Ghost Town

(Inspired by Anita Marie’s quote from Chief Seattle.)

Dr. V’s words plagued me as I winged my way across the land. As is the case in Lemuria, normal laws of nature were skewed. The thick equatorial jungle where I had encountered Dr. Von Saxonburg and the jaguar quickly transitioned into a northern conifer forest, ocean fog spiraling through the trees. I almost missed Duwamish and sharply banked to make my landing. My leg throbbed where the jaguar had scratched me. Dr. V. had said that some wounds don’t heal quickly. I was not sure what she meant or even if I wanted to know.

I landed at the Night Riders’ livery stable, just on the edge of town. It was closed up and dark. I thought I heard the dull thud of shifting horses’ hooves but I could not be sure of that. It was just after dusk, and the sunlight, at least what was left of it, was obscured by the fog. I heard the moan of a buoy and the slapping of water on the dock. I walked between some weathered board-and-batten buildings, each as dark and lifeless as the livery. Several small boats were moored but their pilots and crews were no where to be seen.

Where is everyone? Duwamish Bay, at least the last time I visited, was a bustling town. It was if death had come for a visit and everyone was hiding.

I hurried to the center of town. Between the Post Office and the Mercantile store was the Duwamish Bay Inn. Every window was dark. In front of the City Hall was a totem pole. Painted in white, red, and black, the carved pole of forest animals towered over me. At the very top was the Thunder Bird, wings outstretched and beak wide open as if to speak.

“The dead have power too” I spun around. I could see no one. “The dead have power too” I turned back. The whisper came from the Thunder Bird.

“Are you speaking to me? Who are you? Where is everyone?” There was no answer.

I shivered and it was not from the cold and dampness.

I ran to the front door of the Inn and pounded on it. “Hello? Ida? Are you there? Anybody? Let me in!” My voice was rising to a panic.

Then, I heard a rustle behind me. I turned from the door and stared into the descending greyness of the town square. I thought I saw a movement–then another, and then another one. Figures were moving about, transparent and silent. They looked through me with hollow eyes, as if I wasn’t there–as if I were dead.

I sank to the wooden steps on the Inn’s porch. I hugged my knees. As if I were dead… I felt as if all life had abandoned me— all friends, all allies. I felt worthless and as if every good thing I had even done in my life had suddenly been rendered irrelevant. I was as dead and forgotten as the ghosts roaming around me.

I ached to the core of my being.

Then, I remember the bag at my side and Dr. V’s words. I reached into my bag and found the candlestick and a box of matches.

With trembling hands, I struck the match and touched it to the candlewick.

Lori Gloyd © 2007

To Grandmother’s House

 by a.m. moscoso

This is a Soul Food Cafe Original from May 25, 2005  and I’ve brought it back out because it features a character I’m very partial to - she’s a Werewolf named Kincross Benandanti who lives in a little town called Duwamish Bay.

It’s close now to Kincross’s ‘birthday’ so I thought I’d bring the old girl out and introduce her to you all- it’s very intersting to me to see how much Kincross and I have ‘grown’ since we came to the Cafe and I hope you enjoy ‘our’ story.

amm

Her name is Kincross and she lives down the street from my Grandmother’s house in our home town of Duwamish Bay.

Kincross and my Grandmother are friends and have been friends for over 50 years. They’ve traveled together, gone shopping together, done all those old lady things together like drink tea and take in the odd bingo game together.

And while my Grandmother has aged gracefully her friend Kincross has not.

In fact, Kincross has not aged at all.

Recently her hair has turned gray, and there are traces of wrinkles around her eyes and near her mouth, across her forehead. Laugh lines I think they’re called. I’m pretty sure that like the streaks of gray the lines are cosmetic.

Convincing but cosmetic.

Kincross is patient and kind and sometimes when she thinks no one is looking her eyes flame orange. It’s enough to give you a heart attack, but once you get use to it, it’s not so bad. Because freaky eyes or not, she’s Kincross.

She’s Kincross who can do magic tricks and can guess what the faces on cards are before you turn them over, who sings loudest of all even though she has an awful voice and is tone deaf as well.

My Grandmother’s best friend  who I’ve known for all my life.

Her name is Kincross Benandanti and I thought I knew all there was to know about her

Last Halloween though, I met the real Kincross.

I was walking to my Grandmother’s house instead of driving because it was a pretty Autumn evening, there were wonderful Halloween decorations in almost every yard and the children in their costumes racing around the streets was magical, fun.

It made me wish I was young enough to Trick or Treat again.

It was about a block away from my Grandmother’s house that I noticed the figure in the red coat. The coat was long and had silver buttons down the front. The person wearing it had long black hair and was powerfully built with wide shoulders and because the jacket was form fitting I could see the arms were muscular too.

Was it a light from a passing car or maybe the light of the bright Harvest Moon when the clouds moved away from it’s face that cast enough light for me to see a set of flaming orange golden eyes from across the road? I don’t know.

But I saw them.

They were Kincross’s eyes, but the figure was all wrong.

Kincross was an average sized woman with shoulder length hair. The person I saw was built, as the saying goes, to inflict some serious hurt.

I turned away and started to walk. From across the road the figure dropped back and then it got quiet- and the world around me stopped.

The air turned cold and I could hear what I thought was something from behind me taking a long deep breath. Then my head was pulled back and the sky disappeared behind a terrible face. It was a blank pale face, its eyes were black and empty and it had far to many teeth.

Horrible pointed teeth.

And before I could cry out, strike out something knocked me aside and it was on my attacker. There was a growl, tearing sounds and both figures seemed to be embracing. Then one stood and the other fell to the ground.

When I stood I was looking at the figure in the red coat with the silver buttons.

Its face was heavy, the jaw was heavy, the brow bone was heavy and close up the figure was even more imposing then it was from across the road.

It was Kincross of course and if I were to say what her changed face reminded me I would have to say it was animal like…wolf like almost.

She couldn’t speak well; it was as if she weren’t use to talking. ” You have to watch out for those Vampires Sarah. They’re nasty things. “

Then she reached down for the dead man and nodded up towards my Grandmother’s house. ” Time for you to go. “

All I could think to say was, ” Happy Halloween Kincross. “

Kincross winked and smiled and then she tossed the figure over her shoulder and walked away from me, towards the cemetery.

Singing… off key of course.

A Muse Called Duwamish Bay

 

The Duwamish we visit here at the Cafe was born from these lines that I first heard over 30 years ago:

 At night when the streets of your towns and cities are quiet, and you think they are empty, they will throng with the returning spirits that once thronged them, and that still love these places. The white man will never be alone. So let him be just and deal kindly with my people.

The dead have power too.

Chief Seattle- January 9,1855

Both Duwamish Bay and Seattle ‘haunt‘ all of my stories, and  have  inspired me to become what I have always wanted be- a writer.

I hope it inspires you the same way.

anita marie moscoso

The Ferry Woman and the Whale

I had a lovely voyage aboard the Calabar. It was largely uneventful, aside from a near miss with a ship called the Dead Man’s Revenge, which seemed to think we were a pirate vessel (well, she wasn’t on this trip anyway). I whiled away the trip by telling tales and listening to others tell theirs, falling asleep each night to the motion and sound of the ship cutting through the waves. I enjoyed the smell of the sea, and the hot-tar scent of the sun on the wooden decks. The crew was good to me and kept me well fed.

 

We sailed into Duwamish Bay at sunset. The waters of the Bay were calm, reflecting pink and orange. I have always thought sunset was a magical time of day, and it was a perfect time to come to Duwamish. All the little buildings were stained pink and orange and the boats were all neatly moored – the day fishermen were back in and the night fishermen hadn’t left for the evening yet.

 

Mothers were calling children home for dinner, and sea birds were just now swooping down to the bay for one last drink before they nested for the night. The fertility carnival that I had heard about had paused for the evening meal. Everything was peaceful in that suspended moment between day and night when it is neither. The clouds in the deep middle of the sky changed to dark purple and then the boats of the ferry women came home to roost, steering into the harbor from all their various destinations. As I stood on the quay, I could see their outlines on their ferry boats, darker against the darkening sky. As the sky on the edge of the horizon shaded to deepest pink, I listened to the slap of the waves against the pilings and breathed the fish-salt smell peculiar to docks.

 

Hoisting my backpack on to my shoulders, I went in search of a place to stay for the night, and a place to eat- the lovely food smells from the carnival were making my belly rumble with complaints.

The good hosts of the Duwamish Bay Inn had a room for me, and a satisfying dinner. While I was eating, several of the ferry women came in to have some dinner before they began their night trips over to the Isle of the Ancestors.

 

I said hello, and one of them came over to sit with me.

 

“So, another seeker, eh?” she asked.

 

“Yes, I am.” I answered.

 

“That’s a good thing. We all need to seek, to find out what’s in ourselves.” She nodded approvingly. “I was a seeker once, myself. It was long ago, of course.” She smiled.

 

Frankly, I thought it couldn’t have been all that long ago. She didn’t look very old at all.

 

She caught the look on my face and laughed heartily. “Looks can be deceiving, love! I’m as old as time itself some days and others I’m only as old as my tongue and a little bit older than my teeth! I wasn’t too terribly old, though, until the day of the whale.” She shook her head, reminiscing. “Ah, yes, the day of the whale.” She looked at me again, and asked, “Would you like to hear the story of the day I met the whale?”

 

Of course I would. I’m always up for a good story. I signaled the innkeeper to bring us a pitcher of the best beer, to keep her throat well oiled and mine relaxed and happy, and the ferry woman settled in to tell her tale.

 

“Now you know, don’t you, that whales are very old and wise creatures? They lived on the land once and then saw what a fine thing the sea had been and went back to it. They perform ballets and concerts in the deeps, just for the pleasure of it, and don’t worry about leaving their mark on the world. They just live and love life, for the most part. But sometimes, something goes wrong. A whale just loses heart, doesn’t want to go on free and open in the sea. He thinks living on the land again is what he wants, so he can live like a man and worry all the time about this and that and what’ll he do that’s great that others will know him for. Then the whale goes and beaches himself, grinds himself right up on the shore, like he thinks he can just walk back out on land and take up where he left off.” She shook her head. “It’s a sad thing, it is. The thing about the whales, is they’re old, like I said, and they carry all that time right inside of them. When a whale tries to go back to the land and beach himself, all that time catches right up with him. Now, people think the whales die because they’re out of the water, but that’s not all of it. No sir, one of the reasons they die is all that time that they carry without trouble in the sea when they don’t care about it. Once they try to live on the land again, all the worries and cares of the land make all that time come crashing down on them and they just get old and die right then and there.”

 

“Well, one day I was out on my ferry, coming back to Duwamish, to be exact, and I spied a whale. He was all by himself, floating along, not diving and playing like they like to do. He was just lying there on top of the water, mist coming out of his blowhole as he breathed, not doing anything. I was a little worried, because he wasn’t acting normal, so I pulled alongside of him, and asked, ‘Whale! Are you all right?’

 

Well, he didn’t answer right away, so I asked him again, ‘Whale! Hey, you! Are you all right?’ 

 

This time he answered me. ‘I am thinking.’ Now, whales do think, but usually, they think way down deep in the sea, where it’s quiet and dark. I was a little bit worried about this fellow thinking right up here on the surface.

 

‘Oh!’ I said, ‘Might I ask what you are thinking about?’

 

‘I am thinking that I have done nothing with my life, Ferry Woman. I have made no mark upon the world, and it will have nothing to remember me by.’

 

Well, I knew we were in trouble now. The next thing you know, he would be finding some stretch of sand to beach himself on, trying to go back to the land. I knew this wasn’t good. If anything, we should be more like the whales; they shouldn’t try to be more like us. We do enough worrying for all the creatures in the world for all times just in one day!

 

Any how, I thought to myself that I needed to put a stop to this before it went any further.

 

‘Whale, why would you think that?’ I asked, “You have a fine and wonderful life under the waves. You live and love and dance and sing- why I happen to know you even tell tales to each other. You care for one another; you create for the joy of it. What else is there that anyone could want in this life?’

The whale moaned softly. ‘I don’t know. It just feels like I am missing something,’ he said. ‘Men do things that other men will remember them for. They make stashes of things, like that strange money stuff, and they and others think they are better for it. Shouldn’t we all want this?’

 

I replied, ‘Whales do things other whales remember them for,’ I reminded him. ‘You tell about it in tales and songs and dances. You may not collect things, but you are rich in lore and in time. Men have no time because they waste it all on worry and fuss about abstract things like money and fame and power. Trust me whale, you have the right of it. Stay with your sea, your dances and songs and companionship. Your life is the better of the two. I can say this, I who am a woman - yet I live on the sea, keeping my way of life as like to that of you whales as I can.’

 The whale ducked his head under the water and then blew a plume of spray into the air. ‘I will think on what you have said, Ferry Woman. Bide with me while I do.’

 

So I drifted there, a night, a day and a night, and yet another day, while the whale thought.

 

Finally he said, ‘I think you have the right of it, Ferry Woman, I have had the better life all these years, and I would have thrown it all away. I thank you.’

 

‘You’re welcome, whale. I am very glad I could help.’ And I was, for I believed every word I had spoken to him to be true.

 

Then the whale spoke again. ‘I fear that I owe you an apology, though. In my thinking and worrying, I allowed some of my time to get loose, and it tried to catch up with me. Because you were here, concerned for me, you took it instead. Fortunately, it wasn’t a lot, but you may be a bit older than you were.’

 

The whale was very embarrassed over this, but I thought about it for a minute or two, and then said, ‘Whale, I have never been vain about my looks, so it won’t bother me on that score, and then, I have always thought wisdom comes with time, so that isn’t so bad either. My body feels as strong as ever, so it hasn’t damaged me like that. I think I will be fine. And if I can live like a whale and not worry over silly land things, well, that I may be able to hold much of that time in me like a whale does, and that is a good thing. Now I have a reason to live like you do!’ I laughed delightedly and so did the whale. ‘Well met!’ he called out and dove, waving good-bye with his tail. I continued back to Duwamish Bay.

 

Everyone here wanted to know where I had been, and I just told them I had been visiting with a whale and left it at that. Sometimes I still see him, and he always dances around me for a while before he leaves again. As for me, I try to live like the whales do, live and love and create, and do all of these for the joy of it. And do you know, it must be working, because that time, I’m still holding it in me, and it’s been years now!” The Ferry Woman smiled, finished her beer.

 

I was thoughtful after her story. This was something to ponder. The Ferry Woman got up to leave and told me that if I wanted her to take me somewhere, just look for the ferry called the Song of the Deep. That one was hers. I thanked her and she went off to join her companions.

 

Posted by She Wolf

 

Borgia Sainbury Waits

 by Anita Marie Moscoso

a Halloween tale from 2005

                                 

Borgia Sainbury’s family cut the trail that leads up to Mourning Ridge and they built the little house that’s up there too and now Borgia Sainbury herself tends to the cemetery that sits next to the house that overlooks the town of Duwamish Bay.

This special cemetery belongs to the Sainbury Family and in this special cemetery they bury secrets and confessions, cries for mercy and dark deeds.

Even the truth is entombed here.

Where Borgia Sainbury Waits.

The Cemetery holds eight graves and a wall that circles the little reflection pool is crumbling now but here and there you can see into the niches and in those little vaults you can see small brass urns and little wooden chests.

Borgia Sainbury waits in the little cemetery and she sits on a little marble bench dressed in gray.

She’s unmoved by wind or rain or snow and she casts no shadow and when the leaves turn gold and blood red around her and then fall to the dusty ground she does not blink.

When the ground beneath her feet begins to tremor, when the trees fill with crows and they begin to scream and the tide below the bluff begins to bubble she opens and closes her eyes very slowly.

Her pale lips part and dust that is as fine and thin as baby powder is exhaled from her stilled lungs and drifts down to her chin and chest.

Borgia Sainbury smiles and the muscles in her face and neck creak and groan with the effort.

Then she stands.

She walks from headstone to headstone and rakes her thin cold hand over each one and then she stops and her smile becomes too wide, too joyful, and too hungry.

” You. “

Then Borgia Sainbury steps back.

The ground comes apart, and from the ruined grave a figure crawls out.

Sometimes its a man sometimes its a woman but its always pale, shrouded in gray and its eyes are always as dark as midnight.

Borgia watches as the figure makes its way out of the cemetery and she can still see it when she closes her eyes

Borgia watches her kin as they walk through prison gates and to the ends of hallways with heavy barred doors. She’s there when they take their place on scaffolds, or behind screens and when they go alone into secret rooms to prepare the tools of their trade.

The Sainburys are Executioners and this little cemetery is not where they go after they die

This is where they are from…

Where Borgia Sainbury Waits.

A Christmas Tale For Eventide

by anita marie moscoso 

Inspired by The Soul Food Cafe Alphabet Project:

” J ” is for Journey

They were a Mother, Father and three children on a Ferry Boat sailing from Duwamish Bay to visit their Grandmother in Seattle.

It was Christmas Eve and the children, two girls and one boy were dressed up. The little girls sat up straight, careful not to mess up their hair or wrinkle their dresses.

The little boy was picking his nose and wiping it under the wooden benches they were sitting on as the black waters of Puget Sound parted dark and quiet below them.

The Children weren’t wearing jackets and they weren’t wearing hats or gloves and it was snowing outside, but it wasn’t in Kincross Benandanti’ s nature to involve herself  in why people did or didn’t do things the way you’d expect them too.

Human nature wasn’t something Kincross understood very well and it probably had something to do with the fact she was of a loner of sorts.

That didn’t stop her from noticing things though.

Kincross noticed that even though the Pale Family were still and quiet their eyes never stopped moving from one passenger’s face to the next.

She also noticed when she looked up and out the window  that the family were sitting next to that she could see her own reflection and the reflections of the passengers as they made their way around the cabin…

But the Pale Family cast no reflection in the window at all.

Kincross went back to her book and every once and awhile she looked up at the Pale Family and sometime during the ride the Mother looked straight into Kincross’ face and smiled.

Kincross smiled and nodded and went back to her book.

Then the woman leaned over to the little boy and whispered into his ear and then she handed him something and pushed at his shoulder.

The boy took his time and turned a 10 second walk into something that lasted for almost five minutes. When he got to Kincross he reached out and handed her a little cookie shaped like a bell decorated with little red and green sprinkles.

She handed him a Kleenex and winked and the boy went back to his Mother and he sat quiet as a shadow for the rest of the trip.

After awhile Kincross stopped reading and then she set her book down onto the empty seat to her  left. She fished for a coin from her purse and when she found one she held her hand out palm side down and placed the coin on top of her fingers.

Then the coin seemed to crawl and weave from finger to finger and with a snap of her fingers it disappeared.

She looked at her hand and then she muttered to herself, ” now how do you bring it back-” she reached for her book and started to read when she saw the two little girls standing in front of her with their hands folded across their chests.

” Are you a Magician? ” one girl asked

” Trying to be.”

The second little girl said, ” You’re not very good are you? “

” No, not yet. “

The two little girls wished Kincross a Merry Christmas and when they skipped off they did it without making a sound…it was like their feet never touched the floor.

Kincross tried over and over to bring the coin back and when she decided it was lost she decided to get up and stretch her legs. She also decided to toss the book, ” 1001 Easy Magic Tricks ” overboard.

It was when she was coming back into the observation cabin that she noticed the man in the black jacket for the first time.

He was standing in a doorway watching the Pale Family.

Kincross watched the man and when he moved she jumped a little.

She had not expected  the man with the flat dead eyes to do something as normal as turn and bump his shoulder and say ‘ouch’ as he left the cabin.

But that’s what he did.

Curious about the living man with the dead flat eyes she decided to follow him.

She followed him down below to where the cars were parked and she watched him open a van door and reach in and when he stepped back she saw he was holding a black bag.

She heard it rattle as he reached into it.

 She watched him take out a silver mallet that he set on top of the Van’s roof and then he reached back into he bag and bring out five silver spikes.

Kincross frowned as she watched him inventory the rest of his bag…then she watched him carefully repack it.

She followed him as he made his way back up to the passengers cabin and then she watched him standing in the corner with his dead blue eyes locked onto the Pale Family.

And then she noticed they weren’t so dull and flat anymore.

They were burning.

Seattle was ahead of them, wrapped in fog and cold and darkness.

 Kincross followed the man out on to the observation deck and she walked up behind him and said, ” cold night, isn’t it? “

” Very. “

” Get into Seattle very often? “

” Only when I’m needed ” he said ” and it looks like I’m going to be needed for a few days. “

” It’s Christmas Eve, maybe you should take the night off. After all the rest of us are.”

He backed away a little and when his back hit the door Kincross reached over his shoulder and held it shut.

He couldn’t move that arm, it was as solid and strong as an iron bar and Kincross said, “ I work out…a lot.”

 Then the Man found he was staring down into eyes so dark and black that it didn’t seem like there were any eyes in that face at all.

” Your eyes…” he whispered ” you have no eyes…”

” I can see you just fine. ” Kincross assured him.

Then as she leaned close the man choked and gasped and he said, “ your teeth…”

Kincross said as she brought her mouth to his neck, ” I know! I know!  They’re huge… it’s a family curse.”

Where Ninebones Cross

 

by Anita Marie Moscoso

Inspired by The Soul Food Cafe Writing Prompt:

The Play House

It’s a pale gray house set off a dusty road in a dead town called Ninebones Cross.

Of course Nine Bones had a real name and of course it’s a real town, but I’ll bet a lot of people wish it wasn’t…

Ninebones used to be called Calaway and back in 1897 when Seattle became the Gateway to Gold some of the more adventurous Stampeders would take the dark roads out of Seattle and head into the town of Calaway to ‘ increase their odds ‘ of getting rich.

The person they all went to discuss this prospect with was a woman named Calabar Felonway.

Calabar Felonway-  that’s what she was called, not Cally, not Miss Felonway, not Ma’am…she was called Calabar Felonway and she used to give advice, for a price, on how to find what your heart desired.

Of course the Stampeders all desired the same thing- and after awhile Calabar Felonway got a little short tempered with the men and women who showed up at her door by moonlight to ask for advice.” Gold ” they’d say there in Calabar Felonway’s Parlor, ” I want to find lots of gold. “

” Of course you do ” Calabar Felonway would say in her dusty voice in her dusty Parlor by the moonlight trying to make it’s way through her dusty windows.

“ You’ll  help me then. ” they’d all say.

” No, I won’t help you. What I provide here is a service, it’s a deal my friend, and there is a contract involved and a fee. So I ask you, shall we proceed? “

” Yes. ” they’d all say with the same desperate edge to their voice and the same empty look in their eyes.

” Fine, ” Calabar would say and she’d motion for them to follow her into her kitchen and then she’d tell them to take a seat at the table

.They never sat though, they’d just stand there and say, ” I don’t want to sit , just tell me what I have to do.”

They all did what they were told. It’s funny though how they were able to do that when none of them listened.

The cost for advice from Calabar Felonway was a bottle of rum, a fresh kill (as long as it was warm blooded and didn’t come from the Sea) and for that very small price she’d make you rich, she’d make someone fall in love with you, Calabar Felonway would give you what your heart desired.

That’s what she told Dyer Frost one late evening, and after he paid the fee she whispered into Dyer’s ear where he would find the gold and the future that was in store for him.

She threw that part in for free.

He got up and said, ” I’m going to be rich. I am going to be a very rich and happy man ”

” Yes you are. “

Then as Dyer went back over the words Calabar Felonway had hissed into his ear he found to his horror he couldn’t remember the specifics.

The directions to the vein of gold that would make him that man he saw in his head, the happy rich man, were gone.

Next he could feel the pictures of  his wonderful future framed in pure gold being pulled- thread by golden thread- from his head. 

Before they were gone he said in terror, ” It’s going…God help me I’m losing it all.”

” Now that I have your attention I”ll tell you  how this works,” she told him. “I have to draw you a map and you have to keep it with you at all times. If you lose sight of it even for a minute you’ll forget everything. You’ll even forgot you have a map and you’ll be just like the rest of those sad desperate fools scratching in those mines for gold like those mice scratching away in my pantry over there for food.

So that’s the deal Mr Frost, you can’t lose site of my map even for a second.”

” It’s a deal,” he said.

” It’s a burden, ” she told him.But of course he didn’t hear that.

They never did.

Dyer Frost went out to the edge of Calaway to get his map.

When Calabar Felonway had told him she’d  leave it for him hanging from the Dancing Tree where Ninebones Cross and the blood drained from his face she laughed- she laughed for a very long time and then she said ” Come now,  you didn’t think this was going to be pleasant did you?

“Dyer guessed not and as he turned to leave she said, ” Oh and by the way I’d get there before sunrise if I were you. “

He didn’t ask why, they never did.

He did make it too the Dancing Tree before sunrise- he ran all the way which was funny because he ran straight passed his horse that was tethered right outside of Calabar Felonway’s house.

There was his map, hanging as promised from the Dancing Tree where Ninebones Cross- the same Dancing Tree where men, women and children met their deaths at the end of a rope.

The same tree where everyone in town knows nine bones buried by betrayal and treachery are caught in the roots of that twisted oak tree.

When the wind blew through the leaves of the Dancing Tree you could hear whispering- that was the story and it was true. It was enough to age a person but during Dyer Frost’s day the only visitors to the Dancing Tree weren’t exactly empathetic to the sounds of Souls in Torment.

They were to busy being consumed by their own when they reached for that map.

Dyer’s Map like all the others were inked and illustrated in a skilled hand. Dyer’s map like all the others-

were tattooed onto the backs of the dead. 

Binderweed

by Anita Marie Moscoso 

So as to not confuse you Dear Reader I should probably warn you this story starts at 

THE END
 
On the Doctor’s desk in the village of Ninebones Cross is the skull of a hanged man whose name was Lesser Thornapple.
 
Lesser was hung in 1864 for three murders and for a few that the people in the town of Bronson were pretty sure he did but couldn’t prove and for the ones they were sure he would commit in the future.
 
So Lesser went to the Gallows and they hung him as the sun came up, which is the custom in the town of Bronson and no one there expected this was the last they’d hear of Lesser Thornapple and they were right.
 
100 Years Later
 
 
The night that Doctor Stavesacre and her assistant took Lesser from his grave it was raining and she was in one of her moods that Lesser would soon call her ‘bad hair days’.
 
Only two things truly annoyed Azi Stavesacre.
 
One of those things was not getting her way. The other was anything that kept her from getting her way. Tonight both things were nipping at her heels and she wasn’t angry, she wasn’t furious she was mad.
 
Truly and strictly by definition: Mad.
 
As in insane.
 
“ How many of these things have we opened tonight Henbane?”
 
Henbane looked over his shoulder and let out a sob and said, “ a lot Azi, an awful lot.”
 
“ And this is the best we could do?” she asked as she pointed into the last grave.
 
“ Its all we can do Azi, the rest of the graves were empty.”
 
Azi Stavesacre, Dr Azi Stavesacre the type of Doctor you went to if you had a silver bullet lodged in you somewhere or a stake in your heart or you were burned or had been maimed and were about to die…yet again was not a patient woman.
 
In fact she wasn’t a woman at all.
 
But lets get on with Lesser’s story, shall we?
 
Azi jumped down into the open grave and then she leaned over Lesser and carefully
pulled the shroud back from his upper body. “ Geeze Henbane, they didn’t even bother to cut the noose off. Look it’s still there.”
 
Henbane looked down to where Azi was pointing and shook his head.” Now that’s just not dignified.”
 
Azi straddled Lesser’s chest and pressed her knees against his shoulders.“ People are pathetic Henbane. There’s no two ways about it.”
 
Then she cut off Lesser’s head.
 
 
Lesser remembered Azi taking him to a little place in a town called Duwamish Bay and carefully handing him over to a small dark woman with short black hair. The woman’s name was Ignancia and he saw at once that Azi’s little rough edges and her general
unpleasant personality seemed to smooth out at least temporarily as the two women talked.
 
Ignancia who was the owner of the Shop, which was full of curious items including a mummy and a three-headed cat in a jar, lifted him carefully up to the light and nodded. “Sure, we can clean him up I think he’ll do just fine for you Azi.”
 
“He’s a hanged man Ignancia.”
 
“ The condemned work harder, you know that Azi.”
 
“ But they buried him with the noose still around his neck.”
 
“ You don’t say.”
 
“ I just did,”
 
Ignancia lifted Lesser up to her face and her dark eyes looked down into his dead ones and she said; “ now that’s very curious. When he comes around see if you can get him to tell you why.”
 
Lesser sat on the Doctor’s desk for over 10 years before he said one word and when he did Azi told him to shut up, she was working. He saw that yet another Were creature had been skewered with yet another silver arrow and the Werecat the Doctor was treating had already clawed Dr Stavesacre down the side of her face and had chewed off two of her fingers.
 
It was a good thing Azi couldn’t bleed Lesser thought or the examination room would be full of those Vampires who were out in the waiting room suffering from Garlic Poisoning.
 
So after ten years of saying nothing Lesser finally made a sound, and that sound sent Azi to her desk, dragging the were-cat by its neck with her.
 
She opened her desk drawer and dropped Lesser into it.
 
“ Bite me.” She snapped
 
And from the drawer Lesser tried to do just that.
 
 
Ignancia came by a few weeks later with her sister to invite Azi to tea. It was a tradition. They pretended to drink tea and act like ladies and when they were done they were usually drunk and Azi’s hazel eyes would turn to their natural shade of yellow and they would all pretend like they had the flu for the next few days.
 
“So, how is Mr Thornapple working out for you?”
 
Ignancia’ s sister Akela asked who was Thornapple and Azi said, “ The ungrateful dead man I rescued from an eternity of solitary confinement.”
 
“ Oh, you cut off some poor slob’s head so that you could turn him into your own private guard dog.”
 
“Rescue.” Akela didn’t chuckle or snicker. When she laughed she really put effort into it “ you kill me Azi, you really do.”
 
“ Well, he’s not working. That’s the problem. Lazy dog just sits on my desk and does he warn me that danger is near? Hell no. Let me make that clear to you ladies HELL NO. I had a Werecat go crazy when I tried to pull some silver out of it’s chest and look” Azi held up her hand, “ it doesn’t hurt when you loose them but it sure as heck does when they grow back. Then I had to deal with all those little beasts at the same time.
Damn kids.”
 
“ What they do?”
 
“ The Benandanti kids rubbed garlic all over the Hellebore’s shrouds and the Hellebore’s dropped Wolfsbane into the Benandanti’ s well.”
 
“ Kid stuff…”
 
“ Yes well, I had to deal with a bunch of rowdy teenage vampires and werewolves tearing my reception area apart as well as have an insane Werecat try to eat my arm
and does Thornapple say anything before Armageddon rides into my office?
No. Unless you count laughing as a word.”
 
“ He laughed?”
 
“ Loudly, very, very, very loudly.”
 
Ignancia lowered her voice, “ what did you do to him?”
 
“ Nothing…nothing. He’s in my desk drawer. Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t touch him. Really!”
 
Ignancia leaned back and nodded, “ I don’t believe you.”
 
It’s a fool who doesn’t know their own friends and Ignancia Guzman was nobody’s fool.
 

 
Azi was wrapped in a soft warm alcohol woven blanket when she stumbled into her office and pulled open her desk drawer. She reached in for Lesser and then dropped him down onto her desk from at least two feet up in the air and when he landed his teeth snapped together and then it was Azi’s turn to laugh.
 
“ I’m supposed to apologize.” She slurred imperiously.
 
Lesser’s black empty eye sockets seemed to be paying attention so she went on. “ It was wrong of me to dump you in the drawer, it was wrong of me to not even ask you your name. I’m sorry, okay?”
 
“ You robbed my grave.”
 
“ Oh, hell, there are worse things you can do the rob a grave like I don’t know, let me think…. oh yes here’s one Murder. That’s pretty darn bad too, isn’t it Lesser.”
 
Azi dropped herself into her chair and scooted it up to her desk. She reached for Lesser and when they were nose to, well, eye to eye he said, “ I never killed anybody Azi. I was innocent.”
 
He saw Azi sober up and felt her grip tighten around him. “ What?”
 
“ I was innocent. I never killed anyone Azi, but I know who did those awful things
and I never told the truth. I couldn’t.”
 
“ Damn it. That’s why you were down there still, you condemned yourself.”
 
“ I don’t know anything about that.”
 
“ Look, why’d they leave the rope around your neck. Do you know?”
 
“ The Hangman knew I was innocent. But he didn’t want me to be. So he left the noose on.”
 
Azi shook her head, “ People just mystify me Lesser, they really do.”
 
“ When do you plan on asking me about the graves Azi, all of those empty graves. You haven’t mentioned them once.”
 
“ I’m asking you now then, what happened to those graves. Why were they all empty?”
 
“ A friend of yours moved to Mourning Ridge, did you know?”
 
“ What friend?”
 
“ Delphine Heller. She’s back Azi and I’m pretty sure she was tearing that cemetery apart because she was looking for…”
 
Azi’s eyes didn’t flare or shine or glow deep orange and then yellow.
 
They burned.
 
“ Me.”
 
That one word echoed lonely and hallow in the dark office and Lesser was surprised because if he had to name a truly shunned creature it wouldn’t be  Azi Stavesacre. Still from the way that one word sounded he wondered if she felt the same way he did when he realized he was about to be hung for the murders his own son committed and then blamed him for.
 
Lesser Thornapple knew what if felt like to be abandoned. To be cast out so far you could never come back no matter how hard you tried.
 
He wouldn’t wish that feeling on anybody…or anything.
 
Lesser watched the face of the Witch Doctor and what surprised him was what he said next. “ Put me in the window Azi, I have work to do.”
 
And that Dear Readers is The beginning of my tale.
amm

The Witch of White Ash Mountain

The Grave of Calisaya Stoneroot is lost back up in the hills of White Ash Mountain here in Washington State and not a year goes by that a story  doesn’t show up on the evening news or the front page of a local newspaper  with the headline:
 
” Remains of Hikers Found “
 
And somewhere in the story you will find that these Hikers weren’t going to White Ash to admire the scenery. They’re out there looking for the grave of the infamous Witch of White Ash Mountain.
 
I know this story by heart and here’s how it goes…
 
     
 

Rocella Coffin was the law in White Ash back in 1964, she was  also short and dark and bad tempered  as were most of the Sheriffs in the Duwamish Bay area. To be specific none of the Sheriffs in Ballast County are known for their sense of humor but at times they do laugh and some joke and some smile all except for Sheriff Coffin.
 
Sheriff Coffin held her spot as the Ballast County” least likely to be amused by anything law enforcement official ” with a grip so tight it’s unlikely anyone would ever be able to pry the title from her hand.
 
That title, however, became Coffin’s for all eternity when Avery Bowen showed up the day after the execution of Calisaya Stoneroot.
 
Avery pulled into the Sheriff’s station and forgot to stop his truck. It only stopped because the Sheriff’s car (her own car, not her patrol car) was in the way. Avery wasn’t hurt but he was bleeding and he was sort of running around in circles and no matter how loud she yelled he wouldn’t stop.
 
Sheriff Coffin didn’t even read him his rights.
 
She just pulled her gun and shot him right between the eyes, right there in the parking lot in front of the Sheriff’s Station. When she was done Rocella stood over Avery’s body and said down at his pale white face, ” I told you to settle down, now start over.  “
 

Avery looked up at her and said, ” she’s back Sheriff, and I saw her walking up the road not even an hour ago. Calisaya Stoneroot is back.”
 
 
 
Rocella dragged Avery into her office and pulled a pair of tweezers from her desk drawer. She took a look at Avery’s wound and dropped them back in and he saw she had a crochet hook in her hand. ” Sit still ” she told him.
 
Avery obeyed and he felt Rocella pull some of his skin away from his wound with her fingers and then with one smooth move the hook was in and out and in her hand was a small piece of mashed gray metal.
 
” Tell me what you saw, and I suggest you don’t fool around with me because the next thing I’m pulling out are the silver bullets. Got it? “
 
Avery tried very hard to focus his eyes and he nodded, ” I saw her down on Middleditch Road, walking kind of slow and funny and …”
 
 
 
If Avery hadn’t been so distracted by picking at the bullet wound in his forehead he would have found it a little amusing that Calisaya had been hung just the day before on November 5, 1964 at dawn for Witchcraft.
 
You read that right. Not 1664, 1564, 1264.
 
1964.
 
 
1964: That was the year Nelson Mandela was sentenced to life in Prison and China detonated it’s first atomic bomb and US Surgeon General Luther Terry affirmed that cigarette smoking caused cancer.
 
You read that right, it was 1964, and back in the hills of White Ash Mountain a woman died laughing with a noose around her neck and she was buried with that terrible wide grin on her face and her mouth was stuffed with garlic and her eyes had been sewn shut.
 
Not that anyone in the town thought it would do them any good; they’d figure Calisaya would be back before dawn.
 
They were right.
 
 
 
The towns’ people of White Ash had for the past 20 years tried everything to rid themselves of Calisaya Stoneroot.
 
First they tried bringing in that Priest from Seattle.
 
The Sheriff from Duwamish Bay and two of her friends that worked the Sideshow came to watch Father Thomas bless the Cemetery the Witch and her Demons were living in and Sheriff Coffin thought it might actually work; the Witch and the demons rode out of the Cemetery Gates like the Devil himself was chasing them.
 
Later Sheriff Coffin realized Sheriff Blitzer and her friends snorting and snickering and stupid comments were probably what really drove Demons and the Witch away.
 
Four days later Stoneroot was back.
 
Another year they even tried to burn Calisaya at the stake and Blitzer and a woman with bad skin  actually brought Snow Puffed Marshmallows and skewers and handed them to Rocella and her Deputy with the advice, “ you might as well get something out of this cause that won’t work either.”
 

Calisaya, over the years, went from tormenting farm animals and turning the water in the wells to blood and making the crops and the fruit trees go bad (which turned out to be a favorite of hers) and casting curses and playing petty tricks on the Towns People to grave robbing.
 
That was the last straw as far as Ballast County was concerned.
 
They sent word down that White Ash cut out the theatrical executions and do something about Stoneroot or they  (Duwamish Bay, Fallen, Ninebones Cross and Abandon) were going to do something about them.
 
The Valleys and Mountains of Ballast County were full of barren dead places where it reaches over 90 degrees in the summer only it’s still so cold you’d get frostbite if you weren’t covered up.
 
The ground in these barren places are full of a fine heavy dust that’s almost impossible to wash from your clothes and if you aren’t careful it’ll work it’s way into your skin and cause a nasty infection that acts like leprosy.
 
That dust is all that’s was left of the people and the places that Ballast County ‘did something about’ when things got out of hand.
 
Sheriff Coffin had no intention of letting the town of White Ash become another open grave.
 
 No matter what it took.
 
Even if it meant going to Duwamish Bay itself.
 
 
 
The Duwamish Bay Curiosity Shop is famous for a lot of things: it’s genuine Egyptian Mummy, it’s collection of shrunken heads, it’s electric chair (you could sit in it and get your picture taken) it’s ” funeral tools from across the ages” and it’s jars.
 
People drove from all over the state to look at ” The jars” which where kept behind a door riddled with bullet holes.
 
Inside of those jars are things like the three- headed cat, an alligator with human face, tumors and eyes and brains and limbs and hearts and medical experiments gone bad. 

 Most infamous of all in this collection is the ‘devil baby”. 

The Devil Baby not only had horns and a tail but an eye in the center of it’s forehead and sometimes that eye opened and sometimes it was shut and no matter where you stood in the store you knew it was watching you.
 
The Shop was also famous for it’s Soda Fountain but on that day Sheriff Coffin wasn’t in the mood for a Strawberry Phosphate.  She read over the menu anyway and next to it on pressed tin sign was a sign that said:
 
                                         

OVER 2000 AMAZING ARTIFCATS
   25 ARE GENUINE FAKES
FREE SUNDAES FOR A YEAR
   IF YOU GUESS RIGHT
 

“ Want to take a guess?” Ignancia Guzman the Shop’s owner asked from behind the Counter.
“ No. “
 
“ Go on, take a guess…I got all day and from what I hear you don’t.”
 
“ The Baby…” she snapped.
 
“ Nope, you’re wrong. Everybody wants that baby to be fake. That’s how come we don’t have to cough up the free ice cream. It’s that baby bless it’s dark little heart. Nobody wants that baby to be real.”
 
It was true; Rocella felt her chest tighten when Ignancia told her about the baby. “ Look Mrs. Guzman, I need to get rid of a nasty tempered Witch who’s developed some weird culinary habits. Can you help us?”
 
Ignancia looked up at the ceiling like she was reading something up there and Rocella had to fight the urge to do the same.
 
Finally Ignancia said,  “ Oh, this is going to be good, come on follow me, we have to go into the Workshop”
 
Rocella followed Ignancia behind the Counter and they went back into her Workshop and when the door clicked shut behind them it occurred to Rocella the door hadn’t been there a minute ago.
 
 
 
As Rocella drove back up to White Ash she went over the instruction again, “ You can’t write these down you know. You have to memorize this so don’t blow it. “
 
“ You know why Calisaya is bothering you all up in White Ash and not us down here in Duwamish?” Ignancia asked
 
“ I don’t know she likes the View?”
 
“ Don’t be stupid, it’s because you’re all old world up there. All that garlic and chanting and potions. She’s a modern woman and none of that is going to work on her. You have to think, how do you trap and kill a modern witch? “
 
Rocella shook her head, “ Come on Mrs. Guzman, the Sun is going to set soon and the Auditors will be heading up soon. “
 
Ignancia handed Rocella three sheets of what she thought were paper. But as the Sheriff took each one from Ignancia’ s hand she saw what they were, she could feel what they were and worse they were still warm. “ I don’t want to know “ Rocella said.
 
“ Don’t be such a baby. Now listen. You go to that tree by your courthouse. You go up on a ladder this has to be at least 7 feet up and you nail this first…”
 
“ Spells? I thought you said the old world…”
 
“ It’s not what you think. This is strictly modern and legal. Don’t look at me like that … it is. See, this is a Summons for her to appear, the minute this goes up no matter what she has to come forward.

 This is a warrant for her execution you nail this up second.

  This time I think you’ll find your rope will do it’s job and so will fire. I’d go with the rope it’s so dry out right now you wouldn’t want to start a forest fire, would you?

 Now, this little puppy is the dealmaker.

This is her death certificate. You just sign here and there and here “ Ignancia said as she flipped the heavy pages up one by one and I think you’ll find yourself short a citizen before morning.
 
But if this comes down, if someone is dumb enough to pull the nail out and this paperwork is disturbed. Well, it won’t be good for White Ash. Won’t be so hot for me either.”
 
“ Fine, you got a pen or something cause I have to be going…Oh let me guess” Rocella said as she sat down hard on a wooden barstool and tilted her head to the side. “ Don’t get any of it on the Uniform. I just had it cleaned.”
 
Ignancia pulled a scalpel from a little black bag and as she found Sheriff Coffin’s artery and nicked it open she asked, “ hey Rocella, how’s the family?”
 
 
 
So did it work? You’re probably wondering.
 
Well, White Ash is on the Map, and you can go there if you want and see for yourself.
 
It’s small and old fashion and the Sheriff is bad tempered and has this funny scar on the side of her neck that bleeds at the wrong time (birthday parties, funerals when she’s in Court and swearing and using profanity isn’t something you don’t want to do at the tops of your lungs)
 
As for Calisaya Stoneroot, you know there isn’t a Halloween that’s gone by for the past 40 odd years since her execution that a bunch of weirdos from Seattle and as far away as Bellingham don’t descend by the hundreds on poor little White Ash looking for the grave of the Witch of White Ash.
 
Was she real?
 
If proof is all you want all you have to do is go to the tree besides the court house and look up and there on one of the branches is an old frayed piece of rope still gray and covered with moss and further up still are three pieces of something that looks like parchment nailed firmly to the tree’s trunk.
 
Just make sure you leave White Ash before the sunsets.
 
And before the residents of White Ash start thinking about dinner.

The Strange Tale Of Waldgrave Jaborandi

by A.M. Moscoso 

They found the last body on Mourning Ridge just before sundown

The Sheriff was there and so was her deputy and Borgia Sainbury the Chief Undertaker of Mourning Ridge Cemetery and Funeral Home was there too. Borgia looked up at the Sheriff and said “ that makes 46”.

The headless corpse had been tied to the ornate iron gate that separated Mourning Ridge Cemetery and Funeral Home from the rest of the world. It was a messy set of human remains and it was starting to attract flies that the women flicked away from their faces when one of the pests settled to close to their eyes.

In the back seat of the Sheriff’s Jeep a set of dark red eyes glared at them and a voice called to them in a long dead language that they all understood, “ It wasn’t me! Do you hear me? It was him it was Abendroth Danvers! He’s back! Listen to me I’m innocent!”

They all laughed as the sunset because no matter how you looked at it that was a pretty funny comment to be coming from a Demon.

After he was booked and then convicted by the Sheriff and the Merchants Association of Duwamish Bay the Sheriff began as she had for years and years to prepare for the execution of her inmate.

“ Do you have to do that in front of me? “

The Sheriff looked up and said, “ as a matter of fact I do Danvers. You know the rules. You’ve lived here long enough”

“ I’m not Danvers, I’m Waldgrave, Waldgrave Jaborandi. I’ve told you. I’m not Danvers. Not now anyway”. Waldgrave sounded so scared that Sarah almost dropped the metal sling and the rope in her hands.

When she saw it was just Waldgrave she went back to work.

“ Look Waldgrave. Answer me this… are those Danver’s hands? Danver’s teeth?  Well are they?”

“ Yes they are.”

“ Good then we understand each other. Those hands killed 46 people in the past four months and those teeth well, those teeth acted in the crimes too. That’s all I care about. You were in possession of those so you are responsible. Sorry.” Of course she didn’t sound sorry. It wasn’t a Warden or a Sheriff’s job to feel sorry.

“ Listen to me, Danvers is coming back.  I couldn’t stop him.”

“ Oh, and I’m sure you tried very hard to do that.”

“ Yes I did Sheriff. I don’t care what you think of me but that’s the truth. I like it here. I don’t want to leave. I wouldn’t have done anything to endanger myself or my home here.”

Then Waldgrave saw what the Sheriff had in her hands and he looked up and whispered, “ my neck…you’re going to break my neck.” He could barely whisper the words. Then he turned away from her and slid to the floor cradling his head in his hands “ I can’t believe this. Its not right”

“ Listen Waldgrave…46. Four – Six, 17 were from Duwamish Bay. That wasn’t right either.”

“ 98.” He said dully.

“ What?”

“98” Waldgrave told her, “ You forgot to check Lake Undercroft. It’s 98”

And so it was.

The next night Sheriff Guzman and her Deputy prepared Waldgrave for his execution.

When they were done tattooing his face and after they had cut off his left hand  Sarah and her Deputy  drove him out to Lost Harbor Road and to the oak tree they kept out there for nights just like this one.

Next to Waldgrave on the seat, and it was Waldgrave in the Jeep that night because Danvers was unusually quiet, was the rope and sling, a burlap bag dotted with small red stains and a small stone box and of course the ax.

Waldgrave looked out of his window so that he didn’t have to look at what was on the seat next to him. He watched the Harbor Gorge fill with unnaturally blue moonlight and he knew the air outside the car was turning fetid and humid. It always did on execution nights. He asked “ My neck, you know what will happen if you break my neck before you execute me. “

“ That’s the idea.”

“ But I didn’t commit those murders, Danvers did. The very most I’m guilty of is demonic possession and that wouldn’t even get me life in Sawajinn. You could even have my sentence commuted to Fallen. Why are you doing this? “

The Sheriff slammed the brakes on and before the vehicle was at a full stop she was outside of the Jeep and throwing open the back door. She reached in for Waldgrave and pulled him out and threw him up against the car hard enough to shatter the bulletproof window.

 “ Do you honestly want me to believe that a demon clever enough, strong enough to hide in the same body for over 100 years was powerless to stop a mortal, a flesh and blood mortal from killing 98 people? Its bull and you know it Waldgrave.”

“ It’s the truth Sarah. It’s the truth!” He tried to pull his face away from Sarah’s teeth.

“ They’re mortal Sarah, they’re not stupid and they’re much stronger then any of us give them credit for. You’re executing me because you’re afraid. You all are. Because if one psychotic human could best me that means all of you…all of us aren’t as safe as we’d like to think we are here in Duwamish Bay. Killing me won’t change that. “

Then the Sheriff reached through the open door, grabbed the ax and swung it down over Waldgrave’s chest.

It was Waldgrave and Waldgrave alone who finished the ride to Fallen Penitentiary that foggy night.

Danver’s Heart was wrapped in Sarah’s jacket and rode next to Waldgrave.

When Sarah looked into her rearview mirror the face that looked back at her from the back seat wasn’t a twisted demonic face, it didn’t have horns or red skin or a forked tongue.

Waldgrave Jaborandi looked middle aged and ordinary and he had very straight white teeth. Of course his eyes were blood red and when he talked the air seemed to chill slightly but in Duwamish Bay it wasn’t polite to point things like that out.

So Sarah didn’t.

“I’ve decided Sawajinn isn’t appropriate for you in this case” Sarah heard Waldgrave catch his breath and she could hear him saying something, or was he crying? It was hard to tell. She’d never heard a Demon make a sound like that before.

“ It’s 500 years in Fallen Waldgrave and that’s firm. You’ve been convicted of the Crime of Demonic Possession.  I took off 100 as time served.”

“ Thank you Sheriff, thank you.” Waldgrave told her.

As they drove up to the darkened barred windows of Fallen and the dark figures of the Wardens walked towards the car Sarah told Waldgrave, “ I’m sending Danver’s heart to Sawajinn, it’s the most I can do for you and it’s the best I can do for his victims. I mean he’s going to rot in a prison designed for, well, the kind of people that live in Duwamish Bay. You couldn’t pay me enough to watch what’s going to happen to him there. Still it’s 98 dead, but if you wouldn’t have been there…who knows how much worse it could have been.”

Then Sarah asked and you could hear that she probably already knew what Waldgrave was going to say “answer me this Waldgrave, was Danvers human?”

“ I’m sure of it.”

Sarah grimaced and Waldgrave wasn’t sure if she was reacting to the Wardens or what he said.

Waldgrave leaned back and nodded. “ I’m afraid” the Demon told the Sheriff as the Wardens came for him.

Sarah was looking far away into the darkness and she thought of that dark human heart that shouldn’t exist being taken to the dark Prison at the end of the world and she said, “ we all are Waldgrave, we all are.”