Thursday, November 16, 2017

imho ...

In My Humble Opinion ...

Image Source: WeHeartIt.com
Art has been in the news a great deal lately, with auctions of paintings by 'the Masters' going for outrageous amounts of money to private buyers.

A little known Leonardo da Vinci painting sold for a record-breaking $450 million.

Laboureur dans un Champ by Van Gogh sold for $81.3 million "with fees."

Chagall's Les Amourex sold for $28.4 million.

Image Source: WeHeartIt.com
Why someone would want to "hoard" a painting, that by all rights should be hanging in a museum for everyone to see?  Art is meant to be shared and hiding it away in a private home, or a bank vault is just selfish.  Especially art that is created by those we now consider to be a part of all of our cultural histories.

The price that is being paid for the art is also something I just cannot comprehend.  If you have that much money to spend on one piece of art ... why aren't you doing more to help humanity?  How many homeless and starving could be housed and fed with $28.4 million?  How many diseases could be cured with research financed by $81.3 million?  By $450 million?

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Wednesday's Words ...

Words for Wednesday is provided by a number of people and has become a movable feast. This month, prompts can be found here: Elephant's Child. Essentially the goal is to encourage us to write. Each week we are given a choice of prompts: which can be words, phrases, music or an image. What we do with those prompts is up to us: a short story, prose, a song, a poem, using all or some, or ignoring them.

(Thanksgiving is celebrated in the United States this month, and I have a special connection to those first pilgrims. My great-great-etc-great-grandfather,George Soule, came over on the Mayflower as an indentured servant and kept the log on the Mayflower. So this month my words will be drawn by my imagination of what it must have been like for those early immigrants who did not face as much political whoo-ha as immigrants do today.)


Image Source: WeHeartIt.com
Ellie shifted in the stocks to try to get more comfortable in the agonizing cold.  Sleet had been falling for hours and she shivered uncontrollably.  The whipping she'd suffered had laid bare her back, tearing at her dress, and none of the council had attempted to cover her up when the rains had started.  While the cold was almost unbearable, it at least numbed the wounds and welts on her back.

Accusing John Doane of murder had been her attempt to clear the name of her late husband, John Billington, who had been hung for the dramatic killing of John Newcomen in 1630.  She knew he had died an innocent man when she made the discovery that her husband had been sleeping with Doane's wife the very day of Newcomen's murder, but she'd been unable to prove it at the trial.  Now their surviving boy, Francis, would forever be burdened with being the son of a murderer.

"Typical arse, Doane is," she muttered under her breath.

She wished she had a sip of the distinct elderflowers ale she'd made in the summer to warm her.  A noise behind her startled her thoughts.

"Oo's there?"

"Don't matter oo' I is.  I has an offer fer ye that might'n help ye t' clear ye 'usban's name"

The voice sounded familiar, but just the thought of who it might be was completely zany.

"Ann? 'is you, 'hore?"

Ellie heard a gasp, then a rustle of fabric as the person rushed away without saying anything more.  She sighed and shifted again, the anger that now coursed through her stimulating her blood to warm her just a bit.  How dare the very woman her late husband was having an affair with come forward to clear his name!

Tuesday, November 7, 2017

Wednesday's Words

Words for Wednesday is provided by a number of people and has become a movable feast. This month, prompts can be found here: Elephant's Child. Essentially the goal is to encourage us to write. Each week we are given a choice of prompts: which can be words, phrases, music or an image. What we do with those prompts is up to us: a short story, prose, a song, a poem, using all or some, or ignoring them.

(Thanksgiving is celebrated in the United States this month, and I have a special connection to those first pilgrims.  My great-great-etc-great-grandfather, George Soule, came over on the Mayflower as an indentured servant and kept the log on the Mayflower.  So this month my words will be drawn by my imagination of what it must have been like for those early immigrants who did not face as much political whoo-ha as immigrants do today.)

Ellie thought back to that ill-fated day when the decision had been made to leave their home, family, and friends in England and set out across the ocean for the New World.  Her husband, John Billington, had been offered free passage for his family to the New World, and since he'd had troubles finding work, they had agreed it was a good opportunity for them to leave everything behind and start new.

It had been harder than any of them expected, and there were days when she missed her family more than she had thought she would.  Her thoughts drifted to a letter she had received from her sister not long before they set sail.
Image source: WeHeartIt.com
"Dearest Elinor, I do wish you and John would reconsider leaving England, or at least explain to me why you were so decisive to travel to the New World.  I know you wanted to have your boys educated, but is it really necessary to start all over again under such tenuous conditions?  And with such little notice to your family here in England? Forgive me for saying so, sister dearest, but you are not a young maiden anymore, and I fear for your health and safety.
 "I have also heard stories of that branch of Separatists, and how they will try to unite you with them.  Please promise me that you will stay faithful to the Church of England.  If only for father's sake.  I know that he hasn't spoken to you in many years, but I do know that he thinks of you.  There have been times when I have heard him hum that song he used to sing to you when you were little."
Her thoughts were interrupted by the banging of the door and the sound of her sons arguing.

"It's mine!  I bought it!"

"It doesn't matter!  I'm the oldest, so it's mine!"

She turned to see them wrestling to get something in the door, and finally, both boys fell to the ground with a small hand truck loaded with wood on top of them.

"Mind the floor, ye two ruffians! I jus' swept it neat!  What are ye fightin' o'er?

"I bought this cart fo' a copper coin, an' he says it be his!"

"Well, I'll settl' this fair.  It now b'longs t'yer ma and pa!"


Wednesday, November 1, 2017

Words on Wednesday ...

Words for Wednesday is provided by a number of people and has become a movable feast. This month, prompts can be found here: Elephant's Child. Essentially the goal is to encourage us to write. Each week we are given a choice of prompts: which can be words, phrases, music or an image. What we do with those prompts is up to us: a short story, prose, a song, a poem, using all or some, or ignoring them.

(Thanksgiving is celebrated in the United States this month, and I have a special connection to those first pilgrims.  My great-great-etc-great-grandfather, George Soule, came over on the Mayflower as an indentured servant and kept the log on the Mayflower.  So this month my words will be drawn by my imagination of what it must have been like for those early immigrants who did not face as much political whoo-ha as immigrants do today.)

She adjusted her bedraggled hair and tried to hide the stubborn pieces that insisted on being unwieldy under her bed cap, without much luck.  She felt ancient and frail, and much older than her 50 something years.

Someone had been pounding on the door, and she had been aroused out of the first good sleep she'd had since the Mayflower had landed.

"Wha'der want?" she yelled at the door.

"Open up, Ellie!  It's me and it's cold as a witch's tit out here!"

"Oh, and ye know how cold that is, do ye?"

"Shut it and jus' let me in, would ya?"

She opened the door just a narrow crack.  "Wha's in it fer me?"

"I found some o' them herbs ya been needin' fer ya pain.  If'n ya let me in by the fire, I'll giv'em to ya."

She looked him up and down with her good eye as if to evaluate whether or not he was telling the truth.

"If ye lyin' to me, I'll push ye in the fire I will."

"I ain't lyin' Ellie, lemme in!"

She pulled the door open just far enough to let him in, then quickly closed it against the cold.  "The fires got low, ye'll have to throw some coal on it.  Wheres the herbs ye promised me?"

"Here ya go, ya old biddy.  Ya fortunate I membered that ya needed them whens I saw them in the garden."

She pulled a dusty pot from off the wooden table and ladled water into it.  The handful of herbs were dry but she could still smell the power in them.  They would make a tea that would help to ease the pain in her joints, but only for a day or two.

"Ye di'nt steal them, did ye?  If they catch ye pilfering from the garden, ye know the gov'ner'll execute ye."

"In't the garden fo' the good of all?"

"Tis. Buts t' be shared by all, not pilfered f'one."

She set the pot on the coals closest to her and slowly stirred the herbs.  There were times when she wondered if leaving England had been the right thing to do.  Even more, times when she'd been so sick on the ship's crossing that she'd thought it would have been easier to just slip away with the waves.  But the hope for a new life had been stronger than the scurvy and seasickness.

None of them had been prepared for the hardships once they landed, however.  So many had died shortly after arriving, and she'd done what she could to help the others, mixing tinctures and teas with wild herbs that she was familiar with.  Winter had been harsher than it had been in England, and by the time the first spring buds were showing on the trees, they'd lost more than half of the hopeful settlers who'd set out from England just seven months before.

Wednesday, October 25, 2017

Wednesday's Words ...

The creature had caught him by surprise.  He'd been hunting that afternoon for a whitetail buck to fill their freezer for winter.  Even though he'd had his rifle, he'd been unable to fight back as powerful arms wrapped around him and pulled him off his feet.  He had screamed in agony as he felt his ribs break with the pressure, then everything had gone black.

When he had finally regained consciousness, he had found himself deep in a dark part of the ravine that he'd never been before.  He was covered in mud mixed with blood and his clothes had been nearly shredded off of him, offering him no protection to the surrounding bushes and branches with sharp thorns that tore at his bare skin with every move he made.

He had no idea how much time had passed.  Reaching instinctively for the wrist that held his watch, he screamed in agony as his ribs moved and the broken edges grated together.  He struggled to breathe and knew that his lungs had been punctured.  Darkness closed around his mind again as he realized he wasn't alone in the brush, and the pain in his leg was coming from something gnawing on him.  His last thoughts were of her alone in the house with their son, and how he wished he could protect them from what was coming.
~*~
Her hand froze on the doorknob to Hayden's room as the shadow at the end of the hall slowly moved towards her.  She held her breath, and in the silence, she could hear the pendulum of the grandfather clock downstairs as it swung back and forth.
*~*
The children at Hayden's school continued to tease him with tales of the haunted ravine that was home to an invisible monster that ate people.  He hadn't told his mother, or his teachers, about the notes that would find their way into his desk or locker.  Instead, he had continued to hide away in the library, reading everything he could find about the history of the small town called Tingler that was on the far side of the ravine, and of the house, they lived in.  He made notes in a small leather diary he had found in the back of his father's desk that still smelled of his father's aftershave.

Hayden had overheard the sheriff telling his mom that there were five people who had been killed, but there really had been seven.  The first two were a father and son who had been hunting in the woods in the late 1800's, long before the town of Tingler even had a name or a sheriff.  They were one of the first families that had settled there, immigrating from Germany after the Franco-Prussian War with other German families who had wanted new lives.  Their last name had been Engler, and the father, Theodoric, had been the older brother of Adolf Engler, the famous German botanist.

When they had disappeared, Theodoric's wife, Ana, in her broken English and thick German accent, had tried to get help from the church in a neighboring town.  They had misunderstood her and thought she was telling them that she needed to find Theodore Ingler, and the name Tingler, for T. Ingler, had been given to the small community of German farmers when they had eventually given up hope of ever finding them.
~*~
The shadow stopped at the edge of where the light from the hall lamp ended and sighed. As she quietly and shakily exhaled and inhaled, the shadow sighed again only this time it sounded as if it said her name.

"Bethany..."

She froze.

"Andrew?"

"Yesssssss."

A tear rolled down her cheek.

"I don't...."

Hayden screamed for her again, this time louder than before, just as another flash of lightning and an instantaneous crack of thunder filled the house.  The power went off again, and suddenly the temperature in the hall dropped dramatically.  She shivered as she heard Andrew's voice whisper right next to her ear.

"Open the door."

She turned the handle and pushed the door open.  Hayden burst from the room and into her arms in the darkness.  She felt cold air rush past both of them and the door slammed shut behind Hayden.  Feeling for the wall by the stairs, she carefully carried him down to the kitchen where she found the flashlight she kept in a drawer.  Turning it on, she looked at Hayden.  One of his pajama sleeves was torn and he had deep scratches on his arm.  A pants leg was also torn in the back where it looked like something had tried to stop him from leaving the room, but his leg was fine.

Something thudded on the upstairs floor, and against Hayden's bedroom door.  An inhuman howl filled the air.  She dropped the flashlight but quickly grabbed it again before it rolled too far.  Hayden whimpered and shook with fear.

Grabbing the first aid kit from under the kitchen sink, she carried him to the door to the root cellar.  It was still the original heavy and solid oak door that had been put in when the house was new.  The root cellar was just as it had been back then, a small room lined with shelves and without electricity.  They had cleaned and dusted it, repaired shelves as they needed, but had decided it would be a good tornado shelter that could double as a cold pantry and wine cellar.  The only changes they had made were to add a vent to the outside for fresh air, and several heavy slide locks onto the inside of the door to keep it securely closed in case of a tornado.  Now she closed the door tightly behind her and slid the latches into place.
*~*
The beast had lunged towards the soul as the door opened but had missed its mark.  Before it could try again, a cold shadow had stepped between the beast and the soul and the door had slammed shut.  Suddenly the beast was flying across the room, shoved with an anger and coldness it had never felt before.

"No more!" the shadow whispered fiercely.

The beast swung blindly in the darkness, and the cold anger pushed it again, this time to the floor.  Struggling to get away from the shadow, it howled wildly as it was thrown against the door by another larger shadow that had appeared out of the darkness.  "Nicht mehr!"  The beast's breath hung in the air as the temperature continued to drop.

"No more!" the shadow whispered again, this time echoed by seven other voices.  "No more!" they chanted, pushing and hitting the beast with their fierce anger.  For the first time in its very long life, the beast felt something unfamiliar.  

Fear.  

It howled again, swinging its arms and backing to the window, trying to get away.  Suddenly it was outside the window, suspended in the air by the shadows as they pulled the beast higher and higher above the storm clouds to where the sun was just beginning to rise.
~*~
Bethany listened at the door as she heard the howling and the storm fade into the distance. The candle she had lit to save the flashlight batteries dripped hot wax onto her hand and she inhaled sharply with the pain.  Hayden clung to her leg.

"Is it gone?"

"I think so, honey.  I can see sunlight under the door.  I think it's morning."

"Can we wait a little longer just to be sure?"

"If you want, but not much longer.  I want to call the sheriff."
*~*
The K9 and equestrian search teams had found a cave deep in the ravine, surrounded by thorned branches and bushes keep it hidden.  The skeletal remains of a man and boy were found in it, along with the remains of bears, elk, and a large moose.  They had tried to identify the human remains through DNA and missing person reports, but it had been Hayden who had suggested that they might be the first two victims, Theodoric Engler, and his son, Berend.

Fire crews from both sides of the ravine had burned the brush away from the cave, and it had been sealed permanently with concrete.  A memorial service had been held for the Englers in the town of Tingler after their remains were shipped to Germany and buried next to that of Ana Engler and her other children where they had returned a year after the disappearances.  As Bethany and Hayden were ushered into a pew at the back of the church, she thought the afternoon shadows seemed darker there than they were at the front of the church.
~*~
In the spring, Bethany decided it was time to repaint Hayden's bedroom and he had picked out a slate blue color.  During the day when he was at school, she prepped the walls, putting up tape that would divide the top half of the room to be painted, and the lower half for white wainscoting panels.  She taped around the door and window frames, painted corners and around the trim so that when he came home the two of them could paint the walls together.  It brought back happy memories of when she and Andrew had painted the room a soft green before Hayden had been born.
Image Source

As she was washing out the brushes one evening while Hayden took a bath, she was startled to hear a tapping at the kitchen window.  In the dusky light, as the sun was almost set, she could make out the shape of a raven at the window, tapping the glass with its beak.  She turned off the water and went to the kitchen door that opened onto the wraparound porch.  As she stepped outside, the raven flew off into a nearby tree and Bethany stood to watch the sunset as the shadow of the tree grew longer and longer across the porch.

She shivered suddenly as the temperature dropped and wrapped her arms around herself.  The wind picked up and rustled in the leaves left from last fall.

"Bethany...."

The whisper was so faint she almost thought she was imagining things, but realized that the tree's shadow wrapped around her was darker than the rest of the shadow.

"Andrew."

"I love you, Bethany.  So much. Hayden too.  You'll be safe now.  Forever."  

"I love you too, Andrew.  I always will.  Thank you for saving our son."

"I'll be here watching out for both of you.  Always."

Tuesday, October 24, 2017

Words for Wednesday 25 October 17 ~ the prompts

Image Source
Words for Wednesday is provided by a number of people and has become a movable feast. I joined in when Elephant's Child was hosting the prompts. This month I will be hosting.

Essentially the goal is to encourage us to write. Each week we are given a choice of prompts: which can be words, phrases, music or an image. 
What we do with those prompts is up to us: a short story, prose, a song, a poem, using all or some, or ignoring them. 

Some of us put our creation in comments on the post, and others post on their own blog. It would be wonderful if as many people as possible joined into this creative exercise. If you are posting on your own blog - please share the link to your blog post in the comments below so that we can come enjoy and applaud.


Keeping the spirit alive for one last week, the words chosen for prompts this week are from actor Vincent Price's movie titles.

I have to confess that the first time I saw him was in Pit and the Pendulum. It was shown at school when I was in the 6th grade in Scottsdale, AZ ~ about 1972 ~ and it absolutely terrified me. I sat next to a girl, Jan Creech [whose name I will always remember because of it] who only screamed at the NOT scary parts. So as I watched with my hands over my eyes, peeking between my fingers when I thought it was safe to look, I only saw the scary parts which gave me nightmares for weeks.

And your image (Image Source)
1. Pendulum
2. Haunted
3. Seven
4. Wax
5. Raven
6. Scream

and/or

1. Tales
2. Fly
3. Tingler
4. Invisible
5. Usher
6. Diary

Thursday, October 19, 2017

products I love ...

I finally finished reading where i end by Katherine Clark!  You will have to wait until January 2018 to get it when it is finally published, but if you are looking for an encouraging and inspiring memoir, you won't be disappointed.

Katherine is a young, active mother of two children, and one afternoon at her son's school she is hit by a child jumping off one of the large playground items. Her neck is broken, she is instantly paralyzed and her life changes forever.  Telling her story, all the humiliating, humble bits and pieces of it, Katherine shares her amazing recovery.

I was brought to tears and laughter, and inspired by her will to live a life better than the one the doctors said she would have after her injury.

~*~
So here is probably one of those TMI (too much information) moments about me ... I once suffered horrible ulcerative colitis brought on my internalized stress while I was living with my abuser (my divorce was an amazing healing process in more ways than one).  Since then, I occasionally have bouts of irritable and stress-sensitive "issues."  'Nuff said about that.

But almost a month ago, I received a free box of Culturelle Pro-Well Probiotics to try.  I have been amazed at the difference in how I feel since starting the capsules!  Not just physically, but just in my overall health.  I'm losing weight (YAY!!!), sleeping better, and no longer have the discomfort and panic of trying to be close to a restroom 30 minutes after eating.

I've always known that eating yogurt was good bacteria for my innards, but I don't always remember to buy it when shopping, and honestly keep forgetting that I have it when I do buy it.  Now I take one capsule at night before I go to sleep (no, it will not make you drowsy ~ it's just when I take all my meds) and let those little buggers do their thing while I'm dreaming of rainbows, puppies, kittens and ducklings. (and that is an entirely different subject to blog about another time!)

*~*
links are affiliates ~ thank you!
I know.  You are tired of me going on and on about how thrilled I am to have found Jade Bloom Essential Oils and their awesome University.

But look at this!!!!  My October Collector's Club Gold Bag (for an affordable $18.95) had two amazing oils in it that would have cost me almost $100 if I had purchased them on their own! 

Jade Bloom University explains how different oils are made (super fascinating!) and how to use them.  For me, understanding how they are made and the best and safest ways to use them was what sealed the deal for me.  I knew aromatherapy was a great tool to use in physical and mental health, having studied it years ago, but there was a lot that 'book-learnin' just doesn't cover.  The University is free ~ in fact, you get paid to learn because you earn free oils in the process!

Wednesday, October 18, 2017

Wednesday's Words ...

Hayden watched the shadow of the tree outside his window on his bedroom wall as the lightning flashed.  He counted the seconds between the flash and the thunder as his dad had taught him before he died.  Thunderstorms used to give him nightmares when he was younger, often causing his asthma to get worse.  Counting helped him to stay calm, and it gave him courage after his dad had died.

After his father's funeral, several of the children he went to school with had come up to him in the recess yard the first day he had gone back to school.  His friends had stood in front of him as the other boys and girls teased him about his father getting eaten by the boogyman.  Hayden hadn't said a word and a teacher had finally come over to see what was going on.  Parents had been called to the principal's office and letters sent home with the warning that if there were a recurrence of the bullying, there would be expulsions with no further warnings.

After that day, he had mostly kept to himself, choosing to go to the library rather than out to recess.  His friends told him he shouldn't hide in there, that it just made the bullies think they had won.  But Hayden didn't care.  He missed his father, and in the library, he could pretend the rows and rows of books were magical tunnels that would lead his father back home if he just wished hard and long enough.

At the harvest festival, after his dad was gone, Hayden had been frightened by a clown that had popped a bright red balloon behind him.  The clown had laughed when Hayden jumped, spilling his popcorn into the water at the apple bobbing tent.  His mother had shooed the clown away with an angry word and bought him a new bag of popcorn, but they had gone home when he hadn't wanted to let go of her hand long enough to get on any of the rides, even the ponies that he usually loved.

Lightning lit up his bedroom again, bright enough to momentarily distort his vision, followed by a crack of thunder that didn't give him any time to count.  His ears were still ringing when another flash made the shadow of the tree on his wall appear to have some kind of bear sitting on the limb.  As he blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden darkness and flashes of blinding light, the shadow moved back and forth, closer and closer until it seemed as if it was in his room with him.

"Mommy!"

She could barely hear his scream over the crash of continuous thunder as the storm reached its strength.  Racing to the top of the stairs, calling his name as she reached for the door handle, she suddenly realized that she wasn't alone in the hallway.

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Words for Wednesday 18 October 17 ~ the prompts ...

Words for Wednesday is provided by a number of people and has become a movable feast. I joined in when Elephant's Child was hosting the prompts. This month I will be hosting.

Essentially the goal is to encourage us to write. Each week we are given a choice of prompts: which can be words, phrases, music or an image. 
What we do with those prompts is up to us: a short story, prose, a song, a poem, using all or some, or ignoring them. 

Some of us put our creation in comments on the post, and others post on their own blog. It would be wonderful if as many people as possible joined into this creative exercise. If you are posting on your own blog - please share the link to your blog post in the comments below so that we can come enjoy and applaud.


Keeping with October's theme, the words this week are taken from Stephen King's It.  

I read most of King's early works, but when Needful Things made me upset over the way he killed a dog, and Insomnia touched on child molestation, Rose Madder was too close to home as I was in an abusive marriage, I stopped reading his books.  Of all his books, The Stand is my ultimate favorite, and when I left my abuser, it was the only book of King's that I took with me.

1. Clown
And your image to use [Image Source]
2. Tunnels
3. Children
4. Nightmares
5. Water
6. Friends

and/or

1. Visions
2. Red
3. Courage
4. Asthma
5. Recurrence
6. Hide

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

Wednesday's Words ...

She paced the living room floor, trying to fight off the melancholy fog of grief that threatened to overtake her. The violent storm outside caused the electricity to go off once again, and as she stood in the darkness, she remembered the first storm they had shared when they were dating.

His kiss had caught her by surprise since the room was so dark she couldn't see him at all. He had whispered to her that he had memorized her face before the lights had gone out, and she had laughed, amused and amazed at his outrageous love for her. The sensations of his touch on her skin after that first kiss still lingered, even now, a year after his murder by some savage beast in the ravine behind their house.

Her family couldn't understand why she had stayed in the house after that.  But it had been their house and each room held a memory of them together.  Painting walls that turned into giddy splatter wars, and writing "i love you" on the walls.  Hours spent sanding down the wood floors, and the time they had found themselves cornered by wet sealant when they hadn't thought to work towards the door.  They had spent the night sleeping curled up in each other's arms, until the floor was dry enough to tip toe out of the room.  Even now she could still see their toe prints faintly on the floor.

When she had gotten pregnant, they had been over the moon with excitement.  They spent hours refinishing the room next to theirs for the nursery, arguing over names with each paint stroke, and each sanded board. They hadn't wanted to know the sex of the child before birth, and had finally chosen a first name that could be appropriate for either gender.  They had agreed upon middle names using their grandparents names which would seal the gender.  When their son was born, he had glowed for days with happiness and had driven her almost crazy by catering to her every need instantly.

Now, six years later and a year after his father's death, his face reminded her of him.  Each time she heard him running down the stairs to greet her in the morning, her heart skipped a beat. There had been so much joy in that house, and she knew that she had to remain strong for their son.

The phone rang unexpectedly, startling her in the darkness, and as she stumbled over a chair the lights came back on.  Gasping in pain from the fall, she answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello! This is Detective Frank Enstein.  I wanted to let you know that we finally got the results back from the laboratory on the saliva found on your husband's wounds."

"What? It has been a year.  I didn't even realize that the case was still open.  I thought that you had determined it was some kind of animal?"

"Well, yes, that was our preliminary conclusion, but there was something about the saliva that the lab wanted to look into further.  They found a connection to several much older unsolved murder cases."

"What does that mean? It wasn't an animal?  Are we in danger?"

"We're not sure.  We're sending equestrian and K9 teams out in the morning to search the ravine behind your house."

"What are they looking for?"

"About 60 years ago, there were a series of five murders on the outskirts of town.  It was long before there was even any thought about DNA, especially in these rural areas, but one young police officer, my dad in fact, thought that he should preserve some of the evidence somehow.  He managed to seal some of the clothing that had blood and saliva on it into glass jars that sat in a box in the lab closet.  One of the older techs remembered something his parents had talked about in hush-hush tones at night, and how when he was a kid they had all been told to stay away from the ravine.  I found my dad's file of his personal notes from the cases, and asked the lab if they had the box was still there.  When they found it, they managed to extract a small amount of DNA from some of the fibers to test."

"And?"

"Well, it turned out to be a match.  An exact match actually."

"So what happened in these other cases?"

"They just had old black and white pictures and pencil sketches in the files that had mostly faded from age, but some of them were pretty gruesome looking.  Not only did they kill the men, but in once case where they had broken into a barn chasing a man, they had killed a cow and a pig.  Dad had penciled 'like a slaughterhouse' in the margin of his notes."

"And you think this thing, or person, is still out there after all these years? Haven't you watched too many X-Files episodes?"

"I know it sounds crazy, but not as crazy as the DNA matching was.  If it is the same person, it could be the start of another series of murders.  We've had inquiries from the county on the other side of the ravine about some missing hikers, but nobody made the connection until now."

"Is my son in danger?"

"I honestly don't know, but if you have a gun in the house, I think you should keep it close to you, and stay close to your son until we get this sorted out.  I can send an officer out if you want to just keep an eye on things if you'd like."

"I don't have a gun, and I would appreciate it if you could send someone.  I'm worried now."

"I'll have someone out there in the next ten minutes, but in the meantime, just keep the house locked up and the curtains closed.  I'll call you as soon as the officer is there so you know who it is."

"Thank you so much.  I really appreciate it."

Hanging up the phone, she limped around to make sure the downstairs doors and windows were all locked, and the drapes all pulled tightly shut before going upstairs to check on her son and pull his curtains closed.  As she slowly went up the steps, she paused as she heard a noise from the stairs above her ...