The Last Day of October--Short Hoggers

This story takes place a year afterThe Last Day of October and is directly related to the incidents in The Last Day of October--Bookstore Horror.

Ch 1--Chambre of Escaliers
Year of the Hound

Badger and Hare Books & Tea Shoppe, Eskaŕd

30th of Oct. 2015

It was now nine o’ clock and the storm continued on unabated. Lightning forked and crackled through the churning black sky, while the ground and window panes reverberated with booming thunder. Unpaved paths were awashed with deep slushy mud and puddles, while swollen streams and rivers raced along the gutters, overwhelming the drains and cisterns.

The only light to be seen at the Badger and Hare Books & Tea Shoppe was a nearby street light that flickered its dim glow upon the now darkened windows and deserted street.

The vast reading room now hung with heavy silence apart from the rain outside and the soft sounds of small fauna and cats prowling the floor and shelves. Eventually all nocturnal activity ceased as every inhabitant turned its head to stare down the Great Hall. Even the carved beasts and mythical figures adorning the ornate and various stair banisters and railing seemed to turn in the direction of the hall...where the shadows seemed to gather.

Up the Grand Stairway to the left of the Great Hall, was the section known as the Chambre of Escaliers where the bookstore owners lived. Like the architecture of Great Hall, it had numerous stairways going in all directions, including upside-down. It also seemed to be the part of entirely separate city and country, with the majority of inhabitants casually going about their daily lives, similar to inhabitants within Eskaŕd itself. Most of these Folk there were house and woodland faeries, although there were outsiders such as Dr. Akern who used one of the basement doors below the park as a shortcut to and from home.

The bookstore owners’ ‘residence’ was the first house behind the Chambre’s Main Entrance. It was also known the Gatekeeper’s Cottage, although in actuality, it was little more than a door tucked away in a stone archway. Behind this innocuous-looking barrier wad a large, elegant living space cluttered with books and antique furnishings.

Seated in a plush chair, Kes Allyntahl took the glistening object between her fingers and looked it over. It did look like a poker chip, like the kobold lad had said, and probably would be deemed the most expensive in the world by Guinness Book of World Records standards. Yet that all too familiar nagging doubt began to take root in her mind. If this was the very same thing that came into her possession three years prior, she had more to worry about than just a streak of bad luck at the poker table.

“So let me get this straight,” said the kobold lad, whose name was Duncan McKone.“You had a pet eyeball that followed you around wherever you went?”

“Not a pet,” she told him stiffly, setting the gem back on the table. “More like a ghost...only he did magical stuff--like manipulating water and granting wishes.”

“Oh,” the dark-haired twin named Pipsqueak nodded. “Kinda like a genie?”

“Yes,” Kes frowned, “and a rather sarcastic, cynical one whose wishes go really bad if you’re too careless or not specific enough when you state them. Sure can’t blame the poor blighter for his attitude given his tragic personal history.”

“So is that fake eyeball thingumabob the genie-ghost then?” the blonde twin named Skeeter asked suddenly.

Due to their long hair, Kes had mistook the twins as girls until Dr. Akern had explained to her it was customary among kolbolds of the Vlar River Region to let their children’s hair grow long until they reach the age of fourteen.

“No,” Kes replied, a bit miffed that her story was constantly being interrupted by numerous questions. “This one’s silvery-blue and flat, the other one that acted like a bodyguard was like a real eyeball, only he flew and glowed green.”

Everyone looked at one another from Dr. Akern to the McKone Brothers to their uncle--Thomas Gregory, co-owner of the Badger and Hare Books & Tea Shoppe. And then at the crystal eye and then back at Kes.

Oh great, she thought, now they think I’m nuts. Well, at least that crowd finally went home I’m not telling my weird past experiences to a large audience.

The McKones’s aunt and uncle were kind enough to let Kes stay the night at their house, but now she wondered if they were perhaps having second thoughts.

“Look, I know it sounds crazy,” Kes told them. “I’m not some spiritual medium freak, but it actually happened.”

“And I believe you,” said Mr. Gregory as he did some last minute sorting. “Just as I believed your story about the visitor in orange and Monsieur Akern’s story about his encounter with the Thing disguised as that missing diva.”

He then nodded toward the McKone trio. “Even my nephews have something to add to this series of strange curious events.”

All eyes turned to the McKone Brothers who fidgeted uneasily with blanched cheeks, clearly wishing they were somewhere else.

“Yeah, okay,” said Duncan, finally sitting down on an old bar stool. "Well...it all started like this we were all in the Tower Library, the room in back of the Relativity or M. C. Esther Room .”

Kes nodded her head slowly.

“Well, right, we were hanging about the Comic/Graphic novels section, right, organizing all the brand new merchandise Uncle Greg just got today from the Mortal Territories, right, yew see, rare vintage stuff like Mad Magazine, right, Tales From the Crypt and rare Marvel and DC super heroes comics...”

“Which I all wanted in the climate-control storage unit,” Mr. Gregory interjected, with severe disapproval, “and not in the general reading area, simply leaving them just sitting around exposed to the elements and fauna of the Outer Shelves is a big No-No!”

“Well, you can relax, Uncle Greg,” Duncan assured, not meeting his guardian’s piercing gaze. “They’re still in their acid-free boxes and Melar totes, right, all now alphabetically and chronologically archived, ready to be shipped off to your ‘Fortress of Solitude,” he cleared his throat and cracked his knuckles before continuing on. “So it was just us free sorting stuff...”

“Don’t forget Shelly!” Pipsqueak cried. “She was helping and all!”

“Who’s Shelly?” Kes asked.

There was a sound of loud purring and something began rubbing against her legs. Looking down, she noticed the blue cat again.

“That’s Shelly,” Skeeter explained. “She’s got a twin like us--”

“Her brother’s name’s Archie,” Pipsqueak cut in. “You saw him earlier when he was cuddling up with those elves, probably be going to a new home pretty soon and all.”

“Yeah,” muttered Skeeter. “She were helping a bit unlike Lummox here, right, he were lounging a few shelves up, having a look at some girlie mags.”

“Button it! Right!” Duncan snapped. “Gawdon Bennet! Gods above and below! They were Calvin and Hobbes comics, you know Aunty Mira and Uncle Greg don’t allow that sort of risque stuff in their shop! Geez! OK?”

“Oh yeah...” Skeeter nodded before adding with a smirk, “and I thought you was looking at pictures of farm animals in frilly knickers and garter belts.”

“Why, you little freak--” Duncan lunged forward, snagging the kid by his striped shirt, yanking him back into a tight headlock. Skeeter howled, flailing wildly about, but Duncan never loosened his grip. “Okay, you little midget pervert! Get ready for a massive atomic wedgie and noogie!”

“That’s enough!” Mr. Gregory snapped. “Stop that gods-awful ruckus! Do you want to attract the attentions of that Chanterelle taximare wandering out there? Do you want to end up like the other poor sods who ran across it--either consumed entirely or dried-out, discarded shells?”

Dr. Akern arched an eyebrow. "Excuse moi?"

Kes stared at Mr. Gregory. “What?”

Duncan looked wildly about, a scared look on his face. Skeeter seized the opportunity to squirm out of his brother’s grasp. Dodging behind his startled twin, his pale face peering out over Pipsqueak’s shoulder with wide terrified eyes.

At the end of the Great Hall, where all eyes were staring were a set of large double doors, a push broom and several shillelagh thrust through the handles and wrapped tightly in bright red curtain cords and tassels. For a moment, all there was in the darkness was silence, then deep from somewhere far beyond the sealed doors--something made a wheezy rasp.

“So that Thing is...was a Chanterelle?” Dr. Akern asked.

Kes interrupted. “And just what is a taximare anyway?” she asked. “Is that like a zombie or a vampire or a ghost-something or rather?”

“All three of these things combines into one of the worst creatures imaginable,” Mr. Gregory explained, his voice heavy with foreboding. “The name derives the word taxim which is an Eastern European variant of the walking dead; an animated corpse who crawls out of his grave to exact revenge for some evil committed against him in his life. However, unlike the taxim, who is just ordinary person longing for justice, and is only dangerous to those against whom it seeks revenge, and can only move during the nocturnal hours, and on foot, the taximare is usually a wizard or sorcerer but sometimes a witch, who has used its magical powers to unnaturally prolong its life. "Usually, they come from noble elfin families who have corrupted their bloodlines with tainted arcane magic, although from time to time, you get an occasional human. What makes them more dangerous is that they can manifest themselves as a living person and are not vulnerable to direct sunlight unlike other types of revenants. And to make matters even more worse: they are driven by an eternal and insatiable hunger to devour other souls, living or dead in order to try to preserve themselves.

“You probably heard about that missing Ainsel girl they found at the Willowdale Station. Nothing but a drained, skeletal husk she was. The taximare probably was interrupted in its feeding or it wouldn’t have left any evidence behind.”

“I’ve heard of draugr and haugbui,” said Dr. Akern with a shiver, “but I never heard of taximare.”

“Not many people have. It’s not something people want to talk about especially with outsiders who might find the prospect of a ‘witch hunt’ utterly abhorrent.”

“That troll woman told me about them,” Kes told him, “although she never told me what they were called. I just thought she was talking about vampires.”

“Lords and Ladies love a duck! Vampires?” Duncan suddenly exclaimed. “Vampires? Miss, I’ve seen plenty of vampires and they’re all pussycats compared to that Thing I saw back in the Tower Library. What I saw was a full-blown demonic infestation and possession!”

Kes, Dr. Akern and Mr. Gregory exchanged nervous glances.

Both the twins nodded in agreement.

“Yep, we saw it and all!” Pipsqueak burst out, earnestly.

“Yeah!” Skeeter exclaimed. “Only it looked like a girl at first.”

“Really?” Dr. Akern regarded Skeeter curiously. “This girl wouldn’t happened to be tall and drop-dead gorgeous...sort of like a pop singer?”

Again the twins rapidly shook their heads.

“Nah, she was definitely no pop star-type! Blimey!” Pipsqueak declared. “Kinda plain and dumpy like a potato sack, she was, with a face like a puddock.”

“A what?” Dr. Akern asked, looking confused.

“It’s a country term for toad,” Mr. Gregory explained. “My nephews happened to be from East Brambly, by the way.”

“She wasn’t that puddock-looking!” Skeeter argued. “She looked more like a mouse, a mousy 7th grader with short dark hair, she kinda had an underbite. Oh...and she was wearing an orange raincoat.”

Kes regarded him with an owlish stare. “An orange raincoat?”

“Yeah, one of those floppy tent things with the hoods and no sleeves.”

“Poncho?” prompted his uncle.

“Yeah, poncho! That’s it.”

“That’s not what I saw--” Duncan started to say.

“And it was grotty!” Pipsqueak chimed in. “Covered in muck and slimy gunk...like you’d find in a sewer, and she smelled awful and all.”

“Like stinky perfume?” Kes asked.

“Like a stinky hunk of rancid old meat, that’s what,” Duncan muttered, plonking down a stack of books. “And I didn’t see no girl...”

“What? You just saw empty air?” Kes enquired as she drew up a stool.

“Wish I just saw empty air,” Duncan said with a shrug. “Wish it was just a ghost I saw, but it wasn’t.”

“Well, what was it then?” Dr. Akern demanded, gazing at the kolbold in astonishment. “In gods’ names, man, what did you see in there?”

Duncan’s head drooped as he stared at the floor, his hands trembled slightly. But he eventually answered: “Like I said before, I saw a demon and not just any ole demon with fiery eyes and fangs and claws, this thing was far worse--”

“How?” Dr. Akern queried.

“It’s got no face. I’m telling you the straight honest truth! I swear I’m not making this up! It’s got no face, it’s like something out of a madman’s dream or some nameless dark dimension.”

There was silence except for the slow swish of the overhead fans and Shelly’s steady purring.

Ch. 2--The Revenant
“We was all organizing all the comic,” Duncan went on, his eyes still fixed on the floor. “Putting the recent aged ones in the shelves while leaving the antique ones in the boxes, an' then I slipped and got me hand wedged between the bookcases. So while I was thrashing around trying to get free, Skeet and Pip got off, I assumed to fetch help, but they was actually playing detective and following someone in an orange poncho.”

“Yeah, it’s true,” Skeeter admitted, blushing, “but it was because this bloke was singing some weird tune.”

“And smelled gross an' all,” Pipsqueak added, fanning his nose with a grimace. “Like carrion and offal and the cheesy gunk you find under grotty toenails.”

“Uh-huh,” said Kes, slightly wincing at the gross mental images. “So what kind of weird tune exactly?”

“Well, it sounded like something you hear at summer camp or playschool.” Skeeter said thoughtfully. “Went kinda like this:

Nobody likes me,

Everybody hates me,

Guess I’ll go eat worms.”

Kes froze. Her eyes locked on Skeeter’s face. Duncan, too, stared at his little brother. His face blanching a ghastly white.

“Big fat juicy ones,

Eensie weensy squeensy ones,

See how they wiggle and squirm!”

Now Pipsqueak was singing along:

“Down goes the first one, down goes the second one,

Oh how they wiggle and squirm!

Up comes the first one, up comes the second one,

Oh how they wiggle and squirm!”

“It just kept going on and on,” Skeeter resumed the tale, “and we couldn’t tell if it was a lad or lady, because there was a different person’s voice with each word. Then we tracked it to the Teen Fiction/Romance which is in this square dead end space and watched it go in. And shortly after it went through the doorway, the singing suddenly stopped as if shut off by a electrical switch.

“At what moment I was longing for a stick, or any other weapon, but we had none of those things, and we were too scared to go back. So we marched steadily up the rest of the hall, and in less then a minute we were standing just inside the room.

“Well, we was freaking out,” Pipsqueak took his turn speaking, “because there wasn’t any furniture in the room for somebody to hide under, and it felt empty and all. After spending several minutes checking for secret cupboards and hidden doors big enough for a person to creep into, we decided to leave. So as we was backing out the place when we heard a very faint noise, like wind whistling through a crack or a mouse speaking. We suddenly felt clammy and cold, that orange poncho thing was back...right behind us!”

“It just stood there in the doorway--this Plain Jane, staring back at us, with this cheesy smile plastered on her face, smelling downright awful.”

“And to make it even more repulsive,” Skeeter declared, “it seemed to be trying to probe our brains with its thought tentacles or something, trying to force us to be its friend, even though we was grossed out to the point of puking our guts out.

“Well, we was scrambling like frightened squirrels up the shelves with the thing clawing at our heels when Duncan suddenly came barreling in. I guess he was a mite peeved at us for leaving him stuck like that. Well, as soon as he saw the thing, he just kicked it straight across the room.”

“Well, that was mighty courageous of him,” Dr. Akern murmured with admiration.

Mr. Gregory merely nodded and grunted his approval.

“Have you ever walked into a room, or a house, where someone was really sick with the flu or worse?” Duncan asked abruptly, staring with glazed eyes at the doctor.

Dr. Akern looked at him oddly. “Yes, many times.”

“Yeah,” Duncan’s head drooped and he stared at the floor again. “That was what it felt like when I came into what room. And when I saw that...that...terror...trying to get at Skeet and Pip, I just saw red. So I ran over and kicked it in the rear, hard. I thought it was a nutty vagrant at first, until it got up again and turned to face me. It didn’t even look remotely human. Where its...its...face...should have been, it was just...just...some ragged holes in this burlap-like stuff...where these...brownish-black squirming things...like horsehair worms...were poking out.

“I don’t know if what was its actual face or it just had a sack over its head, but it was like it...gorgonizing...me and I couldn’t even stomach the thought of hitting' it a second time.”

“Then it began singing that damn kid song in this high pitched girly voice:

Nobody likes me,

Everybody hates me,

Guess I’ll go eat worms.

Big fat juicy ones,

Eensie weensy squeensy ones,

See how they wiggle an' squirm!

“First one was easy.

Second one was greasy,

Third and fourth went down easy,

Fifth was chewy and six was gooey,

Seven was rich and the eight was a witch.

Oh, how I love worms.”

“Then it started giggling like an imbecile.

“Well, I lost me nerve soon after and booked it out of that room as if the King of Freaks was after me. Maybe he was. I only turned back when I heard this all mighty crash, thought one of the twin might have lost his grip and fallen off the shelves. Come to find out, it was a big pile of books instead, the twins had pushed from the top shelf onto the abomination.”

“And what happened next?” Dr. Akern asked.

“Well, I joined up with the twins on the top level and we shoved a much bigger stack of books onto the first pile....you know, just to make sure the beastie wasn’t gonna go crawling out like a zombie from the movies.”

"So...it's dead, then?"

Duncan nodded. "Yeah, I saw it just lying there quite still before we nailed it a second time. Looks like its neck got busted from the first book pummel."

“Wait, just a minute here,” Dr. Akern shot Mr. Gregory a baffled look. “If your nephews told you that they have successfully vanquished an undead creature, then why they jumped at your mention of a legendary monster.”

Mr. Gregory shrugged nonchalantly. “To make those three quite fighting, of course,” he replied. “Instead of nursery bogles, we use the threat of real life monsters to ensure good behavior among our young people. Whether that thing lying dead under the detritus of Teen Paranormal Romance is in fact an actual undead spellcaster, well that’s up to the forensics to decide.”

Mr. Gregory looked at him and raised his brushy eyebrows. “Surely your parents must have threatened to summon forth some monstrous Frumious Bandersnatch or a Jubjub bird to make you behave.”

“Actually I had more to fear from my older, thuggish siblings than from some of the local wildlife,” Dr. Akern admitted.

“I think I’ll go and take a quick look at it,” Kes declared, getting up abruptly.

“What?” Both the lamia and kolbold said.

“You know, the taximare corpse. I want to go see what one of these things actually look like.”

“Whaaaaaaaa?!” Duncan exclaimed, gazing at her in astonishment. “You’re not seriously planning on looking at that blighter up close, are you?”

“Sure I’m serious,” Kes replied, folding her arms nonchalantly. “Never seen a dead lich monster before, except maybe in a museum or in an Adventure Time movie.”

“Uncle Greg! Uncle Greg!” Duncan looked beseechingly at the elder McKone. “Don’t let her go in that room! It’s pretty damn awful. She mustn’t see that--that--I don’t know what you would call that hideous monstrosity, but that the most freak-jobbing vilest thing I've ever seen and I hope to gods I don’t see another like it or else, my eyes will burst with from the most immense, utmost disgusting-Ness and then my brain will start leaking out through my nose!”

Wow, that's pretty graphic, Kes thought. If anything it'll be like the movie Scanners...only with people’s heads exploding with sheer disgust instead of psionic attack.

Still she wasn’t going to be deterred by Duncan’s rather dramatic warning.

"Yeah, well," she rolled her eyes, then started toward the door, "I'll believe it when I see for myself."

“No don’t!” Duncan suddenly lunged forward, knocking aside the doctor who was flung headfirst into a towering indoor Gru’ dancreeper.

“Duncan, you bloody idiot!” Mr. Gregory shouted as he hurried over to extricate Dr. Akern from the hairy green tendrils.

“Sorry Uncle Greg!” cried Duncan as he barred Kes’s way. “But there are some things in this world that a bloke should never know and see; that horror back there in the Tower Room is both those things!”

“But didn’t you just say it was dead?” Kes asked, her eyes still fixed on the door.

"Uh...Well...the thing is...” Duncan stammered as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s kind of complicated.”

Kes narrowed her eyes at the kobold’s tall form. “Exactly what do you mean by ‘complicated?’”

The double doors groaned and violently shook as something massive shoved and rained down hammer-fisted blows. The crackling and splintering of the makeshift barricades were heard throughout the hall, and by the time the first ragged cracks appeared, all of the animals had fled.

“Uh...Well...the thing is...,” Duncan stuttered, his face growing increasingly red. He took of his hat to the wipe the cold sweat beading on his forehead. “Hoo-boy, how do I explain this...”

The office was dead silent as five pairs of puzzled eyes stared at him.

“Well, you see,” he continued quickly, holding his bowler by the brim, nervously rotating it in his hands. “Okay, you know how things don’t go jolly spiffingly in real life as they do in the movies?”

A deeply frowning Mr. Gregory slowly nodded as he and the twins finally yanked Dr. Akern out of the Gru’ dancreeper’s velcro-like grip and onto his respectable feet again.

“I see Mr. Duncan,” his uncle said sarcastically. “Well, could you please enlighten us as to what these un-spiffingly ‘things’ might possibly be? It would spare you a lot of further embarrassment.”

“Yes, do tell us,” chimed Dr. Akern, straightening up with great dignity. “Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to impart to us some extremely important news as soon as possible.” A tug on his sleeve soon diverted his attention. Looking down, he noticed Skeeter holding his top hat.

“Ahh, thank you, young man,” said Dr. Akern, retrieving it and placing it back on his head. Turning to face Duncan again, he said, “Now Mr. Duncan, I think it would be best if you--”

He was interrupted a second time by another important tug from Skeeter. “Yes?”

The boy beckoned for him to lean his head in closer.

“You have something you wish to convey to me?” muttered the perplexed lamia. “Yet you don’t want the others to know?”

Skeeter gritted his teeth then nodded guiltily.

“Skeet noooooo!” Duncan whispered dryly. “Don’t--” He promptly clammed up as Kes gave him a suspicious glance before turning back to regard Skeeter secretly whispering into Dr. Akern’s ear.

Kes sighed, pricking her ears in vain, her eyebrows turning from their usual beige pink to glaring white in annoyance. As she looked on with growing bafflement and confusion, Dr. Akern’s grew pale as he digested what Skeeter had told him.

“Well?” she asked, as the doctor turned with a very grim expression.

Dr. Akern ahemed a couple times before speaking.

“I fear that our worse fears has finally come to pass,” he affirmed as something rustled far down the dark hall leading toward the office. “It’s up and walking again.”

“What do you mean ‘up and walking again?’” Kes demanded. “The thing just got hit by two tons of books!”

There was a strained silence for a moment, after which Dr. Akern cleared his throat again.

“My friends,” he said gravely. “What young Skeeter just told me will no doubt disturb you.”

“Yeah, well I’m already pretty disturbed by all this creepy stuff,” replied Kes irately. “So what difference...?”

“Get to the point,” Mr. Gregory interrupted impatiently.

“The point is,” Dr. Akern continued, “is that Mr. Duncan had decided that it would be best if he took the blame for his brother’s serious mistake.”

“What serious mistake?” Kes inquired, putting her hands on her hips. “Like using paper-backed novels for weapons instead of heavy duty hard backs?”

“No, more like accidentally dropping your golden ammonite shell healing amulet key chain into the book pile,” Dr. Akern went on, “then being too scared to retrieve it.”

“But that thing’s dead already!” shouted Kes in frustration. “The guys probably just saw some parasites on it still twitching about. Dead bodies don’t come back to life at the touch of some good luck gewgaw. That only happens in the movies and D&D games!”

“D&D?” Duncan raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Kes nodded, turning toward him. “It’s a role-playing game popular among humans. Now it’s getting popular among Gerdins and Faire Folk. Heck, even my brother’s playing, and he’s only ten...”

But Duncan was no longer looking at her, instead he was staring in gaping horror over her shoulder.

Turning with cold dread, Kes noticed that the others were all staring in the same direction--at the office door as the brass knob slowly turned. No one moved a muscle or breathed as the door slowly creaked open revealing a large mass of scarlet, thick, rope-like tresses wrapped tightly around pink curlers. Walking forward, the bouffant hair apparition revealed itself to be a tall, spindly figure clad in a purple fuzzy robe and house slippers with an oatmeal avocado crusted, cucumber-eyed face mask covering its sharp pointed features.

“What’s all this now?” Mrs. Mira Gregory peeled off her cucumber slices to reveal piercing black eyes flickering with annoyance. “It’s late! You should all be in bed!”

Behind the startled group came a dull thunk as Duncan fell back against the front door, sinking to the floor in a dead faint.

Ch 3--In Search Of
It was nearly half past midnight by the time Kes crawled into bed in the Gregorys’ guest room. Outside the wind still howled while torrents of rain lashed the sidewalks and swirled into the streets. After a brief scowl at the sudden clatter of rain against the window glass. She then drew the covers over the chin and peered up at the ornate scallop headboard.

A subsequent search by police had turned up nothing, other than a broken set of doors and a ghastly mephitic stench lingering over the book pile in the Tower Library. Neither Kes, Dr. Akern, the Gregorys and the twins had nothing further to add to what they had already told the police, and as for Duncan, he was still recovering from the shock of seeing what he thought was a taximare zombie wearing a tacky night robe with its head loaded up with 15 pounds of hair curlers.

Having seen Mrs. Gregory with her homemade beauty treatment, Kes wasn’t really surprised at Duncan’s reaction.

“It had to have been a ghost,” Kes told Dr. Akern shortly before he left for home, “or a djinn even. That’s why the police didn’t find a corpse under all those books.”

“Yeah, and they didn’t find Skeeter’s healing amulet key chain either,” muttered Dr. Akern, glancing about nervously. “That’s what worries me.”

“Well, the Tower Library’s huge,” Kes replied with a shrug. “It could of ended up underneath one of the shelves or wedged in one of the books.”

“Well, it’s got to be found and fast,” said Dr. Akern thoughtfully, “if Skeeter was telling the truth and that amulet’s a genuine thing and not some tourist knock-off. If those healing properties work on people then why not on beings of possibly inhuman origin.”

“Then we’re completely and totally toast, ehh?” Kes muttered, feeling a cold sick feeling form in the pit of her stomach.

“Well, not necessarily,” Dr. Akern replied reassuringly. “The taximare, if that was really what it was, may have figured it had been discovered or soon would be. So it decided to leave once the coast was clear. Probably hold-up in some shelter somewhere where there’s fewer people around.” He stared thoughtfully at the carpet. “I might have to research that amulet more,” he muttered. “I believe there is one mentioned in a rare book called The Cult of the Wyrm.”

“That so? Well, would this shop have it then?” Kes asked with more interest.

Dr. Akern frowned, shaking his head. “No, it’s quite rare,” he replied. “There’s only a handful of copies in the world, and the one I’m interested in is the unabridged German version by Heinrik Whitmore which is included in the collection at Miskatonic University.”

Kes’s brows furrowed. “Miskatonic? That’s way off in the Mortal Territories, Massachusetts to be exact. You got a lot of traveling to do, Doctor...unless you got some computer set up to connect you to the library via Internet.”

“Well, there’s a jump station near where I live,” the doctor gave his trousers a hitch. “So I don’t think I need to commute all the way across America to find out about Skeeter’s bauble.”

“Well, you take care, Doctor,” said Kes encouragingly. “And try not to call up any eldritch abomination while you’re at it.”

Chuckling dryly, Dr. Akern shook his head and waved a dismissive hand casually. “I’d make some cheesy joke right now about the stars being right,” he replied, “but my harrowing experience with the unknown seemed to have had drained all creativity from me today.” He then tipped his hat to her. “Well, ‘night, Kes. I’ll be seeing you.”

As he was walking toward the door, Kes suddenly called out, “Say, Doc?”

“When that...that...creature had you cornered under those stairs,” she said hesitantly, “did it say anything to you?”

Dr. Akern gave her an odd look, and then nodded. “Yes, it did,” he said slowly. “It said, ‘Pssst. Hey you. Yeah, you--wanna hear a secret? Come a bit closer then...and I’ll tell you...” He glanced curiously at Kes. “Does that weird comment remind you of anything?”

Kes bit her lip to keep them from trembling then slowly shook her head. “No,” she said finally. “I don’t think so.”

Thunder rumbled again, shaking the walls of the dark room. Kes lay with her arms crossed under her head as she stared up at the ceiling. Hopefully, tomorrow will be just be an ordinary Halloween day, she thought, with the only monsters about are just trick-or-treaters and party-goers. Hopefully, that taximare-ghost-demon-djinn-whatever got the message and gone back to whatever nethermost pit it crawled out of it.

Her alert golden eyes shifted to the pendulum wall clock across from the bed; it was nearly half past twelve. This is sure a long storm; hopefully Duncan’s sleeping soundly and will be alright in the morning. I know I’m not getting any sleep tonight...

As another roll of thunder rumbled overhead, Kes let her thoughts drift back to the dark and ominous quote uttered by Dr. Akern--”Psst. Hey you. Yeah, you--wanna hear a secret? Come a bit closer then...”

Gradually her eyelids drooped as she drifted off to sleep.

Dreams soon immersed her as well as memories.

Ch. 4--Les Expats
Year of the Silver Tiger

Downtown Swanwick

15th of Sept. 2012

It was a Saturday afternoon in the local Swanwick Library and Kes was frustrated. Instead of blazing headlines heralding the mystery of three missing evacuee children, she found only a short paragraph stating that three of the ungrateful guttersnipes had taken “French leave.”

When she inquired at the main desk as to why she could only find one article that casted such a disparaging light upon some young, possibly confused and frightened, kids, the elderly hippopode librarian just sighed and shook her gray-maned head.

“I knew the editor back then,” the woman replied crossly with a rapid swish of her tail. “He was a grouchy old fart who hadn’t had a new idea since the funeral of Queen Titania XVIII.” She frowned and shrugged her bony shoulders. “I guess I shouldn’t complain. He hired me for the cooking and Home Ec. Section and even bought for me what was supposed to be oldest and sturdiest typewriter in the world. I supposed I was lucky since the guy in charges of the Sports columns had to use a goose quill to pen his articles.”

"Do you have any more news articles from that time period?" Kes said.

The hippopode shook her head again. “Well, we did,” she said, adjusting her gold-rimmed spectacles. “Unfortunately, the library suffered extensive cyclone damage last October--ruined much of our WWII news archive as well as most of the study and work area.

“Oh,” Kes frowned in disappointment. “Well, what about your electronic archives?”

“Access to electronic resources and services were also wiped out,” the librarian replied, her pinched horsey features tightening in irritation. “And due to our ‘beloved’ Mayor Desrosiers’s decision that the money is best spent on frivolous items such as landscaping, koi ponds and impressing the toffee-nosed poshers...it will be a while before we ever do get anything resembling a functional computer terminal.”

Kes grimaced slightly at the mention of Mayor Desrosiers. The Ainsel woman was the very definition of a politician who had tons of moneys and wealth but not an ounce of sense in her perfectly coiffed head.

“Are you doing a report?” the librarian asked abruptly, startling her out of her dismal thoughts.

“A report?” Kes blinked at her, uncomprehending. “Well...no, I’m not a journalist.”

“No, I mean a report,” the librarian persisted, “for a school project.”

“Oh,” said Kes, finally understanding. Do I really look young enough to be in high school? I’m actually twenty, but I got regressed due to an accidental ingestion of some fountain of youth curry. But that explanation would take a whole day to explain, and would only lead to numerous probing questions. “No,” she replied instead. “It just that someone told me this story about these mutated wizard monsters that supposedly made off with these three British kids; I just wanted to know if it was all ture...”

The librarian nodded thoughtfully. “And the thing about those kids disappearing turned out to be true,” she took a sip from her coffee mug. “You hear lots of rumors besides the Chanterelle Monster one...like they had all run away to either Manchester or Liverpool,” she continued, flicking her sharp furry ears. “And there was even some talk about them running to join a skillk band.”

Confusion filled Kes’s face. “But...but why would they run back to England when the Blitz was still going on?” she asked. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why not run further into Faerie and ‘go native,’ like the humans say?”

The librarian pursed her wide wrinkled lips and set down her coffee mug. “I wasn’t there so I dunno,” she said. “Humans aren’t known for their rationality, especially among the young. You have to remember that the war time evacuation was a very traumatic experience for many of those children. Not only do they had to cope with a new family, but an entirely different culture and environment as well. Some of them couldn’t handle it and went back home, even when it meant taking their chances in the Blitz.” She popped a baby carrot into her mouth and chewed it slowly and thoughtfully. "You might try asking Gillian Dupret, she had been a British evacuee around that time. I know she was there at that Halloween Party when those three kids disappeared."

Kes knew Gillian Dupret, having several times shopped at the Dupret Bakery. the 85-year-old woman also happened to be Mayor Desrosiers's human mother-in-law, and Kes would rather not run into Madame Mayor "Chatterbox." The Ainsel had asked her on various occasions for art commissions and even though these assignments had helped paid the rent and feed her ducks, it was starting to seem like Kes would hardly have any free time to herself.

Instead of going directly on to Main Street, Kes went instead to Irvine Street where Madame Mosley had her stone cottage. If there was anyone who was a vast repository of odd local history and gossip, it would be Madam Mosley. Trolls remember everything and were lots more smarter than most people gave them credit for. Trolls remembered everything and were lots more smarter than most people gave them credit for. Perhaps the old woman remembered something of great significance from the many whispers and dark rumors three quarters of century ago.

Hopes for a further interview, however, were soon dashed when one of Madam Mosley’s daughters informed Kes that her mother was house sitting over in Swallowdale and wouldn’t be home for a fortnight.

Kes spent the next couple hours trying to question the other town inhabitants in the various shops, diners and the two small fire stations. Surprisingly, most these residents were rather forthcoming about information, although it was the usual wild legends and superstitious speculation--the sort of things that old grandams and gaffers had told for years to frightened children huddled around the hearth fire.

Unlike Madam Mosley, the eager speakers weren’t native to the region and probably never had an unsettling paranormal experience in their entire life and were just glad that Kes was there to enliven an otherwise boring coffee break and lunchtime conversation.

Although the few long-time locals she did meet also spoke freely and at length about the Virebelle Rock Incident, they would not discuss nor mention anything about the Chanterelle ghosts.

This was one of the strange and rather annoying of Swanwick customs, the whole notion that to even speak of an unwholesome spirit would bring it visiting. Kes doubted this bound of secrecy would deter all unpleasant spirits, especially the live one that was right now following her as she towed her utility wagon cart along Main Street. Kes’s mouth tightened as she tugged harder at the metal handle, but she had a heavy load...as well as several fae hitchhikers who couldn’t afford cab fare.

Ellie Lambert was everything Kes wasn’t--short and stocky, with a pudgy baby face which gave her a rabbit-like appearance due to her large pale blue eyes, rather over-sized ears and pink button nose. Her ridiculously short pageboy-style hair was the color of sun-bleached straw. She always wore pretty yet impractical-looking dresses with a lot of lace trim and silk sashes, not the sort of costumes Kes would prefer to be wearing especially when she was cutting firewood, hauling water or butchering and preparing meat.

Like the White Rabbit, Kes thought when she first saw this eccentrically-dressed human girl, wondering who exactly invited her to the mayor’s welcoming party. The twitching of the pink nose and the constant fidgeting and grooming of her shorned locks seemed to remind her of a nervous rabbit.

“Ellie,” the mayor’s eldest daughter huffily told her. “Her name’s Ellie Lambert, and she’s from California, the State of Jefferson, to be exact. She may look totally sweet and adorable, but she’s not. She’s a compulsive liar as well as a kleptomaniac, so keep your wallet or purse close by and don't let her shake your hand or get close behind you. ”

Unlike Kes, who rather baffled and somewhat flattered by the party thrown in her honor, Vanessa thought the occasion was a total waste of her teenage time and she had way more better things to do...in Vanessa’s case, attending a Mötley Crüe concert with all her friends.

Kes nodded. “Well, I don’t think she looks sweet and adorable,” she muttered. “She looks kind of freaky, like one of those creepy china dolls that come to life and murders you in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah,” Vanessa shifted uncomfortably on her high platform shoes and sighed. “She gives me the willies, especially those eyes of hers. They’re like dolls eyes--just blank and vacant, you know? It’s not just me who notices this, other people at school, my sisters and dad. Even my mom who’s not the brightest fork in the drawer’s been giving her funny looks lately.”

Kes thoughtfully sipped her glass of lemonade she discreetly studied the strange guest in the clamorous town hall. Ellie didn’t mingle, but just stood in the far corner near the table display of floral arrangements and local crafts--behavior that earned her a few curious looks.

Kes couldn’t help but feel a little bit sorry for the girl. Perhaps she was one of those naive Luddite country kids who had been home-school by strict religious parents. That might explain her lack of good social skills and compulsive lying and kleptomania.

“I don’t get it,” Kes looked confused. “If she creeps your mom out then why was she invited then?”

“Because her aunt happened to be a very prominent business person,” was Vanessa’s immediate answer, “and she doesn’t trust Ellie to be left alone in the same room with a purse, or alone in a coach and certainly never in the house.”

Kes frowned as she studied this pathetic fluff of humanity. “Aren’t there servants that could watch her...a nanny maybe?”

“Ellie just lost her ninth nanny,” Vanessa explained. “She goes through nannies the way some people go through Kleenex. The same goes for babysitters as well as tutors. Even her own cousin can’t stand to be around her. The eldest one--Sandra had already moved out and now staying with friends up in Branshel. The twins--Marc and Philippe, however, well...they get along okay with Ellie...probably because they’re young and don’t know any better and she’s not interested in stealing lil’ kids’ toys. Just money and valuables.”

Kes thought for a minute and then asked, “You sure she’s not some kind of trickster animal in disguise...like a tanuki or fox or even a magpie?”

Vanessa shook her spiky thatch of jet-black hair. “No. She’s completely human as far as I know. I’ve ever seen her parents when they brought her up here five years ago. They seemed like loving, caring people--not like druggies or fundamentalist nutjobs.”

“Her folks just abandoned her?” Kes stared at her, incredulous.

The goth girl shrugged. “They finally couldn’t cope with this rotten kid who just uses the Asperger excuse to be offensive to people. Her older brother and sister turned out fine yet Ellie was just born to be a hellbrat.”

“But why send her here?” Kes exclaimed in disbelief. “Can’t she get therapy back in the States?”

“The Republic of the Americas pretty much sucks at the whole mental health thing,” Vanessa replied pointedly, “besides, Ellie’s folks still care enough not to foist their offspring onto a private and potentially dangerous reform company, instead they decided to have a Hawaiian-style of adoption and hanai’d Ellie out to her aunt. I guess they’re hoping that Ellie might get a lesson in manners as well as the social skills needed to get a real world career.”

“I wonder if her aunt now regrets her decision,” Kes murmured, taking another sip of her lemonade.

Vanessa thought for a minute before replying, “Probably, although Mrs. Lambert’s a pretty stoic person who tends to keep her personal feelings to herself.” She looked down at the tiled floor, her violet eyes following a iridescent green beetle as it crawled its way across it. “I think Ellie’s problems might be improved if she acquired a new hobby, maybe collecting bergmen’s beetles or pillywiggan poop.”

Kes started to say, “Well, hopefully she won’t end up like Norman Bates and...”

“How are you girls doing?” Mayor Desrosiers came up from behind, startling them both.

“Oh, we’re doing great, mum,” said Vanessa, her purple lips quickly curving into a most convincing smile.

“Uh, yeah,” Kes flushed as stared up at the tall, platinum blonde woman in the tailored suit. “Just fine, Madam Mayor.” She quickly added, “Wow, you people are really nice! A welcoming party in my honor? I thought that was only for veterans and people who did great things like winning Tour du Faerie or climbing to the top of Mt. Ulinshan.”

“Well, scarcely do we get anyone new moving to Swanwick,” Mayor Desrossiers replied brightly. “So when it does happen it’s actually cause for celebration.”

“Am I required to make a speech?” Kes sheepishly asked.

Mayor Desrosiers shook her head. Wispy strands of hair fell against her glass smooth forehead. “Not if you want to.”

A look of immense relief flooded Kes’s features. “Oh, good, for a moment I thought I was going to have to tell my whole life story.”

“There’s no need to get stressed out,” Mayor Desrosiers assured. “We’re here to welcome you and make you feel part of the community, not to conduct a job interview.”

“Well, I’m really honored to be here...”

But Mayor Desrosiers didn’t notice. Her attention was now fixed over Kes’s right shoulder. She stared with wide opened eyes. Her bright smile fading.

“Mum, what is it?” Vanessa asked with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Kes quickly glanced behind her, but she saw no sign of Ellie Lambert among the milling guests.

“Mum, are you sick?” Vanessa continued to ask. “Do you need me to call an ambulance? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“Ghost?” Mayor Desrosiers quickly shook her head. “No. It’s just that...I thought I saw someone. Oh, never mind. Just a case of celebration jitters.” Her eyes brightened as her smile returned. “Well, let’s get this party started, shall we?” She tapped her champagne glass with a polished silver spoon to get everyone’s attention. “Before we begin the Ancient and Honorable Midsummer's Eve Celebration, I would like to welcome a brand new Swanwick citizen today. Her voyage to this country was long and arduous, often fraught with trouble and strife, and, more often than not a great deal of frightful peril from the elements..”

All during the lengthy speech, Kes and Vanessa exchanged confused glances. Then Vanessa shrugged and discreetly moved her index finger in a corkscrew gesture near her right ear. “Mum gets a bit weird at times,” she silently mouthed.

Kes nodded, although she wasn't convinced, and she was beginning to wonder if Vanessa was, either.

Later that night, Kes stood at the window of her new house--or Heron Manor, as it was known, peering into the shadowy Swanwick Forest.

That was certainly a long welcoming party, she thought, in perplexity and amazement.

She let the curtain drop and turned to consider the stacks of presents scattered hither and thither, including an accumulation of new pets from an anonymous sender named Smiley Face.

You would think more people would be moving here on account of the gift-giving and hospitality, she wondered. Maybe I got this VIP treatment because my arrival happened to coincide with the annual Mid-Summer Eve tradition. I really should ask Vanessa more about this custom of gift-giving.

As she crawled into bed, she couldn’t help thinking about Ellie Lambert. Had that human cub received a similar welcoming party or had she been deemed unworthy...even for a gift of Krampus coal?

The girl certainly did acted a bit funny, not funny in any obviously wild crazy fashion. No, quite the opposite--clinging to the corners of the room, or skittering through the crowds, never talking or laughing with anyone, not displaying the least bit interest or excitement in the fun games and revelry going on around her. Always sneaking glances in Kes’s direction like she wanted to strike up a conversation, yet she kept her distance. Maybe it was because Kes was hanging around Vanessa at the time, and the goth was giving Ellie the death stare as if in the hopes that her face might melt, explode, or shrink with ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’ dramatics.

Vanessa wouldn’t go into specific details about the incident that caused her to totally reject Ellie’s friendship, except to say that it nearly ruined her middle school reputation and further cemented her hatred for the anime genre and its numerous fandoms.

A hardcore otaku then, Kes thought with a grimace. Or as Yoda would say, ‘the weeaboo vibe is strong in this one.’

However, Kes kept her personal comments to herself and made a silent vow never to get too close to ‘Lil’ Mis Bo Beep for she didn’t want a repeat of that nonsense back in Simak where she had to deal with a raging otaku mental case.

When she looked over at Ellie again, the girl had moved under the central domed skylight. Rays of moonlight shone brightly through the Art Nouveau--style stained--glass.

Kes froze rigid, staring transfixed. For a moment, just as the girl stepped into one of the moonlit patches, the whole shape of her face seems to have changed. Her tight Buster Brown curls grew loose and dark while her cherub features grew pimply-cheeked and dough-faced. The eyes that continued to stare back were now murky-brown and bulging like a frog’s. Even the wide, pale mouth was frog-like as it slowly lifted in a lazy smile.

Her hair fluffing up in shock, she whirled around, expecting to see Vanessa staring also in mute horror. Instead, her new friend had her back turned and was waving cheerily across the vast hall to a group of her fellow goths. Looking back, Kes saw that the moonbeam was now occupied by a noisy Japanese tour group.

She could be anywhere, Kes thought numbly, if she could change her face like that then...she could look just about anyone.

She no longer wanted to be in the city hall even though she was surrounded by swarms of people.

And when Vanessa asked if she wanted to come to a Gothic theater production of a famous horror movie, Kes immediately accepted.

Watching a bunch of goths pay homage to the golden age of B-rated horror movies, accompanied with a heavy dose of hardcore techno and fake gore seemed preferable to waiting around to be eaten up by some shape-shifting monster.

It turned out the show was taking place in Vanessa’s backyard, and it was a reinterpretation of John Carpenter's ‘The Thing.’

For a moment, Kes lay staring up at the ceiling. Her mind teeming with the images from hours earlier--the corrugated iron and scrap wood arrangement that was supposed to resemble an Antarctica research station, the werewolves dyed to resemble sled dogs, the imps and spriggans animating the mechanical monster parts, the actors rushing about heroically in corpse paint and cold weather gear, the whole set going up into flames that would have met with John Carpenter’s approval.

Frowning, she wondered if she would be able to hang out with Vanessa again, now that Vanessa was majorly grounded for burning down the Licorne Pavilion, part of the roof of her dad’s tea house as well as the neighbor’s topiary fence.

Having watched ‘The Thing’ before, Kes already knew the entire story.

She always thought that the assimilated humans, unlike the Borg and the Pod People, had no idea they were imitations...like Norris with his bad heart or Palmer when he was tied up on the couch, waiting to have his blood tested. It was like when the Thing took over a body, it left just enough of the ‘host’ consciousness so that the imitation still felt like the original.

Thinking about Ellie again, Kes wondered if that was also the case with her.

“Well, crap!” she sighed in annoyance. “Been here hardly a month, and I wind up being assimilated by some weird alien monster. What a crummy way to start life in a new country!”

As if sensing her distress, the animals rustled agitatedly in their various crates and cages.

“You know,” said Kes after a while. “I don’t think Ellie is an alien shape-shifter...cause why would I see another person’s face then instead of a...I dunno, something utterly alien and inhuman?”

Her new roommates paused in their noisy rustling to listen and offer up the occasional chirp and squeak.

“I think I might have even seen a ghost,” she went on, “and you know what, I’ve even seen that face before.”

The countless small beasts ceased their comments as they all waited patiently for what she had to say.

Ch. 5--Short Hoggers
“It all started back a few years ago. I was among the Saffrasia Island population suddenly displaced due to the nearby volcano. Since Saffrasia was a Merlian Overseas Territory, we were all granted full residency rights in the Merlian United Kingdom.

“Well, I pretty much hated the Merlian weather, if it was not raining, it was windy and icy-cold, and it was hardly even sunny! I also hated the capital--Dimoil-Nu along with the native population. So unfriendly, superficial, and self absorbed. Just all stiff-upper-lip presentation, no one bothering to listen to one another because they were all much too busy trying to present themselves in a certain narrow minded manner.”

Her furry, feathered and scaly audience made various sympathetic-sounding noises.

“Well, the place I got in West Dimoil-Nu certainly wasn’t the ritz, but it wasn’t a total nightmare. Although we did find mushrooms growing atop the kitchen counter-top...plus it had roaches as well as rats. Not small ones. The big scary kind that tended to scurry over your face in the middle of the night.”

Her listeners shivered in sympathy and burrowed deeper into their straw and shaving bedding.

“Still most of my housemates were great, the place was laid back and fun, I just didn’t want to live there forever.

“Well, anyway, I was standing in the checkout queue at this nearby supermarket, and I happened to spy this tabloid paper.

“‘SCANDAL IN LIMOUX COUNTY, WALDALCHIA’

“Proclaimed a banner in bold capital letters:

“‘ YOUNGEST HEIRESS OF PROMINENT VAN DEVEREUX FAMILY ACCUSED OF SERIOUS CRIMES--HARASSMENT AND EXTORTION OF INNOCENT PRIMARY SCHOOL STUDENTS, CASTING OF DEBILITATING AND DEADLY HEX SPELLS, AS WELL AS HORRIBLE HALLOWEEN PRANK LEADING TO MASS PANIC AND INJURY.’

“Then another banner:

‘UNLESS GRANTED CLEMENCY--SENTENCE WILL BE A DOG’S LIFE.’

“And I’m like ‘What? Exactly what do they mean by ‘a dog’s life?’

“I must of said the question out loud then for an old woman’s voice answered right back. ‘Well, dearie, it’s local slang meaning exile in a mortal shell.’

“Turning around, I see a couple of old goblin women--a fat one and a very thin one standing right behind me. It was the fat one who spoke up next.

“‘They turn the felon into a mortal first before they sending ‘im off,’ she explained. ‘Don’t know how they do it exactly except it’s long and complicated. Isn’t that right, Lottie?’

“‘Right you are, Fran,’ the thin goblin nodded. ‘Shortens 'is life down to one mortal span, plus it grounds ‘im hard to the Midgard earth so ‘im wouldn’t be able to hold a magical charge or anything else. Makes ‘im as weak and powerless as a dog.’

“‘ Hence the saying--’Being mortal is no better than being a dog,’ Lottie replied.

“‘Well, that’s awful!’ I exclaimed, shocked. ‘Why not have them do their time as an ordinary animal like a donkey or a cow?’

“‘Oh, they still do that sort of thing in a few primitive parts,’ Fran told me. ‘Used to do it here until the Labor Party came along and abolished it.’

“‘Yep, got rid of that sort of punishment in 1965 along with the death penalty,’ Lottie muttered. ‘Too barbaric, they say plus there was a potential of magical backfire, causing the transformation to go horribly wrong.’

“‘That and the felon sometimes tried to get revenge in animal form.’

“‘But that Van Devereux girl looks feeble minded!’ I exclaimed, turning back to regard the vague dull-looking brunette on the magazine cover. ‘Surely the court wouldn’t sentence a natural to life long exile.’

“‘A natural?’ Fran’s scaly eyebrows went up. ‘A natural, you say? Oh no! Definitely not a natural, dearie.’

“Lottie chuckled, shaking her feathered head. ‘You don’t follow that news, do you? Ain’t no innocent halfwit, she is. That elf girl’s a cunning lil’ thing, cunning and mean like a lil’ viper. She don’t care nothing about anybody, not even her mamma, papa or any of her brothers and sisters!’

“‘Right,’ Fran snatched up the magazine from the rack. ‘A really mean lil’ witch indeed.’ Flipping through the pages, she added. ‘Never seen such a nasty beast in all my born days.’

“‘Ere!’ Lottie grabbed the magazine from her stout friend, thrusting it forward. ‘You can see some of that meanness in that Clarissa’s eyes!’

“‘But...’ I started to say, and then as soon I saw that magazine cover again, my eyes widened in disbelief.

“What I say wasn’t a slovenly-dressed girl with an empty, flat face of a large baby. Instead, what I saw was an immaculately-dressed girl with curly blonde hair that was braided and tied back with silk ribbons. Although her oval face was fixed in an expression of charm and delight, the dimpled smile seemed icy while the wide blue eyes seemed cold and calculating as though she could see into my unsettled mind.

“‘But I swear I just saw...’ I began.

“Lottie narrowed her reddish eyes. 'You alright, dearie?’

“‘Don’t look alright to me,’ Fran observed. ‘Looks to me like she’ve seen a ghost.’

“Yeah, that’s what I think I saw, I wanted to say, but I didn’t because I didn’t want them to think I was loosing my mind.

“Instead I blurted out something a little more reasonable-sounding:

“‘Well, for a minute there...I thought she was a brunette.’

“Both goblins screwed up their beastly faces in puzzlement before looking down at the magazine once again.

“‘Ooh, you might be right on that one, dearie,’ Fran remarked, pursing her bulldog lips. ‘She does seem to have some dark roots.’

“‘Hair’s a funny color too,’ Lottie chuckled without mirth. ‘Weird ginger blonde...like she did her own dye job, but botched it though.’

“‘Well, they probably don’t have any professional hairdressers where she’s at now,’ Fran replied brightly.

“Meanwhile I walked forward with my groceries, leaving the cackling goblins behind to their gossip. I wasn’t going to get involved in gloating over someone else’s troubles, even though, like the majority of goblins and working fae, I wasn’t too fond of the Gentry class.

“By the time I got home, I pretty much dismissed the strange occurrence as due to stress, travel fatigue along with shock of moving to a strange new place.”

Kes’s voice slowed to a mumble as drowsiness crept slowly over her. Still she continued on--recounting the events that prompted her coming to this country.

“Eighteen months later, I had nearly forgotten the supermarket incident. I had a new job waiting tables at this tea and coffee tavern. The landlord finally got around to repairing the apartment house and evicting the animal freeloaders, a few of my roomies even started up a backyard community garden.

“It was starting to be a pretty good place to live although I still didn’t like Dimoil-Nu. Then autumn rolled around with its lengthening chilly nights and thick fog, along with the weird wild life you tended to expect with the closing season--spectral hounds, blue and green goblin cats, multi-tailed foxes, pipe-smoking draugar, ghost pirates and sailors on shore leave, people with detachable heads, various bogeymen coming oven and borrowing the lawn furniture and party lanterns.

“Since many of these ‘people’ patronized the tavern where I worked, I was pretty used to them by now.

“As strange as this might sound, I actually welcomed their company, their noisy house parties as they stood in the nearby yard and street, drinking and carousing.

“But on miserable wet nights when the streets were generally deserted, something would wander near the apartment complex and sing in this phlegmy burble. Always it would be the same song, this bit of nonsense ditty about nobody liking this person, and this person saying--guess I’ll go eat some worms then...or something to that effect.”

A shrill chorus of inquiring menagerie noises rose up from inside the cages and pens.

“Well, I didn’t know what it was exactly,” Kes replied with a yawn. “Just that this thing was invisible and that I wasn’t the only person who heard it, and it only came around on dark lonely nights of heavy rain or fog, and never tried to come inside.

“It seemed a mild-mannered spook and most of the residents along that particular street were used to it, treating it as a trifling nightly inconvenience, even going so far as accepting it as a rather eccentric member of the neighborhood. Some of the more sympathetic ones left it treats and small toys, thinking it was a ghost of a small child.

“I was one of the few people who never grew accustomed to the spirit, and often times slept with ear plugs whenever it came around. Even complained about it at work once, and the people there just nodded while I pitched a fit, then my boss told me I should consider myself that the ghost/boggart/whatever only came around once a year. Then he mentioned the Skrim apartments where the residents were pestered by a full-time phantom in a veiled widow outfit banging on a gong.

“‘You’ll get used to Short Hoggers,’ he told me. ‘Everyone eventually does.’

“Now ‘Short Hoggers’ happened to be an affectionate local phrase used to address really small children. I think it meant 'Little Boots,’ although at the time I felt like calling it something a little less sweet and chucking some heavy duty boots at it.

“But as the weeks went by, I eventually got used to it. Even stopped griping about how it kept on singing the same old song.”

Kes fell silent and her audience waited with many a nervous scuttling and tail twitch.

“Unfortunately, one roomie in particular who was clever about occult things, but not so in common sense, decided to do a little dabbling, innocently thinking that what she was contacting was a lonely little ghost.

“Poor Joan. She was always boasting constantly about her great magical abilities. She claimed to have even vanquished a nest of shadow demons that normally would never have been defeated by just one person. She actually thought she was on par with the greatest human spell casters in history, instead of just being a trust fund hippie/wiccan wannabe. So when everyone was out at a movie one Halloween night, she called that something in...something that she thought was a lost child.

“She thought that Something would also be her friend and would help become the spell caster she always dreamed about. Poor stupid Joan.”

Kes gulped as her hands tightened onto the blankets.

“The neighbors heard her shrieks and came running, but it was already too late.

“They later told me that it looked like she had been attacked by lions. She was horribly mangled, claw marks all over her. Yet there wasn’t a trace of blood anywhere, just this black, stinky slime drenching the inside of the room.

“Me and everyone else who lived in that house had to go to an inquest, even though we weren’t around when the murder occurred and there weren’t any suspects, although we had a pretty good idea who it was, cause while we were at the movies, we kept hearing Joan’s voice going around the aisles--singing that wretched worm song...just like the Short Hoggers.

“The court ordered us not to talk since Joan happened to come from this ulta-rich family who didn’t want the negative publicity. But a person just can’t keep quiet about that sort of thing. I’ve got to tell somebody--even though that somebody’s a house pet.”

Several dozen bright beady eyes stared in bewilderment. What was their new owner trying to tell them? Was there a possible monster on the loose or was she just completely unhinged?

“But that wasn’t why I left Merlia,” Kes went on slowly. “Not wanting to stick around for a repeat performance of Joan’s messy demise, I fled West Dimoil-Nu. Much to my relief, the thing didn’t follow, it stayed on in the neighborhood, moving from one house to the next, although it didn’t take anyone this time. Instead it would sit outside either on the porch or on any lawn furniture left out. It would always leave in the morning, and all the wicker wood or couches would all be soaked in black oily slime--unfit for anything but the bonfire.

“I ended up moving to a house in East Dulwicher with five others in it. I was to share a room with a chatty Aussie exchange student and the privilege would cost me about £550 per month. But I felt it was all worth it after my harrowing experience in West Dimoil--Nu. Then, a few months later, I came home late from working as a kitchen assistant, and found the house filled with police and freaked out fellow tenants. Meanwhile, my roommate was having hysterics on the couch, and I thinking to myself--’Oh great, someone just caught with a bag of Sparkle Freeeza or Brain Boasters. But it wasn’t about an illegal substance, it was about my roommate seeing the Short Hoggers. And when she finally told us the story, a shiver of cold horror ran through me. For it wasn't a ghost she saw sitting in the lawn chair when she went to take the trash to the curb. This was something much darker than any vengeful earthly shade, and far worse than any merely infernal spirit.

“‘It was squirming and twisting around in a chair,’ she stammered. ‘I thought...I thought it was an animal at first...like a seal or a giant eel even. Just lying there, wriggling and squirming horribly around...like it was dying or turning itself inside out. Then it saw me and stood up. But I ran back inside and locked the door. Then I saw it looking in through the window.’

“Then my roommate pointed to the window overlooking the drive.

“‘Right over there...it was pressed up against the glass. Its face...it was like that wiccan girl that got killed a year back in West Dimoil--Nu, and yet it wasn’t. Like a death mask without any eyes, with the nose and lips all shriveled and rotting away. And I knew there was something hiding behind it--something even more terrible!’

“I moved out the very next morning and emigrated shortly afterwards. So that, everyone, is my story, and I know nothing more than what I just experienced...and I don’t want to know anymore.”

Her audience waited but Kes had nothing more to say. Eventually sleep overcame them and they drifted off to dream too.

Tattered clouds scudded past the closest moon and gray banks of fog rolled in from the Chuderheim Channel. Beneath the mist, wandering wild life turned tail and fled, and dogs huddled, trembling and whimpering in their yards and kennels. Down the old rutted coach road and weaving through the Swanwick Forest, someone began singing a strange song.