  John fired behind himself as he fled for the other end of the alley.  He then ran into a residential area… and hid.  Silence followed.

John continued on… when he happened upon two hags!  He darted away from them.  Suddenly he felt heavy… and sluggish.  John struggled to run, especially upon hearing the two menacing cackles.  A voice rasped, “Run, John.”

“Yes,” another rasp agreed.  “Run away… if you can.”

The two laughed.

John struggled over a fence.  He lumbered onward.  It was an effort just to walk!  The cackling was coming nearer.  He had to get away!

“We know where you are, John.”

“We know who you are.”

“Yes.  Do you know what we are going to do to you?”

John continued on… when he again happened upon the two hags!  His pistol clicked– obviously empty.  The hags rushed him!  John drew his knife and tore open the belly of one of them.  The victim groaned and wretched as her entrails poured out of her.  The other hag stepped back and rasped, “Better her than me!”  She pointed her punching dagger at John and mumbled.  The red crystal behind the blade flashed.  John tackled her and sunk his own blade into her soft, thick body.  She winced, “Damn you.”  She rolled on top of him, her fangs chomping at him and her deathly white eyes wide with frenzy!

“No!” John held her snapping maw at bay.  He rolled on top of the hag and punched her in her hideous face.  She tried to bite his hand!  John hit her again.  “Ugly bitch!”

“I’m going to eat you, John!”

“You’re not my type.”

The crazed hag grabbed John’s throat and shrieked a murderous laugh.  She grunted; punched in the belly.  John pummeled her with a flurry of desperate punches.  He broke free of her!  The hag lunged at him.  John snatched her in a headlock and the two fell to the ground.  The hag thrashed and flailed, but the man held on.

“Ugly bitch!”  John tried to choke her, tried to force her face past her own shoulder.  One way or another, he was going to kill her!  He heard a crack, but the hag still fought.  John tightened his hold on her.  Still, she was not dying!  He reached for his dropped knife.  The hag broke free of him!  John ignored his weapon and tackled the wretched enemy.

“No, John!”

The man grabbed the hag’s throat and squeezed with all of his might!  “Die, bitch.”  She writhed, kicked and pulled, but the man held on.  Her sickly white eyes bulged and her yellow fangs showed as she gagged.  John squeezed and squeezed.  “Die!”  The hag’s eyes rolled back as she weakened… then went limp.  “Die.”

John held on, long after it was obvious that the hideous creature was indeed dead.  The man felt warmer, calmer and even healthier with the hag’s passing.  Her life was poison and he had cleansed the world of it.  “Be careful,” John warned himself.  “Don’t think like that.  You’ll become one of the freaks.”

Later: Grace and Annie heard someone walking down the corridor.  “Grace,” Mr. Elderberry’s voice said through the door.  “Let me in.”

“Dad?”

“What?”  Grace could still feel the cold, unsettling presence.  “What is it, Grace?”

“Did you see anything suspicious when you came to the door?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Grace, what’s wrong?”

“Somebody tried to get in while you were gone.”  There was a long, tense silence.  “Dad?”  No answer.  “Dad?”  Still no answer.  “Dad?!”  Grace sobbed.  Annie whimpered.  There was still no answer.

3.  “Onward to Nowhere”

Grace awoke next to Annie.  They were together in bed and it was already night!  The door was barricaded and Grace’s father was in the room sitting in a chair.  “Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

Grace wondered if she was confusing dreams with memories.  “Somebody was trying to get into the room while you were gone.”

“I know.  You already told me.”

“I did?”

“Yeah.”

“Dad?”

“What?”

“He’s looking for me.  I’m the one he wants.”

“You told me and I believe you, honey.  If I find him, I’ll kill him.”

“Dad?”

“What?”  Grace said nothing else.  “Get some sleep, honey.  You’re safe.  I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

Morning: The sky was dark and ominous, flashing with lightning and rumbling with thunder.  John led his daughter and Annie out of the hotel.  “Most of the lunatics I’ve encountered have been there,” he pointed, “and there.  The hags seem to be looking around there.  If we go this way,” he led the girls forward, “maybe we won’t encounter anybody.”

“Hopefully,” Annie expressed.

“Yeah,” Grace agreed.

The three kept close to cover as they ventured into the eerily silent depths of Eldritchville. While wandering the streets of a neighborhood, Mr. Elderberry suddenly perked up.  Annie wondered, “What?”

Mr. Elderberry gestured for her to be quiet, then gestured for everyone to hide.  The three watched a man armed with a revolver and wearing a backpack, cross the street, look around, then enter a house.

“A lunatic?” Annie wondered.

“No,” Mr. Elderberry told her.  “That guy didn’t have a disturbing demeanor like they do.”

“If he might be normal, should we go talk to him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Just because he’s not a lunatic, doesn’t mean he’s friendly.”

The three moved on under the darkness and flashing light of the rumbling sky.  Annie uttered, “I hope it doesn’t rain.”

John chuckled, “Of all the things to worry about.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.  I like your attitude.”

Eventually: “How?!” Mr. Elderberry exclaimed.  The monument of a naked young girl was right before them!  “No matter where we go, we can’t get anywhere!  How?!”  Thunder rumbled as if laughing at him.  “Shut up!”

“Dad,” Grace tugged at his arm.  She was looking up at him, her eyes wide with fright.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.  Let’s go.”

That evening: The girls were nestling in the office of a furniture outlet.  Mr. Elderberry was in the building, but was busy locking and or barricading doors.  They were not going to roam about at night!  The dry storm continued to flash and rumble outside.

John assured himself, “People will be looking for food or weapons.  If no one knows we’re here, then no one will bother with this place.”  He rejoined the girls.

“Mr. Elderberry,” Annie addressed.  “Are you all right?”

The man smiled and rubbed the girl’s head.  “As long as you two are all right, I’ll be all right.”

“Dad?”

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking about that guy we saw today.  I think there might be other normal people in Eldritchville.  They’re probably hiding because of the lunatics and hags, too.”

“They are.”

“Don’t you think we should look for them; the normal people?  We can’t leave Eldritchville, so we might as well find someone who’s in the same dilemma we are.”

“If we find someone, we’ll find someone, but we’re not going to roam around looking for normal people.  We’re more apt to encounter hags or lunatics.”

“It’s just an idea.”

“Maybe it’s a good one, maybe it’s not, but we’re going to keep the risks down to the minimum.  I’m going to get you girls out of here, one way or another.”

Grace walked the dark, empty corridors of the Eldritchville Elementary School, wondering why she was here so late at night.  Fortunately, she had remembered to bring her flashlight.  She went into the library.  “Grace?” she heard Prudence’s voice.  Grace shined her beam on the girl.  Prudence blocked the light with her hand.  “Don’t blind me!”

“Sorry.”  Grace aimed the beam down.  “Why are we meeting here?”

“Because the crazies don’t come here.”

“We could’ve met at a church.”

“No!  The crazies like churches.  Never go to a church in this town.”

Grace still wondered, “Do I know you?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“We’ve met.”

“When?!”

Prudence stared at Grace, giggled, then asked, “You still don’t remember?”

“No!”

“Grace, he brought you here because he wants you.”

“Who’s ‘he?’  What are you talking about?”

“He’s going to marry you.”

“Marry me?  I’m only nine.”

“You’ll be his Mother.”

“What?!”

“He’ll be born anew and become more powerful than he’s ever been.”

“Stop it.  Stop talking like that.  I don’t like it.”

“He’ll teach you.  Your powers will awaken and you shall be the Matriarch, the High Priestess.”

“Stop!  If you don’t shut up, right now, I’m leaving!”

“Sorry.”

For a long, tense while, neither girl spoke.  “Prudence,” Grace broke the silence, “who are you?”

“I’m one of the Teacher’s students.”

The girls were startled upon hearing, upon feeling a dreadful presence enter the school.  Grace whispered, “Are we expecting someone?”

“No.”

The two girls could hear the footsteps approaching.  Prudence suggested, “Turn off your flashlight.”

Grace did so, but knew it was a useless effort.  The presence could feel her.  “We need to get out of here.”  Grace switched her light back on and led Prudence to the back of the library.  They slipped out the fire exit and ran into the night.

Grace peeked over her shoulder.  She saw a shadowy figure coming out of the school after them!  No– he was coming after her.

“Grace,” he called in a voice that was frighteningly familiar!

Grace awoke in the office of the furniture outlet.  Even in the dark, she could see Annie was still cozy next to her and dad was asleep, sitting in a corner.  Had Grace dreamt?  Maybe.  Still, the dread she felt was very real.  The shadowy figure, the foul familiarity of his voice and presence, felt very real. Who was he?  Grace would know if she truly wanted to.  In her heart, she never wanted to know.  Whoever he was, he was the Purifier… and he hated her with all his heart.

Morning: Mr. Elderberry and the girls sat together in the furniture outlet listening to the downpour that rained outside.  Grace asked, “Are we going to go out?”

“Maybe,” her father considered.

“Let’s wait.”

“You two can wait here.”

“No!  Dad, don’t ever leave us again!  That guy is still looking for us– for me.  I think he can sense me, because he always finds me.”

“I’ll wait.”  Mr. Elderberry hugged Grace and kissed her head.  “I won’t leave you.  If we go anywhere, we go together.”

“I had a dream last night.  I saw him.”

“In a dream.”

“Dad, it wasn’t just a dream!  It was real!”

Flashes, cracks and booms joined the downpour.  Annie commented, “I don’t think it’s ever sunny in this town.”

Mr. Elderberry chuckled, “Probably not.”

Annie produced the deck of playing cards.  “Anybody want to play?”

“Sure,” Grace agreed.

Mr. Elderberry shook his head.

Grace asked, “What’s the game?”

“Whatever.”

The front door rattled!  Annie hoped aloud, “Maybe it’s the storm.”

Mr. Elderberry picked up his pistol.  “Maybe not.”  He peeked.  Nobody was outside– that he could see.  “Girls, pack up.”

“Dad, we shouldn’t just rush out.  Whoever it is might not even know we’re here.”

Annie added, “But they might, if they see us or hear us leave.”

Mr. Elderberry sighed.  “We’ll wait– for now.”

A short while later: They heard the back door rattle!  “Someone’s walking around in a storm trying to get in here,” Mr. Elderberry concluded.  “I’m assuming they know we’re here.  Everybody pack up.”

Grace asked him, “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to kill Mr. Curious.  Wait here.”

John went into the back and listened.  He heard only the storm.  He flung the back door open and jumped back!  He then stepped outside into the rain.  Nobody was outside– that he could see.  He went back inside, closed and barricaded the door and went in to get the girls.  They were gone!  “Grace?”  No answer.  “Grace?!  Annie?!”  No answer.  “Grace!  Annie!”  Thunder cracked as if in irritated response.

The front door was still locked.  The floor in front of the door was still dry.  “Grace!”  No answer.  Every other door was still locked and barricaded.  John looked around for wet footprints or any other sign of an intruder.  Nothing.  “How?!”

John ran out into the pouring, raging tempest.  “Grace!  Annie!”  Only thunder answered him.

Inside the outlet: “Is your dad outside?” Annie wondered.  They heard, over the storm, Mr. Elderberry calling their names.

“Dad?” Grace called towards the back of the building.  “Dad?!”

“Why did he go outside?”

“I don’t know.”  The girls went out front.  “Dad!”

“Mr. Elderberry!”

“Grace!” called the distant voice of Mr. Elderberry.  “Annie!”

Annie wondered, “Where’s he going?!”

“I don’t know.”

The girls ran out into the rain in search of Mr. Elderberry.  Annie asked, “Where’d he go?!”

“I don’t know.”

The two girls ventured further into the tempest when they suddenly spotted someone perched on a rooftop.  The girls hid.  Annie remarked with a question, “Who’s stupid enough to be on a roof during a lightning storm?”

“I don’t know, but I know I don’t want to meet them.”

“I think we should go back.”

“Maybe.”

Annie reminded, “All our stuff is there.”

Grace considered going back.  “No,” she decided.  “Whoever was trying to get in earlier might be back.”

John hid.  A man was wandering around in the storm wearing only his underwear, a hat and sandals!  “Definitely a freak.”  Mr. Elderberry snuck out of the area in search of Grace and Annie.  Somehow, he was sure the girls were all right… for now.  He dismissed his certainty as desperate optimism.

Lightning struck a tree, breaking off a branch.  Annie told Grace, “We need to get out of the storm!”

“You’re right.”

The two tried the door of a building.  It was unlocked.  They went in.  “Hello,” someone unseen greeted.  The girls ran back out into the storm!

John watched an armed group of three men and a woman.  Their eyes were wide and their mouths grinning.  They were lunatics– and they had someone in tow; a frightened woman.  One of them told her, “You shouldn’t be out during an electrical storm.”

“Yeah,” another chuckled.  “It’s dangerous.”

“Let go…,” the captive struggled.  “Let me go!”

“Don’t worry:  We’ll kill you before we cook you.”

Another added, “And we’ll give what’s left a proper burial.”

The group laughed.

The captive screamed.  “Help me!  Somebody, please!”

“Don’t whine about it, Lucy.  Death befalls us all, sooner or later.”

“You sooner,” the lunatic woman giggled.  “Us later.”

Shots rang out!  Lunatics winced, cried and dropped– but none of them died.  A fat man raised his shotgun.  He shook as he absorbed bullets.  John hurriedly reloaded.

“There he is!” the lunatic woman pointed– until shot in the throat.

“Hey!” a man yelled.  John shot him dead.

One unarmed lunatic remained.  “Come on!” he challenged.  “Fight like a man!”  John blasted him in the face.

“Hey!” someone shouted from elsewhere.  Shots rang out and voices could be heard, even over the cracking and rumbling of thunder.

“Let’s go,” John urged the woman he had rescued.

“No!” she pulled on him.  “This way.”  John followed her.

Annie and Grace had heard a storm of gunshots, even over the rain, wind and thunder.

“It might be your dad.”

Grace cautioned, “Maybe not.”

“What if it is?”

Grace had no answer.  “We need to find a place to hide.”

John followed the woman he had saved.  He asked her, “Where are we going?”

“To join the others.  We’ll be safe with the others.”

“I’m John.”

The woman giggled, “I know who you are, silly.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”  The woman asked him, “You don’t remember me, John?”

“No.”

“We were neighbors.”

“Where?”

“Here: In Eldritchville.”

John told her, “I’ve never lived in Eldritchville.”

“Yes, you do!”

“I’m sorry, miss, but you must be confusing me with someone who looks like me and has the same name.”

“You’re John Elderberry.  You and Jill lived only two houses down from us.  I’m Lucy; remember?  Lucy Lee?”

John shook his head, “Sorry.”

“That’s okay, sweetie.  You’re probably still shaken up by the whole incident.”

“Incident?”

“Yeah.”  The woman brought John to a community center populated with armed men and women.  “Uh, oh.”  This was where he had seen… the cannibalistic party!

“Don’t worry, John.  You saved me.  Nobody’s going to hurt you.  Come in with me.”

John smelled something cooking.  He did not want to guess what it was.  Some of the people were approaching.  John ran.

“Wait!” Lucy called after him.  “John, wait!  We forgive you!”

Whether they forgave him or not, he was not going to join these people for lunch!

“A church,” Annie suggested.

“No!” Grace pulled her back.  “The crazies like churches.”

The two found shelter in a bookstore.  Annie tried to joke, “At least we’ll have something to read, if we get bored.”

“Yeah.”

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know.”

For a long while, neither of them said anything.  “Grace?”

“What?”  Annie hugged her and squeezed.  Grace returned the embrace and assured her, “We’re going to be okay.”

The rain stopped, but instead of the sun shining through the clouds, the sky grew darker, much darker.  Thunder seemed to growl then all was tensely calm and quiet.  “What’s happening?” John wondered.  The air became cool, crisp and tingled with weird energy.  John moved on.  He had nowhere to go, but he was very much in a hurry.

“Something’s wrong,” Grace uttered.

“What?”

“I don’t know… but I feel it.”

“Did he find us?!”

“No.”  Grace snuggled her frightened friend.  “It’s not that.  Something’s happening… everywhere.”

“Everywhere?”

“Yeah.  It’s like the whole world is about to change.”

John watched a comely, redheaded woman lead a dozen ugly, white-haired hags down a street.  The beauty held a black, wooden rod; each end of which was in the image of an open hand with a blue crystal set in the palm.  The crystals suddenly glowed!  The priestess brought her procession of ugliness to a halt.  She then outstretched her arms and looked up.  She then gestured for the hags to head back the way they had come.

John wondered, “Do you know what’s happening?”  He snickered, “Yeah, you do.  You people are probably the ones causing it.”  He followed them.

Annie mentioned, “We’ll need to find food again.”

“Yeah, I know.”  The girls thought for a moment.  Grace surmised, “We might have to go back to the furniture store.”

“We can’t!”

“It should be okay now.  If it was… him, he’s already left… because I’m not there anymore.  He’d think we’d be too scared to go back, so it might be the safest place to be.”

Annie worried, “What if it’s not?!”

“Then we’re going to have to look for food somewhere else.”

“What should we do, Grace?  Maybe we should look for your dad again.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too dangerous to wander around town.”  Grace thought for a moment, then concluded, “I think we should go back to the furniture store.”

John watched the redhead lead her procession through the guarded gate of the Eldritchville School for the Gifted.  A few beautiful priestesses and dozens of ugly hags surrounded the grounds or were on the roof.  “A school?” John was surprised.  “The ‘Teacher,’ huh?  Is that literal?”  One of the hag guards peered in John’s direction.  When she pointed at him and called to others, the man hurried out of the area.

Grace stopped in front of the furniture outlet and looked through the windows.  She did not see anyone… and she did not feel anyone.  “I think it’s safe.”

“Are you sure?”

Grace stepped inside.  “Come on.”  The two looked around.  “Let’s check the doors.”

John did not know whether the hags and beauties were chasing him or not, but he fled as if they were!  Eventually, he happened upon… the monument.  He slowed and panted.  “You, again.”  The dark sky, though still flashing, dimmed, enshrouding the town in deeper shadow.

Even in the fading light, John could clearly see something he had often seen but never noticed: The statue atop the pedestal looked… like Grace!  “No way.”  He read the inscription:

“Grace Faye Elderberry

THEN AND NOW, NOW AND FOREVER

Let he who has ears to hear, hear.

Let he who has eyes to see, see.

Beloved is our Daughter of Eldritchville,

She who hears the Stillness

And sees the Darkness.

The Curse unto her is our Dearest Blessing.”

            John shrank away from the ominous thing.  “Is this a monument… or a gravestone?”  A bright flicker emphasized the statues likeness to Grace.  “No way.  This is not happening.”  John turned and walked briskly away.  “‘Not happening.”

Grace and Annie stripped down to their underwear and laid their clothes out to dry.  “My dad might come back here to look for us.”

“That would be good.”

“Yeah.”  Grace felt an internal chill.  “Maybe.”

Annie stared at her friend.  “Why don’t you want your dad to find us?”

“I do.”

“You didn’t sound like you did.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t understand what I meant.”

“I want him to find us.”

“So do I.”

John stared up into the flashing, flickering, growling gloom that had devoured the town of Eldritchville.  “What a nice place to live.”

The man checked his pistol: It was loaded– with the last of his ammunition.  “Thank goodness for knives and crowbars.”  John wondered if it would be better to find a bullet-proof vest rather than more bullets.  “Next time I snuff a cop, I’ll check him for body armor.”  He remembered police officers he knew personally, most of whom were amiable.  “Don’t think like that,” he rebuked himself.  “Don’t premeditate killing people.”

Something was wrong: John could feel it.  This town was beginning to feel uncomfortably… normal.  “I hope I’m not becoming a local.”  John shocked himself with a maniacal chuckle.  “No.  It is not going to happen.”  He ejected a round from his pistol, picked it up and pocketed it.  He patted the reserved bullet and promised himself, “I’ll put this into my own brain before I become one of them.”

4.  “Wolves and Sheep”

Grace was alone on the roof of Eldritchville Elementary School.  “Why do I keep ending up back here?”

“Where are you, Grace?” a man’s voice asked from behind.

“The Teacher?” Grace turned around and saw the shadowy form of him.  She cringed at the edge of the roof as the man walked over to her.

“To the Elect, I am the Teacher.  To the Forsaken, I am the Enemy.  Do you remember me?”

“No, but I know who you are.”

“Do you?  Why are you afraid of me, Grace?  I’d never hurt you.”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Grace, bring me to you.  I want you safe– with me.”

“Why do you want to… marry me?”

The man laughed.  “Any man would want to marry you.”

“I’m only nine-years-old.”

“So?  You’ll grow up.”  The girl looked away and fidgeted.  “Grace, I’m not going to molest you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Is this all just a dream?”

The man laughed.  “Dream?  Man wanted to fly; it was a dream.  Man flew; the dream is now a reality.  Man wanted to walk on the moon; it was a dream.  Man walked on the moon.  The dream became real.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Eldritchville.”

“Eldritchville?”

“Yes.  Don’t you want to know why this place seems so strange?”

“I don’t know.”

The man laughed.  “You’re still a child: Your heart hasn’t hardened with unbelief.  Now is the time for you to learn– before it’s too late.”

“Learn what?”

“Magic.”

Grace opened her eyes and saw, even in the dark, Annie sleeping next to her.  They were still together in the furniture store.

The Teacher still spoke, apparently believing that Grace was still with him on the school roof.  Maybe she was, in a way.  “Grace, you’re still soft and forming.  Now is the time for you to learn, before it’s too late; before you harden.  Become what you can become.  I’m the Teacher.  I’ll awaken your power.  Become the wonder you were meant to be.  Grace, where are you?”

John awoke in the blackness of the storage room he had barricaded himself in.  “Someone” was in the shop with him!  John listened.  He could hear footsteps, the creak and clatter of things but… no voices.  How many of whoever or whatever were out there?  Did they know he was here?  Were they looking for him?

John found his pistol and switched off the safety.  Suddenly all was quiet (except for John’s thumping heartbeat).  Mr. Elderberry listened… and waited.  He eventually heard a door open then close, then all was deathly quiet.

Morning was calm, quiet and very gloomy outside.  Annie wondered, “What time is it?”

Grace answered, “Seven-fifty-one.”

“It doesn’t look it.”

Grace checked her dad’s watch.  “If this thing is working, and I think it is, then it’s seven-fifty-two in the morning.”

The girls were still wearing only their underwear.  Annie checked her clothes and suggested, “Even though they’re still damp, maybe we should put them back on.”

“Let them dry completely.”

“What if your dad comes back?”

“Don’t worry about it.  He won’t care.”

“I do!”

“Annie, just let your clothes dry and stop worrying.  You can cover yourself in a blanket.”

“But it’s too warm in here.”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

The two were playing cards when Annie remarked, “I wish we’d stayed at your place.”

“Too late now.”

“Yeah, but I wish we did.”

Grace reminded, “You’d have to go home eventually.”

“But I didn’t get home: that’s the problem.”

Grace lied down, sighed and told her friend, “Maybe I’m the only one who’s supposed to be here, anyway.”

“Why?”

“I had another dream, but this time I met the Teacher.”

“You did?!”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure your dreams are really real?”

Grace giggled.  “Yes, Annie: If something’s real, then it’s really real.”

“What did the Teacher look like?”

“I don’t know.  It was too dark to really see anything.  I was at this town’s elementary school again, but this time I was on the roof.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did the Teacher say anything to you?”

“Yeah.  He wants to find me.  He does want to marry me.”

Annie frowned, “That is so disgusting.  I’d stay away from him, if I were you.”

Grace laughed, “I’ll try.”

“I hope your dad kicks this guy’s butt.”

“Maybe he will.”

John stood in front of the monument, staring up at the statue of the naked young girl, “Grace Faye Elderberry.”  Though he hoped to see differently, the name and image were unmistakably and undeniably those of his missing daughter.

“John,” a woman’s voice addressed him from behind.  The man drew his pistol and turned to face her.  It was Lucy Lee!  The woman laughed and shook her head.  “You’re on edge, John.  Don’t worry about me, sweetie.”

John noticed that lunatics were nearby and all around.  He lowered his pistol and sat on a bench.

Lucy joined him.  “John,” she patted his hand, “we’re not after you.”  She giggled, “We’re not going to eat you or torture you or anything like that.”

“How did you find me?”

“Our scouts found you.”  She nodded at some people nearby, “Don’t worry about them.  They’re here to protect me from the others and Felix Blackthorn’s girls and hags.”

John stared at Lucy.  Even though she was a cannibalistic lunatic, she smiled a warm smile!  John asked her, “Felix Blackthorn?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s the ‘Teacher’ I’ve heard so much about?”

“I guess so.  He runs that School for the Gifted.”

“Lucy, what do you want?”

“We’ve seen you wandering around town.  If you’re not careful, somebody (not us) will kill you.”

“You people already tried.”

Lucy laughed, apparently unoffended.  “Don’t be so swift to judge!  Eating people isn’t so bad, really.”  She saw John cringe.  “We ate our dogs and cats first.”  She giggled, “Some of us even emptied our own aquariums right out of the water… but that’s not what we really wanted.  We didn’t want what we really wanted… until we tried it.”

“Why?”

Lucy shrugged.  “When everything changed, some of us felt free and alive.  Others were confused and afraid.”

“Wolves and sheep,” John thought aloud.

“Wolves eat sheep.  You’re a wolf, John.  Join our pack.”

“Lucy, I’m sorry, but I’ve never liked mutton.  I’ll be a lone wolf, if you don’t mind.”

Lucy patted John’s knee.  “You know where to find us if you ever change your mind.  I hope you do.”  The woman smiled, stood and started to walk away.

“Wait!”  Lucy turned around and waited for him to speak.  “My daughter and her friend are missing.”

“Your daughter’s friend?”

“Yeah: Annie DeSilva.  Do you happen to know an Annie DeSilva?”

“No, but I know your daughter.  If we find them, we’ll protect them.”

“Also, I need to know: Is there a way out of this town?”

“Not that anyone’s been able to find.”

“Why not?”

Lucy shrugged.  “Sometimes people come in but nobody ever gets out.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Lucy, if you can tell me anything about this place, I’d be more than grateful.”

The woman walked right up to the man, took his hands and stared up into his eyes and told him, “Things changed.”

“When?”

“About a week or so ago.”

“What exactly happened?”

“From morning to noon one day, every animal went crazy and every person felt their every possible emotion all at once.  It was the scariest, most painful, wonderful experience of my life.  Nothing made sense but everything was perfectly clear.  It was like heaven and hell came together on earth.”

“What caused it?”

“I don’t know… but there are people here who probably do.  The old families probably know.”  Lucy snickered, “They’re probably the ones who caused it all.”

“The old families?”

“Yeah.  You should know: You’re an Elderberry.”

“I don’t know!  I don’t know anything!”  John turned and pointed up at the statue of Grace, “I come to this town and see this and it reads like my daughter’s epitaph!”

“What does it have to do with your daughter?”

“Grace!  You said you know Grace!”

“I know Sarah.  You have another daughter?”

“Yeah; Grace, my youngest.”

“John, I’ve lived in this town all my life and I’m telling you: This monument has been here the whole time.  Sarah’s still a teenager so I seriously doubt your ‘youngest’ is older than I am.”  Lucy laughed, “Maybe you’re just dizzy from everything that’s happened recently.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, you think about it until you know for sure.”  She hugged him, breathed into his ear and said, “You know where to find me.”  She kissed his cheek and started to walk away.  “Oh, John,” she turned around.  “We’re not the only pack in Eldritchville.  There are others.  Wolves sometimes eat wolves.  Remember that.”

“I will.”

Lucy blew him a kiss then disappeared.

Grace glimpsed a chubby, pale gray, big-breasted thing with long, white hair, walking past the front of the furniture store!  Annie, unnoticing, uttered, “We should break open that soda….”

“Shhh!!”

Annie whispered, “What?!”

“Get down!”  Annie complied.  Grace insisted, “Be quiet.”

The two girls hid and waited.  Eventually, Grace told Annie, “I saw a hag walk past the front of the store.”

“Did she see us?”

“I don’t think so.  Let’s get our clothes back on.”

“Are we leaving?”

“Not yet.”

“Good.  I don’t want to go out there if they’re out there.”

John was meandering when he happened upon a sickening stench.  Curious, he walked into it until he found the source: a black, horribly bloated corpse with a torn, festered, sunken belly.  “You,” he recognized the body.  It was that of the first hag he had killed, still lying where he had left it several days ago.  “Didn’t anyone even look for you?  Maybe they found you and just left you there.”  John retched, then ran to escape the sickening, oppressive odor.

5.  “The Young and the Hungry”

The girls were eating lunch when Annie mentioned, “Nobody tried to get in so I guess that hag didn’t see us.”

“I guess not.”

“I wish your dad didn’t leave us like this.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you still think he’ll come back?”

“I never said he’d come back.  I said he might.”

“Why do you think he left us?”

“I don’t know, Annie.”

“Are you okay?”

Grace shrugged.  “I just want to go home.”

“Me too.”

A hag squeezed a struggling man to her bosom and bit into the side of his neck!  The victim shrilled!  The hag ripped open his jugular, chewed and swallowed.  She shrieked with delight, her mouth wet with blood!

The two girls cringed at hearing the bloodcurdling cackle.  Annie fearfully blurted, “They’re still out there!”

“Quiet!”  Grace whispered, “If they hear you, they’ll come in here.”

“No!”

“Annie.”  Grace cuddled her trembling friend, “They don’t know we’re here.”

Annie quavered, “Why won’t they go away?”

“They will.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”  The girls held each other tight… and waited.  They did not know what was happening outside… nor did they want to.

“I hope your dad comes back.”

Grace was surprised by a sudden sense of dread.  It was not the hags she was afraid of; it was… him.  She could feel him looking for her.

John watched two hags drag a man across the street by his ankles.  The victim’s eyes were wide open and his face still wincing, his mouth open as if screaming silently in death.  Blood was leaking from his torn neck, leaving a red trail no one would care to follow.  “So that’s what you’d do to me.”  Mr. Elderberry smirked at the dead man, “Better you than me.”  John shook his head, “No.”  He patted the bullet in his pocket, “If it comes to it, I won’t live long enough to believe what I just said.”

John followed the two hags.  He had something to prove.

The one corpulent, hideous, wicked creature rasped to the other, “We should have asked him if he was hiding children.”

“Why?  He wouldn’t have told us.”

“That’s why we’d persuade him.”  The two cackled.

Grace and Annie were playing cards when Annie wondered, “What do we do if your dad doesn’t come back?”

“I don’t know.”  Grace did not want to mention to her friend that they were almost out of food.  They would soon have no choice but to return to the streets of this scary town.  “But I think we’ll be okay.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because we always are, right?”

“Yeah,” Annie hoped but doubted.

A hag staggered and gagged, clutching her bleeding throat.  Behind her, John was on top of another one, stabbing her and twisting his knife repeatedly!  The man shouted, “Where are you going?!”  The hag with the cut throat stumbled and writhed.  “Die slow, you ugly hag!”  John laughed, as if his comment was the funniest joke ever.

Mr. Elderberry got up and leaned over the dead man .  “Don’t look so glum: You’ve been avenged.”  John patted the corpse’s cheek then left the scene.

“No.”  John sobbed and choked, “No!”  He dropped to his knees and shouted, “I did the right thing!”  He wept bitterly.  “I did the right thing.”  He patted the bullet in his pocket.  “I will do the right thing.  I swear it.”

Grace and Annie laid on their sides, staring at each other.  They giggled.  Grace reached over and poked her friend in the nose.  “Why did you do that?”

“I wanted to see if you’d cross your eyes.”

John watched a young, slender blond woman lead six plump hags across a street.  She carried the black rod with the “hands” at the ends.  The hags each wielded a punching dagger. The blond stopped and gestured for her hags to spread out, as if in search.  John wondered, “Are you looking for me now or are you still looking for Grace?”  He stalked one of the hags.

“Are we going to still sleep here tonight?”

“Probably,” Grace answered Annie.  “Nobody’s found us here, so I guess this place is safe… for now.”

“I think it’s safe.”  Annie mumbled, “Safer than out there.”  She mentioned, “My mom probably called your mom and asked why we didn’t show up.”

“Probably.”

“They probably called the police.”

“Yip.”

Annie hoped, “Do you think the police might come here?”

“They might.”

“I hope they do.”

John was on top of a struggling hag.  He snapped her face past her own shoulder!  “Yes,” he gasped.  His victim convulsed underneath him.  “Very good.  That felt right.”  When the hag went limp, John chuckled and uttered, “Oops!  I didn’t ask her any questions.  I guess I’ll have to go grab another one.”

John did feel good.  Never before had he ever felt so strong, vigorous… or alive.  “Yes,” he panted.  His mind swirled with euphoria!  His heart pounded with excitement!  All was confusion yet all seemed so clear!

He found and snatched another hag… and snapped her neck.  He stalked and pounced another… and squeezed the life out of her.

“What’s wrong?” Annie asked.  Grace was pale and shaking.

“Huh?”

“Grace?”  Annie held her friend close.  “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, but I feel… really sick.”

“You’re cold.”  Annie grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around poor Grace.

John happened upon another hag.  She saw him!  She raised her punching dagger, mumbling and the red crystal glowed.  She jabbed at the air before her.  The man felt a sting in his heart, as if stabbed!  He drew his pistol and blasted the hag!  She shook, winced and staggered back then dropped.

“Did you hear that?” Annie asked Grace.  “Maybe it’s your dad.  Maybe he’s still trying to find us.”

“Yeah.”

John ran away.  He knew the priestess and hags would answer the sound of his gunfire.  His heart ached horribly!  Whatever spell the hag cursed him with, it hurt and nearly killed him!  “Rot and bloat like the rest of them, you ugly bitch.”

Later that day: The red glow of sunset cast long shadows within the front of the furniture outlet.  Grace was asleep back in the office while Annie dared to peek out the front windows.  All seemed and felt calm and quiet… for now.

Grace felt as if she were hidden within the company of several older, severe personalities.  “Forgive me, Your Holiness,” she heard the Teacher.

“Forgive you?” asked the rich voice of an older man.  “Your duty is to enlighten the gifted young with the knowledge of the mystical arts.  You were never supposed to raise your own, personal following.  The school is not about you, Felix Blackthorn.  It is about teaching our faith.  What you have done is abuse your holy vocation so as to raise your own apostate cult.”

“Your Holiness, that’s not true.”

“Not true?  Your students won’t even speak to us without your expressed permission!”

“Your Holiness, I didn’t teach them that.”

“For all intents and purposes, they revere you.”

“Your Holiness, only as their teacher.  I’ve made no effort to win their loyalty as anything else.”

“Felix, you’ve neglected the Culling.  Not only do you retain those who succumb, you teach them regardless!  Only the elect are to be retained!  The forsaken only sink deeper into madness and depravity.”

“Your Holiness, forgive me, but I can’t bring myself to condemn my students to die.  They’re so young and vulnerable.  If they are weak then it is my responsibility, as their teacher, to help them overcome their weakness.”

“Responsibility?  The Culling of the Gifted is not a mere, archaic tradition, Felix.  It is a Teacher’s obligation.  The teaching of the Mystery inspires either wisdom or depravity.  A student is either enlightened… or darkened.  All of us come to the fork in the road– and we take one way or the other: You know this!  You’ve been taught.  You’ve known all your life!”

“Felix,” a soft, warm, womanly voice addressed him.  “I know it’s hard for you.  It was for every Teacher (and always will be).  It was for me.  It hurt, but I had faith.  Our willingness to sacrifice is the ultimate test of our conviction.  Have faith and be strong.  Know that sometimes even the young must die.  I’m sorry.  Please understand why such horrible things are necessary.”

A man assured, “As your Elders, we want what is best for you… and your students.  This Council doesn’t want to condemn you.”

His Holiness reminded, “But we will do what is right.  If you are to be punished, it is because you have done wrong.”

“Wrong?” Felix challenged.  “We abduct children and indoctrinate them.”

“Blasphemy!” the older man accused.

“It is not blasphemy,” the maternal voice assured, “if it is true.”

His Holiness insisted, “We do not abduct children.”

“No,” the maternal voice seemed to smirk, “not usually, but strange how things happen to work out as they do.”

Grace could feel the older man’s embarrassment.

John risked going into houses in search of food and drink.  He found what he was looking for.  He also acquired trinkets, a flashlight and batteries and a new backpack in which to carry it all.  He then barricaded himself within a bedroom and went to sleep for the night.

Morning: Grace opened her eyes and saw the smiling face of Annie.  The friend asked, “Are you feeling better?”  Grace nodded.  “Good.  You look better this morning, too.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s foggy outside.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Annie hoped, “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah.”

“You were asleep for a very long time.”

“I needed it.”

“Did you have any more dreams?”

“Yeah.”

“Well?”

“His name is…,” Grace tried to remember.

Annie asked, “The Teacher?”

“Yeah.  Felix.  Yeah, his name is Felix Blackthorn.”

“That sounds like the name of an evil dork.”

Grace giggled, “Yeah, it does.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“No.  He was talking to some other people.  I think they were old and important.”

“Who were they?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did they say anything?”

“Yeah.  Felix was in trouble, because he didn’t do what he was supposed to.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.  His students liked him too much and he was supposed to kill them if they had problems.”

“Problems?”

“Yeah.  What he teaches makes you wise or it makes you evil.  He was supposed to kill the ones who were turning evil.”

“Isn’t he evil?”

“You would think he is, but I’m not sure.”

“Grace, he’s a pervert who wants to marry you.  I think it’s safe to say he’s evil.”

“Yeah.  Maybe.”

“Was that the only dream you had?”

“No,” Grace thought for a moment then accepted, “but it’s the only one I can remember.  I think I woke up a little bit after I had that one.”

Annie nodded.

Grace added, “Actually, I don’t even think I was dreaming.  I felt like I was there.”

“Spooky.”

John checked his pistol: It was empty.  “Only one left.”  He removed his last bullet from his pocket and loaded it into his gun.

Grace reluctantly told Annie, “We have to leave.”

“What?  Why?”

“We’re almost out of food.”

“We still have some.”

“We have to find more before we actually run out.  We don’t know when we’ll find any more.”

Annie huffed.

John was meandering through the thick fog… when he heard a noise!  He hid and waited.  A nervous looking teenaged boy wearing a backpack and armed with a pistol, walked past him.  “Sheep,” John recognized the youth’s nature.  “Looking for food?  Be careful: You might end up lunch rather than find it.”  John suppressed an urge to chuckle.  “I could really use that pistol.”  He considered stalking and pouncing this lamb.  “No.  That kid needs it more than I do.”  John watched the youth disappear into the fog.  “Take care.”

Grace and Annie hid when they saw it: a shadowy form moving in the distance.  They waited for it to disappear.  Annie wondered, “What do you think it was?”

“I don’t know.  It’s too hard to see anything in all this fog.”

Suddenly they heard a maniacal cackle!

The laughing hag was startled when John drew his knife and rushed her!  He tackled her to the ground and plunged his blade into her.

Annie and Grace cringed at hearing the bloodcurdling scream!  They ran away from the frightening sound.

John rushed another hag.  She raised her punching dagger, mumbling and the red crystal flashed.  The man tackled and stabbed her.  She wailed in his face!  He held her wrist as she tried to stab him and grabbed her throat as she snapped at him!  He squeezed with all his might until the ferocious thing finally went limp.

“Over here!” John heard a woman’s voice.

Grace and Annie were running around a corner… when they ran into… a hag!  The big, ugly thing staggered back, then tried to snatch the girls!  Annie and Grace ran, the hag cackling behind them.  Suddenly their pursuer was tackled, stabbed and her belly cut open.  The girls ran, unnoticing.  They did hear a woman shout, “Kill him!”

John had found the girls!  He had also been spotted by a redhead and several hags.  They did not appear to have seen Grace and Annie.  John would lead them away from the girls.  Suddenly he felt heavy and sluggish.  He strained, groaned and shouted, “No!  Not going to happen!”  He felt the spell break!  He ran; the priestess and hags in pursuit of him.

The redhead and the six hags with her, stopped when they lost sight of the man.  Suddenly one of them yelped!  John charged into the lot of them, from behind, slashing and stabbing them!

Grace and Annie hid behind a convenience store, gasping and panting for breath.  “We have to… be quiet,” Grace warned, “or they’ll hear us.”

The two could hear shrieks and screams coming from nearby.  Annie wondered, “What’s going on over there?”

The six hags were strewn about, some of them dead, but all of them down and bleeding.  One of them lay on her side moaning and clutching her own spilled intestines!  “Digusting,” John snickered.  He was on top of the beautiful redhead.  Her eyes went wide and her mouth gaped as he raised his wet knife above her!  She screamed as it came down!  The blade stopped, right at her face.  The man on top of her howled.  “I’m a wolf, baby!” he laughed.  He then leaned down, grinning right in her face, his wild, crazed eyes staring into her.  He told her, “You have a beautiful face.  If I kill you, it will rot with you.  I can’t do that.”  He kissed her, on the lips, then disappeared into the fog of Eldritchville.

Annie and Grace were startled when they saw they were spotted by a hag!  The two girls ran.  Turning a corner, they saw another one!  They darted in another direction.  They happened upon a brunette woman and a group of hags!

“You’re so soft,” John said to the hag he was on top of, strangling.  “Where do you get all that strength with such a soft body?”  The victim choked rather than answer.  “Don’t worry: I don’t think you’re rude.  I know you can’t say anything right now.”  John noticed his own, sneering expression within the black, widening pupils of the hag’s deathly white eyes.  “You’re so warm, too.  That surprises me.  I mean: You look like a corpse but have all the warmth, vim and vigor of someone full of life.  Isn’t that interesting?”  The hag’s eyes rolled back and she went limp.  “You’re dead?  Now you actually match your appearance.”

John picked up his victim’s punching dagger and compared it to his own knife.  He concluded, “I like mine better,” and tossed hers aside.

He suddenly noticed the familiar voices of young girls, screaming and crying.  “Grace?  Annie?”  He left the dead monster where she lie and followed the desperate young cries.  Suddenly, they went quiet.

“We’re not going to hurt you!”  The brunette priestess assured.  The hags who held Grace and Annie now had their hands firmly over the girls’ mouths.  “But there are plenty in town who will.  If they hear you, they’ll come looking for you and if they get a hold of you… they’ll eat you.”  The girls stopped struggling and trying to scream.  “We’re taking you someplace safe.  It’s the only place safe.”  The priestess gestured for the hags to uncover the girls’ mouths.

“The Teacher?” Grace surmised.

“Yes,” the priestess smiled.  She stroked Grace’s hair, leaned down so that they were face-to-face and said, “We’ve been waiting for you.  We’re so glad we’ve found you.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Sister Felicity… but you can call me ‘Felicity.’  We’ll be friends if you want to be.”

John ran through the thick fog… but could not find Grace and Annie.  He did, however, come across… the monument.  “No,” he disbelieved.  “No!  Noooo!  I hate you!  I hate you!”  The man wailed for all of heaven, hell and earth to hear.

“What’s that?” Annie wondered.

Sister Felicity told her, “The madness of Eldritchville.”

John stormed through the fog, heading for the Eldritchville School for the Gifted– when he happened upon a hag.  He rushed her and tackled her to the ground!  She wrapped around him and snapped at his face and neck!  “Not this time,” the man broke free of her embrace.  He punched her, dazing her.  John pounded the hag’s ugly face, bashing her around her eyes, crushing her nose, busting her fleshy lips, knocking out yellow teeth and shattering her jaw.

The man panted for breath and got up off of the soft, plump, ashen form.  He stared at its bruised, smashed, swollen and bloody face.  “You’re looking prettier already.”

He got back on top of the hag and pummeled her face again!  “Even better.”  He poked at a blood bubble forming in her nostril.  He then renewed beating the hideous face with a fierce, frenzied flurry.

Hags opened the gates to the grounds of the Eldritchville School for the Gifted.  Grace asked Felicity, “A school?  Is that why he’s called the Teacher?”

“He’s called the Teacher because he’s the one who brings out the best in you.  People have so much potential but don’t know how to use it.  He’ll teach you.  He’ll show you how to do things you never even knew you were capable of.”

Grace and Annie were disturbed to realize that there were far more ugly, sneering hags than there were smiling, beautiful priestesses.

John stroked the long, white hair and kissed the broken, bloody mouth of the hag he had just beaten to death.  “Now you’re beautiful.”  The man laughed, sobbed… then wept.

Felicity brought the girls into the large, old mansion that was the School for the Gifted.  She told the hags with them, “You are dismissed.”  The sneering, big and big-breasted, sickly-colored, white-haired, ghostly-eyed creatures departed.  The hall felt warmer, cleaner and safer now.  Felicity smiled down at the girls and told them, “I know how you feel.  I don’t like them either.  I used to like some of them, but not anymore.”

Annie was surprised, “You used to like them?”

“Yeah.  I hardly recognize them anymore, but some of them used to be my friends.”

“Your friends?”

“Yes.  They weren’t always the way they are now.”

Grace understood, “The Mystery darkened their hearts and minds.”

“Yes.  It corrupted everything about them, even their bodies.  That’s why they look the way they do.  Don’t worry: They’re afraid of Mr. Blackthorn, so they usually behave themselves.  They know if they hurt you, he’ll curse them to an agonizing death… if he’s merciful enough to kill them at all.  Besides, the rest of us love you.  Anyway, he’s been waiting for you.  Let’s go see him.”

Felicity led the girls up the staircase then down a corridor lined with the marble busts of women.  Annie wondered aloud, “Who are these people?”

Sister Felicity answered, “Mr. Blackthorn’s venerable predecessors.”

“Other Teachers?”

“That’s right.”

Grace noticed that there were only a few family names among the many images.   Some of them were “Blackthorn.”  Others were… “Elderberry.”

Felicity brought the girls to the door at the end of the corridor and knocked.  A man’s voice answered from the other side, “Come in.”  Felicity led the girls into a posh, spacious office and to a man who was staring into an empty birdcage.

“Mr. Blackthorn,” Sister Felicity addressed.

The man turned and smiled, “Grace.  You brought a friend?”

“Uh, yeah?  She’s my best friend, Annie DeSilva.”

“I know who she is.”  The man returned to staring into the birdcage.  He mentioned, “You’re wondering why I’m staring into an empty cage.  Grace, is it better for a bird to be free, where it is always in danger and must look for food?  Or should it be a pet, where it will always be safe and guaranteed a meal?”

“It should be free.”

“To be wild is to be free… or game.  To be domestic is to be a pet… or food.”  Mr. Blackthorn opened the cage… and put a dove into it no one had seen him holding!  He closed the cage, turned and said, “Let’s go for a walk.  Felicity, will you grace us with your presence?”

“Only if you want me to, Mr. Blackthorn.”

“I always want to be graced with your presence.”

Grace, Felicity and Annie accompanied Mr. Blackthorn for a walk in the garden behind the school.  He was telling them, “Magic, like technology, is the use of knowledge, material and energy to achieve a desired result.  The difference is, whereas technology emphasizes the physical, magic emphasizes the metaphysical.”  He gently took Grace’s shoulders, leaned down and asked her, “Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Not really.  I already know magic is supernatural.  Everybody knows that.”

“Yes, but what many don’t understand is that magic is also natural.  Grace, you have the talent.  Nature gave you more than you know.  You must know.  I’ll teach you.  I shall consummate my knowledge with your nature that you may give birth to great power.”  Still looking at Grace, Mr. Blackthorn addressed his priestess, “Felicity.”

“Yes, Mr. Blackthorn?”

“Please treat Miss DeSilva to a snack.  See to her comfort.”

“Yes, Mr. Blackthorn.”  Felicity offered Annie her hand.

Annie looked at Grace, who stared back.  Grace choked, “See you in a little bit.”  Miss DeSilva reluctantly went away with Sister Felicity.

The man stood up straight, stared down at Grace and asked her, “Has anyone spoken to you?”

“About what?”

“Has anyone met you in your dreams?”

Grace thought of Prudence then lied, “No.”  She tried to look cheerful and reminded, “You did, remember?”

“Yes.”  He took Grace’s hand and they resumed their walk.  “Grace, I must warn you: We have an enemy.”

The girl choked and her skin crawled.  She knew who Mr. Blackthorn meant.  She muttered to herself, “The Purifier.”

“You remember?!  Grace, you remember him?!”

“Remember him?  I just feel him.  He’s been chasing me!”

“It’s all right,” the man held the trembling girl.  “He can’t get you.  I’ll protect you.”

“Who is he?”

Grace heard the answer, but she knew the Teacher had not really said it, “The Red Hand of Providence.”  Mr. Blackthorn actually said, “He’s a dangerous fanatic.  I’ve dealt with him before.”  Grace heard what was not said, “He’ll kill me.  He’s already tried, but only in dreams.  Now he is here.  I can feel him!”

“Why does he want to kill us?”

“Huh?  Oh, he has his own, twisted reasons.”  Grace heard amidst the spoken words, “I’m a heretic.  You’re the Mother to be.”

The girl was reminded, by what she heard, but did not hear, that Mr. Blackthorn intended to marry her.  She was going to be his wife and his mother!  What she did not know, did not want to know and was too afraid to ask, was: Why?

Nine-year-old Prudence Gray went into the School’s library, walking past rows of studying girls of various ages.  She went into the Archives.  Sister Faith watched her closely as Prudence scanned the spines under “NECROMANCY,” a section reserved for the more mature.  “Prudence, what are you doing?”

“Studying.”

“Not that section.”

“Yes, Sister.”  Prudence left the room.  She hid and waited elsewhere.  When Sister Faith left the Archives, Prudence went back in and found the book she was looking for.

Mr. Blackthorn laughed.  “I’m not going to marry you now,” he assured Grace.  “You’re still a child… for now.  I’ll wait.  In the meantime, I’ll help you grow.”

“What if I don’t want to marry you?”

Felix Blackthorn seemed shocked by the girl’s bold question.  “Grace, you can decide that when the time comes.”  Grace heard him not say, “You’ll be entirely agreeable by then.”  The man reached around and gently rubbed her shoulder.  He suggested, “Let’s get something to eat.”

Prudence was out in the garden plucking white, bell-shaped flowers (convallaria majalis)… when she noticed a hag watching her with those spooky white eyes.  Was the chubby, nasty, big-bosomed thing suspicious or was she merely… hungry?  Prudence continued what she was doing.

6.  “Shadows of Life and Death”

Grace was with Mr. Blackthorn at a small table in the back of a kitchen, eating.  The girl was gazing out the window when the man wondered, “Are you worried about your father?”

“Huh?”

“Are you worried about your father?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s still alive (unlike my hags he’s encountered) and he’s still looking for you.”

“What about your hags?”

“Your father kills them.”

“Probably because they attack him.”

“Yes,” the man nodded.  Grace heard, “But he spared Harmony, because she had a pretty face.”  The man uttered, “Hags don’t die easily.  You should be proud of him:  He is a very proficient killer.”  Grace heard in silence, “He is the Red Hand of Providence.”  Mr. Blackthorn stated, “He’s looking for you.”

“I know.”

“He knows where you are.  He can feel you.  As he nears you, his terrible realization intensifies.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You already know.”

“I do?”

Mr. Blackthorn nodded amidst chewing.  He swallowed then explained, “People have a tendency to know more than they know.  Intuition.”

“I know what intuition is.”

“Do you?  Grace, do you know who you are?”

“Yes.”

“You do?  Tell me who you are?”

“Grace Faye Elderberry.  Do you want to hear my social security number, too?”

“Grace, I know that you are disquieted, apprehensive and even suspicious.  I make you uneasy.  At your very heart you know that which you fear to know.  You fear me because I intend to teach you the unsought answer.”

Mr. Blackthorn sipped wine, lightly wiped his mouth and asked, “Grace, are you afraid of my hags?”

“Yes.  Who wouldn’t be?”

“What made them is far more terrible.”  The girl stared at the man, obviously attentive, but she squirmed in her seat, just as obviously uneasy.  He explained, “Hear the stillness and see the darkness and you shall either be blessed with wisdom or cursed with madness.  Know yourself and you shall know love or you shall rot from within and know hate.  Hear your own voice in the stillness and it shall tell you all about you.  See yourself in the darkness and if there is light within you, you shall see it and not confuse it with any other.  Be wary, for there is darkness in every heart and malevolence in every utterance.  That which you fear to hear and dread to see, that which you long never to know: That is the Mystery.”

“You’re going to teach me everything you’re talking about, right?”

As the man chuckled, the girl heard him say, “I’m going to show you.”

That night: Annie and Grace were together with the brunette, Sister Felicity and the blond, Sister Mercy, in their room.  “I’ll probably be a doctor,” Annie told the priestesses.

“A doctor?” Mercy responded.  “Are you sure you’re the kind of person who can cut people open?”

“I’m sure I’ll learn.”

“Well, we do teach that sort of thing here, if that’s what you really want to do.”

Annie cautioned, “I don’t really know what I want to do.  I just thought being a doctor might be a good idea.”

Mercy nodded.  “You can change your mind, whenever.  Talent is everything in this school.  We’ll help you find what you really want to do and teach you how to be the best you can be at it.”

“Cool.”

Grace surprised the priestesses when she told them, “I want to be an actress… or a singer; maybe both.”

Felicity giggled, cuddled Grace and told her, “You love the spotlight.”

The girls liked Felicity and Mercy.  The priestesses were cheerful, listened to them and seemed to genuinely like the girls.  Grace also trusted them because what they actually said was the only thing she heard them say.

John stood at the foot of the monument, shining light up at the statue of the naked young girl, Grace Faye Elderberry.  The image looked like his daughter but somehow did not.  He hated whoever the girl was.  Somehow he knew that all these problems were her fault.  Whoever she was, she was a curse!  She was unclean… or was she?  Perhaps something else was to blame.  Perhaps this girl was merely a beam of light that revealed rather than caused the ills of the world.  Perhaps she merely illuminated what was already unclean.

“Mr. Elderberry,” a rich, masculine voice addressed him from behind.

John turned around and shined his light on a white-haired, blue-eyed man who wore a black business suit.  “Who are you?”

“I am the High Priest of the Living Truth.”

“Really?  Do you put that on your resume?”

“John, you may refer to me as the Reverend Henry Burdock, if you prefer.  Most people do.”

“You’re a preacher?”

The white-haired man nodded as he walked up to John.  The “preacher” pointed up at the statue and asked, “Do you know her?”

“It looks like my daughter.”

“Looks can be deceiving.  Do you know why you are here?”

“Yeah, I got lost.”

The “preacher” shook his head.  “You came here to cleanse the world of her.  You came to cleanse the world of the heretic who would use her to further his own ambitions.”

“The Teacher?”

“Yes!  John, you’re starting to remember.”

“You want me to kill Felix Blackthorn for you.  Too bad, I’m not an assassin.”

“Oh, but you are.  You are the Red Hand of Providence.  The heretic brought her,” he pointed up at the statue, “but I brought you,” he pointed at John.  “You came, but not to answer my call.  You came to finish what you set out to do, long ago.”

“What I’ve set out to do is get out of here.”

“Reality is wavering here,” the “preacher” explained, “but not outside of here.  That is why Eldritchville can be entered but not escaped from.”

“What?!”

“Because you were outside when it happened, you are part of the universal flow of reality, not this whirlpool.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nature fills every vacuum and restores and maintains universal balance.  The alteration of your spacial and chronological circumstances has created a paradox.  Nature has restored balance and resumed flow, thus, you have a new past.  Your life has suitably adapted in accordance with the laws of nature.”

“My life?”

“Yes.  I know you, John Elderberry.  Do you?”

John did not answer.

“Felix Blackthorn is purposefully spawning abominations.”

John insisted, “That’s not my problem.”

“Oh, but it is!  You cleanse the world of them whenever and wherever you find them.  You hunt them to kill them!  You hunt him because he teaches them to become what they are.”

“Well, Mr. Preacher High Priest, since you seem to know everything, then why don’t you tell me what’s happened to this place?  Why is everything so dangerous and insane?”

“Why are you going insane?  This place is a place of power.  It always was and always will be.  We have weakened and broken the barriers that oppress us.  The safeguards of the human condition have fallen– that’s all.  Now nothing shall be restrained from us that which we imagine to do.  The heart and soul are unleashed.  The strength and weakness within have been stirred and made manifest by the potent fertility of this place.  We came here for that power, long ago.”

“Power, huh?”

“Yes.  The truest power is mastery of one’s own destiny.”

The two men read:

“Grace Faye Elderberry

THEN AND NOW, NOW AND FOREVER

Let he who has ears to hear, hear.

Let he who has eyes to see, see.

Beloved is our Daughter of Eldritchville,

She who hears the Stillness

And sees the Darkness.

The Curse unto her is our Dearest Blessing.”

            John asked, “Why is this thing here?”

“Grace Faye Elderberry was and is the favored Daughter of Eldritchville.  She opened this place, long ago and blessed us with the curse of Awakening.”

“The Awakening?”

“Yes: awareness of who and what we truly are.”

“What happened to her?”

“She passed on.”

“She died?”

The “preacher” shook his head.  “Her flesh died, but she did not.  She has returned in a new, but old form.  Her life of old was born anew.  You have followed her here.”

“I’m not following her.  I’m looking for her.”

The “preacher” smirked, “You know where she is.  You always do.  You can feel her.”

On an impulse, John drew his pistol and was going to put his last bullet in this freak’s head– but the “preacher” was gone!

Annie was in Mercy’s bed, with Mercy and Grace with Felicity, in Felicity’s bed.  Someone tiptoed into the moonlit room as they all slept, someone only as tall as a nine-year-old girl.  The person gently shook Grace’s shoulder.  “Grace,” she whispered into Grace’s ear.  “Grace.”

Grace opened her eyes and saw the shadowed face of a girl.  “Prudence?”

“Shhh.  Try to slip out of bed and come follow me.”

Grace noticed that when she slipped out of bed, she saw herself still in bed!  Prudence explained, “You’re still asleep.”

“I’m dreaming?”

“Yes, but you’re also awake.  Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Shhh.”  Prudence waited until they were in the hallway and the door closed behind them before lighting a candle.  She whispered, “No talking until we get there.”

Prudence led Grace into a storage room, closed the door and laid a towel along the gap at the bottom.  “It’s okay to talk,” she allowed, “but not too loudly.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“I have something to show you.”

“What?”

“Something I figured out and think you should know.”  Prudence pulled a notebook out of hiding and opened it on the floor.

Grace stared down at the handwritten pages and their strange, geometrical diagrams.  “What is it you’re showing me?”

“These are just things I copy from books I’m not supposed to see.”  Prudence produced a human skull!  The thing had no jaw, but two of its top row of yellow teeth were fangs.  “Andrea Kelly Davis.”

“Was she a hag?”

“She was when she died, but not when she was born.”  Prudence also laid out phials, herbs and a metal bowl and lit a larger, sweetly scented candle.  “Close your eyes and think about the name: Andrea Kelly Davis.  Try to clear your mind of everything else.  I’ll be uttering an incantation, but try to ignore me.  Your mind has to be focused on the name: Andrea Kelly Davis.  Try to know her.  Are you ready?”

Grace closed her eyes, “I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’ll try to be.”  Miss Elderberry was mesmerized by the soft, hissing tone of the mumbled poem that was Prudence casting a spell.  She smelled something tangy mix with the sweetness of the candle.  “I’m feeling dizzy.”

“I know.”  Grace felt Prudence hand her the skull.  “You’re going to see something sad and scary.  Be brave and don’t look away.  No matter what you hear, listen.  No matter what you feel, allow yourself to feel it.  Andrea Kelly Davis is dead so the only link you’ll really have is with the shadow of her life.  Look at the face of the skull and see the shadow of Andrea Kelly Davis.  Don’t think about anything else.  Open your eyes.”

Grace stared at the face and fangs of Andrea Kelly Davis.  White hair sprouted from its scalp as red then ashen flesh covered the bone!  The empty sockets filled with scary white eyes… that stared right at Grace!  Much to the startled girl’s relief, the eyes seemed to see but not see her.  Grace now held the “living” but disembodied head of a hag.  “Let go of it,” Grace heard Prudence say.  When Miss Elderberry did so, the head became the complete form of a hag.  It stood there, plump, ugly and sneering.  Suddenly it began to slim, its skin flushed and became rosy, its hair darkened and color filled its eyes.  Its expression softened and the fangs seemed to shrink into normal teeth.  It became a sickly but beautiful, buxom teenager.  It then shrank into a healthy girl, Grace’s and Prudence’s age… then was a skull again.  “Prudence, why did you show me this?  Did you know Andrea Kelly Davis or something?”

“I never knew her but when I first saw her, she was already a hag.  A few of the girls in this school are always sick, especially some of the older students.  Some of them have faded eyes and gray hair already and they’re really mean and nasty.  They aren’t even allowed to take classes with everybody else, anymore.”

Grace realized, “They’re becoming hags?”

“I think so.”

“Where did you get this skull?”

“The catacombs… underneath the school.  Do you know why Andrea Kelly Davis died?”

“No.”

“She mauled a priestess.  I saw her do it, about two years ago.  I didn’t see it, but Mr. Blackthorn cursed her with waking nightmares for forty days before burning her to death with the Cold Fire.”

“The Cold Fire?  What’s that?”

“Some spell that burns only flesh.”

“Did the priestess she attack survive?”

“Sister Amity?  Yeah.  Sister Felicity healed her.”

“Why do you want me to know all this?”

“The priestesses don’t like the hags.  Nobody does, but I think Mr. Blackthorn loves them.  He likes me and talks about them a lot.”

“Are you afraid we might become hags?”

“No.  Mr. Blackthorn said I don’t fit the profile.  You don’t either.”

“The profile?”

“Yeah.  He looked for girls who do, but the Council of Elders won’t even let him choose candidates for the School anymore.  I think he still does; he’s just sneaky about it now.”

“What’s the profile?”

“You know: girls who come from broken homes or were abused; that sort of thing.  There’s other things, like what type of body they have, but I don’t remember all the details.”

“So he looks for girls he knows will become hags?  Why?”

“He said the Council only wants balance, but real power also needs flow.  He said hags master the primal part of magic, the chaos and violence.  Hags are strong and fast and they like to learn the spells and secrets good girls hate.  He said people are like berries: Some are harmless and some are poisonous, but they’re all still berries.”

Grace frowned, “I think Mr. Blackthorn is a horrible person if he knows what will happen and he does it anyway.  He shouldn’t turn people into hags.”

“I know.  That’s why I’m telling you these things.”

“Do you hate him?”

“No.  I like him, but sometimes he scares me.”

“Prudence, has he ever done… anything to you?”

“No.  Sometimes we kiss, but that’s all.”

“He kisses you– on the lips?”

“Sometimes.  He likes to lick my tongue.”  Grace cringed.  Prudence smirked, her sly countenance startling the other girl.  “He tells me whatever I want to know.”

“Prudence, are we friends?”

“Yes.”

“How do we know each other?”

“We’d meet in our dreams.  You don’t remember me?”

“No.”

“Maybe you don’t wake up immediately.  You have to wake up if you’re going to remember.”

“Hey!” Grace felt someone tugging on her arm.  “Hey!”  She woke up, still in bed with Sister Felicity!

The priestess shook her, asking, “Grace, what were you doing?!”

“Huh?  I was dreaming.”

“Who was with you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mercy!” Felicity called for the other priestess to awaken.  “Mercy!”

“What?”

“I just caught Grace communing through oneiromancy.  The other presence did not sound or feel like Mr. Blackthorn.”

“The Purifier?”

“I don’t think so.  It sounded like a girl.”

Felicity brought Grace to Mr. Blackthorn’s bedchamber.  “Who was it?” the Teacher wondered concerning the “other presence.”

“I don’t know; and she won’t tell me, but the whisper sounded like a girl.”

“Thank you, Felicity.  Go back to sleep.  I’ll deal with our little dream-wanderer.”  Mr. Blackthorn brought Grace into his room and lit a lamp.  “Grace, do you want to tell me who you were communing with?”

“I… I don’t remember.”

“I doubt that.  I think you don’t want to tell me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Grace, why don’t you want to tell me?  Are you close to this person?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.  Is she a student of mine?”  Grace gasped.  “It is a student.  Thank you for inadvertently telling me.  Grace, you can tell me.  I don’t hurt my own students.”  Grace heard what was unsaid, “Only hags who forget to fear me.”

Grace dared ask, “How many have you killed?”

“What?”

“How many of your own hags have you killed?”

The man sniggered.  “Eleven of them, so far.”  Grace also heard, “Neither quickly nor painlessly.”

“You torture them to death!  Why?  They’re your own students!”

“No.  Hags are graduates.  They’ve already become what they are.”

“It’s all your fault!”

“No.  I am the Teacher, not the Maker.  Grace, do you know what my hags would be without my teachings?  They’d be ugly women, inside and out.  They would abuse their bodies and resign themselves to be abused by others.  They’d waste their hearts wanting and their minds wandering.  They’d speak ill of others out of jealousy or petty spite.  All I’ve done is make that which would have been weak and petty into something powerful and fierce!”

“Monsters.”

“Yes.  They are truly human.”

“No, they’re not!  Not anymore!”

The man nodded.  “They are monstrous in their humanity.  Aren’t we all?  It is our nature to act at the expense of others, or even ourselves.  We are all monsters.  It’s what makes us human.”

The man laughed!  He rambled, “I told them but they wouldn’t listen.  I tried it myself, but they tried to stop me.  They call me a heretic but everything I’ve said is true.”  He smiled at Grace and told her, “They didn’t believe you, either… but you were right.  They tried to kill you for your insight.  Now they call you the Beloved Daughter of Eldritchville.  You passed on but didn’t die.  You’ve come back, but he has followed you.  You’ve come back to prove me right.”  Grace also heard, “Hear the stillness and see the darkness and the curse unto you shall be the blessing of all wise enough to hear you and see what you have done.”  The man told the girl, “You have stirred the power, now the power is upon us.  All fear it.  All want it.  All shall try to take it.  Few shall survive the tempest.  Woe unto all who do.  Blessed be the damned.”

Outside: Hags dove out of the way as a truck smashed through the gate!  The large vehicle lumbered on until crashing into the front doors of the school!

The Teacher led Grace along by her wrist when Felicity ran up to him saying, “Mr. Blackthorn!  Mr. Blackthorn, a man crashed through the gate in a truck.  He’s in the school!”

“Bring in the hags.”

“Into the building?”

“Yes!  That man is the Purifier.  He’s come to kill us!”

John ran up the staircase.  He knew where they were.  He could feel them and the closer he got, the stronger the sensation.  Looking back, he saw a priestess leading a dozen hags into the building after him.  John hid and waited for them.  He was not going to allow them to stop him.

The Teacher was still pulling Grace along when he was met by Sister Constance and a dozen hags.  “Mr. Blackthorn!”

“Constance, I know what’s happening.  He’s the Purifier.”

“The Purifier?!”

“Yes.  We knew he’d come.”

“Mr. Blackthorn, what do you want me to do?”

“Come with me.”

“He’s in the building.”

“I know!  Come with me!”

Elsewhere: Hags screamed and fell when attacked from behind!  John punched, kicked, cut and stabbed his way through them.  They jabbed and swiped their punching daggers at him, but he was faster.  They lunged at him, but he shoved and knocked them about, slashing throats and bellies as he did so.  One hag slammed him against the wall and snapped at him!  She winced and shrieked when pierced and torn open!

Mr. Blackthorn sat Grace on a chair and told her, “Don’t leave!”  He said to a hag, “You:  Stay and watch her.  Don’t let her go anywhere.”

“Yes, Mr. Blackthorn.”

Felix said to Sister Constance and her eleven other hags, “Let’s go.”

Grace’s guard stared at her with those frightening, deathly white eyes.  The monster grinned, showing her yellow fangs and rasped, “Now we are alone together.”  She cackled, delighting in the girl’s fright.

The guts were pouring out of the last hag John was fighting!  He shoved the heavy monster aside and lunged at the priestess!  She screamed and fled!  John tackled her to the floor and wrestled her into a firm headlock.  He squeezed and squeezed… until she was unconscious.

Grace’s hideous guard sneered at her and asked, “What’s wrong, pretty little girl?  You’re Mr. Blackthorn’s favorite.  You should be the happiest girl in the world.”  She cackled then taunted, “You’ll be the favorite bitch in the kennel.  When he wants something, you’ll be the one he does it to.”  The hag laughed… when suddenly grabbed over the mouth and cut across her throat!  Her attacker held her as bright red blood flowed down her ample, sickly-ashen bosom.  The man, Grace’s father, dropped the hag’s chubby body to the floor with an unceremonious thud.

“Dad?”

The man stared down at his daughter, heaving, his eyes burning with murderous fire, his knife red and wet.  Grace’s stomach felt sick, her heart faint and her blood ran cold.  She squeaked and cringed:  The face she never wanted to see was looking right at her!  It was…  “No,” she choked, “No!  Daddy, please!”  She sobbed and cowered as he, the evil that hated her with all his heart, loomed over her, staring at her with a sneer that cut like a knife!  He grabbed her by the throat, pulled her up and raised the wet blade… when suddenly grabbed by the shoulder and swung around!  John winked– then blasted the Purifier’s brains out of his head!

“Dad?”

“Huh?”  John was driving his van towards the gentle, rosy and golden rays of dawn.  He looked in the rearview mirror and was relieved to see Grace and Annie sitting behind him.

“What happened?”

John said, without thinking, “Purification.”  He pulled over then stepped out and looked back.  In the fleeting darkness behind them there was only the sky, the wilderness and the lonely road.

I didn’t always have this all consuming fear that my wife was going to kill me.  Once upon a time we were a happily married couple living a relatively quiet life.  I was an executive for a local business and Julie did a wonderful job taking care of the home.  Business was steadily growing so I was working long hours at the office.  I tried to maintain a separation between work and home as much as possible.  Most of the time I was successful.

Despite several years of trying, there were no children to speak of in our marriage.  After seeing a doctor it was revealed that my wife couldn’t have children of her own.  It came as a blow to both of us, but we moved on with life.  We talked about adopting someday, however talk was all it ever came to.  It turned out that we were happy just the way we were.  Besides we weren’t exactly young anyway.  We had met when we were both in our mid-thirties and didn’t want to be old parents.

Without children to tend to during the day Julie spent most of her days either watching soap operas or spending money at the mall.  I didn’t mind the shopping; after all we weren’t exactly hurting in the money department.  She would usually be home in plenty of time to have dinner on the table when I got home so I didn’t complain much.

On this particular day I had managed to get out of work a little earlier.  It was our tenth year anniversary and I was going to take her out for a nice dinner at our favorite restaurant.  It was the same restaurant where we had our first date.  It was the same restaurant where I had sat with sweaty palms praying that she would say ‘yes’ when I popped the question.  It was somewhat of an unspoken tradition for us to reinvent that evening that we had first met.  We would start with dinner at the Italian restaurant, then it was over to a nearby bar for a few drinks, and we finished it off with a moonlit stroll through the park.  Julie thinks that I am a hopeless romantic, and maybe she’s right.

I reserved the same table where we had sat on the night of our first date.  The owner of the restaurant was a friend of mine so this was a fairly easy task to accomplish.  I ordered chicken parmesan like I had on that night more than ten years ago.  She ordered spaghetti.  So far it was the same as it had been that night, though we had aged a bit.

“It’s always so nice to be back here.  It looks exactly the same as it did ten years ago,” Julie said, looking around the restaurant.

“Yeah, though Marco is a much better cook now than he was in the old days,” I said, then took a bite of the chicken parmesan.

“Oh, the food wasn’t that bad.  Though the spaghetti sauce had entirely too much garlic.  I was afraid that I would scare you away with my breath!” Julie said.

“Is that why you were shaking when I leaned in to kiss you at the end of the night?  I just thought that you were cold.  I thought that I might warm you up,” I said, teasingly.

“You knew that kiss was as far as you were going to get with me, I was a lady,” she exclaimed in a dramatic voice.

“Are you still a lady?”

“Try kissing me tonight and see how far you get,” she said, leaning close to me and rubbing my leg.

“Shall I call for the check?” I joked.

“No, I want this evening to be just right, so you have to wait.  They say that patience is a virtue,” Julie said as she started to eat her pasta again.

“Well, I waited a lot longer than a few hours back then so I guess I can control myself,” I said.

After dinner we walked the couple blocks to the same bar that we had drinks at on our first date.  The bar was a drastic change in scenery from the upscale atmosphere of the restaurant.  It was filled with blue collar workers and young college students out relieving stress after a long day.  It was the same bar that I had frequented as a college student myself a number of years ago.  On my first date with Julie I had thought it might have been a mistake to bring her to such a rowdy bar.  She had surprised me though, having as good a time as anyone in the bar that night.

We ordered drinks from the bar and took a seat at a table near the back of the bar.  It wasn’t the same seats that we had ten years ago, but I wasn’t going to complain about it because the place was fairly packed.  The atmosphere was the important issue of this particular part of the evening and it was just the same as it had been on that night.  It sometimes amazes me that in this world that we live where things are constantly changing how places like this can stay the exact same for such a period of time.

We both drank beers and talked about how little the place had changed since the last time that we had been in here.  She started giggling uncontrollably after a couple of beers and I realized that she was starting to get a little drunk.  I knew from experience that it was time to call it quits or else we wouldn’t be able to enjoy our walk that was still to come.  Nights like this didn’t happen very often for us and I was desperate to hold onto it.

I paid the bill and we headed for the door.  I had an arm wrapped around Julie’s waist for support as she wasn’t the steadiest of walkers at the moment.  As we pushed our way through the crowd of people in the bar I heard someone calling my wife’s name from further into the bar.  We both turned around and waited for the person who had called her to show themselves.  A middle-aged man was making his way towards us through the crowd of people.

“Julie?  Julie Bernard?  Is that you?” the man said, whom I didn’t recognize.

My wife glanced at me quickly and shook her head.  “No, my name is Julie Gregory.  This is my husband, Peter,” Julie said.  I couldn’t help but notice that she was looking a little nervous.

I shook hands with the man, who continued to talk to my wife.  “Are you sure?  Because you look exactly like my cousin’s widow,” the man said, looking as though he was still unconvinced.

“No.  I’ve never been married before, except to Peter, of course,” Julie said quickly and pulled me towards the door.

On the way out of the bar Julie said that she wasn’t feeling very well and wanted to go home.  She was sorry for spoiling our evening, but she felt as if she were going to vomit.  As we walked back to the car I couldn’t help but think of how nervous she had been during the conversation with the man from the bar.  The man had seemed very adamant that she was Julie Bernard.  As we left the bar I saw him standing in the same place, staring at my wife.  Obviously he still didn’t believe her.  But why would he insist so much that she were this other woman?  It was neither the time nor the place to bring this up to my wife.  I pushed the thoughts to the back of my head and focused on getting us both home in one piece.

A few nights later I was goofing around on the internet and decided to type in the name Julie Bernard into the search engine.  My intent had been to see if I could find a picture of this woman that my wife had been mistaken for and see if the two of them had really looked that similar.  I was fairly certain that I wasn’t even going to find anything at all.  It was just a stupid impulse that I had.  It was a stupid impulse that would forever alter my life.

I did find something on Julie Bernard that night.  There was an article from an East coast newspaper about a man who had died unexpectedly in a fire.  Foul play had been ruled out as the result of the fire was thought to be electrical.  Thomas Bernard had been a wealthy businessman who had left the majority of his money to his wife of three years, Julie Bernard.  There was a picture of her standing outside of the burned home.  The woman crying on the back of an ambulance was none other than my wife.

I stared at the picture for ten minutes without moving a single muscle in my body.  I must have been stunned beyond belief.  No matter how long I looked at the picture on the computer screen I couldn’t make it be anyone else.  I wished it were someone else, but it wasn’t.  It was the same Julie that I knew minus about thirteen years.  But how could this be?  Surely she would have told me that she had been married before, right?  In fact when we had started dating my assumption had been that she had never been married before.  So why would she lie about such a thing?

I started to feel a knot in the pit of my stomach and I didn’t like it being there.  I was getting the strangest feeling that I wasn’t supposed to know about this.  I wasn’t sure what the reason might have been.  Maybe when we had met she had still been getting over the heartache of losing a husband.  Yet I felt that I would have noticed any uneasiness that she would have felt about our relationship.  We had moved very fast in the early stages of our relationship and had been married only six months after meeting.  She had seemed more than okay with everything.  In fact she had seemed to crave things moving on to the next stage of marriage.

As my mind worked I started to form another opinion for why this might have been kept from me.  I couldn’t help myself from thinking it, though I didn’t like one bit.  Could she have kept it from me because the fire had not been an accident as it was thought to be?  Could the woman that I loved with every fiber of my being have had something to do with her former husband’s death?  Could she be a cold-blooded killer?  And if she had killed her other husband what would stop her from doing it again?  Did I have any reason to fear for my life from this beautiful woman?

I sighed and put my head in my hands.  I had to stop thinking about my wife like this.  This was the woman I loved, and who I knew loved me.  There was no reason why she would murder me.  I knew in my heart that she wasn’t capable of doing such a thing to another human being.  I knew that.  I knew that, right?

“Hey, what are you up to?” Julie said, appearing in the door way to my office.

I was so startled that I jumped out of my seat and closed the laptop sitting on my desk.  “Hi, honey, I thought that you were out shopping with your girlfriends?” I said, and stuffed my hands deep into my pockets as I tried to look as casually as I possibly could.

She looked at me and started laughing.  I wanted desperately to join in, but I had no idea what was so funny.  After a minute she let me in on the joke.  “Alan, you don’t have to hide it from me.  I know what you do when I’m not home,” Julie said as she continued to try and suppress her laughter.

“What are you…” I started to say and then caught on to what she was talking about.  I looked down at my feet and tried to look as embarrassed as I could, it wasn’t very hard to pull off.  “I didn’t know that you knew about that.”

“Of course I know about that, I know everything about you,” she said as she started walking into the room.

“Is that right?”

“So what are you looking at?  Is it anything good?” Julie said as she made a grab for the laptop.

“Oh no, it’s probably a little to graphic for an angel like you,” I said, trying to use flattery to get myself out of this sticky situation.

“Are you sure?  Because I have a feeling that I could surprise you.  There’s a lot that you don’t know about me,” Julie said.

The comment hung in the air for several seconds as both of us stared at each other.  What exactly did she mean by that?  Were we still talking about sex here?  While I was pondering the meaning of this statement Julie grabbed the laptop out of my hands.  She turned her back to me and opened it up before I even knew what was going on.

“What the hell is this, Alan?” Julie asked as she stared at the article about her former life on the laptop.

“I can explain,” I said as if I was the person with the hidden past that I had been keeping from my spouse.

“This is too bad, Alan.  Just too damn bad.  I really had feelings for you but I guess all good things come to an end,” she said with her back still to me.

“Wait, what on Earth are you talking about?” I asked.

Instead of answering Julie spun around with the laptop held high above her head.  I put up my hands to defend myself, but the blow still caught me on the top of my head.  I crumpled to the floor as everything started to fade away.  The last thing that I remembered was my wife standing over me with a sadistic smile spread across her face.

I woke up a little while later with a splitting headache and blood starting to dry to my face.  I tried to move but soon found that my hands were tied very securely to the armrests of my chair.  Despite how much it hurt I tried desperately to free myself from the ropes.  I succeeded only in giving myself a serious rope burn on both of my hands.  There was a devious cackling sound that I had never heard before coming from the doorway.  I glanced over to see the woman who had at one time been my wife standing in the doorway, though I knew without a shadow of a doubt that this woman was not the same person that had walked down the aisle towards me ten years ago.

“I was wondering when you were going to wake up.  You don’t take a shot very well.  It’s a mighty good thing that you never had to defend my honor,” Julie said as she leaned against the doorway.

“What are you going to do to me?” I asked the obvious.

She ignored my question and continued to talk as if more to herself than to me.  “You know you really needed to start working out last year like the doctor told you, just like I told you, too.  You’re starting to get a little fat.  It was a wonder that I ever got you off of the floor and into that chair, but don’t worry I managed to do it without hurting myself.  Are those ropes too tight?  Good, I wouldn’t want you to be too uncomfortable while you’re burning to death,” she said.

“You don’t want to do this, Julie.  I’m your husband!  You love me!” I screamed at her.

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Alan.  I do want to do this, and I only liked you.  Granted it was fun while it lasted, but it never lasts forever.  It always comes to an end, though this marriage has lasted longer than any of my previous ones.  What can I say, you’re a good lay, Alan,” Julie said.

“What are you talking about?  There was more than one other husband?” I asked as I continued to struggle against my bines.

She let out a loud cackle.  “Oh, there were more.  You were my fourth husband, Alan.  All of the rest met a very untimely death and left all of their money to their grieving widow,” she said, putting hand to her forehead in mock grief.

“You’ll never get away with this!  They’ll catch you!” I screamed at her.

“Did you know that my Dad was an electrician?  He taught me everything I ever needed to know.  I’ll never get caught.  Be back in a second,” she said and left the room.

Several minutes later I could smell smoke coming from somewhere else in the house.  She must have found some way to trigger an electrical fire so that it would look like an accident just like with her other husbands.  As the room started to fill with smoke Julie poked her head back in the room.  I could see in her eyes how much the fire excited her.

“I really must be going, I have to be ready for my dramatic escape from the burning house, but first I need to keep one old tradition alive.  One last kiss to remember my husband from,” she said as she crossed the room.

She came around the desk to where I was tied up in the chair.  Leaning over me she kissed me with the same type of passion that she had the night of our first date.  It was funny how now it felt as if my lips were touching the mouth of Satan dressed as a woman.  She pulled her lips away from mine and looked down at me, as if she was getting one last look at me.

“Well, I really have to go, that fire is getting pretty out of control up there,” Julie said and turned to leave.

As she was turning around I kicked her legs out from underneath her.  I’m sure next time she would remember to tie up her husband’s feet.  That is if there was a next time for Julie Gregory.  Her legs went flying out from underneath her and she went tumbling to the ground.  But not before hitting her head on the oak desk that she had bought for me four years ago.  That thing is as solid as the tree that it was taken from.  She was out cold and would be for a very, very long time.

“This time you get to burn with your husband, Julie!  I’ll see you in hell!” I screamed at her as the fire finally started to enter the office.

“Part 1”

Kate and Cindy were nearly half a mile outside of Darkwood in the northwestern region of the country. They were both seventeen-year-old girls and were the best of friends.  The two of them had bundled up because it had been getting pretty cold in the late fall months, and that region was known for its more frigid climates.

Kate, the redhead, had always been the leader of the two. She had a naughty tendency to lead her girlfriend out on dangerous, however uneventful, excursions into the wild. They would always find a different spot to stop and have a picnic or to just sit and talk. Even though she never acted on it, Kate had a special attraction to Cindy. The former had been taught to behave better during the war, but she still spent as much time with Cindy as she could.

Cindy, the blond, was a little strange. She was normally very talkative and open, but would sometimes have these terribly adorable bouts of shyness where she would bite her lips and stop speaking altogether. Kate referred to it as “locking up.” It usually happened when she wanted to say something but was too embarrassed to say it. Ironically, the display would be too obvious, and people could usually figure out what she was holding back through context. She knew that Kate liked her, and that is why she stayed with her so much. However, she hoped that the topic would never come up; it would be unbearable to discuss it.

Cindy asked her best friend, “We haven’t gone this way before. Maybe we should go back.”

Kate replied, “I heard there was a house over here. A bard was talking about it at the tavern.”

The blond girl scoffed, “There’s no house out here! Who would live so far north?!”

“It’s probably just some abandoned place from long ago. It might be a fun place to explore or to just get some time alone with each other.”

Cindy cringed and bit her lip. She looked straight into Kate’s eyes. Kate laughed and said, “Don’t look at me like that! We brought some food with us, remember? We can set it up inside. It will probably be a little warmer in there.”

Cindy replied, “I guess that might be a little fun. But what if someone lives there?”

“Well, let’s find out. It shouldn’t be much farther.”

Cindy nodded and the two continued a bit further. Soon, an old wooden, two-story house became visible among the trees. The two explorers ducked down below some bushes. Kate stated, “It looks pretty old and worn down. I bet no one lives there.”

Cindy replied, “What a strange place for a house to be. It’s not near any paths, and the forest is practically growing all over it.”

Kate nodded. “See, I told you it would be safe. Let’s go have a look in the window.”

It was a bit troublesome getting to the house. The grounds around it were not tended at all. It was a surprise that the house did not have vines growing out of the windows. Kate and Cindy peeked inside. The glass was a little foggy from filth, but they were able to see that the insides were still furnished. Cindy asked, “Does someone still live here? Everything looks clean inside.”

Kate did not answer. When Cindy turned, she realized that Kate was gone. The blond whined, “Kate?!”

Kate answered from around the corner, “I’m at the front door! Come on!”

“What?!” Cindy dashed around just in time to see Kate open the door and peek inside. “Kate, what are you doing?!”

Kate answered, “I think someone is living here.”

“Then why are you breaking into his home?”

“I just want to see why someone would be living in such an old place. Let’s just have a quick peek, and then we can report what we saw to the guards in Darkwood.”

Cindy shook her head. “Let’s just leave and tell them now.”

“Come on, Cindy. Where’s your sense of adventure. Have I ever gotten you into trouble?”

The blond girl bit her lip and shook her head. Kate waved. “Come on!”

Cindy frowned and walked inside with her girlfriend. It was somewhat musty inside and there was a strange smell that the girls could not identify. There was a simple table and chair set in the main room. The kitchen was stocked with bags of Cedardale produce, some of which had gone bad. They assumed that the smell was coming from that.

Cindy inquired, “He gets his supplies from Cedardale? That’s a long way. Why doesn’t he go to Darkwood?”

Kate rolled her eyes. “I don’t know everything.” She opened a drawer near a window and stepped back. “Wow. Look at all the knives.”

Cindy peeked over past her girlfriend and saw the compartment. It was packed with many kinds of cutting tools, some kitchen oriented and some not. “There’s so many. I wouldn’t even want to put my hand in there for fear of being cut.”

Kate closed the drawer. “My father was a hunter, and not even he had that many sharp objects in one place or in his possession for that matter.”

Cindy trembled. “I think we’ve seen enough. Let’s just go back to Darkwood.”

“But we haven’t looked upstairs yet.” Kate started for the simple, wooden staircase. Cindy whimpered and followed behind her. Every step caused the floor to creak in that house, but the stairs were even louder.

There was a short hallway upstairs with a closed door to the right. That door was covered in marks from top to bottom as if some sort of blade was randomly struck against it. Kate commented, “Well, that’s kinda strange.”

Cindy tugged on the redhead’s shirt. “Can we leave now?”

“Just a peak, alright? Then we’ll go.”

Cindy bit her lip and watched as Kate opened the door. They were both immediately struck by the worst odor that they had ever experienced. Kate choked, “Oh, gods! What is that smell?!” Cindy just coughed and gagged.

As the light from the second story window cleared from their vision, the two girls could make something out from inside of the room. It looked like a table with someone laying on it. Cautiously, they stepped inside covering their noses.

The sight was immediately too much for Cindy. She tried to scream but the contents of her stomach rose to the surface before she could. She ran to a corner and threw up. Kate stood there trembling in absolute terror. The table had-what once was-a woman lying upon it. She had been sliced up even worse than the door. There was no obvious rhyme or reason to it; it was like someone just opened her up indiscriminately.

Kate vomited where she stood and dropped to her knees. She gazed up to the ceiling and saw knives of all kinds hanging from strings above the table, occasionally glinting as a beam of window light struck them.

She looked to her left and saw Cindy. She was nearly passing out on the floor. Kate crawled over and pulled her into an embrace. She whispered, “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

They were hobbling towards the staircase to make their way down when the worst sound that they had ever heard met their ears. They heard the front door of the house open and close down below.

“Part 2”

The women returned into the terrible room as quietly as they could. Cindy was in a panic and whispered with urgency, “He’s here! He’s here! Oh, gods, Kate!”

Kate covered Cindy’s mouth and embraced her. “Quiet, quiet. Try not to move too much. The floors are creaking.”

Cindy nodded as tears formed in her eyes. She was so scared; Kate had never seen her this frightened before. Not that she blamed her by any means, because at that moment, she thought that they were both going to die.

Kate looked around the horrible room. There was a window. She almost thought about using that to escape. It might be a little noisy, and the fall from the second story might hurt; however, it would mean that they could avoid the stranger downstairs. This thought was quickly uprooted, when she saw that the window was firmly nailed shut.

Kate said, “I’m going to check downstairs.”

“No, don’t!” Cindy whispered with tears.

“I’m just going to see what he’s doing. Just wait here.”

Cindy shook her head in earnest. “Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me. I can’t stay in here alone.”

“Just stay perfectly still. I need to do this if we’re going to get out.” Kate tried to pull away, but Cindy would not let go. Kate had to pry her hands away. “I’m sorry. Just wait.”

Cindy covered her mouth as she tried to keep from making any noise. Her stomach worked strongly against her from just being in the room. She did her best not to look at the mutilated woman on the table.

Kate had never been so careful. Every footstep was methodically placed to avoid making the loud creaking sounds it had done earlier, but even with all of her effort, there would always be some sound. When she exited the room, she went down into a crawl and placed one hand down on the first step of the stairway. She jolted slightly when it made a very audible creak. She froze and listened to see if it had raised the stranger’s attention. Nothing was heard other than a casual stirring from below.

Slowly Kate moved herself down and forward, keeping her hand on that same step. She moved her face upside down just in visible range of the first floor of the house. A very large man was sitting at the table with his back towards Kate. He was casually eating some sort of fruit. Just beyond him was the front door. Kate wondered how she was going to get her and Cindy past the man.

The man suddenly slid his chair back and stood up. Kate moved her face away from the opening for fear of being seen. She could hear him walking towards the stairway. She wished with all of her heart that he was not coming for her, but she did not want to make any sudden movements in case he was not. Kate held her breath.

The opening and closing of a door was heard below her. She quietly released her breath. Apparently the man had moved into another room. Kate, ever so quietly, made her way back to Cindy, who was sitting there with her eyes closed. “Cindy,” Kate whispered. Cindy opened her eyes and looked at her friend. Kate motioned for her to come. “Careful.”

Cindy very slowly stood to her feet. The floor made several slight creaks, but she was able to keep them down to a minimum. Kate took the Cindy’s hand and carefully helped her down the stairs. She knew that, at any time, the man could just walk out and see them.

When the front door was in sight, they started to speed up. Neither one of them could see the man, but most of their focus was on the door; they just wanted to get out of there!

Cindy grabbed the doorknob and twisted it. She had just opened the door up when Kate screamed. Cindy looked back in terror; the man had grabbed Kate around the waist.

Kate struggled and jolted as she was pulled back into the house. “No! No! Let me go! Oh gods, let me go!”

The man calmly muttered, “You can’t get away.”

He looked Cindy dead in the eyes. She was frozen in fear, and he could see it. He put Kate into a headlock and reached out for the blond. “You need to stay too.”

Kate tried to pry the arm from her neck and shouted, “Run, Cindy!”

The moment his hand touched her arm, Cindy squeaked and ran out the door. Kate cried out, “Don’t stop!”

The man covered Kate’s mouth and began dragging her towards the stairs. Kate was really trying to get away, but the large man was very strong. Nothing she did had any affect on him at all.

As the man dragged her, he said in a chillingly calm voice, “No matter how much she cried out, she was dragged. No matter how much she pleaded, they took her. There was nothing she could do; there is nothing you can do.”

Kate was being dragged up the stairs. Her feet, one by one, struck each stair as he pulled her up. She wanted to talk back to him, but the hold on her neck was stifling her voice.

The strong man continued to talk. “They dragged her upstairs. They were stronger than her. I could only watch. If I tried to stop them, they would take me too.”

Tears flowed down Kate’s face. The horrible smell of that room filled her nostrils. She was almost certain of her fate. This crazy man was going to kill her.

The man continued as he pulled her into the putrid room, “It only happened once, yet it happens all the time. She goes in and then she dies; she comes back and then goes in, and then she dies again… and again… and again.” He pushed the mutilated corpse off of the table, and then placed Kate in her stead.

Kate screamed as he proceeded to secure her wrists to the table with leather straps. “Please, don’t do this! Just let me go! I won’t tell anyone! I promise! I promise!”

The man replied as if talking to no one, “She pleaded and screamed, but they wouldn’t listen. They laughed at her. It was like it was some kind of game to them. Maybe it was a game.”

He pulled the final strap tight against her ankle and then looked into her eyes. The crying girl interpreted the look as sadness and fear. He gazed at her as if he knew her, but it also felt like he was watching something unfold, something that had already happened.

He said to her, “You will watch us cut her.” Kate screamed as loud as she could.

“Part 3”

The scary man lifted his hand to one of the dangling blades and pulled it from the nail attached to the ceiling. Once again, he looked upon the crying girl with sorrow in his eyes.

Kate asked with a wobble in her voice, “Wha- what’s your name? Maybe we can just talk?”

The man froze and said, “Taurin.”

The frightened redhead nervously nodded. “Taurin. I like that name. I’ve met good people with that name. Did… did you want to know my name?”

Taurin remained quiet. It took him a moment, but he nodded. She said, “My name is Kate. Do you like my name, Taurin?”

The man paused. He looked towards the window and said, “It’s nice.”

“Taurin,” she sobbed, “I am very scared. I don’t want to die. If you were in my situation, would you not feel the same?”

Taurin lowered his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “You shouldn’t have to die. No one should have to die.”

Kate released a sigh of hope. “You’re right. No one needs to die.”

He continued, “She shouldn’t have to die. But she dies all the same. She dies when I wake up, and she dies when I go to sleep. She dies every moment of my life, and she will die again.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They took her where she stood and brought her upstairs. The men they all laughed as she screamed for help. I wanted to help, but I couldn’t. All I could do was watch.”

“Is this something that happened to you?”

“It’s still happening. They have her down on the table. The man holds the knife.” He held the knife to his chest. “She asked them their names and talked with them. She was scared. She was hoping to appeal to their better side.”

Kate sobbed, “Oh, no.”

Taurin slowly approached Kate as he continued, “She realized that it was futile and then cried, and cried, and cried, and cried, and cried, and cried.”

“Taurin, please don’t.”

He turned the knife downward and held it above her leg. “She couldn’t stop the cuts. I couldn’t stop the cuts. The cut came, and her screams filled room like madness!” Taurin stabbed the knife into her right thigh. She screamed without restraint. He grabbed her waist and began drawing the blade down her leg, opening it up nearly to her knee. Blood gushed out and pooled onto the table below her. Only then was the knife withdrawn.

Kate screamed at him, “Stop it! Let me out of here! You’re insane!”

He said with creepy calmness, “The cut came and went, and nobody could stop it, not even I. I wanted it to stop. I almost darted forward, but they looked at me. That look scared me to death.”

The bleeding girl screamed, “You don’t have to do this! You’re going to kill me!”

“They always kill her. She always dies. I can’t do anything to stop it.”

“Yes, you can!”

He raised his voice, “No matter what she did to convince them to stop, they cut her, and they cut her, and they cut her, and they cut her, and they cut her!” He quickly slashed the knife across her right arm. Kate screamed once more as blood began to form there as well.

He yelled, “And I watched, and I watched, and I watched! And nothing… nothing… nothing… nothing I did would stop the cuts! They just kept coming!”

“Stop it, Taurin!”

“I can’t!” He leaned over and pulled the blade across her left arm as well.

She screamed, “Please, stop! Please, stop! It hurts! I don’t want to die!”

Taurin stepped behind her and leaned over Kate’s face as she sobbed. He looked into her eyes. It was a look of despair. “She bled. She died. And they kept cutting as I watched.”

Kate trembled and sobbed from the agonizing pain and fear of her imminent death. She closed her eyes and resigned herself to her fate; however, nothing happened. “Wha…” She glanced into the open eyes of the man, which had gone quite vacant. Blood began to drip from his lips and onto her forehead. Taurin seemed to be frozen. She whimpered, “What’s happening?”

Cindy pushed the knife into his back as deeply as she could. Her eyes were closed; she did not want to look at what she was doing. Taurin was pushed down to the floor, and Cindy immediately began removing the leather straps from Kate’s arms and legs. The injured girl cried, “Oh, gods, Cindy! Did you kill him?!”

Cindy ripped off a piece of her dress and began wrapping up Kate’s thigh, which was the worse of her injuries. “I killed him. We need to get back to Darkwood as fast as we can. I’ll help you.”

Kate put her arm around Cindy’s shoulder and they made their way down the stairs and out of the terrible household.

It was a long, cold walk to Darkwood, which was even longer with Kate’s injury, but there was nothing more that they could do but just try.

Taurin lay on the floor breathing his final breaths. He whispered, “It stopped. The cutting stopped. Did you hear what I said? The cutting finally stopped. Now you can finally rest… Mother.”

*          *          *

The next day, Cindy was sitting next to Kate back at their home in Darkwood. The redhead was all bandaged up. The town’s physician said she was going to be all right, but it was exceptionally close; Kate had lost a lot of blood.

The two girls did not have much to say. They just sat next to each other, the incident still heavily on their minds, as it probably would be for years to come.

Cindy held out her hand for Kate to take. The redhead saw it and took it. Only moments later, they both began crying and embraced each other. The events of the previous day were too much to bear, and they could not control their emotions. But one thing was certain, and they knew this as fact: they loved each other, and nothing, not even fear, could tear them apart. The end.

A cool breeze swept over the Gallipoli peninsula on the evening of 8 January, 1916.  This narrow, rugged strip of land located at the southwestern coast of Turkey on the Mediterranean Sea, provided the scene for some of the most terrible fighting of World War One.  Planners in the British War Cabinet, headed by Winston Churchill, First Lord of the Admiralty, initiated the campaign hoping to drive their enemies, the Turks, out of the war.  Through a series of failed military maneuvers, mishaps, disease and stubborn Turkish resistance, the plan failed to produce the desired results. The British Commonwealth suffered a quarter million casualties in eight months, and at last decided the best course of action lay in abandoning the cause and evacuating commonwealth soldiers. All British soldiers had to be off Gallipoli by midnight on 8 January. This was “Z” day.

Cyril Cotey ,a twenty-four-year old British officer, sat on a night watch waiting for the Turks to make a last minute attack. Cotey  spent six months on Gallipoli, and experienced all the horrors it could provide.  Cotey lost many of his fellow officers and men to the battle-hardened Turkish soldiers.  These tough, highly-disciplined Ottomans followed a routine plan of attack.  First, Turkish officers jumped out of their trenches to appear before their men.  The officers brandished their swords and yelled, “Allah Akbar!”.  Afterward, the soldiers, called “mehmetcik,” followed their officers into battle.  Turks showed little mercy toward prisoners, and often tortured them before cutting their throats.  Cotey wrote many letters to the families of fallen soldiers, but always omitted the fact that the slain British endured mutilation before death.  Cotey grew to respect the ferocity of his foes and never took them for granted, including the last hours he spent on Gallipoli.  Cotey expected an attack, but this time the Turks disappointed him, and   the evening passed in relative quiet.  Cotey speculated the Turks, many of whom starved, busied themselves with finding food.  An officer came to relieve Cotey, and Cotey went to join  his commanding officer, Captain Jeffrey DeMilne, at supper. These two men, dressed in khaki uniforms, presented a stark contrast.  The short, stocky DeMilne spent twenty years in the army, but promotion eluded him.  Younger, better educated and more prepossessing officers defeated him for rank.  DeMilne resented his handsome and popular subordinate, while  Cotey regarded DeMilne as inflexible and unimaginative, leadership traits that Cotey believed responsible for the horrible losses incurred by the British commonwealth.

DeMilne and Cotey ate a light meal.

“Have a biscuit, Cotey.  They must be damned good because the Turks are always after them.  Must be the marmalade.”

“I’ll be happy when we get back to England, sir, and we can have all the biscuits we desire.”

“I’ll bet your trousers are already hot, Cotey.  The ladies must suffer in your absence.  Pity, we can’t all have your seductive powers.”

Cotey ignored the captain’s tactless remark and finished his biscuit. He considered the captain to be a devoted army man, but regarded his tastes and manners as common.  “I think we made the best of things here, sir, but I deeply regret losing so many good men.”

“Damned decent of you old man, but that’s the way of things sometimes.  Our stay here hasn’t done your career harm.  I received word from regiment that you will be up for promotion when we get back home.  Not bad.  You’ve been in the army not two years and are in line for captain.  I’m forty years old and have been in twenty, and I can’t get past the bloody captain’s rank.”

“I’m honored to have served sir, but I do not wish to make the army my career.
“That’s an insult to me, Cotey.”

“How so,  sir?”

“Meaning you serve only two years and attain what it takes me twenty to accomplish, and then say the army is not worth your time.”

“I meant no disrespect, sir.  In fact, the army does offer some diversions that civilian life does not.  I intend on practicing law, but the legal profession does get awfully boring at times.”

“Very sporting of you ,Cotey. Do you recall when we first met? It was at the general’s reception. My wife, Pamela, was with me.”

“I do indeed, sir.  A very  charming lady and a good dancer.”

“Better than I am. She likes to dance with other men because, klutz that I am, I step on her feet.” DeMilne laughed and slapped Cotey’s knee.  The captain’s pudgy, red face lit like a jack-o-lantern and Cotey restrained himself from laughing.

“I know what you think of me, Cotey. Yes, I am a roly-poly bumbler who gets stuck down on details.  You wonder why a beautiful young creature like Pamela could fall in love with me. She’s more your age than mine.  Maybe she liked my uniform.”

“Really, I never gave it a thought, sir.”

“You’re a damned liar.”

The outburst caught Cotey off guard, and for one fleeting instant he felt compelled to fight to defend his honor, but he knew the outcome of a fight would end in a court-martial. Despite his buffoonery and incompetence, DeMilne held a solid career reputation with professional officers who depended on him to carry out their orders.  If they fought, Cotey would be charged with striking a superior officer, which could bring a death sentence during war time.

“I wish we had time to destroy our trenches and supply depots, sir.  The Turks will use them when we’ve gone.”

“Not quite. I’ve cooked up a little surprise for our Muslim friends, Cotey.  I had a mine dug under our trenches.  There is one hundred pounds of ammonal explosive down there –underneath us, at this very moment. I’ve set a timer and the mine will go off at midnight precisely.  We’ll give ‘Johnny Turk’ a hell of a going away present.”

“Very  wise of you, captain.  We shall have evacuated the position by then.”

“Didn’t give me credit for having that much ingenuity did you, Cotey? Think me an old stick in the mud, eh?”

“Not in the least, sir. That was a brilliant idea. Since we must be evacuated before midnight, I should like to return to my quarters to gather up my belongings. May I be excused?”

“Good idea. Oh, before I forget, I have a letter for you.”

DeMilne handed the letter to Cotey.

“What’s the matter, man?  You look surprised. Haven’t you ever received a personal letter before?”

“Of course, but coming to me when we are minutes away from leaving this dreadful place, it is a bit overwhelming.”

“Get along to your packing.”

Cotey hurried back to his quarters with the letter. He recognized the handwriting on the envelope. It was Pamela’s, but had DeMilne noticed that? Surely, DeMilne would know  it belonged to his wife. Cotey sat down and read it.  Pamela told him she loved him, that she had asked her husband for a divorce, but he refused. As far as she knew, her husband did not know about her affair with Cotey.  She further stated that her husband accepted an assignment as a military attaché in India, and they would leave for his new post soon after he returned to England. Pamela told Cotey she could find no way out, and they must not see each other again. Cotey thought it strange that DeMilne did not mention the assignment to India to him.  The rotund captain never hinted that he suspected an affair, and Cotey felt confident the captain did not know of the relationship with his wife. Cotey wanted Pamela, but she would disappear from him as soon as he returned to England. He had to take some action in order to keep her.

Two weeks before, Cotey shot and killed a Turkish officer who carried a German mauser pistol. Cotey kept the pistol on a nightstand by his bed. He picked it up, and considered possibilities. If Captain DeMilne caught a bullet in the head while leading the evacuation, the blame would go to the Turks.  Cotey stepped outside his quarters to find out what occupied DeMilne, and saw the captain overseeing the withdrawal of the soldiers. The evacuation proceeded ahead of schedule; the time was eleven thirty, which meant Cotey had less than half an hour to act. This would be a perfect time for a Turkish sniper to strike, and considering the haste in which the evacuation continued, no one would take time to investigate. Cotey stepped back inside his quarters and put bullets into the pistol. First, he must have a glass of wine to fortify himself.  He hid a wine bottle in his clothes chest.  Cotey opened the chest and searched for the wine bottle. He felt something moving beneath the clothes. Before he realized what happened, Cotey lay on the floor, and towering six feet above him stood a King Cobra. The brownish-olive colored snake spread its hood and danced back and forth. Cotey lay paralyzed by fear as the huge serpent let out a growling hiss and looked at him with its cold, dark eyes. Cotey  felt his heart pounding through his rib cage, and  perspiration saturated his uniform.

“The lord is my shepherd, i…i.. shall not..” Cotey tried saying a prayer.

“Ha –ha- ha-ha.”  Cotey heard DeMilne’s guttural laugh. So you’ve met the King Cobra. He’s eighteen feet long, and they don’t get much bigger.”

“For god’s sake, help me, DeMilne.”

DeMilne sat down on a small stool and lit a cigarette.

“You act as if you don’t like your new friend, Cotey.” “Why, DeMilne, why?”

“What a swine. You know ‘why’ You’ve stolen my wife is ‘why’. Did you think I did not recognize the handwriting writing on that letter I gave you?”

“Pamela and I could not help what happened.  She’s never been happy with you. Let her go. All you care about is your career, anyway.”

“It was a stroke of luck that I found that letter, old boy. That letter actually arrived in Gallipoli two weeks ago, but the orderly who was supposed to deliver got killed, and they didn’t find his body until three days ago. So, I’ve know about your little affair only several days. I must have appeared a jolly simpleton to you racing around this damned Gallipoli trying to get my head shot off. But, no matter what you think, I love Pamela deeply, and I shan’t give her up. I’ve had time to cook up something special. I thought a little gift might be the best thing. I found this cobra on a Turkish prisoner. But don’t try to make a pet of him, Cotey, because he’s killed two of his previous owners.  See how beautifully he dances.”

The cobra swayed in rhythmic patterns above Cotey’s head.

“I shouldn’t be at all surprised if he gave you a little kiss, Coty. In fact, I’m sure he will.  When he does, you’ll feel intense pain.  Paralysis of breathing follows, then, coma and death. The whole business should take no longer than fifteen minutes so you won’t become bored.”

“They’ll find out you did it, DeMilne. The Red Cross will come through and search for bodies and then questions will be asked.”

“Oh, but my dear fellow, remember. The mine will blow your bloody carcass to kingdom-come.”

“DeMilne, don’t do this!”

“I shall tell Pamela you died of the mumps or some disgusting case of dysentery. Yes, that’s it, dysentery.  No hero’s death for you.”

Demilne stood up to leave. “Well, I must say that I’m very satisfied with the way things turned out. Cheerio, and don’t forget to turn out the lights.”

“DeMilne.”

“Yes, dear boy.”

“Would you light a cigarette for me?’

“Delighted , old bean. I thought you had stopped smoking. It’s bad for your health, you know.”

DeMilne lit a cigarette and handed it to Cotey.

“DeMilne.”

“Yes.”

“I took every liberty with your wife.”

“Thanks for the honesty, lad. I always said you’d go far.”

DeMilne kicked Cotey in the ribs and left.  Cotey had to think fast. He recalled hearing that snake charmers avoided being bitten by getting the snake to fix its vision on a moving object. Cotey moved the cigarette back and forth, but the snake did not follow the movement. Its steely eyes remained on Cotey. “Damn,  you stupid beast!” When the cigarette burned to its end and seared Cotey’s finger, he tossed it away, but this time the snake followed the movement. Cotey saw his chance and jumped to the nightstand and grabbed the pistol, but the snake caught his hand and bit him.  The pistol slipped from his hand, and  Cotey screamed, expecting that  fatal kiss; however,  the snake bit  dry, without injecting venom.  Cotey tried to stand up, but the snake cornered him, and prepared to strike again.   This time its kiss would be true. Cotey covered his face with his hands.

“La ilaha ill Allah wa Muhammad rasul Allah!” a cry Cotey  had heard countless times during the last few months pierced his ears.  “There is no God but Allah, and Muhammad is the prophet of God.”  A Turkish officer burst into the room with his sword drawn. The snake turned toward the Turk, but this time a human prevailed over the reptile. The Turk decapitated the cobra with one swift swing of the sword. The hideous hooded cobra head sailed through the air. The Turk next turned the sword on Cotey to deliver the coup de grace, but   Cotey already had the pistol in his hand and shot the Turk between the eyes.

Cotey sank back exhausted, and for a moment rested.  “I might as damn well start smoking again,” he said and reached for a cigarette. He savored the tobacco, and thought of how Pamela would react when she saw him. They could work out some solution to their affairs. The main thing was that he lived. He would not rot in the soil of this forsaken land far from home. Then, a thunderbolt pierced his reverie. The mine! It’s going to explode right under me!

DeMilne talked with his sergeant major as he waited on the beach to be evacuated to a ship. An explosion  rocked the ground and a huge red cloud appeared over their trenches.

“Jolly good send-off, eh, sergeant major? That ammonal really hits the spot.”

“It does indeed, sir.”

“This will break their eardrums in Constantinople.”

“By the way, sir, I seem to have lost track of Lieutenant Cotey.”

“He’ll turn up someplace.”

“I didn’t see him leave with us. The officers are the last to be evacuated.”

“I say, sergeant major, do you have the time?  My watch is on the fritz.”

“Yes,  sir.  It is precisely five minutes past midnight.”

“That’s impossible!  The mine was set to go off at midnight on the dot!”

“You know how it is, sir.  Some of these mine fuses get a bit tricky and don’t act as they ought to.  But, my watch is accurate. Five past midnight.”DeMilne looked up at the red cloud and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “By jove,I could do with a that Lieutenant Cotey is a bit late, sir.  He still might join us. Wait a minute, yes, sir, I think I see him coming now.”

“Damnable  hard chap to kill.”

Mary Ann Mathews quietly sat on a little, wooden stool. She had been staring outside of the window of her newly acquired bedroom for quite some time. It had been very stormy that night, and the thunderclaps had kept the poor girl awake. She sighed and watched as the water quickly ran down the opposite side of the glass.

Within her hands, she held the sleeping creature known as Fuzzy, a gift from the Imaginist. It was a tiny, furry ball that seemed to float only half an inch from her skin. It gave off a warmth that was felt throughout her entire body. She looked down momentarily and smiled at it.

Thunder clapped once again, which caused Mary Ann to jump. She sighed and let out a relaxing breath; however, her calmness was once again broken when the voice of a boy spoke from behind her, “Hello.”

Mary Ann glanced back. A boy-appearing to be nearly the same age as her own-stood at the door wearing clothing that was rather old and unsightly. For a moment, she was unsure if she was really seeing him or not. Who was he? She stood to her feet and said, “Hello. I… I wasn’t expecting anyone to walk in.”

The boy smiled and approached her. “I apologize.” He took a small bow and continued, “My name is Jonathan. I am a resident of this place like yourself. If you wish, I would love to be your friend.”

The girl was unsure. “My name is Mary Ann. Nigel never told me about another guest.”

The boy walked to the window and peered outside as the lightning flashed once more. “He didn’t? Well, that wasn’t very considerate, was it?”

Mary Ann shrugged. “I guess it wasn’t. Jonathan, how does one get to sleep on a stormy night? I think that I am just not accustomed to such a large room; everything echoes and rattles.”

Jonathan turned back with a grin. “Tell the storm to go away.”

“That would never work.”

The boy chuckled. “You’re right. You should open the window so that it will hear your voice. Have you thought of that?”

Mary Ann felt strangely convinced. “But that would… really? I doubt that it would listen to me.”

He approached and held her hand. “Open the window and find out.”

The girl trembled. “But the rain… It will…”

“Go on.”

Mary Ann placed Fluffy down on the stool and slowly raised her hand to the latch. With a clap of thunder, the window abruptly swung open. Wind and rain poured into the room. She desperately tried to close it to avoid ruining the lovely accommodations that she had been given. With a groan, she replaced the latch and caught her breath.

Mary Ann turned to speak to the boy, but he was nowhere to be seen. She assumed that he must have left only moments ago; however, it was still especially strange of him to do so. With a nervous sigh, she crawled back into her large bed and pulled the covers to her chin, making sure Fluffy was safe next to her head. As strange as it was, she no longer felt alone.

*          *          *

From the edge of fantasy and reality, come I. I am a builder of dreams, and with my hands, I can create the impossible. However, with my existence comes a terrible price: the earth slowly spins out of normal time and space, bringing with it all of its inhabitants. It is my job to protect these people. I am Nigel Brimmington. I am… the Imaginist.

It was morning. The sound of rain pelting the roof and the occasional clash of thunder still surrounded the residence. Nigel Brimmington was busy reading from a newspaper as a cup of hot tea was daintily held in his right hand. The tall man was accompanied by his friend, Montique Terrington, Esquire. The monocle-wearing mouse held a doll-sized cup of tea with a saucer in his tiny paws. He was the first to speak, “I say, the weather has been most disagreeable, Nigel.”

Nigel seemed almost surprised by the sudden conversation. It had been rather quiet up to that point. “Hmm? Ah, yes. Most disagreeable, thundering all night and whatnot.”

Montique continued with his small talk. “I could not very well see us going out until such a day clears up.”

The tall man nodded while keeping the paper in front of his face. “No, I would think not.”

Montique suddenly changed the subject. “Oh, by the way, Nigel. I-only hours earlier-found a Mrs. Terrington to be.”

Nigel slowly lowered his paper. He tried his best to look unbothered by the news, but all he could think of to say was, “Ah.”

The mouse continued, “Yes. Her name is Cynthia Rose Taylor. She is very lovely.”

The man sustained a straight face. “Is she, indeed? I did not know that common mice had names.”

Montique confronted the challenge. “Well, I had to give her an appropriate name. I could not just call her Mrs. Squeak all the time, now could I?”

Nigel hid behind his paper once more and muttered under his breath, “I suppose not.”

“I would like you to meet her later today; that is… if you would not terribly mind.”

The man released a sigh and answered, “Is that really necessary, Montique?”

Montique was nearly insulted. “Nigel, if you were about to marry, I would be happy to meet your fiancé!”

Nigel folded his paper and placed it down quickly. “Oh, yes! All right, Montique! I will meet your… bride to be.”

Montique smiled. “Then I will be happy to introduce you to her later.”

Still wearing her nightgown, Mary Ann entered the room. Nigel smiled at the little girl. “Ah, Mary Ann. I see you slept well. Did Mister Crossford bring you breakfast like I had asked?”

Mary Ann nodded. “Yes, it was very good-better than I normally have.”

“Indeed, I am rather addicted to the man’s cooking myself.”

The little girl sat down at the table and asked, “Did Jonathan get served breakfast as well?”

Both man and mouse looked at her as if confused. Montique suddenly scowled at Nigel. “Jonathan? Jonathan, what? Nigel, who is this Jonathan? You have not invited anyone else to stay with us, have you?!”

Nigel was almost insulted at the rodent’s accusation. “I assure you that I have not!” He peered back at the girl. “I am sorry, May Ann, but I am not acquainted with anyone of that name.”

Mary Ann looked at them both quietly for a moment. She was not sure what to say. “You… You really don’t know Jonathan? He was in my room last night. We talked a bit, and he said that he wanted to be my friend.”

Nigel paused for what seemed like an eternity. Mary Ann was getting all the more worried from being stared at. The man suddenly tapped the table with a finger and said, “Ah, yes. Jonathan. Good boy, that Jonathan. Almost forgot about the bloke.”

Montique looked at his friend. “Nigel, what on earth…”

The tall man muttered to the mouse under his breath, “Not now, Montique.”

The girl still seemed very unsure and remained silent. Nigel then said, “There should be a very lovely gown for you waiting in your chamber. Why not try it on?”

The girl nodded and stood to her feet. “Um, thank you.” She walked out of sight.

The moment that she was out of the room, Montique jolted, “There is no Jonathan here! What were you saying?!”

Nigel grinned down at the rodent. “Is it not obvious? Miss Mathews seems to have acquired an imaginary friend.”

The mouse groaned. “Honestly? You cannot have her going around saying such things, Nigel. People will think she is mad, and she probably is if you ask me.”

The man chuckled. “Why on earth would I stand in the way of a child’s imagination, my good friend? Has my work gone entirely unnoticed?”

Montique stood to his feet and hopped down to make an exit, first to the chair and then to the floor. As he left, Nigel could hear him grumble, “Why do I even bother?”

*          *          *

As the morning progressed, the storm continued with no signs of letting up. Mister Crossford, who was Nigel’s valet, was busy dusting in one of the many corridors of the large house. The older gentleman happened upon Mary Ann. She appeared to be wondering around in a very pretty gown. He thought that she might be lost, so he asked her, “Miss Mathews, is there anything I can help you with?”

Mary Ann seemed startled. She nervously responded, “Oh! Um… No, thank you.”

“Very well, Miss Mathews.”

The girl walked up to a very large and decorative vase standing pristinely on a stone pedestal. She looked up at it nervously as if trying to make a decision. Crossford watched her carefully.

Slowly, she lifted her shaky hand up to the vase. Mister Crossford warned, “Be careful, that vase is very expensive!”

Mary Ann looked at the man, but her hand still pressed into the vase. It crashed to the floor in an unsalvageable pile of broken pieces. When she saw what she had done, Mary Ann gasped and took several steps back.

Mister Crossford released a very disappointed sigh. “Mister Brimmington will not be pleased by this.”

Mary Ann nervously replied, “But… I didn’t do it.”

*          *          *

Nigel stood before the little girl with one raised eyebrow. “You say that this… Jonathan broke my priceless vase?”

Crossford corrected, “I clearly saw Miss Mathews push the vase from its pedestal.”

Nigel waved to his valet. “Thank you, Crossford. You are dismissed.”

Mary Ann frowned as the valet bowed and walked away. She looked up at the tall man hoping for sympathy, but none was forthcoming. Montique sat at the edge of a table watching the whole thing. The rodent crossed his arms and appeared to be just as displeased.

The tall man urged, “Well, go on. Explain yourself.”

She did her best to explain. “I was telling the truth. Jonathan was with me. He… He told me to do it, and…”

Montique scoffed. “You cannot expect us to believe such an absolutely outrageous and ridiculous…”

Nigel interrupted, “Montique, please!” The mouse stifled. The man sighed and spoke to Mary Ann calmly, “I know that it has been rather hard to live in a large place such as this, and sometimes, it may seem rather lonely. Regardless, I do expect you to be on your best behavior.”

The girl nodded looking to be quite ashamed. “Yes, Mister Brimmington.”

Nigel continued, “There are a lot of very expensive things in my house, and during your stay here, you will not be allowed to touch them. Is that understood?”

She nodded once again. “Yes, Mister Brimmington. I’m really sorry.”

He smiled. “It is quite all right. Now, be on your way.”

Mary Ann slowly walked back to her room. Montique waited for her to leave and immediately blurted out, “Did I not tell you?! Taking her in was a bad idea! Little children are good for nothing but whining and breaking things!”

Nigel rolled his eyes and turned around. “Oh, stop it, will you? It was a simple mistake. She obviously feels terrible for what she did.”

“The girl was prepared to blame an imaginary somebody for her crime. I say that she is rotten to the core, and you will be seeing a lot more from her!”

“Now, Montique, we had a deal! And as part of that deal, I do not want to hear any more gripes from you.”

The mouse smiled and made his way down to the floor. “Oh, really?! Well, I think it is just about time to introduce you to my lovely and beautiful fiancé!”

Nigel groaned, “Ah. Is it that time already?”

Montique happily reassured, “Oh, yes, Nigel. I would not want to delay your excitement a moment more. Just wait here, and I will return shortly.” The mouse exited the room. Nigel pulled up a chair and sat down while grumping inaudibly to himself.

Moments later, Montique returned with a regular, little mouse crawling behind him. She was nothing like him at all. The tiny thing walked on all fours and seemed to be sniffing everything as she went. Montique had affixed a small, red bow to the back of her neck, which bobbed left and right as she walked. Nigel did not move a muscle.

Montique seemed displeased and cleared his throat. “Well, there is no reason to be rude, Nigel. Stand up!”

Nigel scoffed. “You do not expect me to show respect for this…”

Montique interrupted, “Is that griping I hear?!”

Nigel paused. After a moment of thought, the tall man rose to his feet, took off his hat, and with all the elegance and grace of an English gentleman, he bowed before the feral mouse. And in the most respectful of tones, he said, “It is an honor to meet you, Miss Taylor.”

The feral mouse barely seemed to notice, but Montique smiled and said, “Thank you. That is much better.”

*          *          *

As the day moved into the afternoon, the storm outside showed no signs of letting up. Nigel was fully prepared for the dreary evening. He sat comfortably in his library with a good book.

After only reading a few pages, he heard a knock at the door. Without lifting his head, he answered, “Yes, who is it?”

The answer came, “Crossford, sir.”

“Come in.”

The old valet walked into the room holding one of Nigel’s most expensive suits. To his surprise, the once brilliant garment had been cut into ribbons. There were also some traces of what looked like paint and young handprints all over it. The suit was utterly destroyed.

Nigel was shocked. “Good heavens, Crossford! That was my best suit!”

The old man nodded knowingly. “Yes, sir. I only found it moments ago. I thought that you should be aware of the trail of paint leading to Miss Mathew’s chamber.”

Nigel Brimmington closed his book and released a very bothered sigh. He stood to his feet and sternly said, “And I am sure a certain imaginary friend is to blame for this as well.”

“Yes, sir,” came the reply.

“Be a good man and dispose of that, will you? I am going to give Miss Mathews a piece of my mind.”

Crossford stepped out of his way and made a polite bow. “Very good, sir.”

Nigel made his way through the house and toward the little girl’s bedchamber. On the way, he did indeed see a thin trail of paint on the floor that led up to her room. But strangely, the closer that he got to her room, the more he thought that he heard her voice coming from it. Who could she be talking to? He stopped just short of entry and tried to listen.

Was Mary Ann speaking to someone? Nigel carefully pressed his ear to the door. He could hear her voice, and it sounded very distressed. “Why did you make me do that?! What do you mean? I don’t want to do bad things anymore! It’s not nice!”

Nigel burst into the room and there was Mary Ann standing in the middle. Her hands were covered in paint, she had tears in her eyes, and there was no one else in the room but her. Nigel spoke harshly, “So, it was you! I saved you from that dreadful orphanage, and this is how I am repaid?!”

Mary Ann cried, “No, Mister Brimmington, it really wasn’t me! I would never…”

Nigel approached and interrupted her teary-eyed speech, “It was Jonathan, was it? So where is he? Hmm? Go on, point him out.”

The girl cried and pointed to her bed. “He’s over there; can’t you see him?”

Nigel walked over to the empty bed and grabbed the sheets. He yanked them away to prove a point. The tall man looked back at her. “See? No one there.”

She continued to cry, but could not come up with anything to say. Nigel walked up to her and peered down at the girl with disappointment. “Now, Mary Ann, you cannot expect to do such things without me becoming very cross. I know that you just had a very tragic experience recently, but if you are going to persist in destroying things that I own…” he paused, “…there will have to be consequences.”

Mary Ann nodded and cried, “I am so sorry. I won’t do it again.”

Nigel put his hand on her shoulder. “Why would you do such things?”

She wiped some tears from her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

He stepped back and said, “You are not permitted to leave your chamber for the remainder of the day. I trust that you will obey this request?”

The girl nodded. “I will; I promise.”

“I’ll have Crossford bring you dinner when the time arrives.” With that, Nigel left her alone in the room.

Mary Ann sat near the window as the storm carried on outside. She looked over to her bed. Jonathan was there, and he was smiling.

Nigel was returning to the library, but his attention was drawn to the voice of Montique yelling from the dining room. The tall man took a peek around the corner and saw the angry mouse scolding his newfound mate on the table. “No! No! No! Your food was over there, and you have finished it! This plate is mine!”

Montique was desperately trying to push her away from his plate of cheese, but she was too busy eating it to care. “You horrible woman! If you continue to eat this way, you will only grow fat and unappealing!” He gave the female mouse a kick, and she hissed at him. “Don’t you ever say such things to me! I am the man in this relationship!”

Nigel stepped around the corner with a very large grin on his face. “Oh, hello there, Montique. Having marital problems?”

Montique looked shocked but quickly tried to compose himself. “Oh, ah… Of course, not. My beautiful bride was looking a bit peckish, so I decided to share my meal with her.”

“The whole meal?”

“Yes, she was very, very peckish! And how about you and your orphan? I heard she made confetti out of your good suit.”

Nigel clearly did not want to answer that. He bowed politely to the couple and said, “I will see you both at dinner, Montique.” The tall man retreated back to the library.

Montique nodded to his friend and then turned his attention back to the annoying female eating all of his food. “Unhand that piece of cheese at once!” he demanded.

*          *          *

It had not been more then an hour before Nigel was called again, and this time, it was by both Crossford and Montique. Startled by the abrupt summoning, he swiftly got up and ran into the dining room. It was plainly obviously what the commotion was about. Written upon the wall in chalk were the words “NIGEL IS A BUFFOON!” The tall man was taken aback by the sight.

Montique was already rambling about it. “Do you see this?! I hope that you can see this, Nigel! It proves what I have been saying all along! That girl is a brat! She has no right to live in this place!”

Crossford added, “It was indeed her, sir. I caught her running away with chalk in her hand.”

Nigel stared at the words and replied, “Really? You say that Mary Ann did this?”

Montique paced back and forth as he ranted. “An absolute blatant and most unforgivable lack of respect for authority; that’s what it is! I say we ship her off to the orphanage at once! I will not have her going around destroying our property!”

Nigel said, “Crossford, you are dismissed. I want to be alone with my friend.”

The old man replied, “Yes, sir,” and left.

The mouse crossed his arms and looked at the tall man smugly through his monocle. “So, what do you plan on doing about this?”

Nigel replied in earnest, “She did not do it, Montique.”

The mouse became very flustered. “What?! How can you say such a thing after the evidence is so plain! Maybe you really are mad!”

“I am not mad.”

“Then, if you do not terribly mind, how on earth would you know that she did not do it?”

Nigel sighed and gazed upon the writing on the wall. “Because, dear Montique, that is my handwriting.”

Montique was incredulous. “What?! You have gone mad! That is clearly a child’s handwriting!”

Nigel Brimmington shook his head. “It is how I wrote as a child. I have kept almost everything I have drawn or written since I was young. I think that I would be able to recognize such a thing.”

The bewildered mouse enquired, “So, are you saying that you wrote it?”

The tall man suddenly exited the room. “I will be in my study!”

The mouse complained, “Nigel, what are you up to?! At least tell me!”

Nigel made his way into a room filled with drawings that he had made over his lifetime. Some were strange and some were quite beautiful. They were pinned to the walls and placed in messy piles on his desk and on the floor. Nigel picked up one of the piles and began sifting through them quickly; he was looking for something in particular.

An hour went by as he tirelessly continued his search. A look of frustration was evident on his face from the long, tedious venture that he had made for himself. But even after all that, he could not find the image in question.

After another half-an-hour went by, the frustration finally got to Nigel. The annoyed man swatted a stack of papers from his desk. The mess of drawings scattered about the floor, which only added to the clutter already present. Annoyed with himself, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. But at that moment, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small chalkboard being used as a level for his desk. It had been there for so many years that he had forgotten about it.

Slowly, Nigel got down to his knees. He held the desk up with one hand and carefully slid the chalkboard out from under the short leg. On the board, was a child’s chalk drawing of a little boy with raggedy clothing. Above the drawing was the name “JONATHAN.”

Nigel was taken back to his days in the orphanage. He remembered that one time when Miss Nicholson was scolding him for drawing that very unflattering picture of her on the wall. She pulled on his ear and admonished him angrily, “Do you honestly think I look like that, you little scoundrel?!”

Nigel cried, “No! No! I don’t! I’m sorry!”

She continued, “It’s too late for that! You have been misbehaving far too much lately! It’s time that you learn your lesson once and for all!”

The boy cried, “No! Please, don’t! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean too! It was Jonathan!”

Miss Nicholson yanked him into her room and sat down. She forcefully pulled him over her knee. “Enough of this Jonathan nonsense! You and I know very well that he does not exist!”

Nigel tried to explain, “Adults can’t see him! I made him that way!”

“Be quiet!” She began to harshly spank him. The poor boy cried and wept.

Soon after, Nigel was left alone on his bed. He sniffled from the pain while the other kids got to eat. A boy with tattered clothing sat down next to him and laughed. “You should have seen her face! That was so funny!”

Little Nigel yelled, “You hush! I never wanted to do that! I didn’t like her, but I never wanted to make her angry!”

The other boy scoffed. “You created me to get even with Miss Nicholson, and I did! What are you complaining about?!”

Nigel pushed the boy to the floor. “Get away! You were a mistake, Jonathan! I don’t ever want see you again!”

Jonathan gasped. “Don’t say that! You need me!”

“No! I don’t! I’ll be fine without you!” Nigel crossed his arms and turned around. “I never want to see you again!”

The boy expected a reply, but nothing came. When he turned around, Jonathan was gone. He never saw him again after that.

Nigel still stared at the chalk drawing as the memory faded. Was it really him? Had his imaginary friend been living with him all of those years? Nigel quickly stood to his feet. “Good heavens, Mary Ann was telling the truth!”

Crossford shouted from the dining room, “Mister Brimmington! Come here, quickly!”

Nigel darted through the hallways and burst through the dining room doors. To his utter surprise, he found Mary Ann holding his own personal revolver towards his valet. Her hands were shaking so much, that he feared the trigger would be pulled at any moment. She quickly changed her aim to Nigel when she saw him. Montique was there as well, looking at the girl in shock.

With a wobbly voice, the little girl said, “He w-wants me to tell you s-s-something.”

Nigel stood his ground, although he was unsure of what the outcome would be. He answered, “Jonathan?” The girl nodded; she was still trembling greatly. Nigel asked, “What does he want you to say, Mary Ann?”

The girl replied, “He… He says that you ab-bandoned him. You l-left him alone for over thirty years.  He w-wants you to die.”

Nigel answered, “I am sorry, Jonathan. I did not know that you still existed when you disappeared. I honestly never meant this for you.”

Mary Ann cried, “He doesn’t care! I don’t want to do this!”

Montique pointed at the tall man. “You’re the Imaginist, Nigel. Isn’t there anything you can do?!”

Nigel only glanced at the mouse, but he replied to the gun-wielding girl, “If you do not want to shoot me, then I suggest that you do not!”

She cried, “I can’t! He’s making me, Nigel!” The gun suddenly went off nearly knocking the girl off of her feet. The bullet just missed Nigel’s head, hitting the door behind him. The normally calm and collected man was visibly shaken by the near miss.

“Mary Ann, the thing about Jonathan is that he makes you think that you need him. That is how he controls you. Listen to me very carefully; you are a beautiful growing girl. You are smart and lovely and have no need for such a thing as an imaginary friend!”

She loudly sobbed, “I can’t stop him!”

“Yes, you can! You do not need him! He needs you! Tell him to go away!”

Mary Ann squeezed her eyes shut and shouted, “Go away! I don’t want you as a friend anymore! Just go away!”

Nigel took a step forward. “That’s it! Don’t stop!”

Mary Ann dropped to her knees. “I don’t need you! I like Nigel! I like Montique! I even like Mister Crossford! They are my friends! I don’t need you, and I never will! Leave me alone!” The gun fell out of her hands and hit the floor. Crossford quickly stepped over and picked it up, taking it out of reach.

Nigel dashed over and took the girl into an embrace. She sobbed onto his shoulder with little restraint. Nigel comforted her, “There, there. It’s all right. He’s gone. You did it.”

Montique sighed and sat down. “Good lord, Nigel. That was close.”

Mary Ann continued to sob. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to do those things!”

The tall man nodded and continued to embrace the girl. “I know. I know. Everything is quite all right now.”

*          *          *

After supper, Nigel was sitting with Montique in the library. The mouse said, “I find it fascinating that your first imaginary friend was following you for all of those years.”

The tall man concurred in equal fascination, “I can assume that it must have been quite difficult for him to exist for such a lengthy time without any personal interactions. Can you imagine being surrounded by people for so many years, but nobody ever notices you? That is quite a predicament. I actually feel quite bad for the poor boy despite him trying to put a bullet in me.”

The mouse nodded. “Do you think that he is gone for good this time?”

Nigel shook his head. “I highly doubt it.”

“Then I suppose it would be wise to stay on our toes about the whole thing. Who really knows if we are to ever to deal with Jonathan again?”

The tall man agreed, “Quite. I have placed a lock on my gun cabinet. I am quite good with locks actually. Rather hard to open a lock when the key does not exist yet.”

“Indeed, Nigel.”

“And how has married life been treating you, Montique?”

The mouse shrugged. “If I may be honest,” he paused, “quite terrible actually.”

Nigel was unable to hold back a grin. “Oh, really?”

“Well, it is just that the woman has no class at all!”

Nigel laughed. “Well, what did you expect?!”

“Right, right. I guess I was just a little annoyed with you bringing in that girl, which turns out that she is not as bad as I once thought.”

The man nodded. “Perhaps an apology is in order.”

The mouse acquiesced as he made his way down to the floor, “Right, it would not hurt to pay her a visit, I think.”

Nigel smiled. “I was talking about me.”

Montique shouted as he left the room, “Sorry, I cannot hear you from over here!”

Mary Ann was sitting at her windowsill, watching as the trees and bushes rustled in the wind. The storm had stopped a while ago, but it was still rather gloomy outside in the night. There was a tiny knock at the door. The girl turned and answered, “Come in.”

A little mouse crawled under the door crack and stood up with as much dignity as he could muster. “Ah, hmm, yes. Hello, there.”

The girl frowned and answered, “Oh, hello.”

The mouse could see her discomfort and calmly approached. “I wanted to have a little chat with you, if I could.”

Mary Ann cocked her head and asked, “What about?”

Montique looked rather embarrassed. “Would you be so kind as to lift me up to your lap? It is most difficult for one to talk to someone at such an awkward angle.”

The girl reached down and carefully lifted the mouse to her lap. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

The mouse cleared his throat and tried to speak, “Well, I may have been a mite judgmental over the last few days. And, well, I just thought it would be appropriate to let you know that…” he choked on his words.

“Yes?”

He tried again, “Well, it is not as if I am used to having another guest here. What I am trying to say is that I am…”

Mary Ann blinked. “You are what?”

The mouse stomped his little foot and blurted out, “All right, see, this is how it is: if you are going to stay here, you have to abide by my rules too!”

The girl nodded and smiled a little. “I understand.”

Montique continued, “And the only rule I have for you is that, once a day, you may rub me between the ears. You remember, like you did when we first met. If you cannot abide by that rule, then you will simply have to leave!”

She smiled and began rubbing the mouse between the ears. “Like this?”

The little mouse trembled. “Yes. That is perfect. I suppose that you may stay then.”

Mary Ann giggled. “You are so cute.”

Montique grumbled, “Less talking, more rubbing.”

On the deck, a radio played the delicate tones of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata while the wind blew the limbs of the trees back and forth, causing the shadows cascading over the decks floor boards to dance along with the notes of the music.

Richard Stevens blew the last bit of air into a rather skimpy pool float, and as he pressed the knob into the thin layer of plastic, he thanked God above for giving him enough sense to listen to his parents some fifteen odd years earlier when they advised him to go to college.  He took the entire week off from his cushy desk job to help his brother-in-law move into a new home across town.  And to think some people actually move furniture for a living.

To hell with that, thought Richard.

Dizzy and out of breath, Richard placed the float in the pool and dipped his feet into the water, relishing how cool the water felt against his overheated skin.  Why did Tom have to pick the hottest week of the year?  Thought Richard.  He owes me big.

The heat wasn’t the only thing that had Richard feeling upset.  Throughout the entire week both he and his wife Kim nipped at one another like angry little dogs, provoking each other with one hurtful comment after another.  The constant arguing had been happening a lot since the birth of their son Connor, but lately, Richard felt as though he were living with a professional boxer, hitting him with all these little jabs – wearing him down so he would get tired.  Too tired to see the knockout coming.  As Richard slipped into the water he couldn’t help but wonder if a divorce was in the near future.

He took a deep breath and eased into the float, allowing his arms and legs to dangle in the water.  He closed his eyes, allowing the dreamy sounds of Beethoven to carry him away.  Off to distant lands where furniture moved itself, the temperature outside remained at a constant seventy three degrees, and his wife behaved as she did during their first year of marriage.

The comforting thoughts soothed Richards bad mood.  He took in a deep breath and let it out slow, dangling his head back to feel the water soak his perspiring scalp.  Within moments, he fell asleep.

***

Inside the kitchen, Richards’ wife Kim chatted on the phone while putting away groceries.

“Yes,” she said.  “I swear I am never helping Tom  move again.  This is the fifth time, and each time he has more and more stuff.  I can’t take it anymore.”

She put a box of cereal in the cabinet above the fridge and shut the door harder than necessary.  “Ugh,” she scoffed.  “Yes mother.  I know he is my brother, but honestly.  If he would stop buying so much crap he wouldn’t need to keep buying a bigger house every two years.  And you know what el -.  One sec mom.”

She placed the phone down by her hip and pointed a scolding finger at the boy hiding under the kitchen table.  “Connor Stevens,” she shouted.  “You get out from under that table and give me those chips!”

“No,” spouted Connor as he continued munching.

Kim was under too much stress to argue, so she returned to the phone conversation with her mother.  “That brings up another thing,” she said.  “How can Tom expect me to help him unpack when I have a stubborn three year old to contend with?”  Kim paused, allowing her mother to rebuke.  “Oh yeah right.  Captain lazy is out in the pool as we speak, laying in the float.  He didn’t even offer to help with the groceries, so of course he isn’t going to bother watching his own son.  Tom is just going to have to unpack his junk by himself.”

There was another pause before Kim spoke again.  “Well Richard should have just stayed home all week for all the good he did.  I can life more than he can.  Did you see him struggling with that dresser?  Tom would have been better off sliding it down the stairs.  I may as well have married another woman…”

The little boy could see that his mother was lost in the conversation, and he had no doubt that she forgot about him, but even at his young age, Connor was clever enough to realize that it wouldn’t be long before she noticed him still misbehaving.  He decided to horde the chips and make a getaway.

Connor stuffed the bag of chips under his arm and crawled  toward the rear sliding door.  He could taste freedom out there on the patio.  Sitting by the pool.  Just him and his snack, but before standing, he looked back to see if mom noticed him.  She hadn’t  She still had the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder, bickering to Connor’s granny while she threw groceries into the cabinets.

All mothers are great at multitasking, and Kim was no exception.  Connor knew it was just a matter of time before his mother remembered to check on him again.  If he was to make a getaway, he’d better do it now.

He stood up, pleased to see his father left the sliding door open.  A mere screen was all that stood in the way of his freedom.  Connor placed a hand on the latch and looked back once more.  His mother still hadn’t noticed him.  Careful not to make a sound, he opened the screen door and stepped onto the patio.

Connor smiled when he saw the shadows dancing across the patio floor.  They swung back and forth as if in celebration to his small victory.  He looked out toward the pool and noticed his father drifting along the water’s surface.  The gentle current pulled the man along in slow circles.

Connor may be young, but even he could see his father was sleeping, and Connor had witnessed his father fall asleep on the recliner enough times to know that once Richard Stevens is sleeping, he is a hard man to wake.

This was Connor’s opportunity to eat as many chips as he could before getting caught.  It wouldn’t be long before his mother noticed his absence, so he had to be quick.  He dashed over to the patio set and huddled underneath the table.  He sat down and ripped into the bag of chips, spilling crumbs all over himself and the floor.

***

Inside the kitchen, Kim put the last of the groceries in the fridge and pulled the door shut.  She noticed a picture of her family held onto the fridge by a Mickey Mouse Magnet and scoffed at it.  The snapshot was taken two months earlier during their trip to Walt Disney World.  She had to refrain herself from yanking it down and throwing it in the trash.  She continued her phone conversation.  “I’ll be sure to come by tonight mom.  Oh he will be excited.  Connor can’t seem to get enough of your strawberry rhubarb pie.  Neither can Richard for that matter.”

The conversation reminded her of Connor.  She turned to face the open kitchen and noticed her son missing from underneath the table.  “Hold on a second mom.”  She held the phone to her chest and called out to the boy.  “Connor?  Connor!”  She put the phone back to her ear.  “Mom, I have to let you go.  Little Houdini has managed to escape from my sight.  What’s that?  Oh ok then, I’ll see you tonight.  Yep.  Love you too.  Bye.”

She turned to face the table and placed her hands on her hips.  “Ok you sneaky little brat.  Where did you run off to?”  She peeked into the living room.  “Connor?”

No response.

“Ooh, he is gonna get it,” snipped Kim as she made her way through the kitchen toward the patio.

She stood before the door, enjoying a brief summer breeze as it sifted through the screen.  She saw her husband floating in the pool, but no sign of Connor.

“Connor?” she tried, but the only response she received was a number by Beethoven.  She glanced at the radio and frowned.  Only a pansy could stand that crap, she thought.  “Whatever,” she said.  “Hey Richard.  Did Connor come out here?”

Richard didn’t bother waking to answer her.

“Yoo hoo.  Hey useless.  You see our son anywhere?”

He remained unresponsive.

“Humph,” pouted Kim.  Agitated, she stormed back into the house to search for Connor.

***

The CD inside the radio switched to another song.  The sound of Beethoven’s Grave – Allegro ma non troppo poured from the speakers, and as the music began a large cloud drifted in front of the sun, causing a dreary shadow to envelope the entire back yard.

Connor was getting hot underneath the table and welcomed the shade.  He felt lucky that his mother hadn’t seen him, and was relieved to see her disappear back into the house, but he knew he had only a few minutes before she came back looking for him.  Happy to have a moment to himself, he continued eating.

The song on the radio sounded beautiful to young Connor’s ears, and soon he forgot all about his mother and all his attention wondered toward the radio.  It was the small portable one that his father usually kept in the garage.  Connor wasn’t sure why his dad brought it out here, but he was glad he did.

When Richard tinkered around in the garage, he liked to listen to Country Western music.  The upbeat melodies kept him feeling good and eager to get more work done.  Connor didn’t like that kind of music.  It was boring, and each song sounded the same as the last.  But this music – whatever it was, captivated his young mind.

Connor dropped the bag of chips and crawled out from under the table.  He approached the radio as though he might actually be able to capture a glimpse of what the music looked like if he got close enough to its source.  He could see the stereo had two speakers, one on either side, a cassette deck in the middle, and a CD player on top.  A long extension cord ran from the back of the radio to an outlet on the side of the house.  Words were written on the face of the radio,  But Connor couldn’t read them.  Curious to learn more, he reached up and grabbed the radio.  The CD inside skipped when he pulled it down, and it bounced to another track.  Instantly unsatisfied with the new song spitting from the speakers, Connor shook the radio hoping to make it play the last song again, but the CD inside rattled out of place and the music stopped.

With little patience left, little Connor began to cry.

Under normal circumstances,  Connor’s tears brought mom and dad to his aid.  Ready to kiss his wounds and answer his tiny questions, but not today.  Connor forgot that his father was asleep in the pool and that his mother was somewhere in the house looking for him.  He stopped crying the second he remembered how angry his mother would be once she found him.  He knew he couldn’t search for her.  Not unless he wanted to deal with a scolding, so he decided he needed to wake his father.  Maybe good old dad could fix the radio.

The gentle current pulled Richard along in his tube, circling him around the pool’s edge.  Connor carried the radio over to the water’s edge and waited for his father to drift over.

“Daddy,” cried Connor as he waved the radio out in front of him.  “Daddy!”

Exhausted, Richard didn’t hear Connor’s cries.

Connor tried again, this time a little louder.  “Daddy!”  He shook the radio harder, hoping the commotion would wake Richard, but his small hands were no match for the radio’s girth, and the machine slipped from his grip and splashed into the water.

Richard yelped like a scared dog just before it gets smeared into the road by a tractor trailer.  His eyelids shot wide open and his teeth clenched together, cracking one of the molars hard enough to be heard from where Connor stood.

“Daddy?”

Rigid and shaking, Richards arms shot out to his sides.  His legs jutted out of the water with the toes of his feet contorted inward at an insane angle.

Connor stuck his finger in his nose and watched as Richard’s body twisted and lurched like a worm on the end of a hook.  After a moment, the breaker in the basement popped, blowing the fuse for the outlet on the side of the house.  Richard’s feet kicked a few more times, working out the last of the electricity left within his nerves.  He slumped down inside his float, his head hanging backward, dangling into the water.   His eyelids drooped down, half covering the vacant look in his eyes.

Confused, Connor called out to his father again.  “Daddy?”  But Richard drifted along, saying nothing.

The current pulled Richard, bringing him closer to the patio.  Hoping to wake his father, Connor reached out to grab the float so he could shake it.  He placed one hand on the slippery surface of the float and used the other hand to steady himself on the patio.  He pushed down making the float bounce in the water.  “Silly daddy.  Wake up sleepy head.”  It was no use.  Richard appeared to be out cold.  Agitated, Connor shook the float as hard as he could.  “Wake up wake up wake up.”

Nothing.

He rocked the float harder.  “Wake up wake up wake up.”

The man wouldn’t open his eyes.

Connor pulled the float to the pool’s edge and placed both hands on the slippery surface.  “Daddy,” he wailed as his movements grew more agitated.  Connor’s weight pushed the float further into the pool, drawing it farther from the patio’s edge, and Connor soon found himself using the tips of his toes to try and pull the float toward him again, but it was no use.  The momentum had taken over and his feet slipped off the patio and the lower half of his body fell into the water.  He kicked and screamed, holding onto the float with all his might, wondering why his dad wouldn’t wake up to help him.  The tiny muscles in his hands writhed in pain as he searched for something – anything to grab a hold of, but there was nothing solid to grab, and little Connor Steven’s slipped into the water, staring up in shock as he sunk farther and farther from the float.

There are many peaceful ways for the living to leave this world, and Death carries with it an arsenal of tools necessary to get the job done.  A brain aneurism, old age.  Even a bottle of pills can carry someone off into the next world while the victim lays unconscious and unaware, but unfortunately for little Connor Steven’s, water is one of Death’s more cruel mistresses.  Drowning victims suffer for several horrible seconds, knowing full well that the end result is their ultimate demise.  Instinctively, Connor inhales, trying to fill the void his lungs so desperately crave, and the gravity of the water is painful, making his chest feel as though it will explode.  Even at the age of three he knows he wont make it, and his mind lurches at the thought.  Flickering lights shimmer within his darkening reality.  They are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.  The lights calm him, embracing his mind with their delicate glow.  A brief anxiety hits him.  He knows these lights are the last thing he will ever see, but before the madness sweeps away the beauty of the moment, the moment ends.

***

Dozens of toys clutter the floor of Connor’s room.  A half eaten sandwich sat on the dresser and a dirty cup lay on the bed.  All the tell-tale signs of a little boy’s existence, but no little boy.  Kim stared with disapproval at the mess and pressed her forehead against the door jamb.

“Connor,” she yelled.  “I’m not fooling around.  Where are you?”

She got no response.  She already searched every room in the house and was now halfway through her second search.  “You are really starting to wear on my nerves young man.  I mean it!  You’re going to be grounded for a week!”

She sighed and lifted her head from the door jamb.  To the ceiling she said, “I am so tired of running this entire household by myself.”

She shouted, “Richard,” and headed downstairs.  She entered the kitchen and stormed to the screen door.  She threw it open.  “Richard,” she shouted while approaching the pool.  “For the love of God.  Will you get out of that pool and help me find Co-”

Kim’s fingers climbed up her shirt and found her lips.  Her mouth froze in a silent shriek.  She stared at Connor’s lifeless body as it lay at the bottom of the pool.  Without a doubt, she knew her son was dead.  Frantic, she jumped into the pool and retrieved Connor’s body.  She lay him out onto the deck.  Dripping and shaking, she stared at Connor’s body, wondering what to do.  She looked up at Richard.  The first thought to enter her mind was a violent one.  She wanted to cave her husband’s head in with a frying pan as he lay sleeping in the pool, but then she noticed the extension cord entering the water.  She peeked into the pool and saw the radio laying at the bottom.  Having a moment to think, she noticed the way Richard slunk down into the float.  She began to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.  It didn’t take her long to realize what happened.

Without looking down, she walked past her son’s body and disconnected the cord from the outlet.  She then walked into the kitchen and made two phone calls.  The first call she made was a frantic 911 call.  After the operator calmed her down, Kim was assured that an ambulance and police officer were on the way.  Kim hung up the phone and stared at it pondering what to do.  She picked up the phone and placed her second call.  It was much less frantic than the first.  She called her boyfriend, and her hands stopped shaking the second she heard his voice pick up on the other end.

I don’t know why I wanted to save the life of a person I never met. Maybe it was out of loneliness after losing my wife only months earlier. Maybe it was because I was a chemist and the unusual, and unexplained, fascinated me. Or, maybe, it was because I was obsessed with this twenty-year-old, dark-haired beauty named Mary Virginia Wade I had read about.

These questions filtered through my mind as I drove to the bar to meet my best friend William—“Will,” to his friends.

Will’s favorite hangout was “The Bling,” originally an old truck stop on State Route 93, in Nelsonville, Ohio. The place turned into a restaurant/lounge/dance hall and brothel when semis no longer became a necessity for long distance hauling. The invention of the transporter also replaced many other primitive jobs such as mail delivery and travel. “The Bling” was best known for the large flashing lights suggesting scantily clad women in seductive positions above the front entrance, and its “bulldogs,” monster-sized bouncers in Armani suits who patrolled its two-block perimeter, inside and out.

“The Bling,” just another joint with a sleazy atmosphere, like all alcohol-serving establishments, differed only in that it catered exclusively to class “A” clientele. Politely—or maybe not so politely—everyone called it the “Whorehouse for the rich and bored.” Its reputation grew. Its income grew even faster.

I pulled up in front and exited my vintage DeLorian, tossing the keys to the baby-faced valet, then greeted my buddy waiting for me at the entrance.

“Glad you could make it, Alex,” he said, while we shook hands and by-passed the doorman with no questions asked.

Entering the twenty-four carat gold, electronic doors, Will’s regular table awaited us in the perfect place to see the shows. “Two double scotches and water,” he said, adding a smile for the tall, leggy waitress who produced the drinks in an instant.

I immediately recognized the “girl” as one of the latest “do-everything-like-a-wife” robotics. Robot manufacturing had become a booming business since the last war destroyed the immune and reproductive systems in most humans, especially females.

“I don’t know why you waste your time flirting with non-humans,” I said, cautiously sipping my drink. After losing my wife, I’d almost become an alcoholic, but my boss and mentor, Doctor Obar Gabry, intervened, saving my life and promising career.

“Because, dear friend,” Will began, “beggars can’t be choosey, and ladies are in scarce supply. Beside, these ‘girls’ are all pink inside.”

“Ugh!” I said, gulping down a large swallow of alcohol as if it could wash away my friend’s vile mental picture from my mind.

“Come on, Alex, loosen up. Live a little.” Will motioned to the waitress for another round of drinks. “What happened to your Lova was a tragic shame, but you’re alive. Don’t let your beautiful mind go to waste. This world needs people like us. People started treating me like a god once I became a surgeon, and I love it.”

I had to laugh. Maybe my mourning period should be over. Lova was not coming back, and at the time of her death I wanted to die also, but that was the grief talking. I know that now, I love life and I want to live to find a cure for brain aneurisms, and help others like Lova.

Abruptly, I asked, “What do you think about time travel?”

“Are you serious?” Will asked. “Scientists have tried to conquer time travel for hundreds of years . . . and failed.”

“Maybe they failed, because they weren’t Doctor Gabry and I.”

Will looked at me in awe. “Oh, my god, you’re serious!”

“We discovered something today in the lab,” I said, giving him an arrogant smile. “We believe this is the answer.”

“So who is to be the Guinea pig?”

“Me.”

Silence came from Will, then a gasp. “That could be suicide.”

“Or the biggest discovery of the thirtieth century.”

“What’s going on inside your head, buddy. Really! What’s going on?”

“I’m in love.”

Will’s chubby, bearded face lit up. “I knew it! You always go crazy over love. So who is she?”

“She doesn’t live around here.”

“It’s big-boobed Rita in accounting, isn’t it?”

“She moved away three months ago.”

“Ah . . . then it must be that curvy redhead from the corner diner?”

“She’s already married.”

“Then who? You never go anywhere, but to work, since Lova died. Where did you meet this illuminating creature?”

“I haven’t met her yet.”

Will slid away from me. Confused by my newest lunatic statement, he gulped his drink and looked me straight in the eye. “Alex, what the hell are you talking about?”

After taking a deep breath and exhaling, I said, “The woman I’m going to marry is Jenny Wade and she died in 1863, from a sniper‘s bullet.” I immediately downed the rest of my double.

Will leaned back against the seat. Neither of us spoke for several long moments. My dearest friend had known me from kindergarten and knew I was neither a liar nor prankster.

“If this woman died when she did, perhaps it was for a reason. What you’re talking about is changing history.”

“If I can keep Jenny from doing what she did on the day she died, she will have lived.”

“Then why don’t you go back and keep Adolph Hitler from being born, and save all those innocent people he killed? What you’re trying to do is completely insane. It has never been done.”

“Jenny Wade was an unimportant person to the evolution of the world. Her death never saved or caused anyone else to perish. She was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“How are you going to do this? A big electronic machine? A deep freeze? A new dimension?”

“No, something much more simple—we’ve developed a serum that does it.”

“What if this serum doesn’t work or kills you, then what?”

“We know it is not poisonous. We tested it on lab rats.”

“How many know about this invention?”

“Including you, me and Doctor Gabry? Three. You, me and Doctor Gabry.”

Will banged his large fist on the table. “Dammit, Alex, I don’t want to lose another friend. Losing Lova was hard enough. Please reconsider this.”

“I’ve thought about my decision and the dangers, and I’m going through with it. I’m going back to 1863 and save Jenny Wade.”

“No piece of ass is worth dying over. You’re just lonely. I know a dozen women . . . real and robotic. They’re all yours.”

“It’s not about sex. You know I’m stronger then that. It’s love. It’s fate. It’s my destiny.”

“How can you be in love with a woman you’ve never met? This is a mere fleeting infatuation at best. Hell, Alex, you’re a scientist. It’s your nature to be curious about the after-life, the unknown.”

“But Jenny isn’t unknown to me. The moment I saw her photograph, I knew she was the one. Yes, I loved Lova and was married to Lova, but I’m connected to Jenny Wade in a way I can’t explain . . . and don’t really understand. But I just know she’s waiting for me. I know I can save her.”

“Listen to yourself, Alex. You’re not even in love with a photograph like that guy in the movie ‘Somewhere in Time.’ You’re in love with a real ghost–an illusion. What if this woman is already married. What if she rebukes you, hates you, is revolted by you . . . what then?”

“Then I will return. My curiosity, as you call it, satisfied. But the records show no such connections. So there’ll be no harm done. Agreed?”

“But you don’t even know if the serum works. What if you can’t come back . . . ever?”

“Doctor Gabry would not invent a time serum without an antidote backup. The man is a genius, you know that.” With those words, I stood and hugged my friend. Possibly for the last time.

“I love you, Alex. Please don’t do this.”

“I love you too, but I need to do this, for Jenny’s sake and for my sanity.” I walked out, retrieved my vehicle from the valet, and returned to the lab.

*    *    *

Though I majored in chemistry, in college my minor was American History. I was offered a teaching position at a local high school, but before I accepted the job, Doctor Gabry contacted me, offering a position as his assistant. I was thrilled. The doctor only accepted assistants if he were working on a new invention. It was Gabry who invented robotics, successfully. Other scientists tried and failed, some with fatal consequences, as when one domestic robot killed an entire family and cooked them for dinner, then tried, to no avail (no digestive system), to eat them.

Working on time travel for him kept me extremely busy, but when I did have spare time, I surfed the Internet on my country’s history. Everything about my ancestors’ existence—from cave men, on—fascinated and terrified me. Just the thought of outhouses and sexually transmitted diseases disgusted me. Here, in the thirtieth century, we had no disease, no famine, no petty jealousies, and no wars to hinder our mental and economical growth. The world governments had finally found their balls and forbade citizens to waste their lives on sloth and vices. The world had truly become the promised land of “milk and honey.”

Being a history buff, I discovered Mary Virginia Wade, “Jenny.” She was born to a poor family in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania in 1843. Her father was a tailor by trade; an alcoholic by choice. Her young life abruptly ended when a sniper’s bullet struck her on July 3^rd, 1863—making her the first civilian casualty of the Civil War.

Once I arrived at our top secret lab, I had no trouble driving into the lab parking lot. “Good evening, sir,” the security guard said. “You scientists’ are god-sent—inventing a dust-free world. I never thought I’d live to see that. I’ve had allergies and hay fever ever since birth. Now I am allergy free!”

“A chemist’s work is never done, Horace.”

“I’ll see ya when ya leave, doc.”

I nodded my head at the sixty-year-old guard and took a good look, knowing I might never see him or anyone from the present again. Did I really understand what I was giving up by going back one thousand one hundred and thirty two years? The life I knew here was mighty cushy. Other than losing Lova, and my parents, I had a great life and promising future. The world now was almost perfect—little to no disease, minimal crime, and high wages. Every household owned at least one robot to do house and yard work. Some had many others to perform the unmentionable tasks a robotic maid or butler accomplished in the bedroom. The earth was almost heaven.

Doctor Gabry would be retiring in two years and his position was guaranteed to be mine. Yes, there were other qualified chemists with more experience and seniority than I, but they didn’t think like the two of us and the good doctor knew it. My mentor and I were renegade imaginaries. Determined to explore the entire universe, past and present, not just the future as most scientists tried.

When I was ready to take the “leap of faith,” I made several preliminary preparations, then carefully measured out the serum, that would take me to Jenny.

I then poured a small amount of the clear liquid antidote into a small medicine bottle and tucked it safely inside my breast pocket, saying a small prayer.

The concoction, as we understood it, worked in two simple steps. The first step required someone simply to ingest a small amount of the serum, carefully measured. The liquid quickly altered the brain cells, then the entire body . . much like alcohol or any other drug, leaving the drinker mentally confused, temporarily.

For the second step, the drinker needed to concentrate on his or her desired “end” time, date and destination, like ten o’clock in the morning, July 2^nd 1863, and the spot where Jenny would be shot. Then, if the serum worked properly, the drinker would feel a spiraling sensation and, perhaps, momentary dizziness. When the spiraling stopped, the drinker would—hopefully—be at his destination.

An invention such as this could never be tested on a non-speaking subject for the obvious reason a non-human subject could not concentrate mentally on any given destination. The serum could be used by humans only. I, for the sake of everything I valued—science, my career, and Jenny—chose to be the first subject. Testing the time travel serum was truly a “do or die” situation–and I had prepared for that. That realization was my last conscious thought when I downed a mouthful of lime green liquid.

In my mind I shouted, Take me to Jenny! Take me to Jenny! Immediately my eyes got blurry and my head felt as if it were going to explode. I grew wobbly and disoriented as the room spun around me and everything became dark.

“Hey, buddy!” a gravelly voice yelled in my ear, and I slowly opened my eyes to discover I was in a male strip joint. The voice then asked, “What you doin’ layin’ on the floor?”

“I’m sorry, I must be in the wrong place,” I said, standing. I was still dazed from the effects of the serum, and the yelling around me was hard to decipher. The damp and musty-smelling room seemed filled with a thick layer of illegal smoke hindering my vision.

“The rules are ‘two drinks minimum,’” growled that same, mean-toned voice, but where was it coming from? Was it the seven-foot, jolly green giant with gold-capped teeth standing yards away? Or was it the old man sitting at the first table winking at me while sipping strawberry daiquiris? Or was the ugly voice coming from the muscle-bound, male dancer in red, high heels on stage showing a massive erection?

“I’m sorry to drop in like this, but I’m looking for my friend, Jenny.”

“I’m Jenny,” said a deep-voiced Drag Queen just before he grabbed my ass.

His appearance shocked me momentarily. “Well my Jenny is shorter…and… I really need to be going now.”

I popped the top of the antidote and swallowed a big nasty amount. Immediately, the migraine returned and an instant later I found myself inside my lab—alone once more. I wonder what my previous audience thought when I disappeared right before their depraved and drunken, blood-shot eyes?

Except for the headache and dizziness, I felt well. I quickly made an inventory of my physique and discovered I still had my head of thick blond hair, two hands, two legs, and no tail. I was confident my invention caused nothing monstrous to the tester and I quickly scribbled my results on a nearby tablet, hoping Doctor Gabry would find it in the morning.

Morning came sooner then I expected. Hurrying to the window and pulling up the blind, I realized hours had past. The simple time-jiggle reaction caused by the serum alarmed me somewhat, but, since there seemed to be no direct physical harm, I prepared to try the serum again.

The exact destination the tester arrived at seemed to be a slight problem. Jenny had died on July 3^rd, which was the second day of fighting for the Civil War. Landing smack in the middle of a blazing battle was not something I relished, but I did not know exactly what I could do about it. It was try again, or else! Perhaps I could concentrate on arriving a few days before the battle of Gettysburg, giving me time to locate Jenny’s exact whereabouts. Her life’s history on those few days was sketchy, but recorded by three Union soldiers and three members of her immediate family.

My clothing for that time period was also lacking in precise planning on my part. Men’s attire from the 1860’s was likewise found only in museums. They had basically turned to rags from age. I suddenly realized all the minor details I had taken for granted, were in reality quite important for my successful insinuation into an earlier time period.

With those cautions to ponder, I refilled the medicine bottles again with antidote, and serum, then swallowed another sip of the time travel serum. I closed my eyes tightly and concentrated as if taking my finals: “Take me to Gettysburg-June 3^rd, 1863.”

Within seconds I awakened. And what a head trip it was. I landed smack in the middle of a pig farm . . . in the mud with the pigs. I looked up from the urine- and feces-covered ground to shout, “Shit!”

“That’s jest what it is, sonny. Ya got that right!”

Turning around, I saw the owner of the voice. An elderly farmer held an evil- looking devise I quickly recognized from history books as being a pitchfork. It was a crude instrument humans had once used for the lifting and transporting of hay, and for the removal of animal feces from barn floors. Disgusting and barbaric indeed!

Picking myself off the ground, I addressed my observer, “Hello, sir. My name is Alex Anderson. I’m looking for a Miss Mary Virginia Wade. Perhaps you know her as ‘Jenny’?”

The man removed his sweat-stained, tattered leather hat and scratched his balding head. “Well, I do recall the name of Wade, but the family lives in town. How did ya git here? I don’t see no horse nor buggy.”

For a moment I was stumped, but my wit kicked in and I gave the dear man a plausible explanation, “My horse threw me and ran off. What bad luck.”

“Ah, ha!” he said, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Are ya a deserter?”

“Absolutely not!” Suddenly I realized all men my age were required to be in the union army unless they were physically or mentally disabled, spies, or deserters. It was obvious to us both, I was as fit as a fiddle. “I’m actually an officer of the Union, but I’m on temporary leave to get my personal affairs in order. I will be reporting to my command post in a few days, but, like I said, I was hoping to visit a few relatives and say my goodbyes before going off to massacre Confederates—the scoundrels.” What a pickle I’m in, I thought. Oh, please, God, let me talk my way out of this mess and not get stabbed with that pitchfork for being perceived as a confederate spy.

“Where’s your uniform and musket? And where’d ya git them queer-lookin’ clothes?” He asked looking me over from my Armani suit down to my handmade Italian loafers. Another perk from the thirtieth century was the economy made it possible for everyone to dress smart.

“Would you believe I was robbed by a theater group while crossing the Pennsylvania border? They stole everything I owned and left nothing for me to wear, but this ridiculous costume.”

After pulling his straw-brimmed hat over his eyes to avoid the afternoon sun, he grinned a toothless grin. “Nope, I wouldn’t believe that. Ya look like one of them Victorian pansy’s my pappy warned me ‘bout.”

I was momentarily shocked by his assuming I was a homosexual. That lifestyle in the nineteenth century could get a person tarred and feathered. The mere accusation riled my masculinity. “I assure you, sir, I am every inch as much an American red-blooded man as you.”

My new friend laughed. “I’m glad ta hear that. Well, ya can’t visit folks smellin’ and lookin’ like hog shit. Ya better come inside and git washed off. By the way, my name’s Jethro Mullins.” He then turned and walked toward his large farm house.

I gratefully followed. Even though we had made a positive connection, he still clung tightly to that pitchfork.

Nearing the two-story shack, Jethro walked right on, going behind the home, and down a narrow flight of stairs. I soon found myself in what appeared to be the cellar. In one corner of the cool, damp room clustered several large barrels of apples, onions and potatoes. In another corner stood what appeared to be a modern day refrigerator—a huge wooden box lined with tin, storing large blocks of ice obviously designed to keep perishable foods cold. In the far corner was the family’s bathtub. A funny-shaped aluminum pot so small I wondered how my tall form would fit, or did a person stand to bath in this period?

“There’s plenty of water so go at it,” Jethro said. “I’ll see if’n I can rumble up some fresh clothes for ya.“ He then left me alone to figure out what to do with these obscure objects.

I approached what seemed to be an iron water faucet close to the tub, protruding from the ground. After examining the devise extensively, I believed I understood its manner of operation. I placed my right hand on the long handle and began “pumping” the lever. Within seconds, cold water gushed from the opening of the object. I quickly pulled the washtub underneath the now-flowing water and filled the pot almost to its brim.

I tore off my filthy clothes and stepped into the freezing water one foot at a time. “Ohhhh,” I said, shuddering when the chill of the water sprouted goose bumps up my spine. Immediately my manhood shrank to a minimum. Noticing, on a small wooden ledge, what looked like soap, I scooped it up and lathered myself from head to toe. Within minutes I was once again crystal clean . . . just when the sound of the frail man’s footsteps were heard.

“I hope these fit you, boy,” Jethro said, and placed a pile of worn, but clean-looking clothes on the only chair the room held and laid a small towel on top. “It’s almost dinner time, you’re welcome to stay for vittles if’n ya like.”

How could I possible say no to this kindly gentleman, especially since I was about starved? “Thank you, sir, I would like that.” The farmer cracked a small, seemingly polite smile and left.

I removed myself from the now-soiled water and dried off quickly before dressing. There was a cracked mirror in the basement I used when I had donned the hand-me-down clothing. In it I looked ridiculous. The pants were made from canvas, suitable for hard labor. The long-sleeved cotton shirt had a missing button. The leather belt was snug, as if for a child, and the straw-brimmed hat was crushed and out of shape. As I examined myself in the mirror, I whispered in consolation, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

I had brought nothing useful with me on my sudden journey to the nineteenth century. Though a scientist, I’d planned my trip back in time with the brains of a child. It was becoming more and more clear I would be playing my every move by ear. I did not know the correct vocabulary for the time period. I did not have current money for food, shelter . . . or a gun for protection. The more I thought about my present state, the more fearful I became of my survival. It would be so easy to swallow the antidote and return to the comfort and safety of my own world, but for the love of Jenny I dismissed the thought.

Breaking into my reverie, Jethro yelled from the top step, “Are you ready to eat, sonny?”

“Yes!” I said, racing up the few steps and forcing a smile in the hopes of perking up my spirits as well. I continuously thought of Will’s last words to me, What if you are killed in the crossfire?

“I hope ya like beef broth, bread and butter?” Jethro asked.

“Yes, very much,” I lied. I’d never eaten a poor man’s meal in my life. To think my  poor Jenny had probably never experienced the succulent taste of filet mignon or escargots were simply incomprehensible to me.

“Jest who is it you’re tryin’ to visit?”

“Her name is Jenny Wade and she lives on Mulberry street.”

“Ahhh, yes, the lunatic’s youngest daughter.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s Jenny’s daddy—old man Wade—I’m talkin’ ‘bout. The family claimed he was up north workin’ as a tailor for the Union, but we all know he was really in the nut house in Pittsburgh. That’s why Jenny had to quit school and work as a seamstress and babysitter, and why her older sister got married early. The family was starvin’. Mr. Wade couldn’t work and the family still had bills to pay. It’s a shame, but war makes a lot of folks crazy.”

I finished my meal, pushed back my bowl, then thanked Jethro again for his hospitality. “I hate to ask you this, but what’s the date today?” What an idiotic question to ask? I thought. But with so many kinks involved with the time serum, I couldn’t depend on anything going right with it.

“Boy, if’n you can’t even keep track of the days, the union is sure to lose.” Jethro shook his head, then, he stood and walked to the side closet. “It’s June 2^{nd ,} 1863. He then removed a British Enfield Musket from the closet and offered it to me. “She’s outdated, son, but she never missed her mark.”

“But what about your hunting and protection from the confederates?”

“I got more relatives already lookin’ after me then I can shake a stick at. And I can barely lift this rifle at my age. She’ll do you far more good then me.”

“Thank you, Jethro. This is very kind of you.”

“I only got the one horse and I need her, but I can give ya a lift to town. It’s a far piece away.”

“Thanks, but I want to walk. Thanks for everything.”

“Don’t mention it. Now git. You got a honey to see.”

I shook hands with my first friend of the nineteenth century and left with renewed hope of saving Jenny. Yet, sauntering along, I worried: How am I going to survive for the next thirty one days until July 3rd. I have no money I can use in this time period, and no contacts in town. I have nothing. I don’t even know where I’m going to sleep tonight, let alone where my next meal is coming from.

Then, suddenly, abject terror stared me straight in the face—a confederate soldier on horseback came charging headlong over the hill. Even worse, he saw me. A mountain of a man he was. His dark gray jacket adorned with yellow chevrons on the sleeves and collar. His jacket’s shiny gold buttons glittered from the last rays of the day’s sun. His light gray trousers, decorated with a yellow strip down each side, stood out against his black, knee-high leather boots. He and his chestnut mount were an impressive and terrifying sight. Especially charging directly at me. He removed his saber from his belt, and held it high above him. Then with a blood-curdling scream, he jabbed his steel spurs into his steed and drove harder in my direction.

I turned, and made a run for a clump of trees. As I ran, I heard the horse’s hooves pounding the hard ground and knew the soldier was closing in on me. I reached the walnut trees and hid behind the larger of the three. I soon realized I had no black powder or minie balls. Turning my musket upside down, I proposed to use it as a club. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and listened for the nearing sound of the horse’s hooves.

When I thought the time right, I jumped out and swung the musket, landing a solid hit on the side of the man’s head. The solder flew off his mount backwards, landing on the ground, out cold. That was close! I thought. Afterward, I was unsure what to do with him. I really did not consider any confederate my enemy, since I wasn’t from this era, but he would have killed me given the chance. I was very grateful for the outcome.

I quickly picked the man clean of his weapons and money. Besides his saber, he was equipped with a Sharps, Breech loading Carbine and a Colt Army Revolver—sweet! I quickly hid the pistol inside my jacket pocket. After further rummaging, I found three gold watches, one blood-stained. Were they spoils of war, I wondered? I left him the tainted one. I may need to sell the other two for food or shelter if I am unable to acquire employment, which I must, and soon. In his breast pocket, I found and left a faded picture of what I believed to be his wife and small son. He might have been “the enemy” but I did wish him a safe return to the south. I then gathered his horse and rode to town.

Now dusk, I had grown exhausted and every muscle in my body ached from my riding for miles on an animal that, in my era, everyone considered both an oddity and a delicacy. The thirtieth century had little use for any type of animal, wild or domesticated. Science had evolved to the much higher level of technology.

On entering the town, the first business I came to was Taylor’s Blacksmith Shop. The sign also read: BOARDING HORSES 50 cents daily: SHOEING HORSES $1.00 “Hello, I would like to sell my animal,” I said to the burly, sweat-covered owner.

He stopped shoeing a pinto and advanced for a better look. After pushing his wet hair from his eyes, he said. “I’ll give ya one hundred dollars for the lot. Horse, saddle, bridle and saddlebags.”

I did not know the true value of such things, but I did know how to barter for a better price. “I believe the animal and gear are worth every bit of two hundred dollars.”

“It might be your belief, but it’s my money.” He spit tobacco juice on the straw floor. Then he looked more closely and saw the saddle and gun were confederate made. “Are you a spy?”

“Absolutely not! But I may have just clobbered one.” I replied, gazing upon this enormous specimen of a man who could crush me with one hand. “I came upon the horse and gear in a meadow, and I prefer to sell the animal.”

He more meticulously examined the horse again, then asked, “Every man needs a horse. What’d ya gonna do for transportation?”

“Well, I’m more of buggy man.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said, spitting again. “Alright, I guess it’s worth a hundred and fifty,” he said.

“Sold!” I said.

He counted out the paper money. It was now dark and getting late, and it would be most improper in this century to make a formal call on Jenny at such an hour. I needed to locate lodging and start fresh in the morning. I was also in need of another bath. My clothes were in disarray from the skirmish with the soldier, and dusty from the long ride. “I say, could you suggest a reasonably priced hotel for the evening?”

“Mrs. Potts and her girls always welcome a newcomer,” Taylor said with a toothless grin before taking his newly acquired property and walking off. “Her place is that big pink house at the end of this street. Ya can’t miss it.”

“Thanks!” I said, removing my glasses to rub my eyes.

My first day searching for Jenny had been tiring in the extreme. I trudged up the dusty street toward Mrs. Potts’s place, amazed and astounded at my new surroundings. Storekeeps threw wash water into the streets. Horse and dog feces lay everywhere. Horse flies as big as small birds hummed all around. Animal urine soaked the dirt streets, leaving a lingering, deplorable smell and turning the ground into a stinking morass. Every third business seemed to be a saloon or gambling joint. Young boys stood out in front of each of these businesses shouting to the passersby to come in, have a drink, and join the fun.

I saw no fun. Inside one place a violent fist fight was going on. The sound of cursing, breaking glass, and patrons screaming cut through the warm air and could be heard for blocks. The others were no different.

Finally, I reached the pink house. The hotel was certainly an eyeful. Two stories high, with white and yellow awnings decorating each window. It was certainly a woman‘s castle. “Hello, handsome,” called a feminine voice from above.

I looked up to see four young, lovely women dressed in party dresses on a balcony. Two of them carried matching parasols and wore their long hair curled around their bare shoulders. The others wore their hair up, in buns, covered with snoods—crocheted or knitted “bags”—or hats of mixed chip and straw, decorated with blue rosettes and fancy feathers. Most of their bodies were startlingly bare.

Although June was unbearable hot, I thought the women quite daring in their risqué attire. I looked around to assure they were speaking to me. They laughed. “Yes, you with the glasses,” the golden-haired one said.

“Is this Mrs. Potts’s place?” I asked, removing my poor excuse of a hat.

“The one and only,” said the bosomy redhead. The rest giggled.

“Come on up,” said the small brunette with a big smile.

I proceeded through the front door where music played from behind a floor-length, red velvet curtain. Once I stepped through the curtain into the parlor, I noticed the home was a nicer recommendation then what I expected from the likes of a fat old blacksmith. I was immediately greeted by none other then the lady of the house.

“Good evening, young man,” Miss Potts said. She, like her daughters, was decked out in lavish attire. Wearing a long black silk dress with matching, elbow-length gloves, the fifty-something woman looked like a million bucks. Long white pearls hung from her neck connected to a large brooch pinned to her equally large bosom. Her hair was up, decorated with smaller peals and white lace. “Please have a seat. The girls will be right down.”

“You mean your daughters?”

She swallowed hard and said. “Yes . . . um . . . my daughters. They jest love company.”

“Ahhh!” I said, standing. “I have a girl, Jenny Wade. Maybe you know her or her family.”

“The Wade girl. Yes, I know her,” she said, pushing me down and inserting a pillow behind my back. “She doesn’t need to know ‘bout this. We get ‘em all here. Doctors, lawyers . . . the married and unmarried.”

“Oh, really!” I said, adjusting myself on the small low couch. My back and long legs could not accustom themselves to such awkward and stiff furniture.

“And the mayor and the sheriff stop in for regular visits,” said the fourth girl, a plump dishwater blonde as the women from the balcony entered the room.

“As well as the soldiers, the rich, and the poor,” added the brunette.

“Eventually we get ‘em all,” said the golden-haired one sitting beside me.

“Even the governor comes here just to see me,” said the redhead, bending forward and extending her petite hand with well-polished nails . . . as her breasts spilled out of her low-cut dress. “Hi, I’m Roxy.”

“Hello,” I said, flabbergasted when I abruptly realized these women were ladies-of-the-evening. “You girls are prostitutes, aren’t you?”

“We prefer ‘hookers,’” Miss Potts said, offering me and her girls a glass of champagne.

“General Hooker came up with the name,” the dishwater blonde added.

“Because us girls ‘hook’ a man into sin,” the brunette explained, with pride.

“I should leave,” I said, as the front door burst open.

“This is a raid!” yelled the sheriff while his deputies surrounded us, pistols fixed.

“Now, Clarence!” shouted Miss Potts. “I paid my hush money last week.”

“I know ya did, Sadie,” whined the sheriff, “but the new district judge hates vices and he ordered us to make an example out of these places. He told me to start with yours.”

“I run a respectably brothel, Clarence. My girls are disease-free. It t’ain’t fair.”

“I know, but I gotta take ya’s in,” he said.

“Then you can take this too,” she yelled, slapping the sheriff across the face as the girls threw their drinks on the deputies and the brawl began. I escaped out the back as the remaining deputies ran inside and rounded-up the girls for a night in the can.

I ended up sneaking into the blacksmith’s stables and sleeping on a bed of straw. Cold and uncomfortable, my first night in Gettysburg was nothing to write home about. I only prayed my next day would be more successful in locating my Jenny.

*    *    *

I was abruptly awakened when someone threw a bucket of cold water on me. “What’d ya do, lose all the money I gave ya on them whores?” The blacksmith laughed.

“No!” I said, standing. “Now look what you did. I’m soaked.”

“Ya wanna smell like whores and horses all day?” he said, and laughed again.

“The whores got arrested before anything happened and I have money for a real bath.” I then grabbed my hat from the straw floor and left in a huff with the blacksmith enjoying my discomfort.

I knew the town well enough, now, to find a real hotel. Before my bath, though, I shopped for new attire. Before entering the General store, I pushed back my wet hair and I brushed off my clothes as best I could. I soon found in my size a herringbone, three-piece suit with two watch pockets. I matched the suit with a lightweight white cotton shirt, with embroidered cuffs, a stovepipe hat, and a black silk bow tie. While I marveled at my new appearance in the full-length mirror, I thought what a striking figure I would make when meeting Jenny. Just then I heard a heavenly voice from behind me. “The Congressman’s Congress boots would match that suit perfectly.”

I turned around and saw my future wife, Jenny Wade. By her side stood her chaperone and very pregnant older sister, Georgia. I was speechless.

“The cat has his tongue, Jenny,” Georgia said, smiling at my expression.

I swallowed hard and said, “You think the Congressman’s Congress shoes is the best choice?”

“All the gentlemen are wear’n two-toned ankle boots now. It’s the latest craze,” Jenny said with a smile.

The ice was broken. I extended my hand and said, “Ladies, allow me to introduce myself, I am Alex Anderson.”

“My name is Mary Virginia Wade, but people call me Jenny, and this is Georgia McClellan, my sister.”

“It’s nice to meet you both,” I said, but fixed on Jenny.

Georgia noticed my interest at once. “Well, I’ll be over here at the cloth counter, if you need me, Jenny.”

“Could I buy you and Georgia a cup of tea?” I asked.

“Oh, no! We don’t have time for that. But thank you,” Jenny said.

“There you are,” interrupted Johnston Skelly Jr. “We best be goin’, Jenny. You know how mother hates latecomers.”

“Jack, may I introduce you to Alex Anderson.”

“Howdy, Alex,” he said, shaking my hand. “Where’s your uniform?”

“My work doesn’t allow for uniforms,” I said with a quick wink.

“Ohhh,” Jack returned my gesture, believing I was a union spy. “I see.”

“We should get started,” Georgia said, approaching.

“Would you like to join us, Alex?” Jack asked. “Your company will be a fresh breath of air before I leave to join the Virginia’s 8^th Corps.”

“Yes! How fun,” Jenny said, as she entwined her long soft arms around me and her fiancée. We left in their buggy, with Jack driving. I sat in the back with Georgia.

“So, Jack, I hear you and Jenny are engaged?” I asked fishing.

“The date is Christmas day,” he said, squeezing Jenny’s hand to my dismay.

“So, Alex,” said Georgia. “Have you met that special someone?”

“Yes, but she doesn’t know it yet,” I said.

“What are you waitin’ fer?” Georgia asked.

“Yes, Mr. Anderson. What are you waitin’ for?” Jenny asked, locking eyes with me—a look telling me she had some serious doubts about marrying Jack.

“I’m waiting for her to give me the signal,” I said, laughing and the rest joined in.

*    *    *

We spent the remainder of the evening with Jack’s uptight parents, all of whom boasted their family included a long line of military men. We men blasted the confederates. Wishing aloud that they all went to the devil, while the ladies discussed more maidenly subjects. I don’t really know what, though, for I didn’t get back to town until midnight.

“Good night, Alex,” Jenny said, when they dropped me off at the Gettysburg Hotel. “It was nice meetin’ you.”

“I hope to see you all again,” I said, tipping my new hat while they rode off.

*    *    *

When I finally got my bath, it was heavenly. I soaked for two hours, smoking cigars all the while. Afterward, I slept like a baby and did not wake till ten the next morning.

“Why you’re one of them Victorian men, aint ya?” asked my young waitress in the hotel dining room. “All spit and polish. Was ya here lookin’ at the military guns, and men, and such, ‘er were ya visitin’ and git caught in the gun fire?”

I politely said. “I’m Alex Anderson, and yes, that’s exactly it. I‘m temporarily trapped in Gettysburg.” I left it at that. I immediately wondered at her nosiness.

After my meal, I got directions to Jenny’s house at 51 Brackenridge Street.

On nearing the modest two-story home, I noticed an invalid boy in a neighboring yard in a wheelchair. I immediately recognized him as the child Jenny babysat. “Hello, Isaac,” I said.

He looked up from his reading. “Do I know you?” the brown-eyed youth asked.

“No, but we have a mutual friend, Jenny Wade.”

“She’s my babysitter, but she’s at her sister’s house.”

“Her sister lives on Baltimore Street, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Isaac.”

I continued down the street. Jenny’s sister, Georgia, was due to delivery her son in three weeks. And it would be inside Georgia’s home that, in less than thirty days, Jenny will die . . . but not if I can help it.

“Halt! Halt!” shouted a voice behind me. I turned and saw a union general, who identified himself as Joseph Hooker. The same General Hooker the prostitutes were named after. A group of sixty infantry men stood behind the general’s sleek black horse decorated as elaborately as its bearded and stout rider.

“Yes, may I help you?”

Laughter from the group commenced. The general was not amused. “Yes, you may help us and your country, young man, by enlisting,” he replied.

“I’m from Canada, sir,” I replied. “This isn’t my war.”

The general scowled. “Then you should have stayed in Canada. But since you didn’t, you now belong to the union.” The general and his men laughed again.

“But my possessions are at the hotel,” I pleaded, realizing all I owned was the confederate soldier’s pistol and money, which I carried with me everywhere.

“Everything you need will be supplied by the army,” the general promised.

The presence of the soldiers drew the attention of locals. Some were enjoying the clear weather, while others were occupied with work or various vices the town provided. Yet this was a street amusement to all.

“God bless you boys,” An elderly women shouted and waved from her buggy.

“Give ’em hell, General,” two young boys on unicycles, also yelled.

“Kick ’em clean back to Dixieland,” a shopkeeper added.

Everyone was enjoying the soldiers presence, but me. All I cared about was locating and saving Jenny. If I had my time serum on me, instead of leaving it in my room at the hotel, I could easily have swallowed it and gotten myself out of this fix. But, thus far, this was my closest encounter with Jenny, and I did not want to blow it. I would take my chances with the union army . . . briefly.

General Hooker ordered, “Raise your right hand, boy.”

His men steadied their rifles with attached bayonets’ in my direction to prevent any refusal on my part. I knew, during wartime any physically fit male could and usually was shanghaied into service, and it was happening to me. I exhaled a deep sigh, then promptly did as I was ordered. Even while taking the oath, I planned my escape. All the while, on-lookers cheered and praised me for my sacrifice. Woman hugged me as men shook my trembling and sweaty hand, or patted me on the back.  “Good luck to ya, boy,” and “come back and see us after the war,” were the remarks I received as the folks dispersed.

One of the soldiers gave me a Model-1842 musket. This weapon was already outdated and known for its inaccuracy.

“Fall in line, soldier. You’re the property of the union army now.” urged the laughing general and his merry men.

I hated them all, but reluctantly obeyed. While we marched out of Gettysburg, we met applauders and flag wavers of all ages. Many women and young children wept. We must have reminded them of their missing fathers, husbands, and brothers. Old men, ex-soldiers with missing limbs, waved flags, while whores whistled and blew us kisses from balconies and windows.

Then we passed Georgia’s house, and I saw Jenny. She was more beautiful and delicate then I remembered her from the evening before. She and her sister sat under a maple tree peeling potatoes, until the sound of pounding hooves and stomping feet caught their attention.

As soon as Jenny looked up, I waved frantically. She stood and waved back, and that inspired all my fellow soldiers to wave as well.

Jenny’s long brown hair blew around her head in the wind, forming a coronet. Her slim figure, garbed in a blue and yellow calico dress showing the fullness of her bosom, and the matching bonnet, caught every man’s attention. How could any red-blooded-man resist her smile and blue eyes?

“Jenny! Jenny!” I yelled. Oh, how could she ever see me in this crowd of gyrating hands and arms? Did she wave because we were union soldiers? Did she wave because she was a true patriot and appreciated a soldier’s duty? Or was it because she saw me? The only tall blonde man in a new suit and hat . . . wearing the Gentleman’s Congress boots she had recommended? I did not know the reason for her gesture, but she saw me—our second meeting.

“You don’t know her,” sneered the soldier beside me.

“Oh, yes, I do,” I said with a love-sick smile. “That’s my girl, Jenny Wade.” I continued to wave until she was out of sight.

We walked for miles. By the time we reached our destination, it was night.

“Git some sleep, men, ‘cause we march again at 0600 in the morning,” the sergeant ordered with a sickly leer.

I looked at the campsite. It had rained and there was no dry ground in sight. Suddenly, a female rider on a white steed charged through the camp and stopped in front of me. “Since when did the brave and masculine union army need Victorian snobs to fight the war?”

If she weren’t so young I’d have knocked her off her mount. The accumulation of insults and bad luck since I arrived in Gettysburg was getting to be too much. If I heard one more rude comment about my attire or speech, I might blowing someone’s head off. And now that I had a rifle I could do it.

“My name is Alex Anderson,” I addressed the young scamp. “Who may you be?”

“I may be Miss Annie Jones to you,” the teenager said, decked out in a major’s frock and cap with a camp pass protruding from one of her pockets. “I’m here to see General Kilpatrick, but if he’s not in, maybe I can see you?”

Though the other soldiers snickered at the “weed monkey’s” invitation, I was uninterested. I knew from my history books, that “personal friends” of commanders were off-limits to the general regiment. If I were caught doing a “horizontal drill” with a commander’s “girlfriend” I’d be horse-whipped and, in rare cases, challenged to a duel. No way was I getting my ass kicked—not for the “double spy” I knew Annie to be. There would be no “pillow talk” with her.

“No, thank you, Annie. I want no trouble from your union or confederate friends,” I said, walking off.

“You bastard!” she yelled and lunged at me, but was grabbed by a passing soldier.

“I knew you were a union traitor, hussy!” he yelled, just when General Hooker came out and had her thrown from camp.

“General Robert E. Lee will hear ’bout this!” she yelled, to no avail.

*    *    *

I had been in the army only a few hours and already I had uncovered a spy. I wondered if my discovery of Annie Jones would change the outcome of the war? My next planned escapade included escaping as soon as possible. I sat under a tree and waited for my comrades to dose off. After two hours of hearing nothing but snoring and an occasional cough or fart, I sensed the coast was clear.

Quietly, I snuck into the woods behind the camp. A horse would have made noise and riding was a talent I lacked. But I took my rifle with me.

Dawn arrived soon enough on my trek through the woods, and the sweet smell of biscuits and coffee overpowered me, leading me to a farm house. I peeked though a window. There on the table was a plate of bacon and biscuits. The first food I’d seen in two days.

Suddenly, the cocking of a gun behind me got my attention. I slowly turned around. “Drop your weapon, or I’ll drop you,“ said an old woman pointing a 1859 Carbine, at my midriff.

“Daddy! Daddy!” squealed a small boy behind her, pointing in my direction.

“No, Robby, he ain’t your daddy.”

The woman looked worn and frail from her hard life, bearing a child and doing all the farm work, and she looked at me like I was a tax collector. “Are you a regulator, mister? ‘Cause if ya are, you ain’t welcome.”

I studied the woman, puffing on a loaded corncob pipe with a nervous smile, I politely said, “No, Ma’am, I’m just lost.”

“Well, why didn’t ya say so. If’n you’re lost, that’s okay. It’s the greedy regulators I gotta watch out fer. They think it’s ‘gainst the law to make moonshine. My name’s Emma Keller, but folks jest call me ‘Maw.’ What’s your name?”

“Alex Anderson, at your service.”

“Son, the only kind of service I need is some handy work ‘round the farm. You got any useful muscles under them fancy clothes of your’n?”

“I assure you, ‘Maw,’ I’m as strong as an ox.”

She laughed at my skinny frame then invited me to breakfast with her five children. The small crowded wood house was deplorable. The kitchen appliances appeared little than cave-man-style. A large black cook stove, burning wood, sat in one corner. She kept the bread and butter in a small wooden cage hanging from the ceiling to keep out the mice—and boasted no ice box.

“Now you kids eat up. You got schoolin’ to go to,” said maw.

“Ahhh…maw,” whined the eldest daughter who looked about sixteen. With long auburn hair and large dark eyes, she was a beauty and knew it. She stared holes through me while eating her food slowly and seductively.

“So how long ya stayin’ in Gettysburg, Mr. Anderson?” she asked.

“Actually I’m engaged at the present. Perhaps you folks know the Wade family?”

“Who don’t know ’em?” said the oldest boy Luke. “That whole family’s military . . . and I wished I was.”

“Hush!” yelled Emma. “The war’s done got your daddy. I don’t need no dead youngn’s.”

“I’m sorry, Maw,” Luke said softly, giving her a hug.

“These biscuits are fantastic, and the mulberry jam is heavenly,” I said, trying to liven things up. I felt for the mother and her children, this war had affected every family I had so far encountered.

“Mister, ain’t you never et afore?” the younger girl asked, noticing my ravenous appetite.

I swallowed my mouthful, nodding. “Yes! But I’ve been very busy the past few days.”

“Runnin’ from the union army?”

“How did you know that?”

“’Cause I saw you sworn-in yesterday when I was in town,” said Maw. “I don’t blame ya a bit for desertin’. Every man I ever loved wuz killed in one war or t’other. The army shouldn’t have all the men. It ain’t fair.”

“Real unfair,” said the eldest girl, winking at me from across the table.

“You girls are gonna marry doctors,” Emma declared, noticing my uneasiness.

I dusted off my hands and stood. “So, what work can I do for you, Emma.” I waited while the younger girl removed a crying babe from the next room and handed it to Emma.

Without hesitation, Emma popped out a breast and suckled the child at the table. I was shocked, but the children giggled at my embarrassment.

“You ain’t from ‘round here, are ya?” Emma asked, grinning too. “Little Albert is my last. He looks the most like his daddy.”

Little Albert wore a long white dress reaching to his feet. I had momentarily forgotten that males under the age of five, during this era, were dressed-up to resemble baby dolls just like the girls. They also wore their hair to their shoulders in loose curls.

“There’s gonna be another hang’n in town,” Emma said. “Father and son thieves.”

“Prob’bly the ones who stole our bull,” Luke said, with a sneer.

“If it ain’t cattle rustlin’, it’s train robbin’ they’re hang’n people fer,” the oldest girl said, gulping her milk.

“You youngn’s should watch the lynchin’ since ya gotta pass the jail ta git to the school,” Emma said. “It’ll be a good learnin’ tool fer ya. That’s what happens when ya break the law.”

*    *    *

After breakfast, the three oldest children hitched up the wagon and left for the hanging, then school. Emma placed the baby in his crib, then strolled along with me and Ronny to the barn, behind the house.

At her instructions, I cleaned out the horse stall. Later I mended fences, then I fed the hogs and chickens. It was nice to see animals living free. In my era, one had to utilize the transporter and go to a zoo to see such creatures, or watch them on the family holograph . . . though good, that was not the same.

“Watch your step, Ronny,” Emma warned, when she led me down a flight of stone steps into the family cellar.

Once inside the small enclosure I realized why “Maw” hated regulators so much. She made moonshine, and kept her still in the basement. With five kids and no husband, she had it rough—and this was her only way of making a living.  “What’s the punishment for making and selling hooch?” I asked.

“A fine I can’t afford. If’n the rebels git this far, they are surely gonna take my liquor and livestock, and leave me and the youngn’s with nothin’.”

“Maybe you should move westward.”

“With no money and the Injuns to fret ‘bout? Naw—ain’t nowhere safe, right now—I’m better off stayin’ here and hopin’ for the best. Besides, I kin make a killin’ sellin’ this rotgut to the soldiers.” She laughed again and, for a short time, worries of her family and the approaching confederates seemed forgotten.

I spent the next few days repairing everything we found broken on the farm. I shingled the leaking house and barn roofs. I replaced the rotten floorboards with new ones and chopped down trees, turning them into firewood. At night, Emma and me snuck into the cellar and bottled moonshine by the light of the wax candles I helped make. It was during this quiet time, I learned more about this woman who took me in when I was hungry and cold. The people from this era were certainly poor, but they were hospitable.

“Everyone knows ‘bout my man’s dyin’ a year go. They say they’re sorry fer me, but if’n the town snobs knew ‘bout me sellin’ liquor, they’d run me out of town—five kids or not.”

“Don’t you get a pension from your deceased husband?”

“I git a few dollars a month. Enuff to keep the wolf at bay. But if’n I can marry my girls to socialites, that would ease my achin’ bones fer good.”

“Your daughters are very pretty. I’m sure they will do fine in the marriage market.” I hoped my words eased her worries, but I knew most of the eligible suitors for her girls were gone to war and far too many would never return.

“My girls got the looks to hook a rich man, but they ain’t got the brains to milk a cow.”

Those talks about home and family is what I missed the most when it was time to leave. Just before departing, I tucked some of the money I took from the confederate soldier inside a letter I wrote to Emma. I then placed the letter under her pillow. I knew it couldn’t take the place of her husband, but that’s all I could offer. The family was in dire need of staples and clothing. The girls shared dresses and socks, while the boys’ knickerbockers were worn out at the knees.

“It was real nice havin’ ya here, Alex,” Maw said as Ronny clung to her dirty apron and wept about my departure.

“When me and Jenny marry, we’ll be staying in Gettysburg,” I said to the heartbroken child. “I’d like to see you all again.”

“We made ya some molasses cookies ‘case ya’ll git hungry later today,” said the eldest, offering them, while her sister brushed back tears.

“Thank you, girls,” I said, taking the still warm food, wrapped in a cloth, from the girl’s small hands.

“Thanks for takin’ me fishin’ and help’n me with my math,” said a somber Luke, extending his right hand.

“You’re welcome,” I said, and shook hands solemnly with the man of the house. “Take care of your family.” Luke shook his head in agreement and went back inside. Leaving the Keller family, was the hardest thing I did since arriving here. I secretly hoped I’d never break anyone’s heart again, including mine.

I had stayed as long in hiding as a I had calculated I needed to. Now the time was ripe for me to make my move.

*    *    *

I used the woods to enter town, to avoid being seen. I was now a deserter and could be hung or shot on sight. I hadn’t made any soldier friends during my short time in the union army. I did discover, though, that many of the soldiers were forced to enlist as I had. Most were bitter about losing their families and their freedom. As a result, many of them, given the chance, would turn me in, in a second.

Gettysburg was now even more crowded with union soldiers than before. The town was now a combination Sodom and Gomorrah, a center for rampant immorality, crime and vice, but I had no time for such foolishness. My sole goal was saving Jenny. Now, I had only a few days, but my plan was simple. I would find shelter and stay put till dark, then make my way to Jenny. I knew the location of her sister’s home, I knew the date and time of her death. The hard part would be evading capture or being hit by a stray bullet like Jenny was. Soon, I came to the Shriver house. I remembered the home from the historical archives. It was built in 1860, for George and Hettie Shriver and their daughters, five year old Sadie and three year old Mollie.

It was now night and respectable townsfolk were sound asleep. Safe in their beds while the foul ruled the streets. I walked up the six steps to the front door and used the brass door knob. I heard footsteps from inside, then the front door opened. “Good evening, Mrs. Shriver. Have you any vacant rooms?” I asked the plumb, dark-haired woman.

“Certainly!” she said. “Won’t you come in? And please call me Hettie.”

I entered the huge four-story brick home. “I have only one room left. It’s right up these stairs.” I followed her to the first door at the top of the stairs. “This was my husband’s and my room, but George is away with the army. You saw our building next door, didn’t you? It was George’s dream to open a pub and bowling alley. It was almost done when he was called up.”

Yes, I know George is away. He was wounded and captured by confederates eight days ago. It would be weeks, if not months, before Hettie would be notified of her husband’s fate. The mail was grossly behind in delivery because of the war.

“It must be difficult running a large home by yourself?” I said.

“Yes, very. The work is never done. I wanted to get the pub and bowling alley open as well . . . but I haven’t had the time.” Just then we heard the faint whimpers of a child. “Excuse me, one of the girls woke up.”

I watched her leave my room and walk across the wooden hall to a smaller room. Peering inside, I saw two small beds each occupied by a tiny, curly-haired baby. “Now, Sadie, what’s wrong?” Mrs. Shriver comforted the child.

“I dreamed daddy died in the war.” Those words from a five-year-old cut through me like a saber, for the child’s eerie premonition would soon come true. I knew Mr. Shriver was to be sent to the cruel and infamous Andersonville Prison. A place he would never leave.

“Now, now,” Hettie said, clutching her weeping daughter as her three-year-old slept like a log only a few feet away. “Daddy is fighting against the devil’s work. You know we don’t approve of slavery.”

“But I miss him.”

“We all miss our fathers.”

The child soon fell asleep once again, and Hettie rejoined me. “Both the girls have suffered terrible since their father left for the union army. None of us can sleep, and now they’re having nightmares.”

“Wars are hard on everyone.” I tried, in turn, to comfort the distraught woman. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying, but I’d like to pay for the remainder of the month.”

“That is very generous of you, sir. Can I get you somethin’ to eat.”

“Yes, that will be very kind, thank you.” Again, I followed her. We ended-up in the kitchen on the first floor.

Hettie’s kitchen was much like Emma Keller‘s, just more modern. Hettie’s dinnerware was bone china, not dented tin plates like the Keller’s used. Fresh spices hung from the cupboard and kerosene lamps lighted every room.

“I hope you like stew?”

“My favorite,” I lied. I had never lied so much in my life until coming to this century. I suddenly realized, lying would be a large part of my survival. No one would ever believe the truth.

After I ate, I said good night to Hettie and returned to my room for some well deserved rest.

*    *    *

The next morning I was awakened early, went next door and worked on the pub and bowling alley. A few more hours and this could be ready to go.

I returned upstairs just as I heard children voices. Their door opened and sleepy-eyed Sadie, emerged from their room across the hall from mine, with her sister hidden behind her.

“Good morning, girls.” I smiled. “How about some ham and eggs?”

“Yeahhhh!” They literally squealed.

“Shhhh!” I whispered. “Let’s not wake your mother.” We made our way to the kitchen. I started the fireplace with twigs and paper for the girls to warm themselves. Then I started the huge, cast-iron cook stove. I had no training for this Neanderthal contraption, but we were hungry, and “where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

“Good morning, you all,” smiled Hettie, entering the room all primped and proper as any Victorian lady would be. “I can’t imagine why I overslept, but thank you, Alex, for tending to the children.”

“You’re very welcome, Hettie. I love to cook.” Another lie! I’ve never cooked anything. Everything in my world was freeze-dried, preserved or ready for the microwave. All one had to do, was push a blue button to ready a five-course-meal.

“Hettie, I looked things over . . . and I can work on your pub and ten-pin alley. If you give me the go-ahead, it can be open tomorrow night.”

“Oh, Alex! George will be so happy when he returns.”

“I’m sure he will be.” I gulped, not having the heart to tell the woman her husband’s fate. Perhaps, though, I could make a success of the bar and bowling alley. It was her husband’s dream and it could support their family.

*    *    *

I spent the remainder of the morning and afternoon cleaning and preparing the bar and bowling alley for customers. Then I went out and stood on the corner of Baltimore Street, handing out flyers Hettie had already had printed, to every passerby, advertising the new businesses. By four o’clock, I had one very important customer—Jenny.

“Hello, Alex,” Jenny said.

I stopped drying beer mugs and turned around. There she stood, looking like an angel dressed in gingham. “Hello, Jenny,” I whispered. “I’m glad you came.”

“I’ve never seen a bowling alley. Exactly how does it operate?”

“It’s quite easy. Come with me. I’ll show you.” I escorted her into the back room where they had built the bowling lane. After lighting kerosene lamps for light, I proceeded to show her how the game worked. While I was demonstrating, the ‘pin-setter” came in. I motioned toward the lane. “Set ‘em up, we’ll try a game or two.”

“It’s quite easy.” I scooped up a ten-pound-ball and, after taking the proper stance, carefully rolled it down the alley . . . making a strike. I even impressed myself. I hadn’t bowled since my wife died. Once it had been our favorite hobby. We had even participated on a couple’s team for three years.

“Wonderful, Alex, wonderful!” she cheered, clapping joyfully at my accomplishment. “It is easy, isn’t it?”

“Ah . . . um . . . yes.”

“Can I try now?”

“Of course. Let me find you the right weight bowling ball.”

I found her a seven-pounder. “This should fit you fine.” I motioned for the pin boy to reset the pins, but he had already done so.

She inserted her long slender fingers into the two holes, the ninetieth century wooden bowling balls had, then looked up at me with those deep sea blue eyes. I felt myself becoming aroused. “Take your turn. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I left the bowling alley for the bar to compose myself. I kept telling myself, “Jenny will soon be my bride, and satisfy all my sexual desires. But, in the meantime, she deserves every inch of respect I can give her, and my sudden woody was vulgar and improper.” I felt she also deserved the best beverage in the house. Grabbing up a chilled bottle of champagne, I returned to the alley with two glasses.

“Wonderful! Wonderful!” I shouted at her amateurish attempts at the game. I then placed the beverage and glasses on a small table.

“But the ball rolled into the gutter. I didn’t knock down a singlepin.”

“But you don’t have to knock over the pins, Jenny. You need only enjoy the game.”

We both laughed as she accepted the champagne. “I don’t drink,” she said, cautiously sniffing the bubbly brew.

“Drinking champagne isn’t really ‘drinking.’ It’s good for unclogging one’s system.”

“I’ve heard of that,” she said, gulping her drink like a pro. I watched in amazement, before refilling her glass. With that, we continued our game of bowling and soon finished the champagne bottle. I immediately waved the pin boy away so Jenny and I could have our privacy.

“Jack left for Virginia today. I hope he returns safely.”

“So do I, Jenny,” I said, stealing a kiss.

The champagne must have had an overwhelming effect on both of us for that one kiss was enough to set us off. I locked the doors, and we rapidly sank to the wooden floor and began fornicating like rabbits.

Whether the establishment received other customers that night or not, I do not know. But Jenny and I experienced repeated peaks of ecstasy that evening before slumbering in one another’s arms, right there on the floor of the bowling alley, using the covers from the unused pool table as blankets.

We did not awaken until morning. I felt no remorse for my willfully giving alcohol to the young woman. I already saw her as my wife. And, since we had engaged in multiple bouts of intercourse, that was more or less true.

“Mr. Anderson!” Hettie yelled, slamming through my locked door. “Wake up!” She proceeded to kick my behind to awaken me.

I jumped up. “Yes, Ma’am, I’m awake.”

“What the devil has been goin’ on down here?”

“We had a customer last night. You are acquainted with Miss Virginia Wade, aren’t you?” I asked pointing to my startled guest.

“The entire town knows the Wade family,” Hettie said. “And you’re fired!”

“Fired!” I said. “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, really!” Hettie said, her teeth gritting. “Well, exactly what is it, then? Two naked people in my bowling alley? It’s sure not a game of marbles!”

“Goodbye, Alex.” Jenny jumped up and grabbed her clothing. Covering herself with a table cover, she dashed out.

“Well, she knows when she’s not welcome,” Hettie said. “I’ll give the tramp that.”

“Jenny is not a tramp!” I snapped. “She’s my fiancé.”

“Oh, is she now?” Hettie said, with a sneering laugh. “Everyone in Gettysburg knows she’s promised to Jack Skelley. He comes from money and you ain’t got none. Now git out!” She stomped upstairs. Fired from my first job. How humiliating. I’d never been fired in my life. Now what do I do? I quickly dressed and gathered my meager belongings from my room. As I walked down the stairs to the front door, I encountered Sadie and Mollie weeping. I only hoped they hadn’t heard the ugly argument between me and their mother.

“Girls, what’s wrong?” I asked sitting on the bottom step. I then placed them in my lap. I was sure they hadn’t been this close to a male since their father left for the army. They were fatherless and did not know it. Again my heart went out to them.

“Why do you have to leave?” Sadie asked, brushing away tears.

“Sometimes things between people don’t work out,” I explained. “It’s no one’s fault. It just doesn’t work out.”

“We miss not havin’ a daddy,” Molly said.

“I know you do, but maybe if you pray real hard, your daddy will come back,” I said, trying to cheer up the girls. I kissed them both on the forehead and left. Sadie and Molly were two more broken-hearted souls I had disappointed and had to desert. I walked out into the bright day hoping to find employment and Jenny.

The only work experience I had was chemistry. I knew I could find employment with the United States government, but I had no time for that. I had to save Jenny. I ended up at the bank. “I’m college-educated,” I said. “I can do this job.”

“You’re hired,” said the owner.

Unfortunately, this employment did not last either. Within the next few seconds a group of outlaws burst through the doors. “This is hold-up,” shouted the tallest and ugliest, sticking a pistol in my face.

The elderly teller fainted. The owner and I immediately raised our hands. “The safe is on a timer,” the owner said. “It won’t open for another two hours.”

“That’s why we brought nitro,” the leader said, shoving both the owner and I against the wall. To his accomplice he said, “Watch ’em.”

Immediately a leather-clad, bearded gunman held me and the owner at gunpoint while the leader examined the safe. Within moments, he realized the safe was already unlocked.

“Nice try,” he said, sneering at the banker. “Load up the saddle bags, boys. She’s wide open.”

His delighted men cleaned out the vault and all of them made a clean get-away.

“Why didn’t you do somethin’?” the owner asked, after we lowered our hands.

“Like what? They had a gun on me.”

“You’re fired!”

Fed up at losing two jobs within twenty minutes of each other, I blasted back. “You can’t fire me because I quit.” I shoved him out of my way and stormed out.

Minutes later, I applied and got a sales position in the very men’s store where I bought my suit. My duties included running the cash register, stocking and maintaining the shelves, and doing the evening’s paper work. The worst problems for a person in this position were the shoplifters.

I caught one within the first half hour. “Sir, may I keep the tie at the register until you’re finished browsing? That way you won’t have to carry it in your pocket.”

“Thank you,” the thief said. “I guess that will be all for today.” He obligingly paid, and quickly skedaddled.

There was never a dull moment on this job. I discovered I was suited to be a shopkeeper. My senior boss trusted me and often left for long periods of time leaving me in complete charge. This was a responsibility I relished. When not busy with customers, I swept off the porch as an excuse for watching for my beloved Jenny.

I was employed for three days, however, before I saw her again.

“Hello, Alex.”

Taken off guard, I turned around slowly. I had been looking for her daily, praying she would walk the few blocks to the center of town so I could get a small glimpse of her. Now here she was . . . and I was struck dumb.

“Hel . . . lo.” That’s all I could manage. She had Isaac with her so I chose my words carefully. I dare not jeopardize her reputation anymore then I had already. Being discovered by Hettie was monstrous enough. Yet I hadn’t heard any vulgar rumors of the incident, and hopefully neither had Jenny’s family. “Isaac, would you like a peppermint stick?” I didn’t wait for the boy to say “yes,” I just grabbed a handful of the sweet candy from their large glass jar and gave them to him. “Come, we can talk over here.” I led Jenny into a small alcove.

“Alright! But let’s not get to isolated. Isaac is my chaperone when I come to town. People are accustomed to see’n’ us together.”

“I would never do anything to hurt your reputation . . . well, except the other night.”

“I think we’re both to blame for that.”

“I love you, Jenny!” I blurted it out; I just couldn’t hold it back.

“Please don’t say that.” She paused. “What happened last night was wonderful . . . but—”

“I want to marry you . . .”

“I wasn’t a virgin, Alex.”

“I never thought you were. You are twenty-years-old and engaged. What has that to do with my loving you?”

She turned away to sob. “I promised my hand to Jack.”

I swung her around to face me. Holding onto her shoulders, I looked into her eyes and said, “You don’t owe any man marriage if you don’t love him.”

“The announcements have been sent out. Jack’s parents have paid for the church and service . . .”

I kissed her hard and long. Letting her gasp a moment, I repeated myself, “You don’t owe any man marriage if you don’t love him.”

After she regained her breath from my kiss, she said, “I’ll tell Jack, but face to face. Not in a ‘Dear John’ letter. He deserves at least that much respect.”

“I agree, but I’m going to Virginia with you. It’s too dangerous for women to travel alone.”

“The next train for Virginia, I believe, leaves tomorrow morning.”

“Then I’ll buy the tickets tonight after work.”

“Yes!” she said, twirling around in delight. “Mrs. Alex Anderson. It sounds so proper. Don’t you think?”

“Very proper—and right, too! Now have dinner with me tonight. We should celebrate!”

“Shhhh! Isaac or passersby will hear.”

“I don’t care. I want the world to know we’re in love!”

“I want to celebrate too, but you know we can’t be seen together until I break my engagement with Jack. Be patient. We have eternity.” We kissed again. Then she went to Isaac and they left, taking my heart and future with her.

*    *    *

I closed the shop early, but not before writing my boss a thank you/resignation letter. I felt I owed the man some type of explanation for my sudden departure. I would leave my meager belongings, including the time serum and antidote in the back room until Jenny and I left for Virginia. I then decided to celebrate alone. I still had money from the sale of one of the two pocket watches and my rifle. The Confederate’s pistol I might still need for the Virginia journey. Renegade Indians were still rebelling against the reservations and bandits were everywhere.

After locking the front door, I jaunted across the dirt street to the saloon. “What’ll ya have?” the obese owner and bartender mouthed.

“A huge mug of beer if you please. I’m celebrating.”

“Did yer misses have a baby?” asked the drunk beside me.

“Heck, no! I’m not even married yet. But I will be later this week.”

“Well, drink up, sonny. You’re the best thing in here,” said the bartender with a smug grin.

I lifted the drink. “Cheers to me.” I then downed the lukewarm liquid as the small group of patrons cheered my effort. After wiping my upper lip, I ordered another.

“Congratulations for the upcoming nuptials,” the bartender said, placing another mug in front of me, then throwing down a cigar.

“Thank you, but I don’t smoke,” I said.

“But that cigar came clear from Cuba,” the bartender said. “And I only give ‘em out to my special customers.”

“Well, I am celebrating.” I grabbed up the sweet-smelling vice and the bartender eagerly lit it.

Three puffs is all I remembered. I awoke to find myself on a straw-covered floor. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sat up to examine my surroundings.

“Hello!” A solemn voice said out of the dimness. “How’s your head?”

“Feels like it’s gonna explode,” I said, loosening my tie and realizing I was short a few things. “Where’s my new coat . . . and boots?” Suddenly, I realized my hat, pistol and watch also were missing. Jumping to my stocking feet, I shouted. “I’ve been robbed!”

“No shit!” A gathering of unfamiliar male voices laughed. “The pansy thinks he got robbed.” Laughter again rang out.

“Sir, I am no pansy,” I said, holding my ground with the lumberjack-size man.

“Are ya college-educated?” he asked sternly.

“Yes, sir, I am,” I said, fearful into what hot water my honesty might get me.

“Well, then, you’re a pansy,” he said, laughing.

I was outnumbered, plus too physically and emotionally sick to argue with the fool. I returned to the floor smelling strongly of human urine. I could sense from the rocking, I was on a boat, but headed where?

“What kind of vessel our we on?” I asked.

“It’s a clipper ship,” replied a frail voice. “My name’s Tom Watson. If I wasn’t handcuffed to the bulkhead, I’d shake hands with ya.”

“Why are you handcuffed? The rest of us aren’t.”

“You will be if’n you try to escape,” Tom said. “I suppose we are all victims of forced labor.”

“Do ya remember anythin’? I’m William Pearse, but they call me ‘Salty.’” A small, middle-aged man stretched out a dirty, callous hand.

“Hello, ‘Salty.’ Pleased to meet you.” I shook his hand.

“And I’m James Smoke from Colorado,” the lumberjack offered. “But ya can call me, ‘Smokey.’” We also shook hands.

“Who shanghaied us?” I asked. “The bastard bartender at the saloon?”

“What do ya remember?” Salty asked again.

After a moment of thought, I realized what sealed my fate. “That cigar I smoked.”

With a smirk, Tom nodded. “Yep! The ole’ opium-laced cigar trick. Works every time. That‘s the one that got me, too.”

“For me it was a trap door in a Denver whorehouse,” explained Smokey scratching his head. “Damned lice!”

“If’n it ain’t the lice, it’s the rats and jiggers that git ya,” Salty said. “I was hit over the head walk’n down a dark alley. I was on my way ta pick up my sweetheart. I’d even shaved and brought flowers.”

“Tom, are you the only one who tried escaping?” I asked, alarmed by the men’s quiet tolerance of their capture.

“No!” Smokey said. “But he’s the only one they beat for tryin’ to escape.”

“I guess they jest used the youngest one for an example,” Salty said, leaning back against the wooden wall.

“Are you okay, Tom?” I asked, noticing the boy’s lack of movement. “Is there no doctor on board?”

“Yes, but the sailor who shanghaied me took all my money . . .” he said, his voice fading . . . and proceeded to pass out.

Smokey waved an arm. “On these ships, when ya need a doctor, ya gotta pay fer it.”

I crawled to the young lad, only to be shocked. “He’s dead!” I quickly moved away and a sullenness engulfed the hold.

Abruptly, Smokey shouted, “You sons-a-bitches!” He jumped to his massive feet. “You son-of-a-bitches! I’ll kill all of ya’s.”

Immediately, the sound of running feet rattled the boards above.

“Shhhh!” Salty whispered. “They’re comin’.” He cowered in a corner, covering his head.

Four of them came bursting through the door. Large, sweaty, filthy and mean-looking sailors swinging clubs and brandishing knives. They came through the wooden door as it were cardboard. The lead man scowled and swung his club into his fist. “You gutter rats ‘causin’ trouble agin?” He kicked Salty in the ass with his steel-tipped boot.

Behind the massive red-headed leader came a jaunty, master-of-arms. This brute appeared to love dishing out the ship’s discipline, he and his two following subordinates.

“Tom’s dead. I hope you bastards are happy.” Smokey sneered, and swung at the master-of-arms.

“Oh, no, ya don’t!” the jaunty yelled. Skillfully ducking the punch, he gouged Smokey in the stomach with his baton.

Smokey went to his knees, vomiting. I hid in the dark. Outnumbered, out-manned, and out-weaponed. We didn’t stand a chance.

Suddenly, I saw a way to escape. Slim, but I took it. I bolted out the door while Smokey and Salty fought for their lives. Racing up the short flight of stairs without stopping to survey my surroundings, I flew across the deck and dove overboard. I don’t believe anyone on deck saw me, though a few of the pirate-like shipmates stood top-side hunched over a small boat.

Swimming around the port side, I could not believe my luck. Fastened by a line just ahead of the stern lay another small rowboat. Swimming slowly and quietly, I made my way to the boat. Equally quiet, I climbed in and rowed away as silently as I could manage. But it was not going to be that easy. Someone had seen me!

The boatswain shouted, “Man overboard!”

His outcry took everyone to the opposite side. Hearing the warning, Kelly and his goons must have scampered upstairs. Immediately, they saw me, whipped out their pistols, and began firing in my direction. I rowed like hell, but was still grazed in the shoulder.

They soon gave up when I faded away into the darkness . . . and ceased firing. Relaxing, I nearly collapsed from exhaustion, dehydration and lack of nourishment. I woke up hours later with the rowboat grounded on a mud flat.

I had no idea where I was, but it was land. Securing the rowboat to a tree, I struggled through ankle-deep mud, sending snakes and other small animals scattering, toward a heavily tree-lined shore. On land, at last, I fought each step forward until late at night. By this time, I felt I could not go another fifty feet.

At last, I saw a lighted candle in the window of a tiny shack. I stumbled slowly toward the structure afraid of what might be inside. More crimps? Bandits? Indians? I was even unsure where I was—on the Union or Confederate side? I did not even know if I were still in America. Perhaps this was an ocean island?

Lost in the Atlantic ocean or arousing murderers, I could very well be facing my death. But I had no choice. I was desolate. I had no knowledge of the day or time. I knew only a deeply ingrained desperation.

I elected to chance it. I stopped at the door. Listened, and heard voices, both male and female, I softly knocked. That caused an immediate silence within the cabin. Then the candle went out.

Were the people inside afraid of me? But why? Were the occupants more outlaws on the lam? Cattle rustlers or killers? Were the male and female voices an adulterous liaison I accidentally stumbled upon?

I knocked again and pressed my ear against the cheap wooden door. I heard approaching footsteps. The soft steps of a woman or child appeared to be coming to answer my knock. I backed away. The door slowly opened to reveal a familiar face.

“Aren’t you Harriet Tubman?” I asked the ebony woman. Standing before me was the very woman who had organized the Underground Railroad, considered the number one person who caused the Civil War.

“Who are you, sir . . . may I ask?”

“My name is Alex Anderson and I’m at your mercy,” I said—and collapsed, falling into a coma.

*       *       *

When I awoke, I lay on a makeshift bed placed on the floor, surrounded solely by blacks. Lifting my head, two helped me drink a bit of tea. With that I had enough strength to ask, “What happened?”

“You passed out . . . apparently from malnourishment,” Harriet said, spooning into my mouth a bowl of beef broth and handing me a stale biscuit.

“Thank you,” I said. Grabbing the spoon and roll, I rapidly devoured the food.

“Are you runnin’ away. too?” asked a wide-eyed negro child.

“I sure am. Some men shanghaied me from a saloon in Gettysburg. I never thought I’d see land again.”

“You’re in New Jersey now, mista’,” a handsome young black offered. From his strapping appearance I had no doubt he had been used for breeding stock on his owner’s plantation.

New Jersey was one state not experiencing any major battles during the Civil War. It did, though, provide the Union with troops, equipment and leaders. Major General Phillip Kearny, for whom the Kearny Medal and Kearny Cross were named, was a native. After his death, his hometown in New Jersey was renamed Kearny in his honor.

“We’re all free now,” said a young black woman, heavy with child.

I explained why I was heading south, when I was obviously a northern. “I am trying to prevent my girlfriend from being murdered.” They gave me a puzzled look.

“You’re welcome to travel with me,” Harriet said. “I need to go south again.”

*       *       *

I spent the night with this small group, but got very little sleep. The northern families who agreed to foster runaway slaves periodically arrived to retrieve them. At daybreak, following a lean breakfast of coffee and biscuits, I hitched up Harriet’s wagon and we headed into town. All I needed now was a train to get back to Jenny, and Harriet had agreed to loan me the fare. I knew there was a large bounty on her head for helping southern blacks escape to the north, but she never once mentioned the bounty or fear of being hung if she were caught, so neither did I.

“I cant figure ya out, Alex,” Harriet said, while we rode to town with my driving. “If’n that is ya real name.”

“It’s my real name and if you’re thinking I’m a Confederate spy, I’m not. I’m as northern-hearted and lost as you are.”

“So who are you out to help if’n ya ain’t a soldier, spy or freedom fighter?”

“I’m out to change one woman’s life, so I can have the love I’ve always wanted.”

“Well, if’n you ain’t the strangest white man I’ve ever met.” She slapped her leg and gave out a hearty laugh. “Most men today are either hide’n or fight‘n. Cowards hide. Heroes fight. You fall somewhere in between . . . and you can be killed more than either of the others.”

The trip to the train station took longer than I thought. Only a few miles from town, we were bushwhacked by bounty hunters after anyone with a bounty on his head. Today, it was Harriet.

“Don’t try it, bitch!” yelled the lead bandit followed by two Mexican henchmen. With cocked pistols aimed at us, Harriet raised her hands in submission. I mimicked her obedience. “Now empty your pockets. Both of ya’s.”

We did as we were instructed. Just then a steel-barred paddy wagon pulled by two horses entered the clearing. The driver, an Indian, immediately jumped from the driver’s seat and opened the door behind him.

“Get in!” yelled the leader.

I was aghast. “You can’t be serious, sir.”

“I’m as serious as this gun in your face. Now git in!”

“We better do as he says, Alex. The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Harriet said.

So I helped the old woman into the barbaric cage. We rode in the contraption for hours in the hot sun with only hard wooden, built-in benches to sit upon. The heat escaping from the steel bars was hot enough to fry eggs. “Water, please!” I begged, but was refused.

“We’ll be stoppin’ soon enough,” the leader said, with a sickening laugh. But his fun was short-lived. Unexpectedly, the bushwhackers were bushwhacked themselves. . . an arrow penetrated the driver’s chest, killing him instantly.

“We’re outnumbered!” the Indian driver yelled.

On his call, the Indian and his Mexican comrades attempted an unsuccessful escape.

Piscataway Indians surrounded us. Using huge sword-like knives of a machete form, they sliced the Mexicans to pieces within minutes.

The Indian bandit was not as lucky. Enemies of the Piscataway’s, they subjected the Redman to torture no human should ever endure. After picking the dead men clean of all possessions, the Piscataway’s got drunk on the bottles of whiskey the leader carried in his saddlebags.

Throughout the night, between sips of alcohol, the captors took turns toying with their terrified prey. With him tied, spread-eagled on the ground, they cut off, one by one, the naked man’s extremities, beginning with his fingers and toes. Soon they moved on to his ears, his nose, his penis then testicles. With each scream, his captors hooted and howled with delight at his excruciating pain.

The whole scene sickened me. I guess I should have been grateful they did not do the same thing to Harriet and me, but I wasn’t. “Can’t you animals leave him alone. Just kill him and get it over with.”

Harriet pleaded with me, “Alex, we can’t help him. Please don’t anger them.” She obviously was accustomed to their inhuman ways, I was not. In my world, such disrespect and torture no longer existed. Finally, I shut up and turned away from the bleeding man while his agonizing screams penetrated the still of the night . . . until he became permanently silent.

“Is that God’s mysterious way?” I asked, realizing the Indian was dead.

“He’s at peace now, isn’t he?” Harriet said, closing her eyes, now able to sleep.

I turned and stared at the drunken Piscataway’s. They seemed disappointed their plaything was out of commission. What were they saying to one another, I wondered? Would Harriet and me be their next entertainment? But the whiskey and hours spent on the dead man seemed to have satisfied them. One by one, they fell to the ground and into a deep, drunken slumber. That was what I had stayed alert for. This was our chance at escape.

“Give me a hair pin,” I whispered. Harriet obeyed.

I easily picked the antique lock on the cage and opened the rickety door.  Looking to ensure none of the sleeping Indians wise to my antics, I slowly and quietly stepped from my entrapment.

Now I had to get Harriet and myself to a horse and escape without being heard or caught. As quiet as a mouse, I crept past two of the Indians and their small cache of loot, including money, rifles, pistols and a Union sword. It suggested a Yankee had also met his fate with the bounty hunters.

Finally, the horses were within my grasp, but . . . the abrupt howling of a nearby coyote ruined an easy escape. The canine’s blood-curdling scream awoke every sleeping person. It was now a fight or die situation.

Immediately the sleeping Indian’s abruptly woke and stumbled to their feet. They clumsily pulled their knives from their sheaths. I reached blindly into the arsenal of weapons, taking the first thing my trembling hand felt—a rapier. I thanked God I had taken up fencing as an adolescent, after watching “Gone With the Wind.” Yet I had never seriously fought anyone. Especially not in a fight to the death!

These Indians, however, wanted my scalp. I immediately assumed a fighting stance, which probably looked pretty foolish to the Indians. It was then my years of training spoke for  themselves.

The fat one charged first. I lunged and my sword went through his stomach like butter. His death only fueled his friends’ fury. The other two charged me simultaneously, jabbing at me from both sides. Once the initial shock and fear evaporated, I easily regained my confidence and slew them both, with two sideward slashes.

“Bravo! Bravo, Alex!” Harriet clapped and shouted from her confinement. “You are a true hero.”

I helped her out of the contraption and we retrieved our monies from our captors. We then rode toward the sunrise and town on horseback.

*       *       *

New Jersey appeared bursting with excitement. When Harriet and I entered town, many people, black and white recognized her. Although New Jersey was a free state for blacks, some white folks continued to hold their age-old deep-seated resentments against negroes, their newly acquired freedom, and their right to stay in the United States. Many wanted to boat them back to Africa. That, of course was out of the question, for many blacks born and raised in America had no hunting or survival skills, as did African-born blacks. The freed slaves could not survive in Africa. Also many were eager for and helped the United States achieve its goals—a place where everyone, despite color, religion, race, or any differing distinction, could share success and be free.

“I surely thought I was a gonner back there, but I wouldn’t change nothin’,” she said, hugging me. “I’m never gonna fergit ya, Alex.”

“And I’m never gonna forget you, Harriet,” I said and hugged her tightly.

Harriet laughed. “You is the strangest white man I know.” She watched until I boarded the train to Gettysburg.

I waved until she was out of sight. I was gratified in knowing how her future turned out, how she continued freeing slaves, and how she would live to an old age. It was my future I was unsure of.

*       *       *

Days passed. Jenny most certainly must have thought I ran out on her. God, I hope she didn’t go to Virginia and marry Jack. If that were the case, should I forget her? Or should I restart my journey from the beginning and again try to save her life and marry her? I just hoped I would arrive in Gettysburg before the Confederate invasion. I knew my presence in this century had changed history at some point. First, with the Confederate soldier and now with the Indians. Were there children or good fortunes in their futures that now will never be, because of me. Perhaps I had the opportunity to stop the Civil War in its entirely? The extent of my presence’s changing history bothered me, but I was in this too far and had to see it through—no matter what.

Harriet once more gave me enough money for the train fare and one meal . . . and I needed it now. The Indians had stuffed themselves, eating every bit of food Harriet, the Mexicans, and I had. To cause Harriet and me further discomfort, they had teased us during our confinement, throwing their scraps at us through the bars.

Harriet, a tough old bird, refused to lower herself to their animalistic level, perhaps because she starved as a child and slave, but I had been a pampered wimp. My entire upbringing had been twenty-four-karat gold. Even in this era, I would never have survived without someone’s helping me. I believed I had a guardian angel watching over me, but would he watch over, Jenny, my beloved, also?

It was now July ^2nd, and I would spent the entire day on the train. Between trying to sleep sitting up, putting up with the constant chatter of two grandmas in the seat behind me, the smell of dirty diapers and rancid human body odors, I comforted myself by thinking of my future with Jenny. Would we live in this time era with her relatives, or live in my almost perfect time zone? Or perhaps, with my continued research on my time serum, Jenny and I could move back and forth through time. How interesting would that be I wondered, as I watched the pioneer life flash by me through the train’s windows.

Today was the day Jenny believed her sister’s home (south of town and near Cemetery Hill) was a safer refuse then her family’s home on Breckenridge Street. Along with the newborn, Jenny’s young brother, Harry, will be present. For the next several hours, up to the time she dies, Jenny would relentlessly bake biscuits and bread, and answer the repeated knocks at the door by Union soldiers requesting food and water for their horses and canteens.

Today was also the day hordes of defeated Yankee troops retreated from Seminary

Ridge and Oak Ridge to the south side of town. This retreat caused the Union Army’s right flank to break in the afternoon. Jenny would stand alone outside her sister’s house, offering cool water to these terrified and retreating men.

The sun was blistering. The men’s heavy uniforms produced only a steady downpour of sweat. The fighting that day resulted in an incomplete Confederate victory.

Watching the Union soldiers fleeing through town, chased by the enemy, only intensified the fears of the residents. Those not hiding in their cellars would later tell of their peeking through their curtains to get a glimpse of the battle. Watching their soldiers running for their lives and leaving the residents at the mercy of the Confederate, soured and angered many in Gettysburg. Once the confederates reached town, they were in easy rifle range of Georgia’s house.

The train stopped shortly to allow two union soldiers-twins, to board. Both looked older than their young age. “Have you any word about Gettysburg?” I asked the one.

He looked up with a glum expression. “I don’t think the reinforcements are gonna arrive in time. Yesterday nine thousand rebels arrived in Gettysburg. Woke up the whole damned town.”

Later that evening, a few passengers exited the train and I managed a new seating area for myself. The two old grannies had not yet departed. They also were bound for Gettysburg. What horror was awaiting them, I wondered, as I listened to them gossip about their deceased husbands, nosey neighbors and blackhearted relatives fighting for the south. All the while they talked and knitted at breakneck speed.

The new seat I chose turned out to be more interesting. I sat near a prisoner handcuffed to a Pickerington detective, I wondered about his fate. He seemed to have no escape and would surely die. The Pickerington Detective Agency was known for getting their man. This man’s fate was already sealed, just like my Jenny’s, if I didn’t get to Gettysburg by morning.

The detective then removed a Compiler newspaper from his inside jacket pocket. I was curious and concerned about the Confederate advancement and dared to ask the stern-looking lawman, “I say, detective, sir, anything about the war?”

“Nothin’ good,” he said, twisting his bushy mustache. “It says right here that thirteen thousand Southerners with twenty-three cannons and a wagon train were camped nine miles northeast of Gettysburg, on June 29. It also says the townsfolk could see the Confederate campfires a flickerin’ and dottin’ the eastern slopes of South Mountain. Barbarians! If’n ya ask me. Scarin‘ decent folks like that.”

His prisoner snickered at the thought of the impending carnage. But only until the officer backhanded him across the lips, wiping the demonic joy from his ugly face.

Just then, two bandits entered the compartment, interrupting my daydreaming.  Shielding their faces behind dirty bandanas, and without blinking an eye, the larger man shot the detective in the back of the head. He then relieved the lawman of his keys, freeing the captive.

“This is a holdup!” yelled the scrawny bandit, firing his pistol into the ceiling of the train. Immediately the train was filled by numerous cutthroats brandishing weapons.

“It’s ‘bout time ya got here,” said the prisoner, grabbing the dead detective’s pistol from its holster.

“We wasn’t gonna let ‘em hang ya. Quit whinin‘,” the large bandit said.

Just then the gang’s German comrade entered from the front of the train. “I told you to stop the train!” yelled the scrawny bandit.

The German laughed and said, “He grabbed a shotgun instead of the brake. So I blew his guts out.”

“You mean there’s no one driving the train?” an elderly woman asked.

“Only the angels,” the German said.

Children screamed and two women fainted. The large bandit removed his hat and ordered all passengers to empty their pockets. There went my food money, I thought. I was so furious, I could have strangled the bandits with my bare hands, if they did not have such intimidating armory.

“I can pilot the train,” I said . . . and all eyes fixed on me.

The scrawny bandit approached and studied me carefully. “You an engineer?”

I swallowed hard. “Not really.”

“Well, then, ya must be a spy,” he sneered. His foul breath reeked. “Ya know what we do with spies?”

I swallowed again. Sick to my stomach with fear, I was greatly outnumbered. “I rob stage coaches. I’m runnin’ from the law.”

The bandits burst into laughter. “Welcome aboard!” the large bandit said. “Here you can finish lootin’ the folks, then stop the train. Our friends and horses are wait’n fer us ‘round the bend.” He handed me his hat, half-full of rings, watches, wallets and money. I sprang into action. Going up the aisle, I grabbed wildly at the valuable items held in the trembling, out-stretched hands of the passengers, their frightened, teary eyes silently hoping their lives were to be spared. I’d never robbed anyone in my life, and there was certainly no pleasure in it. I handed the remaining bandit the filled hat and raced to the engineer station.

I spotted the horses a short distance ahead, and brought the train to a halt. I saw the animals were guarded by a young man. He would be no trouble overtaking. I was determined to escape. My Jenny dies at 8:30 in the morning, while baking bread, but not if I can help it.

“Howdy!” I yelled, after jumping from the train. I smiled big and waved to the lad as I approached.

“Howdy! Are you Porter?” he asked with a big smile.

“I sure am.”

“Jed told me all ’bout ya. I’m sure glad we freed ya ’fore they hung ya.”

Obviously, the kid believed me to be the prisoner his gang held up the train to save. That was fine with me. “Yep! I’m real glad too. Which horse is mine?”

“Uh, ya can have the bay, I guess.”

Without hesitation I jumped on the mare and with one gouge to her ribs she flew off fast as lightening. I left the kid talking to himself. I sure hope his leader doesn’t kill him for his naïve blunder.

I rode for hours before giving the horse a rest. I had no water or food for either of us. I did not know the area I was traveling through, so I had little chance of finding water quickly. I had to hope I and the mare were strong enough to make the long and rough trip with the body fluids we had.

I did, though, allow the animal short breaks. The animal, being young, made the stressful journey easier, I believed. There was no time for sleep. I had little time left to save Jenny. I was glad I didn’t have my serum with me when I got shanghaied. The clipper caption surely would have it.

I first needed to retrieve the serum from the shop. This is now the most dangerous part of my journey. I have no weapons, money, and pray the horse is steered in the correct direction.

With no supernatural way of getting to Jenny from here, I must take the long way there—the normal way. I rode through the night. I stopped for nothing or no one. Not the deserting union soldiers who didn’t want to see me any more than I wanted to see them. Not for the scattered troops of confederates who had lost their bearings. Nor for the strewn renegade Indians who shot arrows in my direction just because I was a white man.

I raced through bear and wolf territory on a wing and a prayer—thankful a hungry carnivore did not overtake my exhausted mount. The horse’s keen sense of smell alerted me to the animal dangers. Occasionally, I saw their eyes shining through the brush or heard an occasional growl or howl nearby. I knew from the mare’s nervousness, if we stopped, we would be dinner for some hungry bobcat or coyote pair.

Finally, I arrived. It was now July 3rd, and in a few hours, Jenny would be struck down by a sniper’s bullet.

The sounds of battle were everywhere . . . and loud. I were still a few miles from the center of Gettysburg, but I was in Gettysburg. I knew the Confederates had assaulted the Union’s right and left flanks the evening before. The casualties for both sides were growing rapidly. By the end of the Battle, both sides would suffer more than twenty-three thousand dead, wounded and missing soldiers. The men captured would be sent to Andersonville Prison, and virtually none would survive its inhumane conditions. Right now, the Union was greatly outnumbered and will not have reinforcements until 10:30 A.M.—but my Jenny dies at 8:30 a.m.

I knew where Jenny was, but was unsure how to get there safely. I had inadvertently entered the town from the south, the Confederate-occupied side, and Georgia’s house lay on the north side of town. I stopped my mount on a small hill overlooking the town. It was a sight I will never forget. The entire sky was bright with gunfire. The screaming of the wounded and dying was unbearable.

Suddenly the mare dropped from under me. I had run the poor creature to death.

I hit the ground hard. The animal would be the first of many of God’s creatures to die because of my selfishness over Jenny. I lay trapped under the dead horse. It took me many moments to free myself. My ankle was sprained, but I had to forge on.

I knew I must make it to the general store and retrieve my serum and anti-dote from its hiding place.  I planned to get Jenny to swallow the serum and transport her into my time zone. I should have planned my strategy better. This was going to be a difficult task. I had little time to explain and convince her. If only I hadn’t been shanghaied from the saloon.

I lay on the dew-covered ground, resting, thinking of ways to cross town without being killed or captured. I knew from history books where the blue and gray forces were, but what if history were wrong? These men were fighting for their very lives, their families. Some will die from friendly fire. And, what was worse, these men probably hadn’t slept or eaten for more than twenty-four hours. Plus the town was filled with deserters. What if I run into one of them accidentally? Would he shoot me out of fear, hatred or convenience?

My best way to the store was to keep low, use the pre-dawn to my advantage, and confiscate any weapons I found along the way. I’d come this far and I was so close to saving Jenny, I couldn’t let anything or anyone stop me now. If I had to do it, I would kill my fellow man to reach Jenny.

My ankle had swollen, but I forced myself to stand. Momentarily I, too, was dazed from pain and lack of sleep and food. I imagined what Jenny was doing at this very moment. History said no citizen slept during the battle. Most hid in their cellars and prayed for the Union to win. Or prayed they would not be taken as prisoners, tortured or raped.

Jenny was painstakingly baking biscuits for the Union soldiers who knocked at her door. She and Harry, snuck outdoors periodically to fetch wood for the stove, or water from the backyard well. There was no time for bathing. They had time only to bake, feed themselves, and feed hungry soldiers. The alluring scent of the fresh hot biscuits was sure to lure soldiers of both sides to her door. She dared not refuse a rebel food nor water, for surely she would be shot dead. Little did she know there were two young Union soldiers hiding in her upstairs’ bedroom. They would stay hidden until Jenny was shot, and they heard the heartbreaking screams of Mrs. Wade and the cries of sister Georgia.

Slowly, I advanced. I tried to bypass the battlefield by keeping to the outskirts of the fighting. Soon, extensive fighting covered all the streets. Every home and building became makeshift hospitals for Union and Confederate soldiers. If a household refused care to a wounded rebel, the family members were killed. In some cases, Union and Confederate soldiers found themselves barging into the same home-forced to fight hand to hand.

Suddenly, I heard the moans of a wounded Confederate. “Help me, please,” he begged. I moved closer. Looking around, I saw he was alone.

“I’m not a doctor,” I said. “But what can I do for you?”

“Water,” he rasped.

I removed his canteen from his bleeding body and put the mouthpiece to his lips. He drank several long swallows. “Thanks,” he said, and lay back, dying. He was no more then fifteen. I closed his sad brown eyes. Then I removed his coat, hat, and musket from his dead body before continuing on. The area I was in was heavily occupied by rebels. Perhaps, if I disguised myself as a Confederate, I could slip by them easier. I had few choices, and even less luck, right then.

The only light came from gunfire and burning buildings, but it would be dawn soon. My stumbling around in the dark might be heard and possibly get me accidentally shot. Another obstacle I feared.

I continued on. Even with weapons, I felt no safer or braver, but groped onward, through the briars, weeds, and tall grass toward town. I used every building, tree, boulder, fence and outhouse for cover. There would soon be light, which would not be to my advantage. I must retrieve my serum and reach Georgia’s house before sunrise or I was fair game for the thousands of Union soldiers.

“Hey! Got any minie balls?”

“Huh!”

“I said, ‘Got any minie balls?’ I’m out.”

A Confederate soldier had spotted me behind a large tree. “Uh, yeah. Here ya go.” I handed him the dead soldiers pellet bag and he took what he wanted.

“Thanks! My name’s Matthew. Like in the Bible. My family ain’t religious.  Maw jest liked the name. Hey, ya don’t talk much, do ya?”

“I’m sorry. You just startled me, that’s all.”

“Where’d ya learn ta talk like that? Are ya educated?”

“Yes! I studied in Europe.”

“Whoo-wee! Ya been ta France?”

“Yes.”

“Well, ain’t that all get out? I can’t wait ta tell my folks ‘bout ya. Can ya write me a letter fer ‘em?”

“Well . . . I . . .”

Just then the poor babbling fool was shot through the head by a Union sharpshooter. His skinny body slumped to my feet while I kissed the ground behind the tree. Through the light of the cannon and gun fire, I saw Confederate soldiers advancing toward town. The Union soldiers were few and scattered.

Many soldiers, out of fear, shot at anything that moved. I felt like a deer during deer season.

“Soldier! Get on your feet!” ordered a deep voice from behind. I swung around prepared to be shot, but there before me on a great white steed, sat General Robert E. Lee, himself. I leaped to my feet. What a magnificent picture the man made, sitting there. His brass buttons shone in the light of the gunfire. His gray uniform slightly pieced from flying shrapnel. His red blood staining the openings of the small tears.

“Yes, sir!” I said.

“Are ya a coward or a soldier?”

“A proud Confederate soldier, sir!”

“Then git your Rebel hide movin’. We got lots of Yankee ass ta kick.”

“Yes, sir!” I jumped in with a passing group of running soldiers, headed toward the front line. Staying low, I prayed not to see any Union soldiers. I hoped not to have to shoot anyone. Blindly, I ran straight ahead. Blood and guts lay everywhere around us. I did as my fellow Confederate soldiers did. I stepped over the dead and ignored the wounded begging for aid. Some Confederate soldiers stopped to finish off wounded  Union soldiers, with their bayonets, or by bludgeoning the wounded man with the butt of their rifle, taking sick pleasure in it.

Confederate medics raced from Confederate body to Confederate body trying to save their comrades. They ignored the Union wounded, letting them bleed to death.

Night creatures also squirmed, crawled, slithered and snuck through the grass. What a smorgasbord of rotting human flesh awaited them. But I forged on. Some Confederates stopped to rob the dead. You cold-hearted bastards, I thought. My plans now included getting into town and away from the Confederates, to find a Union uniform.

Through the darkness, when Generals Lee and Heth were preoccupied with commands, I made a break for it. I slipped from the group of soldiers I was with and dove into a cluster of bushes. The Confederates made their way forward to the Union’s left flank. I thanked God I had gotten away—those brave and foolish men within a few minutes would soon be fighting the bloodiest part of the battle, bayonet to bayonet.

Since I heard cries of the dying sounding all around me, I stayed where I was. Not until the blasting of cannons, stomping of human feet, and thundering of horses hooves faded, did I move. I looked up from my hiding spot and saw only a few confederates remained in the immediate area. The majority of Rebel troops had passed. A few wounded and older soldiers trailed the main group into town.

When I poised to leave, I noticed another soldier dying nearby. I knelt to help as I had earlier, and realized the soldier was female. I held her head in my trembling and filthy hands. “Have you seen my husband, Michael Stamper?” she whispered between gulps for air.

“He’s still fighting,” I lied. Not knowing her man, I wanted only to comfort her, letting her die believing her husband was alive.

“Tell ‘im I love ’im,” she said . . . and took her last, shuddering breath.

“I will,” I said to the dead woman who reminded me of Jenny. Is this how Jenny looked when her mother found her dead on the kitchen floor? Her big eyes filled with shock, her checks stained with tears?

“Alex!” I spun around, wondering who the voice came from. It was Luke. Maw Keller’s eldest boy.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, scanning the area to ensure we were not seen.

“I can ask ya the same thing,” he said. “And why the uniform?”

“I’m in disguise. I’m trying to get to the general store. Can you help me?”

“I think so. I got a horse over there,” he said, waving to one side.

We ran to the animal and I helped him aboard. I threw myself up onto the animal’s bare back. We took off through the outer portion of the field, and I shook off my Confederate jacket.

We made it to the store without being shot or seen. I brought the now sweating horse to a fierce stop.  Dismounting, I yelled, “Get out of here, Luke. Find a hole and jump in until you hear total silence.” The fighting was now everywhere in the streets of Gettysburg. Bullets flew like mad hornets every which way.

The lad quickly obeyed. I raced into the store that was now riddled with bullets and cannon balls. My elderly boss was no where to be found. I prayed he was safe. Reaching the backroom, by stumbling over broken furniture and fallen canned goods and scattered clothing, I found my serum and anti-dote, still in its hiding place, unharmed. I shoved it into my pocket and left.

Once outside, shattered buildings lay to my right and left, confusing me. Cannon balls had blasted through brick and wood, causing fires within. On every side bullets whizzed by. Each time a bullet found its mark, a soldier screamed in pain. Dead bodies and stray animals littered the once beautiful streets. Now only the sounds of the dying, dead, and terrified, was heard.

Suddenly, I was spotted. I had traveled the alleyways hoping to stay hidden by the homes on either side, so close . . . I failed. Now, though, many of the houses were in ruin, giving little cover to soldier or civilians. “Drop the rifle.” Was the first thing I heard. I obeyed.

Walking out from behind a high wooden fence, came a battle-fatigued Union soldier. “You’re my first prisoner, Reb.”

“You got it all wrong, friend. I’m a Union supporter,” I said, adding a nervous smile.

He advanced. Rifle fixed upon my chest. “Then what ya doin’ with that Rebel canteen?” he asked, with a sneer.

I had gotten rid of the Rebel hat and coat, but kept the canteen for the water. How foolishly stupid!

“I disguised myself to get into town. I’m trying to save my fiancée, Jenny Wade. Please let me go,” I pleaded.

“Miss Wade is engaged to Jack Skelly, and you ain’t him,” he said, cocking his weapon.

“The engagement plans have changed,” I said. “We’re only two blocks from the McClellan home. Follow me there. I can prove I’m who I say I am.”

The soldier thought about my proposition, then said, “Does this house have food and water?”

“Yes! Jenny is baking fresh bread at this very minute.”

“Then she better have some boysenberry jam for that bread—or you’re dead. Let’s go. I’m right behind ya, so don’t try nothin’ funny.”

I proceeded at a slow walk. The soldier stayed close behind me, his gun jammed into my back. I dared not run. But I knew Jenny’s time was fast running out. “I say, do you have the time?”

“You should be worried ‘bout stayin’ alive, right now. You better not be lyin’ ‘bout this home havin’ food.”

“My good man, I assure you I’m quite certain about the hospitality you will receive for not killing me.”

“You’re steal’n Jack’s girl, aint ya? If that ain’t cold.”

“I’m not stealing anyone’s girl—” Just then a shot rang out and I hit the dirt. From the ground, I looked behind me at the young man. He had been shot through the neck.

Back on my feet, I fled through the backyards toward Baltimore Street. I heard skirmishing and rifle fire within the next block but kept running. Many soldiers died in the McClellan yard as I neared. Probably those who had come in answer to their hunger of Jenny’s biscuit’s appealing odor. The smell of death lay everywhere like flies.

Jenny had tried to stay outside to help, but the danger was growing too intense for her to leave the safety of the thin-walled brick home. Even her mother hid beneath the clothes hutch as the fighting progressed.

The Union and Confederate soldiers yelled and cursed one another. When out of bullets they threw rocks and fallen bricks at each other. Knife fights took place in alleys and backyards. Despite this, the bloody scene caused Jenny to creep outside to cover the dead with white linen cloth.

The house sustained one-hundred-fifty bullet holes that day. The family muttered silent prayers of gratitude that the flying projectiles failed to puncture the walls of the small two-story double-house. Only when a misdirected, ten-pound Parrott shrapnel shell, shot from two miles away, pierced the north side of the roof, did my strong Jenny faint.

The history books said Jenny had been up since four A.M. baking. Before the fighting broke out, she had helped elderly neighbors pack their belongings too leave town.

This morning, Jenny and her family ate a frugal breakfast of bread, butter, applesauce and coffee. Afterward, she rested on a lounge in the parlor near the north window before beginning her usual religious devotions. She read aloud from her Bible to the house’s other occupants, possible to ease their fear and feelings of hopelessness. This morning, she read Psalms XXVII to XXX. One verse in particular was her favorite. I silently recited it while racing frantically through the now-lighted streets, “The lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The lord is the strength of my life, of whom shall I be afraid? Though war shall rise against me, in this will I be confident, Lord; be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart.”

Finally, the McClellan house came in view. I saw the roof. Parts of it was shattered and pockmarked with bullets. I rushed through the front door and into the kitchen. “Jenny, you haven’t much time. Here! Drink this!”

I removed the test tube of serum from my pocket. Jenny began asking questions. “Alex, where have you been? I thought you dead or taken prisoner or just changed your mind ‘bout marryin’ me.”

“I’d never change my mind about you. I love you, Jenny.” I grabbed a cup from the cupboard and poured half the potion into it, then handed it to Jenny. “Drink this. Quickly . . . please!”

“But what is it?”

“I’m a scientist, Jenny. This is time serum I invented.”

“That’s impossible Alex. There ain’t no such thing.”

“You’ve lost your mind from the war, son!” Mrs. Wade exclaimed from the doorway. Her daughters mouths agape at my sudden and frantic appearance.

“I know what I’m saying sounds impossible, but it’s the truth.” I took Jenny by the shoulders, her petite hands covered with flour. Looking her straight in the eyes, I said, “We took a vow to never lie to one another. What I’m telling you is the truth. This serum will save your life today. Please drink it, then concentrate on my living room.”

I quickly described the room in detail to Jenny—the mahogany floor, the burgundy leather couch, the recliner in the corner, the fireplace, my bookcase with my first edition John Pattersons’, my billiard table, and the photograph of my deceased parents on the side table by the snake plant. I described every inch of the room to the last detail. “Do you understand?”

She smiled and nodded a resounding “yes.” We then kissed long and hard while the back of my head became smeared with bread dough from her tight embrace. I did not mind.

“I’m ready, Alex,” she said, lifting the cup to her red lips, and I followed her example. I eagerly drank my portion.

Immediately, my head spun like never before. Within seconds I found myself in my beautiful and safe living room . . . alone.

Where was Jenny? She had not come through with me. She must not have drunk her potion, but merely pretended to. She had not believed me. She thought me a liar or even worse, crazy. I looked at my wall clock. It read 8:31 A.M. . . . too late now. Jenny was already dead.

But I will try again. After all, I have eternity?

Crimson autumn leaves against a black autumn sky.
Mere moments away from when they will fall and soon lie.
Lie on the ground where they will rest and be forgotten,
or raked into a pile where they will fester – become rotten.
Rot into the ground becoming food for the worms.
It‘s funny how death is what our mother earth yearns.

Some day I would like to fall into a pile of autumn leaves with you,
and God willing, maybe mother earth will yearn for us too.

Passionless kisses and sweet nothings in the ear.
Meaningless moments embraced in each other’s arms.
Her means and my means are not one in the same.
Delicate touch under her frail white chin
to remove her vision
from the dark corner.

Her attention focused now on the blinking red light.
She thinks she wasn’t meant to know.
Her ignorance excites me.
She plays along thinking I haven’t a clue.
Her ignorance excites him.

Her playtime has begun.
I entertain
even though it means nothing.
Minutes go by and she doesn’t know
yet.
My excitement becomes clearer.

She tilts her head in the opposite direction
mere moments too soon.
She realizes the blinking red light was not meant for her.
Her knowledge excites me.
She realizes cigarettes don’t float.
She realizes cigarettes don’t smoke themselves.

She notices how excited I’ve become.
She realizes the blinking red light is not meant for her.
It is for me,
and for the pale face emerging
from the dark corner.

Why are we out here? I can sense something wrong.
Now I sense fear, but she seemed oh so strong.
Why does your light scream through the limbs of the trees?
What do your words mean as they are carried through the breeze?

The moon does not care, so ask it no questions.
Within the moon’s glare you receive no more lessons.

I hate myself.

And the moon does not care.

Tears flow down her cheek from the whispers you send.
What words can I speak so her anguish may end?
I’m in control of myself. I no longer need you.
My tongue may just melt, and my ears may fail too.

The moon does not care, it wants you beside her.
And while the moon stares you will go deep inside her.

I hate myself.

And the moon does not care.

The chrome instrument glistens from the light of you.
Call out and I’ll listen-will she be with us soon?
Enough of this abuse! No more spells from your light!
Just tell me the truth so I’ll rest easy tonight!

The moon has done it’s deed, and it is one with the beast.
You are no longer needed, she was one more night’s feast.

I hate myself.

And the moon knows what to do.

I hate myself.

And the moon hates you too.