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Authors: Ron Ripley
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upon the arms of the chair.
“Jenny,” Shane said, speaking gently, “this is a very good friend of mine, Carl Hesselschwerdt.”
Carl inclined his head slightly and gave her a small smile.
Jenny smiled back and asked, “So, how does this work?”
“A good question,” Shane said. To Carl, he said in German, “Her husband is a friend of mine. He is trapped in a graveyard, by a mist. Will you do me the kindness of asking the dark ones if they know anything about such a thing?”
“Of course,”Carl replied, and then he vanished.
Jenny was startled for a moment, and then she looked at Shane. “He’ll help?”
“He will certainly try,” Shane said. “He’s going to ask around. I guess that’s the best way to put it.”
“Sort of like a ghost network?” Jenny asked.
“I’ve got a small library upstairs, too. It’s almost all military stuff, but I’ll look a little deeper.” He stopped as her eyes widened. “Jenny, what’s wrong?”
“A ghost library,” she said softly. She smiled, “A ghost library.”
“You lost me,” Shane said. “I don’t have a ghost library.”
“No,” Jenny said, shaking her head. “But, I do.”
“What?”
“Yes,” she said. “It was this man’s, Leo’s, it was his place. It’s downtown, here in Nashua.”
“Leo?” Shane asked. “Is he a ghost, because I think we’ve met?”
“Yes, you have met. Brian told me how Leo helped you guys up in Rye,” Jenny said, nodding.
She stood up. “I need to get there. I’m sorry.”
“Hold on,” Shane said, getting to his feet. “Hold on. Why don’t we go down together? I can help you look. Is it a big place?”
Jenny grinned. “Huge.”
Chapter 23: Choosing Lots
Brian looked at Owen warily.
The skeletal thin man smiled gruesomely.
“This is bull,” John said, taking a step towards the door.
“John,” Brian started to say.
Before he could tell the man to stop though, Owen’s bearskin robe parted slightly. The blue steel barrel of a pistol appeared, and the distinctive sound of the hammer being cocked filled the room.
John stopped.
“Very good,” Owen said, his voice low and pleasant. “Now, gentleman, we have ourselves and interesting situation. Well, interesting for me, at least. Usually, Joseph merely sends the smaller of God’s creatures to me, and I feast upon them. Rarely do I enjoy a full meal, although there have been others I have eaten. Unwary folk, or unlucky, like yourselves.
“Never, as I have said,” Owen continued, “has Josephus delivered two to me. Part of me wishes to shoot you both and to be done with it. Yet, I have had frightfully little entertainment over the years. I have occupied myself with remembering books I have read. Films, seen as a boy.”
Owen chuckled, and Brian was surprised to see the pistol never wavered. Owen was much stronger than he appeared.
“Are either of you familiar with ‘the custom of the sea?’ ” Owen asked.
Both Brian and John shook their heads.
“A shame,” Owen said. “Well, let me enlighten you, then. You see, my uncle was a fisherman, a Gloucester man by birth and by trade. Fished the Grand Banks for cod. He told me all sorts of delightful stories. When he was drunk, however, those stories were a little darker.”
A thin, bony hand slipped out from under Owen’s bearskin, took up a glass and brought it to his lips. Although Owen took a sip, Brian saw the glass was empty.
“Refreshing,” Owen murmured. He smiled. “Yes. Now, when my dear uncle drank, he spoke of things that most people do not. And one of those was what he called ‘the custom of the sea.’ It sounds charming, doesn’t it?”
John said nothing, and Brian only nodded.
“Alas, it is not,” Owen said with a sigh. “It is a veiled reference to cannibalism. It speaks of men adrift at sea and starving to death. The good of the many outweighs the rights of the one. A single man would be sacrificed in order to sustain his comrades. The
“Jenny,” Shane said, speaking gently, “this is a very good friend of mine, Carl Hesselschwerdt.”
Carl inclined his head slightly and gave her a small smile.
Jenny smiled back and asked, “So, how does this work?”
“A good question,” Shane said. To Carl, he said in German, “Her husband is a friend of mine. He is trapped in a graveyard, by a mist. Will you do me the kindness of asking the dark ones if they know anything about such a thing?”
“Of course,”Carl replied, and then he vanished.
Jenny was startled for a moment, and then she looked at Shane. “He’ll help?”
“He will certainly try,” Shane said. “He’s going to ask around. I guess that’s the best way to put it.”
“Sort of like a ghost network?” Jenny asked.
“I’ve got a small library upstairs, too. It’s almost all military stuff, but I’ll look a little deeper.” He stopped as her eyes widened. “Jenny, what’s wrong?”
“A ghost library,” she said softly. She smiled, “A ghost library.”
“You lost me,” Shane said. “I don’t have a ghost library.”
“No,” Jenny said, shaking her head. “But, I do.”
“What?”
“Yes,” she said. “It was this man’s, Leo’s, it was his place. It’s downtown, here in Nashua.”
“Leo?” Shane asked. “Is he a ghost, because I think we’ve met?”
“Yes, you have met. Brian told me how Leo helped you guys up in Rye,” Jenny said, nodding.
She stood up. “I need to get there. I’m sorry.”
“Hold on,” Shane said, getting to his feet. “Hold on. Why don’t we go down together? I can help you look. Is it a big place?”
Jenny grinned. “Huge.”
Chapter 23: Choosing Lots
Brian looked at Owen warily.
The skeletal thin man smiled gruesomely.
“This is bull,” John said, taking a step towards the door.
“John,” Brian started to say.
Before he could tell the man to stop though, Owen’s bearskin robe parted slightly. The blue steel barrel of a pistol appeared, and the distinctive sound of the hammer being cocked filled the room.
John stopped.
“Very good,” Owen said, his voice low and pleasant. “Now, gentleman, we have ourselves and interesting situation. Well, interesting for me, at least. Usually, Joseph merely sends the smaller of God’s creatures to me, and I feast upon them. Rarely do I enjoy a full meal, although there have been others I have eaten. Unwary folk, or unlucky, like yourselves.
“Never, as I have said,” Owen continued, “has Josephus delivered two to me. Part of me wishes to shoot you both and to be done with it. Yet, I have had frightfully little entertainment over the years. I have occupied myself with remembering books I have read. Films, seen as a boy.”
Owen chuckled, and Brian was surprised to see the pistol never wavered. Owen was much stronger than he appeared.
“Are either of you familiar with ‘the custom of the sea?’ ” Owen asked.
Both Brian and John shook their heads.
“A shame,” Owen said. “Well, let me enlighten you, then. You see, my uncle was a fisherman, a Gloucester man by birth and by trade. Fished the Grand Banks for cod. He told me all sorts of delightful stories. When he was drunk, however, those stories were a little darker.”
A thin, bony hand slipped out from under Owen’s bearskin, took up a glass and brought it to his lips. Although Owen took a sip, Brian saw the glass was empty.
“Refreshing,” Owen murmured. He smiled. “Yes. Now, when my dear uncle drank, he spoke of things that most people do not. And one of those was what he called ‘the custom of the sea.’ It sounds charming, doesn’t it?”
John said nothing, and Brian only nodded.
“Alas, it is not,” Owen said with a sigh. “It is a veiled reference to cannibalism. It speaks of men adrift at sea and starving to death. The good of the many outweighs the rights of the one. A single man would be sacrificed in order to sustain his comrades. The
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