

Horror America

The First Diary of Captain Stephen Parker

Edited by Paul Westwood

Published at Smashwords

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Foreword

What you hold in your hands is a book unlike anything that I have read. Let me warn you that it is a horrifying account from the past, but it may hold clues to defeat what I and a colleague have mistakenly unearthed. My name is David Trenton. I am an associate professor of archaeology at Columbia University in New York City, and it is a position that I have held for the past thirty years. I am proud to say that I am an expert in the history of this magnificent city, and have been part of many well-known digs in its environs. You may remember my name; I was the lead archaeologist who coordinated the excavation of Burial Ridge on Staten Island and then completed the landmark book on the burial practices and cultural rituals of prehistoric Native Americans. I tell you this to reiterate that I am a careful researcher and not known in archaeological circles for quickly jumping to conclusions based on speculation and wild conjecture. Yet I find myself now doing what I have been trained not to do: that is, accept as the truth what I have always believed to be silly superstitions.

I am talking about the strange discovery which was made only last week by one of my brightest interns, Michael Kent. Michael was spending his summer evenings as usual – carefully studying the architecture of St. Patrick's cathedral church on the busy corner of 5th avenue and 51st street. As New Yorkers well know, this famous church was erected in 1858, but is currently now undergoing a 175 million dollar renovation to restore it as much as possible to its original state. So Michael was completing his cataloguing of the damage to the mortar in the interior of the church when he spied an opening behind one of the loose bricks. Training a flashlight into the hole, he discovered what looked like a very large chamber that had never been seen before.

He called me in the middle of the night, and I would have waited until the morning to view the chamber, but Michael told me in a excited voice that there was something quite unusual that he had glimpsed in the area that needed my immediate inspection. When I arrived with flashlight in hand, I peered through the opening and saw something that made the bile rise in my throat. I choked it back, and then we hurriedly and removed more of the loose mortar and powdery bricks so that we could enter this walled-in crypt.

I looked at Michael and then bravely stepped in first. Shuffling forward, I bent down to examine the strange creature that Michael had spotted on the cold floor. It looked exactly like a carved gargoyle, but the leering face was definitely once alive. Huge sharp teeth jutted from its maw, and although the body was now mummified, I could imagine its webbed wings swiftly beating as it bore down on hapless victims.

Michael nudged me with his flashlight, and I jumped up, almost knocking my head on the low ceiling. I turned, and spotted an old leather knapsack emblazoned with a US insignia from the Civil War. Resting nearby was a Colt Navy revolver circa 1851. It was then I noticed several spent cartridges scattered throughout the chamber. I immediately imagined some person fighting off the winged monster with his gun, but who was he and how did he end up here below the church? I picked up the knapsack. Maybe it held the answers to my questions.

A scratching sound got my attention. Michael and I shone our flashlights back forward into the cavernous room; I shuddered as I saw several more of the dead winged creatures splayed about everywhere. Some looked like they had been blown apart by an explosion, while others were still intact. Curiosity made me want to press ahead, but I hesitated as more scratching sounds emanated from beyond the reach of our light. I was scared; I am an archaeologist, and definitely not an adventurer at heart. So I motioned for Michael to follow me back, but he shook his head and walked forward. I should have grabbed his arm to turn him around, but I was too late.

Before I could even react, several of those hideous creatures flew forward and they landed on Michael, burying their sharp claws and teeth into his soft skin. He flailed backwards as he screamed, and the flashlight was knocked from my hand. As I said before, I am no brave hero. I scrambled for the opening, barely making it through before those monsters could take me down next. I rammed myself through the entrance, hoping that Michael might be right behind me, but somehow knew he was already dead. I hastily put back the bricks, sweat pouring down my skin as my hands shook. I wasn't sure they would hold, but I needed to find help and fast.

When the police arrived, I told them what had happened. They at first thought I was a nutter, clutching the old knapsack and gibbering on about winged gargoyles, but when they entered the chamber and saw poor Michael, the smiles dropped off their faces.

I have since retreated to my office at the university and have discovered what the knapsack contained: a set of yellowed diaries. I will let you read what I have read three times now. It is an account of a cavalry officer from the Civil War. I believe what he has written about the supernatural world to be true, for I now look over my shoulder wherever I go. I would advise you to do the same. Because when the police further investigated that awful crypt with guns ready, they found none of those foul creatures. They had escaped. . . .

.

Diary Entry I – New York City

Part I

When telling your story, it is always difficult knowing where to start. I shall start with my name: Stephen Parker, once a Federal Cavalry officer of the Potomac Army. I, like so many others, was embroiled in the recent great Civil War that almost tore our mighty nation into two. Most readers would suggest telling a tale at the very beginning, and for the adventurous life I have led that would seem to make the most sense. I have robbed trains, fought pirates, killed men in battle, and have done many other significant acts that would take a long time to fully account. But for all my years of wandering as a gun for hire, I cannot fathom why anyone would be interested in my past exploits. Sure, I've seen men die by the score, but the horrors of battle and death are a pittance compared to what I have recently experienced. So I shall spare the reader those tumultuous years of my less than honorable past and instead concentrate on the day I met Dr. Edwin Townsend. It was this ill-fated meeting that forever changed me; letting the thin veneer of reality slip from my eyes and exposing the terror that truly exists underneath.

It all started in the summer of 1875, where I found myself in New York City nearly penniless and with little prospects of finding any real gainful employment. The unexpected crash of the gold market in 1873 had caused several bank failures and a general social unrest that threatened to change the very fabric of society. Any job was hard to come by, so on the promise of an old army comrade, Henry Elliot, I had come to New York to take a position in his newly founded hardware store. You may consider it strange that a gentleman of my profession would take on such a job, but by this time I was tired of my old adventuring life as a private soldier. Too many years with too little reward had been spent fraught with danger, so I decided to enjoy the rest of my life in a more peaceable fashion.

Like many plans, it went awry from the start because by the time I arrived from Cuba, the business had already failed, and my so-called friend was bankrupt. Poor old Henry never had a mind for sums and he was certainly was in no financial position to help me, so as expected, I was left to my own devices. The situation was nothing new to me. I held no ill will towards him for leaving me in the lurch. However, the cost of the boat fare to New York had left me terminally short of cash. Adding to my financial worries was the place I was staying at. The Hotel Wolcott was a rather expensive one, as befitting a gentleman of my distinction, but I had no money left to pay for my stay. I do not want to color the reader's impression, but one should not suppose that I'm some type of weak-kneed dandy who has lived a pampered life – quite the contrary - I've slept in forests, deserts and even on a crowded lifeboat filled with thirst-crazed survivors. It is for these very reasons that I think I deserve the best in life. When you have seen the face of death as many times as I have, it's quite understandable that one begins to have an appreciation for the finer things in life.

I had been staying at the hotel for just over a week when the management began to suspect that I was not quite the well-heeled gentleman that I made myself out to be. I had managed to avoid the management's increasing demands for payment by staying out of sight. I really couldn't leave as I had nowhere to go. I also wasn't about to sell off my guns since they are necessary for my rather specialized line of work. And a soldier without guns is like an empty-handed butcher.

With that in mind, you may understand my actions as I left my hotel room. I cautiously made my way down the stairs until I reached the lobby. The opening of the grand stairs widened out to a great room with the front desk to the left and a well-lit lobby to my right. A few late breakfasters were dawdling over their coffee, so I felt no need to make a scene. So I treaded carefully as I could past the front desk where the manager was bowing and scraping to a more well-appointed customer. I was hoping to make it by sight unseen, but as usual, my luck did not hold out.

A sudden voice bellowed out, "Mr. Parker, I wish to discuss the payment of your bill."

That was the voice of Mr. Evans, the day manager.

"I'm sorry, I don't have the time as I must attend an important meeting," I lied as I turned to face him.

Though he normally looked poised, his shoulders were coiled in anger, and his eyes had all the life of a gravedigger. He certainly had the look of a thug when his dander was up.

I tipped my hat politely and continued, "I really must go." I then turned my back to him and walked on, as if I didn't have a care in the world.

The front counter snapped open. Even with the luxurious rugs littering the wooden parquet floor, I could hear the tread of a heavy foot coming my way.

"But, sir," he said harshly.

That word "sir" was stated with considerable venom, so I quickened my pace until I was at the front door. I looked briefly over my shoulder and gave him a friendly wave with my cane. With a quick jerk, I opened the door and hastily stepped out into the boardwalk. A few steps later, I was around the corner, and from there I took off in a sprint. This understandably brought a few gasps from my fellow pedestrians, but I really didn't have time to consider their tender sensibilities as my own hide was in jeopardy. As soon as I made it a block, I took a turn down another street and began walking in a decidedly calmer manner. I'm certainly no coward, but a fight would have seen me thrown out on my ear with nowhere else to go. I've lived on the street before and would go to great lengths to avoid doing it again.

I needed to do some further thinking on my financial situation, so I ducked into the nearest saloon. Of course the nearest saloon is one that I have visited several times before. It was a wreck of a place improbably named the Farmer's Rest, located in a side street that few upright citizens would dare tread. It was the type of establishment frequented by whores, sailors, and the terminally unemployable. This place was hardly suitable for a gentleman, but at least the drinks were cheap since I only had a few coins left in my pocket. One had to make do with what one had when pursuing a lifelong interest in alcohol.

As the doors swung shut behind me, the conversation paused briefly as the few patrons looked curiously in my direction. These types were always on the lookout for an overzealous creditor or policeman. Someone in the back laughed in relief, and the level of conversation was quickly raised back to normal levels. Out of long habit, a nearby hooker gave me a predatory grin that revealed a row of missing front teeth. You could say that this was a friendly place, provided you didn't drink enough to pass out. At that point your wallet, hat, and watch were bound to be stolen.

Sauntering up to the bar, I hooked my cane into the crook of my elbow and leaned my weight against the tobacco-burned and knife-scarred surface. The bartender, Old Tom, gave me a glance and smiled faintly my way before pulling down a bottle of unlabeled whiskey from the shelf. He was a big man with unkempt hair and a dirty waistcoat that looked if it had never been washed. His lips were so thin they hardly existed, and the face was formed from thick slabs of flesh. Yet I had been surprised to find out that he had been a decorated veteran of the celebrated Black Hats of the Iron Brigade. Looking at the fellow now, you would never have guessed that he had fought with the best regiment in the Union Army. However, upon closer inspection, one could see he walked quite comfortably with that big Army Colt pistol hanging on his hip. You knew by his eyes that he feared no man. That's why there was very little real trouble in this establishment unless you came looking for it.

Tom plopped the bottle down and slid a grimy glass my way. "Still looking for work?" he asked with a friendly enough drawl.

"I'm afraid I haven't had much luck," I replied uneasily. Before, in one of my more drunken moments, I had laid out all my problems to him. But still, I really hadn't been looking all that hard for work, at least not the type of work that your average man would take. For one, I wanted something that paid well, as I wasn't about to go and drive a wagon or unload fish down at the docks. I was still hoping that blind luck would lead me to something more profitable than calluses.

"Plenty of workers, but not enough work to go around," Tom said, with the air of a wise man imparting a deep secret to the religious novice. He then poured me a stiff drink and left to tend to some of his other customers. He also had the good sense to leave me the bottle.

I found myself studying the glass in front of me, wondering whether I should start drinking. As you can tell, I have nothing against the imbibing of spirits, but it was still mid-morning. When did I ever find a solution at the end of a bottle? One never does, but it certainly dulls the unpleasant edges of life. So with that in mind, I took the drink anyways and enjoyed the familiar burning sensation in the back of my throat.

Casting my eye about the saloon, I noticed a crumpled newspaper on the dusty floor. Out of boredom, I bent over to retrieve it and discovered a copy of yesterday's _New York Times_. It was surprising to see the _Times_ in this establishment, so perhaps some wealthy seeker of illicit pleasures must have left it behind. I rested the paper on the bar and began a methodical scanning of the headlines. It was the usual sort of thing with articles on the bank trouble in San Francisco, Yellow Fever, Indian affairs, and a far-too lengthy piece on the current state of foreign markets.

After spending a few minutes on those mundane stories, I took a large sip of whiskey. With my nerves considerably steadied, I moved on to the work advertisements in the back of the paper. These terrible days there was a shortage of available work, so I certainly didn't expect to find much of anything. My suspicions were proven true as I quickly read through the scant job postings. There was an opening for an engineer, newspaper delivery, and even a golden opportunity for raising rabbits at home, but my attention was quickly drawn to a more innocuous advertisement.

Doctor of Philosophy seeks research assistant. Some travel involved.

_Interviews to be held between_ _noon a_ _nd four o'clock on Tuesday, July 23_ RD _._

189 Cricket Court, Queens c/o Dr. Townsend.

Such an advertisement may not have sounded all that exciting to most, but to me it was a chance to free myself from money troubles. If I managed to land a job like this, then I could take a more secure path in life. I saw myself taking a daily trip to the library, setting up traveling arrangements on the doctor's money and living a life of ease, visiting the various fine hotels dotted across the Americas. Perhaps there would even be a yearly trip away from the cold winter of New York.

My daydream was broken by the approach of Old Tom who asked, "How's the whiskey? You've hardly touched a drop of that bottle. That isn't like you at all."

"I was just looking at this job advertisement here," I said as I pointed to the words on the paper.

He turned the paper about and began to read. His thin lips moved slowly with every word. After he had finished, he turned the paper back in my direction and rested his chin on the palm of his right hand.

"Townsend, eh?" he finally said with familiarity.

"You know of him?"

A nervous smile twitched across his broad mouth before he said, "Oh sure, not that I've ever met him personal like, but he has made a name for himself 'round here. Not the kind of work I would do, but still there is always a need for men like the good Dr. Townsend."

At this point I was feeling a little confused. What could this man of learning do for the poor people of this neighborhood?

"And exactly what kind of work does he do?" I finally asked, fearing the doctor was involved in some dreadful charity.

Old Tom looked nervously about the room as if making sure our conversation was not being overheard. With a near whisper, he replied, "From what I've heard, he takes care of bad spirits and the like."

I'm afraid I didn't understand what Tom was talking about, so I asked, "Bad spirits? Like flat beer and watered-down whiskey?" I took another sip of my wretched drink and thought that perhaps the good doctor would do well to visit this establishment.

"Now you're making fun of me," Tom fumed and looked as if he was about to walk away.

"I'm doing nothing of the sort," I said soothingly since I wasn't about to make an enemy of the only comrade I had left in this town. "I just don't understand what this Dr. Townsend really does for a living."

He paused thoughtfully before asking, "Have you ever been back to visit the old battlefields?"

"I'm afraid I never had the chance," I replied hoping Old Tom was not about to get sentimental on me. Some of these old veterans think about nothing but the war as if it were the best days of their lives. I can tell you otherwise.

His eyes were misting with old memories now. "If you ever do, it is a truly moving experience. You swear you can hear the screams of the wounded, the crash of the musket and the whine of the minie ball going by."

A chill from an old memory went up my spine. I remembered my own desperate fight at Gettysburg when Buford ordered us to stop two of Heth's rebel brigades. I was up there on a ridge with the rest of my men. Our repeating rifles grew hot with the fire we poured on the enemy. I saw hundreds of dead men that day. Our own skins were only saved by the late arrival of General Reynolds and his men. I shuddered at the thought of that horrific day and took another drink to steady my nerves.

Old Tom went on and said, "The spirits of the dead walk those fields and haunt the places where they have fallen. I can feel their anger and sorrow. Some say that the dead wrongfully killed haunt the homes of this very city. That is what this Dr. Townsend does – he lets the spirits free themselves of their shackles here on Earth."

I looked at Tom, wondering if he had gone off his rocker, but his face was dead serious. "I see," I finally said.

"I don't think you believe me," he said, suspiciously, with eyes narrowed in distrust.

I wasn't about to anger this man, so I replied, "It's not that, but have you ever considered that this Dr. Townsend could be a fraud? I've heard stories about spiritualists taking advantage of poor mothers who have lost a son in the war."

"Townsend gets rid of the spirits, he doesn't bring them back," Old Tom snapped back sourly.

There was no arguing with this man. Instead, I took out my pocket watch and checked the time. It would be noon soon, so I decided that if I wanted to get a job with this so-called doctor, I had better leave now. Slapping my last dollar on the bar, I saluted Tom in a friendly fashion before turning to leave. He frowned, shook his head and returned to tending the bar.

As I began walking towards the Ferry to take me to Queens, I wondered if poor Old Tom had ever been wounded in the head. His talk about spirits and such certainly made no sense to me. The reader may be wondering why, after hearing the description of this Townsend, I would still consider taking the job, but I've worked for some less-than-savory characters in the past, and I had no good reason to disparage this doctor's so-called profession. It did not really matter how he made his money, provided I could get a bit of it for myself. I know it sounds rather mercenary, but that's what I do for a living.

At Ferry Point Park, I hopped on a little boat called the Sylvan Glen, paid my two bits and walked up to the top deck for a cigarette. When the stubby ship was eventually packed with enough passengers, it began the quick journey across to Flushing Bay over on the island. As we chugged along, I leaned against the rails and with interest watched the chaotic shipping traffic weaving through the bay. They sky above was grey from the smoke of a thousand chimneys, and the water below was tinged a disgusting brown color. I wondered again how I had ever been persuaded to come to this rotten, crowded city.

After getting off at the ferry terminal, I asked a few fellows standing around and found that Cricket Court was located off of Hoffman Boulevard in the Forest Hills neighborhood. I thought Forest Hills was a strange name for this area as it had nothing to do with hills or forests. It really was just a collection of little dirty farms that were slowly being eaten up by more and more housing for those wishing to escape the filth of the city. People certainly have some strange notions of how they wish to live.

I tramped along Hoffman Boulevard, past several farms and new blocks of apartment flats. The entire area was a strange mix of old and new. With their rough wooden sides and dirt driveway, the farms looked to have been built over a century ago. The newer apartment buildings were modern brick, and some stood at an amazing eight stories high. Packs of dirty children ran down the streets, making their playful, familiar noises as they dodged past the men and women going about their business.

Eventually I found Cricket Court, which to my ears sounded like an imaginary street in some dreary book. At the end of the dead end, there was a small low-rising hill with a large house planted on top. The home was painted black and looked like a place that Edgar Allen Poe or some other depressing writer would find most cheery. The dreariness of the structure seemed to dominate the area with a brooding menace that was hard to shake. I just knew that the Gothic structure was going to be my final destination.

As I drew closer, I noted the vine-covered brick fence that was strung around the hill. The grounds inside looked unkempt and disused. The next door neighbors obviously did not approve of this residence as both sides of the yard were bordered by a high hedge in a feeble attempt to block the gloomy structure and overgrown garden from view.

I walked up the dusty road leading to the house and rested my hands on the closed rusty gate. The address placard showed that I was at the right place, but there was no one about to receive guests. The gate was held closed with a rusted padlock the size of my fist. Peering past the bars, I saw that the grounds were a motley assortment of gnarled trees and weed-choked flower beds. The air here was dead still, and I could only hear some bees buzzing by and the chirp of a few excited birds. The sun beat hard on my shoulders, making me feel strangely drowsy. A nagging thought went through my head that I had misread the advertisement and had ended up here at the wrong time.

I then noticed to a door to the right of the gate. It was a black metal door set into the brick that was half-hidden by thick ivy that covered the wall. I went on over and gave it a push. My ears were greeted by a grating squeal as the ancient hinges protested the sudden movement. I gingerly crossed the threshold and cautiously took the sloping road up to the front of the house. There was a feeling of foreboding in the air that I could not place. I felt as if I was in a dream.

As I walked, my suspicions were confirmed that it had been sometime before anyone had given any proper care to this place. The house was certainly in no better condition with buckled wooden siding and stretches of weather-stained gray showing under peeling paint. I began to wonder at the prospect of this job. How could this Townsend afford a clerk if he couldn't very well keep his own house in order? At this point, I had nothing to lose, so I steeled myself to continue on.

Part II

The entrance to this massive house was guarded by two man-sized gargoyles that had seen better days. Their stony faces were flecked with dirt and grime, adding more lines to their already stern countenance. I stepped gingerly past them as if they would suddenly spring to life. The front door, which was large enough to swallow a wagon, thudded dully against my heavy knock. It was almost as if I was expected since it was just a moment before the door swung open and revealed a very beautiful woman.

The black dress she was wearing was worn with use, but it clung fetchingly to her taut figure. A black choker circled her neck which only accentuated her lovely clear skin and raven hair. With a straight nose, long dark eyelashes and a dainty chin, she could have been an artist's model. Her youthful skin was wonderfully alabaster white and her eyes, oddly enough, were dark blue. It was a lovely combination of features, and I'm afraid my jaw must have dropped in surprise. One gets tired of the same brown-eyed Spanish beauties down south, and after all my time down there, this lovely thing seemed quite exotic. I quickly took off my hat and gave a polite little bow.

Her eyes narrowed, and she said in a beautiful but forlorn tone, "You are here about the job?" The lovely voice had a lovely, lilting quality, but it lacked any trace of friendliness. She was a cold one alright.

I swallowed hard from unexpected nervousness and replied with my best smile, "Yes, Miss, if the job is still available I would like to see the doctor."

She took my hat and cane, swung around on her heel without a further word, and I followed behind, shutting the door as I went. I'll admit I spent my time lustfully watching the curve of her backside and hardly noticed the rundown carpets and dark dusty furniture. I nearly ran into her when she stopped at a door which was already open.

"If you will wait in the parlor, sir," she said with a bit of spite added to her charming voice.

With another ingratiating smile and a bow, I brushed past her. I found that there were five other gentlemen waiting inside. They looked expectantly up at me and quickly turned their eyes away when they saw I wasn't her. Striding confidently in, I cast my glance around trying to find somewhere suitable to sit. Someone snickered as I managed to find a rickety rocking chair near some fat man with bookish airs. He shifted nervously in his own chair as if I was the class bully about to the steal his lunch pail.

Looking around the room, I could see why he felt this way. The whole lot of them were serious-looking types with a distinctly domesticated air. They were obviously experienced clerks and vying to become the assistant to this Townsend. My spirits sank with the thought since I had little offer against these learned men. Sure, I could read and write like any proper gentleman, but I certainly did not think I knew my way about an office like these Sunday soldiers. I would bet anything that not a single one of them ever saw a battle or the sharp end of a sword. It was sickening to think of all the good men who died, so deadbeats like these could go on breathing. It was a waste of good air.

My thoughts were interrupted by a nudge of an elbow into my right side. It was the fool sitting next to me. He had little gold-rimmed glasses, a spotty, chubby face, and held a damp handkerchief clutched tightly in his thick hand. His voice was high with anxiety as he asked, "May I ask, who do you currently clerk for?"

"I have never clerked for anyone, and I'm afraid I'm without work," I replied tersely.

"And who was your previous employer?" he sniffed.

"A rather wealthy sugar plantation owner down in Cuba."

"It must have been awfully hot down there," the clerk sniffed again before dabbing at his nose.

"It wasn't the weather that bothered me," I replied easily and leaned back into my chair. I so hate describing what I do to civilians. I could tell he was about to ask further questions when we were interrupted by the arrival of the girl.

Like love-sick calves, all of our heads swiveled in her direction. She looked over the room without interest and soon pointed at some reedy looking gentleman. He nodded eagerly, dusted off some imaginary dirt from his pants and followed her out.

"She's a pretty thing," I commented.

"Rather," my newly-found friend agreed readily enough. "As I was about to ask, what bothered you down in Cuba? Let me guess, was it the lazy peasants or the tropical sun?"

I laughed, drawing the attention of the other waiting applicants. The so-called peasants down there worked harder than anyone I had ever seen. It was no easy task cultivating sugarcane with the sun scorching your back. "No, I'm afraid it was the rebels trying to shoot my head off, but we soon took care of them."

"And how is that?" he gulped.

"We strung them up, one by one, on the nearest tree."

"You mean you hanged them?" he asked as his faced blanched white.

"Oh yes," I replied nastily. "That's what happens down there to men who break the law."

He turned away from me. I could see him visibly tremble with fear. My little lie was enough to stop his conversation with me, which was a relief since he was obviously a bore. However, I will admit to the reader that I did no such thing down in Cuba. Instead, I just ended up playing guard for a farmer. Sure there were rebels on the island, but I never saw any in the part I was stationed at, since men with just machetes won't bother those armed with guns. My time down there had been boring enough that I had decided to leave for New York, but my new friend here had no reason to know that.

The room eventually cleared out as the other applicants were quickly called one by one. My companion was the last to go, and as he followed the girl out, he shot me a fearful glance. It was a relief to finally be free of that tedious lot and have the room to myself. My time alone, however, was cut short. Within a minute, the girl had already returned and was beckoning for me to follow her.

"The doctor will see you now," she stated flatly.

Her eyes looked past me as if I wasn't there, but I still gawked at her nonetheless as we began walking down the dark corridors of this house. She led me further into the interior with my previous lust quickly tempered by the strange new sights. There were now too many curiosities about to make any further study of her possible, for the hall we went down was crowded with glass cabinets crammed with strange objects – wicked-looking daggers, ivory boxes, shrunken heads, jars filled with unspeakable things, and a myriad of other items that I could scarcely describe. The girl just walked past these horrible curios as if she was used to the sight. I'll admit those objects darkened my mood since it showed that this mysterious Townsend took his business rather seriously.

"Excuse me," I finally said to her, "my name is Stephen. What is yours?"

She did not reply but suddenly stopped at a wide oak door that was shut. Reaching over, she opened the door to reveal a room which was pitch black inside. She motioned for me to enter into the darkness beyond.

"Is the doctor in there?" I asked weakly, wishing that I had brought a pistol. A little firepower goes a long way to even the odds.

She nodded, and I girded myself to enter the room. As soon as I did, the door slammed shut. Across the room, a match was struck. As the flame of an oil lamp suddenly lit up the room, my hand was unconsciously going for a non-existent gun hanging on my hip.

At first sight, I found myself standing in a well-populated library with an elderly fellow sitting behind an old desk that had seen better days. The library was large but had an air of decay with piles of musty books stacked high to the ceiling. Heavy curtains stopped any light from penetrating into this mysterious place. A few well-cushioned chairs were placed in front of an empty fireplace where an enterprising spider had been busy spinning webs.

The man blew out the match and began fiddling with the oil lamp. When he was finally satisfied with the amount of light, he began speaking to me in an easy confident tone.

"I am Dr. Edwin Townsend. And your name is?"

"Stephen Parker," I said without expression, since I did not want to reveal my initial surprise. I guessed that the other applicants must have scampered off in fear, and I was the only one left in the running.

"You're a military man aren't you?" His voice was dry like paper, but stiff and careful, as if long-practiced with speaking from authority.

"Yes, sir," I answered stiffly. He must have noticed when I went for a pistol that wasn't there.

"Come closer, so I can get a better look at you," he said, politely enough.

"Yes, sir," I answered again.

I took a cautious step forward. I was now able to study this Townsend a little more closely. His hair, though gray, was long and messily pulled back around his ears. He had a craggy face with intelligent looking blue eyes that were framed with heavy lines. The eyes were an odd shade of china blue and nearly shone in the dim lamp light. He was dressed in a dark suit that an undertaker would have found quite favorable.

"I see that you've been abroad for quite some time," he commented. "And you've recently run into a bit of money problems, haven't you?"

"How do you know all of this?" I asked with expected consternation. Coming here had truly been a random event so how could this doctor possibly know so much about me?

"That's easy," he cackled with self-satisfaction. "You still have the vestige of a dark tan - the sort of tan that a man could only get in the bright sun of the southern climate. As for your money problems, I can see that your clothes are of a fine cut and obviously tailored. However, they are looking a little threadbare from long use, and your boots could do with some mending since I can see they have been clumsily repaired, most likely by your own hand. From that, I was able to deduce that you are a gentleman who has fallen upon hard times."

"And you knew that I was once a soldier by my violent reaction to the match being lit?"

"Oh, you are a clever one. That was exactly my train of thought. Of course a man of your age would also be likely to have been involved in the Great Civil War that embroiled our country only too recently. A few years in the army makes a mark on a man."

"Cavalry," I corrected him out of habit. Those of us who rode in the war considered ourselves superior to the poor infantry. "On the face of it, your conclusions were foregone."

He looked rather pleased with himself as his eyes twinkled. "I must admit that I used to be a student of the famed Dr. John Bell. As you may have heard, he had a remarkable method of learning the most from his patients by examining their voices and physical characteristics. He used his power of observations to further his medical research while I chose to use mine for the unusual profession I have undertaken."

"And what exactly is your profession?" I asked suspiciously. "The advertisement wasn't very clear on the duties you are assuming of the applicant."

He gave me a wintry smile and replied, "Let's just say that I handle problems that most men can't. There are little mysteries and unexplained phenomenon that will vex most mortals. My profession is to simply assist people in such matters. But this is not the time to discuss such things. I will fill you in on the details once I think you are suitable to take up the position. As far as the job goes, I will require a man with a strong mind and an equally strong back. Do you possess such characteristics?"

"I believe I do."

"Very well, Mr. Parker, tell me about your life and military experience."

I gathered my thoughts before answering. With a quick breath, I finally said, "I was raised in Kalamazoo, Michigan and lived there until my early twenties. At the outbreak of the war, I tried to join the army but was refused due to my last name. You see, my father was a well-known judge but was not in favor of the war. I was recognized by the local recruiter and turned down. However, a day later, I went to another town and enlisted there. After some basic training, I was sent to the cavalry as a lieutenant. I eventually rode under John Buford, who was a good commanding officer."

"The Brigadier General Buford?" Townsend asked.

"The very same," I replied with a touch of pride. "My first taste of war was when we fought the rebels at Brandy Station. We showed those Confederates that we could ride just as well as Stuart's men. Then we fought again at Upperville where we made some daring attacks before being repulsed by superior firepower."

"And then Gettysburg?"

"Yes," I replied, surprised by the knowledge of this strange doctor.

"What was that like?" he asked solemnly. His voice was soft, but the eyes were intent with interest.

"We came to the town of Gettysburg and nearly ran right into the rebels. Buford then ordered us to take up positions to stop the coming enemy infantry. You see, he wanted to save the high ground for General Reynolds, who was a few miles back. Though we were just considered cavalry, Buford had given us repeating rifles, and always ordered us to dismount when fighting the enemy. We were more like mobile infantry than true horsemen. I was ordered with my men to hold a ridge on the left flank. We dug in and waited until the rebels were almost on top of us before we fired. They kept on coming even though we gave them everything we had. Our battered lines curled up on the sides, but we held until we had no choice but to retreat. It was Reynolds's men who came to our rescue that day. After the battle, I was promoted to captain."

"So you have seen death up close?"

"I've seen and experienced enough of it to last a lifetime," I said distastefully since I hated dredging up old memories of terror and fear. There is nothing brave about being in a battle as you just hang on and try to survive. When you have lived through something as terrible as a war, you can only wonder why you are still alive while so many other men are gone from this mortal world. What gives you the right to go on breathing while others are buried six feet under? I don't want to sound morose, but this doctor had a strange way of bringing that out.

"And what did you do after the war?" the doctor asked, reaching over to a side table and drawing out a cigarette case. Opening it, he held out a dark-looking cigarette for me which I stepped forward to take.

Up close, I noticed his hands were stained with ink and liver spots, which made him look even more ancient than I had guessed. With my own match, I lit the cigarette and found it was made from fine Virginian tobacco.

I took a puff and replied, "After all that excitement, I wasn't ready to go back to a normal civilian life. Instead, I went panning for gold out west, and after I failed at that, I went down to South America to try my hand at being a soldier again. There is always something to do down there for a man who happens to be good with a gun. I was involved in a few revolutions, even fighting for both sides, and after a few years of that, I decided to come back to the States to enjoy some civilization for a change."

Townsend smiled vaguely. "You know how to read and write?"

"I do. Perhaps not as well as the other applicants I saw waiting in your parlor, but well enough to get by."

"Latin?"

"As I said, my father was a judge. He educated me in his own way. Latin was part of my schooling as was geography, math and logic."

The doctor nodded thoughtfully before lighting a cigarette for himself. A cloud of smoke engulfed him as he smoked like a locomotive. After a few moments, he coughed and said, "As you can see, I'm no longer a young man. I fear that I have little time left in this world. I need someone to help me with my work. My house is in disrepair, and my daughter will be wedded soon. Would you be willing to help me out?"

His daughter? What kind of ogre-ish offspring could I expect to spring forth from such a man? I hemmed and hawed before replying. "I'm not sure if I want to be a servant looking after the interests of a young girl."

"I certainly wouldn't ask you to do that," he countered. "I'm looking for a business partner, not someone to slave under me. As for Ellen, she is certainly no longer a young girl as you could tell when you met her. She will require no attention on your part."

I was shocked to find that wonderful creature was his daughter. Her mother must have been a real beauty since Townsend was not a handsome man. I put that thought aside and cautiously said, "A business partner? I'm afraid I cannot hold up any financial obligations on my end."

He waved his cigarette about in an agitated manner. "You bring experience to the table. A man with steady nerves and a strong arm is all I'm looking for. Consider this an apprenticeship of sorts, but remember that someone has to take care of the mundane side of life so I can carry on with my research. That is the only task I ask for you while we are not out working a case."

"I think I can handle that," I readily agreed.

He added darkly. "But I have to warn you that you will see things that would break most men."

I merely shrugged my shoulders to dismiss his cryptic warning. I had lived through a war, so there was nothing left to fear in life. I said, "What kind of pay are we talking about?"

"Thirty dollars a week," he answered.

I frowned at him and protested, "That is all you can afford to pay? I can barely live within my means on those wages."

"Don't worry, Captain Parker," he replied easily. "It will also include lodging and food. You will be staying here at the house and eating from my well-stocked larder. That will certainly take some of the edge off of your expenses."

I took my time answering as I didn't want to appear too eager, but what choice did I have? It was either this or end up starving out in the streets. With some mild resignation, I finally replied, "I will accept your generous offer, sir."

He stood up from his chair. I was surprised by his height. He was tall, lean and - for his age - managed to walk easily enough. His hand shot out, and we shook on our new partnership. Little did I know what strange journeys this man would take me. If I had the ability to foresee the future, I would have swam back to Cuba and stayed there.

Diary Entry II – The First Case

Part I

My work at Cricket Court was hardly taxing, and I rather enjoyed running the day-to-day affairs of such a large household. Laborers were immediately hired to start mending the house, improve the landscape, and return the place into a grand residence once again. On my part, this required the juggling of several different firms and keeping track of the expenses. My old army experience was invaluable in this situation. A suitable household staff was also found, including a proper butler named Charles Ingham, and an old maid of a housekeeper with the terrible name of Phyllis Drake. Since they had the experience in such matters, I let them make their own hires. They could certainly decide better than I who was a suitable candidate for dusting and cleaning.

After the new staff had been hired, this once lonely home was soon busy with the sounds of cleaning and the arranging of newly purchased furniture. The bizarre curios were gingerly moved to the basement while all of the windows were opened to remove the musty smell of years gone by. It was a radical transformation. I'm sure Townsend was grateful for my efficient handling of the entire matter.

My own personal quarters were of an impressive size. It featured a large double bed that I aimed to put to good use. Once the dusty furniture in the room had been cleaned and polished, I felt right at home in the aging splendor. Located on the second story, my room was also far away from the servants and the Townsend family. This made it suitably private if I wanted to entertain a maiden or two.

As for Miss Townsend, she continued to ignore my personal entreaties in her odd way. She did not even acknowledge my existence and instead went on her own business unaffected by my presence. She certainly was a strange one. I watched curiously as she drifted through the newly decorated rooms with a sad hollow expression. None of the modern fabrics or fresh wallpaper held any interest to her, and I began to wonder if she missed the previous gloominess of the old home. The original decor certainly did fit her dark mood much better. The new servants seemed quite frightened by her behavior and wisely tried to stay out of her way. Nonetheless, I was still entranced by her otherworldly beauty and wanted to break past her self-imposed solitude.

I also met her fiancé, Theodore Upton, and my initial impressions were not positive. I was at the front entrance on a Sunday evening, talking to Charles about some household matter, when there was an impatient rap at the door. The door was promptly opened, and in strode a strange-looking gentleman in his middle years. With pale white skin, his eyes were black as coal with a tight uncompromising face and a long, protruding nose. Even with his slight build, he still moved gracefully like a practiced sword fighter. Though well-dressed and obviously well-bred, his manner was cold as he roughly shoved his coat and hat into the waiting arms of Charles. For some unexplained reason, his very presence afflicted me with nervousness. I instantly disliked this man, and his rude manner only confirmed my suspicions.

"My name is Upton. I am here to see Ellen," he addressed me like a common servant.

"Go right ahead," I replied brusquely. "She's in the parlor if I'm not mistaken."

He stared at me, and a little smile crept on the corner of his thin bloodless lips. "Of course she is," he replied. "I have been here before so don't bother showing me the way."

"I won't bother."

He swept imperiously past me and went into the parlor, firmly shutting the door. I found out with time that his Sunday night visits were a usual but unsettling occurrence. On each occasion they spent a few hours alone in the front parlor. What they did in there, I could only guess, but the only time I saw Ellen smile is when she heard his familiar knock at the door. How they met or why they decided to marry each other, I did not know or dare yet ask.

As for Dr. Townsend, he spent most of his time in the library reading obscure texts or cooking up some deviltry in the laboratory down in the basement. The servants were understandably almost as afraid of him as they were his daughter. But still, he was a gracious employer. Whenever I brought up the costs of refurbishing the house, he would merely wave me away with disinterest. He would always sign whatever check I brought, and I began to wonder if the old fool had put too much trust into me. Mind you, I wasn't keen on robbing him, at least not yet, for my living conditions were too pleasant to risk it all over some petty fraud.

Except for my unsuccessful attempts of conversing with Ellen, my first month at Cricket Court was relatively uneventful. The house was taking shape, and as I grew used to living here, I started to appreciate living on a stable income.

It was late August when I experienced the first case in this new profession of mine. It was mid-afternoon when Charles came to tell me that the doctor wished to see me in the library. Due to a pressing household matter, I took some time getting there, and when I opened the door, I was taken aback by the sight of a couple sitting uncomfortably in front of Townsend's desk. The doctor was there, studying them with those now familiar cold eyes. He slowly shifted his gaze in my direction and motioned for me to sit down.

I took a chair to the side and got my first chance to study our guests.

The man was older with a small frame and trembling hands. His brown hair was edged with white, and a stubby nose barely poked out of his pockmarked face. He was, however, well-dressed and had all the manner of a worried banker. It was the strained look of man who wonders whether or not the accounts balance to the nearest penny.

The woman next to him looked to be in her late thirties. She must have been a great beauty at some time earlier in her life, for even now she still had no small amount of comeliness. With smooth creamy skin and well-formed lips, she must have broken a few hearts in her time. A small hat was balanced on her reddish hair which was neatly pinned up. Her clothes were also well-made and in the height of fashion.

While I was looking them over, Townsend said, "This is my partner, Captain Parker. He is in my complete confidence, so have no undue concerns as whatever you have to say would eventually be shared with him."

The fellow nodded slowly in agreement, but the woman said sharply, "Doctor, this is a most delicate situation as we cannot have even a hint of a scandal attached to our names."

Townsend sighed and said, "Do not be worried, for he is in my complete confidence. However if you wish to take your business elsewhere, that is your decision."

"Very well," she replied uneasily after glancing sharply in my direction.

I felt a little lost as proper introductions hadn't been made. So instead I just sat there and tried to look serious as if I was always called into strange meetings in dark libraries.

The man shifted his weight uncomfortably on the wooden chair and gave a polite little cough before saying, "We were given your name by a trusted friend of ours. He saw fit to use your services. We hope to have the same success as he did."

"So you shall," the doctor said smugly. "Go ahead and start at the beginning." He leaned back in his chair to listen with his fingers pressed together in a judicious manner.

"My name is Harry Winslet, and I'm the recently made manager of the First Union Bank of New York City."

My intuition about him being banker had certainly been right! I felt proud at my amateur deduction and decided there was nothing that difficult about this investigation business.

He continued on, "My wife Catherine and I had been living with our daughter Jennifer for several years in a little apartment. Even as my job improved at the bank, we still stayed in these inexpensive lodgings to facilitate the savings to eventually purchase a proper house. Now that I'm a full manager, we decided it was time to move up in the world."

"Quite understandable," Townsend said impatiently.

Winslet visibly puffed with pride. "After all that time in a cramped apartment, we were quite ready to move into more suitable living quarters. This spring we looked at several homes in the proper neighborhoods, but nothing struck us as quite the right place."

"We do have our standards," his wife sniffed as she glanced at us expectantly as if we were supposed to be jealous of their station in life.

"As luck would have it, I was talking to Mr. Scott, the owner of my bank, and he had a suitable property in mind."

"That would be Alan Scott, the financier?" Townsend interrupted.

"The very same," Winslet said proudly.

Like his wife, I thought to myself, this banker was a bit of a pompous little toad.

"Mr. Scott has several properties, and the home he had in mind was actually used by him until just recently. I agreed to see it. I must tell you that the place was wonderful for the low price he was asking. The grounds were excellent as were the neighbors."

"We agreed to buy it that same day," Mrs. Winslet added.

Her husband beamed at her momentarily before going on. "We moved in the very next week, and we were all very happy with the new place. I think our daughter Jennifer was even happier than us, for she finally had a large bedroom to herself and a number of new neighborhood friends of the right social status. Her marriage prospects began looking bright as Mr. Scott's own son, Thomas, began to take quite an interest in her. He got to know her quite well and last month asked for her hand in marriage."

"This all sounds wonderful," Townsend said with a flippant wave of his hand. "But I fail to see why you require my rather specialized services. You are living in a good home now, and your daughter is about to be married to the son of a very wealthy man. Your star can hardly rise any higher than it already has. Unless you have a specific concern, I suggest you leave immediately and leave me to my work."

In shock at being spoken to in this brusque manner, the little banker opened his mouth but no words came out.

Instead, his wife took the bait and sputtered, "There is a ghost in our house!"

I looked at her in disbelief and felt my jaw drop, but Townsend merely nodded sagely at this unexpected bit of information. He then shot me a glance and minutely shook his head as if cautioning me to be quiet. I promptly shut my gaping mouth before anyone else noticed.

"Tell me how it all started," the doctor said softly as he leaned forward and rested his chin on a free hand.

Mr. Winslet seemed to have found his voice again, for he coughed nervously and said, "I'm glad you understand our strange situation since most others would scoff at such a claim. You see, when we first moved in everything was quiet, but then strange little things started happening. At first it was just some small household items that disappeared, and then some odd, cold spots started appearing in my personal office."

His wife inserted herself into the proceedings again and said, "I thought these incidents could be easily explained away by drafts or our new servants stealing."

I thought I was listening in on a conversation that would be better suited for the local insane asylum. But instead of laughing at the situation, I just sat there slowly nodding my head, all the while pretending as if I had some knowledge of such matters.

"Our new servants weren't too happy either," Mr. Winslet went on. "They began complaining of hearing knocks and footsteps when there was obviously no one there. I thought it was just foolishness until I began to hear the same things. At first, I thought I was going mad, but the same thing was happening with everyone else in the household. One maid promptly quit after claiming to see a silent stranger in the hallway. We had to hire another, but she soon left us after supposedly seeing the same thing in the cellar."

Feeling ignored, I finally said, "A most regrettable situation."

Everyone glanced in my direction as if they were surprised that I could even talk. The intensity of Townsend's stare was enough to cause me to look away and fumble about for a cigarette.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, the little banker finally said, "The whole household has been thrown into disarray, and I'm not sure if we can continue to live there for very much longer since matters have recently turned for the worst. Just last week, mysterious screams and laughter started at odd times in the night. However, when I investigate, no one is ever there."

Townsend studied them briefly, as if carefully weighing his next words. He soon cleared his throat and finally said, "And how did your daughter Jennifer take to these trying times?"

Winslet sighed with the exasperation of a long-suffering father. "You know the youth of today, their heads are in the clouds; they only care for their own feelings. She thinks the whole thing is some kind of joke and pretends that it doesn't bother her in the least. That is until the writing on the wall appeared."

"What writing?" I couldn't help asking. I admit my curiosity was beginning to get the better of me, and this part of his story had sent an uncomfortable chill running down my spine.

"Yesterday, strange writing appeared outside my daughter's bedroom door. It went down all along the hallway and looks like the scrawl of an uneducated child."

"What did it say?" Townsend asked.

"It's meaningless – silly things like 'beware' and 'watch out'. There are some simple drawings of coffins and graveyards too. It is all childish gibberish."

"The maids had a difficult time washing it off," Mrs. Winslet said seriously, as if this was the most shocking part of the story. "We finally had to paint over the wall."

Townsend furrowed his brows together in thought. We waited in uncomfortable silence while he mulled the story over. After a few minutes he finally asked, "Tell me, just how old is your daughter?"

"She turned eighteen last month," the wife answered before her husband could even open his mouth.

"Now my next question may sound impertinent, but it is in your best interest to answer truthfully. Is she a dutiful daughter, or does she have a rebellious streak?"

Winslet answered first, but I could see a strained look in the mother's eyes. He said, "My daughter has always been a good girl. She listens to me."

"And that is just not a father's weakness?" Townsend asked.

"My daughter may think she has me wrapped around her little finger, but I'm in control of my household. I'm businessman first and know when I'm being played the fool."

Mrs. Winslet said nothing but merely stared at her hands folded across her lap. By the tight clench set on her jaw, I could tell she believed otherwise.

Townsend stood up and reached over for the bell pull to summon the butler. After a quick tug, he said, "As I have no further questions, I'm afraid I must end this interview. But be rest assured that my associate and I will look further into the matter. Will you be free for a visit tomorrow?"

The Winslets had also risen. The husband replied gratefully, "Your visit will be gratefully received."

"Very well," Townsend said as the butler came in and began to usher the couple out. "Have no worries as the matter will soon be resolved to your satisfaction."

After Charles had taken them away, the doctor slumped back into his chair. He carefully studied me for a moment before asking, "So what do you make of this matter?"

I hesitated answering, carefully keeping my expression free of emotion. "I'm hardly in a position to question the manner in which you earn your living," I replied. "I have neither the experience nor knowledge to understand such mysterious matters."

Townsend had a cruel gleam in his eyes. It was the look of a teacher giving the first lesson to the new student. "I will remind you that we are partners in this business. You will learn the methods of my profession soon enough, so I still value your opinion even if it is blatantly uninformed."

"If you say so," I said cautiously. I leaned back into my chair and reached into my breast pocket for another cigarette. I took my time lighting it since I needed a moment to gather my thoughts. I then smoked a bit before tapping out the first bit of ash. "On the face of it, the story of a ghost sounds implausible. I would first suspect the daughter of not only drawing the pictures, but also providing a bit of sound to go with her scare tactics. It is also easy enough to steal something if you have the run of the house."

"Oh, very good," the doctor said flippantly.

Warming up to my own explanation, I tapped another bit of ash out and said, "The father is obviously the doting type. He would hardly suspect his own daughter of playing a prank on him. I could tell that the mother had some unspoken suspicions of her own."

"And the reason for why their daughter would put on this little show?"

I shrugged my shoulders in response and added, "Perhaps she misses her old home or doesn't like to be with her family anymore. I know that young men and woman can be particularly troublesome at certain ages. However, I couldn't tell you from personal experience as I've never been a family man."

He snorted and showed his rare humor as he said, "At least not intentionally. Either way, we shall find out tomorrow. But let me say that you're thinking like a policeman and on the face of it, your suggestions sound true. However, I have seen this type of case before and will be proven right once again. For now, I suggest you turn in early since we shall be up quite late tomorrow night." And with those last words, I was dismissed.

Part II

I spent that night in my bed tossing and turning in most a distraught state. Sleep seemed to forever elude me as I rolled the Winslet's strange story around in my aching head. The idea of the house being haunted by a ghost was preposterous, yet the good doctor seemed to have readily dismissed the more plausible explanation. I began to wonder if the doctor was truly sane or perhaps just a well-rehearsed fraud. If he wanted to bilk this couple out of their money then that was his business. I had no reason to complain since he was paying the bills and providing me with such worthy lodgings. But still, I'll admit that night I thought of every ghost story I had ever heard, and it wasn't until the arrival of the pale morning light that had I finally fallen into a restless sleep.

I awoke exhausted and barely managed to peel my eyelids open. Checking the clock on the mantel, I saw it was nearly ten o'clock in the morning. Feeling miserable, I rolled out of bed and rubbed at my dust-encrusted eyes. Splashing some water from the basin onto my face seemed to help, but I still felt ill-tempered when I heard a delicate knock at my door.

"Yes," I snapped rudely.

The door slowly opened to reveal Ellen standing in the hallway. She was wearing a black dress that was brocaded with wine-colored flowers. A blood-red scarf was draped fetchingly about her neck, accentuating the lovely paleness of her skin. I was only wearing my nightshirt but did not feel any undue embarrassment. When you have lived in camps as long as I have, one quickly loses any modesty.

She said without emotion, "The servants were busy, so father told me to tell you that he will leaving in another hour."

She suddenly stopped talking and gazed down at my nightshirt. She was a beautiful thing and upon the sight of her, I'm afraid my body's natural reactions must have taken over. Once her eyes saw this movement under my nightshirt, she blushed brightly and ran off with a little giggle. I laughed out loud, thinking that at the very least I had finally made her pay some sort of attention towards me.

With a satisfied smile, I quickly threw on some clothes, brushed my hair back with some pomade and knotted my best cravat around my neck. I dug into my nightstand drawer and pulled out my little New Line pocket pistol. With a frown, I looked at the thirty caliber revolver, checked the loads out of habit and then stuffed it into my coat pocket. I really didn't expect any trouble at the Winslet house, but there is a certain comfort one gains with a little hidden firepower.

Heading downstairs, I went to the kitchen and had to brush past a pretty little maid named Rose. She curtsied and apologized while giving me a come-hither look. I told myself that here was a possibility worth investigating since she was a fresh-looking girl that I had noticed before with great interest. With a coy smile, she left and gave me a long stare from over her well-shaped shoulder. With uplifted spirits, I wolfed down a quick sandwich and dashed off to find Dr. Townsend waiting in the foyer. He was looking well-rested and ready to go. Obviously this little case did not cause him to lose any sleep.

After exchanging a few pleasantries, we said our goodbyes to Charles and hopped in the waiting cab outside. The driver flicked his reins on the back of the horses. With a jerk, we rolled past the garden, which was now looking much better than before. Soon we were past the freshly painted gate and onto the main thoroughfare where we rumbled past the other traffic. The driver was moving at a good pace, so we held onto our hats to stop the wind from blowing them away.

Dr. Townsend leaned towards me and shouted over the clatter of hooves, "I trust you slept well, Captain Parker."

"Well enough," I lied.

He smiled one of his secret smiles and said, "I have just a little warning for you, captain. I know you have an independent streak, and that is one reason I decided to take you on as I wanted a man of quick action. But at least this first time out, if you could restrain some of your more violent impulses and follow my lead, then I would be much obliged."

I felt a little guilty for my hidden pistol but said nothing. Instead I just nodded in agreement.

He reached into his breast pocket and then drew out a sheet of paper that he waved in front of me. "While you were getting ready this morning, I received a message from Mr. Winslet. It seems that there has been a fresh horror at his home. I think this case now requires quick action before it turns into something truly terrible."

"Like what?" I asked.

He merely shook his head and stayed silent for the rest of the journey. I dared not prod him further due to the fragility of our newly formed partnership. Instead I sullenly watched the crowded streets roll by and began to wonder what I had gotten myself into.

We soon arrived at the Winslet home which was in a neighborhood of stately residences. It was a modern mansion built with limestone brickwork, large windows and black shutters. The freshly raked gravel driveway was smartly outlined with white stone. Large evergreen trees bordered the acre of land, providing some semblance of privacy for the grand home. After the carriage stopped at the front door, we got down, and Townsend paid the driver off.

Dr. Townsend then knocked on the door with his cane, and it was immediately answered by a flustered Mr. Winslet. His pale, drawn face showed how anxiously he'd been waiting for us.

He stuttered, "C-c-come in," and hastily stepped aside to let us enter.

"I received your message," Townsend said. "If you would show me your office, I will give you my opinion as to the cause."

"Please," Winslet croaked and began leading us along the corridor.

Inside, the house was decorated with dark paneling, thick rugs, and some poorly done family portraits that looked cheap in comparison to the rest of the furnishings. Mr. Winslet may have been rich, but he certainly had no eye for art. I always thought that a person can buy everything but good taste.

The little banker stopped at a large door at the end of the hallway. There he turned to face us. "I must warn you that this is a terrible situation," he said as his bottom lip trembled. "I locked the door last night after I had gone through some business papers at my desk. I'm the only one with a key as there is some extremely private correspondence that would spell disaster for me if they fell into the wrong hands. This morning, after rising and breakfasting, I came in here and was greeted by this most disturbing sight." With those words, he unlocked the door with a key hanging from his pocket watch chain. He pushed the door open.

Inside, the room had the looks of a well-appointed office with sofas and chairs tucked into the corners. A few ashtrays and books sat on the side tables, adding a bit of a gentleman's club atmosphere. However, my ears immediately heard a noise as if a thousand insects were buzzing angrily about. In the middle of the back wall was a fireplace. In front of the hearth, I saw a large stain on the rug. The stain was almost the size of a man and seemed to be moving in a sickening manner. It took me a moment to realize the ground was thick with crawling black flies. The bile crept up in my throat. I only stopped myself from gagging by sheer willpower.

"I made sure the servants didn't clean it up," Winslet choked out through clenched teeth. "I knew you would want to look at this latest development without any disturbance to the room."

"You did well," Townsend said with authority. He motioned me into the room. "We shall examine this stain now. It will only be a few minutes, and then you can have the servants clean this abomination of the rug. But for now, I would like you to assemble your family and staff in the parlor. We shall join you there as soon as we can."

"As you wish," Winslet said with a whisper and quickly turned to leave.

I wished I could have joined him since the air in the room was thick and unpleasant to breathe. But I wrapped my arm against my nose and mouth, mentally checked the sensation to vomit, and walked into the room to join Townsend. The heat inside was stifling, and I saw that the windows were still tightly shut from last night. Without any explanation, the doctor suddenly got down onto his knees in front of the stain and stuck his forefinger into the gore. A swarm of flies flew up. They immediately settled back down to another area of the bloodied rug. His fingers came out from the gore darkly stained with the color of fresh blood. He rubbed his fingers together and then sniffed the red fluid cautiously. Grimacing, he crudely cleaned his fingers by rubbing them on an unsoiled part of the rug.

His voice was serious when he asked me, "So what do you think of this matter now?"

Clearing my throat in an attempt to remove the lump stuck back there, I replied, "I've seen enough dead bodies in my time to recognize blood. But how did it get here when no one else could have gained entrance to this room?"

"That is a good question." He motioned to the closed windows and said, "No one certainly came through those."

I shrugged my shoulders since I had no reply. Instead I asked, "But who would leave this pool of blood here and why?"

"We shall find out soon enough," he replied and promptly marched out of the room.

I took one more glance at the thick blood on the rug and shook my head in disgust. Then with a sigh of exasperation, I followed the doctor out. I had a feeling that this was going to be a long day.

We found Winslet and his wife waiting for us in the front parlor. A number of worried-looking servants were also there, but my eyes were immediately drawn to his daughter, Jennifer. She looked much like her mother but had a youthful freshness and friendly eyes that that were very inviting. I felt sympathy for her since she must be terribly perplexed by these strange circumstances. Of course she could still be the guilty party, but that remained to be seen.

Townsend looked over this sorry lot with a smug expression pasted on that aged face. "You can have that stained cleaned from your rug now," he said offhandedly. "I, however, shall have to cleanse your home of the evil that resides here."

As he was speaking, I heard the front door open and turned in time to see a lumbering man walk through the open parlor door. He had a grim look on his deeply lined face. His cane swung loosely in his hands if he was about to strike someone in anger. I noticed that the cut of his clothes was extremely fine, and not a hair seemed to be out of place on his well-formed skull. He was instantly identifiable as a man of substance with the unmistakable aura of experience and ability.

Mr. Winslet immediately rose as if royalty had just arrived. "Mr. Scott, what are you doing here?"

Townsend turned to see the newcomer but said nothing.

The great financier's eyes were ablaze with anger. "Winslet, I was informed at work that this so-called doctor was coming here by your invitation. I could scarcely believe my ears when I heard it. For what reason do you require the service of this well-known swindler?"

Townsend still remained quiet, but his face became dark and stern. My own hand crept into my pocket where I felt the reassuring butt of my pistol. This Alan Scott looked rather dangerous. I would have never guessed him to be a financier of any repute for he had all the looks of a professional gambler. I suppose such men are all gamblers at heart, and some are worse at hiding that fact than others.

"I didn't know where else to turn," Winslet replied meekly as if he had broken one of the Ten Commandments.

Scott replied with mock sympathy, "I would have helped you. You know I would. Now have this doctor and his companion removed before there is any more trouble."

The little banker looked between Scott and Townsend, unsure of what course of action to take. His financial success was owed to one man, but a chance to remove a source of family strife lay with another. Like any reasonable man, he decided not to bite the hand the fed him. As his wife in the background nodded in approval, he finally said, "If you could leave, Dr. Townsend, it would be most appreciated."

Townsend shook his head. "I will remind you that I came here at your request. If you wish to stop the horror that is overtaking this household, then you must trust me. I'm the only person in this world who can help."

"Winslet, the only horror here is the one you invited here," Scott snorted in derision. He then involuntarily stepped back when he saw the doctor's eyes bore into him with a deep rage. The two men then stared at each other as if some unseen battle of wills was being fought.

I was surprised when the great financier finally gave in. He said, "Winslet, if you want to believe in this mumbo-jumbo, go right ahead, but you're only making a fool of yourself. There is nothing wrong with this house that isn't the product of your fevered imagination."

"All I ask of the Winslet family is one night in their home," Townsend stated with force. "My friend and I will get to the bottom of this mystery before the sun rises."

Mr. Winslet weakened and said meekly, "If it is alright with you, Mr. Scott, I can at least give him that chance."

"It's your problem now," the financier said and turned to leave. But he suddenly stopped himself and pointed his cane at Townsend. "I will remember you, doctor. Be warned that I can break you. If you are a fraud, you will be publicly disgraced. I will make sure of that!" With that final retort he finally made his leave with the toadying Winslet in tow.

I noticed that Jennifer looked rather embarrassed by these proceedings, and I could hardly blame her. Who wants to see your own father belittled by two men of greater standing? Our eyes met. She immediately blushed as if she liked what she saw. I certainly liked what I saw, so I gave her a wink in return. She looked away, but I could see her smile from my attention.

With his emotions now in control, Townsend said, "Miss Winslet, if you would be good enough to show us around your lovely home, I would be most grateful. There are many things I need to know before the night comes."

She readily agreed, and as she led us through the various rooms, I found her to not only be beautiful but to possess a wit and charm that was certainly rare in these times. Her mother was in tow acting as the maternal chaperon, but I managed to ignore her pursed, sour face as I made light conversation with her daughter. The doctor walked in front of us and rattled off several questions that Jennifer answered easily enough.

"So miss, you have never seen this spirit yourself?"

Shaking her head, she smiled and showed off her dainty teeth underneath those delicate lips. "I'm afraid not, though our little ghost has the servants scared to walk the halls alone." She seemed to find this rather funny and added, "I still don't know what to believe as I've never seen it myself."

We came to another wing of the house, and she indicated that this led to her bedroom. There was a smell of fresh paint in the air.

Townsend asked, "And this is where the writing showed up?"

She nodded and said, "I thought it was some silly prank done by one of the servants."

Mrs. Winslet said, "The help could not completely remove the writing, so as I mentioned yesterday, I had our butler Samuel paint over them."

"That is a pity," Townsend said, "Since I would have been most interested to see what was there."

Jennifer said, "It would have hardly been worth your time since they were such silly things – something quite like a spoiled child would have drawn."

Townsend mused over this information and then said, "I've been told you have been engaged to marry Alan Scott's son."

"Yes, next spring, Thomas and I will be married." Her face flushed with pleasure at the thought.

I felt a pang of jealousy, but this is a natural reaction for any real man to have. We all want to possess anything that is beautiful and confound the scoundrel who has something that we wish we could have. These were quite immature thoughts for a man of my years, but it was still true even after all this time. Grinning falsely, I said, "And I hope you shall have a happy life with your husband to be."

She returned a contented smile that only furthered my jealousy. "I'm sure we will, and I thank you for your kind words."

"My pleasure," I said with a little bow. I could see that she liked this sort of attention, but her mother certainly didn't.

"Jennifer," she warned, "Mind your manners and leave the gentlemen to their work."

"Yes, mother," she said smoothly but smiled warmly at me again as soon as her mother wasn't watching.

The doctor sniffed around the rest of the house for a few moments longer and looked most foolish as he examined every nook and cranny that he could find. Eventually his curiosity was satisfied, and he suggested that we find Mr. Winslet again. We trooped off and found him at the front door looking rather apprehensive. His mood certainly didn't improve when he saw us approaching.

"This is most troublesome," he whined. "Mr. Scott is seriously displeased. This will reflect poorly on my future career."

This was pure cowardice, and I could only laugh inwardly at this small man.

"Don't worry," Townsend said confidently, "we shall take care of your problem tonight. However, I suggest you leave us here alone in the house since this will be a delicate situation. I don't want to be interrupted by some fool servant bumping around in the middle of the night."

"But sir," Winslet croaked, "this is my home."

"And so it is," Townsend said kindly, "however it is currently taken over by a spirit with unknown intentions. Your daughter Jennifer here may be in some danger."

"Jennifer is in danger?" he sputtered in alarm.

"Why me?" she asked with wide eyes that mirrored the disbelief she must be feeling inside.

"This spirit is trying to warn you of something. If the signs are not recognized, then the warnings will only grow more violent in nature."

"But what could it be trying to say?" Mrs. Winslet asked.

"That is what we shall find out tonight," Townsend replied with an easy manner. And he certainly did look sure of himself.

The little banker surprised me by agreeing to the doctor's demand. The servants were packed off to a cheap hotel while the family decided on a much better one further into town. Before they left by carriage, Jennifer shot me a long stare that made my head whirl with excitement. She was damned attractive and a little flirt too. I gave her a wide grin in return. With any luck, I could get to know her better.

Part III

As we watched the carriage make its way down the gravel drive, Townsend let out a sigh of relief. "We're finally rid of them," he said happily. "I suggest we retire to the office and wait."

"Wait for what?" I asked in bewilderment.

"The ghost, of course."

I quietly followed him there, deep in my own dark thoughts. I saw that the rug had been cleaned, but a faint pink stain still remained that was apparently immune to the scrubbing of the servants. The windows were now wide open to air out the room, and the cool evening air was gently blowing against the sheer curtains. Only a fly or two was left, and they buzzed lazily against the window panes. After lighting an oil lamp, I found a comfortable perch on the sofa, lit a cigarette, and watched as the doctor found a seat in a chair shoved into the corner. He sat gingerly, adjusted the back cushion until he found a comfortable position and then stared ahead with half-closed eyelids. He had the look of someone waiting for a train that had been taken many times before.

"You really believe a spirit will visit this place?" I ventured to ask.

His eyelids lazily flipped open. He spoke with a whisper of a smile. "Of course."

"You must be joking," I said in disbelief.

"How else can you explain a room that has been defiled in such a way?"

I shook my head with skepticism. "These inside door locks will open with just about any key, and a thief with a good jimmy could have easily opened one of those windows to gain access."

"I have looked the house over and there is no evidence of a forced entry. Why would someone stain the carpet with blood and do nothing else? No valuables are missing, and only the blood and flies were here."

I said nothing but merely flicked my unfinished cigarette into a nearby ash tray. It smoldered slowly, leaving a faint trail of smoke that wafted high into the ceiling. I thought the doctor was a fool, for I did not see him examine the door or windows that closely. Though why someone would defile this room, I could not yet fathom. Perhaps Jennifer was playing some cruel trick on her parents or someone else wanted to put a scare into her father

As the minutes ticked by, I thought impatiently if a ghost did come, at least it should have the good manners to arrive soon. Out of habit, my hand once again reached into my coat pocket and was met by the secure feeling of the pistol butt. Of course I didn't think a gun would have any effect on a spirit, but if required, it would certainly work on flesh and blood.

Night slowly came as we sat there in silence and waited. The sun disappeared, the breeze died down, and from outside only the chirping of the crickets could be heard. Time crawled on as the clock on the mantel ticked and rang out the passing hours. After an interminable wait, the clock struck midnight. Somewhere in the distance, a floorboard creaked. By now in our vigil, I had smoked more than a few cigarettes, and my throat felt raw. Feeling thirsty, I was about to rise to get some water from the nearby sideboard, when the doctor shot his hand up in warning. His eyes were now staring at the fireplace hearth in concentrated intensity, but I could not see what was drawing his scrutiny. I sat back down in poor humor and then noticed that the room had suddenly turned very cold.

It wasn't just a breeze from outside, but an icy frigidness that numbed me straight down to my bones. To my surprise, my breath was now visible from air that was colder than any Michigan winter of my youth. My teeth began to chatter, and I wrapped my arms around myself to keep warm. In the meanwhile, Townsend leaned forward with his eyebrows furrowed together in concentration. It looked as if the cold hardly affected him at all.

"What is it?" I asked as I tried to fight the fear in my voice.

"Our visitor," he replied quietly.

As if on cue, the oil lamp sputtered and went out. The room was plunged into an impenetrable darkness. This was strange, since a few minutes before, I had looked at the lamp and saw that the oil and wick were still plentiful. The cold then grew more intense, chilling my flesh into unfeeling emptiness. A pale transparent whiteness suddenly flashed past my eyes. As I looked up at the apparition in front of me, I fought the natural desire to flee. The ghost floated gently above the floor, looking like a beautifully constructed woman made only with white, nearly transparent, gauze. Her hair swept wildly past a pair of thin shoulders, and as the body turned, I saw the face: the eyes were missing from the gaping sockets, and the jaw was frozen open as if stuck in eternal pain.

I felt paralyzed. I heard a distant screaming that rolled louder and louder in my ears. In the darkness, a hand shot out and clamped over my mouth. Overcome with panic, I quickly realized that it had been I who had been screaming. In a thoughtless daze, I struggled fruitlessly against the iron grip until I heard the low words of Townsend in my ear.

"Captain Parker, control yourself," he commanded.

With my panic subsiding, I slowly nodded. His hand gently released its grip. I saw that the apparition was now drifting away, the translucent glow providing the only light in the room. The spirit then floated to the door and shockingly disappeared right through it. A sense of relief flooded my strained nerves, and I felt as if I could breathe once again.

"Come on," Townsend said, his voice high with excitement. He grabbed my wrist with surprising strength and pulled me up like a rag doll.

"Where are we going?" I asked in a near panic. I noticed then that my knees felt like jelly. I could barely stand.

"Why, we're going to follow her!" he exclaimed.

And with those words the flare of a match lit up the room. He grabbed and lit the oil lamp, bounded up to the door and opened it with a jerk. His coattails disappeared into the gloom as he took off in a run.

Standing there, I took several deep breaths to steady my nerves. With some self-doubt of my own bravery, I cautiously began walking to the door to follow the doctor. By the time I had steeled myself to leave that room, he was already long gone. However, I could still hear his footsteps as he ran down the hallway. With much fear in my heart, I willed myself to walk in that direction.

The house was dark. I stumbled against a wall, swearing as I went. I was slowly approaching the back of the house when I saw the light of the lamp up ahead. The dark form of Townsend was there, and I saw that he was standing by a closed door. He heard my approach and turned to look at me. Pasted to his face was a leer that was made worse by the flickering wick of the lamp.

"Is it gone?" I asked, barely managing to choke out the words. My tongue felt thick and dry.

"She went down into the basement," he replied happily and swung the door open. With a creak like a crypt door, it opened. I felt my stomach drop in renewed anxiety. This was one part of the house we had not visited earlier. This whole experience was beyond anything I had ever done. "You're not really going down there?" I asked nervously.

"I'm not," he replied with ghoulish smile, "We are."

"You can't be serious," I said as he took the first step down the stairs.

To this day, I'll never know how I found the strength to endure this new horror. The tenseness in my chest felt was far worse than any battle I had ever been in. Using what remained of my willpower, I gripped my pistol tightly with my right hand and grabbed the banister with my left. With agonizing slowness, I followed Townsend down into the darkness. As we descended, the oil lamp in the doctor's hand sputtered weakly against the wall. Our shadows were distorted and strange, but any notice of this quickly abated as I saw the apparition moving ahead. It was heading towards the coal bin where it soon merged and then disappeared into the piled anthracite.

Townsend bolted down the remaining steps and ran up to the coal bin while I cautiously followed behind. With complete disregard to his clothing, he dropped down on his knees to dig through the coal. After shifting some aside, he stood up and grabbed a nearby coal shovel which he threw towards me. I just managed to catch the handle before it struck me in the chest.

"We have to clear this coal out," he snapped impatiently. His eyes were ablaze with the energy of a hunter, hot on the trail of dangerous prey.

I threw myself at the job and began clearing out that large pile of coal. A house this size needed plenty of it during the winter, so it was hard going. Sweat was soon pouring down my temples, and I soon had to strip off my jacket to continue. Townsend merely stood there impatiently and made sure the weak light of the lamp was concentrated on my area of work. As I shoveled, I began to resent the man for his laziness, but after all he was old and could hardly be expected to pitch in.

A few minutes later, he grabbed my arm before I could take another scoop. By now, I had cleared out most of the coal, and only a few scattered chunks remained in the bin.

"Thank you," he said pleasantly enough. By his words, one would have thought I had just politely opened the door to let him pass through.

I managed to gulp out, "I'm glad to be of some service." Not minding the state of my clothes, I then promptly sat on the dirt floor, wiping at my forehead with my blackened handkerchief.

He didn't say anything further as his attention was now drawn to the floor of the coal bin. Getting down on his knees, he shone that sputtering oil lamp close to the ground and began mumbling to himself in earnest. He then reached over for my shovel, which I gladly relinquished. With gentle movements he began scraping at the dirt with the blade of the shovel and then suddenly stopped.

The cessation of his movements was enough for me to forget my state of exhaustion. Looking over, I saw what looked to be a white stone sticking out of the dirt. The doctor gave it a tug, and out popped a bone a few inches long. After shaking off my shock, I crawled over on my hands and knees and began helping with the excavation. He soon tossed away the shovel, and we both began digging into the dirt with our hands. We found scraps of cloth and bones and soon stopped when a human skull was discovered.

"I'll be damned," was all that I could say.

Townsend shifted through the jumble of bones until he found something else. He lifted it up in triumph. Attached to a gold chain was a locket which he immediately snapped open. He frowned at what was enclosed inside. He then handed the piece of jewelry over to me. With the aid of the lamp, I looked carefully at the image inside and saw the picture of a young gentleman dressed in a fine suit. The clothing looked thoroughly modern, and the face was familiar, though I couldn't place the name.

"Do you know who this is?" I asked.

He gave me an impatient look and said, "I do believe we shall have to contact the police. They're interested in dead bodies and that sort of thing."

I nodded vaguely, wondering how much longer this night could go on.

Part IV

Checking my pocket watch, I saw that it was only seven o'clock in the morning. Although my eyes were encrusted with dust, I managed to stay awake due to the argument occurring in front of me. Police Detective Strong was still questioning Townsend with little success, and from where I was sitting that was good sport.

We were now up in Winslet's office, but I could still hear the sound of scraping shovels below as the policemen were busy digging up the rest of the body in the basement. Last night, after the discovery of the corpse, I had trekked out by myself to the local police station. The officer at the desk didn't believe a word of what I had to say, but still a Detective Strong was summoned to investigate. He had a few men rounded up and set off to follow me back to the Winslet home. I was treated with caution like an escaped lunatic, but any doubts they had certainly disappeared once Townsend proudly showed them the remains. We were then brought upstairs to be questioned at length.

"So tell me again," Strong asked impatiently, "How exactly did you find the body?"

He was a short, paunchy man with dark eyes, and a face that had been ravaged by some childhood disease. His mouth was set in a permanent scowl, and his clothing was simple as befitting a detective who must blend into the crowd. He still managed to keep a rather tidy appearance, considering the low pay and long hours he must suffer.

"We dug it up," Townsend replied as if he was explaining something simple to a child.

His jaw tight with impatience, Strong looked him over and asked, "But how did you know it was there?" By now his voice was now beginning to crack with exasperation.

The doctor merely shrugged.

"I should have you arrested," Strong threatened.

"I am merely protecting the interests of my client."

"And where exactly is this client of yours? We know that the Winslet family lives here, but they are nowhere to be seen. Where are all the servants? Tell me again, why did Mr. Winslet give you the use of his house for the night?"

The detective's barrage of questions was answered by the sound of the front door opening. He looked up in surprise at the noise, and within a moment, Mr. Winslet was joining us.

The banker looked at the newcomer in the room. "Who are you?" he demanded. "And what are you doing in my house?"

Strong drew himself up, trying to look as impressive as possible. "I assume you are Mr. Winslet? My name is Detective Strong of the police, and it seems you have a dead body on the premise."

Winslet sat down heavily in a chair, looking drained from the dire news. "A dead body?" he sputtered. "But who?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out," Strong answered harshly as he turned his hard eyes back to Townsend.

Winslet moaned, "Think of the scandal, just think of the scandal!" He shot the doctor and me a particularly scathing look as if it was our fault that he had a corpse hidden away in his basement.

Townsend looked faintly amused by the situation as if he was fighting back the urge to laugh.

"Tell me, sir," Strong went on questioning the banker, "how long have you been living here?'

"Only three months," he answered cautiously. "Why?"

"That's rather a problem isn't it," Townsend interjected, "Based on the remains, I would hazard a guess that body has been down there for over a year. With that in mind, I do believe you are barking up the wrong tree, Detective Strong. Winslet could not have possibly known about that corpse down there."

"I suppose that is true," Strong admitted. "But who owned this house before?"

"Alan Scott," Townsend promptly replied.

"The financier?" the detective asked with a trace of awe.

"The very same."

Winslet dropped his head into his hands and shook his head in dismay. "What will Mr. Scott say about this? He will think that I've turned the police onto him. I could lose my job over this!"

"This is a very serious matter," Strong stated. "However, I can promise you that I will be most discreet when questioning Mr. Scott. I'm sure that a man of his standing wouldn't have anything to do with this, but I still will have to ask him a few questions as a matter of form. Townsend, you and your friend are free to go, but I may have to see you again to ask any further questions I may have." He then shook hands all around and hastily departed to follow up on this new line of inquiry.

I leaned sleepily against the back of the sofa, thinking how much I would like to get to my bed back home.

Townsend said, "Well, Mr. Winslet, I do believe we're almost done here."

The banker's face turned red with anger, and he sprung out of the chair. "Almost done? You've ruined me! And I bet you still haven't gotten rid of that cursed ghost!"

The doctor held out a hand as if to calm him and said, "On the contrary, Mr. Winslet, I now know the reason for your troubles. The spirit shall no longer trouble you now that the body has been discovered and will be given a proper burial. I only have to ask a question or two of your daughter, and we shall be on your way."

"My daughter?" he thundered. "What does she know of this body in my basement?"

"Why nothing, except the very answer I need. When I return home, I shall send you the bill. I must warn you I expect quick payment for the services I have rendered."

"You sir, are a fraud!" Winslet shouted and stormed noisily out of the room with the slamming of the door and heavy footsteps.

Townsend barked out a quick laugh and with a nod in my direction, prepared to leave.

Irritated, I groggily rose from the sofa and followed him out to the front entryway.

At the door, he stopped and said, "If you would wait here, Parker, I wish to ask Ms. Winslet a quick question."

He made it away before I could say anything in reply. However, he was back within a minute with a satisfied look.

"Did she tell you what you wanted to hear?" I asked.

"Very much so," he replied neutrally.

"Would you care to share the information with me?"

"In good time, in good time," was all that he said.

I was too tired to argue. Instead, I merely opened the door and strode out to the street with the doctor following. It was with good fortune that we were able to quickly flag down a passing taxi. In the carriage, Townsend sat down next to me. He drew out the locket that he had discovered last night. He hadn't shown it to Detective Strong and I wondered why. As he snapped it open, I caught another glimpse of the face inside and even with the better light, I still couldn't place who it was. The locket snapped shut again and was stuffed back into his breast pocket.

The trip back was uneventful, and I was happy to stagger back into the house. Townsend disappeared into his library while I took to my bed, where I immediately fell into a fitful sleep. My dreams were simply terrible, and I could only remember the horror upon first seeing that wretched ghost floating across the room. I must have tossed and turned, for when Charles the butler shook me awake, the covers were quite askew.

"What time is it?" I grumbled, for I saw that the sun was still filtering through my closed curtains.

"Four in the afternoon," he answered in that annoying stuffy way that all butlers seem to have.

"I suppose you had a good reason to wake me?"

"Yes, sir. The doctor wishes you to present yourself in the library as soon as possible."

"Did he tell you why he required my presence?" I asked impatiently.

"No, sir. He did not feel the need to impart that information."

"Very well, Charles," I sighed, "tell him I will be down soon."

The butler nodded, picked up my coal dust covered clothes with distaste and made his exit.

Getting up, I staggered over to the basin. Splashing lukewarm water over my face, I thought of the terrible events from last night. I had finally seen a real ghost, and I still didn't know what to make of the experience. Had I merely dreamed the whole thing? It all seemed like a nightmare – a nightmare that was unreal and growing distant in my memory. But I still remembered that eyeless face and awful silent scream. Those memories would never leave me for as long as I lived.

I put on a clean shirt and pants, tied on a cravat and threw on a good jacket. Looking at myself in the full length mirror, I saw a face that was haggard with shock and exhaustion. Leaving my room, I went slowly downstairs and then into the library. There I found a complacent looking Townsend. His eyes shined with an enthusiasm that I found unnerving, so I lit myself a cigarette and settled down into a chair.

"I hope you are feeling better now." he said in greeting.

"Well enough," I replied. "For what reason did you call me?"

"I thought you would like to see the conclusion of the investigation. Early this morning, I had Charles send a message to Mr. Alan Scott. If he read my message then he will be here soon enough."

My curiosity got the better of me this time, so I asked, "But why did you ask him to come here?"

"I would think that would be obvious to anyone who was paying attention."

I found his manner rather rude. "You are hardly being fair to me. I don't quite have the experience in these matters that you have. Last night was the first time I had ever seen a spirit, and it was horrifying. You could hardly blame me for missing some of the pertinent details."

Leaning back into the chair, the doctor took out the locket and let it dangle in his hand. It swung loosely in the air and glinted from the dull light of the windows. "This was the key to the puzzle," he said with the arrogant air of a professor teaching a class of dullards. "Once I figured out whose picture was inside then the pieces fell into place. It is not unknown for a spirit to haunt the material world if some wrong was done, or the corpse is lying undiscovered. Ghosts can be harbingers of ill fortune but also serve as a warning."

"Tell me, who is buried in the basement?" I asked impatiently.

"Let's wait for Scott to come, and he will answer your questions directly."

I stubbed out my dwindling cigarette and shot Townsend a particularly nasty look. He didn't seem to care but instead placed the locket on the desk. Within a few moments there was a knock at the library door, and it swung open. Charles was there, showing Scott into the room. The financier looked particularly angry as he marched into the room. His cane whipped up from the floor, and the silver tip stopped and pointed directly at the doctor.

"I received your message, and I've had enough of this meddling into my private affairs. That ass Detective Strong has already visited me and is trying to tie me to some ancient murder. I barely stopped myself from thrashing the man before I had the pipsqueak thrown out on his ear. And now I receive a message from you accusing me of the same thing. I won't have it."

"I suggest you sit down before you hurt yourself," Townsend said. "What I'm about to say is of great importance to you and your future. I could have given my information to the police, but I've instead decided to talk to you directly." As the doctor spoke, his features darkened and carried a menace that was too much for even the great financier. The cane dropped and the end gently touched the ground. Scott then slumped down into a chair, but his face was still scarlet red with anger. This was a man who was used to command and not being commanded. This was a new situation for him.

The words hissed out of his mouth. "What do you have to say that is so important to me?"

Townsend picked off the locket and tossed it to Scott. It fell in his lap where he didn't even glance at it. "Open it," the doctor commanded.

"Why should I?" Scott snarled back. He looked ready to get up and leave.

"If you want to save your son, I suggest you look inside that locket."

As if all the power had been drained out of him, the financier picked up the jewelry from his lap and looked at the outside of the case. He grimaced and snapped it open. Glancing at the picture inside, he angrily snapped it shut again and threw it back at Townsend. The locket missed the doctor and clattered loudly to the floor.

"I know that is your son," Townsend said, "and since that locket was discovered with that body in your old basement, it can only implicate him. Now I suggest you tell me the truth before I turn this evidence over to the police."

With dismay, Scott slowly shook his head and let his cane drop where it clattered heavily on the floor. His voice was now weak and defeated. "I knew this moment would come someday, but I hoped against all odds that it never would. You see, a man of my position has to deal with certain trouble makers – people who are trying to get to my personal fortune through blackmail or threats. I do what I can to protect myself, but little did I suspect my son Thomas would become the victim."

I added my bit to the conversation and asked, "A woman?"

He looked at me with visible contempt as if addressing a social inferior. "Yes, of course it was a woman. And what a woman she was – beautiful, dangerous and with all the manners of a rattlesnake. Ever since the death of my wife Marilyn, I'm afraid I didn't pay attention to the poor boy like I should have. The servants did what they could, and he wanted for nothing in the world. I made sure of that.

"When Thomas became a young man, I'm afraid he fell into the wrong crowd. His friends took him to dance halls, gambling dens, and saloons. Eventually there was trouble, and I had to pay off a few judges in order to keep him away from any hint of scandal. As it turned out, the boy had little gratitude for my actions and did whatever he could to subvert my authority. I suppose it is a story that has been told throughout the ages, but it still hurt when he foolishly took up with this girl Eva Monroe. She was a dance hall woman of some ill-repute who ended up blackmailing my son.

"As my son later told me, he met her at a party that one of his friends had thrown. There was plenty of whiskey punch being served, and my son foolishly had too much to drink. He took the wench to bed that night, and they were inseparable after that ill-conceived union. He hid this illicit relationship from me. I could hardly blame him considering her known loose morals. But like many young loves, it did not last. She grew ever more demanding for money, and he could hardly keep up with her prodigious financial needs. My son has a rather generous allowance, but it still wasn't enough to keep that woman satisfied."

"So she began blackmailing him by claiming to be pregnant?" I asked.

Townsend smiled wanly at me and said, "You must excuse my partner here. He gets to the point with few considerations. He has, however, had plenty of experiences in this world."

"That's quite alright," Scott said with a little bow of his head, "I prefer direct talk. As you say, Ms. Monroe claimed to be carrying my son's child. He believed her and even secretly sold some of his things to continue her along financially. After a few weeks of this, my son realized that she was lying since she did not show any ill effects from her supposed pregnancy."

"Why didn't your son go to you for help?" the doctor asked gently.

"Would you?" he answered with a deep chuckle. "You see, I was about to allow my son to enter into my firm, and he was sure I was going to disapprove of this woman. He would have been right since I certainly would have not allowed him into the business if I had known about her."

"I see your point," the doctor agreed. "So what happened next?"

"Thomas made the decision to end it with her. He knew I was going to be out of the house that night, so he thought this would be a safe place to have her over. Perhaps he felt safer doing this at home, but it was a foolish idea since I came back earlier than expected."

"And what did you find?"

"I found a girl dead in my personal office, and my son sitting on the sofa trying to wipe his hands free of the blood. He was deep in shock. He told me over and over that he didn't mean to kill her, and that it was an accident."

"Did you believe him?" I asked.

"Of course I did," the financier snapped back. "He may have been a bit of trouble, but he is still my son. Thomas told me that Eva flew into a rage when he told her that no more money was coming. She flung herself at him and tried to claw out his eyes. In defense, he pushed her back, and she fell, hitting her head on the fireplace hearth. At first my son thought she was just knocked out. He didn't realize she was badly hurt until he saw the blood staining the rug."

After a brief moment, the doctor commented, "It sounds plausible, but I still don't understand why you didn't go straight to the police and have the whole matter properly sorted out."

The great financier sighed and nodded. "Yes, in hindsight that would have been the prudent course. However a man like myself is averse to any sort of scandal. Had they been given the chance, the newspapers would have crucified my son. Even with my money, I couldn't buy all of them off. The best lawyers in the land wouldn't have saved Thomas from the court of public approval. The rest of his life would have been unfairly stigmatized."

"Not to mention your own," I added tartly.

Scott raised his eyebrows at me and said angrily, "You should learn to control that tongue of yours. It would pay not to make an enemy of me."

Before I could retort back, Townsend said, "At this point I think you need our help more than we need yours."

Scott said nothing, but his eyes glowered darkly at me.

The doctor went on, "So you agreed to cover up this accident for your son. You helped him carry her down into the basement, and then you buried her there, hoping the bottom layer of the coal would never be disturbed. But it was foolish for you to sell the house to your employee Winslet knowing that a body was there waiting to be discovered."

"What you say is true," Scott agreed without enthusiasm, "But I would like to know how you knew the body was even there."

"That is the method of my profession," Townsend replied secretively.

The financier shook his head in dismay. "It's unnatural, but you can keep your damn professional secrets. Honestly, after that terrible night, I could no longer stand to be in that house. It always felt like I was being watched. I needed to get out, but I still couldn't let a good piece of real estate go without making back at least some of my money."

Townsend laughed and said, "So you sold it to poor Winslet who was your trusted employee. Even if he did discover the body by accident, I would think he would have asked you what to do instead of going directly to the police."

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Scott nodded in agreement. "And now that you know the truth, what are you going to do? I can pay you handsomely to keep your mouth shut, but you don't strike me as the type who can be bribed with money."

"Money is of little concern to me, barring the payment for my valuable time. As to what I shall do my answer is nothing."

The financier looked shocked as his jaw dropped in surprise. "Nothing?" he blurted out.

"I cannot assuage the guilt or innocence of your boy as I wasn't there the night that Ms. Monroe died. I only have your word of his innocence, but for now that shall have to suffice. However, I do suggest that you send your son off to work at one of your foreign firms until he has further matured. Perhaps he needs some time to grow up before marrying Jennifer Winslet."

"And also some time to be free of any possible police questioning," I suggested helpfully.

The great man rose from his chair, and he graciously shook hands with the both of us.

"I have a new company interest down in Brazil," Scott said. "Perhaps my son could learn the ropes better down there instead of being coddled by me."

"A capital idea," Townsend agreed and rang the bell to summon Charles. The butler saw the financier to the front door, and that was the last we ever saw of him.

That first case was my introduction to the methods of this strange doctor. Little did I know that this was only the beginning of the horrors I was about to experience.

Diary Entry III – Not All the Dead Will Die

Part I

It was a chilly October morning when I awoke to find the maid Rosie pressed against my back with her cold feet resting against my calves. Turning over, I gently pushed her legs away with my right foot and settled down to try to get some more sleep. She mumbled something incoherent and snuggled in closer to me. I'll admit that she was a fine looking woman with her youthful body, a ready smile, and light blond hair. However, I didn't fancy her in the least, but what she lacked in wit, she certainly made up for with experience in rolling about in my bed.

I knew it was dangerous for her to share my bed, but at this point I didn't really care what happened. The bewitching Ellen continued to ignore me with her silent nature, so what else could I do? I wasn't about to live the life of a celibate monk on her account.

Getting Rosie to sleep with me had been a simple matter of asking her to clean my room. A few pleasantries later and we were rolling about in a passionate embrace. She certainly knew the tricks of the trade and was an enjoyable bed companion. Ever since that day, she had been visiting me almost every night, even though I knew this relationship was doomed from the start.

That fiancé of Ellen's was still hovering about with his Sunday night visits, but I had some doubts if the two had any true love for each other. However, the approaching wedding scheduled for next June seemed destined to happen. I was hoping I could cause some sort of rift between the two, but for now I had no definite plans on how to do this. Ellen still worshiped Upton while showing no consideration towards me at all. I'll admit my need for her was turning to an obsession. I was still mystified by her unexplained behavior. Perhaps it was this very behavior that made her more mysterious and desirable.

I thought of all of this as I rolled over, adjusted my pillow and stared out the window to watch the sunrise. It came slowly, lightening the sky with that autumn red glow I had grown to love all over again in this northern climate.

With a jolt, I felt a pinch on my bottom and realized it was Rose being playful.

"What are you thinking about?" she murmured in my ear.

"I was thinking of how beautiful you are," I lied.

Turning over, I took a good look at her and wondered how a woman could look good even with such a mess of unbrushed hair. Her smile revealed a row of shiny white front teeth interrupted by a few molars that had gone missing. I roughly pulled down the blanket to get a better look at her body. She shyly flipped over on to her stomach and yanked the pillow over her head. She had a beautiful figure though I noticed a large boil on her left buttock. Well, no one is perfect.

"Do you want to go another round, Stephen?" she asked playfully, her voice muted by the pillow.

Answering with actions instead of words, I pulled the blankets over the both of us and reached down to give her thigh a squeeze. The legs were well-formed and gracefully long. I felt them part in lustful anticipation.

"It will have to be quick since I have to get down to the kitchen soon," she breathed in my ear. "The old witch Phyliss will be quite angry with me if I'm late again. She has already given me several warnings for not having breakfast ready."

"Damn that Phyliss," I snapped impatiently, "if you have a problem with her, just tell her that she can come talk to me."

"Oh, Stephen," she sighed lovingly, "you do care about me. We should go away together and get some real privacy."

This new tack of hers was taking a decidedly dangerous direction, so I decided to take the best military option and beat a hasty retreat before she started talking of marriage. "I'm afraid I have some important things to do today," I lied. "Perhaps you should go now."

Her face fell in disappointment. "If you say so," she pouted angrily and slipped out of the bed to gather her clothes up.

No matter how hard a woman tries, it is difficult for them to leave a bed with any dignity if they are naked. I enjoyed watching her dress but did not like the menacing look she gave me before leaving. I would have to be careful in the future if I wanted to keep her available for my own selfish needs.

After a quick shave and a bit of pomade to keep my hair flat, I dressed myself in an old suit and took the back stairs to the back door. I usually took a brisk walk around the grounds to make sure the gardener Williams stayed on his toes. He was a good worker, provided you made sure he was actually working. He was the son of a farmer and had rough hands to match his rough exterior. Gardening may not have been the best he could do in life, but he seemed content enough with the job.

I found him in the back corner of the lot with a shovel in hand, digging a hole. By his feet, a rough burlap bag was lying on the ground. Upon my approach, he stopped his work and instead looked guiltily up in my direction.

"What are you burying?" I asked out of curiosity.

He shuffled uncertainly from one foot into another and dropped his gaze to the ground. "Burying Ms. Phyliss's cat," he finally replied.

The cat was a lazy old tom that had spent most of his hours in the kitchen near the oven. The cook, Mary, spent her days conversing with the cat, treating it like a child she never had. I had no great love for the little beast, but it certainly had no enemies in the world.

"What happened to the poor thing?"

With his gaze planted on the ground, Williams replied, "I found it dead in the garden, sir."

Reaching down, I pulled open the sack and unceremoniously dumped the cat out of the bag. It rolled out and fell to the ground in a wet, sickening manner. The little beast was cut into ribbons as if it had been attacked by some large animal. There was nothing left but fur, skin and bones.

I made a face in disgust. "Do we have a loose wolf on the grounds?"

"No, sir," he replied.

"Then how do you account for this?"

The gardener hemmed and hawed before answering, his eyes casting about as if trying to find somewhere to hide. After I finally stared him down, he said, "Last night, I heard some strange noises and went out to investigate with my lantern and shotgun. In the middle of the herb garden there was someone standing over the body of the cat. As soon as they saw me, they took off running like a deer."

"Do you know who it was?" I asked, puzzled as to the why an intruder would be prowling around the grounds.

"It's not my place to say," he said anxiously. "But whoever it was didn't hurt this cat."

By his manner, I knew the man was evading the truth. "So you did recognize them?" I asked accusingly.

With a frown and the fear of losing his job, Williams quickly gave in and said, "It was Ms. Townsend, but I swear she didn't do anything. She's always out at night meandering through the gardens. I never pay her any mind, and she leaves me alone. She must have found the cat already dead."

"So this isn't the first time you've seen her?"

The gardener actually blushed and replied, "She's not hurting anyone out here. I think she likes the night air and likes to be out in my gardens."

I shook my head, thinking this poor man was in love with Ellen. But still, I had to make sure this strange behavior stayed a secret. It would not do to have the neighbors or staff know that she was running through the grounds at night. I said, "I don't want this information getting back to me from some petty gossip, so keep this information to yourself."

"I will," he replied meekly, and I believed him.

As Williams went back to his digging, I walked back to the house. There I found that breakfast had already set out in the dining room. It was the usual apples and toast. Townsend didn't like having much of a meal in the morning since he thought it tempered his thinking power, so the rest of us suffered for his frugality. At least lunch always proved to an enjoyable affair with the cook taking the time to make something delicious.

I was sitting at the dining room table, thinking through my second cup of coffee when Ellen strode in. As usual, she looked ravishing, wearing a green riding dress with embroidered flowers and a high collar. On top of her head sat a little hat that was pinned to the back of her well-formed head. Not even giving me a glance, she was soon picking through the breakfast offerings.

"Good morning," I hailed her.

Surprisingly enough, she returned my greeting. "Good morning, Captain Parker," she said rather icily and concentrated on selecting a handful of sliced apples. A single slice of toast was balanced on top, and she took this plate to the table to eat. Of course she didn't pick a chair next to me but decided to sit three places down.

"I trust you slept well," I said pleasantly.

She looked at me sullenly before returning to poke at the contents of her plate.

"Myself, I've never been the best of sleepers," I went on. "I spend most of the night pacing the floor, but you would be surprised what I see from my window. I would swear on my mother's grave that I've seen you wandering through the garden."

Her fork clattered to the plate, and her eyes stared at me with dark malice. "You've been spying on me," she blurted out.

"And so has Williams, the gardener. I suggest you be more careful in the future if you don't want the servants gossiping. By the way, did you see what killed that poor cat?"

Her hand went to her face, covering the mouth that had dropped open with shock. She clumsily rose to her feet, causing her plate to crash to the ground. With a sprint, she was out of the room before I could say anything else. I rose to follow, but her father strode in with a piece of paper in his hand.

He was shaking his head. "My goodness, what has upset Ellen? She ran past me without saying a word."

"I'm not sure," I lied, thinking that Ellen must be hiding something, but I still could not imagine her killing a helpless creature. I sat back down.

"Never mind," the doctor said with a shrug. "Women are strange creatures. Even after all these years, I'm often surprised by their illogical actions. I have no time for them. But now on to more pressing matters: we have a new client who wishes to consult with me." He looked over the telegram in his hand and continued, "A Mr. William Baum apparently wants to discuss farming at night."

I was puzzled by this piece of information and said, "I'm no farmer, but I'm not aware of any crop that requires tending in the evening hours."

"Neither am I. We shall have to wait for the arrival of this Baum, and our questions shall be answered."

An hour later, we were waiting in the library when Charles showed this client in. He was a lanky youth in his early twenties with a shock of black hair, a large Adam's apple, and a suit that looked travel-worn. He had the type of face that would attract the weaker sex, with a straight nose, smooth skin, and high cheekbones. It was, however, strained with exhaustion, and dark circles surrounded his brown eyes. I also noticed his pant legs were splattered with mud. He did not speak, but instead looked pleadingly at Townsend who was sitting in behind his desk, busy smoking a cigarette.

"Pray take a seat," the doctor offered, his pale blue eyes hinting at nothing.

The youth looked about and ended up collapsing onto the only sofa, which creaked in protest.

"This here is Captain Parker," Townsend said with a nod in my direction. "He is my partner and is well aware of my methods and techniques. Anything you have to say must also be heard by him."

"You must help me," the youth finally choked out. "Before it's too late." His voice was hoarse as if he had been crying over his predicament.

"Be calm, sir. Parker, why don't you fix our friend here a drink?"

Going over to the sideboard, I poured out a slug of whiskey. As I handed it over to Baum, I saw that he stared at me like a man possessed. The whiskey, however, went down easily enough, and some color soon returned to his cheeks.

"Now pray tell me what I can do for you, Mr. Baum?" Townsend patiently asked as I returned to my seat.

The youth certainly looked uncertain of his bearings, but eventually managed to say, "I'm not sure where to begin. The past few days have been simply unbelievable. It seems like a dream, and I wonder if I'm doing the right thing by coming here."

"Perhaps I can be the best judge of that," the doctor said softly. "Now why don't you start at the beginning, and we shall keep our questions until the very end."

Baum nodded and reached into his pocket to pull out a small cigar. He lit it with shaking hands and inhaled deeply. Nearly in tears, he began to tell his story.

Part II

My name is William Baum. My mother and father died when I was fifteen. Luckily they left me a moderate fortune to see me through life. As my father was a stock broker of some repute, I had little want while growing up. As stipulated in the will, I attended college and all that, but once I finished school, I was finally given control of the estate. I've always been cautious in my investments so even with the recent bank crash, I will never have to earn a wage for the rest of my life. It hardly seems fair for a man of twenty-four years to have such freedom, so as suggested by my pastor, I've taken on some work for the local charities. This has included helping feed some of our less fortunate citizens and seeing that they have a place to sleep for the night.

Two months ago, at a charity mission, I met a girl named Mollie Keeling. Since that day she has become everything in the world to me. Mollie is neither poor nor rich, but comes from good stock. Since she recently lost her parents, our similar background and common grief led us to become quite close. She is still rather young at seventeen, but was well-looked after by her uncle Leonard Keeling. He is a farmer with a large holding that produces a substantial amount of cabbages and the like.

Mollie was only staying in New York for two weeks and would soon be continuing on to the farm to stay on with her uncle. I was heartbroken at the idea of her leaving and promised to visit her as soon as possible. She readily agreed to the idea, and so did her uncle. He thought it would be good to have visitors since their farm is off the beaten track near the town of Cairo. Mr. Keeling also seemed to have taken a great liking to me. That promised to be a good omen since upon my visit I decided to propose marriage to his niece.

It was three days ago that I telegrammed her and promptly took the long journey out to Cairo. The rail line doesn't run directly to my destination, so I had to get off at the town of Catskill and hire a carriage to travel the rest of the way. The journey there by train was rather tedious and after living in the city for so long, the countryside seemed so sparse and uninhabited. However, the thought of seeing Mollie again cheered me to no end, and even the damp autumn weather did little to dampen my spirits.

At the train station, I was met by the driver who had been hired to take me on to Cairo. Opening the door to the carriage, I jumped inside and made myself as comfortable as possible. We rattled heavily through the holes and ruts of the rough country roads. By the end of the long journey, I was fairly shaken up and was relieved when we finally pulled into town. There the driver dropped me off at the two story hotel, threw my luggage off the side and left without even saying goodbye.

As for Cairo, it was a town of graying clapboard houses, unkempt streets, and sullen-looking inhabitants. The few townspeople looked at me with downright hostility. I spent another hour waiting outside by myself, so it was with great relief when a farm wagon rolled up, and a young man jumped off.

"Are you Mr. Baum?" he asked and then rudely spat out a line of tobacco juice.

"I am," I replied.

"Well, give me a hand, and I'll have you at the farm soon enough."

So I added my bit of help loading up the luggage and then took the seat next to him on the buckboard. We were soon on our way down a two-track road that led into a tired-looking forest. The sun began to break through the clouds, warming the damp air to a more pleasant temperature.

"What's your name?" I asked, just to be friendly.

"Jim," he replied with another line of tobacco spat out.

He was a lanky youth of some eighteen years with a long brown hair and cheeks scarred by pimples. As if suffering from shyness, his brown eyes rarely met mine but instead stayed glued to the road. His clothes were those of a laborer with large patches sewn over the knees.

"You've been working for the Keeling family long?"

"Long enough," he said and another trail of tobacco came out not too soon afterwards.

I lapsed into silence and watched stoically as the landscape rolled on by. It was a pleasant fall day, but my spirits were eventually affected by the loneliness of the place. My companion turned quiet and politely rebuffed any further conversation I dared to start. I sunk into my own thoughts, wondering if I should have stayed in New York City instead of going on this fool trip. I had these and other dire thoughts for a few miles. We then broke free of the woods and into a rolling farmland.

Cresting a hill, I saw the Keeling farm for the first time. There was a large building off to the side that looked something like a chicken coop with a vented peak roof. Further away, there was a red barn and a house. The house was an impressive size, painted white and looked well-made. The lawn around the house was manicured to perfection and enclosed by a low picket fence that was also painted white. Even the surrounding farmland itself had a perfect picture book quality that I found oddly disturbing. I thought it must take plenty of work to keep a place like this in such beautiful shape.

"How many workers are here?" I asked Jim out of curiosity.

"Just my father and I," he replied as we turned down the driveway to the great house.

"But how do you manage with all this land?"

His grin flashed momentarily at me, and he replied, "We have our ways of saving time, but it still is hard work running a farm this large."

Waiting on the front porch was Mollie, her uncle Leonard and an ancient man who I took to be the Jim's father. He had intense black eyes, long white hair and was dressed in something that looked like a frayed robe a monk would wear. He had a strange aura about him that I found unsettling, but that was soon forgotten after I saw Mollie running towards me.

"Oh, William," she said with great happiness. She was wearing a calico dress that did nothing for her figure, and her face looked rather worn with exhaustion. But still, she looked more beautiful than I remembered.

As the wagon rolled to a stop, I hopped off and went up to greet her, wishing I could have kissed her on the mouth. But I wasn't about to do anything with her uncle and two strangers watching, so I politely took her right hand and kissed it instead.

"I'm so very glad to see you again," I said to her.

That brought a much-needed smile to her worried face, and she took me by the arm to walk up the porch steps.

Mr. Keeling shook me by the hand and then introduced me to Jim's father. "This here is my good friend, Silas Macomb."

We dutifully shook hands. I'll admit I didn't like the feel of his clammy skin. His eyes had that hollowed look of a professional drinker, and the man could barely stand on his own two feet without swaying. His eyes searched my face, the stare intense and full of hatred. I wondered why he would have such strong emotions about a complete stranger.

"Silas here," Leonard Keeling went on, "is a great help to me on the farm. Without him and his son, I would have been in ruins years ago."

"Running such a large concern must be difficult," I agreed.

We went into the house and sat in the parlor. It was a nicely furnished home, but I was taken aback to see that Silas and his son Jim had free reign of the household. They sat wherever and did whatever they wanted. Personally, I have no truck for those social inferiors that take advantage of their betters, but it wasn't my place to question the dealings of Mr. Keeling. As time went on and we chatted amiably about this and that, I noticed a general uneasiness in the household. It was if everyone was being overly polite and did not wish to speak more words than necessary. As we conversed awhile longer, I realized that Mollie was frightened out of her wits. She certainly wasn't acting like the outgoing girl I gotten to know so well back in New York. And it did seem that both Jim and Silas were paying her an inordinate amount of attention. But to what ends I could only guess.

Silas then asked me impatiently, "So, Mr. Baum, do you plan to visit us for long?"

"I have little to do otherwise," I replied vaguely.

He clasped and unclasped his hands as if annoyed by my answer. "Surely a young gentleman like yourself is quite busy these days with work being so hard to get."

I gave a little laugh. "I'm afraid that I'm fortunate enough to have no money concerns. I shall stay as long as Mollie here will have me."

That revelation seemed to go down rather poorly as his face became flushed with anger. However any response by this strange man was stopped by Mr. Keeling jumping in to say, "Perhaps it is time for a little supper."

We retired to the dining room where I found the meal was already waiting there. Dinner was a poor fare of black bread, cold chicken, and a low brand of wine. The conversation at the table was short, much like the time it took to actually eat the meal. I noticed that both Silas and Jim continued to sneak looks at Mollie. It was a cruel realization that the pair of them were in love with her! The thought of them lusting after the poor girl only made my temperament worse.

When we finally finished, Mollie got up to clear the dishes. I offered to help, grabbed a few empty plates and hurried after her into the kitchen. I dropped them into the wash basin and saw her looking cautiously at the door like she was afraid of being overheard.

With concern, I grabbed her hand and it felt cold to the touch. "What is it?" I asked.

She hushed me and whispered in my ear, "I'm afraid they can hear us."

I followed her lead and lowered my voice. "Now please tell me what is worrying you."

"William, ever since I've come to this evil place, I've been praying for you to visit. Living here has been such a nightmare. That disgusting Silas and his son stare at me like I'm some county fair prize. My uncle does nothing to stop them."

"Have you asked him to have them stop?"

"Of course, but he tells me it is just my imagination. But there is something else even worse going on."

Before I had a change to question Mollie further, she quickly pulled away and began sorting through the dishes with a clatter. Her voice suddenly got loud and cheery. "Oh, I loved New York City. I hope to visit it again someday soon."

I was about to open my mouth to reply, but her uncle walked in and gave us a long searching look. He then nervously blurted out, "I thought you would like to join us for cigars and perhaps a bit more wine."

"That sounds good," I agreed, not wishing to arouse his suspicion.

I followed him back to the parlor where Silas and his son were sitting together on the sofa. Obviously drunk, they already had a bottle finished and were busy opening another. Reaching into my breast pocket, I pulled out a good Virginian cigar and lit it. The smoke curled up to the ceiling, and I saw Jim watching it in a greedy fashion. I supposed the tobacco here must be of an inferior sort.

While Mollie busied herself in the kitchen, we spent the evening talking about various things that I frankly found boring. There are only so many ways you can discuss the growing of crops, and I certainly had no experience in such matters. As darkness fell, some oil lamps were lit, but the cheery light did little to help my growing sense of unease. There was something terribly wrong in this home and except for Ms. Keeling, I felt alone.

She soon came in to say goodnight. Silas watched her intently while Jim was more discreet in his lustful glances. They were a sad pair. I wondered where they had gotten the idea they could even have a chance with a woman like her. Simple workers like them should know their place in society and understand what is attainable for their sort.

As Mollie left, I followed her out to the stairs, and she turned to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. She whispered, "I'm at the last room on the left."

Without a glance back, she retreated up the stairs. I watched as she took each step, wondering what I could do to free her from this place.

Returning to the parlor, Silas looked at me slyly and said, "I think Mr. Baum here is really in love with our little Mollie."

"I hardly think that is a concern of yours," I answered haughtily, thinking the man sounded like a spoiled child.

The farmer raised a hand to stop his friend from continuing, but it was too late. Silas said coldly, "You shall never have her, my friend, for she is going to marry me. There is nothing you can do about it."

I laughed out loud at this insanity, and noticed that Jim shot his father a look of pure loathing.

Keeling stood up, his face pale as he tried to placate his friend. "Silas, nothing has been determined yet. The girl must have some say in the matter."

"It has already been decided by me," the strange man answered coldly.

I didn't see any point of arguing with a madman, so I said, "It has been a long day of traveling, gentlemen. I think I will go to bed early."

Mr. Keeling stood and gave me a little bow. He said, "As you come up the stairs, the guest room is the first on the right. Make sure you stay there all night and don't get any ideas of sneaking off to see my Mollie."

I gave him a mortified look as if my honor had been impugned. "I can assure that I will keep to my quarters."

"The house is the safest place to be at night," the farmer warned me. "There are still wild animals in this part, and it can be dangerous to go outside alone. We have dogs to protect us, but they don't know you."

With a wave of my hand, I headed upstairs to my room. It was a simple, windowless affair that would have been better used by a servant. The bed sagged in the middle, and I doubted it could hold my weight. My luggage had already been brought up and was crammed in the corner near the dresser.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I thought of how long it would take for Mollie and I to walk back to Cairo. It would be hard going on foot for her, so I decided it would be better to steal the wagon. Hitching the horses would be a problem as I was no expert horseman. I rolled several other possibilities through my mind but could not find a definite solution to the problem of getting away undetected.

For now, I thought it was better to pretend to sleep, so I blew out the oil lamp near my bed and wrapped myself tightly into the thin blankets. The bed was damned uncomfortable, and I felt the springs jab sharply into my back as I rolled about to find a better position. At least there was no chance that I was going to fall asleep waiting for the rest of the house to do likewise. So I lay there thinking and listening, waiting impatiently for the time to go by. Except for the natural creaking of the house, I heard nothing.

After two hours of this, I got up, lit the oil lamp and found a cigar in my coat pocket. Lighting it, I sat down on the edge of the bed to smoke and think things through. After a few puffs, I realized I wasn't in the mood for tobacco. Instead, I snubbed it out and decided to see if I could safely visit Mollie in her room. With this new objective in mind, I turned down the lamp and opened my door as carefully as possible. The hinges seemed to squeak horrendously, but every sound was jarring at this time of night.

It's the damnedest thing when you're trying to be quiet - you never notice how loud your footsteps are until you try to sneak through a house in the middle of the night. Every step seemed to make the floor squeak loud enough to wake the dead. I moved as cautiously as I could, taking special care as I passed by each closed doorway. It then occurred to me that I hadn't heard anyone else come upstairs yet. Were they still down in the parlor at this time of night?

But still, I could not stand to wait any longer, and it was with great relief when I was standing in front of her door. I tried the knob, but it was locked tight. As a last resort, I knocked as lightly as I could and cringed each time I tapped on the door. I waited with my breath held tight, listening intently for any sound coming from inside. There was nothing but silence. I was about to risk another knock when I heard a floorboard inside the room squeak. A light suddenly flickered under the crack of the door. I cautiously moved back as the door opened.

It was Mollie. She smiled warmly as I stepped into the light. She was already wearing a dark green dress and had a small traveling case with her.

"I was expecting you," she said in a warm whisper.

"Do you want to go to New York with me?" I whispered back hopefully.

She smiled broadly in reply. "Yes, of course. I have to get out of here before I go mad. They keep me imprisoned in the house and work me like a slave."

Without any further thought, I said, "Very well, we shall elope. I can pay our way and find a minister to get us married. Once that is done, there is nothing more your uncle can do."

"It's not my uncle I'm worried about," Mollie said. "It is that man Silas that worries me the most. Because of him, we must be careful when we leave the house."

"We don't have time to talk about it," I said hurriedly.

I pulled her along to my bedroom and from my luggage, quickly threw together my smaller bag with a change of clothes. I took my wallet from the nightstand and slipped it inside my breast pocket. There was enough cash there to get us back to New York and hide out in the very best hotels until we were married. Now I just had figure out a way to slip back to the train station unnoticed.

"Where are your uncle and Silas?" I asked as I pulled open my door.

"That's what I was trying to tell you, they're outside working the farm."

"It's after midnight!" I exclaimed.

She took my free hand and pressed it hard. "I didn't believe it myself when I first saw them, but they keep slaves in that building out there. They bring the men out at night and make them do all the work."

"But slavery has been outlawed since the war. How could just the three of them keep men in bondage?"

"I know it sounds impossible, but I tell you it's true. I was up one night with a bad stomach. I got tired of reading and was looking out the window when I saw a gang of men working the fields. I thought it strange, but when I mentioned it to my uncle in the morning, he told me they were local laborers. The next night, I spied on them again and saw the men were chained together as they worked. Jim and Silas were there, snapping whips against their backs. It was horrible!"

Since time was of the essence, I questioned her no further and decided we had better leave now. Whatever trouble came our way, I was sure I could handle it. We took the steps downstairs cautiously and breathed a sigh of relief as we passed through the kitchen and came to the back door. From there, we made our way outside.

The night air was cool and had the smell of autumn weather – decaying leaves and fading summer memories. The fields stretched for hundreds of yards around the house, and I had to find a way to get back to the road undetected. Pulling Mollie down to the ground, we crawled cautiously along the picket fence that surrounded the house. I was aiming for the cover of the barn when my blood froze. I heard a series of clanks and clatters off in the distance.

"Those are the poor slaves I was telling you about," she whispered.

Lifting my head, I looked across to the field. Some fifty yards away there was a pool of light from a lantern resting on the ground. I recognized Jim with a whip hanging loosely in his hand. He was standing there, watching a group of some dozen men clearing the field. Over the rustling of their chains, I could just make out a chorus of low-throated groans.

Next to me, Mollie had also raised her head to look at the poor human chattel. I'm afraid our two pale faces so close together drew the attention of Jim, for he suddenly gave out a shout. His warning was answered ready enough by a distant reply of his father and Keeling.

"We have to go," I cried out and pulled Mollie to her feet. We took off running towards the safety of the trees, but I soon heard the yapping of a pack of dogs. Panting hard, I tossed a look over my shoulder and saw the shadowy pack bounding towards us. My heart dropped at my foolishness as I sadly realized that we could never get away in time. I cursed myself for not having the foresight to bring a gun and realized it was pointless to continue. I turned to face the onrushing animals, pulling Mollie behind me. The dogs were immediately upon us. It was all I could do to keep those vicious beasts off of us.

In a second there was a high piercing whistle from Silas. The dogs quickly scattered. Behind him, I saw Jim and Keeling coming, holding lanterns high in the air to get a better look.

"So you tried to take the girl away," Silas said angrily. In the weak light, his eyes were nothing but dark shadows, and his fists were clenched hard against the sides of his body.

I felt Mollie grip my arm as this crazed man advanced closer to us. I took her hand in mine and squeezed it tight. She squeezed it back.

"Mollie, come here!" Keeling demanded.

She shook her head and said, "You're going to hurt him, aren't you? If you do, I'll never talk to you as long as I live! I'll run away, and you'll never see me again!"

These words seemed to take some of the wind out of her uncle's sails, but Silas wasn't having any of it. "The girl is coming with us," he threatened. "And you, my lad, will be leaving us right now. And the dogs won't be called off if you come here again!"

In a low voice, I said to Mollie, "Go back to your uncle. I'll come back for you."

"But I can't leave. I love you."

Those words hit Silas like a dagger in his heart. You could see him take a step back as her once unspoken truth finally came out into the open. He sputtered like a petulant child, "She will marry me next week."

I turned to Mollie and said, "Go ahead, I'll be back for you as soon as I can." And on impulse, I leaned over and kissed her fully on the lips.

She acted surprised for just a moment before returning the kiss warmly. I then let her go and turned away to start my long journey back to Cairo. I did not want to see Silas' gloating eyes or the heartbroken look on my beloved's face. It would have been too much for me. As I entered into the outskirts of the forest, Silas' unmistakable laughter followed. I felt angry and helpless.

As soon as my dignified retreat was done, I began to run and stumble along the road. My mind was filled with the thought that they would come after me, so I readied myself to crash into the woods to evade capture. My fears were unfounded since no one came. Once I stumbled back into town, I ended up at the hotel where I slept fitfully for the night. In the morning, I hired a wagon to take me back to the train station at Catskill. From there, I took the train back to New York City. It was during the trip back that I remembered hearing of your name from a friend of mine. I decided to immediately seek your help against these slave-holding devils.

Part III

Townsend appeared to be asleep, but as the story finished, his eyelids slowly opened. His blue eyes looked dull and tired. "Well, Mr. Baum, that certainly was a most interesting story, but my line of work doesn't exactly involve saving damsels in distress. Surely slaves are illegal these days, and the proper authorities should be consulted in such manners."

Baum replied hotly, "I'm afraid I already tried that. Before I left Cairo, I went to visit the sheriff. Keeling must be good friends with him, since the sheriff just went and laughed in my face. He told me that Mr. Keeling was a well-respected man and whoever heard of slaves here in the state of New York?"

"Then what would you have me do?" the doctor asked. "My specialty is the spirit world, not with the affairs of some crazed farmer." As to add further insult to injury, he then picked up a book from his desk and began to page through it.

Baum looked crestfallen and prepared to make his leave.

This was too much for me since I hated the thought of a beautiful girl married against her will. "If you don't want to, I'll be glad to look into this matter," I said to Townsend.

A ray of hope passed across Baum's face.

The doctor dropped his book onto his lap and gave me a studious look. "It isn't in our line of business, Parker."

"I've been rather bored lately," I replied. "And it certainly wouldn't hurt for me to at least check into his story. Something of interest could turn up."

Townsend shrugged, picked up his book again and said, "Do what you want, but I shall expect you back in three days. I have some important materials coming that need to be cataloged, and I shall need your help."

The idea of looking through a stack of musty books held little appeal, but those thoughts were interrupted by our visitor.

Baum had practically leaped out of his chair to shake my hand. "Why I can't tell you how much this means to me."

I felt embarrassed by this undeserved gratitude, so I replied, "But I haven't done anything yet."

"But surely the two of us will be able to handle two old men and a farm boy."

"That remains to be seen," the doctor said cryptically from behind his book.

While he went home to collect his things, I went upstairs to put together a small suitcase. When I was done packing my clothes, I buckled on my holster and slid my Navy Colt inside. Putting on my jacket, I made sure the holster could not be seen with a casual glance since the law up in the northern states did not take kindly to men openly carrying pistols. They thought the eastern side of the states was too civilized for an honest gunman. To be on the safe side, I also pocketed my little New Line pistol since Mr. Baum still may not have a gun of his own.

Later that afternoon, we met at the station and took the two o'clock train heading north to Catskill. On his side of the bench, Baum remained quiet and merely stared at the passing landscape. The poor lad must have some feelings of inadequacy running through his mind since no one cared to leave a loved one behind in such immediate danger.

He suddenly looked my way and said, "Have you ever killed anyone?"

"Why yes," I answered truthfully, "but never in cold blood. I've killed in the heat of battle, but I'm certainly no hired assassin so don't expect me to go in there with guns blazing."

His eyes fell with dismay as he digested this news. He then replied, "That night I left the Keeling farm, I never felt so angry in my life. If I had a pistol on me, I would have shot those bastards. How did it feel the first time you killed someone?"

"Not too good. I was riding out on a patrol when we ran into a Confederate picket. We had to shoot our way out, and I killed my first man that day. I saw him sprawl into a heap like a ragdoll. If you're like anyone else, that sight makes you feel mighty sick inside. But the memory starts to fade when you realize it could have been you on the receiving end."

With a face now turned pale, he turned his head and began watching the landscape tumble by again. This young man reminded me of the green troops pushed into war before they were ready. I had been in the same place once before, but at least I had been given some sort of training. The poor fool would probably shoot himself in the foot before he could even draw the bead on that Silas fellow. At the very least, I could help him point the gun in the right direction.

After a few hours, the train rolled into the Catskill station. The sky had clouded up, and I could smell rain in the air. We paid a fee to a driver, threw our luggage up on top of the carriage and were soon swaying about along the rutted road. After the relative smoothness of a passenger train, traveling in such a manner always made me feel a little sick to my stomach. I was looking forward to spending a night at the Cairo hotel with a few drinks under my belt.

We were riding along for an hour when the skies opened up, and the rain began sluicing down like a wall of solid water. The speed of the carriage became slower and slower as the driver fought the fear of the horses and the mud of the roads. At least with this slower pace, the ride became smoother, but by now that dry hotel bed seemed a million miles away. My companion was of little help to pass the time as he seemed to have dropped into a deep depression and offered little in conversation.

By the time we had rolled into town, the rain had petered out, and it was nearly midnight. I found Cairo quiet with only a few dim lights shining behind curtained windows. The driver unloaded our luggage in front of the hotel and immediately jumped back up on the buckboard as soon as we paid him. He gave us a queer look and then lashed the horses forward as if he was in a hurry.

"What's his rush?" Baum asked.

"Perhaps our driver knows we aren't wanted here and doesn't want to get involved," I replied and picked up my bag.

My companion did the same, following me glumly into the hotel. The furnishings inside were spare, and the floor had been beaten rough by a thousand boots. The front desk was manned by a skinny man with a torn suit and a long Adam's apple that bucked nervously up and down like a mare in heat. Off to my left, I saw a bar and eating area with a few late-night patrons clustered together at a table.

"May I help you, gentlemen?" the clerk asked with a croak. His eyes strayed to Baum. I saw his face freeze in recognition.

"We need a room," I replied.

"I'm afraid we're completely out of rooms right now," he replied impassively.

"We can take a space in your barn," the young man suggested meekly.

"We shall do nothing of the sort," I said and took a step forward. The clerk shrank back like any good coward will do. I placed my hands squarely on the counter and demanded, "I asked for a room. I want one now."

"Look mister," the clerk pleaded, "we don't have to serve you, because we don't like people who stick their noses in business they shouldn't."

He nearly ducked as I brought my hand up from the desk and jabbed him in the chest. "What is your going rate for the night?"

"Two dollars, but I told you there aren't any rooms."

I reached into my wallet and threw down a ten dollar bill. "This will cover us for tonight."

Greed can be more powerful than fear, and the clerk readily took the money. He then gave us a key and went to deliver our luggage up to the room. In need of a drink, I steered Baum into the bar and leaned against the counter. The bartender was a swarthy man with a waxed mustache and a head that last held hair many years ago. He didn't look particularly happy to see us, but our money was still good enough to buy a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

I poured out a drink for myself and Baum. He looked at it skeptically as if it contained rat poison.

"Here's to your health," I said as I raised my glass and then swallowed it down.

It wasn't half-bad for watered-down rot gut. I turned around and surveyed the other patrons. There were only three of them, and they were talking in low tones, huddled together at a table. By the sidelong glances we were getting, I had a feeling they also didn't take kindly to strangers in town.

A lanky fellow got up from the table and strolled over to us. He had fair long hair and the strut of someone who wishes they were tough. I sighed inwardly and kept my eye on the stranger. His interest seemed to be with Baum, but I could tell he certainly didn't like my eyes following his movements. My companion didn't seem to notice our guest, but instead swirled his glass of whiskey in an uneasy manner.

"You two aren't from here," the man said, stating the obvious. His voice was high and thin with nervousness.

"With a sharp mind like that, you should be in college," I replied sarcastically.

Dumbfounded, he stared at me. "We don't like city folk like you," he said nastily.

"It must be hell for the trade then," I stated flatly. "I suggest you leave us alone before there's trouble."

Baum now looked worried and sick to his stomach. Perhaps it was the whiskey.

The stranger looked back at his two friends as if they were sharing a joke at our expense. As he swung back to stare at us again, I threw the contents of my glass in his face. I then punched him hard in the stomach. With a sharp gasp of pain, he doubled over, and I promptly kneed him in the face. As he went sprawling on the floor, I pulled my Colt out from under my coat. His friends were already standing and reaching for their guns, but became as still as statues when they saw my pistol pointing in their direction.

Baum's eyes widened with shock. He looked like a fool as he took a big gulp of whiskey to steady his nerves.

"Now I suggest we all take a deep breath and forget all about this little trouble," I said as I waved my gun at the other two.

The man in front of me was on his hands and knees, whining and trying to staunch the blood from his nose. His friends looked angry, but I could tell by the fear in their eyes that they weren't about to rush to the aid of their friend.

I continued on sharply, "Why don't you tell me why you're bothering us?"

No one wanted to say anything until I stepped on our new friend's free hand. He moaned in pain as my heel ground the bones against the floorboards.

He gasped out, "Keeling told us to keep a look out for someone matching the description of your friend. If we ran him out of town, he would be paying out in gold."

I ground my foot even harder into his hand and said, "I suggest you tell Keeling that we prefer to be left alone." I then took my companion by the arm and led him out of the bar. The others were too much in shock to do anything and just stared at us as we left.

"You were amazing," Baum finally said as we climbed the stairs to our rooms.

Ignoring his praise, I said, "We should forget sleeping here for the night. We should instead approach the Keeling farm before it's too late."

"But why tonight? I'm tired, and it's a long walk from here."

"After my exhibition at the bar, it will only take an enterprising man to grab a horse and ride out to warn them that we are in town. Chances are no one will do it tonight since it late, and the roads are wet. But in the morning, I'll bet someone will be willing to make the journey. A word of advice, the first thing you learn in the cavalry is to keep your opponent off-guard. Keeling and his friends expect to be warned before we get there. That weakness will give us the upper hand if we take advantage of it. Now let's see if we can find another way out of this place so no one will know that we left."

At the end of the hallway, I found a small outside balcony. At my suggestion, we dropped over the side and managed to fall to the ground without injury. Darting from building to building, we were soon clear of the town and walking along a rutted path that led into the woods. The rain clouds had broken, revealing a half-moon that helped to guide our way. The journey was still difficult, as mud gripped my boots and unseen branches whipped me in the face. After what seemed like hours of walking, we finally reached our destination.

The Keeling farm was as Baum described it – a main house, a barn, and a long outbuilding which stood far away from the others. The entire place was eerily quiet.

I pointed at the outbuilding and asked, "Have you seen what's inside there?"

Even in the gloom, I could see him shake his head. "No, I was only inside the house, but Mollie said that's where they keep the slaves"

"Perhaps we should investigate. I'm sure the sheriff would be most interested if we could prove Keeling was keeping men against their will. Here you had better take this." I took out my New Line pistol and handed it over to Baum.

He weighed the gun in his hand and admitted with embarrassment, "I'm afraid I've never fired one before."

I looked at him in disbelief and replied, "I've never come across a man who hasn't fired a gun! It's quite simple - pull on the trigger and keep on pulling until what you're trying to kill is dead. You've only got five shots there, but that should be enough to kill anyone that gets in the way. But I'll warn you to only fire at close range since pistols are good for nothing outside of fifty yards. And even then you have to be a good shot."

"Okay," he gulped nervously and slipped the pistol into his coat pocket.

Motioning him to the ground, I got down on my belly and began crawling towards the outbuilding. Baum would never make a good scout. He was too careful with his clothes, but he was still quiet enough considering the newness of the experience. The ground was damp from the rain and exceedingly cold, reminding me that winter was just around the corner. When we crossed into the field, the remnants of the already-harvested plants poked into my chest. It was uncomfortable, and I fought the natural urge to get up and run the rest of the way. My companion obviously had the same thoughts, for he started to rise. Before he could take his first step, I grabbed him by the arm and pushed him back down into the dirt.

"Never assume that you are unseen – that is a good rule for any soldier."

He grumbled. I was glad that I couldn't make out his expression in the dark. After a few more minutes of cautiously crawling towards the building, we found ourselves at the nearest wall. There was a faint curious smell in the air that I couldn't place, but it somehow reminded me of battlefields long ago. Brushing that concern away, I moved around the corner to the entrance. The side door was slid shut and pegged in place. I stood up and sidled up against the wall. I motioned Baum to join me.

"I wish we had a lantern with us," he whispered.

"Too risky. Now carefully take a look inside while I stand guard."

Without a reply, Baum pulled the locking peg and tugged the sliding door open. It made a creaking noise that would I swear could be heard in the next county over, but my thoughts were interrupted by a terrible stench. The air was pungent with the smell of rotting meat, and I was instantly reminded of dead soldiers baking on the fields of battle. There was a clanking of chains inside, and I felt a prickle of fear running down my back. Something was terribly wrong, but I didn't know what it could be.

"Is there anyone in there?" the young man whispered into the gloomy interior.

There was no returning salutation, but the sound of clanking chains increased. A multitude of low groans came from within. The discordant sound grew louder as footsteps shuffled closer to the door.

"I'm here to help," Baum called out again, and before I could stop him he stepped inside. Immediately a hideous scream came from within. I heard him shout, "He bit me!"

I swung inside the doorway and saw Baum grappling with three shadowy men. The stench of death was overpowering. Grabbing his shoulder, I dragged him bodily from the melee. We stumbled, falling outside into a pile. I pulled myself free and over my shoulder, glanced towards the house. A light was shining out the front window. It wouldn't be long before someone would come to investigate the noise.

The men inside the outbuilding continued to shuffle towards us, groaning with each step. They were chained together at the ankle, but that wasn't the only thing that impeded their actions. Their movements were jerky, reminding me of a puppet being pulled by its strings. Baum had now stood up and was clutching his arm. I could see the dark stain of blood dripping down his hand and falling into the dirt below.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

"I'll live," he gasped between clenched teeth.

"We have to get out of here," I said and took a step back. In the distance, I heard the sound of barking dog, and knew we had to run for the cover of the forest as soon as we could. Keeling and his friends may have rifles, and an open field was no place to contest them with only a pistol at my disposal.

"Come on!" I shouted at Baum, but his attention was transfixed towards the open door. The creatures inside had finally shown themselves.

They shambled towards us. Even in the dim moonlight, I could see that they were no longer really men. They may have once been men, but now they were rotting corpses that walked towards us in their slow, animated fashion. There were a dozen of them, and by some terrible animal instinct they were making their way towards us. Heads lolled with rotten arms stretched towards us. I must admit that at this time I panicked. I found that my Navy Colt was suddenly in my hand, pointed in their direction, and the trigger was being pulled as fast as I could go.

The bullets did nothing but tear into their festering flesh with a sickening smack. The hammer of the pistol soon clicked on a few discharged cylinders before I realized I had already fired my last shot. My throat felt thick, and it seemed difficult to breathe. The closest creature reached out and tried to grab me by the arm, but I pushed it violently away. Baum was still standing there with his mouth open, incapable of doing anything to save himself. I've seen the same reaction in the middle of a battlefield as a soldier can get so scared he is literally frozen to the spot. I tugged hard on his arm and made him take a step back. This broke the spell, and with a scream he turned and started running. Close at his heels, I followed him as we both went at dead run back towards the forest.

The sound of the barking dogs became louder. Each step became agony as my heart pounded harder in my chest. Baum, being younger, was a faster runner and made it to the forest before I did. I wasn't too far behind and crashed through a thick grouping of pine trees, holding my arms up to protect my face from the whipping branches. The dead leaves of autumn crunched loudly underneath my boots. I was panting hard and luckily caught a brief glimpse of the young man ahead, still running at full speed. Afraid of losing him, I followed as best as I could. The barking of the dogs behind us grew even closer.

I heard a yelp and a crash of something heavy falling into the underbrush. Even slowing down, I almost fell into the same depression in the ground that Baum had. Instead, I managed to slide down the little hill and landed on my backside next to him. He was panting heavily and clutching his ankle in agony.

"Can you keep on moving?" I asked as I started pulling cartridges from my belt to reload my Colt.

"I think I broke my ankle," he gasped between sobs.

I didn't have time to reply as the pack of dogs was suddenly on us. I fired into them, downing a few of the wild-looking beasts. The rest of them kept on coming as my hammer clicked on a discharged cylinder. I cursed myself for having given away my New Line to Baum since I could have used the extra firepower now. In desperation, I threw my empty gun at the coming animals with no effect.

The dogs came in on us like a wolf pack, grabbing whatever they could with their sharp teeth. I kicked hard at one brute with my boot. My long coat became torn in the melee, and my hands were soon bloodied with bites. Next to me, Baum was screaming, and I hoped he had the good sense to at least cover up his face.

This attack seemed to go on for hours, but it must have only been a short violent minute when I finally heard a high-pitched whistle. The dogs dutifully broke off and trotted away wagging their tails. Baum was groaning with his face buried in the ground, and I was frantically searching for my lost pistol. I felt chewed up and spat out, but I wasn't about to give up without a fight.

A lantern lit the ground up in front of us. "That's enough," a voice shouted out, "put those hands up."

I did as I was told and nudged my companion with my toe. He looked up at the swinging lantern and painfully raised his own arms in surrender. Our poorly thought out plan of rescue had certainly gone awry. There was nothing to do now but wait until we could make another break for it. That's if we were given the chance, which didn't seem very likely now.

"Stand up," the voice commanded and as we did, I could hear steps approaching. It was an old man. His bulging eyes were touched with madness, and his gray hair was a tangled knot that hung loosely on the shoulders. However, the shotgun pointing our way looked to be all business. This must be Silas. Behind him, in the shadows, stood two more men, who I took to be Keeling and Jim.

Jim had found my Colt on the ground and proudly slipped it into his belt.

Hoping they hadn't gotten a good look at Baum, I tried to bluff them by demanding, "Why have you set your dogs on us? We were just taking a shortcut across your farm."

"Shut up you," Silas snapped. He turned his attention to my companion. "So it seems that the young fool decided to come back and try to rescue the girl. Too bad you poked your head into our holding pen. I was hoping you would do that."

I shut my mouth and did not say anything else. Silas's eyes were those of a man possessed.

Part IV

At gunpoint, we were brought back to the main barn, which was a sturdy structure with a hay loft and a mess of straw on the ground. Jim chained us at the ankles with manacles. The chain was then threaded through a thick metal loop attached to a heavy wooden support that went from the ground to the ceiling. A stout padlock kept everything in place. I saw Jim slide the key into his shirt pocket. While this was going on, Silas kept the shotgun trained on us and would emit a sharp cackle from time to time as if he was enjoying our predicament. Keeling just watched us from the barn door with a dull expression on his face, but I noticed he held his pistol steadily enough.

Poor Baum just sat on the ground, moaning. His face was deathly pale, and his forehead was damp with sweat. The poor boy looked just terrible, reminding me of my old army days when men died by the scores from camp fever. He was in more pain than I expected from just a few bites. I gave him an encouraging smile, which he faintly returned.

"What's wrong with him?" Jim spat out nervously as if he was afraid of catching something.

Silas giggled, "He's been bit, my boy. You know what that means – no wedding for him!"

Jim gave Baum a pitying glance and licked his lips. "Should we finish him off now? There is no reason to let him suffer any further."

"Yes, why not," Keeling added. "The boy isn't a bad sort."

Silas shot them both a scathing look of hatred which made his friends physically flinch. "They're both going to pay for what they did to my dogs." He sounded like a spoiled child as he pointed at me and said, "And this mercenary is going to meet the same fate as his friend. There is no reason why we shouldn't have them work for us." With those final mysterious words, he strode out of the barn and into the night.

Keeling followed close behind while his son stopped to look us over one more time. "I'm sorry," he grunted, and then he made his leave. The barn grew dim as their lanterns swung away towards the house.

With the encumbrance of the chain, I shuffled towards Baum. "Are you feeling alright?" I asked.

He hesitated before replying in a hoarse whisper, "I've got the chills, and I just don't feel right inside. My vision is starting to fade, and I can barely feel my legs."

"You'll be alright. It's just shock."

Removing my torn jacket, I covered him up with it. Moving my attention to the chains holding us prisoner, I saw that they were rusty, but the links were solidly made. That boy Jim could have been a blacksmith, the expert way they were linked and hammered shut. I looked around the barn for some tool to use, but they had all been placed out of reach. Ignoring the whimpering of my companion, I sat back down in the thin layer of straw to do some thinking.

As I sat there in misery, I remembered a long-ago trip by schooner I once took down to Jamaica. It was a frustratingly slow trip, interrupted only by the occasional storm and plenty of loose talk among the bored travelers. One of the sailors was a Haitian named Alexander. He would spin the most outlandish yarns about his island religion called Voodoo that could make the dead walk the earth. These so-called zombies would rise from the grave to work for their master. At the time, the story seemed outlandish and was met with much laughter. But after this horrific night, I was beginning to wonder. What were those creatures that we saw? Why did they attack us? They certainly weren't human by any stretch of the definition. The deformities and rotting flesh I saw would have killed any living creature, so were these the walking dead as mentioned by that sailor? It boggled my mind just thinking about it.

Though it may be hard to believe, I fell asleep. The traveling, long walk and excitement of the evening had tapped whatever energy I had left. It happened suddenly, and the blackness overwhelmed me like a nightmare. I slept terribly with dreams of maggot-infested flesh, and coffins rising from the ground. It was sometime later that I felt a tickle of hay on my nose and the light of the morning sun on my face.

Opening my eyes, I turned over and saw that Baum was still asleep. I crawled over and shook his shoulder. He didn't move. I shook him harder without any success, so I placed my ear onto his chest and heard a faint slow heartbeat. Gently turning him over on his back, I saw that he looked even worse than the night before. His skin was gray as the dead. I wondered how much longer he was going to live. I slid my own coat off of him and felt something heavy sliding against the back of my hand. The damned fool still had that little New Line pistol. I pulled it out of his pocket, checked the loads out of habit and saw that the forgotten gun was still fully loaded. He had been so afraid that he never had a chance to use it.

I heard a rustle behind me, and I swung around with the New Line at the ready. It was a girl. Compared to the horrors of last night, she looked like a beautiful dream. Her hair was blond and pulled tightly back against her finely shaped head. She was tall and thin, but she had the body of a girl about to bust out to womanhood. But still, her finely featured face was creased with concern, and she took a step back when she saw the gun.

"You must be Mollie Keeling," I said as I dropped the pistol to my side.

"How is William?" she asked, running over to him.

I couldn't help notice that she had a nice set of calves, but this wasn't the time to appreciate such pleasantries. "He is rather sick," I replied honestly. "I fear he won't be long for the world. I've seen enough of death to know that."

"It can't be," she whimpered and dropped to her knees. She hugged him tightly as she sobbed and began rocking his body back and forth.

Her presence must have done something, for beyond all reason, his eyes fluttered open, and his face crinkled into a weak smile. "Hello, darling," he said softly.

"Oh, William," she cried out and began earnestly kissing his face.

He smiled faintly one more time and then let out a long sigh. It was a sigh that I have heard before, and it only meant one thing – death. Mollie continued to rock his body. It was another minute before I had the heart to say, "I'm afraid he's gone."

"He can't be," she moaned.

"Look, Ms. Keeling, I need your help. Your uncle and that man Silas locked me up here. If you would get me a hammer then I think I can knock out the pins on these manacles and set myself free."

She just ignored my words and continued to hold on to Baum's body. Her body was now wracked with heavy sobs.

"Please," I pleaded again, "I need your help."

Mollie abruptly got up and ran out of the barn without looking back. She was too sunken in sorrow to care for my plight. I could hear her footsteps recede just like my hopes of getting out of here alive. After sliding the little gun into my coat pocket, I tugged pointlessly on my chains and cursed the strength of the links holding them together. I've heard of men breaking padlocks with the power of a bullet, but I had little faith that the little thirty-two caliber was up to the job. I would have to wait for a better chance to escape.

I sat on the ground for a few minutes, feeling uneasy at my prospects of escaping alive. My morose thoughts were broken by a minor tugging on the chain on my foot. As my eyes traveled the length of the links, I would swear that I saw one of Baum's legs begin to move. I put this thought away as coming from weariness and fear. However, the chain around my ankle was yanked even harder. This time I definitely saw the leg of the corpse move. There was even a faint groan that accompanied the movement. I quickly pulled the gun out of my pocket and held it pointed at the dead boy. I knew he was dead. I knew it!

Baum's body moved again. Now the chain between us stretched taut enough to lift the links off of the ground.

"Mother of God!" I shrieked and scrambled away as far as I could.

The hands of the corpse gripped the ground, and the body swiveled towards me. He lifted his head up and opened his eyes with an unearthly groan. Those eyes were black as night. He began crawling inch-by-inch towards me, the pale hands digging into the ground as if struggling to climb a steep mountain. Now he was only a few feet away. His right hand slowly reached towards my boot. The touch of finally broke the spell of fear, and I fired.

The hammer slapped down, and the bullet fired with a satisfying bang. The shot struck the creature in the shoulder, sending a shower of dark blood into the air. The damned zombie just grunted and continued to come at me. Were these things indestructible? With a rising panic, I fired again. This time the bullet struck straight in the eye and with an unearthly moan, the monster collapsed with a splatter of black blood staining the floor. Panting hard, I then kicked its hand as hard as I could. To my relief, he did not move. I fought the urge to give him another bullet in the head just to be sure.

I thought it would only be a matter of time before someone came to investigate the sound of the gun firing. So with some trepidation, I laid down next to the corpse, tucking the still warm New Line underneath me. I waited, trying to keep my breathing shallow enough to go unnoticed. It wasn't a long wait, for I soon heard footsteps running into the barn.

A voice drawled out, "My God." It was Jim.

I quickly rolled over, and before he could react, shot the poor bastard right in the stomach. He grunted in shock, falling down to his knees with his hands clutched at his abdomen. His eyes bulged as he whimpered in pain. He then collapsed onto the ground. I crawled over to him and reached into his shirt pocket. He was too weak to resist, so it was easy enough to retrieve the key he had put there last night. Unfortunately, he was not carrying my Colt. Opening the padlock, I quickly slid out the chain from the loop and crawled over to the tools. A quick tap with a hammer, and the pins popped off the manacles.

As Jim groaned, I tapped the manacles onto his ankles, pinning them shut. The chains were then slid into place and locked shut, making him trapped as I once was. I then rushed up the ladder into the loft, rested on my stomach and tightly held the pistol while I watched the door. As I only had two shots left in this feeble pistol, I had to be careful to make them count. Keeling and Silas would be smarter than the boy, so I knew they wouldn't come blundering into such an obvious trap. However, I also knew that a father couldn't stand to see his boy bleeding his life away and would have to attempt a rescue.

By now the poor boy was working up a good blubber, and I almost felt some remorse for shooting him. What I had done to him wasn't exactly kind, but I thought it was well-deserved considering the circumstances. My thoughts of pity were interrupted as I caught the glimpse of a boot at the doorway. It stopped short, so the owner must have seen Jim lying there. The foot disappeared, and the barrels of a shotgun swung around the corner.

I recognized the voice of Silas as he asked, "Boy, are you shot bad?"

"Yes, pa," Jim whimpered.

"Where is that gunfighter?"

Jim choked out, "I saw him crawling up into the hay loft. I'm sorry." You could hear the pain in his voice.

"That's okay, boy," his father answered back. "We'll get you out of there and take you to the doc."

The shotgun barrel slid out of view. I was left wondering what they were cooking up. It was obvious that they would try to kill me, so I could expect no quarter. But whatever they did, it would have to be soon if they wanted a chance of saving Jim. Of course, I've seen enough wounded men to know that hardly anyone survives a shot to the belly. Even with a doctor, the man always got a bad fever and passed away by the next day.

My grim thoughts were interrupted by a thud from behind. Spinning around, I saw that a lit branch had been thrown up through the outside loft opening. The dry straw made good kindling, and the fire was already beginning to quickly spread. I left my station watching Jim and had to stamp out the blaze. It was a near thing, but after a few panicked moments of stomping, the fire was out with my feet feeling appreciably hotter. As I did that, another torch coming from inside the barn hit the straw and immediately started to blaze up. I swore out loud and proceeded to put out this new fire. While this was going on, I heard the crack of an ax on metal. By the time I could look down to the barn floor, Jim's body had been pulled away with only the remnant of the chain remaining. I had lost my bait to their trickery.

Now they could go burn this whole barn down, and there was little I could do about it. Smoke was rolling thickly up into the ceiling above, so I knew that some other fires must have been started below. This was a bad situation, so I had to make a break for it before I was burned alive.

As I ran to the loft opening to the outside, I could feel my heart beating hard in my ears. The ground below appeared clear of my enemies, so I hesitantly stuffed the gun into my pocket, gripped the edge of the opening and swung myself down. The landing sent a jolt of pain into my knees, and I stumbled to the side. That accidental motion saved my life since the wide door was pulled open, leaving me vulnerable to attack. A pistol blast made my ears ring. It was Keeling, standing inside the burning barn, and he was aiming for another shot.

My gun was still in my coat, and it seemed like forever for my hand to find the pocket. I continued to stare up at the blasted farmer and watched helplessly as his finger tightened against the trigger. His eyes were glowing in triumph, but he never had the chance to finish me off since the sharp ends of a pitchfork suddenly tore through his chest from behind. He looked down at the bleeding spots with his mouth agape and then let out a primal scream of agony. As he choked out a mournful groan, his pistol dropped and accidentally fired as it hit the ground. Thankfully the bullet snapped off to the side. Keeling slumped onto his chest with his hands futilely trying to find the handle of the pitchfork. Behind him stood Townsend, the blazing flames licking at his feet.

He smiled wanly at me and said, "I thought you needed a little help."

"My god, what are you doing here?" I asked in surprise as I scrambled up and took Keeling's pistol. It was an old Schofield that had seen better days, but it certainly had more stopping power than my little thirty-two caliber.

"No time for explanations. We have to stop Silas before he escapes."

From the ground, he picked up a lit lantern that he must have set aside to use the pitchfork. Without a further word, he jumped over the body of Keeling and started jogging across the field towards the building that held the zombies. Smoke from the barn was towering high into the sky.

I caught up and with a shout asked, "Where did Silas go?"

He pointed ahead, and I saw a wagon pulled up next to the door of the outbuilding. In the bed of the wagon, Jim was lying unconscious, his chained legs hanging limply out the back. Silas was tugging at the side door with his shotgun resting against the wall. Once he saw us approaching, his efforts were doubled, and the door slid open. He then grabbed the shotgun and hurried inside before I could take a shot with the Schofield. I had no faith in the aim of in an unknown pistol anyways. I would have to get close to use it.

We paused outside the door to catch our breath. From inside the building came the sour smell of rotting flesh, and my skin began to crawl at the thought of entering that hellish interior.

"Parker," the doctor said, "when dealing with zombies, you must remove or destroy the head. That is the only way to stop them since the remnants of the brain control the body."

I nodded, remembering how I had killed the zombie Baum.

"And remember not to be bitten, or you will end up like them. Now let's take care of this Silas and put an end to the misery of these walking dead." And then armed with nothing but a lantern, he strode inside.

I gulped and steeled myself against the increasing terror I felt inside. This was one hell of a place for a retired cavalry captain to be. I had the old Schofield pistol ready and felt the reassuring bump of the New Line against my hip. Telling myself that this was all I needed, I stepped inside.

Even with the autumn sun burning outside, the interior was dark with only slats of yellow light filtering through the various cracks in the walls. Running the length of the building, two heavy lines of chain were laid against the floor and ran through loops anchored into the ground. Every two feet of chain there was a manacled zombie. It smelled like a slaughter house, and once again I was reminded of rotting corpses lying in the field after a battle. Flies buzzed noisily about. I began to feel sick to my stomach and held my free hand against my nose.

"Come out, Silas!" Townsend shouted as he peered down the line of chains.

His voice caused the attached creatures to turn and let out a unified moan. Their rotting arms reached out in earnest, but none could reach us due to the restraining chains.

"Why don't you come and get me?" a harsh voice from the back recesses answered.

The doctor suddenly dropped flat down to the ground. I quickly followed his lead. The heavy blast of a shotgun tore through the air with some of the pellets striking the flesh of the zombies with a sick smacking sound. The remaining load hit the wall behind us, tearing open a ragged hole in the wood slats. Townsend hastily flung the lantern into the middle of the room where it exploded in glass fragments and burning oil, lighting the straw strewn floor underneath. The building immediately started to burn while the zombies recoiled in primitive fear.

The chain closest to my foot went taut and suddenly started to run across the floor as it slipped through the manacles of the undead. Those that were not impeded by the fire were free and immediately began their slow, agonizing progression towards us.

"Captain Parker, if you would," Townsend asked as if he was asking for cream for his coffee.

From a crouch, I fired the Schofield and was pleased to find that it fired where you pointed it. The first bullet struck the closest zombie in the forehead He went down like a lifeless puppet. I fired again and again until I lost count, and the hammer clicked on an empty chamber. A pile of four corpses littered the floor. With only one zombie left, I pulled out my New Line and finished him off with a shot between the rotting eyes. That left me with one bullet which I was saving for Silas.

"Good job," Townsend shouted over from his position on the ground.

I saw that he was in a tug of war with the remaining chain. Silas was trying to pull it free to let the other line of zombies loose. When I started to crawl over to help the doctor, he waved me away.

"Get Silas," he said through gritted teeth.

The building was now burning fiercely - the air thick with heavy smoke. Another boom of the shotgun deafened me, and I felt the rush of pellets over my head. They smacked heavily into the wall. Then I was up and running with as much speed as I could muster. I jumped over the high fire, feeling the heat through my trousers as it singed the hair of my legs. Upon landing, the arms of an undead grabbed at me, but I pushed it away. The already-freed zombies on this side were staggering towards me, and I wondered what strange power kept them away from Silas.

He was in the corner, still pulling on the chain that kept the other zombies bound. His shotgun was propped up in the corner, and heavy beads of sweat ran down his face. As I ran towards him with my New Line at the ready, some sixth sense made him look up. His face was frozen in a mask of fear. I fired as he twisted to the side, reaching for the shotgun. My bullet smacked the wall behind him, and by instinct I tried to fire again even though I knew it was useless since my gun was now empty. I went at a harder run and plowed heavily into him before he could bring the shotgun to bear.

Even though he was a tough old bird, Silas, was in comparison, too weak to resist me. My impact threw him against the wall with a staggering blow, and the shotgun fell to the floor. I punched him in the jaw, and he stumbled as a wail escaped his mouth. I made the mistake of grabbing for the fallen shotgun, while he took the opportunity to bolt before I could lay my free hand on him. Silas ran as fast as he could towards the exit, but it wasn't quick enough as he tried to hurdle the flames. Instead, he tripped, and with an ear piercing scream, fell into the fiery blaze. His body rolled over to the other side and was lost in the heavy smoke.

I had my own worries to consider as a zombie got too close and grabbed for my arm. Swinging the butt of the shotgun at its rotted face, the blow connected, and the infernal creature staggered back a step. I had to get out of here before I was cornered. I broke open the shotgun to discover that Silas had reloaded it after his last shot. Raising the gun to my shoulder, I dropped the nearest creature with a satisfying bang. Its head exploded in a cloud of blood and bone.

The smoke was getting thick, and the heat of the fire was beginning to burn my face. I aimed the shotgun at the wall, covered my head with my free arm, and fired the last round. Wood fragments blew past me. I saw I had made a sizable hole in the wall. Taking the butt end of the gun, I began pounding at the fragmented boards until I had made an opening just large enough to squeeze through. Before making my exit, I grabbed the nearest zombie, nearly getting bitten in the process, and roughly pushed him towards another. They both collapsed together in a pile of intertwined rotted arms and legs.

I jumped head-first into the opening, tore my pants against the wood, and landed hard on my hands. I was free of the inferno. It took a few breaths of fresh air until I was able to regain strength enough to run back to the entrance of the blazing building. The door was shut. There stood Townsend, standing over a burned lump of what once was Silas. Inside, the frantic moans of the zombies could be heard as they tried to escape the engulfing flames.

"So I finally got to meet the great Silas Macomb," the doctor murmured to himself as he glanced at me.

"You know him?" I asked in amazement.

He slowly nodded and said, "Silas was known as a cruel plantation owner down in Haiti. Many of his poor workers felt the cruel lash against their tired backs. As the story goes, Silas tired of punishing human chattel and wanted a more compliant slave. This interest led him to learn the darker secrets of the Voodoo religion, where the process of zombification can make willing servants out of the dead. For this evil practice, he was found out and condemned to death. Everyone thought the sentence had been carried out. Apparently, through some trickery, he must have escaped and went on to continue his evil practice here. When I visited Cairo, I found that the local graveyard had been dug up for his slaves. When I came here, I saw the barn on fire and rushed to your rescue. I could not believe Silas was still alive until I followed you out here and saw the results of his work."

I was angry as I realized what this meant. "So I was your bait? It would have been better if you had told me."

Townsend shrugged as if it was of no consequence. "Perhaps, but I had to be sure it was really Silas before I acted. By all accounts he was supposed to be dead. Let's move before we are burned ourselves and see that Ms. Keeling has come to no harm."

We left the remains of Silas in the field. The buildings burned, destroying any evidence of the evil that once existed.

Diary Entry IV – The Bloody Beast

Part I

At Cricket Court, Christmas ended up being a dull experience with no tree or exchange of gifts. The year 1876 also arrived with little fanfare as the cold weather brought little cheer, many drafts and at least for me, a preponderance of staying warm by drinking whiskey. By now I was beginning to miss the weather of South America more than ever. I wondered again what kept me in this wretched northern climate, for my bedroom was drafty and the bed-warming pans only offered so much comfort from the biting chill. Trying to stay clear of the threat of marriage, I did my best to evade Rosie. She had grown quite cross with me, but continued to stoically do her housework.

In his library, Dr. Townsend stayed near the fireplace, reading through his dusty books. We only exchanged words when necessary and I was plagued with boredom as the winter days slowly crawled by. There were no cases to work on and little to do except keep the staff on their toes. I think it was this drudgery that allowed me to finally break the ice with Ellen.

It was a bitterly cold Sunday evening when I was clinging to the fireplace in the front parlor with a bottle of cheap whiskey to keep me company. There was no reason to drink the expensive stuff if you're just trying to keep the chill away. Ellen came in with her usual haughty air, trying to ignore my very presence. In my drunkenness, I had forgotten that this was the night that Upton came to see her. I thought of making my escape but instead decided to see if I could make this strange girl converse with me.

Her dress was colored like a deep wine and a matching shawl was wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Black fingerless mittens covered her hands, providing some further protection against the frigid air. A thick book was tucked into the crook of her arm. She quickly glanced in my direction with considerable venom as if she could wish my presence away. The cold of the room, however, shrank whatever animosity she had since it forced her to select a chair close to the fire.

"What are you reading?" I asked and noticed that my voice was slightly slurred with drink.

"I did not know you could even read," she replied with irritation. Her blue eyes fluttered briefly to mine before drifting back to the book.

I was merely a bothersome pest to her. So in my drunken state, I angrily plucked the book from her hands. There was an immediate gasp of protest and her face turned scarlet with anger. As she tried to pull the book back, I held her at arm's length as I read the title _Commentariolum Exanamis,_ which translates from Latin as Treatise of the Dead. A book like this had to be from her father's collection.

"Give it back!" Ellen yelled, her voice shaking with panic.

"Why on earth would you be reading this?"

"That is none of your business," she replied and with surprising force, just managed to wrestle the book from my hands. With wary animal eyes, she fell back into her chair and covered the book with her arms as if protecting it from further theft.

"You're an odd one," I said as I stared back at her. "You just mope around the house, and I never see you visiting with anyone or have any sort of fun. It is depressing books like that which make you so morose. Surely it would be better for you to get out of this house and with some friends."

"And what would you know about friends?" she hissed, her beautiful blue eyes looking unblinkingly at me. "I never see you visit anyone."

I sighed and nodded. "That's not the point. I'll admit that the life of a soldier can be a lonely one. At my age, I have lost too many close friends to the bullet to build any lasting friendships, but you're still young enough to make the effort."

"So you are afraid?"

"Afraid of losing a friend? Yes, I suppose I am. When I was a child, I had a hard time making friends. We lived in a small town and most of the other boys were the sons of farmers. I had the misfortune of being raised as a proper little gentleman, and my mother didn't want me roughhousing with those in the lower class. Of course I never listened to her and would go out to play anyways. But I could never invite my friends back to my house or stay out too long. That put a damper on building any sort of long-term friendship. It wasn't until the war that I truly learned about comradeship and sacrifice."

Her hard stony stare had softened. She was now listening with some interest.

I continued on, "When you're out fighting a common enemy, one has to build trust with your men or otherwise you'll end up dead. Just like your father and I have to trust each other if we want to survive."

"Are you friends with my father?"

I smiled. "We haven't known each other long enough."

Ellen shook her head. "I doubt you will be here long enough to really know him. Not like I do."

"Why would I leave?"

A malicious grin broke her mask-like countenance. "What you have experienced so far is just the beginning. It will only take a little bit longer before you crack from the strain."

"You sound as if you speak from experience. Was there someone here before me?"

"You certainly aren't the first assistant to my father," Ellen admitted. "There was another. He had to leave my father because of the rigors of the job. It is only natural that you would leave considering what you will be asked to do in the future."

"I will only go if I am forced to," I replied bravely, wondering if she had ever been in love with my predecessor. That would certainly explain much of her attitude towards me since she would be afraid of another loss. "Tell me, where are your friends and suitors? I don't see how a woman who is as beautiful as you is short of admirers. There are better men than this Mr. Upton of yours."

"Is there now?" an icy voice said from the doorway.

I turned and saw the dark figure of Upton standing there. His eyes were as black as coal. The pale taut skin on his face stretched into a feral grin. This was a dangerous man to be enemies with. I wondered how much of the conversation he had overheard. Normally I fear no one, but as he entered the room, I felt a prickle of fear. It was a strange sensation as I took an unconscious step backwards and felt the urge to run from this menace I did not understand.

"My dear Ellen," he said in an oily voice. "I'm sorry that I'm late." As he spoke, he slowly came into the room, his eyes locked on mine. With him came the cold air of the hallway. His movements were smooth but barely concealed a coiled-up energy that spoke of a deep-seated anger.

Ellen, to my amazement, glanced in my direction with an expression that betrayed terror - her eyes were wide and she was breathing heavily. From the glance she gave me, it was almost as if she was expecting some sort of help. I was puzzled by her reaction for I knew of her obvious worship of this cretin.

"You shouldn't keep a lady waiting." I snapped at him.

"Shouldn't I?" he replied with a sneer. "Let's ask the lady in question." Turning his attention to back to her, he said, "Tell me, my dear, do you want me to leave?"

Ellen glanced towards me one more time before locking her full attention back to him. In that brief moment, I once again saw in her eyes the look of someone truly afraid. But instead of refusing the company of Upton, she shook her head. "Of course you can stay," she replied softly and without emotion.

Upton stared at me, his face lit in triumph. "Now if you could leave us alone, Mr. Parker, what Ellen and I have to discuss is of a rather personal nature. Dare I suggest that you never bother us here again?"

"If Ellen does not wish me to be here, then I shall leave." I then strode out of the room with what dignity I could muster and as I shut the door, I heard the devilish fiend laugh. Feeling angry, I strode purposefully up to my room and thought of returning downstairs with my Colt in hand. A bullet or two would quickly remove the sneer off that bastard's face. Instead, to my shame, I stayed in my room and spent another hour angrily pacing the floor until I took to my bed. I soon fell into a restless sleep filled with thoughts of personal revenge.

In the morning, some of my anger had abated and it was with great relief that I found myself alone at the breakfast table. I could not stand the idea of Ellen crowing about last night. After I had finished my first cup of coffee, Charles came to tell me that Townsend wanted to see me in the library.

When I got there, I found a prim woman sitting across from him. She looked quite uncomfortable and played nervously with the handles of the embroidered bag resting in her lap. The doctor was busy studying her with great interest. It was a daunting sensation for the uninitiated.

He motioned for me to sit down and as introduction said, "Ah, Captain Parker, please join us. This is Mrs. Abigail Vought and she wishes to employ us."

Putting aside my own troubles, I took the chair to his right and studied the woman. Her skin had a healthy tone while her brown hair fell in curly waves to the sides of her neck. The nose was long and strong, but the lips had a tight uncompromising curl that indicated a potential nag. There was no friendliness in those hard eyes. Her dark blue dress was simple, unadorned and I could see a spot where a large rent had been repaired. Saving money was obviously of some concern to her.

Townsend said, "Now that my partner is here, please go on."

She pulled on the handles of her purse as she thought over a suitable response. When she finally spoke, her voice had a shrillness that easily unsettled a bachelor such as myself. "I must tell you that I had a hard time coming here. I told myself over and over that it just isn't right, but I didn't know where else to turn. So I got right up and came over this morning. But let me say that it was a hard decision, and I get so flustered when I have to make decisions like this."

I had a feeling she could have gone on in this vein for quite a long time if the doctor had not interrupted her by saying, "Please get to the point, Mrs. Vought, for I'm a busy man."

The rebuke stung her into momentary silence before she continued, "As you say, doctor. I came here on behalf of my husband Joseph. Of course he doesn't know that I'm here, but I do know what is best for him."

"I'm sure you do," Townsend said impatiently through gritted teeth. "Now what seems to be your trouble?"

"My husband and I have been married for eight years now. Before that he was in the army though he never talks much of those times."

"That's quite understandable," I commented. What went on in those days was certainly not suitable for most wives to hear.

Ignoring me, she continued on, "After the war he started a hardware store that is now doing quite well. He was boarding at my mother's house when I met him and even though he is a shy man, a suitable agreement was soon reached. We were married and then moved to our own apartment just a few blocks from my mother's home. It has been a peaceful life and his business has done well with the ever-growing population of the city." She then paused to twist nervously on her purse handles as if wringing some water out.

"Please go ahead," Townsend said with exasperation.

"It was two weeks before Christmas when we had an unexpected visitor. It was quite a surprise when he came knocking on our door, but Joseph seemed happy enough to see him. Mind you, Joseph never mentioned his name before which I thought was quite strange, but he rarely talks about those horrible days of the war."

"What was the name of your husband's friend?" I asked, fishing for answers.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I already told you that. His name is Frank Brooks. He seemed quite the gentlemen, though perhaps a bit impoverished with his clothes in such an awful state. I first thought he was trying to take advantage of my husband, but there seemed to be a deep friendship between the two. A room was made up for him and he stayed with us for four days. It was rather odd having a complete stranger in our home, but he showed me every courtesy, but still that jacket of his was rather filthy and he needed a good haircut. He told me he had been living rough and was expecting to get some work in the city. When Mr. Brooks thankfully moved out, I suspected that my husband had a hand in financing this. I normally wouldn't mind, but I thought it was a waste of good money."

"Old comrades from the war will always help each other out," I offered.

She sneered at me and said, "I suppose so, but things have never been the same since."

"And how is that?" Townsend asked impatiently.

"Joseph used to come home right after he closed the shop, but now every few days a month he's started to stay out the entire night."

The poor bastard was off getting drunk with his friend, I thought to myself, and who could blame him?

"And what excuses does he offer?" the doctor asked.

Mrs. Vought sighed and pulled out a handkerchief that she began crying into. "We've argued about it on several occasions. He tells me that he is catching up with his old friend, and that there is nothing to worry about."

"Do you believe him?"

"I didn't know what to believe," she replied. "On Saturday he told me he was going to be out late. I decided this would be a perfect time to see where he went after work. Before closing time, I went to his store and waited across the street. I was afraid Joseph was going to see me, but when he came out of the store, he began walking quickly as if he was late for an appointment. My husband's store is only a half mile away from that terrible Five Points neighborhood. I was surprised to see him heading in that direction."

"The Five Points?" I interrupted to ask since I was not familiar with the area.

"A notorious slum located between the Bowery and Broadway," Townsend answered.

"Yes, it is a terrible place," Mrs. Vought added. "Even the famed Mr. Dickens once compared it to the worst slums in London. But as I was saying, we were nearing that neighborhood, and the streets were becoming worse and worse. I have never seen such filth and so many questionable characters standing about doing nothing. It's no wonder that they're living in such poverty! As a lady, I was afraid for my safety. But I bravely continued on. I felt unfriendly eyes watching which distracted me from watching my husband. When I stopped to let a wagon pass, he was suddenly gone from view. I panicked and began calling out his name in desperation. That was a mistake, for it only drew the attention of some unsavory types. They came closer to me and I was about to run away in fear, when luckily a constable stopped by to see what was troubling me. I dare not tell him that I was following my husband, so instead I had him escort me back to a safer street."

"And when did your husband come home?" Townsend asked.

"It was early Sunday morning. His face was terribly scratched. When I asked him what happened he told me he was attacked by a drunk on his way home. He wouldn't go into any further detail no matter how I pressed him."

I smiled to myself, thinking that some poor lady had clawed Mr. Vought for being too forward.

The doctor sighed and leaned back heavily into his chair. "I'm afraid I can't help you," he said. "Martial problems aren't exactly my forte."

"But I was told that you help people," she nearly wailed.

"I do, I do," he said to placate her. "But only with certain special problems. But I can suggest the services of some real detectives. The Keller brothers will be able to help you far better than I." Townsend then took a scrap of paper and scribbled down an address before handing it to her.

She studied it and then began to cry. "Are you sure this is the best way?" she asked between sobs.

"I'm sure it is," he answered and leaned over to ring the bell. Charles appeared and whisked her away before we had to suffer any more embarrassment.

"Poor woman," I commented.

"Yes," he agreed, "but I'm afraid she was still a waste of our time. I don't know how she got my name, but from time to time I have to deal with those who think I'm some type of common Pinkerton detective. I can tell you that I don't want to skulk in alleys spying on wayward husbands. I'm sure it is a profitable profession, but hardly an interesting one."

Part II

Mrs. Vought's visit was soon forgotten and I busied myself trying to keep the house in order. The poor weather was causing the staff to become unruly, and two of the footmen even came to blows over the attentions of Rosie. She was an attractive woman to be sure, but now I just wished to be rid of her. I spoke with Phyllis and tactfully suggested that we secure a replacement as soon as possible. She readily agreed to my demands and posted for her position. It was a cruel move on my part, but I was glad when she finally left our service. Her replacement was of no interest to me, which considering the circumstances, was a help.

It was almost four weeks later when I went down to breakfast and found the doctor at the dining table. He was studying the _Times_ with a cup of coffee at his elbow. As I sat down, he eyed me with a grim expression.

"What is it?" I asked.

He pointed at the paper and replied, "There have been a series of murders in the Five Points neighborhood. Last night, two young girls were found at home with their throats torn out. And the night before that, there was the shocking killing of a mother and her son. As usual the police are quite baffled by it all."

"So?" I said with a shrug as I stirred in a splash of fresh cream into my cup of coffee. "From what you told me, Five Points is a place of ill repute. Murder must be quite common there."

"You are correct, but this doesn't appear to be a common gang killing. These murders are much too brutal for some common thug to have carried out. I'm afraid Mrs. Vought may have been into darker waters than I could have ever imagined."

I shook my head in disbelief, "Surely her mention of the Five Points and those murders are just a coincidence."

"I don't believe in coincidence, Parker," he said smugly. He then proceeded to wipe his chin with a napkin. "We shall have to look into this if only to placate my curiosity."

"But won't we will need some kind of authority to visit and investigate murder sites? The police will have the buildings locked up to keep the public and newspapermen away."

Slipping his hand into his breast pocket, Townsend pulled out a piece of paper. A smile briefly touched his lips and said, "Do you remember Detective Strong?"

"Yes, he was the policeman from that terrible ghost business."

The doctor nodded. "He and I have been friendly rivals for quite some time. He must be desperate since he actually sent a message requesting our help. It seems that the whole police force is flummoxed by these killings and don't know what to do. Can you imagine that?" A little laugh escaped his mouth as if he just heard an impolite joke. "Unless he is late, the detective should be here in a few minutes. I suggest we retire to the library and wait for his arrival."

We went to the library and had Charles bring in a pot of coffee. He returned with the coffee on a tray and was also holding a card in his hand. "A Detective Strong is asking to see you," he muttered as he handed it to Townsend.

The doctor dropped the card on his desk without looking at it and said, "Please show him in."

The butler scampered off.

Townsend said to me, "Now I don't want you telling Strong about the Vought business. I'm not sure if I'm right, so we might as well not mention it to him until I have more data."

"Very well," I agreed, even though I thought in this case it was improper to hold back useful information from the police. The murder of women and children could not go unpunished.

Detective Strong made his entrance and I must say he looked dog tired. His eyes had deep circles of exhaustion, and he readily agreed to a cup of coffee.

"So what seems to be the trouble?" Townsend asked pleasantly enough.

"It's these murders at Five Points," the detective admitted with a sigh. "They've got everyone from the mayor on down to my captain breathing down my neck. We have also been bombarded with the papers asking why we haven't solved these ghastly murders yet."

"I've read what I could in the papers about the latest killings, but still I would like to hear the facts from you."

"As would I," I chimed in.

"If you think it would help," Strong agreed. His voice dropped down in volume as if he was a doctor giving a bad prognosis. "Last week on Friday morning, the Twenty-Third precinct was visited by a man named Tyler who was raving about blood. The sergeant sent two policemen to investigate. Upon the arrival at his apartment, they found an unconscious woman at the open door across the way. Now it turned out that Tyler was the neighbor of this Mrs. Mary Helm. She is married to one Johan Helm, who is currently off fishing at the Grand Banks. That gives her husband a perfect alibi since he has been gone for two months now. They have two daughters aged ten and twelve. Apparently Mr. Tyler saw this Mary in a faint and went to help her. When he looked inside the open door, he saw the floor slick with blood and the walls were heavily spattered as well. The bodies of the girls were almost unidentifiable like they had been torn apart by jackals."

I felt my temper rise at the thought of two innocent youngsters being killed in such an evil fashion.

Townsend asked, "And what was Mrs. Helm's story?"

"After she was revived, she went into hysterics. A doctor was called in to give her a shot of opium. That was just enough for Mrs. Helm to calm down and tell her side of the story. She had gone out that night to visit her sister who was sick with the flu. Before she left, she told her two daughters not to under any circumstances answer the door as the neighborhood is ridden with crime. She then went and spent the night caring for her sister. We've been able to confirm this part of her story. When Mrs. Helm returned home, the door was still locked and she opened it with her key. As soon as she saw the horror inside, she fell into a dead faint."

"And what floor do they live on?" Townsend asked.

"It is a five story building and they inhabit a corner apartment on the fourth floor."

"The windows were all shut?"

"Yes, I found the windows closed against the winter cold."

"Were they locked?" I asked.

"Well, of course not," Strong replied with some disbelief. "Who would lock their windows on the fourth floor? You might as well be on the moon."

"But a man could tie a rope on the roof and lower himself down," I countered. "Surely it had been done before by burglars."

A look of triumph flashed over the detective's normally impassive face.

I continued bravely on, "And then it would be easy enough for the murderer to pull the window open and have those poor girls at his mercy."

"I'm afraid you're wrong," Strong replied. "The door leading to the roof was locked. I checked it myself. When I summoned the building supervisor and had it opened, there were no footsteps leading away from the roof entrance and before you ask, it is a good twenty foot jump to the next building."

"It was just a theory," I admitted and clamped my jaw shut. There was no reason to make a further fool of myself playing the amateur detective.

With a thoughtful glance in my direction, Townsend said, "So I'll assume there was no sign of forced entry on the door to the apartment?"

"That is correct," Strong answered.

"Can you tell me of the condition of the bodies in more detail?"

The detective grimaced and nervously licked his lips before replying. "I'm afraid it isn't a pleasant thing to describe, but I'll try. I've been on the force for twenty years now and the grisly sight was enough to even turn my stomach. It was like a pack of wild dogs attacked those poor little girls. The intestines had pulled out and were strewn on the floor, while the skin had been ripped to shreds, leaving nothing but the white bones underneath."

"Were there many bite marks?"

"Yes. And also what looked like scratches, for the clothes had been torn right off their bodies. As I said, it must have been done by a madman or a wild dog. If it gives you any further indication of the violence done, blood was splattered everywhere, even the ceiling There were some prints too, but they didn't make any sense to my eyes."

Townsend took this last piece of information and pondered it for a moment. "Were the prints possibly made by an animal?" he finally asked.

"It certainly did not look like any animal I know. They were big."

"And the neighbors heard nothing?"

Strong shifted uneasily in his chair and said, "I'm afraid the residents of the Five Points aren't likely to talk to the police. They're afraid of repercussions. No matter how often we patrol the neighborhood, the gangs still control it."

"That is true, but I'm still surprised no one came forward due to the sheer violence of the attack. But after you had a chance to survey the carnage, did you come to any conclusion on how the attacker got in?"

Strong shook his head. "We're guessing that the murderer tricked his way in. Though those girls were warned not to let anyone in, they are still little girls. It wouldn't be that hard to pretend you are a friend of their mother, and that there was a dire emergency."

"And what of the other two victims from the day before?" the doctor asked.

"Much the same story, except they have a top apartment on the third floor. The father, Thomas James, was out at his job as a night watchman and returned home to find his wife Helen and infant son killed. The effects of the attack were much like this latest case, and the evidence was just as confusing. The poor man was in such a state of shock that he had to be admitted to an asylum and we haven't been able to talk to him since. He just sits and stares at the wall."

Townsend sucked on his lower lip and slowly rubbed his temples before saying, "This is all a tragedy, but I'm not sure why you came to me. You have the manpower to track down a killer better than we ever could."

Strong looked uncomfortable and glanced my way as trying to find some help from me. I merely stared at him blankly, for I had nothing to offer.

"It was those wounds," the detective finally said in exasperation. "I have never seen anything like them before. Something that can gain access to locked rooms, kill those inside without mercy and then disappear into the streets without being seen covered with blood, is not anything of this earth. Where else could I go but to you?"

The doctor looked as pleased as a cat that got the bird, for he broke out into a broad smile. "Detective Strong, you will find Captain Parker and myself at your disposal. With your permission, I shall like to visit the scene of the last murder and I hope for your sake that any evidence hasn't been too disturbed by your heavy-booted police."

Strong looked relieved. He wrote us a letter indicating that we were working on his behalf and in a cheerier state of mind, he left us, promising to come back the next morning to hear our conclusions.

Townsend then began rummaging through his desk drawers and pulled out a box that rattled about. As soon as he handed it to me, I could tell it was ammunition.

"What is this for?" I asked as I slid the box open to reveal six shiny cartridges.

"Your Colt is a thirty-eight caliber?" he asked.

"Yes, but I have plenty of ammunition," I replied, feeling confused.

"I assure you that these bullets are something special. If I am right, you will need them before the day is through. Let's pray that I am wrong. Retrieve your pistol and meet me in the front hall."

I pocketed the ammunition, wondering what mystery Townsend was keeping to himself. I then went upstairs, strapped on my gun belt and checked the loads of my Navy Colt. I studied the gun with some admiration, for it was a personal favorite of mine. It had been converted for center fire use, removing the need for the old-fashioned cap and ball. I don't know why I kept the old relic, but it had seen me through more than a fair share of trouble.

I put the gun into my holster, slid the shells of the new ammunition into the gun belt and pulled on my old army coat. With an added wool cap slipped over my ears, I was ready for the cold of a New York winter.

Going downstairs, I found the doctor impatiently tapping his cane on the floor. He was dressed in a fine overcoat with a large beaver collar. His boots were shined perfectly and a large stylish fur hat was perched on his head like a fox hanging on for dear life. In comparison, I felt like an unemployed Cossack. I fought the urge to return upstairs to change my jacket.

Townsend opened the front door and we ventured out into the cold. It was a miserable day. The streets outside were covered with snow, the whiteness only interrupted by the random clumps of horse excrement. The sidewalks were nearly empty since anyone with any sense would be sitting in front of a crackling fire. With some difficulty, we were able to flag down a taxi. Stepping inside, I huddled on the rock-hard seat and thought longingly of the sunny shores of Cuba.

Upon arriving at the docks, we paid off the driver and made our way to the nearest boat. The few other passengers complained of nothing but the cold and stamped their feet as if winter was still a surprise to them. I wasn't in the best of moods either, for I detested the snow, and the gray icy banks of the river did little to improve my outlook. We were soon deposited on the other shore and found a driver to take us to wherever we wanted to go. Or so it seemed until Townsend gave the driver the Five Points address.

"The Five Points?" the cabby asked suspiciously. "Why would a gentleman want to go there?" From the look in my direction he obviously didn't include me in his definition of a gentleman.

"I'm afraid it's police business," the doctor replied smoothly and opened the door of the carriage.

"If you wish to take your life in your own hand," the cab driver shrugged, "That is no concern of mine. I can only take you to the edge of the neighborhood for I fear the gangs there will take my horse and my livelihood away."

"That shall do," Townsend replied shortly and stepped inside. I joined him and soon we were off, slipping and sliding through the snowy streets.

"What gang is the driver talking about?" I asked as I tried to find a comfortable perch on the cold wooden bench.

The doctor replied, "I'm afraid the Sixth Ward has always been controlled by different criminal organizations. The original Five Points Gang was stamped out by the police, but a new one soon sprung up. They call themselves the Whyos. They are notorious murderers and extortionists, but I can't imagine they will be a problem to us since they are mostly concerned with gambling and the sort."

I nodded, wondering how such lawlessness could occur in such a modern city. Perhaps it was endemic that corruption would flourish in a city that was a maze of bureaucracy and political payoffs.

We swept past snow-covered streets, and I noticed as we went along that the buildings were becoming increasingly unkempt. The few pedestrians were a sullen looking lot as if the world had thoroughly crushed what fragile dreams they once had. A prostitute or two were out on the corners, plying their trade, but today their hearts didn't look to be in it. Now and then, a dirty child could be seen earning money for the family by shoveling snow or cleaning out the filth of the gutter. The few men about were generally shifty looking and huddled in the alleys around little fires that released thick, oily smoke.

"Poor devils," Townsend commented.

I shook my head and replied, "Suits them just fine as far as I'm concerned. There's nothing stopping them from helping themselves." What did the good doctor here know of poverty? I know the popular crusade has always been to help the poor and downtrodden, but half of them liked living that way. I've been broke on several occasions but still managed to find work, so why couldn't any others? Any further thoughts on that subject were interrupted by the cab suddenly coming to a stop at the curb.

"This is far as I go," the driver called out.

We stepped out of the carriage and were met by a biting wind that swept through my coat, causing me to shiver. From the sidewalk and windows, suspicious eyes watched. I could see that we weren't exactly going to be popular around here since our mere presence was enough to draw unfriendly attention. Well, perhaps we would at least be popular to rob. After paying off the taxi, Townsend started walking down the street with long imperious strides. I kept up, my hands stuffed deep into my coat pockets with one on the butt of my pistol.

"Do you know where we are going?" I asked as I did not look forward to being lost in this maze of hopelessness.

"Of course," he replied. "It's just a few more blocks this way."

The familiar scent of danger was in the air and my suspicions were confirmed when I looked behind us. There was a knot of six dangerous-looking men following us half a block back. The usual pedestrians and bystanders had suddenly vanished, leaving the street feeling very empty. In front of us there was a loud whistle and our way was quickly blocked by four more men.

"You are barring my way," Townsend said coldly and tried to walk through the four of them as if he could sweep them away with the very force of his will.

A swarthy man with a pockmarked face and barrel chest stepped forward and drew back his coat to reveal a pair of pistols slung low around the waist. "We just want to ask you a few questions," he said with a nasty smile that revealed a number of missing teeth.

Townsend again tried to walk past but was roughly pushed back. I thought of pulling out my Colt, but knew it would take a few precious seconds to pull it out of my pocket. That wasn't enough time to get the drop on this fellow.

"Very well," the doctor finally said with a resigned air.

The man took a deep breath before giving a little speech. "This here is a Whyos neighborhood and we don't like strangers here – strangers that have been killing women and children. We are expected to protect our people and aim to do so. And you better tell your friend that if he goes for his gun, he'll never make it."

I bared my teeth at him.

"I can assure you that we are friendly and want to solve these murders," Townsend replied calmly. "We're here on behalf of the police."

"The police," the Whyo spat out, "are hardly our friends. They certainly haven't done anything to stop the murders and why should they? They don't care about people like us. We're just garbage to be swept away."

There was a rumble of agreement from the surrounding men.

"I am the only man who can stop these murders," the doctor said smugly.

"What makes you so special?" he sneered.

"Because my friend, I am Dr. Townsend."

There was an audible gasp and the knot of men took a step back with a look of awe. Their leader made no such motion, but you could see his eyes momentarily flicker with fear. "I'll be damned," he said and reached over to shake the doctor's hand. He accepted it and they respectfully shook.

"I'm Josh Hines and I can assure you that if you need any help here, you can call on me."

"I will do that," Townsend said and looked back at me with a nod. "Now that you know who I am," he continued, "You can do me the service of being my eyes and ears in this neighborhood. If your men see anything strange, I want to know about it. Any information I gather will be of great importance to solving these murders."

Hines nodded and motioned to his men who shuffled off. "We will help, of course. It's bad business for a gang if it can't protect its own neighborhood."

We were allowed to go on our way without further incident. Within a few minutes we were at our destination which was a brick apartment building that had seen better days. The windows frames needed new paint and the walls were streaked with dust and ashes. A few wide-eyed skinny children were playing on the front steps while a bored policeman stood there watching us with interest. We were certainly something different to see in this neighborhood.

Townsend showed the copper our letter from Detective Strong and we were soon inside, climbing up the stairs. The interior smelled of greasy food and lye soap. Two scruffy boys pushed by us in a hurry, laughing as they went. I shouted at them to slow down, but they ignored me like boys will do. Stopping at the fourth floor, we found a collection of worn doors tucked into the sides of a long hallway. At the end stood another bored policeman who let us pass into the apartment with a wave of his hand.

It was a simple affair inside. There was a small kitchen stove, an assortment of mismatched chairs situated around a scarred table, and a door that led to a single bedroom. It looked as if the girls had slept on a sofa tucked in the corner, for there were a few worn blankets tossed on the back. However these inanimate objects weren't the first things I noticed, as the walls and floor were covered with several large brown stains that I took to be dried blood. It looked like a slaughterhouse that had been used the day before.

Townsend began slowly going over the floor, talking to himself in an unintelligible mutter. I watched with interest as he stopped, dropped to his knees and began keenly examining the bloodied floor. He then picked up some tiny scrap of what I took to be hair and held it close to his eyes. The doctor smiled to himself and got back up to once again prowl around the room. He made it over to the windows and ran his hand along the casings. Once again he found something that drew his attention.

"What is it?" I asked impatiently.

"Come over and see."

I went over and opened my hand. He dropped two short gray hairs into my hand. I looked at them closely but I couldn't make any sense of what import they carried. "What does this mean?" I asked with irritation.

"Come and I'll show you," he replied and made his leave of the apartment. We walked past the policeman and to my surprise began walking up the stairs instead of down. Climbing to the very top of the building, we stopped at the door that led to the outside.

"Now observe," Townsend said glibly and opened the door. The outside light was momentarily blinding and as soon as my eyes adjusted, I could see a foot of thick snow on top of the flat roof. He pointed and said, "There you can see the footprints of our Detective Strong. You will notice that he only took two steps out from the door to confirm that no one else came this way. By all accounts he is right. Now we shall see what he missed."

He then plodded through the snow and I shook my head as I followed him out onto the roof. Slowing, he cautiously approached the ledge and pointed out a new set of footprints. A line of what looked like two sets of massive dog tracks followed the very edge of the roof before disappearing over the side.

"Look at those!" I said in surprise.

"I knew these had to be here for our murderer had to have climbed down the ledge to gain entrance via the windows. You can also see that the returning footprints have left behind faint traces of blood from the victims."

"But what creature makes tracks such as these?" I asked as a chill that wasn't just from winter crawled down my back.

Townsend replied, "There are many beasts that prey on the innocent. But only a few have the type of coarse hair that I have shown you. This is probably a common V _ersipellis_ though this one seems particularly ferocious."

It took me a moment to remember that versipellis was Latin for werewolf – a fictional creature that was half-wolf and half-man. I blurted out, "A werewolf? Surely you must be joking."

He replied sharply, "You've seen a ghost and fought against zombies, but now you question the existence of werewolves? You must be the one joking. Now if you'll come with me, I'll give you even further evidence."

We followed the tracks that ran across the ledge. It was thick with snow and ice, and I feared slipping over the side.

Townsend pointed at the beginning of the tracks and said, "You can see where he jumped across from the other building."

There was a heavy impact in the snow where the tracks started. The paws had skidded on the slick roof before the creature had gained its footing and bounded across the ledge. But what was ultimately disturbing was the distance, for the closest building was at least twenty feet away. This creature must be powerful and agile to make these acrobatic jumps without fear.

"Do you know any man who could have jumped that distance?" he asked impatiently.

I shook my head.

"Now that the matter is settled, let's go see if we can find Mr. Vought since I certainly wish to hear what he has to say about this matter."

We left the apartment and began walking hurriedly towards a better part of town. As we left the Five Points neighborhood, I was glad to be out of that wretched place, for it reeked of poverty and decay. Life was too short to experience such unpleasant things. After a few more blocks, we were stopping before a modest-looking hardware store that had a sign 'J. Vought' hanging above the boardwalk. We entered through the glass-paned door and an overheard bell clanged loudly. The interior was tidy enough, but from the quality of goods being sold, Mr. Vought would never become a rich man. His stock consisted of various home repair and other small items, such that the average city dweller might buy. Behind the counter, a clerk with nervous eyes and a mess of untidy brown hair glanced up from a thick ledger.

"May I help you gentlemen?" he asked with a singsong voice that sounded like he was pleading for our dollars.

"I am looking for Joseph Vought," Townsend stated as his inflexible stare bored into the man.

"You seemed to have found him," Vought replied hesitantly. "Who wants to know?"

"I am Dr. Townsend and this is my partner, Captain Parker. Before I ask you any questions, I want you to keep in mind that I know more about your situation than you could possibly believe. There is no reason to lie. You are playing a dangerous game with the lives of others. I am here to put things right."

The poor man gulped and nervously played with the pen in his hand. "Are you with the police?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes we are. However I have no authority to arrest or detain you, but rest assured if you do not help, you will find yourself in a jail soon enough. It is in your best interest to answer me truthfully."

Vought scampered over to the front door and bolted it shut before turning over the sign to indicate that the shop was closed. He then returned to standing behind the counter, perhaps feeling some measure of safety behind the long oak edifice.

"If you have a gun hidden behind there," Townsend warned, "I must tell you that Captain Parker here is an expert with firearms. I know you are a veteran but it has been a long time since you've seen combat. You will certainly be cut down before you have a chance of killing the both of us."

The flicker of the storekeeper's eyes revealed that Townsend had struck close to the truth. He smiled uneasily and brought his hands up to rest on top of the counter. He said quietly, "What could I possibly tell you that you would want to know?"

"Where is Frank Brooks?" the doctor demanded.

The question rocked Vought like a cannon shot. His jaw dropped and his face became deathly pale.

"Well, man, tell me!" Townsend shouted as if the man was stricken with speechlessness.

"I don't know," Vought blurted out.

"The police will be most interested to know that you are hiding him," the doctor threatened. "They are quick with the fist if you start lying to them."

The storekeeper held up his hands defensively as if he was actually about to be hit and said, "I mean, I don't know where he is right now. You can trust me when I say I wasn't involved in the murder of those poor people. That was all his doing. I tried to stop him from going out and committing those acts."

"Perhaps you had better tell me everything from the beginning," Townsend said, his voice now soothingly kind.

Vought slumped against the wall. "I doubt you will believe what I am about to say."

Part III

I was a young man when the war broke out, and like many others, I joined up as quickly as I could. This was in the days when war was nothing but speeches, parades and the promise of a quick victory. I found a place in the Forty-Seventh New York Infantry and that's where I met Frank Brooks. He was from Long Island. It turned out we had several mutual friends in common. We ended up spending the next three years together fighting, marching and talking about the good days we would have upon returning home.

In the beginning of the war, we were lucky to be sent down to the Carolinas using Navy transports. At first we lost more blood to the mosquitoes than to the rebels since they could hardly contest our movements. Our brigade struck with impunity wherever we wanted to. The forts we captured became a blur of quick battles and easy victories. Since we were facing nothing but militiamen, the whole expedition seemed nothing but an extended campout. Granted, it was a hard life living out there, but we still found ways to get what we needed. During this time, Brooks and I became as close as brothers, finding ways to get tobacco and alcohol to sell to our comrades.

It wasn't until the Battle at Olustee in 1864 that we really had our nose bloodied. The fire coming from the Rebs was hot with heavy rifle fire and cannon splintering the trees all around us. We kept as low as we could, eventually using dead men to build a low wall as protection from the rain of lead that was coming our way. It was terrible how General Seymour fed the reserves in piecemeal, for we never had the strength to dislodge the enemy from his position. Our lines broke. I'm ashamed to say that the survivors ran for it, leaving the dead and wounded alike behind.

The retreat was a chaotic mess with yelling soldiers and encumbering equipment being tossed to the ground. Frank and I ended up getting separated from our brigade while we were running down the trails in the woods as fast as we could. There was sporadic fire and shouts coming from behind. We were both scared, tired and didn't know what direction to go since evening was coming fast. So we decided to lay low for a while and figure things out. I found us a nice clump of ferns, and we dug in and watched fearfully as the sun began slipping away into night.

A few marching feet went by us but I dared not call out. It could have been Rebels going by and there was no way to tell otherwise.

"What ya think?" Frank whispered next to me.

"I think we're lost and in a whole hell lot of trouble," I replied back crossly. I'll admit I was scared, but I tried to put a brave face on it. "We had better stay low until we get a better idea of what's going on."

"Maybe ol' General Seymour brought up reinforcements," my friend said hopefully.

"Maybe," I said without any real conviction for fresh troops would have to march all the way from Jacksonville.

So we waited there for another hour. By then it was as dark as it was going to get. Only a few distant rifle shots could be heard. Even with the full moon glowing faintly through the branches above, I could barely see a hand in front of my face. The long shadows from the trees looked strange and I would swear I saw movement or even standing figures in the distance. It was certainly bad for my already frazzled nerves.

"What are we going to do?" Frank asked nervously.

"We can wait here until morning or try to head back to Jacksonville on our own."

"I'm not sure I can wait here any longer."

"Neither can I," I responded.

We cautiously pulled ourselves up from our cover and cautiously made our way to the trail. Our rifles were held at the ready, loaded with powder in the pan and bayonets on. As we walked, our footsteps, the sloshing of water in our canteens and squeak of leather sounded loud enough to wake the dead. The trail was confusing and took several turns before it split into two paths.

"Which one do you want to take?" I whispered to Frank.

"I'm not sure. Can you even tell what direction we are going in?"

"No, but either one has to be better than staying here and jawing about it," I replied.

"True, let's take the right one."

I had no reason to believe that was the wrong trail so I shrugged and we took the right track. This path was even more confusing as it sloped downhill and began zigzagging in a most erratic fashion. The tree branches overhead hung heavily and only that faint glimmer of moonlight allowed us to see our way. We tripped and scrambled our way through as branches whipped at our faces. I felt hopelessly lost, but there was nothing to do but plug on and hope this path went somewhere away from the Rebels. The trail eventually began going straight, but if it was in the right direction, I still couldn't tell.

The path finally opened into a rough clearing of pine trees. The full moon hung low on the horizon in front of us, looking gigantic but still so far away. Ahead, strange dark clumps were bunched together on the ground. As we got closer, I saw they were dead bodies scattered about in contorted positions. It was a terrible sight that drew the breath out of my lungs. With horror, I suddenly realized where we were.

"We're back at the battlefield," croaked Frank.

"Let's go back the way we came," I said frantically, "and try the other path."

We began going back along the way we came, when there was an unexpected noise to our left. It was an unpleasant noise as if someone was cracking bones and sucking out the marrow within.

"What is it?" I whispered.

Before my friend could answer, there was a sudden rush of movement as some large man started running towards us. I did even have a chance to think. My finger squeezed the trigger of my rifle and it went off with a satisfying bang. At the short distance you could hear the bullet tearing into the flesh, but the thing still kept on coming. Frank's gun then fired and also hit, but the effect was the same. It was closer now and I realized it was no man – it was a creature matted in thick fur with a dog-like muzzle and extended claws. Due to long years of training, we prepared to receive the beast with our bayonets at the ready.

It was blindingly fast. I barely had a chance to stab at it. I felt the blade go home and the creature howled in pain as it turned away from me. Frank took his chance, but his bayonet missed. The infernal thing then leaped on top of my poor friend. They both fell to the ground in a ball of flailing arms, fur and the sound of flesh being torn away from the bone. Frank was now screaming in pain. A drop of that blood struck my cheek. I tried to help my friend but dared not strike with my bayonet in fear of hitting the wrong target.

Even though I was struck dumb with fear, I could still hear a sudden outcry and voices in the distance. The firing of our rifles had drawn the attention of the enemy. The beast also heard the approaching men and to my relief, bounded away into the trees.

"God help me," Frank moaned and reached up his hand towards me. I grabbed at it, finding it slippery with blood. As he stood and found his footing, his body reeled drunkenly into mine.

"Can you make it?" I asked apprehensively, for I did not want to leave him behind in that hellish place. The southern accented voices were coming closer, so it was only a matter of time before we were discovered.

"I think so," he replied weakly.

"Where are you hurt?" I asked.

"Whatever that was, it bit me in the arm. I'm feeling oh so tired."

"No matter how you feel, you're going have to start walking if you don't want to be captured."

Dropping my rifle, I put an arm around him and we began staggering back along the path. It was a nightmarish journey as we slid and fell several times along the trail. We paused whenever we could, but I kept the rests short since I feared we were being followed. After what seemed like hours, we had made it back to the original split in the trail. This time we took the other path and made the best speed that we could. There was little conversation passed between us as we needed what energy we had for keeping our feet in front of us.

I'll never know how I found the strength to do what I did, but somehow I helped Frank move along the rest of that terrible night. When dawn broke, we found ourselves on the road to Jacksonville that I recognized from marching on the previous day. My friend looked absolutely terrible. In the pale morning light I finally had the chance to examine his wound. It looked like a massive bite had torn away a hunk of flesh from his forearm. A sliver of white bone showed through the gore, and I'll never know how he didn't bleed to death.

It was only another mile when we ran into the 54th Massachusetts Regiment, who was covering the retreat of the main force. They treated us kindly, offering us a ride in a supply wagon. Their surgeon had a look at Frank's arm and exclaimed that he had never seen anything like it before. After a quick stitch job, the doctor wrapped it up in some linen bandages and gave him a healthy dose of opium. It was a great relief to watch Frank peacefully fall asleep. As the wagon jolted heavily along the rutted tracks, I sat inside, wondering what had happened to us.

The weeks following the Battle at Olustee, Frank rested and he was free of any work detail. Over the weeks, his wounded arm healed up quickly and soon there was just an ugly scar to remind him of that terrible night. We were then moved to another encampment further up the coast. There we were billeted in a row of small tents that had to be shared between two soldiers. Of course Frank and I decided to take one for ourselves. We were inside, beginning to bed down for the night and the new full moon was shining high above the camp. Small talk swirled between tents. I was trying to figure out the most comfortable position on my bedroll when I saw my comrade staring out of the open tent flap. His eyes were pointed in the direction of the moon and a queer look was on his taut worried face.

"What are you looking at?" I asked in good humor, for I had no reason to suspect anything ill at this point.

"The moon," he replied back quietly.

"Well, I suggest you concentrate on getting some sleep. That damned new sergeant looks as if he wants to make our feet fall off with marching."

Frank ignored my words and continued to stare unblinkingly at the moon above. The memory of that terrible night came flooding back. I remembered the corpses sprawled over that wretched battlefield. I also remembered the sounds of that beast feeding on the dead and its muzzle darkened with blood. My terrible thoughts were broken by the sound of my friend suddenly howling like a wolf.

A few laughs came from the darkness while a few more irritable men were less friendly. "Shut up you!" and "Keep quiet!" were some of the kinder words I heard.

"What's gotten over you?" I asked him with surprise.

His teeth were bared back and he looked at me with a sudden wave of animal violence. I moved back in fear and then his eyes suddenly cleared. "You've got to help me," he pleaded. "I don't know what's happening to me but I feel as if my skin is going to burst. I feel as if I need to run out into the woods and never come back."

"You can't do that! You'll be tracked down and hung for desertion. Anyways the rebels wouldn't take too kindly to a New York boy running through their countryside."

His pleading became more urgent as he said, "Please take that rope there and tie me up. Gag my mouth with a blanket or I don't know what I will do!"

"Maybe you should go see the doctor," I replied in surprise. "You aren't talking any sense."

"Please, do as I ask." By now his voice was quivering with emotion as if he was battling some inner demon.

I gave in. There was a nearby loop of rope and as he lay on the ground on his side, I trussed his legs and hands together. As I did this, I noticed that his muscles were heaving and bulging against his wool uniform. His face was breaking out in a heavy sweat and his eyes were fluttering with panic. After I closed the tent flap, I then tied a rag tightly against his mouth. He began writhing about as if he was trying to stand up. The rope, however, held his legs and arms together, tightly and he could find no purchase to lift himself. He eventually gave this up and began to breathe slowly and rhythmically like a blacksmith's bellows.

After a minute of this, he then began to twist around as if in pain. I then saw dark hair begin to spread across his face and exposed hands. This hair even poked its way through his shirt collar and sleeves. All I could do was stare in shock as I realized he was turning into the same type of beast we had seen that nightmarish night at Olustee. What could I do?

This sudden transformation seemed to bring a new burst of strength to this creature that was once my friend. He pulled hard against his bonds and I was sure they were going to break against the strain. That wolf-like being lifted off the ground and turned towards me. The dark eyes looked hungry like he wanted to consume me in one ferocious bite. In a panic, I pushed myself back towards a tent corner and realized I had nowhere to go. If I went to get help they would certainly kill him. What sane person wouldn't?

The minutes dragged on while the men about us began to quiet down for the evening. Over the pounding of my heart, I could even hear a few distant snores. If this creature growled or tried too hard to free itself then we would be discovered by a passing guard. Some remnant of Frank must have realized this, since the beast, to my amazement, stayed silent. Perhaps it somehow knew it was surrounded by danger and had to stay still or risk discovery. But still that horrific stare remained locked on me. I was too afraid to get any sleep. So I turned down our oil lamp and prayed no one would come to investigate. In the light of the flickering wick, we stared at each other and let the hours crawl by in misery.

I must have nodded off momentarily for when I opened my eyes, the lamp had flickered out. I could see the faint gray of morning through cracks of the tent flap. In the gloom, I saw the figure of my friend below and I struck a match to ensure I hadn't been dreaming some terrible nightmare. To my astonishment, Frank was back to normal. He was still tied as I had left him but showed no obvious sign of his ghastly transformation. With trepidation I shook him by the shoulders until his eyes flickered open. He looked like hell as if afflicted by some terrible sickness.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

He croaked, "Whatever was wrong with me has passed. I just remember feeling ever-so strange and staring at you with vile hatred in my heart. It was like a terrible nightmare that went on for hours. The feeling eventually went away. I slept until you shook me awake. Now if you could free me of these bonds I would be most obliged."

As I untied him, I told him what had happened. "I can tell you it was no nightmare. You became some kind of beast. The kind of beast we saw that unforgettable night at Olustee."

My words had an effect on Frank, for he turned sickly pale. "Surely you are not jesting with me, for we have been friends for much too long for such cruel jokes."

"I can assure you that I'm telling the truth. You literally became some kind of wolf creature right in front of my eyes."

He turned this over in his mind for a few moments and finally said, "Maybe it is a onetime thing – some left over effect from the bite I received."

"Maybe," I replied uncertainly. I certainly hoped I wouldn't have to deal with this transformation again.

The bugle for morning reveille sounded, and we hastily dressed for roll call. Afterwards we went through the rest of the day as normally as we could, though Frank was understandably distracted. Whenever you dread a future event, time has a funny way of accelerating. In our case, it seemed like such a short day and soon enough we were once again eating dinner around the campfire with our comrades. The men talked about the normal things that soldiers do – women, home, and then some more talk about women. However, my heart wasn't in it, and I could do nothing but steal nervous looks at my beleaguered friend.

That night we took the precaution of immediately tying him up. To my horror, as soon as the moon rose, he turned into a beast once again. The next night it happened yet again. I thought my nerves would break from the unbelievable stress. After that third night, I was about to give up hope and suggest we run away to somewhere safer when the terrible transformations just stopped. Frank went through that entire night without changing. It was a relief as I was dog-tired and afraid of being discovered by some well-meaning guard.

We both thought the horror was over until almost a month later. This time we were on nightly picket duty, watching the stars and full moon overhead since our area was quiet. Suddenly, Frank bounded off without saying a word. I went after him, calling his name as I ran, but in the dark I soon lost sight of him. I then became afraid to look for him further since who knew if he could control his lust for blood. So I went back to the picket to wait out the night. As the hours went by, I started at every sound, but with a little thought managed to figure out that my comrade's condition was caused by the phases of the moon. It was only on a truly full moon that he transformed into the beast.

That morning, to my great relief, Frank staggered in with his clothes shredded and his face raked with the scratches of a hundred branches. He fell to my feet in utter exhaustion.

"My god," I said, "Where did you go? What happened?"

"I don't remember anything clearly except running away from you. It was all a blur after that. I remember a farm and seeing a woman being cut open with a savage claw to the belly. Was it me who did that? I don't know how much longer I can stand this insanity. I wish I was dead."

"It was probably just a bad dream. There has to be a cure somewhere," I consoled him. "We just have to make sure you are stopped from hurting others until then."

When we came back to the camp, I made up a story about Frank being waylaid in the woods. Luckily no one questioned the story since there was still a small amount of guerrilla activity in nearby Jacksonville. The next night at our picket, I was more careful and tied him to a tree. This transformation went on until the full moon had passed. As our enlistment was coming to an end in two months, we decided it was best to leave the army.

So with luck, we managed to go undetected for the remaining length of our enlistment. We then caught the first ship back to New York. While I visited with my family, Frank went to visit every doctor he could find. Though he couldn't be specific of his malady, no doctor seemed to have any idea what was wrong with him. They recommended an asylum stay would be for the best. My friend became ever more depressed since no cure was forthcoming. He even visited a religious healer and a so-called witch without any luck. I still stayed with him during these terrible transformations since I was afraid of what he would do on his own.

One day, I went to visit him at his apartment and he was gone. I tried to find out where he went, but it was hard to get any information with the war going on. The years went by and I heard nothing more from Frank and came to the conclusion that he was dead. I started my business and got married. However, he stayed in my memories and the day he arrived at my door, I was truly happy to see him again.

Part IV

Townsend slowly nodded and said, "Your tale merely confirms my own conclusions, but now it is important that we find your friend before he kills again. Can you tell me where he is?"

Evading the question, Vought replied, "Frank cannot be blamed for his actions when he is under the power of these transformations."

"Innocent lives have been lost," the doctor replied coldly. "Where is he?"

The shopkeeper shook his head and looked at me as if expecting help. He found nothing there, so he finally replied, "When Frank came back, I thought the safest place for him to be was in the Five Points neighborhood. It's the sort of place where a man isn't asked too many questions about his past. Using some extra money I had set aside, I rented a room for him over on Anthony Street. When his attacks came on, I was prepared as before and tied him up to the bed. The attacks were more violent than I remembered. I was scratched on several occasions. Two nights ago, he got away before I could tie him up. After a brief struggle, he made it down the stairs and was off like a shot. I haven't seen him since."

"You did not connect his escape with the murder of those innocent children?" I spat out angrily.

"People die all the time in this town," he replied lamely. "I had no reason to think he had ever hurt anyone."

"We're not here to pass judgment," Townsend said.

Vought admitted, "I'm afraid the captain here is right. I should have done something about Frank, but we go back a long way and I just couldn't turn in an old comrade that easily."

"Do you know where he is now?" the doctor demanded.

The shopkeeper shook his head. "As far as I know, he did not return to his room and with my business here, I haven't had the time to look for him."

"I will require a description of your friend and a key to this apartment." It was more of a command than a request.

After handing over a key, Vought meekly said, "As far as a description goes, time hasn't been all that kind to Frank. His affliction has taken terrible toll on his body. He is about my height with a broad face and dark hair that is graying about the temples. He walks with a slight limp from a minor leg wound he picked up from the war. His clothes are in rough shape since in the past years he has been living on very little income."

Townsend jotted this all down on a scrap of paper and said, "We shall leave you for now, but I suggest after work that you return home. If we have any further questions, we will call on you there."

After leaving the hardware store, we began walking back towards the Five Points. By now the light was getting dim, and I was tired and hungry. When I suggested we stop and get something to eat, Townsend just shook his head and continued walking with that long stride of his.

"What do you plan to do?" I asked.

"Plan? I'm afraid it's not much of one. By now, he could be anywhere. If we don't stop him soon then there is sure to be more deaths. After we pass the description over to that gang member Josh Hines, I propose we wait for Brooks in his apartment. The Whyos can scour the neighborhood and find him better than we ever could."

"But how will you stop this creature?"

"I won't, but you will."

Those words made me stop in my tracks. "And just how am I supposed to do that? From Vought's story, he shot it with an army issued fifty-eight caliber Springfield rifle. I've seen what that does to a man, but it apparently didn't stop this werewolf. What hope do I have with only a pistol?"

"You still have that ammunition I gave you?"

"Why yes, I tucked the rounds into my gun belt."

He said dryly, "Then I suggest you reload your Colt with them. They're silver bullets and will easily kill a _lycanthrope_."

"If you say so," I replied with little conviction.

"I do," he said stiffly.

For a few moments, I stopped short and watched him walk on, shaking my head at the man's gall.

Inside the boundaries of the Five Points, we soon found a Whyos man who had been posted to lookout for us. Townsend requested that Hines come meet us outside the apartment on Anthony Street. The man took off to find his boss and we continued on our way.

Anthony Street was inhabited with the lowest denizens of society, scraping out a meager day-to-day existence. The few people about peered at us suspiciously from their pulled-down hats, hoping we weren't bill collectors or the police. As we waited, a cold wind began blowing in from the north, making me stamp my feet in a feeble attempt to stay warm. Townsend, however, stood still as he slowly scanned the rooftops and streets with a wary eye.

Soon Hines came and looked at us cautiously like he did not completely trust us yet. "What do you want?" he scowled.

The doctor calmly replied, "We know who the perpetrator of those ghastly murders is, and I wish for your help in finding him."

The leader of the Whyo's face brightened at this news. "I'll give you all the men you need. Just tell me what to do."

Those two got to talking so I sauntered off looking for something to eat. Nearby, I found a repellent-looking street vendor selling sausages and coffee. Both looked of questionable quality, but my belly wasn't about to let me walk any further without something to eat. So with some fear for the state of my stomach, I handed over my two bits and received the food. As I ate, the snow began to lightly fall and the temperature plunged even lower than before. This quickly gave way to a full blizzard, coming down in large flakes that soon covered my shoulders with a thick layer.

After Hines walked away, Townsend waved me over. Without a word of explanation, the doctor then skipped up the steps to the apartment building with me following glumly behind. He opened the front door and waited until I was standing next to him. Giving me a momentary crooked smile, he slipped past and into the building.

I followed behind. My nostrils were immediately assaulted by the scent of poverty and despair. It was the sour smell of urine, vomit, and spilled drink. The entranceway was filthy. The only light came from the flickering lamps behind the cracks of closed doors lining the hallway. Townsend was already bounding up the stairways, sending up pockets of dust as he went. Pulling out my handkerchief, I put it over my mouth and nose before following.

The building stood five stories high, and we had to go all the way to top to get to the apartment that Vought had rented for his friend. Using a match to light the faded door numbers, we soon found the right one. Townsend promptly used the key to open the door. It squeaked open on its rusty hinges, revealing a simple apartment that had seen better days. It was bitterly cold inside. The light from the windows shone weakly through moth-holed curtains, but I could still see a broken down bed and a worn bureau with a cracked washbasin. The bed itself was interesting since it had ropes tied to the brass head and foot boards. We certainly had come to the right place.

The doctor gently closed and re-locked the door. Grabbing my arm, he then pulled me into the darkest corner of the room. Taking out a small bag from his coat pocket, he opened it and began sprinkling the contents on the floor. It smelled like coffee.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

"Wolves, like dogs, have a keen sense of smell. If the werewolf comes back here, I don't want him to know right away that we are here. Now I suggest you reload your Colt with some of that ammunition I gave you. We're in for a long wait, but I would prefer not to have him return with us being completely unprotected."

I unloaded my pistol and dumped the cartridges into an empty pocket. Reaching down into my belt, I pulled out six shells that I thought were silver. I was fairly sure they were the right ones, but in the gloom I couldn't tell if I had mixed them up with my normal ammunition. Foolishly, I did not mention this issue to Townsend.

We waited there in silence, listening to the wildness of the storm outside. The wind was moaning as it picked up speed with a driving force, blowing snow hard against the window panes. It was an eerie sound that only added to the gloominess of our surroundings. The minutes dragged on by and my legs were beginning to ache, so I leaned my back against the wall to take some of the weight off. It was an uncomfortable position and I was getting sick of the smell of coffee.

Townsend suddenly grabbed my arm. "Listen," he whispered into my ear.

Over the wind, I could just barely hear the shouts of men and something like the sound of metal being clanging together. Then the muffled shot of a gun went off. It was all very faint but the chaotic sounds seemed to grow louder as the seconds went by. My own heart began to race. I pulled out my Colt in readiness.

His voice still held low, Townsend said, "They're driving it towards us like hounds on a fox hunt. By instinct the werewolf is bound to come here to find safety."

The sounds outside grew louder still and another gun shot rang out closer than before. Suddenly, through the windows, I saw a dark shape walking on the outside ledge. The window began to slide open and I raised my gun to fire before the beast could come in.

The doctor pushed my arm down and whispered, "Wait until it's all the way inside. We shall not have this chance again."

The window was now open all the way and the snow howled in, sending the curtains flying and blowing large snowflakes across the floor. The animal smell of the beast permeated the room. The creature cautiously placed one foot on the floor and began sniffing the air with heavy wet breaths. In a panic, the blood rushed to my head, and I felt dizzy with fear. Without thinking, I raised my gun and fired. Due to my haste, the shot felt wrong and missed, breaking the window glass to the right of my target with a loud shatter.

"You fool! Shoot it again," Townsend yelled as the beast rushed towards us, a flurry of fangs and claws.

I got my sights on the thing and rattled off another shot. This time it felt right and the bullet hit the beast straight on with a sickening smack. It didn't even pause and kept on coming towards us like a runaway train. With one swipe, the poor doctor was knocked aside and before I even knew what was happening, I was being attacked. As the fetid stench of animal filled my nostrils, the powerful claws raked against my heavy coat, tearing into my flesh with a flashing burst of pain. My arms went numb. The werewolf was incredibly strong. I felt powerless against such terrible strength. Gasping for a breath, my knees suddenly buckled.

Thoughts of despair raced through my head. Did I load the wrong shells? Was this beast unstoppable?

I was pushed violently backwards, hitting the wall hard with the back of my shoulders. The mouth of the beast opened up, revealing a row of sharp teeth. I closed my eyes, waiting for the end to come. But even in this dire situation, I somehow was able to pull the trigger. The bullet struck at close range with a sickening smack. The werewolf howled in agony, making my ears ring in pain. As I opened my eyes, I saw it turn and bound back towards the windows, yelping in pain as it went. It crashed hard against the remnants of the glass planes which fell below in a tinkling mass. The creature was now trying to pull itself up onto the ledge again, but now the movements were slow and painful. The bastard was hurting alright.

I dizzily stood up and leaned against the wall to stop myself from falling over. My strength was gone, and I was afraid I had been bitten. Fear and shock can momentarily relieve the most terrible of pains. With my free hand, I felt over my torn clothing but only felt the fine lines of scratches that I had received.

Townsend was up on his hands and knees. "Kill it before it gets away," he managed to gasp out.

I nodded, steadied my aim, and shot again. The bullet struck home just as the creature pulled himself onto the ledge outside. The sudden impact made it howl in pain. The werewolf quickly tipped and fell over the side.

I went to help the doctor up, but he motioned towards the window. As I ran to the remains of the window, a great shout came from below. Looking down, I saw a small crowd gathering around a twisted naked body that was dyeing the snow-covered street with blood. The body was that of a man. Frank Brooks was now free of his curse.

Diary Entry V – The Witch of Wellfleet

Part I

Late March brought warmer weather and a marked improvement to my health. The past weeks had been spent in recovery from the wounds I had recently received. The deep scratches on my arms had festered and caused a fever, which required me to stay in bed and rest. I would be scarred, both inside and outside, for life. When I eventually felt better, I decided to visit the city and make a day of it since I was in need of new clothes and the replenishment of ammunition.

After putting on my best coat, britches and boots, I was tying my cravat while descending the stairs. In my haste, I nearly ran into Ellen who was standing at the landing looking out the window as if in a daydream. My hand quickly stretched out to steady her, and luckily an accident was averted.

She recoiled from my touch, blushed, and looked away from my gaze in embarrassment. She was dressed like she was going to a funeral with a long black dress and a black choker that circled around her pale, lovely neck.

"I'm sorry," I said. "It was my fault for not watching where I was going."

"And just where are you going in such haste? You've been bedridden for a long time."

"I thought I would visit the city," I replied. I then added impulsively, "You can come with me if you wish."

She replied sharply, "I hardly think it appropriate for me to go without a chaperone. What will the neighbors think?"

"I don't give a damn what the neighbors think and neither do you. We've been trapped in this house most of the winter, and it's time to get out and enjoy ourselves."

To my surprise, Ellen said, "I'll be back in a minute." Then she ran up the stairs and soon came back with a red shawl wrapped over her shoulders. Her blues eyes were twinkling with excitement, and with her arm wrapped inside mine, we left Cricket Court.

Piles of slushy snow lay in dirty mounds on the sides of the street, their slow trickle adding to the mud and grime. The trees were gaunt and bare, but the sun still warmed my face with a soft yellow glow. There was even a bird hopping from branch to branch, its chirping echoing loudly in the clear air of the blue sky. I couldn't help but smile when I saw her blink with bother from the strong light. She had been inside for too long.

We took a cab to the docks and from there caught a ferry into the city. The harbor was alive with traffic and the remnant of winter was starting to fade like a bad memory. Ellen stood next to me on the railing, watching our journey with much enthusiasm. Like children on a holiday, we pointed out the large steamships sailing in from the Atlantic. It felt good to be with her. I congratulated myself for even daring to suggest the trip.

Arriving in the city, we hailed another taxi and took it downtown. From there we began wading through the unexpected crowds. Even with the economic troubles, trade was brisk enough to keep the boardwalks crowded with shoppers. It appeared that everyone was out to enjoy the weather. We stopped to examine one expensive dress store display. She gushed over the newest spring fashions while I smiled and feigned interest. A woman of her rare beauty did not need any help in looking good.

The next stop was at the gunsmith where I picked up two boxes of thirty-eight caliber

ammunition, while Ellen waited outside. She did not think it proper that a lady be seen in such an establishment. I also browsed through the new guns and was successful in convincing myself that I did not need a new pistol. My old Colt was still up to the job.

From there, it was time to buy myself some new clothing. Ellen had little inclination to visit a man's haberdashery, so excused herself and decided to visit a nearby hat store. We planned to meet later for lunch. It was a good hour later when I left the store having been measured for a new suit and purchased three shirts, a set of collars and a silk cravat. With instructions to deliver my items to Cricket Court, I happily ventured out to meet Ellen at a restaurant named Dominique's.

The restaurant was not quite what I hoping for since the atmosphere was not conducive to romance. Instead it was a crowded establishment with an army of waiters seeing to the needs of a mass of patrons crowded together on tiny tables. Under the baleful eye of the head waiter, I was led to Ellen who was sitting in the corner at a small table. At first I did not recognize her since she was wearing a new hat made of green felt and a swoop of feathers on the side. I sat down across from her and was greeted by a pleasant smile. This was a different woman than the one I knew back home.

I nearly had to shout to be heard over the din. "I see you bought a hat."

Her face brightened, and she replied, "It's wonderful, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," I said noncommittally. "Do you often go shopping?"

"I used to go with mother all the time. But it's been years since I've had a chance."

A waiter came by and took our orders. We stuck with soup and sandwiches with a pot of tea.

After the waiter left, I asked, "What sort of woman is your mother?"

"Her name was Catherine. She was kind, but was also much too considerate towards my father."

"Was? What happened to her?"

She frowned with the remembrance of an old bitter memory. "Five years ago, father was much rasher. He has no consideration for my mother and would go on the most daring adventures without a thought towards the consequences. The stress on my mother was considerable, and she became bitter towards his chosen profession. Of course I sided with her and the once familial atmosphere grew strained. Unfortunately the rift between the two only caused my father to become even more reckless. My mother soon fell into a sickness. The doctors could find no cause for her illness, and she became bedridden and increasingly needy in her demands. I'm afraid father thought her illness was one of the mind. He continued on with his work, only paying her little attention since he thought she would soon recover once she realized the error of her ways. This went on for a year until the day she died.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said gently.

"The worst part was that my father was away when she died."

"And you hold that against him?"

"Of course I do," Ellen snapped. "I was the one who took care of her. I was the one who was there when she passed away. I had to hold her hand and watch as her life slowly slipped away. He should have been there for her."

"Yes, he should have," I agreed. "But he's probably blamed himself long enough."

She shook her head. "I'll never forgive him."

"Is that why you started seeing this Upton fellow? As a way to get back at your father?"

Ellen smiled this time and said easily, "My father does not seem to disapprove of him at all. He's too busy to care what I do."

"Though you wish he did disapprove?"

Her voice suddenly grew cold and accusing. "You're the one who seems to disapprove of Theodore. Would you care to tell me why?"

Luckily the waiter returned with our food and drinks, giving me time to think of a suitable response. As he laid out our food and poured the tea, Ellen continued to stare at me with a baleful eye.

"I just hate to see someone make such an obvious mistake," I said after the waiter left. "The fellow is a scoundrel, and anyone can see that. He is not concerned with your well-being and a marriage to him will only lead you to more unhappiness."

The spoon heading to her mouth stopped. Her eyes narrowed. "Captain Parker, the decision of marriage, good or bad, is mine to make."

"Yes, they are. But my advice is that you should reconsider."

"After mother died, I was left alone in that house. I had no one to talk to and no one to be with. That all changed when I met Theodore. He listened to me and cares about me."

I disagreed. "That's not what I see. He's just using you. I know he doesn't love you. I just would like to know what power he has over you."

The skin on her lovely face blushed with anger, and she said hotly, "I shall tell Upton of your words, and he will not be pleased." With a clatter of dishes, she then stood up and suddenly left before I could react.

The other patrons stared my way as I hurriedly threw down a few dollars and went after her. By the time I had reached the crowded boardwalk, she was lost in the mass of humanity. After a few minutes of fruitlessly searching, I gave up. It was time to return home. By the time I got back to Cricket Court, I had worked myself up into a good temper when I strode past the open library door.

Townsend must have heard me walk by for his voice called out, "Is that you, captain? If I could spare a moment of your time."

Not in the best of moods, I entered and was surprised to find a rather fetching woman in her late twenties sitting across from the doctor. Her hair was a golden blond and she was dressed in a becoming burgundy dress. It was the face that drew me in. It was perfectly oval with a straight nose, full red lips and a flash of white teeth. To top it off, her eyes were green which is a color that I always find rather becoming. Her natural beauty was enough to strike me speechless. I must have been staring impolitely at her since she eventually looked away in embarrassment.

"This here is Ms. Anne McCall," Townsend said to make the introductions. "I would like you to meet my partner, Captain Parker."

I bowed graciously and soon found my favorite chair. I found it hard to keep my eyes off of her since she was a modern-day Helen – the kind of woman that soldiers would march into battle over.

The doctor went on. "Miss McCall stopped in, and I sent out Charles to find you. He returned and said you were no longer in your bedroom. I'm glad you showed up when you did, for she was about to tell me why she needs our services."

"And I for one would be glad to help," I said ingratiatingly.

She smiled weakly at us before clearing her throat. It was a pleasant sound. "You'll think that I'm ever so foolish, but I don't know where else to turn."

In his most fatherly manner, Townsend said, "Now don't you worry, miss, sitting in this room I've heard just about every story you could imagine. Go ahead and afterwards I'll ask any questions that come to mind."

"Very well," she replied with a bit more confidence in her honey-toned voice. "I'm afraid it doesn't make too much sense."

Part II

My name is Anne McCall and I have a much-loved younger sister named Susan. We used to live together on our meager income, financing our needs through a small trust and the odd sewing job. I suppose you would find it all terribly dull, but we kept each other company and enjoyed friendship with many people. We only had a few scant years to ourselves when Susan recently fell in love with a young man named Alfred Harris. He was at school learning to become a doctor. She met him at our aunt's house during a party for a local hospital charity. It must have been love at first sight since within a week they were engaged to be married, even though Susan had little to offer as a dowry.

A month later, Alfred was done with college and they were married at our church. I had some misgivings about the speed of their courtship, and my heart was heavy with grief when they left to live in Massachusetts. It was there that he had accepted the position of being a doctor in the town of Wellfleet. I never heard of the place before since it is just some little fishing village, located on the coast.

My sister and I naturally started corresponding with each other. At first her letters were cheerful as she described her new home and how wonderful Alfred was. Wellfleet certainly seemed like a desolate place, but she wrote enthusiastically about the mayor, tradesmen, and the various rough fishermen who came to visit her husband's practice. But as the weeks went by, her letters started taking on a darker tone as she began describing the terrible loneliness of being cut off from the world she once knew. At first I thought she just missed me and was overreacting to the changes of her new life, but then she started writing of terrible nightmares and sleepless nights. As she wrote in her letters, the dreams always revolved around drowning. Once there was even a strange story of an old lady living on a hill.

I wrote back to her, suggesting she ask Alfred for his advice. Since he was a doctor, I assumed he could give her something to help her sleep. After that letter was sent, I noticed her letters came less frequently and the tone of the writing became less friendly. I began to worry for her safety and decided it was time for a surprise visit. Living alone, my money situation was tight, but I couldn't bare thinking of my only sister being driven mad from loneliness. So last week, without writing ahead, I arranged a trip to Wellfleet.

With the tail end of winter, traveling is always depressing with the gray landscape being the only thing to look at. As I rode the train out from New York, snow still covered the countryside and I wondered what I was going to find in this coastal town. I got to the depot outside of Plymouth without incident, having enjoyed the company of several fellow travelers going on to Connecticut. Thankfully my hired carriage was waiting for me. The driver was a young fellow named James who readily loaded my bags and with an eager smile helped me inside.

As evening was drawing on, he lit his lamps before we left town. Within an hour I began to tire of looking out the window, for darkness had fallen and there was little of interest left to see. To ward off the night chill, I drew the heavy coach blankets around me and settled in for the long ride. Even through that winter night, I still managed to fall asleep wondering how the driver could stand sitting on that cold buckboard for so long. I slept in a nightmarish haze where I felt as if I was on a ship riding the waves. Before long, I felt my shoulder being gently shook and I opened my blurry eyes to see James looking expectantly at me.

"We're here, miss," he said shyly.

I blinked a few times and shook my head sleepily. "Where?"

"At your sister's house. Everyone knows where the doctor lives, so I took you straight here."

"Thank you," I replied.

He helped me out of the carriage and then began taking the luggage down. In the weak light of dawn, my first impression of Wellfleet wasn't very uplifting. The ramshackle houses along the street were clustered together along a strip of ice-caked road and rough wooden boardwalks. The smell of the sea was pervasive as was the stiff cold wind coming off the Atlantic. Two schooners bobbed in the harbor, their gaunt masts dark against the gray sky. I shivered, wondering how Susan could live in such a forlorn place. Her rambling letters began to make more sense since such a place would stretch the sanity of any well-bred lady.

Her own house was one of the better looking ones with a stone exterior, gaily red-painted shutters, and a low, white fence bordering the property. I went up to the door, suddenly feeling embarrassed for not writing ahead. The coming of the carriage must have woken them up since the door suddenly opened. Alfred came out wearing nothing but a nightshirt. He looked at me blankly as if he didn't even recognize me.

I said, "Alfred, it's me."

The tired eyes suddenly focused in recognition and he looked at me rather grimly. "Anne? What are you doing here?"

This certainly wasn't the welcome I had imagined. "I've decided to come and pay my sister a visit," I replied lamely.

"It would have better if you had told us that you were coming," he said coldly. He then looked nervously up and down the street, grabbed my arm and practically pulled me into the house.

I nearly tripped on the doorstep and stumbled heavily into their living room. I didn't even have a chance to tell my brother-in-law to not be so rough since he hastily disappeared outside. I was rather shocked by his behavior. He had always acted like a gentleman before. He came back inside, hauling my luggage, which he dumped unceremoniously on the floor. The front door was then slammed shut, and I heard the carriage rattle off. I suddenly felt very afraid when I saw the set jaw and blazing eyes. His anger almost had a frightening quality to it, but that moment passed and instead his manner became cold again.

"Let me wake your sister," he said promptly and then left down the hallway.

I turned my attention to my immediate surroundings. The living room was cozy with a large sofa, plush rug, and a comfortable-looking armchair nestled close to the fireplace. The fire had burned low, so I reached over with the poker and began stirring the dim embers about. A few logs were nearby on the hearth, and I placed two inside the fire before settling into the chair.

"You didn't have to do that," Susan's voice said from behind me.

I got up, turned and took her by the hands. She was wearing a plain gown and looked happy enough.

"I hope you're not angry that I didn't write you of my visit," I said.

"Of course not," she replied. "It's just such a surprise to see you here."

"Are you sure Alfred isn't upset with me?"

"Oh, he's always like this in the morning, so don't pay him any attention."

My worries tumbled out as I said, "I just had to come after reading your letters. I was just so worried that something was really wrong with you. You are feeling alright, aren't you?"

"Of course I am," she answered with an easy smile.

"But in those letters you seemed so afraid. It just didn't seem like you."

Her eyes turned away from me and she stared at the crackling fire. "I'm just not used to living here yet. The winters seem so long. I do miss you ever so much. But my little problems certainly did not warrant an expensive visit on your part."

"Money is of no concern when it comes to my sister, but I'm glad it's just a case of you being affected by old man winter."

"Yes," Susan replied hesitantly. "I'm feeling much better now that you're here, but I've forgotten my manners. I suppose you are hungry after your long trip. I'll fix you up some breakfast and get the guest bedroom ready for your stay. I'm really glad that you're here. I'm sure you'll enjoy your visit to our little town."

I still had my suspicions that my sister was not telling me the truth, but she never had a reason to lie to me before. I knew she would eventually tell me what heavy burden was weighing on her.

We went to the kitchen where I watched her pile wood into the stove and begin cooking up some coffee and eggs. It was warm in there, and I felt pleasantly tired. Alfred soon joined us and seemed more like his old jovial self. As we ate, we talked of New York and how different life must be here in this little village. From our conversation, I gathered they seemed content enough in their new life together.

Later that morning, my brother-in-law left to do his medical rounds. Susan told me that since my visit would put a strain on their larder, she wanted to go out shopping. She already had a basket in hand and was pulling her coat on. I told her I would like to go along so I could see the town in more detail.

"Don't strain yourself," she smiled at me. "You've had a long trip and surely you would like to get some rest."

"But I feel fine," I protested.

"Really, there is plenty of time. There is no reason to go out now."

"Don't worry about me," I said as I pulled the basket from her hands.

She gave in and said, "Very well, but please you must dress warmer than you are now."

After much fussing, I borrowed one of her extra winter coats and wrapped a scarf around my face. However, even with this protection, as soon as I stepped out of the house, the bite of the dying winter chilled me to the bone. There was a stiff breeze in the air that whistled softly down the village street. It was the kind of wind that crept in every crevice of the clothing. The pale winter sun shined wanly down, adding no heat at all. Nearby, I could hear the roar of the waves pounding against the shore.

As we walked, I saw that only a few folks were about. They greeted Susan with a friendly wave or a tip of that hat. On the other hand, I seemed to be ignored, but perhaps there wasn't any time for introductions since the wind stole whatever breath one had. At the end of the street, I noticed a small hill that not only overlooked the town, but sat close to the shore. On top of the hill, a large bonfire was burning fiercely and I could just make out some gray-haired figure feeding the blaze. It was an odd sight, but I thought it could have been some kind of signaling method for the fishing boats. I knew little of such matters so I said nothing to Susan about it. However, the sight affected my nerves which were already wound tightly like a knot. It was with great relief when we reached the store and inside found refuge from the unrelenting wind.

The store was a dusty affair with barrels near the door and a few scattered provisions stacked behind the counter. The man behind the counter was thickly bearded with cold eyes and a scowl set on his tightly drawn cheekbones. He nodded with familiarity at Susan but gave me a queer look as if I had floated down from another planet.

"Hello, Mrs. Harris," he said roughly as he eyeballed me with evident disdain.

"Good day to you, Mr. Teller," she replied.

I put the basket on the counter and gave him a friendly look.

"And who may this be?" Teller asked.

"Oh, I'm so rude," Susan answered. "This is my sister Anne, all the way from New York City. I haven't seen her in months, and she decided to visit me rather unexpectedly."

"Is that so?" he said slowly. "Are you planning to stay here long?"

"As long as my sister will have me," I said, and flashed him a grin that usually buys me a bit of kindness.

It didn't seem to have any effect since he returned his attention to my sister. "Will you have the usual, Mrs. Harris?"

"Yes, and throw in an extra pound of bacon."

"Yes ma'am," Teller replied as he began pulling items off the shelf to fill the basket. He then disappeared into the back room.

"What an odd little man," I said softly to my sister.

She said nothing as he quickly came back with some wrapped parcels. These were placed into the basket.

"Shall I add it to your account, Mrs. Harris?" he asked.

"Yes, that will do," she replied and took the basket off of the counter.

"Good day, ladies," Teller said flatly as we made our way to the door.

As I opened it for my sister, I looked at him from the corner of my eye. Teller was staring at with me with a mask of hatred frozen on his face. It was a disturbing thought that this man would despise me on sight, so I turned to face at him with indignation. His expression immediately softened to disinterest and I looked away, wondering if what I had just seen was my imagination.

We stepped out into the bitter cold and as we began walking back, I craned my neck to take a glance behind us. Teller was standing at the window and his face had that same curious look of hatred. I didn't know what to make of it and turned it over in my mind as we walked. As we made our way down the street, it came to me that I was being watched by everyone. Secretively, I stole a glance over my shoulder and saw a group of men were actually pointing at me. It was an odd feeling, and I was happy when we escaped to the safety of Susan's snug little home.

As we removed our jackets, I said off handedly, "This town certainly is suspicious of strangers."

Susan merely shrugged and gave me a petulant look that I was quite familiar with. It meant she had some secret that she didn't want to share with her older sister.

"You should know better than to keep anything hidden from me," I said sharply. "Won't you tell me what is going on here?"

She shook her head slowly and said as if talking to a slow child, "I tell you there is nothing going on. Now please let's forget all of these suspicions of yours and instead worry about what we want for dinner."

The rest of the afternoon we spent preparing a big supper of baked chicken and potatoes. When Alfred returned from doing his rounds, he seemed pleasantly surprised to see the full dinner laid out on the table. He sat down to eat and with much animation described the curious cases in his line of work. After Susan and I cleaned up, we spent the rest of the evening playing cards and gossiping about our past life in New York. Alfred brought me a glass of wine, even though he knew I rarely drank. Everything seemed so pleasant, but I couldn't help notice that throughout the evening they continued to glance at the clock on the mantelpiece as if they waiting for something important to happen. By nine o'clock, the light from the windows had already long faded away and I couldn't help but start to feel extremely tired. It had been a long day and I was terribly exhausted from the trip.

"You're looking awfully put out," my brother-in-law said. "Perhaps an early bedtime would be best for you. Tomorrow we can go to the beach. There you can see the foolhardy fisherman at work."

"I would like that," I admitted and stifled a yawn. I felt strangely put out and wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep.

"Come, sister," Susan said and took my arm to lead me to the guest bedroom. It was right next to theirs and was warm from the heat of the kitchen fire. My sister kissed me on the cheek and said, "Sleep well, Anne. I'm so glad you came here to see me." She then left me to my own devices.

After pulling back the heavy covers from the bed, I lit an oil lamp and changed into an old comfortable nightgown. I pulled out a novel that I had read countless times before and slipped under the blankets. As I began to read the familiar words, I felt sleep quickly coming on. I put my book down and blew out the lamp. Except for the faint light of the moon filtering through the drawn curtain, it was dark inside my room. Before I knew it, I fell asleep.

I awoke some time later, feeling extremely hot and feverish. My body was drenched with sweat. I also felt ever so groggy. My first thought was that I had come down with some kind of fever until I pulled the covers away from my body. To my amazement, the room was extremely humid and was as hot as a summer day. I clumsily lit the oil lamp on the table, picked it up, and held the light out in front of me as I left my room. The inside of the house was still dark. I couldn't hear anything but the dripping of water outside. Going over to Susan and Alfred's room, I knocked tentatively on the door. When I heard no answer, I rapped again without receiving an answer. Opening the door, I stuck my lamp in their room and saw that the bed was unoccupied. In fact it was still made. Where could they be? In a panic, I began calling out Susan's name but did not receive an answer. They were obviously no longer inside the house, so I quickly put on my shoes and went out the front door, only to find that the weather had changed in a most amazing way.

The ice on the streets had all melted, turning the road into a muddy quagmire. The snow all along the ground and buildings had also melted away. A thick fog hung heavily in the air and a warm sea stench permeated my sense of smell. I had never experienced any winter weather like this before, and I could only look at the changed environment with a sense of awe.

I must have stood that way for a few minutes before I noticed the bonfire on the hill. This time the flames were burning even higher than before. In front of the leaping flames, I could see figures gathering. They were also singing. I suddenly found myself feeling very frightened, but still curious enough to investigate this strange situation. Sticking to the shadows of the houses, I made my way cautiously down the street. With each step, the sound of chanting became louder and louder.

The mud along the road was thick, causing me to slip and fall on several occasions. I must have looked a fright by the time I reached a house that hid me from view. There was a clump of bushes near the base of the hill. With that in mind, I stole from the side of the house and crawled towards it. As I was doing this, I made the mistake of looking up and was frozen to the spot by what I saw on that hill by the sea.

It looked as if the whole town had turned out for this some type of celebration. A group of them were dancing furiously around the bonfire while the majority stood on either side to watch. The most embarrassing part was the distinct lack of clothing by all the participants. The shopkeeper, Mr. Teller, stood in front of the assembly, watching the proceedings with keen interest. I could only gawk as the naked bodies writhed and swayed in front of the giant bonfire, throwing dark ominous shadows. The others were chanting in unison, using some strange rough language that I had never heard before. Even though the temperature was growing ever hotter, I felt a cold chill of fear enveloping my entire body. I felt more frightened than ever and suddenly just wanted to get away before I was discovered. But due to the love I had for my sister, I crawled forward into the shrubs and hid myself as best as I could. I peered upwards through the branches and watched with horror as the ceremony continued.

Presently the chanting increased in tempo as the dancers flailed about in time to the alien tongue. I felt as if I needed to scream as their strange words pounded relentlessly into my head. The words seemed to tell me to come closer and reveal myself, but I was frozen with animal fear and could not move. To my relief, the chanting suddenly stopped. The crowd on the right side parted in a fit of bowing and scraping. Out strolled a little old lady with long white hair.

She smiled wickedly at the crowd with her decrepit body quivering with some unknown energy. "It is coming!" she shouted and an audible gasp rose from the crowd.

The chanting resumed but was even louder this time. A fresh wave of heat hit me like an open oven as a blanket of fog rose from the ocean, choking the air with the smell of rotten fish and decayed seaweed. My stomach churned uncomfortably as I held my hand to my face and wished fruitlessly for just one lungful of fresh air. Through the mists off the ocean, I could see a massive shadow that grew larger and larger with each passing second. A wet-sounding splash then thudded against the ground, like a giant striding across the land.

The strange chanting reached a feverish pitch, causing my attention to turn back to the hill. Standing in front of the bonfire was Susan, as naked as the day she was born. Her head was turned to the sky with her bare arms raised in supplication. All eyes were turned on her as she swayed back and forth as if gripped by some insane religious mania. I was afraid for my sister and I was doubly afraid of whatever terrible thing was drawing closer to us. So quite unconsciously, I suddenly screamed at the top of my lungs, "Stop!"

My rash action seemed to break the spell for the chanting suddenly ceased. Susan then fell to the ground in a heap. The air immediately grew colder, causing the crowd to collectively shiver. As I looked over to the shore, I saw the fog-shrouded figure sliding back into the seas. Any sense of relief I felt was immediately dispelled by that old woman. She was pointing in my direction.

"There she is!" she yelled, and I was immediately rushed at by the crowd.

I got up and ran as quick as I could, but was impeded by the mud. I was quickly overtaken by a group of men and was unceremoniously tackled to the ground where I immediately saw the sneering face of Mr. Teller looking down at me.

"So it was you," he said roughly, and clipped me on the side of the head.

The blow made me feel dizzy and the world began to fade to black. As my consciousness slipped away, I saw the old lady standing above me with a terrible glint in her eye. Then it felt like I was falling into a well of darkness as she faded away into a laughing echo.

Part III

McCall cleared her throat and gave us a self-conscious smile as if she half-expected us to laugh at her story.

Townsend instead looked at her with keen admiration.

"But how did you get back to New York?" I asked.

She answered, "To my surprise, I awoke to find myself with a splitting headache and riding in the back of the carriage I had arrived in. When I shouted to have the driver pull over, I found James at the reins. I asked him what had happened, and he told me he had been given the job to take me back to the train station. When he had arrived at Susan's house, my bags were already packed and I had to be carried into the carriage by Alfred and some other gentleman. James was then told that I was sick and needed to see a specialist back in New York."

I was incredulous. "They let you go?"

"I was as surprised then as you are now. At the time I certainly didn't know what to make of it. After I had talked to the driver, I didn't know what to do. Should I have him turn back? But whatever drug they used to keep me unconscious also made me groggy and indecisive. Instead, James continued on. I ended up taking the train back to New York. Of course I went to see the police, but they didn't seem to believe my story. However, I had the good fortune of eventually talking to a certain detective named Strong. He suggested I see Dr. Townsend and tell him my story."

"And it is a good thing you did," the doctor said grandiosely, "For I am the only man who can save your sister's life."

Her face turned pale as she asked, "Is my sister in some kind of danger?"

"More terrible than you can ever imagine, but I may still be able to save her."

"So there is still hope?"

"A little," Townsend said candidly. "You witnessed something that few men or women have ever survived. For that alone, you deserve accolades. However, I shall not satisfy your curiosity by telling you exactly what you saw for you would not understand. Few men or women would. But I shall tell you that the town of Wellfleet has certainly been taken over by a terrible evil. Your sister is in their clutches. It is only through her wishes that you are still alive. I cannot think of any other reason why they let you go. But it matters not, for Susan will soon be killed."

"Killed?" McCall said in disbelief.

"It is lucky that you broke their spell for she was to be sacrificed. She is a relative newcomer, and there would have been no love lost if she had disappeared forever."

"But what about her husband?" I asked. "He certainly would disagree to do such a monstrous thing."

"Alfred does love her so," she quickly agreed.

"I'm afraid that may not be so," Townsend cautioned. "He was sent out from the village to find appropriate sacrifices. Who knows how many women he has married in the past?"

She shook her head. "I can scarcely believe what you are saying, but after that terrible night, my intuition tells me you must be right. But what will you do?"

"What date did this ritual take place?"

"It was on evening of the twenty-seventh."

Townsend sprung up from his chair, and began murmuring to himself as he studied his shelves of books. He let out an "Aha!" and pulled out some ancient, tattered tome. After blowing off the dust, he set it down on his desk and quickly began turning the pages.

From my vantage point I could see a number of charts and a list of numbers. I looked at Ms. McCall and gave her a shrug as she looked as confused as I felt.

The doctor began furiously pointing at the page in front of him. "If I figure this right, the next ritual will take place three nights from now. Of course it is just an educated guess, but it would appear the ritual that involved your sister happened when Jupiter was just rising into the constellation of Pisces. In this case, such a time is considered fortuitous for the practitioners of the Dark Arts. The next best time for the ceremony is when Jupiter is leaving Pisces."

"I hope you are right," I commented since I knew nothing of the art of astrology.

Townsend ignored me and said, "Ms. McCall, I shall need a picture of your sister and then we shall go on to Wellfleet to rescue her."

From her handbag, she pulled out a photograph and handed it over to me. I glanced at it and saw a woman that was as nearly as beautiful as Anne was. I passed the picture on to the doctor, who merely glanced at it before sliding it into his breast pocket.

"Now I shall have to ask you to leave," Townsend said as he rose from his chair.

"But what am I to do?" she protested.

"I suggest you go home and wait for our return. I can only assure you that we will do our best for you and not to give up hope." He then rang the bell to summon Charles, who presently came in with his usual stoic way.

Miss McCall stood up and smoothed out her dress. "I bid you gentlemen good day." She then glanced my way before following Charles out.

I watched her delicate walk and even better posterior until it disappeared behind the closing of the library door. She was a fine woman indeed. My attention was soon pulled away by the musings of Townsend.

"She is quite the remarkable woman," he said.

"And beautiful too," I added.

"I suppose so," he faintly agreed. "But I'm no longer in the position to care for such trivial matters. It is just remarkable that she witnessed what she did without going insane. It has been known to happen. Perhaps the sleeping draught she received from her brother-in-law lessened the severity of the experience. It certainly would be an interesting theory to test out."

"And what exactly did she see?" I asked impatiently before he went off on a tangent.

He grimaced, his lips pursed tightly against his mouth as he hated to be interrupted. "Something I have read about, but thankfully have never seen myself. You should know that there are beings on this planet of ours that are older than recorded history. In my possession there is a medieval text that called them _Vetus Bestia._ Such creatures normally sleep deep in the heart of the Earth and dream their terrible dreams. Only the power of an evil summoning spell can draw them from the depths."

"But why would the town sacrifice this woman? What do they hope to gain from it?"

"These days, the ancient beasts exist in an eternal slumber, but they still have unfathomable power. This witch of Wellfleet must have tapped into this power by offering a human sacrifice."

I drummed my fingers against the arm of my chair. "How can we fight something that powerful? From the description of Ms. McCall, this creature sounds like the size of a building. We will need something like a warship to kill it."

Townsend laughed lightly and said, "You certainly have the right thought, but one doesn't destroy a _Bestia_ with any of man's killing machines. We will need to finish off the witch and the creature will sink back to its sleep under the seas again. Tell me, do you do have a sharpshooter's rifle?"

"Yes, I do own a Sharps rifle with a Malcolm telescopic sight. It can hit a target over eight hundred yards away, provided the wind is holding still."

"Very good," he said. "Make sure to bring it along for we are going on a trip. Now if you would please, go out and purchase some train tickets. We'll be leaving in the morning."

Part IV

The next morning had us packed, breakfasted and ready to go by the time our carriage came. Along with the rest of our gear, a large wooden chest that belonged to Townsend was also loaded up. I wondered what he could be carrying in it. Perhaps it was some spell or artifact that would help us drive the _Bestia_ away, but I did not have time to ask. The journey to the station was hurried and soon enough we were tucked away in our own private passenger compartment, watching the gray, late winter landscape roll by. Townsend spent his time reading some dusty tome while I thought of the beautiful Anne McCall and her lovely sister.

Plymouth was a dreary town with plain-looking people and an even plainer tasting dinner. We ate at a restaurant near the station that seemed to be popular for some unknown reason since the food was tasteless. Townsend had been uncommunicative during our trip, so I was in no good mood when he decided we should press on towards Wellfleet. This meant renting a wagon from the local livery and taking a difficult journey at night.

"But surely we can sleep here and travel tomorrow," I protested.

"I'm afraid we have little time. There is much work to be done before another ritual is performed."

"We're going to have a hard time finding a place to sleep at Wellfleet. From Ms. McCall's account, they aren't about to receive us with open arms. It would be better if we stayed here for the night."

"I wasn't planning to sleep in Wellfleet," he sniffed. "We will have to make do with camping out."

"We'll freeze to death," I warned him. "Even the armies in the war did little during the winter months."

"I'm afraid we have little choice," he answered back sharply. "We must get there and scout out the location before the next ceremony."

Townsend did not listen any further to my arguments, so out I went to rent a wagon and horses from the livery. I also stopped at a general store and picked up a pint of brandy. If I was going to have to suffer tonight, at least I could insulate myself from the cold.

The road to Wellfleet was a lonely one and along the way we did not catch sight of another traveler. The road was nothing more than a rutted track that was wet with the runoff of the melting snow. I fought the horses the entire way while Townsend stoically perched himself on the buckboard and continued to read the ancient book he had brought with him. We got stuck a few times, and he did nothing to help while I lashed at the poor beasts. Luckily, we were lightly loaded, so the horses didn't have to strain too hard to pull us out.

As evening came, Townsend tucked the book safely away into a folded blanket. At his suggestion, we stopped and lit a lantern to guide our way down the darkened path. Much to my surprise, he began talking about his daughter.

"Ellen's wedding is coming up faster than I expected," he started lamely.

"I suppose so," I replied as to not commit myself to an opinion on the subject. I had my own troubles with her and was not about to confide them to him.

"I know I haven't spent enough time with her. She's been lonely and the match with Mr. Upton shall make her quite happy."

"If you say so."

"Upton is a rich man who will give her the security that she needs."

"It's not my place to say," I said as I gently snapped the back of the horses with the reins. "But I'm not sure why you value his wealth so highly. You aren't exactly a poor man yourself."

He smiled benignly at me and shook his head. "You wouldn't understand, but it is the fact that he is wealthy means he won't have any designs on my money."

"As you have no other inheritors that I know, Upton shall get your money through Ellen anyways. I've known plenty of rich men, and they never considered themselves satisfied with their present wealth."

He digested that for a moment and then asked, "Do you think Ellen will be happy with him?"

"I wouldn't know," I replied harshly and stopped myself from saying anything else further. It hurt just thinking of her right now.

He eased back into silence. We rode along that way for a few more hours until the faint crash of the ocean could be heard. Rolling over a hill, the dim lights of Wellfleet came into view. I saw that Townsend's head was drooped against his chest, so I prodded him awake with my elbow.

"Pull off the road," he said sleepily. "We'll have to find a place to hole up until dawn."

Following his advice, I got off the track and tucked the wagon between two dunes. There I took the horses out of the harness and staked them for the night. It was exceedingly cold, and I stamped my feet about in a vain attempt to stay warm. In the meanwhile, Townsend had already arranged his pile of blankets on the wagon bed and was busy trying to get comfortable on the hard planks. I slid up to the wagon, took out the pint of brandy from my luggage and tried to hand it to him. He crinkled his nose in refusal.

"If you want to get any sleep, you'll have some," I suggested.

"I'm not much of a drinker."

"Neither was I until I learned of the medicinal nature of alcohol. I have it on a good doctor's advice that it's suitable for the health of the mind and body."

Townsend laughed and took the bottle from my hand. He tipped it back and gurgled down a good quarter of the bottle. With a terrific cough, he handed it back to me.

"You're supposed to sip it, not drink it like water."

He choked out, "I thought the medicine would have a faster effect if taken at a quicker rate."

Now it was my turn to laugh and I drank down a few gulps of the bitter liquid myself. It burned like fire, but its effects were immediate. I felt warmer and the cold of the dying winter night receded into the background. Taking my own collection of blankets under the wagon, I burrowed underneath and soon fell asleep to the pleasant sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

I awoke feeling chilled to the bone. The dawn sun was shining in my eyes. I groaned and rolled over and out from under the wagon. Townsend was sitting on the wagon, his brow furrowed in concentration as he read his book.

Looking up, he asked, "I take it you slept well?"

I yawned and replied, "I'm afraid I've gotten too used to my soft bed at home."

"Don't worry, we'll be back there soon enough. Now I suggest a quick breakfast and we'll go see if Susan McCall can still be found at home."

During my cold breakfast of jerky, I shook my canteen to find the water inside had frozen solid. The doctor was now busy looking through his telescope, examining the distant town and beach. It gave me the feeling that we were about to raid an enemy encampment instead of visiting some sleepy village.

As we rode into the outskirts of Wellfleet, I studied the land and noted the hill near the sea. It was just as Ms. McCall had described it. A large fire was burning on top and I saw a bent figure feeding logs into the blaze. A white whisper of smoke trailed lazily into the blue sky like a lit cigarette resting inside an ashtray. The town itself was nothing special – a collection of weather-stained buildings, muddy roads, and well-worn boardwalks. The few pedestrians greeted our arrival with hostile stares. The only other sign of habitation was the flicker of curtains across dirty window panes. Hidden eyes were following our every movement.

Townsend ignored all of this, concerning himself with giving me directions to the Harris household. We soon found ourselves in front of a little stone house, and he motioned for me to stop the wagon.

Out of habit, I checked our surroundings for threats and across the street saw a mob of some dozen men was watching us. They were a rough-looking bunch of sailors who seemed to be spoiling for a fight. I touched the butt of my Colt Navy resting under my coat, wishing I had brought a shotgun with me. There is nothing like a little buckshot for scattering a crowd.

"Don't pay them any attention," Townsend said in a low voice as he jumped off the buckboard. "But stay here in case we need to make a hasty retreat."

He then went up to the door and gave it a hearty knock. After a seemingly long pause, the door creaked open to reveal a man who fit the description of Dr. Harris.

"May I help you?" Harris asked coldly as his eyes nervously looked the doctor up and down.

"Yes, you can. You must be Dr. Harris."

"I am. What do you want?"

"We're here to see your wife Susan," Townsend replied.

"And who may I ask wants to see her?"

"Just some old friends who are passing by."

An unpleasant frown passed over his mouth, contorting the once pleasant face into a mask of hatred. His voice became violent as he said, "She isn't here, and I suggest you get out of here before there is any trouble!"

"Could you at least tell me where she went?"

"She went to see her sister in New York," he replied curtly and unexpectedly slammed the door shut.

Townsend shrugged and turned to walk back to the wagon. With a wry smile plastered on his face, he pulled himself up onto the buckboard.

"What are we going to do now?" I asked.

"That move wasn't entirely unexpected. We're strangers in this town without any inside information beyond what Miss McCall already told us. For now, I suggest we beat a hasty retreat before this mob behind us takes matters into their own hands."

I slowly turned to look behind us and saw the group of men approaching us. Some had rocks in their hands, while others brandished long fishing knives. A few were also holding hunting rifles. A shout went up and the mass of men started running towards us with a fury. Since discretion is the better part of valor, I flicked the reins of the horses and started moving in what I thought was a stately trot. A few rocks thudded on the back of the wagon and a bullet zinged over our heads, but we soon turned onto another street heading out of town. We quickly lost sight of our pursuers.

"Do you think that Susan really went to see her sister?" I asked while keeping an eye out for further trouble.

"It doesn't seem likely, and I'm not in the mood to travel back to Plymouth to find out. Let's go back to our campsite and wait. Take care that we are not followed, for if I'm right, the next ritual will be happening tonight."

"You saw the fire on the hill?"

"Yes, and I have a feeling that this is part of the spell for retrieving the _Bestia_ from the depths."

"Like a lighthouse?" I suggested.

Townsend frowned and replied, "Exactly."

We spent the rest of the afternoon sitting about, wishing the hours away. The sun was bright and warm enough to fight some of the chill of the sea, but February is never a pleasant time to be outdoors. I spent my time trying to sleep, but I was filled with that nervous energy one gets before a fight. The doctor spent his time studying that damned book of his.

He was deep in thought when I eventually interrupted him. "What do you find in that book that is so interesting?"

He set the book down on his lap and closed it. "It's a medieval copy of an ancient text. The original language had since been long forgotten in the passage of time, but this transcription was written in Greek. A few years ago I spent some time translating it into English. It was exceedingly difficult as some of the words don't make any sense in the context of our own language, plus the Greek is an older Mycenaean dialect that only a few linguists know. It took me considerable time and money to find the right man to help me make the translation."

"So what does it say?" I asked impatiently.

Townsend looked up at the sky. Just then a cloud bank started to move in over the horizon, casting a gray pallor over the sandy dunes. He spoke softly as he said, "I spoke before of the _Vetus Bestia_ and their ancient origins. They are as old as the Earth and perhaps even older than that. When the world was young and giants roamed the land, the _Bestia_ were active. Perhaps Beowulf fought one under the guise of Grendel. Perhaps the legend of Midgard the Serpent come from early memories of the _Bestia_ , for they were here before man and will be here long after we are gone."

I said, "Surely you must know some spell or method to stop one."

The doctor gave a slight shrug. "You should know by now that I'm no magician. I can only use my knowledge and the modern tools of man that are available." He reached over to the wagon bed and pulled his wooden box closer. With a flip of his hand, he opened it and revealed it was packed with dynamite.

I knew enough about explosives to know there would be nothing left of us if it accidentally went off. My tongue felt thick as I said, "We've been hauling dynamite? One bad bump and we could have blown ourselves to smithereens."

"You worry too much."

"Well, you could have at least told me."

He wagged his finger at me like a schoolteacher and said, "I like to have my little secrets. When it gets dark enough we shall go and bury this on the beach."

Part V

I spent the rest of the afternoon looking after the horses and checking over my Sharps rifle and Malcolm sight. It was a beautiful carbine with its octagonal thirty-inch barrel and double-action triggers. If you wanted to hit someone at a distance, I couldn't think of a better weapon. I cleaned it thoroughly before inspecting each of the fifty-caliber cartridges for imperfections. Picking only the five best-looking rounds, I loaded one into the breech and stuck the remainder in my breast pocket.

As night fell, we took our time eating a cold dinner before hiking an out-of-the-way route to the beaches of Wellfleet. The clear sky of the day was now long gone, having been replaced by low and ominous clouds. The wind had picked up, blowing sand hard across the dunes. In the approaching darkness we would be harder to detect, though by Miss McCall's description, the town had little regard for security when in the throes of their strange religion. Of course that could have changed since we were known to be around.

We had both taken a handle of the box of dynamite and carried it along as best we could. With the weight, it was hard going plodding through the sand and climbing the steep dunes. My calves cramped in discomfort and throughout the ordeal, I could still see that bonfire shining brightly on the hill. The blaze grew larger and larger as shadowy figures fed logs into the fire. It was unnerving to say the least, and I had a hard time keeping my mind on the task at hand.

Suddenly hearing voices, I gently put down my side of the box and dropped down onto my stomach. Townsend did likewise after I put my hand up in caution. Ahead, there was a gap in the grass that indicated a trail running through the dunes. The voices were growing louder. I could soon make out the individual words of two men walking our way.

A thin reedy voice said, "I don't know why we're wasting our time here."

"Because we do as we're told," a thickly accented voice answered back. "If Mr. Teller tells us to watch this trail, then we watch the trail. There's no telling if those strangers will come back and this time the _Lamia_ doesn't want any interruptions."

_Lamia_? I wondered what that word meant. It sounded familiar but my rusty Latin did not register the meaning.

The reedy voice said back, "I don't know, but I sure like watching that girl Susan dance. She is mighty pleasant to look at."

"Yes she is," the other man answered back, "but the beast of the waters must be appeased for this season's catch to be good. She shall have to die like the rest of them."

"I know that," was the reply, and then their words were lost as they had moved on.

I crawled cautiously back to Townsend who was now sitting on the ground with his back resting on the box. "Did you hear that?" I whispered.

He kept his voice low. "It certainly confirms one of my deductions. Like the days of the ancients, the witch or _Lamia_ is sacrificing a virgin to ensure the success of the fishing season."

"A virgin?" I scoffed. "The woman is married, and I certainly would have a hard time keeping my hands off of her."

The doctor chuckled and said, "Just because one is married does not mean the marriage itself has been consummated. If anything, it proves that Alfred Harris has done this before."

"It's unnatural whatever it is," I spat on the ground in disgust.

We picked up the box and continued on our way without running into any other patrols. The beach itself was surprisingly desolate, but I couldn't help but look at the looming bonfire some hundred yards away. As Townsend found a suitable spot to start digging, I cautiously craned my neck above the waving dune grass and watched as more and more people began gathering around the blaze. They stayed in a half circle that was open to the beach and waited in apparent silence as the fire continued to be fed by a line of men carrying logs.

"This spot will do," the doctor said over the crash of the waves.

Scuttling over, with my rifle banging against my back, I found the good doctor digging in the sand with his hands. I pitched in and we soon had a hole large enough to just barely fit our box of dynamite. Together we pushed the box into the opening and hastily covered it up with sand and grass. We then began crawling off to find a point where I could take a shot at the Lamia.

As we slipped through the grass, the crowd around the hill began to slowly chant. Even in the distance, the words sounded alien and incomprehensible, as if spoken by something other than humans. The sound was strange yet haunting, assaulting my willpower with unstoppable force. I found myself being pulled inexorably towards the hill, unable to control my feet.

"Don't be a fool," Townsend nearly shouted in my ear.

With a surprisingly strong grip, he grabbed my wrist and began pulling me away from the siren song coming from the hill. He dragged me for some length to a bush shrouded bluff just outside the sands of the beach. There he threw me down into the ground where the Sharps rifle clattered next to me.

"I'm alright," I murmured as I mentally fought against those beguiling words drifting across the landscape.

"It is basically a simple summoning spell," Townsend explained. "It is drawing the _Bestia_ from the depths, but it also has the effect of drawing many of a creature towards the hill. If you look carefully, one can see mice heading towards the hill and fish flopping against the shore. Now that you know what it is, you should be able to concentrate on keeping the spell at bay. Just think of something like a favorite song or a treasured memory."

So with those words of advice, I sat there and thought of his daughter Ellen – her lovely skin, eyes and how she must look undressed. It was just barely enough to break the spell and I was soon able to keep my mind on the task at hand.

"What now?" I finally said when my head had cleared.

He replied, "I suggest we take a look at what they are doing and pray our feeble plan works."

So we crawled forward and through the leafless branches saw an amazing sight. The whole town had come out to this ceremony and they stood on either side of the huge bonfire. The flames were leaping high in the sky and in front were naked dancers of both sexes. They were jumping, shouting and writhing about in some religious ecstasy. I felt my jaw drop in shock. It was indecent but beguiling.

Townsend shook my arm to remind me that we had a job to perform.

In response, I immediately swung my rifle off of my back and looked down the telescopic sight to get a better look. With the bright fire and six times magnification I was able to make out much more detail. As I studied the various female forms, I noticed I was getting hot under the collar. It wasn't just lust, for the actual temperature was getting intolerably warm and I felt the urge to take off my jacket as sweat beaded down my temples. It was as hot as any summer day down in Mexico.

"It draws closer," Townsend whispered with awe.

The chanting suddenly stopped, and out came a little old lady. I trained my sight on her and through the lines of dancers, I saw an evil looking-crone with wild white hair and eyes as dark as coal. I just couldn't get a clear shot as dancing figures darted in front of her.

With surprising power, her thin voice shouted out, "It comes!"

The chanting resumed with a new intensity and the heat suddenly increased as if the sun was blazing on my shoulders. In fear, I craned my neck and looked behind us. I saw a dense steam rising from the sea. The tendrils of gray fog drifted over the sand. A sickly seaweed smell hit my nostrils like the swollen dead from a lost ship. A shadowy figure taller than any building I had ever seen before broke through the curtain of fog. My heart began hammering in my chest as the ground underneath shook from side to side. The beast was now walking towards the hill, its great bulk surrounded by a blanket of mist and the footsteps causing minor quakes. It was a sight that I shall never forget.

I tore my eyes back to the hill and through the scope, saw that the dancers had stopped and a beautiful naked girl was standing in front with her arms raised high in the sky. It was Susan McCall.

"Steady," Townsend whispered. "But whatever you do don't look at the beast's face. It could detect our presence even though we are mere gnats in comparison."

The chant continued on, reaching a feverish pitch that only faded away once the creature finally revealed itself. I couldn't help myself as I was forced by curiosity to turn and once again look at this monstrosity. It was grotesquely baroque with hundreds of tentacles hanging from mottled brown bulk. Massive arms, longer than trees, hung down and dragged on the ground. As my eyes rose to look at the face, the doctor roughly pushed my face down into the dirt.

"Do not look at its face!" he yelled into my ear. "It will drive you insane!"

Another step was taken, slamming the ground with a might shock wave. As the creature drew even closer, it felt like a thousand coal furnaces has been opened at once, sending waves of torrid heat rippling across the beach. It took yet another shattering step, and then there was a sudden explosion from the dynamite we had laid in its path. The very heat of the creature had set off the explosives! The sound was like a whole line of cannons going off at once, but it was nothing like the immense howl from the beast. The piercing scream coming out was louder than a hundred freight trains and my ears rang in pain. I felt a tug on my shoulder and it was Townsend, pointing towards the hill.

"Shoot the witch," he shouted, his voice just above the maelstrom of sound.

Fighting the powerful urge to flee, I looked down my telescopic sight and saw that the hill had exploded into chaos as the participants were running away in fear. I noted that Susan was on the ground in a heap, ignored by the fleeing people of the town. I then spotted the witch, her eyes blazing with anger as she fruitlessly attempted to stop the exodus. Holding the rifle steady on her, I fired once and felt the recoil of the gun hit me hard in the shoulder. The sights lined up again and the witch was still standing there as if nothing had happened.

I cursed to myself as I realized that the telescopic sight had been bumped during our nighttime journey and was no longer properly sighted in.

Townsend shouted, "You have to stop the witch before she tries to recall the beast! This is her last chance!"

I nodded as I took out another cartridge and loaded it into the breech. This time I didn't use the scope, but just eyeballed down the barrel of the rifle. I saw the witch was still busy giving out orders. I gently squeezed the trigger. The rifle gave a satisfying bang. This time she went down in a cloud of blood, as her body doubled up from the shock of the fifty-caliber bullet. No one can survive a slug of lead that size.

I felt the heat on my back quickly begin to recede. As I turned around, I saw the dark shape disappearing back into the ocean, again sending clouds of steam high into the air.

The doctor calmly stood up and said, "Come, let's get the girl and get out of here before the town has time to regroup."

We ran towards that hill with the chill of the dying winter rushing back with a vengeance. The bonfire now seemed oddly muted as if it knew its evil job was over. Only a few men from the village were left, their faces blank with shock. Susan was slumped on the ground unconscious, looking fragile and innocent without her clothing. I took off my jacket and covered her up to protect her from the returning cold.

Diary Entry VI – The Wings That Beat Above My Head

Part I

April brought dreary rain-filled days and even drearier thoughts. My experiences with Dr. Townsend had so far resulted in restless nightmares and sleepless nights. I now spent much of my time locked in my bedroom, hunched in front of my fireplace and thinking of ways of ending my business partnership with this mad doctor. No easy solution could be found with my finances and my obsessive love for his daughter. I felt like a caged animal. At least here, I tried to convince myself, I had a place to stay, servants and enough food to eat. What did a few nightmares matter?

One Friday evening, all of these morose thoughts were thrown away when a singular event occurred. It had been a normal evening like so many others where I ate dinner alone in my room and took a walk through the gardens. Afterwards, I had returned to my room, changed into a robe and was thumbing listlessly through a book titled _Fosca_. The main character Girgio's love triangle made for painful reading as it reminded me of my own predicament.

Giving up on that venue of entertainment, I doused the lamp and removed my robe before entering my bed. The nights were still cool, so a thick blanket and sheet were my only covering. I spent a good minute or two lying on my side, staring longingly out the window, thinking of days past spent around the campfire. I felt freer back then. I knew that the past experiences with Townsend had left me permanently scarred. It had been a mistake trading my liberty for the prison of security.

The moon lit the clouds that rolled along the horizon and I closed my eyes, finally drifting away to sleep. My slumber was interrupted. I dreamt of feeling the covers next to me lift, and the bed sag as from an added body. My eyes flickered open blurrily, but it was dark and I couldn't see who had joined me. Now wide awake, I turned over. Under the covers, I cautiously moved my hand towards the once empty side of the bed. I touched the rounded flesh of what I assumed was a buttock and heard a gentle feminine giggle.

Thinking one of the servants had taken it on herself to entertain me, I blurted out, "Who's there?"

The answer came as a whisper. "It's me."

It was Ellen. Without a further invitation, she slid over and wrapped her arms around my neck. She drew her naked body next to mine and I could feel her cool skin press against my own flesh. It was a maddening erotic experience, but she certainly didn't seem embarrassed as she started to urgently kiss me on the mouth. Gladly returning the favor, I let my hands roam along the curves of her body until we were both breathing hard with animal excitement. I felt as if I was in a dream and I expected the spell to break at any moment. This truly couldn't be happening and I felt a momentary twinge of guilt for being in bed with my partner's daughter.

"Why did you come here?" I managed to choke out as I dodged her hungry lips.

With a little nibble on my ear, she replied huskily, "I've been watching you and I can tell you want to leave us. I want you to stay here forever and thought I could change your mind. You do want to stay now, don't you?"

I bolted upright and reached over to find the matches on the side table. Lighting the lamp, I kept the wick turned low and then turned my attention back to my unexpected guest. She was on her side, the blanket only covering her from the waist down. Her blue eyes were looking expectantly at me. In the flicker of the light. I saw that her pale body was beautifully formed and it took all of my willpower to not ravish her.

"Did you come here on your account or your father's?" I managed to ask as my eyes took in the sights.

She laughed and touched her fingers against my lips. "Maybe a little bit of both. My father needs you as do I."

I looked at her with surprise.

Seeing my expression, Ellen went on and said, "I feel safe when you are here, Stephen. Is it wrong to show some gratitude?"

"No," I replied uncertainly. "But it is wrong to play with a man's feelings. You know I want to be with you, but you still persist in seeing that damned Upton fellow. What you are offering now is only temporary, and in the end will make losing you hurt even more."

Her eyes turned cold, and she looked at me with some of the old malice. "You are a strange man. Anyone else would gladly take this invitation. If that is your attitude, then I shall leave you to your own devices. I will hear no more ill talk of my fiancé."

"If you have so much love for him, then why are you in my bed?"

She smiled coyly. "Why don't you turn off the lamp and find out?"

"Damn the lamp," I replied, feeling strangely angry by the offer. In a temper, I tore at the sheet, revealing the rest of her lovely body. Her eyes grew wide with shock as I suddenly pushed her arms back and began roughly kissing her neck. She started to struggle against my weight and I slid the rest of my body on top of hers. With a gentle moan, she led me inside. During all of this, she didn't say a word and her eyes continued to stare into mine.

I released her arms and she wrapped them tightly around my neck. Rolling onto my back, I took her with me and she ended up on top. This time, she pushed my arms back and I laughed as I pretended to struggle against her feeble strength. Once again she helped as I entered her. I closed my eyes momentarily and took the opportunity to enjoy the experience. As I opened my eyes again, there was a flash of pearly white and I saw her mouth hungrily hanging open. On either side of her front teeth were fangs.

Letting out a shout of panic, I tried to free myself but to my surprise she was too strong. I now felt helpless as she loomed over me. Her eyes were black pools of emptiness and with her face lit in triumph, Ellen leaned over and bit me hard on the neck. I could do nothing to resist and felt my strength drain away into nothing. As the slivers of pain shot down the length of my spine, the world began to spin away. I passed out.

Part II

I awoke with a start and saw the sun flooding through the windows. Feeling disorientated and sick to my stomach, I looked down and saw that the covers were hanging off the side of the bed and the pillows were lying on the floor. It looked as if I had fought the bed all night. With a flash of nausea, I suddenly remembered Ellen and everything else that happened. Was it all just a terrible nightmare? Did I just dream of those fangs?

With shaking hands, I cautiously probed my neck with my fingertips and everything felt normal. Standing up, the room swayed dizzily around me. I stumbled towards my dresser to look in the mirror. I didn't like the pale face staring back at me. It was haggard and looked older than I remembered. An examination of my neck showed nothing but two faint red points near the jugular. I began to wonder what really happened last night.

I slowly dressed, trying to regain my lost strength. I then went downstairs to eat. I found Townsend at the dining room table with a newspaper in front of him. When I entered, he didn't even look up as he continued to read. I didn't say anything, but from the buffet I managed to scrounge up a slice of toast and a few slices of cold bacon. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down a few chairs away from the doctor.

"Good morning," he finally offered from behind his paper.

I replied in kind and started to gingerly eat my meager breakfast as my stomach was in no mood for sustenance. I was still feeling ill from my nightmare and did not even think of discussing it with him.

Putting the paper down, he pulled out a telegram from his breast pocket. "I hope you will not be engaged today," he started, "we have a visitor coming later in the afternoon."

"I believe I will be available," I replied quietly.

He stopped and looked hard at me. "Are you feeling alright? You look terrible."

"Just a little tired," I lied, but did not know why.

"I suggest you take better care of yourself." Studying the telegram, he went on and said, "He is an old friend of mine. Henry Chase and I went to college together and have remained in touch ever since. Like all lawyers, his business is always of the most private sort. I'm sure it will be something insignificant since he was always making mountains out of molehills."

Trying to sound nonchalant, I asked, "Have you seen your daughter this morning?"

His dark eyebrows raised an inch momentarily before replying. "She left last night to visit with the Upton family. I'm sure she has plenty to discuss concerning the planning of her upcoming wedding."

"It's of no consequence," I lied as I was not sure how to describe my experience of last night. Even now I still wasn't sure what had happened and nor was I about to tell him.

I finished my breakfast. The day went on without her coming home. Feeling exhausted, I spent most of the morning napping uneasily and rolling senseless theories through my head. Later during lunch, I mentioned Ellen's tardiness to the doctor. He merely shrugged his shoulders and continued to eat. When I pressed him further he finally spoke.

"Captain Parker, I must say that I'm surprised that my daughter's welfare is such a concern of yours. There is no reason to worry since the Upton family is from an old line and is well-respected about town."

"Have you ever met his parents?"

"I can't say that I have. But really, that is nothing to worry about since they apparently spend most of their time in Europe. They have come back for the wedding though. There is much for my daughter to plan with them."

I said nothing in return, but continued eating my meal in silence. Afterward, I stepped outside to the front of the house to wait with the gargoyles. They had nothing to offer, so I smoked more than a few cigarettes. Waiting was a fruitless exercise for Ellen did not come home. It was a relief when Charles came to tell me that a Mr. Chase was waiting for us in the library. Heading in the same direction, I met Townsend in the hallway outside.

We found Chase examining the collection of shelved books with much interest. His clothes were richly cut and fit his portly frame perfectly. A stove top hat was balanced in his hand and it would have done better covering the large bald spot on the back of his head. As we entered he swung towards us, revealing a face lined with worry. His blue eyes fairly bulged when Townsend introduced me

"It's been too long, my old friend. This here is my business partner, Captain Parker. Won't you please be seated?"

The old lawyer did not sit, but instead pointed at the books in front of him. "This house has certainly changed since I've last been here. I've never seen it looking so tidy."

"That is the work of Parker here. He has a deft hand when it comes to servants. I wanted the place to look its best for Ellen's wedding since they've decided to have it on the grounds."

"Oh, how quaint. And how is your daughter doing? She was always such a pretty girl and so full of life. Much like her mother."

Townsend frowned at the reminder of his deceased wife.

Chase went on, "I see you still collect books." His fat hand shot out and was about to grab one of the dusty tomes. With his attention on the doctor, he did not see the cover open and the pages inside curl like a hungry wolf waiting to bite.

"I would suggest you don't touch that particular book," Townsend cautioned. "You see they are in a special order and I would hate to have to sort through them again."

His hand stopped just in time, stopping the evil tome from taking a bite of flesh. The lawyer then smiled politely, "I can understand that. I'm just curious as you know that I'm a bit of a collector too."

"I suggest we talk business first and then we can go over our bibliographic passions."

"A sensible suggestion." As Chases's hand dropped, the book resumed its normal shape.

Eventually we all found our respective seats with Townsend taking his usual post behind the desk. He said, "Your letter indicated some haste. Please tell me, what is the problem?"

Chase looked like a cherubic monk as he settled further into his seat. Lighting a pipe, he puffed vigorously before telling us his story.

Part III

I've served the Lane family for most of my life, having taken care of the legal matters of Mr. Cyrus Lane for over thirty years now. He was a queer man with expensive tastes and strange whims. To name a few, his temporary interests were in astrology, spiritualism and the exploration of parts of the world that man had not yet visited. Though we were never friends, I kept in touch with him due to the legal requirements and expenses of his various hobbies. I thought his interests were all a grand waste of money, but in my business one learns that the rich have their own ways.

Cyrus Lane traveled all over the world, carting his poor wife along with him. Somehow in their travels, she bore him two sons - first David and then one year later, Nathan. The family eventually moved back to New York where they fell into some sense of normal life. Lane's wife eventually died of consumption and after that, Cyrus only stayed long enough to see his sons shuttled off to some private school. He then went out exploring the world again and I lost contact with him for some time.

When he came back last year, it was with some relief when I helped him purchase a large parcel of property outside of the town of Walton, located up north. He told me he planned to build some massive estate, but why he picked the middle of nowhere, I could only guess. It was certainly a large plot of land - over twelve hundred acres - covered in trees and hills that would give a certain privacy that only the very wealthy can afford.

After the purchase of the land, I heard little else about it, except for the odd rumor that comes my way due to my profession. Apparently Mr. Lane took to mining the land, hiring men to dig tunnels into the hills that dotted his holdings. What he was looking for was never exactly clear, nor did I ever find out, for just last week I received a telegram that he had unexpectedly died. Apparently he was found unconscious in the little house he had built on the land. It was a stroke that the poor man never recovered from, for he died the next day without uttering another word.

As his lawyer, I was called to carry out his last will that he had signed. I'm afraid to say there wasn't much left of Cyrus's original capital that he had inherited. So following the outlines laid out in the will, the property was to be sold and the proceeds split evenly amongst the two sons. David and Nathan are now young men and via telegram we agreed to meet at their father's house to discuss the sale. Traveling to Walton was no easy matter and to get to the Lane property required the hiring of a surrey. With directions from the livery yard in town, I headed out that afternoon on my own.

A man in my profession is not prone to flights of fancy, but as the small town fell away, I was overtaken by the raw primitiveness of the land. The forest was dark and silent, the trees creating long green tunnels that the sun barely pierced. I could hardly imagine why Cyrus picked such a forbidding location and my anxiety only grew as I came closer to his property.

The side road leading to his house was only marked by a single worn sign marked with the family name. I was relieved to see two horses at the house, signifying that the brothers had already arrived. As I stopped the wagon, I was surprised to see a frightened David bolt out of the little house. He ran up to me and before I could say a word, he had clutched me by the arm.

"Have you seen Nathan?" he asked.

"I'm afraid not as I have only just arrived. Now tell me what is troubling you?"

I saw that David had taken on some of the weaker characteristics of his mother – frail, pale and prone to worry. His black hair was combed and greased back as is popular with men of his age, while his suit was well-tailored, though dusty from travel.

He bit his lower lip and said, "I just got here half an hour ago and saw that Nathan had beaten me here. I went into the house and called out his name without any response. So I took it upon myself to make a thorough search of the premises and I couldn't find him anywhere."

"He must be somewhere on the property," I said. "He wouldn't leave without his horse."

After I saw to the wagon, we both entered the little house. Inside there was a rough kitchen, and an attached room that served as a bedroom and office. There was a desk that had seen much use as the top was stained with spots of ink. The bed was unmade as if someone had recently slept in it. Wood was stacked next to the fireplace and through the grate, faint red embers still glowed.

"Are you sure that is your brother's horse?" I asked.

He nodded. "I recognize that old nag anywhere."

"Perhaps your brother just went for a walk," I suggested without conviction.

We spent another hour fruitlessly circling the outside of the house, calling out Nathan's name. Our voices faded into the woods without an echo and my felt a sense of dread rising from the eerie silence. What could have happened to him?

"David, you're a younger man than I. Why don't you ride back into town and get the sheriff? I will stay here in case Nathan decides to come back."

David readily agreed, got on his horse and tore down the trail in a gallop. I returned inside, feeling lonely and dare I say, frightened by my lonely vigil. I meandered through the kitchen and opened the larder. Inside were a few cans, a half-finished loaf of bread and a fresh cut of beef. I then went to the bedroom and looked under the bed. There I found a small case which I opened. It held two shirts, a pair of pants and even a razor blade. Someone was certainly planning to stay here for a while.

The only thing left to examine was the desk. I sat down on the rickety chair and began to dig through the drawers. This isn't something I would normally do, but as Cyrus's lawyer, I felt I had the right. There was a sheaf of papers in the bottom drawer that immediately drew my interest for it was a series of drawings. Apparently there were a few hills on the property that he had been mining. A number of test shafts had been sunk, but for what purpose I could not discern. One well-handled sheet had some strange looking notes cribbed on the side of the margin. It looked like the writings of a madman with references to days past, secret powers and more nonsense in that vein. From this scant information, I could only conclude that my deceased client had gone mad.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching horses. I got up from the desk and went outside to see who it was. It ended up being a breathless David and a skeptical looking sheriff. He was a serious-looking gentleman whose eyes had the faraway look of someone who had lived out west for a long time. His skin was burned a deep leathery brown and a pistol hung loosely from his belt. He spat on the ground before dismounting.

"You're Mr. Chase?" he drawled.

"That is correct, sir."

"I'm Sheriff Monroe of Walton. This young gentleman here tells me that his brother is missing. How long has he been gone?"

"Based on the remnants of the fire, I would say two or three hours. We've searched nearby without success and I fear he may have run into some trouble out in the woods."

Monroe gave this thought before spitting on the ground again. "This is dangerous territory to be sure. The Indians are long gone, but the ground is treacherous enough."

"What do you mean treacherous?" the young Lane asked.

"I don't want to speak poorly of your deceased father, but there was some mighty strange goings on up here. From what I've heard there have been hundreds of holes dug in this land. The whole area is riddled with them. Old man Cyrus brought in crews from all over and then before you knew it, they would all be let go. Then a day later a whole different set of workers would start digging again. The whole town thought he was crazy or looking for something that he didn't want anyone else to know about."

"Like buried treasure or gold?" David asked enthusiastically.

The sheriff hemmed and hawed before answering, "Well, I'm not the sort to spread rumors, but there has been much talk in the town about such a possibility."

An idea sprung in my mind and I ushered the both of them into the house. I pointed to the drawings on the desk. "Do you think that Nathan may have come here a day early and found these maps made by his father? If he thinks there is something valuable here than he may have tried to look for it himself."

"Why the sneaky little bastard," David chimed in angrily. "I was hoping to sell this place and get a pittance out of it. Meanwhile, Nathan would find a treasure and get real money. I bet he wanted to cheat me all along."

"Now son, I wouldn't jump to conclusions," the sheriff said, though I noticed a look of measured suspicion pass over the tanned face.

I could see what he was thinking as I had already thought of the possibility that David had killed his brother to get whatever family fortune was left. But I still had no evidence to prove this so I said, "Sheriff, do you think we could take a look at these hills indicated on the map? Perhaps Nathan is hurt and needs our help."

Monroe agreed and led us there. It was a tough trek to the slopes that had seen many a wagon and worker come this way. We took a rough trail and all along the way, I could see evidence of the labor that had been done to the countryside. Broken down wagons, rusted tools and pilings paid mute testimony to the work. Or perhaps they paid tribute to one man's insanity for I could see no reason why Cyrus took to such an undertaking.

The hills themselves were nothing impressive, just a series of three flat mounds some eighty yards square and only a hundred feet high. They were riddled with mine openings and bare of trees. The sun was beginning to set. The long shadows only added to the miserable effect. The sheriff stopped, his breathing only slightly less hard than my own. I'm not the sort made for physical labors, but David was eager enough to move on.

"What is that?" he pointed to the closest hill.

The closest opening had a black coat hanging from a nearby tree branch. We got there as fast as we could, but it was the sure-footed David who got there first.

"It's my brother's coat alright," he said after examining the stitched maker's mark. "We both use the same tailor."

The mine entrance was nothing but a hole in the side of the hill which looked as black as night. The work done to make the entrance looked rough and primitive like it had been blown open with dynamite and then hastily held together with timber taken from the trees below. I know little of mining, but I doubted even the coal industry would use such shoddy methods.

"Nathan!" the young man shouted into the entrance. His voice echoed and then died in the darkness.

"I reckon we better take a look inside," the sheriff said with little enthusiasm.

"But the sun is about to set and we have no lanterns," I pointed out.

"He has to be inside there," David said firmly.

"The boy is right," Monroe agreed. "Now I suggest we all go together and hold hands while we do so."

So we held on to each and with the sheriff leading the way, we went inside. The ground was rough with broken stone and I would have fallen if it wasn't for the help of my fellow explorers. In the end it was a fruitless attempt since we only made it inside forty feet when the tunnel curved hard to the right. Any dim light we had from the opening quickly disappeared and we were left groping the walls like blind men. A feeling of panic began to well in my throat.

"Perhaps it would be safer if we went back," I suggested. "We won't be able to help Nathan if we go and break our necks."

"But he could be badly hurt," David reminded me.

Monroe said, "I think you're right, Mr. Chase. There is no telling if there is an open hole right in front of us. We could fall in and kill ourselves."

So it was a great relief when we came outside. I was also more frightened than I cared to admit to these two strangers. Leaning against the entrance wall, I wiped my brow even though it was a chilly evening.

"I'll go back to the house and get a lantern," the sheriff said. "I suggest you stay here in case Nathan should come this way."

So off Monroe went, leaving David and I looking at each other with very little to say. He marched back and forth in front of the entrance, his face set with worry. Every minute or so he would shout his brother's name, but still no one answered back.

"Tell me, David," I finally said with my most fatherly voice, "did you get along well with your brother?"

"Why? Do you think I killed him?" he spat out, his eyes suddenly ablaze with anger.

"No, you misunderstand me, my dear lad. I mean did you talk to him often?"

He sat down on a fallen tree and kicked the ground in front of him like a sullen schoolboy. "Nathan was more like my father than my mother. That's a nice way of saying he was a bastard. He was better at sports, better with the girls, and he let me know about it every day. So no, we did not get along, but I swear on my mother's memory that I did not kill him."

"I believe you," I replied, "but as the family lawyer I suggest you don't let the sheriff here know too much about the strained relationship with your brother."

"What's it to him?"

"I'm afraid if your brother continues to go missing, you will be the leading suspect to his murder. They would rightly think that you killed him and buried him somewhere out here. So my bit of legal advice is to keep your mouth shut."

He said, "But there isn't much left of father's fortune is there? I mean what could this land be worth?" He picked up a clump of dirt and threw it back on the ground. "It doesn't look good for farming and it's obvious that my father never found whatever he was looking for."

"Do you know what he was looking for?"

He shrugged. "I'm afraid he rarely wrote to me and when he did it was gibberish about making a great discovery that would change the world. I can't tell you more because there isn't much to say. He was a secretive man to the very end."

I nodded and with relief saw that that Sheriff Monroe had returned. A lantern was swinging in his hand, throwing long strange shadows on the scarred land.

"Any sign of him?" he called out hopefully.

"No, I'm afraid not," I answered back.

"Now that we have some light, let's go take a look at this here mine."

So back into that tunnel we went and this time the lantern made the going easier. Inside I saw the walls were rough with rubble strewn on the floor. We came to the curve that had stymied us before and when made the turn, we saw that the tunnel ended ten feet on! The sheriff held the lantern up high, trying to find some other opening but there was nothing but a blank wall of dirt. A few small piles of stone and gravel were on the ground but there wasn't anything big enough to hide a man.

"Well, that's that," Monroe said flatly.

"But he has to be here," David stated in disbelief. "What about his coat?"

"We don't know that, son. He could have left his jacket there and moved on to another mine entrance."

"Let's go look somewhere else," the young man said impatiently and began hastily walking back.

The sheriff let out an exasperated sigh and made his way out, leaving me scrambling behind. After David looked into a few more mine entrances, all the time calling out his brother's name, the sheriff finally convinced him that tomorrow morning would be a better time to look. By then he would have rounded up a few men. The best thing we could do now was to get a good night's sleep. So we left that strange place and together rode back to Walton. David and I ended up staying at the hotel that night.

In the morning, the sheriff had gotten eleven men together to help us look. They were all supplied with lanterns and shovels to dig through any collapsed areas. David was impatient as usual and rode ahead of the main party. We spent all day going through every mine we could find, but there was not a single bit of evidence that Nathan had been in any one of them. I could tell that the sheriff was as puzzled as I, and that if he had his way, David would be behind bars. There was nothing else to do but call off the search and return to town. The next day they started to comb the woods without success. That's when I decided to telegram you.

Part IV

"A most unusual story," Townsend said as he pressed his fingers against his temples. "I take it that David Lane has not yet been arrested."

"You are correct. The sheriff is rightly suspicious of the whole matter, but has no evidence to prove any allegations of wrongdoing."

"And what do you think?"

"Though the boy is hotheaded, I see no reason to believe that he would kill his own brother."

"How much is that land worth?" I asked.

Chase looked at me with an appraising eye. "Twelve hundred acres parceled out could bring in some money, but Cyrus certainly didn't pay much for it. At best, his sons could get a couple hundred dollars each. There is also the residue of the inheritance which comes to just over eight hundred dollars."

"That's enough for a man to kill someone," I said. "The less to go around, the more a man will fight for it. I've seen soldiers come to blows while looting a broken sword from a dead enemy officer. Greed is a funny thing."

"And it's that very doubt that clouds David's inheritance. If any question remains of his brother being dead, then his life will be forever be hampered by lies and innuendo."

As he tapped the arms of his chair with a long forefinger, the doctor said, "Why exactly did you come to me, my old friend?"

Chase cleared his throat and looked uncomfortably about the room. "I may be a bit foolish, but I believe that Nathan is still somewhere in those mines. Perhaps he found whatever Cyrus was looking for."

"And what might that be?" Townsend asked.

"I'm not sure, but I brought some of Cyrus' papers with me. I thought you would like to take a look."

He stood up and as he walked over to Townsend, he pulled some folded papers out of his breast pocket. These were placed on the desk and flattened out. I got over to join them as they looked over the drawings. All I saw was some lines and symbols sketched out with an unsteady hand. Some notes were cribbed on the side, but the handwriting was so small I couldn't make out what they said. For whatever reason, the doctor found these papers fascinating, but as they held little interest for me, I sat back down and instead thought of my own troubles.

"I shall have to study these in more detail," Townsend finally said, "But rest assured I will take up your case as these papers certainly cast a new light on the matter. I promise you that we shall make all haste to find Nathan and will leave this very night."

"I knew this sort of thing would interest you."

"Yes it does. All I require from you is a written note that we are working for your interests. We do not have the time to be mistaken by that sheriff as mere treasure hunters."

"The man is no fool," Chase admitted, "but I fear that he is over his head in these matters."

"We shall see," Townsend said after the lawyer had written us a letter of introduction. The doctor then pulled the bell cord to summon Charles. He came soon enough and escorted out guest out.

"I want you to start readying some supplies for this trip," Townsend said. "We shall need several long lengths of rope, two lanterns with enough oil to last a few hours, and food for three day's traveling. Make sure to bring some warm clothing since where we are going will be rather cold. After that, we will need tickets to get to Walton."

"I will take care of those matters," I replied and got up on my feet. "What do you think we shall require for firepower?"

He smiled briefly. "A small army would be best, but we shall have to make do with your pistol. Just make sure to bring plenty of ammunition."

I spent the rest of the day gathering our supplies and making the arrangements for the journey. Soon Townsend and I were on our way, riding in a hired coach with our luggage stacked on top. The station was nearly empty except for the few passengers taking the night train. The porters took our luggage and we found our compartment and settled in for the long journey. There had been little time for conversation, and I was tired enough at this point where I just wanted to sleep. The doctor seemed to silently agree to my idea and soon dozed off. I did the same as I knew rest could be rare when facing the unknown.

I was awoken by the shaking of my shoulder. It was Townsend. I noticed that the train was slowing to a stop. It was still dark outside.

"Where are we?" I mumbled.

"At Binghamton," he replied. "Time to wake up."

This was the end of our train ride and from now on we had to travel by road. After our luggage had been unloaded and stacked on the ground, I had to wake up the boy at the nearby livery stable. With a few dollars, we had our rented wagon which I brought back to the station. Traveling by wagon at night is always a wearing experience as the road is hard to see even with the side lamps lighting the way. The spring weather made the road muddy, so it was slow going as we bounced along. Townsend talked to keep me awake.

"What do you make of this case?" he asked me.

I felt like it was a leading question, so I just said, "There were several interesting points."

"Such as?"

"Though David said he recognized his brother's saddle and coat, he is the only one who came forth with the identification. It is just his word that the items in question actually belonged to his brother."

"That's a keen observation," Townsend agreed. "So you still believe that this Nathan fellow was the victim of foul play?"

"Or else he was never even there in the first place. Did anyone in the town see him arrive?"

The doctor shook his head with disappointment and said, "You still think like a policeman. Haven't your experiences so far taught you anything?"

"Not everything in the world can be attributed to supernatural causes. Some things have perfectly normal and reasonable explanations." I slowed the wagon to go over a particularly nasty rut which still rattled my teeth.

"I admit I have a dramatic flair," Townsend said smugly, "but I have a feeling that I will be proven correct in my reasoning. I am rarely wrong about such things as I have seen the darkest corners of the world."

"If you say so," I replied lamely. I wondered if he had any idea about Ellen. I was eventually going to have to tell him, but decided to put off that off for now. I still thought it was a dream even with the evidence of the marks on my neck.

By late morning, we rolled into Walton. It was a sleepy little town with a main street cutting through a few clapboard buildings. There was a general store, church, small hotel and sheriff's office. In the distance, a few farms dotted the gray, foggy landscape. With a yawn, I parked the wagon in front of the sheriff's and got off to stretch my legs. Townsend got down from the buckboard and was about to go in when the door opened to reveal a cowboy with a star pinned to his overcoat. This must be Sheriff Monroe, for he looked exactly as Chase had described him.

"You are Dr. Townsend," he stated with little enthusiasm.

"Yes I am," he agreed. "And this here is my partner, Captain Parker."

I tipped my hat, and I saw the sheriff study me suspiciously. He recognized someone who was handy with a gun, which he obviously didn't like in his town.

"That lawyer sent me a telegraph telling me that you were coming. I didn't expect you here so quickly."

"This situation requires haste," Townsend said. "Has there been any further word on Nathan Lane?"

Monroe shook his head. "I've called the men off the search. I don't believe that he was ever there. You're on a fool's errand if you think you can find him."

"We shall see about that," the doctor replied sharply. "Once we have some directions to the Lane land, we'll be on our way."

With an expression of distrust pasted on his lined face, the sheriff told us how to find the place. Townsend and I mounted up on the wagon again and began slogging down the road. A glance behind showed that Monroe was intently watching us. He continued to watch until we dipped behind a hill. That was a man with a suspicious nature.

The farmland eventually gave away to forest where not even a single homestead could be seen. The forest was thick with underbrush and seemed to press right against the narrowing trail. A sudden flight of birds caused the horses to buck as they were as nervous as I was. I had that odd feeling of being watched. Townsend must have felt the same for he kept glancing over his shoulder. It certainly was good land for an ambush since you could have hidden an entire army in those thick woods.

We came upon a wooden sign which pointed the way to the Lane property and I steered the wagon down that dark trail. We were soon parked in front of the little house that Cyrus once resided in. It was little more than a rough log hut that looked to have been rather hastily put together. For a man who was once rich it was hardly a fitting place to live, but perhaps he never planned to live there long. He must have thought his mining exploration would have quickly concluded itself. Now the house looked empty and lonely, like some ruin long undiscovered.

While Townsend went inside, I busied myself unhitching the horses. They looked fidgety, stamping their feet and whinnying as I fed and watered them before tying them to the hitching post on the side of the house. I began to bring the supplies in, the doctor sitting with a lit lamp at an old desk. He was busy studying some papers and didn't even look up as I dropped the first load of supplies unto the floor. I could see he wasn't about to help, so I grumbled to myself as I got the rest of our gear stowed inside.

Being hungry, I fed some wood into the kitchen oven and soon had a cheery blaze. The heat felt good, dispelling some of the dampness from the little home. When the stove got hot enough, I dug into our supplies, started up some coffee and fried up some salt pork. Townsend was still busy reading and only looked up when I put a plate of food in front of him. With a short thank you, he began to eat and continued studying the various maps. As always, his secretive nature was annoying, but by now I was getting used to it. His plans would become obvious soon enough.

Finally, after lunch, he got up and began to pace back and forth across the creaking floorboards. He said excitedly, "We shall need a lantern for each of us and make sure to bring extra kerosene. Also we will need some rope so bring as much as you can carry. You brought your Colt pistol? Good. I hope we may not need it, but make sure to bring an extra box of ammunition."

I loaded up with supplies, feeling bow-legged from the weight. Off we went with Townsend taking the lead. Every few steps he would look at the map, compare it to the landscape and continue on. My back ached with three coils of rope strung over my shoulders, two lanterns and some cartridges tucked in a knapsack, a canteen of water splashing about, and a gallon of oil banging against my hip. I noticed that the doctor was traveling light with only a cane and those infernal pieces of paper in his hand.

With my throat parched and my temples aching, we finally stopped. I raised my head far enough to glance at the desolate landscape around us. Where there were once trees, stood stumps and decaying branches. Rocky debris covered the ground. As I took a thankful swig from my canteen, Townsend studied the three hills in front of us and compared them to the drawings he held in his hand.

"Where are we going?" I finally gasped out.

He replied, "To the mine entrance where they found Nathan's coat. By examining Cyrus's documents I've determined that this is the correct entrance."

"The entrance to what?" I asked.

"That is what we are about to find out," he replied enigmatically and then started marching ahead without a further word.

Cursing out loud, I staggered behind him and was relieved when we finally drew up to the first hill. I could see that a large hole had been dug out into the side, leading into a dark tunnel. A single oak tree stood outside, looking aged and rotten. I dropped the supplies into a pile and sat down to rest.

"Come on, Parker," Townsend urged me forward. "At this rate it's going to be night soon. I would rather not have that happen while we are down there."

Standing up, I felt a jolt of pain shooting down my back. I was getting too old to be a pack horse. Ignoring the various other aches that wracked my body, I took out the lanterns and lit them. They flickered weakly in the light of day. Taking the coiled ropes, I hung them around my left shoulder and picked up the lanterns. I handed one to Townsend, and into the mine we went.

Part V

I never had much love for holes in the ground as they reminded me of graves, snakes, and things best forgotten. This mine did little to allay my fears as our dim light showed rough wood slats and support beams keeping the crushing weight above at bay. Whoever Cyrus had hired were obviously not miners by trade since the construction had a decidedly amateur look to it. It certainly did not add to my confidence while we explored deeper and deeper into the gloom. The tunnel began jogging to the right and soon enough ended at an empty wall as Chase had described.

"Now what?" I asked in puzzlement.

The question did not seem to perturb Townsend as he got onto his knees and with his lantern began examining the dirt floor. Within moments he began pointing at the ground. "Look here, Parker."

I hesitantly dropped to my knees and found drips of wax embedded in the dirt that led up to the dead end. It appeared that someone had already been here with a candle. There was also a series of curved lines leading away from the wall as if someone had traced their nails in the dirt.

"What does it mean?"

"It means that not all things are what they appear to be." With those words he reached over and pushed against the wall in front of us. It creaked loudly and slowly began to pivot in the middle.

I added my weight to the false wall and we soon had an opening large enough to enter. The rounded chamber beyond was some twenty feet by twenty feet and was marked by a large eight foot diameter hole right in the middle of the floor. A faint scent of animal pervaded the air. A primitive-looking wooden crane and pulley hung over the hole with a loop of rope dangling into the darkness. The atmosphere was thick and I felt a sudden surge of fear pass through my legs. As the doctor shined his lamp down into that seemingly bottomless pit, I knew with all of my heart that I didn't want to go down there.

"I do believe that Cyrus Lane found what he was looking for," Townsend said as he walked around the lip of the pit. "Whether it was what he wanted remains to be seen." Then with surprisingly agility, he began shimmying across the wooden crane. It creaked ominously from his weight, but he did not seem to mind the danger. "I will need your help getting down," he said as he tied the pulley's rope end around his waist.

"This may not be the best course of action." I said weakly.

"Of course it is."

He flung the other side of the rope my way and I began pulling it out of the pit. The pulley squeaked noisily and echoed dreadfully against the chamber walls. There was good hundred feet there before I got to the end. I pulled tightly against it, bracing myself against the sudden weight of Townsend. He pushed off from the crane and I began slowly lowering him into the pit. With each inch of rope, his lantern light became dimmer and soon faded away into an insignificant dot. After a while, the rope went slack and I knew he had come to a stop.

"Are you okay?" I shouted down. Below I could barely see the faint orange glow of his lantern.

"Yes," he answered back with the words echoing against the walls of the pit. "It's amazing."

Perhaps it was curiosity or a fear of the doctor being left alone, but I answered back, "I'm coming down now."

I tied my end of the rope to my waist, crawled across the crane and using the other side of the rope, began lowering myself down the pit. The walls revealed it was made with recent digging since they were held together with wooden slats made from freshly cut wood. It was slow going, but my feet were soon touching the ground. I untied myself before looking around.

We stood on some ancient tunnel that had been formed by the hand of man. It was straight and approximately ten feet wide as it sloped down at a modest decline. The height was just enough that I could stand upright without banging my head. The floor was paved with red stone blocks that fitted together so tightly that I doubt if I could have slipped a thin blade between any two. The air was now thicker with the smell of animal, something like a dog after coming in from the rain. Townsend was off examining the wall with his lantern. Large strange symbols were engraved there, adding a strangely Egyptian influence to the surroundings.

After I got over my initial shock, I asked, "Who could have built such a thing?"

His voice was tinged with excitement as he replied, "The hieroglyphs are ancient – older than anything I've ever seen before. My guess is that it predates ancient Akkadian and even Sumerian scripts."

I had no knowledge of such things, so I asked, "What does it say?"

"It's of a theological nature, praising their god Enli and his children. It also serves as a warning to those who trespass on his sacred temple."

"Perhaps we had better go back," I suggested since I did not want to anger any god, ancient or not.

"We still have to find Nathan Lane," he reminded me.

"Are we sure he is down here?"

"Where else could he be? It is the only logical conclusion."

"Which way then?" I asked with little enthusiasm, glad that I had my Colt hanging on my hip.

He replied, "The original entrance to this tunnel must have been covered up long ago. Going up will only lead us back to the ground above, so therefore we must go down."

I knew that was going to be the answer, but I had hoped I was going to be wrong. I already missed the world above and just wanted to get this fool errand to be over with. "Very well," I said as calmly as I could.

So we began our march down that ancient underground tunnel, the unnatural quiet only broken by our footsteps echoing against the rock walls. My ears strained to hear anything out of the ordinary, and my imagination made up voices and all sorts of dark horrors. The shadows cast by our swinging lanterns were the only movement I saw, but my heart still beat hard with unease. We walked this way for a good hour, each step taking us slowly into the depths of the earth. On the floor, I could see the dust had been disturbed and the sporadic drippings of wax. This had to be the trail of Nathan Lane. We paused once to refill our lanterns with kerosene and I hoped we had enough fuel to last our journey. It was a nightmare thinking of being down here without light, blindly groping our way to that slender rope which was our only means of returning to the surface.

The less I say about the increasing animal smell, the better. It was overpowering. I'm surprised the foul air did not snuff the meager flame within our lamps. The scent was pervasive and clung to my nostrils, so I covered my face with a handkerchief. Townsend did not seem as bothered by the noxious odor, but instead continued to stop every once in a while to study the hieroglyphs on the walls. He would mutter and exclaim to himself in the manner of an excited stamp collector.

Ahead, the tunnel eventually flattened and opened up into a chamber. We approached this cautiously, and I couldn't help but pull out my Colt in expectation. It was still quiet, but my ears couldn't help hearing some far off high-pitched noise that I couldn't identify. It was like the distant purr of a cat but much higher in pitch. I hesitantly stepped into the chamber and I felt as if I walked into a different world as the glow of our lamps did not completely pierce the darkness above or beyond. There was a massive sense of space above us that made me feel small and insignificant. The familiar echoes of our footsteps now disappeared into the terrible emptiness above. The path, if I may call it that, separated into several avenues which disappeared into a maze of ancient looking stone buildings of some unknown architectural style.

"It's a city," the doctor stated with awe. "A city of the ancients that has been lost to time. Cyrus Lane was right. I could not believe it myself when I went through his papers, but his writing indicated that he discovered this location while exploring Persia. There at a ruin, he found an ancient map hidden inside a sealed amphora. He took the chance the map was not a fake and came back to America to find it."

"But who built it and when?"

He shrugged and replied, "Sumerians? Or some race of man that existed before them."

"But here in America?" I protested. "Who would ever believe such a thing?"

"The evidence is right here before your eyes. They must have traveled here long ago and built this underground complex. For what reason, we can only guess, but perhaps they feared being discovered and wanted to be safe from prying eyes."

"It appears to be deserted now."

"We can only hope," Townsend said darkly.

We resumed our careful exploration, though I must admit to some dread as we passed those empty silent buildings. The dark windows and doorways seemed to leer at us, and I kept expecting some terrible creature to leap out. I then came across the stub of candle and hoped that Nathan had carried enough of them to last his journey. The avenue we were walking on continued deeper into the city and all the roads appeared to do the same. It was like a giant web with all of the strands leading to the center. What was waiting for us in the middle of this ancient place?

On we went, deeper and deeper into the city. The once barely audible trilling sound was now louder and seemed to come from above. Once again, we were forced to refill our lamps and we decided to switch to just using one lantern as to ration our dwindling oil supply. The increased darkness only added to the feeling of dread as the shadows became even more mysterious than before. It was unsettling. My apprehension only grew when I finally saw what was ahead.

The avenue suddenly stopped at the beginning of a high, circular platform. Since the lantern only let us see a few yards ahead, I couldn't make out the total size. A series of steps led upwards, so we started climbing. As we went up, the high-pitched sound grew louder from above, reminding me of a barn full of squeaking rats. We were soon on top and came upon a most amazing object.

The light of the lantern flashed on a massive round crystalline structure. It was blue as the sky, ornately baroque as it stretched above into the shadows. Even in the dim light it shimmered with a strange, fragile, alien beauty. The whole thing hummed with a power that drew me closer. I was about to touch it when Townsend stopped my hand.

He said in a low voice, "Don't touch. It is an altar to the ancient god Enli. I know not what curse it holds and it is best not to disturb this place."

In the gloom, I nodded and then to my surprise, noticed by my feet, the rim of a large bricked hole. The lower portion of the crystalline tower consisted of three legs that loomed over this pit. Townsend was already drawn by this new sight and hurried over to look over the edge. As he did, a ghostly whisper came from the depths.

"Who's there?" the faint voice said and the sound echoed lightly off of the glass surface above.

"It is I, Dr. Townsend. Are you Nathan Lane?"

"Yes," the voice responded with renewed hope.

"We've been asked to look for you."

"Good god, I thought I was imagining your voices. I need your help getting out of here."

I pulled the coils of rope off of my shoulders while Townsend shone his lamp down into the pit. At the bottom, I could barely make out a forlorn man looking up. His eyes were wide with shock and his clothes stained with dust. I began lowering the rope down and Lane soon had it tied around his waist.

"You must hurry," he pleaded as the doctor and I began pulling him up.

As we pulled on the rope, I heard Lane scramble desperately against the walls of his former prison. I also heard the high-pitched keening noise above us grow in volume. It was almost as if the ancient city was protesting the removal of its new guest. As his foot crossed the rim of the pit, the tower suddenly lit up in a blinding flash. The noise above grew louder still, but I was too stunned by the sudden light to see what was happening. However, I sensed that danger was nearby and I rolled to the ground with my eyes covered.

"Watch out, Captain!" Townsend shouted.

Opening my eyes, I blearily looked up, and saw a multitude of fantastic-looking creatures clinging to the ceiling that stood some fifty yards above. They had the appearance of giant bats, but also had elongated faces that were somehow eerily human. As a group, they unfolded their wings and suddenly dropped towards us. It was this rushing maelstrom of screeching horror that made me freeze with shock. Their open mouths glinted with long rows of teeth. I thought it was the end until I felt an arm grab mine and pull me away. It was Townsend, and he was shoving Lane ahead as he went.

I felt wings beating above and without thinking, I had my Colt out and fired two panicked shots. There was a loud shriek in my ear, and the body brushed against mine as it fell to earth. By now, we were all running down the stairs in a rout, with fear of being caught by these creatures stronger than any other emotion. The fetid beasts wheeled over us, their screeches and howls growing to an awful din. We were now down on the avenue with Townsend and Lane ahead of me. The doctor was swinging his cane wildly while Lane covered his head in panic. One creature swung down on us. I quickly fired a shot which felled the beast. It slumped off to the side, blood pouring out of its gut. I saw that terrible mouth open in a silent scream, the teeth bared in a last gasp of utter hatred.

I ran past this dying thing, and we were amongst the buildings again. The creatures had to fly higher now, their cries following us as we ran through those ancient ruins. Ahead, two more creatures swooped down the road, their wings beating fast as they made for Townsend and Lane. I fired my remaining bullets, killing the two beasts in midair. As I ran, I broke open my revolver and dropped the spent cartridges on the ground. I had plenty of practice from riding in the cavalry and within seconds I was soon loaded up with new cartridges from my belt.

Townsend then ducked into a building with Lane following close behind. I dove in and was met with a dusty cobweb-filled room. The young man was on the floor, breathing hard, his face broken out with rivulets of sweat. The doctor just grinned crazily at me before resuming his lookout from the windows.

"I don't think we can hold out here very long," he said. "They will certainly rush us once they marshal their forces."

"I have never seen such terrible beasts in all my life," I gasped.

"Perhaps they are the descendants of the original inhabitants. Like a plant without light, they died off until only the hardy survived. Over the years these few remnants must have changed into these terrible, malformed creatures. I've read of something like this happening in Darwin's book, but I never expected to actually witness it."

"It's hopeless," Nathan said from the floor, his voice wracked with fear.

"How did you get down here?" Townsend asked him

Lane's eyes looked back and forth to the two of us as if wondering how much he could trust us. He finally said, "I'll admit it, I came down here looking for a treasure. I knew my father was looking for something valuable, and I thought it had to be gold or something else of value. I planned to get it before my brother did. Two days before anyone else was to arrive, I came to my father's house and was able to study his drawings in detail. It was difficult, but I soon discovered his hidden entrance. Bringing some candles with me, I managed to find my way to this cursed city. When I saw that crystal tower, I just had to touch it and that's when the lights went on, blinding me. I was quickly overpowered by those creatures and thrown into the pit to starve to death. When I heard your voices, I thought I was hallucinating, for the past days were filled with madness. Now I'm going to die down here anyways."

"Where there is life there is hope," I said with little conviction, for I did not know how we could make it back to the tunnel. The world above seemed like a long ways away.

Almost as an answer to my statement, the light from the crystal tower began to slowly dim. The din of the bat creatures outside grew louder as they began to sweep past the windows. They wanted us to come out.

"There isn't much time left," Lane said blankly. "The light only lasts for a short time."

"Once it is dark, our lamps will give away our position," I added, "and we can't exactly walk out of here without seeing where we are going."

"We must destroy the tower," Townsend stated as if it was the simplest thing in the world to accomplish. "I saw that it stretched all the way up to the ceiling. Perhaps it supports the roof for I do not see how such a massive ceiling could hold otherwise."

"If that comes down, we'll be crushed along with those devils!" I protested. "And anyways we don't have any explosives with us."

"But you have a gun," he replied. "Glass is strong, but it is also weak. It can hold up to a certain amount of pressure, but not something like the shock of a bullet. A few well-placed shots and the whole thing will shatter."

"It's an insane idea," I said, but any reply on his part was interrupted by a creature clawing through the doorway. I promptly shot it in the chest. It screeched in agony before tumbling away with a trail of blood.

"We don't have much time left," Townsend said firmly. "I'll do what I can to hold them off here, but Lane and I will make for the tunnel once the tower comes down. I only hope you can make it."

"I hope so too," I said as I replaced the spent cartridge with a fresh one.

I was angry at having been brought here and without any further word, I rushed out of that building with my temper in a rabid fury. I ran as fast as I could, dodging past the creatures that swooped down on me. A claw raked at my clothing. I began firing wildly into the beastly maelstrom. Another creature flew at my face and soon dropped from a bullet. The hammer fell on a spent cartridge. I reloaded as fast as I could.. Ahead, the light from the tower was as dim as a waning moon and barely lit my way. But it was still just enough to guide me forward.

I suddenly tripped and sprawled against the steps, a creature flying right over me. I began crawling upwards, shot another creature that crossed my path and then, as I reached the top, emptied the rest of my Colt into the closest glass leg. Nothing happened, but the cries of the beasts grew louder as if in anger. A creature jumped on top of my back, its fetid breath rasping in my ear. I just managed to roll over and kicked it as hard as I could. It screeched loudly and started to come at me again as his friends circled above. My heart was hammering hard in my chest and I knew this was going to be the end. I was about to give up all hope when I heard a faint crackling noise. A spasm of light like lightning shot up the tower and then it shattered with an ear-shattering snap, covering the raised dais with broken glass.

The city was immediately plunged into darkness. Underneath my feet, the ground began to shake. I spun around, blindly shoved a creature away and jumped down the stairs as quickly as I could. I stumbled and my slammed my head against the hard ground. When I got up, I saw nothing but swirling stars. Even though I didn't know what direction to go, I continued on and ran. Underneath my feet, the earth began to break into even more violent convulsions. I heard the sound of rocks falling and the beasts wailed as their forgotten world began to disintegrate.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a weak yellow light. Hoping it was Townsend carrying his lantern, I turned towards that direction. What other choice did I have since beyond the darkness, it was the only thing I could see.

"Captain Parker!" his voice shouted in the distance.

The roof above began collapsing in earnest, but I continued to run since my life depended on it. My shoulder brushed against a building, and my feet slid crazily underneath me. But I continued towards that small flickering hope. That faint light grew steadily larger and then suddenly disappeared. I had run straight into a large piece of fallen debris and was stunned by the sudden impact. I reeled drunkenly about and felt my knees buckle from the shock. I fell to the ground with invisible stones crashing all around.

As in a dream, I felt something heavy bounce on my foot and I knew I had to get up. Summoning what remaining strength I had, I forced myself to stand up and leaned heavily against the large debris. Ahead, I saw the faint light flicker again and staggered that way at a limping jog.

It was Townsend and Lane, standing at the entrance of the tunnel with worried expressions. As I leaped into the tunnel, the earth gave one last gigantic heave. I was lost in a cloud of dust as the final collapse of the roof shook the earth with a gigantic crash.

"Good job, Parker," I heard Townsend say.

I wiped the dust from eyes and looked about in surprise. I was still alive.

Diary Entry VII – Dreams Turned Real

Part I

It was early afternoon when we rode into Cricket Court and saw Charles pacing at the front entrance steps. The wheels of the wagon crunched against the gravel, causing the butler to look up. He practically ran in front of the carriage, scaring the horses and driver alike. Townsend hurriedly stepped down as did I.

"Thank God you are here," Charles said earnestly.

"What is it?" Townsend asked with his face creased in worry.

The butler cleared his throat and his eyes wavered. "I don't want to be the bearer of bad news," he started.

"Out with it, man," I grumbled impatiently.

He looked at me angrily and then blurted out, "It's the missus. I'm afraid she passed away last night."

It felt as if I had been punched in the stomach. My knees suddenly shook and my heart lurched in pain. I couldn't believe what I had just heard.

Meanwhile, Townsend grabbed Charles and began to violently shake him by the shoulders. The doctor's face was a mask of fury and shock that mingled together terribly. "What do you mean, passed away?" he thundered.

In terror, the poor man squawked out, "Your daughter Ellen is dead, sir."

With a heavy sigh, Townsend released Charles, who immediately pulled away in fear. The doctor's face then turned ashen white and he slumped to the ground on his knees and began muttering to himself. "She can't be dead. She can't."

I choked out a few words, my voice sounding very distant. "How did it happen?"

"I don't know, sir," the butler replied curtly. "She came home last evening and went to bed right away. This morning, one of the girls went in to make the bed and found that the missus was still there. Any attempt at reviving her was too late since she must have died sometime in the middle of the night."

"Go about your duties," I said softly, trying to keep my emotions in check. "I will look after her."

"Very good, sir. And my condolences, sir."

As Charles went off, I unloaded our luggage and paid the driver off. I then walked over to Townsend and helped him stand again. He muttered something indistinct to himself and waved away my attentions. One step towards the house and then his legs buckled. So deep was his agony that he could barely walk. This old man who had faced every conceivable adversity was now broken and confused. I wondered if he would ever be the same again.

"We had better go see her," I said, my arm wrapped around his to keep him steady as we staggered together towards the house.

"No, I cannot. I couldn't bear it."

"Perhaps you had better rest. Go to the library and have a drink. I shall look in on her."

"If you say so," he replied shakily, all of his previous powers to command now dissipated by grief.

After seating him at his desk in the library, I walked up the stairs taking each step with agonizing slowness. I knew what I was going to find, but that did not mean I wanted to see it. I felt as if I was in haze, the reality of the world shimmering about me like fragile tendrils that were about to be shattered. Ellen was such a beautiful creature that the very thought of her death seemed an impossibility.

The door to her bedroom was shut and it suddenly dawned on me that I had never been inside here before. I rarely ever had cause to come to this part of the house. I opened the door, feeling as if I was an intruder and momentarily paused before entering. Inside, the curtains were drawn tight against the sun, leaving the room gray and colorless. On the bed was the outline of Ellen, her long black hair spread out gracefully on the white pillow. Her pale face was turned to the ceiling, the open eyes staring at nothing but the infinity of death. Walking quietly over, I placed a hand on her cheek and found the skin was lifeless and cold. I shook my head at the unfairness of it all, wondering why we must all live and die with a whole mess of suffering in-between. I gently closed her eyelids and felt like I was closing off an important part of myself.

Returning downstairs, I found Townsend still in the library at his desk. He was staring at a glass of whiskey and was seemingly dead to the world since he did not look up when I entered.

"I'm afraid she really is dead," I said gently.

He nodded slowly as if he was having a hard time comprehending my words.

"I will have Charles arrange for the undertaker to come."

He mumbled, "There is no need for that. We have a family crypt. She will be interred there as I will be someday soon."

Part II

The funeral was a small affair held on a sunny day in an old church by the bay. Inside her simple oak coffin, she was wearing a modest white dress that nearly matched the color of her beautiful skin and only accentuated the velvet blackness of her hair. She looked to be at peace with the world. The lawyer Chase and Detective Strong attended, along with the servants. To my surprise, that scoundrel Upton did not even bother to show up. Townsend read the eulogy himself, his liver-spotted hands shaking with grief. She was then taken by wagon to the oldest cemetery on the island. The mausoleum where she was to be interred was a small brownstone with a wrought iron door and a sturdy padlock. It was nestled under two pine trees and looked as good as a final resting place as any other.

After the proper final words had been read, the coffin was lifted out of the wagon and brought inside the crypt. It was cool inside and out of the three shelves, one was already filled by a dusty coffin with a gold plaque that read Catherine Townsend. We put Ellen's remains above her mother and then went to wait outside while the doctor said his last goodbyes.

Strong and I stood off to the side, smoking cigarettes.

"She was a damn fine girl," the detective offered.

"Yes, she was. I can't help but feel partly responsible for her passing."

His eyes narrowed at me suspiciously. "And what do you mean by that?"

I shook my head. "It's just that I wasn't there the night she died. If I was, then maybe I could have done something."

"She died in her sleep. It happens all the time, even to the young. There was nothing you could do about it."

"I know that," I replied lamely, "but I still wish I had been there for her."

Strong gave me a world-weary smile. "You sound as if you were in love with her."

"What makes you say that?" I asked with a start. Were my emotions that obvious?

"My deduction is based on past history. I knew Dr. Townsend's previous assistant, Thomas Koop. He broke his heart over the girl. Why would I be surprised if the same hadn't happened to you? I can see that you feel the same way. I wouldn't blame you since she was such a rare creature in this hard world."

"What happened to this Koop fellow?" I asked, hoping to change the subject since her loss was still too fresh in mind.

"He left one night and was never seen or heard from again. It was thought that the strain of working for the doctor was too much. Hardly unexpected, wouldn't you say? You're not the same man I met last year."

Any further conversation was halted by the appearance of Townsend. He stepped out from the mausoleum and shut the iron door which squealed nastily from years of disuse. After it was locked again, he motioned me over before staggering against the wall. I ran over and helped him up, his frame leaning heavily against mine.

"Take me home," he wheezed out. The skin on his face was drawn and pallid.

Back at Cricket Court, the poor doctor took to his bed and did not see anyone. Any entreaties at his locked door were ignored, so I ordered the cook to deliver his meals. The trays left outside his door were taken in and the empty dishes were left to be retrieved, so at least I knew he was still eating. I thought the doctor was going through a spell of mourning, and I did not wish to intrude. Anyways, I needed some time to myself to think things through and was in no mood to help anyone.

It was a week after the funeral that Detective Strong came to visit. I had Charles put him in the front parlor and when I entered, I found the detective sitting on the sofa. He was looking over the room with interest.

"I've never been here before," he commented. "I've normally met the doctor in his library."

"These aren't normal times," I replied. "Townsend hasn't left his bedroom since the day his daughter was buried. I don't think it would be right to receive guests in his private sanctum."

Strong tapped his fingers impatiently against the arm of the sofa. "I know that he is grieving, but there have been some mysterious abductions that I would like to hear his opinion on. I'll admit these strange circumstances are beyond my ability, and there is one point that would be of considerable interest to him."

Shaking my head, I replied, "I doubt if the doctor would want to work on any case,, no matter how interesting. Perhaps you could give me the details, and I could then convey the information to him. I can't promise anything though."

The detective looked annoyed. "Then you haven't seen the papers? They are filled with nothing but rampant speculation of the few facts that have been released to the public."

"I'm afraid I haven't read any newspaper as of late," I admitted. I had been spending most of my time sitting in the garden, thinking of what could have been. The outside world was no longer of any interest to me. I just wished that Strong would get to the point or just leave.

"Then I shall fill you in on the details that I do know. The first abduction happened five days ago in the neighborhood of Woodside. It was an eighteen year old girl, named Marilyn Simon, who was walking home from her aunt's. She left at nine o'clock at night which was nothing unusual since her parent's home was only a block away. She never made it home. Her corpse was found in a ditch located a half a mile from her home. All of the blood had been drained from her body."

My interest perked up at the mention of blood. "Did she live on a safe street?"

"Yes, I had the neighbors interviewed and no one reported seeing anything unusual."

"Surely such a murder is not out of the ordinary in a city of this size?"

"That is true, but two days ago another killing occurred. This time it was a young man of seventeen years. His name was Alan Jones, and he was working late at night at a wagon shop. Like Miss Simon, he also disappeared while returning home. His body was found in an alleyway that was only two blocks from the factory. Like the girl, his blood was also completely drained. By all accounts he was a responsible lad and had no known enemies. We still do not know why these particular victims were selected to be killed."

"Horrendous as these murders are, I'm not sure why you expect Townsend to find any interest in these matters. This sounds like standard police work to find the murderer."

Strong shifted uneasily on the sofa, his eyes looking anywhere but mine. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and uncertain. "With the murder of the girl, no one saw anything. However, with the death of Jones, it was thankfully different. There was a hobo who saw him talking to a beautiful young woman. She then led the poor fellow by the arm into the alley where he was killed. I know you won't believe this, but the description of the woman fits that of Ellen Townsend."

I looked at him with shock, thinking of the strange nightmare I had of her biting me on the neck. There was also the cat that was killed in the garden and the book about the undead that I had pulled away from her. Were these things somehow connected? It seemed impossible.

He took my expression as disbelief and continued on. "She was described as a beautiful woman with black hair, pale skin and a white dress that matched what she was wearing when I saw her lying in the casket. It sounded too much like Ellen, but I just couldn't believe it myself, so I went and checked on her. I found that the mausoleum she was interned in had been broken into. The door has been ripped off the hinges and when I went inside, the body was missing from the casket. The body of her mother has been left undisturbed."

My jaw dropped in disbelief. I croaked out, "I saw that she was dead with my own eyes. I know what dead people look like."

"Then why isn't she in her coffin?"

I replied sharply, "I don't know, perhaps her body was stolen to be sold to a medical school. It's been known to happen." Even as I said the words, I didn't believe them.

"It is too much of a coincidence, which is why I must see Townsend."

Lightly touching my neck, I asked, "Tell me, how were the victims drained of blood?"

"On both bodies, the police surgeon found two small punctures on the neck. That was the only wound found and must have been the point of entry for whatever tool was used to remove the blood."

My heart beat heavily in my ears. I heard myself say, "You were right in coming here. I will confer with the doctor and tell him of the facts as you have laid them out to me."

Standing and preparing to leave, Strong said, "The entire force is at his command. He only has to ask me, and I will give him any manpower he requires."

We shook hands. I then showed him out to the front door. As he walked down the driveway, I watched his retreating back and steeled myself for the conversation with Townsend. This was not going to be a pleasant bit of news to tell him.

Walking upstairs, I came to his closed bedroom door and gave it a tentative knock. There was no immediate answer, so I rapped even harder, rattling the door against the frame.

A forlorn whisper was my answer. "Who is it?"

"It's me," I replied.

"Go away," Townsend replied through the shut door. "There will be no more work here. You are free to go on your way."

"I have some news about Ellen that I must tell you." Hearing no immediate answer, I went on. "Detective Strong has been here. He wished to discuss some newly committed murders with you. In the course of his investigation, the assailant was described as looking like your daughter."

The door opened a crack and from the gloom within, a single bloodshot eye stared at me.

I continued on, "Strong then took the initiative to check on your daughter's grave and found that her body was missing from the mausoleum."

"Missing?" he asked. His voice was now stronger as the indignation of his daughter's disappearance overcame any lingering grief. The door opened wider, revealing a wretched-looking Townsend. He had grown a straggly beard and was dressed in a grimy nightshirt that barely covered his knobby knees. However his eyes were keen with interest as I filled in the rest of the sketchy details.

When I had finished, he said, "You sound rather sure that she is involved."

I hesitated before answering, filled with shame. I finally said, "I did not want to say anything at the time, but before our last case, Ellen visited me in my bedroom during the middle of night. It was terrible because she suddenly had fangs and without a warning, bit me on the neck. I passed out, and when I awoke, there was no evidence that the event ever occurred. At the time, I thought it was just a nightmare brought on by the horrors of the cases we had worked on."

"You should have told me," he said coldly.

"I've seen angry fathers before. Would you want to hear that your daughter was in bed with me?"

Townsend merely stared at me and then gave me the briefest of smiles. "I suppose you are right. If anyone is to blame for this situation there is only myself. The death of my wife, Catherine, has torn my daughter and me apart. I have ignored her for far too long and have allowed her to fall prey to the very worst of evils. There are worse things than death."

With a sudden idea, I asked, "What can you tell me of your previous assistant Koop?"

"Koop? Why do you ask of him?"

"I heard that he disappeared. Do you not think there is a connection? Could he have been a victim of hers?"

"I cannot tell without more information, but it is an interesting idea. A month before I hired you, Koop vanished one night and was never heard from again. I thought he had grown too frightened to work with me any longer and never thought of another possibility. But now I will need to shave and get dressed. With the help of Detective Strong, we shall go visit Upton at his home."

"Upton?"

"Of course. That was the last place she visited before coming home to die. He was not at her funeral either. In fact, now that I think about it, I've never seen him during the daylight hours."

I nodded uncertainly, feeling confused by his train of thought.

Part III

Inspector Strong and three policemen stood outside of a fine house located on Bowery Street. It was a three story affair built with red bricks, rows of high windows and cast iron steps that led to a hefty-looking front door. The place had a deserted look as all the windows were shut tight, the drapes drawn and not even a window was cracked open to let in the spring air. Two dozen bystanders watched us with interest since the police always draw a crowd, but life on the street continued on as fruit sellers and newspaper boys hawked their wares. Townsend and I were waiting impatiently for the police to break the door down.

"Go ahead, sergeant," Strong finally said to a burly, whiskered officer.

The sergeant walked up the stairs and knocked lightly on the door. When no one answered, he pounded harder and blustered, "This is the police! Open up!"

"No one's home," some wit shouted from the crowd, which immediately burst into a round of laughter.

The sergeant turned a scarlet shade of red and looked uncertainly at the detective.

"Break the door down," Strong ordered.

With the help of the two others, the policemen threw their shoulders into the door. It barely moved. The crowd began to laugh again. The sergeant's face turned even a deeper shade of scarlet, and he angrily threw his entire weight at the door. It cracked right on the frame and splintered open. The crowd let out a cheer as the policemen rushed into the building.

With Strong taking the lead, we entered following close behind. The entranceway was trimmed with dark wood, a small chandelier and a plush rug. This opened into a larger room with a piano, two long sofas, and a row of full bottles sitting on a side table. Several doors and a hallway led out from this room. The three policemen stood uncomfortably at attention, waiting for further orders.

"I want this place searched from top to bottom," Strong commanded. "If you find anything out of the ordinary, come back and see me immediately." The police then saluted and went on their business. They didn't look too pleased with the job.

"The place looks deserted," I commented. "Take a look at that dust. No one has been here for a few weeks."

"It would appear that way," the detective agreed.

Townsend said nothing but began to pace back and forth with his brow knitted together in concentration.

Within minutes, the men came back and confirmed that the building was unoccupied. They were covered in dust, looking unhappy for having to fruitlessly search this place.

"You didn't find a single thing?" Strong asked in disbelief.

"I went up to the top floor and the basement," the sergeant reported. "Except for some spiders, there isn't any living thing here."

"Well, Dr. Townsend, it would seem you received some bad information. We'll have to look for your daughter elsewhere."

Townsend shook his head. "Nonetheless I still want to go over this entire building myself. Your men, though competent, may have missed a clue that would only mean something to me."

"Go ahead," Strong replied. "I'll have to leave a man at the front door until I can get it repaired. But don't worry, I shall continue to look for your daughter."

The detective then filed out with his dejected cronies in tow. They had come expecting to rescue a damsel in distress, but instead found nothing here worth their time. I could hardly blame them for feeling the way they did.

The doctor immediately began searching each floor, closely examining the walls and floors. As we went along, I saw that the rest of the rooms were extremely well-appointed and lavishly decorated, but looked lifeless and unused. We eventually made our way to the top level and along the way found each room coated with the ever-present thin layer of dust. I was feeling disconsolate as it seemed like we had reached a dead end in our search for Ellen.

After we had examined the last room, I said to Townsend, "There is nothing here. Perhaps Upton knows nothing."

"We still have the basement to search," he said stiffly as he headed down to the first floor.

We found the entrance to the basement located near the kitchen. The door was already cracked open, A damp smell drifted from below. It was darker than night down there, and I certainly felt uneasy using those stairs. I didn't see any lamp or candle nearby either.

"Do you think the sergeant actually went down there?" I asked.

"Would you?"

"Not unless I had to," I replied honestly as I reached into my pocket for my box of matches. Lighting one, I led the way down. The faint light of the match did little against the overall darkness, but at least I could see where my feet were going. The wooden steps creaked as we went and eventually ended at a dirt floor. The match went out and burnt my finger. I lit another one, cursing the lack of a suitable light. As we explored the basement, I saw nothing but rough stone walls, cobwebs, and a pile of firewood stacked against the wall. The windows against the foundation had been boarded up. I was getting low on matches and glad that the faint light from the doorway above could guide us back if need be.

"Give me a match," Townsend suddenly said. After I handed one to him, he lit it against the sole of his boot and began examining the floor in front of the woodpile. I saw nothing but dirt, but Townsend must have found something interesting, for he started to pull logs off of the pile.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Someone took pains to brush away the footprints leading to this pile of wood. Who would do that unless they are hiding something?"

I quickly joined him in his labors. We worked in the dark until logs were scattered about our feet. Lighting another match, I saw to my surprise that a small tunnel had been hidden by the stack of wood. Luckily there was a stub of candle lying on the floor of the entrance, so I quickly scooped it up and lit the wick. I handed the candle over to the doctor and pulled out my pistol. If there was anyone hiding in there, they were about to get a belly full of lead. I uneasily crept forward on one hand and my knees, holding my gun at the ready. After a few feet, the tunnel opened into a small chamber that barely allowed one to stand. The candlelight revealed three caskets lying on the ground.

"This is a strange place to bury someone," I said with my heart hammering in my chest.

"Hold still, I'll be right back," Townsend said.

He began crawling back through the tunnel, but I certainly didn't want to be left alone with those things in the room. I meekly followed him back out and waited while he scrounged through the discarded wood on the floor. Once he found a two-foot long splintered branch, he seemed satisfied and we returned down the tunnel to the waiting coffins. Townsend positioned himself over the first casket, holding the sharp point of the branch down.

"Open it," he whispered fervently.

"Now?" I asked weakly, for I dreaded opening that coffin with all of my heart. I have seen many horrible things in my life, but desiccated corpses were never high on my list.

"Of course now!" he replied angrily.

Leaning over, I took a deep breath and jerked the casket open. I was relieved to find it empty except for a silk lining and a sprinkling of dirt. I let out my pent up breath and found that my knees were shaking.

"Now the second one," he demanded.

I opened the next one with the same sense of dread as before, but it was also empty.

"And now the last one."

I opened it quickly, thinking this one would be empty like the others. Instead, I gave a start when I saw a pale figure lying in the coffin. It was a man with long brown hair and high cheekbones, who was dressed in a linen shirt. He was as still as death, a leering smile pasted on the narrow features.

"My god, it's Koop," Townsend said and without a further word, he immediately plunged the sharpened stick into the chest. The man gasped in sudden shock, the dark eyes wide as the blood pulsed sickeningly out of the punctured heart. He then screamed with a terrible ear-piercing shriek and suddenly stopped as the doctor gave one final, hard push on the stake.

My own hands tightened hard on the coffin edge until I thought I was going to break off a piece of the lid. I then slammed it shut, breathing hard from the sight I had just seen. To my eyes, I had just seen the doctor murder someone in cold blood.

"It would have been better to finish everything now," Townsend said coolly. "My old assistant Koop was just a servant to this monster."

The look on my face must have been enough for the doctor to realize my state of confusion.

He said impatiently, "This was the resting place of a S _triga_ or what is commonly known as a vampire. Upton is a vampire. He must have slowly fed on my daughter, turning her mind poisonous with hate and death. Koop came under his power too, perhaps through the machinations of my daughter. Fearing you were getting too close to the truth, Upton turned Ellen into a full vampire and then sent her to destroy you. Somehow she resisted his command."

I was familiar with the vampire bats down in South America. They were dangerous animals known to feast on the blood of cattle and small children. For those reasons the farmers down there would burn out any colonies they found. I asked, "A vampire? You mean like the bat?"

"Something like that. The vampire is perhaps the most dangerous creature in all of the midnight world. They can change men into creatures like themselves or even make slaves out of an unwilling human."

"I was also bit by Ellen. Why did I not become a vampire?"

"That I do not know. For what reason she did not feed on you, I can only guess. Perhaps she really is in love you and some remaining loyalty stopped her from killing you. It's a good sign though since she must not be completely under his control."

"How do we stop Upton?" I asked angrily.

"Vampires are immensely strong and nearly impossible to kill unless you find them sleeping. A vampire must also return to its proper resting spot as exposure to the daylight will kill them. Notice the dirt sprinkled inside the coffin. It is of a different color than the floor, indicating an origin from somewhere else other than this building, since these foul beasts must return to their native soil before resting during the day. Since it is day, and Upton is not here, then this is probably just one of his many hiding spots."

I felt frustrated by this turn of events and asked, "What do you propose we do now?"

One side of lips curled upwards as he replied, "Ellen is in his power now. This vampire has taken her on purpose to thwart me. He knows what I do for a living and must have a good reason to strike at me through my daughter. Once Koop here does not report to him then Upton will know we are on to him."

Part IV

By the time we got back home, the sun was beginning to set and the clouds on the horizon were colored red, like blood. It wasn't a good omen, but I told myself I didn't believe in such things. Charles met us at the door and looked glad to see us. After ordering a quick dinner be prepared for the two of us, Townsend waved him away. We then retired to the library.

As I sat down on the sofa and lit a cigarette, the distraught doctor began searching through his stacks of books. Within moments he found what he was looking for and brought an evil-looking tome over to his desk to read. He sat down and began poring through the volume. I concentrated on my cigarette, watching the tendrils of smoke filter through the weakening sunlight falling through the windows. I was tired and hungry, wishing more than anything else that I could rescue Ellen from the wickedness had that befallen her.

It was dark when Charles scooted in and quickly left, leaving some cold sandwiches and coffee, which I quickly began to devour. Townsend took some coffee and continued to read in his self-imposed silence. After another hour of this, he finally slammed the tome shut and slowly shook his head.

"Have you found an answer in that book of yours?" I asked impatiently. I knew I was ready to act, but I wasn't sure what to do.

As usual, he took on the role of the professor and replied, "As I said before, vampires are exceedingly difficult to kill. I'm afraid that Colt of yours, even with silver bullets, will do little against the likes of Upton. However, normal bullets can still be used against his followers that are not vampires. They are after all, still human."

"Why would he keep such company and not just feed on them?"

"It is in the daylight hours that the vampire is the most helpless. Those humans who are enslaved to him, but not converted to vampirism, do the job of keeping their master safe from hunters like ourselves. Some of them are merely attracted to the unbridled power of the vampire, hoping to be part of something greater than their own feeble lives. They are weak and will not risk their own skin if hard-pressed. After they are dealt with, we must use alternative weapons to kill Upton and any vampires under his command."

"How many of these types can we expect?"

"A vampire will fully drink the blood, but not kill, of those he wishes to convert. They, like Ellen, become vampires of a weaker sort. Though they are still powerful, they never rise above the power of their master. They are easier to kill since they do not have the experience of the long-lived bloodsucker. Their numbers are also dependent on the power of the main vampire. In my experience, I've found that weak ones surround themselves with many, while a truly strong one has faith in its own power."

I remembered the branch he had used. "A wooden stake will kill them?"

"Provided the heart is completely pierced. Decapitation also works along with fire and explosives."

"I like the sound of that," I said grimly. I would gladly kill this fiend with a few sticks of dynamite.

He went on and said, "Holy water will burn them, but does not kill. As we have no priest available, this is rather a moot point. Vampires can also be fended off with religious symbols and the smell of garlic."

"Tell me doctor, have you fought these creatures before?"

A smile touched his lips. "Yes, but I was a much younger man back then. It was against a relatively weak specimen, and even then it was a difficult job. I barely survived the experience. Once we find where Upton is, it will be up to you to take care of his henchmen while I go after him. Just make sure that Ellen is not harmed since with the death of Upton, she may be able to free herself of the curse."

"What do you mean?"

"Those of a weak character will forever take the life of the predator. Others, with stronger wills, can resist and with the death of their tormentor become normal again. I believe my daughter has the strength to win over his foul corruption. The fact that she did not turn you into a vampire confirms this."

Our conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Charles, who handed over a card to Townsend and said, "Mr. Upton is here to see you, sir."

The doctor grimly studied the card and said, "Show him in."

As the butler left, I said, "Now is our chance to destroy this evil creature."

"We shall do nothing of the sort," Townsend replied crossly. "We still don't know the location of Ellen, and that is Upton's safeguard. He will have ordered his followers to kill her if he does not return."

I nodded, feeling foolish for making the suggestion.

Townsend also cautioned me by saying, "Keep in mind that a vampire has strong powers over the mind of mere mortals. Make sure to minimize eye contact and let me do the talking since I've seen the strongest of men swayed by their evil words."

I remembered Upton's strong effect on me before, so I replied, "If you say so, but why aren't you affected?"

He replied grimly, "I am far too experienced and far too logical to be swayed by filth such as Upton."

At that moment the door to the library swung open. Even to a man such as myself, who has seen death in all its strangeness, I felt an unnerving sense of fear. The type of fear that consumes your mental processes until you just want to run as fast and as far as you can. This feeling was beyond cowardice, being the pure reaction of self-preservation.

As Upton stepped over the threshold it seemed to me that the world went cold and quiet. He was thinner than I remembered, but still exuded a sense of power that I had never felt before in any mortal creature. The whiteness of his skin was like snow and was only magnified by his dark suit and long black hair. Now unguarded to discovery, his black eyes drew me in, filled with evil mysteries and animal strength. I felt like I was falling into those sinister eyes and losing control of my senses.

Townsend's faraway voice broke the spell. "Captain Parker, mind what I said."

I tore my gaze away and instead concentrated on our guest's finely polished boots.

"Good evening," Upton said with a voice as cold as ice. "When my servant did not arrive tonight, I knew it had to be your doing."

The doctor said brusquely, "You will pardon me if we don't stand for your arrival. I only do so for gentlemen. Servants of evil, such as yourself, deserve no such consideration. You should never have come to my home and taken my daughter away from me."

The vampire hissed, "And I was expecting some kindness from you, dear doctor. After all it was I who looked after your daughter while you were off playing your little games. She blamed you for her mother's death. I freely admit of using that weakness to my advantage."

"You shall receive no pity here. I want to know where my daughter is, and I want you to release her from your control."

He laughed with chilling mirth. It was the sound of the cruel executioner giving the final coup de grâce to a hapless victim.

"I can assure you that she is rather enjoying her new life with me. She is finally free. I was the one to help her cross into a new world - a new world where she is a goddess and has the world at her feet."

"A god of nothing," I snapped.

"Ah, the lover speaks." Upton's whole attention turned onto me. I felt an icy chill of hopelessness drain into my blood.

I did not know how Townsend could stand this feeling of pure emptiness. My heart pounded in my ears as I fought the urge to meet the stare of those deadly eyes. In just those few seconds I felt dizzy and unconsciously pulled out my Colt in self-defense.

"Put that thing away," the vampire laughed. "You can't hurt me with that and we wouldn't want to frighten the neighbors."

"Enough of these games, Upton," Townsend said firmly, "your quarrel is with me. Parker, put your gun away."

I did so.

The doctor continued, "Now, Upton, your evil tricks will not work in this house – not while I'm still alive."

"And that is why I'm here," the vampire replied nastily as he turned all of his attention back to the doctor. "You should know, you mere mortal, that I am from the original progeny of Cain and have lived thousands of years marking my time on this feeble world. Throughout time I have been called many names. I have seen nations fall, great men die and cities perish to the sands of time. It is now time for all of that to end as the age of man will finally draw to a close when I come to power. I will be the ruler of a new world, one that will mark the beginning of the end of everything. But I must ensure my future coronation is not impaired by any meddlesome trouble from the likes of you."

Townsend nodded his head in recognition.

Upton continued, "You will try to subvert the course that fate has intended for me, like you did by destroying my servant Koop."

"He was my assistant, why did you feel the need to take him from me?"

The creature laughed. "He got too close to the truth and had to be dealt with before he told his suspicions to you. My followers had not been consolidated yet, so he had to be removed from your employ and moved into mine. Ellen was the bait that he gladly took since the poor fool was in love with the girl. Your daughter was also the perfect way of entrapping you to my power. You were so busy that you did not even notice the change in her as I slowly made her into my willing slave and finally into a deity like myself."

"You can be assured I will fight you until the end," Townsend replied grimly.

Upton smiled wickedly at him, a set of wickedly sharp white fangs protruding from that terrible mouth. "It is your end that I have come here to discuss. I have your daughter under my power. The only thing I require for her freedom is your life."

"Never!" I shouted angrily and leaped out of my chair.

"Sit down," Townsend cautioned me. "Our turn will come soon enough."

I hesitantly sat back down, feeling powerless against this immortal creature that had caused so much misery.

"As I was saying," Upton continued, "I came here to trade the life of your daughter for yours. It is the only way that she can live."

Without even a second of consideration, the doctor agreed by saying, "You foul beast, you may have my life for her safety." His eyes then dropped to the ground in defeat.

"Tonight," the vampire replied triumphantly. "Tonight at midnight will do. There is an old church on Thorne Street that we have taken over to fill our needs. Trust me when I say that you will find it most interesting when you visit."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing, so I interrupted. "Doctor, there has to be another way."

"I'm afraid there isn't," he sighed. "Don't worry, Upton, we'll be there."

"We? I just want you, not your lackey. He is too ill-tempered for my tastes."

Townsend's voice became pleading as he said, "Please, he must come to ensure the safety of my daughter. Someone has to escort her back home. I will instruct him to do nothing foolish against you."

Upton laughed wickedly. "I accept your condition. It does not matter since he is powerless against me." And with those words he turned, took a step and very nearly vanished out of the room.

The room immediately felt warmer, but I still felt depressed until I saw the gleam of pleasure in the doctor's eyes. He was actually smiling now and got up, rubbing his hands together.

"We have plenty of work to do before midnight," he said. I suggest you go upstairs and bring down every gun you own. We're going to need every bit of firepower you have.

Part V

My legs felt bowed by all the guns and munitions I was carrying - a Purdy twelve-gauge gauge shotgun with a few extra shells in my jacket pocket, my trusty Navy Colt, two sixteen inch long wooden stakes stuffed into my belt and two bundles of dynamite tucked into hastily sewn pockets inside my jacket. I felt like a one-man army and I was in the mood to kill. Townsend was traveling lighter with only his cane and silver cross to protect himself. When I offered the use of my Colt, he merely shook his head and said the cane would suffice. I didn't think much of the plan that he had outlined, but there are times for drawn-out strategy, and then there are times for going in and getting the job done.

We had three fast horses rented from the local livery. The third was to be used for Ellen to ride back. As we rode along in the dark, I dreamed of the day when I could raise my own racing horses. It takes a good amount of land and manpower to do the job right. Perhaps a horse or two could fit on the confined land of Cricket Court. It's always surprising what a man will think before confronting danger. I reminded myself that I may never see my newly adopted home again.

Thorne Street was part of a nearby decayed village that was not only dark and deserted, but seemed to be uninhabited. Whoever lived here before had left their houses to rot, adding to the feeling of desolation. Weeds choked the road, and we had to carefully pick our way through the tangled streets. On the horizon, the church spire loomed ahead, thrown in stark relief by the rising half-moon. Townsend remained lost in his thoughts and said very little. We stopped behind a collapsed house across the street from the old church.

As we dismounted and tied up the horses, I saw his already lined face was creased with worry. Out of curiosity I asked, "Whatever happened to this village?"

He answered quietly as if afraid of being overheard. "The mill went out of business, and the workers here were forced to move away. That was some twenty years ago. I'm sure someday these ruins will be torn down to make room for something new. Progress marches on and all that." Those last words were spoken with particular bitterness.

With the horses safely tethered, I turned my attention to the church. Whoever made it certainly wanted this holy place to last forever for it had a feeling of timeless solidity. Weeds abounded around the foundation and the front steps were cracked from the passage of time, but it looked like the place would last another thousand years. The stone-covered walls and narrow fortress-like windows gave this once holy place the appearance of an ancient castle. The spire dwarfed the rest of the church, standing forlornly above the surrounding decaying buildings. It was several stories tall with the cross on top broken and dangling frighteningly upside down.

"Let's go," Townsend said.

We crossed the road and cautiously took the front steps up. When we reached the top of our climb, I could hear laughter and talk filtering through the cracks of the giant graying wooden doors. It was all too low in volume to make out the details, but I was certainly curious as to what was going on inside this cursed church.

"Get ready," Townsend said in a depressed voice, befitting someone going to their own funeral.

With shaking hands, I lit a cigar and clenched it tightly in my mouth. Putting my hand on the door handle, I felt the doctor clutch my shoulder.

He said with a heavy voice, "You have become a good friend, Stephen. It is a shame it has to end this way."

"It's not over until it's over," I snapped back and violently pulled the door open with my senses swimming with anger.

The sight that greeted my eyes was something I will never forget. The long church hall was being used to host an orgy of epic proportions. The pews were gone, replaced with piles of blood-red rugs and pillows. Long black cloth covered the windows which stopped any light from escaping. The male and female revelers were strewn upon the ground in various states of undress, using each other without inhibition. The scene was hardly erotic and reminded me more of a slaughterhouse with the bodies crowded together revoltingly on top of each other. There must have been a hundred or so wretched souls in the confines of that place. It was sickening.

In the middle of this debauchery ran a narrow, blood-red carpeted path with candles marking the way. It led to the altar where a gigantic golden cross sat turned upside down. Along the back and side walls hung tapestries depicting gory scenes of blood and battle. In front of the altar were two heavy chairs where Upton sat next to a pale-looking Ellen. He was staring in our direction with a smug smile pasted on that dreadful face. Ellen, to my relief, was there but she did not seem to notice our arrival. Instead her attention was drawn to the grotesque displays happening in front of her. She was leering at the exhibition in an amused manner.

Townsend didn't bat an eye to all of this and loudly proclaimed, "I have come for my daughter!"

The orgy stopped as the participants looked up to see who had interrupted their pleasures. When they saw who was standing there, they rose as one without shame and started hissing. They knew this man was a destroyer of their evil kind.

Upton pushed himself lazily off of his chair and pulled roughly on Ellen's wrist to get her to stand. He then shoved her down the short stairs where she let out a cry and sprawled into a heap. The foul group let out a laugh as they turned to watch this new sport with interest. My heart thudded hard in my chest. It was hard to remember the doctor's orders to wait. Instead I puffed heavily on my cigar and felt the hot smoke against my tongue as the coal on the tip burned cherry red.

By now Upton had strolled easily down the altar steps and picked Ellen off of the ground with an easy flip of his arm. She let out another cry of pain, but did not resist.

"There is no reason to treat her that way," Townsend growled. "I am here, you fiend, now release her from your evil spell."

With a sneering laugh, the vampire raised his hands and the host before us fell quiet. "Come here, and I will then free her of my curse. You have my word that my followers will not harm you or your pitiful daughter."

Without a glance back towards me, Townsend began walking down the path that led to the altar. His head was bent down as if in surrendered supplication, drawing much derision from the followers of Upton. They shoved him from the sides, and a thin naked wench even danced mockingly in front of him for a time. Throughout this demonstration, the doctor remained quiet and did not react to their incessant jeering. He continued on, one agonizing step after another. As he moved closer to his fate, it seemed as if time itself dragged into a maddening crawl. Then he was suddenly there, standing before Upton.

"Do what you will," I heard Townsend say.

With those words, I pulled out my first bundle of dynamite from the inside of my jacket. I quickly lit the fuse using my cigar. No one paid me any attention. The short fuse immediately sputtered violently and I threw it to the left side of the crowd. I was careful not to throw too far since I would risk hurting Ellen or the doctor. As I pulled out the other bundle, the thrown dynamite exploded into a deafening roar of carnage and shook the ground underneath my feet. There was a chorus of angry shouts and screams as the tide of hellish spawn turned and rushed towards me. I lit and flicked the other bundle of dynamite towards them and was physically pushed back by the power of the blast. My ears were ringing as I fought to find my feet.

The result of the explosions was horrific, turning the crowd into a mess of torn flesh and strewn body parts. The floor and walls was now slick with blood. I took a moment to look over to see how Townsend was doing. Through the remaining crowd, I saw that the doctor's crucifix was out of his pocket and he was using it to move the vampire back against the altar stairs. Ellen was next to Upton and was also being pushed back by the sight of the cross. That was all I saw before I pulled the shotgun off of my back and had it pushed up to the crook of my shoulder ready to fire. I fired one round to the left and the other to the right, the heavy buckshot scattering a few of the braver fools back and leaving others dying on the ground.

One lean creature shrugged off the lead and bared his fanged teeth at me. This must be another vampire, I told myself, and with one hand, pulled a wooden stake from out of my belt. With an inhuman leap, the vampire jumped on top of me just as I brought the stake up. As his weight pushed me backwards onto the ground, I felt the wood pierce the chest of my assailant, and an unearthly howl rang in my ears. Blood poured over me as the creature rolled away in screaming agony. I kicked at it and as I tried to get up, my feet slipped on the blood-splattered floor.

The remaining followers took this chance to rush at me once again. As I finally found my footing, one tried grabbing me. I struck him in the jaw with the shotgun butt with a bone-shattering crack. I then quickly cracked open the shotgun, pulled out the two spent cartridges with my spread knuckles and was about to reload when a number of hands pulled me off balance. I fell hard to the ground, and the unloaded shotgun slipped from my grasp. The mass of bodies pressed against mine with fists swinging and nails clawing away. In a haze of pain, I fought against the chaotic maelstrom of flesh, pulled out my Colt and started firing as quick as I could. The gunfire tore into the crowd and the bullets were answered by shrieks and curses. As my hammer finally fell onto a discharged chamber, the attackers stopped.

I was surrounded by corpses and covered in blood but I kept on moving. In the heat of battle you don't think; you act, allowing your animal instincts to take over. It's about survival, and I wasn't about to give up yet. Rolling over, I found the Purdy by my feet and grabbed its blood-soaked stock. I quickly loaded it up. Crouched on my knees, I fired two more shots into the remaining attackers who were now cowering in fear. They recoiled in terror from the thundering blasts of lead.

As I reloaded, I saw that no one moved towards me now. There were only some twenty left standing and they were afraid of death. I stood up, held the shotgun at the ready, and at a run, started moving towards the altar. The remnants of the vampire's followers parted in fear, but to my surprise there was no sign of the Townsend, Ellen or that devil Upton.

At the altar, I stopped to gather my breath and cast a glance behind my shoulder. The survivors of my onslaught were staring at me with listless shock. Their leader was gone and no one was left to direct them. One by one, they turned and staggered to the exit. No one spoke a word, and soon I was left alone to determine where the doctor had gone.

My eyes traced the walls, the remaining candles casting eerie shadows on the wall hangings. It dawned on me that the priest would have an office and there also had to be some way to get up to the steeple. I ran over to the back wall and began tugging on the large tapestry. With a terrific tearing sound, it tumbled to the ground in a heap, revealing the remnants of a wooden door that had been shattered as if by a terrific blow. Beyond the doorway lay gloom and a stairway that circled upwards. I could now hear shouts from above, the strange distorted sounds echoing down the stony steps.

I ran up those steps, taking them two at a time. Sweat poured down my temples, and my heart felt like it was going to burst. Somehow I found the strength to climb those countless steps. At the top, I nearly collapsed from exhaustion and had to steady myself when I saw the doctor locked in combat with Upton. In the moonlight, Townsend was near the two massive bells sitting inside their wooden cradles. He was holding his silver cross in one hand while the other wielded his cane that had been snapped in half. The sharp end darted towards Upton, trying to find a weak spot in the vampire's defenses. By now the foul beast had lost all trace of humanity, his face drawn tight into an animal-like leer. His body was now long and impossibly thin, like he had transformed into the demon that lived underneath. Those terrible teeth were bared back, but he could not use his incredible strength against the power of the holy cross. I looked but could not see Ellen, and I worried for her safety.

I took a step forward to assist the doctor when I was violently pushed to the floor by the sudden impact of a body jumping on my back. Letting out a gasp of surprise, I rolled onto my side, trying to break free from the hold of the assailant. My attacker was Ellen. Her long black hair clogged my mouth and covered my eyes.

"Ellen, it's me!" I shouted.

She laughed coldly with all the humor of a spider moving towards its prey.

"Please forgive me, my darling," she replied harshly and her nails slashed out in an attempt to blind me.

I turned my head just in time and felt my cheek glow red with pain as the skin was sliced opened. I felt blood gush down my chin as I stared at her. Her mouth drew back in triumph as the dagger-like fangs revealed themselves. Whatever feelings she had for me before were long gone. Her eyes were dark and forbidding, drawing my spirit in like a waiting grave. I felt my urge to fight weaken. I knew in my heart that my life was over. Knowing I could not resist, she gently grabbed me by the shoulders and drove her mouth towards my exposed neck. The fangs pierced my flesh and the white shock rocked my body with slowly lapping waves of pain. I closed my eyes since there was no reason to fight the inevitable.

"Stop it, Ellen!"

Those words rolled through my disappearing consciousness and I realized it was Townsend shouting at his daughter. The terrific pain suddenly stopped. I flicked my eyes open. Ellen was above me, her head turned to listen to her father. My blood caked her mouth and that dainty tongue circled around those finely formed lips, looking for nourishment. I took this moment and lashed out with my remaining strength, striking her on the side of the head. Though the blow felt weak, it still managed to knock her off balance and she rolled off, moaning in pain. I scrambled to get up and saw that my plight had distracted the doctor, putting his own life in danger.

With a scream, Upton had taken the opportunity to knock the cross out of Townsend's hand, sending it flying through an arched opening and far down to the ground below the heights of the steeple. With another mighty sweep of his hand, the cane was knocked away and the vampire was now grinning triumphantly at his helpless prey.

"You're finished now," Upton crowed and took a step forward.

Townsend stood perfectly still, but I could see him glance in my direction and give an imperceptible nod.

As Upton jumped and savagely pushed the defenseless doctor towards the ledge, I pulled the remaining stake from my belt and ran towards them. As I raised my arms to plunge the stake through the vampire's exposed back, Townsend suddenly lunged forward and grabbed the vampire by the arms. Upton took this opportunity to bite the doctor on the neck and did not notice me until the pointed end of my stake had pierced his skin. With a mighty heave, I pushed it in hard until it felt as if my muscles would snap. The floor at my feet suddenly shook, and then the winds rose in a mighty screaming rush. The inhuman beast then gave out a sky-shattering shriek that numbed my ears. This creature of the night was going to die by my hands.

It seemed like victory was ours, but Upton suddenly fell forward and with one terrific swinging arc, pulled Townsend inside his arms. They both fell over the side and down to the distant ground below.

I rushed to look over the side, but the moonlit shadow of the spire hid where they had fallen.

Part VI

With a heavy heart, I turned my attention back to Ellen. I found her lying on the floor, seemingly dead to the world. Her face was streaked with dust and her hair was in a wild state of disarray. I kneeled next to her, fearful that she had also succumbed to the evils of Upton. I took her by the shoulders and tried to wake her.

Those lovely eyes slowly opened and she stared at me innocently. "Who are you?" she whispered.

"What do you mean? Of course you know me, I'm Stephen, and I work for your father. Don't you remember me?"

She shook her head. "What am I doing here?"

"It's a long story that I shall have to tell you later. Can you walk?"

"I think so." Her voice was now soft and had lost all of the spite and hatred that it once contained.

I breathed out a sigh of relief. She appeared free of the vampire curse and had forgotten all that had transpired before. Perhaps it was for the better. I helped her stand and she leaned gingerly against my arm as if she was touching a stranger.

"Tell me, where is my father?"

I could not meet her gaze when I replied, "He's dead."

She let out a cry. "But how?"

I sighed and said, "You were kidnapped and the doctor sacrificed himself so I could kill the vampire. When he died, the vampire took your father with him. Together they fell off this cursed tower and are lying dead below. I'm afraid there is nothing we can do now but take your father home to be buried."

As my words spilled out, Ellen began to cry. Her arms wrapped around my neck and she sobbed with her head against my shoulder. We stayed that way for a few minutes and I failed to find the words to console her.

"We have to go now," I finally said. "There is no reason to stay here any longer."

She nodded and turned away from me, brushing the tears away with her sleeve. I took her by the arm and we descended down the stairs and into the main hall. No one alive was left, only the corpses and blood playing mute testimony to the effects of my brutal attack. Ellen was left speechless by the carnage and had to shield her eyes as I guided her out of that hellish church.

Outside, we stood and breathed in the cold evening air. I felt shaky and sick inside; the events of the night had taken more than expected out of me. It took another moment to find my strength and retrieve the body of Townsend. As we scrambled through the weeds and to the other side of the church, Ellen gripped me hard by the hand. We turned the corner underneath the steeple where I gasped at the sight that met our eyes.

There were no bodies or any sign that anyone had ever been there.

*

And so ends the first diary of Captain Stephen Parker. Though the story is fantastic beyond belief, I have done some research into this mysterious figure and Doctor Townsend. I have confirmed of their existence and some of the minor characters that populate this chronicle. Further research will be required to determine the veracity of these fanciful accounts. Once I have confirmed the truthfulness of these wild stories will I release the rest. If you have any family history concerning the services of Parker and Townsend, please contact me. - David Trenton

###

Connect with Paul Westwood Online:

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The Works of Paul Westwood:

**The Color of Sin:** Las Vegas. Devon Pierce lives a life of his own choosing, surviving by his wits and violent actions. For those in desperate need, he is the judge and executioner of last resort - above the law and incorruptible. Cleora Kinney, an exotic dancer, has been wronged and the Afghanistan treasure of her deceased father has been stolen. Only Devon can set things right. But first he must follow the clues found hidden deep in the shadowy underworld of the city of sin.

**Grave Injustice:** It had been in the Warren family for years: the ancestral home deep in the South. After the death of James's reclusive uncle, the house is now his to sell. But James is haunted by a childhood memory of a ghostly horror of a deceased young girl. With the help of his wife Beth, who is a law student, the young couple must solve a murder from the Civil War and lay to rest the spirit that still haunts the grounds. But the danger is not only in the past, but will come crashing into the present. Their lives and fortunes will be forever changed.

**Nano Zombie** : Not all zombies are undead. Brent is a man who lives in the near future, a crumbling civilization where man feeds upon man. Escaping from the chaos of the city, he is suddenly thrust into an unspeakable nightmare of sickness and war. In a world of apocalyptic horror, he battles for those he loves, an orphan girl and a woman with a mysterious past. In the desolated countryside, Brent fights to stay alive and find a cure to the most terrible disease that humanity has ever seen.

**Nano Zombie Redemption** : This exciting sequel to Nano Zombie has Emily battling to stay alive in a dying world. Now that her adopted father, Brent, is gone she must learn how to survive on her own. Food has run out and the Infecteds rule the dust-filled wasteland. With danger at every turn, she, along with her companions, try to find a way to finally defeat the zombie hordes. The horrific journey will test their bonds of friendship and even love.

**Horror America** : Move over Sherlock Holmes! When the supernatural game's afoot, helpless people call on the good Dr. Townsend to save them. Ghosts, the undead, werewolves, and more horrors that man was not meant to see are loose in 1870s America, so it's up to Captain Parker, a gunslinger for hire, and Dr. Townsend to stop the horror. Yet when Townsend's beautiful daughter falls under the spell of a mysterious suitor, their fortitude will be tested in a battle like no other. Written in a series of connected short stories narrated by Parker, this novel will keep you turning pages late into the night.

**Lonely Are The Dead** : 1977. A ruthless serial-killer is stalking Bay City. His purpose is unknown, but the dismembered victims are always young and beautiful. In order to find the perpetrator, Police Detective Markus has to set aside his personal troubles, and pull the evidence together before panic sweeps the city. His only ally is Karen Dekker, a reporter with a tortured past and the chance to break the biggest story of her career.

**The Cursed Sun** : Two centuries after the Final War, civilization struggles to rise from the radioactive ashes of the new Dark Ages. An innocent man turned outlaw is forced on a journey across a desolated landscape, risking his life to deliver a warning to the growing rebellion. The message he carries will change the balance of power, and with it, the hopes of humanity.

**Murder at Zero Hour:** William Grant, an American, joins the British Army during the Great War. He is posted to France, where he witnesses the horrors of war on the front line. During a dangerous night patrol, a captain is murdered, leading to a series of unanswered questions. With only his wits, Grant must solve the mystery while keeping his own skin intact. Will he be a victim of war or just another victim?

**At Harper's Ferry** : The book that started it all. Jack Blackwood is a lonely drunk who starts a detective agency in the heart of Washington DC. As Fort Sumter is attacked, he and his partner Ezra are embroiled in a case that could change the very course of the war: the son of a retired congressman has gone missing, along with military papers outlining the Union's Anaconda Plan. At the heart of the matter is a beautiful prostitute, a trail of dead men, and a spy who will stop at nothing to deliver the plans to the Confederacy.

**At Bull Run** : The second book in the Blackwood Series. A wealthy man hires Jack Blackwood to find the murderer of his only son, who had recently joined a newly-formed Union cavalry regiment. In a city crowded with temptation, the investigation uncovers a killer who is targeting prostitutes and soldiers alike, causing panic in the ranks. Only Jack's wits and the power of the Colt can put a stop to the killings.

**At Shiloh** : The third book in the Blackwood series. As Grant's Army marches through Tennessee, it is beset by guerilla fighters led by the traitorous Major Gardner. An invaluable shipment of gold is stolen from the Union and must be retrieved at all costs. Posing as a guntrader, Jack must not only complete this impossible mission, but survive the perils of battle and the amorous advances of a widow trapped in an unfriendly town.

**The Blackwood Trilogy** : Jack Blackwood is a widower and a drunk. Ezra Miller is an ex-slave in a white man's world. Together, they run a detective agency in Washington DC. As the Civil War rages, they are involved in a series of cases that will change the very course of the war. This anthology collects all three adventures – At Harper's Ferry, At Bull Run, and At Shiloh - at one low price.

Free Bonus Chapter of The Color of Sin:

It was supposed to have been a nice and quiet evening at home. My current home being the an old warehouse that I had personally converted into apartments. I, of course, had kept the entire top floor and left the space underneath empty so I wouldn't be bothered by the worst impulses of humanity: noise. The other units brought in a tidy income though I purposefully kept the rents low enough to keep out the neuvo-rich. Instead, the building was populated with artists, workers, and a mish-mash of hustlers and conmen. They were the type of people who kept to themselves and weren't always asking questions about the landlord above. Instead they were quite happy to get entrance to such a secure building at an affordable price. And considering the area we lived in, D Street Avenue in Las Vegas, a little safety went a long way.

I was sitting on the sofa with my legs up on the footrest and half a Gimlet at my elbow. On my lap was a tablet. I was scrolling through a map app, trying to find the best way to drive out of this town. July was coming, which meant the hottest part of the year. A vacation was due, and I was entertaining the thought of taking my car on an extended tour of Oregon. I really didn't want to leave - I liked this town - but I was overcome with a feeling of restlessness. I had been bored as of late, which often happens in my line of work.

In the corner of my eye, I saw the graceful movement of Melodie Glass, who was working on some new dance moves. She had come over for the privacy and the fact that I had a large space to practice in. The massive JE Labs speakers and Mark Levinson electronics were an additional bonus. The high-reved pop music sounded dismal to my ears, but she seemed to enjoy the fidelity as she stretched and contorted her dancer's body into moves that only can be done by top-level gymnasts or professional strippers. She was the latter sort.

Melodie was pale with long black hair, smooth skin, and a face that revealed an Asian ancestor. She was skinny but well-endowed on top – work done by a good plastic surgeon – and had the well-muscled legs of someone who moved all day for a living. She was wearing a faded black leotard with red legwarmers. Her hair was pulled back and kept in place with a hair clip. Though taller than your average woman, she was still a few inches shorter than myself.

She was working her body hard. If I had installed a stripper pole, I'm sure she would have been sweating even harder. But instead, she was practicing her floor routine, the gyrations meant to keep the dollar bills coming. With the stiff competition in Vegas, the men and women who made their living at exotic dancing, Melodie made sure to stay in shape and keep her dances fresh. Even with the air conditioning running at full blast, there was a slight odor of perspiration. From the track lighting above I could see a gleam of sweat on her exposed skin.

I put the tablet down and took a sip of my drink. Lime juice mixed with gin had a wonderful way of sharpening the senses. As I drank, I saw Melodie stop. She went over to the CD player and turned off the power, sending a momentary thump through the speakers. I frowned, knowing that something serious was on her mind.

"Devon?"

"Yes?" I replied as I set my drink back down.

She took a step closer. "Is it true what people say about you?"

"What do people say?"

"That you help people in need."

"I don't think I've ever been called charitable."

"You know what I mean."

I gave her a half of a smile. "Yes, it's true that I help those who can't help themselves. Of course there has to be some profit in it." I vaguely pointed at the luxury furnishings and the expensive rug at our feet. "This sort of stuff doesn't come cheap. I am, after not, not running a charity here. But there are some rules to the game. The first, of course, is that I won't go killing for money. The second is that I won't harm the innocent, though the latter is questionable since I have never met anyone who is truly innocent."

"You're the most cynical man I've ever met," she purred.

"I prefer the word experienced. But I did not earn my money by doing anything that is unethical – within the confines of what I consider ethical, that is."

She leered at me. "That leaves a wide range of possibilities, honey." She instantly turned serious again. "Maybe you really could help a friend of mine. Her name is Cleora Kinney. She's a co-worker of mine at the Pussycat Lounge. She's only been there a few days and anyone can tell that she isn't cut out for the life. But I do know that she needs help and I can't think of anyone but you."

I scratched my chin in thought. After a few moments of this, I said, "I wasn't exactly planning to be in town for very much longer. Anyway, I'm not hurting for money right now."

"This is something interesting."

"What is it?" I asked, taking the bait.

"Last night, after our shift was done, we got to drinking and talking. After a few beers she opened up and told me everything. We're talking a lot of money here."

"A few thousand dollars? A hundred thousand?"

"Maybe it would be better if you would talk to her yourself. I would hate to tell you the wrong thing and have you turn down the job. She can explain it better than I can."

"Now you've got me interested."

She closed the space between us with a few sultry steps – all hips and doe-like eyes. It was a good performance that got my heart racing, even though I knew the act was as false as a street bought Rolex.

She said, "That's the point, honey. She'll be here in a few minutes."

"What?"

She reached over and ran a hand through my hair. "Don't worry, you'll like her. Everyone does." She then sauntered off, showing her backside to good effect. She went back to the stereo, turned the CD back on, and began to dance to the rhythm of the music.

I returned my attention to the Gimlet. I took a drink and tasted nothing. I was too busy being angry with Melodie to notice the flavor. I put the glass down and tried to return my attention to the map on the tablet. But the route I had chosen instead blurred and disappeared from my vision. Instead I busily thought of the possibilities: a changed will that left the poor girl out of a sizable estate, a drug dealing boyfriend, or some stolen merchandise that she knew about. Dancers like that were always making friends with rich men who wanted to share their wealth. What could be different with this woman?

The door buzzer went off. It was just barely audible over the thump of the music. I got up off the sofa, threw Melodie a nasty smile, and went to unlock the steel reinforced door. After that, it was a walk to the elevator that I had specially modified so that it took a code to access my two floors. As an extra precaution, the door leading to the staircase was locked with thick doors at the floor levels. With the wired alarm system I had installed myself, no one could get inside without me knowing. In case I was out of the building, I had a computer setup to send an email to my cellphone. This may all sound rather paranoid, but when you do my type of work, a little caution goes a long way.

The door to the elevator opened. I got inside, selected the ground floor, and waited impatiently as I was taken slowly down. In the entryway, I saw a young blonde waiting behind the door. The glass of this entryway was reinforced with chicken wire. The wood was thick and old, an original part of the warehouse. With a flourish, I opened the door and let her in.

"I'm Cleora," she said as she offered her hand.

"Devon Pierce," I replied. We shook. "Come right this way."

In silence, we rode up in the elevator. There I studied her. In profile she looked good. With small features, she looked more like a teenager than a woman who works the stage for a living. Her nose was straight and the color of her eyebrows matched the color of her blonde hair. She had honest to goodness freckles, blue eyes, and a page boy haircut. She was wearing a shapeless top and a black skirt that went down to the knees. Long white socks and tennis shoes added to the school girl effect. The calves had the muscled tone of a dancer. I could see why men would like her, but there was also a coldness there that would be hard to penetrate.

"Come right this way," I said as I opened the door to my apartment.

She went in and let out a gasp. It's a common enough reaction when new visitors see the wood floors, plush rugs, the paintings on the brick wall, the gleaming stereo, and the Herman Miller furniture. The entire effect was that of stylish modernity and was a far cry from the ghetto streets a few stories below us. This was my hideaway from the world and only trusted souls were allowed into the inner sanctum. Part of my annoyance with Melodie was giving access to her friend iwithout my permission. But if you can't trust your friends, than who can you trust?

"Are you a drug dealer?" Cleora asked.

Seeing the arrival of her friend, Melodie stopped the CD player. I noticed that this time she had done it correctly by using the buttons. She said, "No, and he's not part of the mob either. He's just a rich bastard."

I could see that this answer did nothing to clear up the confusion. I added, "I'm not that rich. But I do like to live comfortably. As for my income, I consider myself as a sort of an investor. This building, for example, used to be a warehouse. I provided apartments for the people of this neighborhood and in the process built a place for myself that I found comfortable. I also have other interests that meet my financial needs."

"But why this neighborhood? You could be living big in Summerlin." That was a more swank part of town.

Melodie answered, "Devon here isn't like other people. He likes to associate with conmen, junkies, and strippers. He thinks normal people are boring."

I nodded. "And their lives are rather boring without the sort of problems I find interesting. Perhaps I could help you."

Melodie said, "Cleora, why don't you tell Devon here all about your problem. I'll go shower and change." With those words, she went down the hallway and went into the bathroom. The sound of running water was immediately heard.

It was obvious that Cleora was feeling uncertain, so I went over to the bar and fixed her a drink. While I was pouring out the vodka, she sat down at the stool and waited until I was done. She gratefully accepted the screwdriver, taking a tentative sip.

She said, "I don't feel right being here. I mean what can anyone do for me?"

"I don't know anything about your situation so I can't possibly answer your question. But we could start at the beginning."

Cleora gave me a shy look, an honest to goodness inside view at the real woman underneath the veneer of the armor she must have developed in her line of work. I could see why Melodie said that this girl was not cut out for the job as an exotic dancer.

She finally said, "Okay, but this is going to sound a little crazy."

"Try me."

"My real name is Amy. Cleora is my professional name – everyone uses it except my sister. You see I was an army brat. That meant I never had a real home. Instead my family traveled from base to base. Five years ago, when I was eighteen, I got pregnant. This happened over in Henderson."

This was a suburb that southwest of Las Vegas.

"We were living in a little ranch home in a neighborhood Luckily my old man was off on his first tour in Afghanistan when I found out I was going to have a child or else there would have been hell to pay. The father of the baby was a boy named Timothy King who was an awkward kid I went to school with. There was nothing ever serious about us, instead we were just friends who liked to fool around. I don't know where he is now. I really don't care. So I had a little girl. She's named Madison. She's the only reason I came to you. I want her to go to college. I want her to have the things that I never had."

I nodded and didn't say anything. Now that she was on a roll there was no stopping her now.

"My father Bill Kinney was a captain in the Special Forces, doing some type of work for the government. It was all hush-hush, you know, top secret. We were never rich, that's for sure. But somehow when he was sent over to Afghanistan, he must have discovered some way to make money. I don't know what it was or how he got it back to the States, but that's not important. I know it had to be illegal, whatever he did. I mean they don't hand out free cash to soldiers, do they? But he was a hard man who thought he was the toughest thing on the planet. The older he got, the more he had to prove himself. A week after he returned from his final combat tour, he went out to the bar. He got into a fight with a younger man - some tough college football player. It must have been a lucky punch, because apparently my father just folded up like a house of cards when he got hit in the side of the head. He never regained consciousness. He died two days later."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

She gave a shrug. "That was two years ago. I wasn't that sad at the time. And I'm not exactly grieving now."

"How did you find out about the money?"

"When Bill came back, he couldn't keep it a secret. He told my mother and my sister Kim and I that we were going to be rich soon. He also told us that we couldn't tell a soul. He made us promise."

I pursed my lips together. "Did your father tell you the source of this new found wealth?"

She shook her head and took another sip of her drink. "I thought he was making it up. Not that he was the sort of person to lie, but he came back from the war a changed man. He was a drunk.. He was abusive toward my mother. He threatened my little girl. I thought he was telling us lies about the money to keep us happy."

I was skeptical now. "What made you change your mind? I mean one day you don't believe him and the next you're suddenly sure that there is a fortune just waiting for you."

"I'm getting there. Eight months ago a man named Keith Miller came to the door. He ended up staying with us. He claimed to have known my father over in Afghanistan; that they had served together in the Green Berets. He was just out of the army and looking for a job. My mother let him stay with us until he could get back on his feet. I wish she had thrown the bum out on his ass."

The sudden venom caught me by surprise. But before I could say anything, she continued on, her jaw tight and unyielding.

"Keith said he knew my father well. He said they had spent two tours together. He had no family and nowhere to go. At first he seemed so kind. He was good with his hands and really helped around the house. After a few weeks, he even got a job as a bouncer at the club I worked at in Henderson. He isn't a big guy but he's got muscle. I've seen him fight and toss out some real tough guys. I admit that it felt good to have someone strong around. He seemed to like me and my daughter quite a lot. And with my mother sick with lung cancer, my sister and I really needed him.

"In the end I fell in love with Keith. We might as well have been married, that's how close he was to me. He seemed to be a good man. And when mother died, Kim quit job as receptionist so she could take care of her two sons from a former marriage and my daughter. It was up to Keith and I to bring in the money. Things were tight and I was glad for all the help I could get from him. But there was some strange quirk about Keith that became quite bothersome. You see he loved to talk about my father. I thought he was just waxing nostalgic about an old comrade, wanting to know Bill's habits: where he liked to visit, or where my dad hunted, or what kind of work he had done around the house. Keith also took a real keen interest in gardening and found some excuse to dig up most of the yard. I didn't pay any attention to this until the day that he left."

"It sounds like he was looking for something," I commented dryly.

She took the final sip from her glass. The ice cubes were all melted. I also noticed that the water in the bathroom was off and Melodie hadn't come out yet.

"Whatever it was, he found it," she said. "One day I awoke and Keith was gone. He only took his personal stuff and never showed up at work. This two months ago. To be honest, I wasn't all that surprised. I knew that he wasn't that good for me. But there was one strange thing that really got me shook up. In the back of that house was a patio that wasn't much larger than one of your rugs. It was made with old flagstones. One of them had been removed. Underneath was a hole that contained a scrap of canvas that was olive green. I can tell you that it didn't take too many leaps of the imagination to put the pieces together. Something, perhaps that money my father talked so much about, had been hidden there.

"I was angry as hell. I thought I would never see Keith again. I had to quit my job at Henderson and come to Vegas to get a better paying job. But just last week, after I had gotten out my shift at my new job at the Pussycat Lounge, I was driving home. I saw him outside of the Sands casino, pulling some breezy redhead out of a new Lexus with temporary tags. She looked high maintenance and much too rich for a man like him. Before I could find a parking spot, the two of them disappeared inside. I searched around the casino but didn't see them. I ended up camping in the lobby. It was an hour later when he came out with that woman. Like a fool, I ran after him, demanding all sorts of explanations. He practically ran away, dragging that bitch with him. They hopped into that car and took off. I ran to my car and started following them. Two blocks later, he dropped her off at the entrance of a ritzy condo called Eastgate. After that, I lost him in the traffic. I think he knew that I was following him."

"And you think he found the money that your father hid? Perhaps he just shacked up with a new woman."

Cleora actually blushed. "I can tell you that Keith isn't the type who can a snooty woman fall for him. He's different – uneducated and good with his hands. He's no gigolo."

I let out a small sigh of exasperation. "It's a general observation of mine that woman of all classes aren't particular when it comes to a man's background. If they like what they see, then they'll try and get him."

"You don't know Keith. He's a brute. And I'm not just saying that out of hatred. He can be tender and even sweet, but there's an anger inside of him that is downright scary. I have the scars to prove it. No woman in her right mind would be with him long. As I said, I was glad when he was gone. I also got scared that he would come after me, once there weren't any witnesses around. He can be cruel if he think he's been wronged. I'm glad that I left Henderson."

"You no longer live with your sister?"

"No, I share an apartment with one of the girls from the Pussycat. It's easier that way. I send my extra money back to my sister, who is busy taking care of my daughter, and visit them on the weekends."

"Would you like another drink?"

She shook her head. "No thanks. So will you take on my case?"

"I'm not a private detective. Let me give it some thought and I'll get back to you."

Cleora dragged a cellphone out from the heavy purse that was still slung over her shoulder. "Would you like my number?"

"That won't be necessary at this time. I'll contact you through Melodie."

After that, I walked her down to the front entrance. I waited until she got into her car – a beat up Kia – and drove away. Deep in thought, I went back to the apartment. Once the door shut, I could hear the Melodie humming some unknown song. The sound was coming from the bedroom. I went there, walking gently on the sides of my feet.

"Hey," I said through the half-open door.

"Why don't you come in?" Her voice was low and filled with desire.

I took a few steps inside. With the gauze curtains across the windows, the room was dim. I could just see the Stickley bed and matching side tables with their Tiffany lamps. Lying on top of the bed was Melodie. She wasn't wearing anything at all except for a smirk. The look suited her quite well. She was propped up on a pair of pillows, her long black and wet hair leaving a dark stain on the cotton. There was no extra fat on this specimen, only toned but shapely muscles that only accentuated her natural curves. She wasn't shy about me looking either, but we had our fling in the past so there was nothing new that Melodie could share with me.

"So what do you think of my new friend?" she asked. She said the words casually as if we were talking on a street corner.

I sat down on the edge of the bed. "I like her. It appears that Cleora has led a tough life. But she still managed to find her way through. That proves she's got her head on right."

"I like her too. So will you help her out?"

"I've got to think about it. There is a lot I need to know before I can even began to find out what was stolen from her."

"So do think really think that this Keith character did find something that her father buried in the backyard?"

"It seems plausible. Bill Kinney served in Afghanistan. To me that means poppies, opium, and heroin. With all the supplies being ferried back and forth, it wouldn't be that hard to smuggle some drugs into the country. You know as well as I do that it is a quick and dirty way to make some money."

Before I could react, Melodie grabbed my arm. I did not resist as he pulled me closer, guiding my hand to one of her perfectly formed breasts. That plastic surgeon really was a genius. But before my fingers touched the ruby hardness of her nipple, pulled back, easily breaking her grip.

"Damn it, Devon," she said sourly.

I rubbed my chin and stared into her dark eyes. "You know as well as I do, Melodie, that the game is over between you and I. Anyway, I thought you had a new boyfriend."

"I do," she said nastily as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up.

"Hold on, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"It's too damn late," Melodie spat out. She ran out of the bedroom and into the bathroom where she slammed the door with enough force to make the internal walls shake. She was a strong girl.

I went back to the living room. There I began to paw through some records that were tucked inside a bookcase. I found a Handel record. I went over to the Goldmund turntable, turned it on and, after turning a few knobs, had some glorious baroque music pouring elegantly out of the speakers. I stood in front of the stereo and listened intently, trying not to think of what could have happened in that bedroom. Don't get me wrong, I liked Melodie quite a bit and felt like a fool for turning her down, but I also did not want to rekindle that old flame. Before we had broken up, things had gotten complicated. I was happy to be friends with her and didn't want anything more than that – or so I told myself.

When she finally came out of the bathroom, Melodie was dressed in her street clothes: a miniskirt, a red sleeveless top, and a pair of high heels. Her damp hair was twisted into two long braids. A plastic grocery bag containing her workout clothes were in hand. She looked shyly at me, unable to meet my eyes. This was so unlike her that I felt a moment of pity.

"A fight with Angelo?" This was Melodie's boyfriend, a small-time hustler who I personally disliked. Of course I generally didn't cotton to anyone who sold cocaine.

She nodded. "It was a bad one. I was just trying to prove something to myself. I'm sorry."

"It's no problem."

"I wish things had worked out between us. If they did, I wouldn't be stuck with Angelo. He can be such a bastard sometimes."

I raised an eyebrow. "So can I. Things weren't always smooth sailing between the two of us."

She frowned, her eyes misted with tears. "Angelo is my Keith. They both take advantage of women who are in need. But I can't help myself. That's why I feel so strongly about Cleora. You have to do something for her."

"I'll have to think about it," I said. "Come on, let's get you home."

I escorted her down to her car, a new Mini Cooper. A chaste kiss on the cheek and I sent her on her way. I watched the taillights recede into the maze of traffic. I could already feel the heat of the day slowly start to give away to the chill of the desert night. It would take hours of time but it was inevitable. Around me were the sounds of civilization: people talking, the thud of a car door shutting, and the low rumble of an airplane flying overhead. But I was far away from all of that. Instead I was thinking that I needed some time and space to forget. And only then could I make a decision.

