Chapter 5 – The Witch of Wellfleet

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 recover.  I would be scarred for life.  When I 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 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, she 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 Ellen 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.  Ellen 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 as 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 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 new 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,” she 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 at her mouth stopped and her eyes narrowed.  “My 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.”

        “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 as 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 found rather becoming.  Her natural beauty was enough to strike me speechless.  I must have been staring impolitely at her since she 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.

        Townsend 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.”

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 cutoff 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 Susan 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 the town of Wellfleet.  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 walked 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, and 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 Alfred 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 coming 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,” she 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 Susan 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, Alfred left to do his 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.  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 as 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 the moon.

        “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 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 Susan, 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 look at him with indignation.  His face 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 head 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,” Alfred 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.  Susan kissed me on the cheek and said, “Sleep well my sister.  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.  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.  The sound of chanting became louder with each step.  

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 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.  I let out a sigh of relief.  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, “Susan!”

        My rash action seemed to break the spell for the chanting suddenly stopped. 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.

III

        McCall cleared her throat and gave us a self conscious smile as if she expected us to laugh at her story.

        Townsend instead looked at her with admiration.

        “But how did you get back to New York?” I asked.

        “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,” Townsend 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,” McCall 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.

        Townsend 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, “Miss 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 Townsend, 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 Malcom 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.”

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 Miss 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 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,” Townsend 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 shook his head 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.”

        He 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 and with the dawn sun 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.  Townsend was 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 Miss 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.

        “I do believe this is the place,” he said.

        Out of habit, I checked our surroundings for threats and across the street saw a mob of some twenty 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 Townsend 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 and 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.

        He 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.  Townsend 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.”

        Townsend shrugged.  “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.”

V

I spent the rest of the afternoon looking after the horses and checking over my Sharps rifle and Malcom 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 about.

        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.

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.”

        Townsend 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,” Townsend 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 we 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 concentrate 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 Malcom 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 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, Townsend 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 sound 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 of fleeing people.  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.

        Townsend 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.