believe me anyway, but maybe this will help,” she said, breezing back into the room like a silk-clad princess. In her hands she held a red leather-bound scrapbook. She set the book on the table and leafed through it until she found the page she wanted.
Then, drawing her robe modestly around her, she sat back on the loveseat.
“Read it.”
Joe leaned forward to see what she’d brought. It was a yellowed clip from the Terrel Daily Times . The date read November 6, 1951.
cursed cliff, read the headline.
It had run on the op ed page.
Joe quickly skimmed the opening of the article.
Some will call it a fluke storm, but old-timers here in Terrel know that the gusts that rocked Terrel’s Peak on Halloween were no natural event. For the first time inover twenty years, no body washed up on the beach last week, and the evil that dwells within that twisted growth of rock was angry. Is probably still angry.
Nobody knows what spirit dwells in that cliff. But whether it’s a lesser demon or the devil himself, there’s nobody who’s lived in Terrel for any amount of time who doesn’t own up to the fact that Terrel’s Peak is a deadly place where bad things happen. I’ve done my share of searching, and the deaths have occurred here since the first years of Terrel’s settlement. Perhaps our founder made some deal with the devil that offered our lives as payment for some service we’ll never know about. Or perhaps the peak is simply the gateway for the souls of hell that are released every year on All Hallow’s Eve.
Whatever the reason, the cliff is dangerous.
And now, it’s angry.
Consider this a caution.
Over the past years, the cliff has almost always left townsfolk alone, in favor of luring outsiders to break themselves on the deadly rocks at its feet. But apparently no outsiders offered themselves for the evil to devour this Halloween.
Someone from Terrel may be called upon to pay the price.
Don’t let it be you.
Stay away from the cliff these next few days. If you value your life.
—Jarvid Hardin.
Joe looked up from the story to stare at Angelica. “Is this really what everyone in town thinks? That as long as some stranger dies on Halloween, they’ll be safe for another year?”
Angelica nodded. Her eyes were hooded and dark.
“It’s not always true. Turn the page.”
He did and found another newspaper clip.
This one was much more recent. The date was May 23, 1981.local girl drowns in bay
Bernadette O’Brien, 19, of Terrel, drowned while swimming with five of her school friends yesterday in the bay.
While an accomplished swimmer, O’Brien was apparently pulled under by a strong current, and trapped for a time underwater by seaweed or other debris.
“We swam out into the bay and were lying out on the rocks below Terrel’s Peak, just sunbathing,” said Karen Sander, one of the last girls who saw Bernadette O’Brien alive.
“Bernadette dove into the water and started swimming back toward the shore by the cliff to cool off. We didn’t think anything about it, but then Margaret [Kelly] noticed that she couldn’t see Bernadette anywhere. We started calling her name, and when she didn’t answer, we all dove in and started trying to follow her path back to the shore.”
When the girls reached the shore and still hadn’t found any sign of their friend, Sander went to call the police while the other girls continued searching. The body of O’Brien was found at about seven p.m., lodged between two of the boulders beneath the peak. Services will be held at Folter’s Funeral Home tomorrow from three to nine p.m.
“May twenty-second,” he murmured before looking up to meet her gaze.
“You were there, weren’t you?” he asked quietly.
Angelica nodded.
“And Mrs. Canady?”
“Starting to see a pattern?”
“So six girls went swimming one spring day and one of them didn’t come back. What does that have to do with the deaths of the survivors’ children twenty years later? On the
Then, drawing her robe modestly around her, she sat back on the loveseat.
“Read it.”
Joe leaned forward to see what she’d brought. It was a yellowed clip from the Terrel Daily Times . The date read November 6, 1951.
cursed cliff, read the headline.
It had run on the op ed page.
Joe quickly skimmed the opening of the article.
Some will call it a fluke storm, but old-timers here in Terrel know that the gusts that rocked Terrel’s Peak on Halloween were no natural event. For the first time inover twenty years, no body washed up on the beach last week, and the evil that dwells within that twisted growth of rock was angry. Is probably still angry.
Nobody knows what spirit dwells in that cliff. But whether it’s a lesser demon or the devil himself, there’s nobody who’s lived in Terrel for any amount of time who doesn’t own up to the fact that Terrel’s Peak is a deadly place where bad things happen. I’ve done my share of searching, and the deaths have occurred here since the first years of Terrel’s settlement. Perhaps our founder made some deal with the devil that offered our lives as payment for some service we’ll never know about. Or perhaps the peak is simply the gateway for the souls of hell that are released every year on All Hallow’s Eve.
Whatever the reason, the cliff is dangerous.
And now, it’s angry.
Consider this a caution.
Over the past years, the cliff has almost always left townsfolk alone, in favor of luring outsiders to break themselves on the deadly rocks at its feet. But apparently no outsiders offered themselves for the evil to devour this Halloween.
Someone from Terrel may be called upon to pay the price.
Don’t let it be you.
Stay away from the cliff these next few days. If you value your life.
—Jarvid Hardin.
Joe looked up from the story to stare at Angelica. “Is this really what everyone in town thinks? That as long as some stranger dies on Halloween, they’ll be safe for another year?”
Angelica nodded. Her eyes were hooded and dark.
“It’s not always true. Turn the page.”
He did and found another newspaper clip.
This one was much more recent. The date was May 23, 1981.local girl drowns in bay
Bernadette O’Brien, 19, of Terrel, drowned while swimming with five of her school friends yesterday in the bay.
While an accomplished swimmer, O’Brien was apparently pulled under by a strong current, and trapped for a time underwater by seaweed or other debris.
“We swam out into the bay and were lying out on the rocks below Terrel’s Peak, just sunbathing,” said Karen Sander, one of the last girls who saw Bernadette O’Brien alive.
“Bernadette dove into the water and started swimming back toward the shore by the cliff to cool off. We didn’t think anything about it, but then Margaret [Kelly] noticed that she couldn’t see Bernadette anywhere. We started calling her name, and when she didn’t answer, we all dove in and started trying to follow her path back to the shore.”
When the girls reached the shore and still hadn’t found any sign of their friend, Sander went to call the police while the other girls continued searching. The body of O’Brien was found at about seven p.m., lodged between two of the boulders beneath the peak. Services will be held at Folter’s Funeral Home tomorrow from three to nine p.m.
“May twenty-second,” he murmured before looking up to meet her gaze.
“You were there, weren’t you?” he asked quietly.
Angelica nodded.
“And Mrs. Canady?”
“Starting to see a pattern?”
“So six girls went swimming one spring day and one of them didn’t come back. What does that have to do with the deaths of the survivors’ children twenty years later? On the
Similar Books
