The House in the Middle of the Forest

 Houses are like story books. Their walls hide all that has been absorbed from occupants and events. The house in the middle of Lorequist Forest was just one of these. 

An oddity for certain was its strange location that by all appearances gave it the look of being on an island when no island was nearby. No paths for accessibility, just barren land of a strange bleached white sand, surrounding a three story structure with lush green forestry a distance of more than an acre in diameter beyond the property on which it stood. . 

The house itself was also an oddity. It resembled a French Manor House and had a tan weathered exterior with  mahogany enameled shutters on the windows. 

Each floor of the structure had 6 cross paned windows at the front of the house, proving the actual width of the house to be more than 8,000 square feet. 

Six red brick chimneys erupted from the flat roof. At the back of the house each floor would have the same number of windows as if the occupants spent much time observing their surroundings outdoors. 

Other than the windows, only one entry was located at the front of the structure as if during construction someone forgot to add several more doors. 

The sole front entry had two massive oak doors, each with inlaid wrought iron over the decorative carvings. 

There being no path accessible, any curiosity seeker would have found themselves entangled in various vines and overgrowth of tree limbs that, like a trap had numerous thick roots protruding from the ground's surface. 

On a cool, breezy autumn day, Jake Durban, a vagabond type adventurer found himself lost in Lorequist Forest, That was easy to do, given that it was  so heavily forested. 

He kept walking, passing what appeared to be a small pond. Jake laughed to himself. 

"Strange place for a pond. But I suppose rain water has to collect somewhere." 

He shrugged and wondered when he would come upon an outlying path to a main road. 

He passed several unusual flowers and plants, ducking his head, avoiding a prickly vine hanging low from tree branches. 

He peered upward at the tree from which the vine hung and he could see the trunk was covered in this vine nearly to the tree's top. 

"Best I keep walking or I'll never find a way out of this sylvan glade" 

Jake had no idea just how accurately he described this lush forest. 

The wind whistled through the trees with an eerie sound like a screaming rabbit caught in a trap. At one point Jake had to cover his ears for the high pitched sound piercing his auditory nerves. 

As late morning gave way to high noon, the sun dappled through the various maples, oaks and sycamore trees. 

Jake's legs were beginning to feel leaden. 

"Here am I with no food or water in the middle of no where." 

He worried he would soon feel parched., not to mention hungry. Feeling drowsy, he napped against the trunk of a gnarled oak. 

He awoke refreshed and renewed in his trek. 

"I suppose I could forage for food and water if I am desperate enough." 

He laughed at the thought, just not at the possibility he may have to spend a night in this place. 

Jake Durban, all six feet and one inch of him was not the man to be easily frightened or challenged. He ran his hand through his thick shock of red hair, stiffened as he stood erect, ready to start walking, Where, he knew not. 

As he approached a copse of trees, he thought he saw something in the distance as the wind passed through the youngest tree growth. It looked like an  island; but, he knew that couldn't be. Or could it? 

He quickened his steps. As he came closer, he saw it wasn't an island but a huge house smack in the middle of a sand bar. 

"How could there be a sand bar if there is no body of water in sight, he wondered? 

No matter, Jake would prevail upon the occupants to give him directions to get out of his predicament. 

He hurried toward the entry doors, grabbed the bronze lion's head door knocker and banged it loud enough to create an echo for several seconds. 

There being no response, he walked around to the side of the structure to see if there was another entrance. None was to be found.

"That's odd. All houses have more than one entrance." 

As he approached the back portion of the house, he saw the pool of water around the sand bar was an ugly, thick soupy black color. The back portion of the house had no windows.  Not one. 

"Who builds a house with only one door and no windows on the back wall? For that matter who'd live in such a place?" 

Jake realized he was talking aloud to himself. It couldn't matter since he came to the realization the place was empty and from the overgrowth around the place had been for some time.

\So back around to the front of the house he went. 

He  walked up the flagstone path to the circular steps with inlaid black marble. 

Jake nearly slipped on the marble as he reached for the door with much trepidation. 

"Well here goes. If someone is inside, I just hope they are friendly," he said, adjusting his shirt and smoothing his shock of red hair.. 

This time he knew it was pointless to use the door knocker since he got no response the first attempt. . I

Instead, he cautiously twisted the doorknob. It felt oily as he pushed the door open a few inches.

"Hello? Is anyone here? My name is Jake Durbin and I find I am lost. Can you help me find my way?" 

The silence was like a heavy thundercloud. 

He stepped onto the foyer flagstone, peered around and seeing no one walked further into the large entry hall. He saw before him a . spiraling staircase. But not the usual kind one imagines in a manor house. It was made of some kind of metal, copper, Jake supposed. 

He'd seen this kind of spiral staircase only once before in a lighthouse on the coast of Cape May. 

Why on earth would anyone want such a monstrosity in their home? It was as if whoever lived here was confused about interior decorating or had a bizarre sense of humor.  

He took his first step on it, but backed down when it began to rattle and shake violently. 

The place was like a mausoleum and so deadly silent it gave him second thoughts about wandering any further.

Still Jake's overpowering sense of adventure prevailed. , He walked into the drawing room just off the entry way. It was furnished carefully with two masculine, leather wing chairs, a long, blue, velveteen sofa and two smaller love seats that once must have been a delicate sea foam green color but was now overlain with so much dust the color appeared a mousy brown. 

The air in this room  reeked of mold. 

Jake immediately held his hand over his nose and mouth. He walked down a small hall that led to what must have been a kitchen, although there was no semblance of cooking implements, like pots, pans and skillets, nor any cooking utensils or dishware to be seen. 

He realized his chances of getting help to find his way back out of the woods were growing slimmer than he imagined. 

He headed back toward the large  room he passed near the drawing room. It was the size of a ballroom and had a few chairs positioned against the walls. 

Feeling light headed and strangely giddy, Jake sashayed an imaginary waltz in the center of the room.

"I must have absorbed the mold in the drawing room. I better watch that." 

Curious, he decided to see what lay on the upper floors. He would soon regret that decision.

Very, very cautiously he climbed the shaky spiral metal stairs, gripping the railings until his knuckles were white. He reached the landing as the entire staircase shook wildly. 

On this floor carpeting covered the floors and seemingly the silk toile fabric walls were slightly faded, though still obscuring any semblance of actual color. 

Jake supposed it must have been that blue color he'd seen in French manor houses in paintings in museums he had visited. 

There was a total of six, thick oak doors to each of the six rooms. The doors all had curved glass over the tops of the heavy wood and odd door knobs that resembled engraved scrolls with ugly, angel faces carved in them.. 

He opened the door to the nearest room and saw the skeletal remains of a man and a woman. They were still in their beds. Jake took a closer look to see if they had been murdered. But there were no signs of violence, other than a bloody drool from their mouths. 

"Poison?" he wondered.

He went into the next room and this time there was one skeleton seated at a desk, slumped over with a pen in hand, as if in the process of writing a letter. 

Jake saw there was something on the note paper.

 It read: "There is no hope we will be saved in time. I don't want to die like this. But there is no medicine for this evil." 

It was signed, "Jean Louis de Lorequist." 

"So that's who the forest must have been named for," Jake surmised. 

As he moved from room to room the number of skeletons rose to eleven. In the last room he entered the skeletons were three children and a female adult.  

Jake was shaken by the sight of so many dead bodies now turned skeletal. 

What could possibly have happened to cause these deaths? 

These people had obviously been dead for several decades. Why did no one find them? 

Surely if he had lost his way, others also may also have done and somehow never reached this manor house. 

Jake was horrified at the thought that this entire area might bneen an unknown burial ground.

He wondered if he would be an addition to the burial ground if he couldn't find his way back. 

Jake Durbin sensed that whatever had ben the cause of these deaths, it had to be some kind of environmental disaster. 

What didn't make sense was that if that was the case, the toxin would have caused the trees to defoliate. Instead the forest was lush and green. Still, this forest was devoid of animal life. 

Jake poked around the inside of the manor house. 

he came upon a door with a glass door. He opened it and saw it led to a basement. that had been some type of laboratory. 

There on several long benches he saw what looked like glass vessels, a scale and old Bunsen burners. 

He was puzzled until he came upon the roll top desk near the far wall. 

He found notes in an obviously professional handwriting. 

Jake wondered if this laboratory was not used for bizarre experimental research. research. 

To the left of the desk was a large bookcase also covered in dust and mold. 

When he reached for one of the books on the shelf, it literally fell apart in his hands. 

He decided whatever had caused this disaster causes the condition of the book. Best he not try to remove any more of them. 

By now, Jake was more than curious. He was determined to know more. 

He found noes in a drawer in the roll top desk. The notes were inside a small leather satchel. 

Jake was about to plunge himself into the workings of this disaster. 

He learned from the notes that de Lorquist was a chemical engineer and had tried to develop a formula that was supposed to protect humans from acid rain and soil leachate destroying crops. 

As Jake read through these notes, he saw clearly that de Lorequist miscalculated the effects of the sulfuric acid he was experimenting with.. 

The notes indicated he had taken rain samples to calculate the mount of sulfuric acid in the samples and there being no means of disposal, he created a small "pond" he ued foe disposal. 

With each rain event, the pond began to turn the soil surrounding the manor house toxic. 

Jake panicked. he had been inside long enough for any toxic residue to kill him as itn had the occupants of the manor house.

He stuffed the notes back into the satchel and began to run for the door. He tried to find his way back to the path, but as twilight began it became more difficult to make his way. 

He took the satchel of notes with him because he felt it was imperative that he report what he had seen and found. 

With the image of that black oily pool near the manor house, he realized it wouldn't be safe for human curiosity and should be inspected and removed before the toxins spread underground in the soil. 

Once again he heard what he thought was the eerie screaming wind. He kept walking until he heard a heavy rustling in the distance and a pounding thud like heavy footsteps. 

He kept stock still and breathed silently. The screaming sound came closer and closer. 

From just beyond the copse of trees, Jake saw what should have been a human being bur had deteriorated to a mass of drippling flesh. One of its eyes was closed by the dripping flesh and the other had he barest semblance of sight. 

Its limbs were still mobile, though its flesh was also deteriorated and shadows of one could easily be seen. 

A groaning, tortured sound came from its lips. 

Jake oved toward it realizing it was unable to hurt him. 

"My God! What are you? Who ere you? Jake asked.

The response horrified Jake. It came in short phrases though still intelligible.

"Lost. One week. Help." 

"I was also lost. I think I can find my way back. What happened to you?"

"Thirsty. Water. Poisoned. Help me. Pain bad." 

Jake waved the poor man on so as to get him help. He came across an oak he remembered for its odd smattering of discolored leaves that seemed to glow like diamonds. He knew they were headed down the right path. 

He heard the man groan and then turned to see the man toppled to the ground. Jake ran to help. 

"No. Dying." were the man's last words.  

Jake Durbin thought he had fallen asleep and it was all some kind of bad dream as he lay in a hospital beds attached to a half dozen machines. 

When he told where he had been, at first the doctors thought he was hysterical. 

Then Jake told him about the man lying dead on the path to the manor house 

Naturally, when the authorities found the dead man, they knew what Jake told them was a major environmental disaster that had to be contained. 

Twenty later, Jake told his Grandchildren about the Manor House and all that occurred there.  The authorities declared the entire area a danger zone. 

More than a half dozen skeletal bodies were found under leachate soil that had been covered over by toxic dust. The same dust Jake saw inside the manor house. 

The house in the middle of the forest was destroyed and the black pool emptied and lead lined to stop further damage to the environment. The public was "assured" any toxic dust would not "be harmful" given that wind currents would have "carried most of  it off." 

The dead man Jake found wandering in gruesome agony was laid to rest in a lead lined grave. 

A "Tale of Two Kitties" or How Lil Mitts aka Buddy Became a Calendar Kitty

 Lil Mitts, aka Buddy, (all kitties have an alias if they been rescued)  doesn't mind posing for photos. He often provides his human with ideal photo ops, i.e., climbing to the topmost branch of a walnut tree or stretching out on a picnic table, making like he's napping. (Always 9ith one eye hald open, of course.)

Unlike his clawless indoor counterpart, Jinx, Lil Mitts, being several years Jinx's junior, doesn't mind a little extra attention from his human. 

So being an outdoors kitty, he has a wider territory he loves to explore. For instance, he loves the bright tots toys next door and they love seeing him navigate them. 

Mostly, he likes new places in his own backyard. He just doesn't like lawn mowers or leaf blowers to annoy his naps. Then too, there's that rattletrap blue jay, the noisy woodpecker out in the wooded field and that red bird always making a chirping racket. How's a kitty to ever get any sleep?

So he looks for a quiet, place like his special, cozy  kitty mansion or the summer chair his human outfitted with a soft flannel blanket.  

Summers are his favorite, unless it rains. Then he curls up in his summer chair and takes nice, long naps. 

Thunder and lightning frighten him but his human always comes out to make sure he's safe. He curls up in her lap for comfort. 

"Rainy days make me drowsy and besides , my human says I'm not to get wet. "

In summer, Lil Mitts gets to spend time with his whole family. 

"Those humans are always coming and going.. But I get to spend time with all three of them when they dine al fresco. The human with the soft voice gives me special treats. But after their meal is over, I get to take  nap on their outdoor table. It's a shady spot and not too hot.",  

"Uh oh. Here comes the other human who lets me nap in his lap. What's that little black box in his hand? Oh, it's just that thing he takes pictures of me with. " 

Lil Mitts pokes his smooth, shiny black head up and his emerald green eyes grow wide.. He arches his back in a long, stretch and gives his fur a shake out. Then with his paw he washes his face and checks his front and rear paws in case they may be dusty from his last mouse hunt. 

"Time to pose for pictures? Well, I'm ready."

Lil Mitts sits erect with two paws posed neatly in front of him as stately as royalty. 

"Well, that didn't take long."

His human sent the photo off to a kitty calendar company. Lo and behold Lil Mitts, aka Buddy made it to the month of August. 

"Look Buddy, it's you on the calendar." 

"What is  calendar?" Lil Mitts wondered. 

Whatever it is, Lil Mitts sensed he should feel proud and so off he strode with an air of feline pride, seeking another adventure. 

When the new calendar was hung  and August rolled around, there was Lil Mitts! 

"Hey! Why is the kid's picture on that calendar?" Jinx wondered. . 

Lil Mitts, unperturbed by all the fuss, retired to his a sunny spot on the outdoor table. A long, lazy, autumn nap was in order.  

A "Tale of Two Kitties" - Chapter Two

How Jinx Got His Groove on. 

Jinx has always believed he is royalty and should have an entire bedroom all to himself. So when a new single sized bed replaced the old queen size, Jinx naturally assumed the bedroom was being remodeled just foe him. 

He saw a sooth as silk sheet with a cat face he thought was his and a pillow case with the same.. 

"it must be for me. Why else would my human put my face on the sheet and pillow case? My human must want me to try it out to make sure it's nap time quality." 

Now Jinx being a rather large kitty knows he needs a little help these days climbing aboard anything higher than his shiny black head. 

 Sometimes humans miss feline nuances. Like the silent treatment just before cat nap time. The human wants kitty  to play but the kitty is drowsy and doesn't want to be bothered. So kitty hears his name called and makes like he doesn't hear human voices., 

Or when a kitty needs a little assistance climbing he patiently waits until his human notices him staring at the nice, comfy new bed he wants to try out. Jinx will give a turn of his head with ears perked up. perky ears usually gets attention., His human thinks perked up ears means Jinx is up to something. (Not just yet though.) 

"Well the perky ears didn't do it. Guess I better try for rubbing up against my human's leg." 

"Jinx, you can't ne hungry again. I just fed you a half hour ago." 

"I'm not hungry. I want to get onto "my" new bed. This is going to call for drastic measures. I know.  I'll jump onto to his laptop and send him an email." 

"Jinx! No! I just finished my spreadsheet!'

Too late. For a portly kitty, Jinx has slender but effective paws. The keyboard scrawled out an email in feline language : Scrrrrorrrppp. (Well that's how "bed" is spelled in felin language. 

"Now look what you've done! Kitties don't send emails."

"Oh yes they do when they are having trouble getting their human to get the message." 

"Jinx it's time for your nap." "

"Just what have I been trying to tell you?" 

Suddenly he feels his human's hands and with a plop, Jinx is dropped onto his new bed. 

"Don't get too territorial, Jinx. That bed isn't yours. It's mine."

A slight stretch of his black velvet body, gold eyes closed, but a slight grin on his face, he silently replies "Wanna bet?" 

That's how Jinx got his groove on and a nice long nap on "his" new bed. 

\

 

. 

The Gypsy's Violin

It was a beautiful hand-carved violin, crafted from finest Bulgarian wood. The Gypsy who carved it, Georgi Zhivkov, was born in 1610, somewhere in Western Bulgaria. Most Bulgarian Gypsies are either Roma or Turks by ancestry. Bulgarian Gypsies are often referred to as "Tzigane." The very word has a musical sound. The Bulgarian violin is called a "Gadulka."

When Georgi was a boy, his father taught him wood carving. At first, the little boy learned to carve the violin's bridge made from thin maple wood. Later, his father taught him how to make the scroll and the body of his very own violin. Georgi was thrilled when his father finished the beautiful instrument. He polished the wood until it glistened. He was even more thrilled when on his tenth birthday his father presented the violin as a gift.

"Son, my gift to you is not the violin. It is the music you play on this instrument. You are a Gypsy and music is in your soul. Make what is in your soul echo like a mountain's cave," his father said.

Georgi was not sure he could play the instrument. He held it to his knee and drew the bow made of silken horsehair across its delicate strings. His coal black eyes followed his fingers while his ears strained to hear the notes.

Georgi's father, Athoh, learned to play the gadulka when his father presented him with the instrument on his birthday many years before.

It was not unusual in a Gypsy camp to always hear men making music. For Bulgarian Gypsies, it was like blood that flows through one's veins. Life in camp seemed to always be a festival. Colors of red, gold, green, blue and purple were alway part of the dress of men, women and children. Next to music, Bulgarian Gypsies love to dance. And what dancers they are! Women whirl in their wide, colorful skirts, blouses and vests until the final not of the music finally fades. Nothing is more exciting than the sight of Gypsy dancers moving gracefully through ornate, traditional folk dances.

Georgi couldn't wait until he perfected his skills with his gadulka. When finally he was considered proficient to play with the other older musicians, the bow resonated as his father said, "like an echo in a mountain cave."

But, Bulgarians do not live by music alone. Georgi became a master wood craftsman like his father. In his young manhood, he crafted many other types of instruments. But, his gadulka was perched on a wall just above his work table. Georgi could not imagine what an important role his violin would play in just a few short years.

Whenever he passed the bow across the bridge, the sound was like that of a sea nymph calling him to far away places. No matter when he played, the sound was a magnet, drawing people in camp to it. Sometimes, the melody was sad like the plucking of strings of a broken heart. It would be Georgi's heart that would be broken.

Several members of another tribe came into camp on fine autumn day. There were two men and two women and four children, two little girls and two boys, slightly older. They wore rags and looked as if they had not eaten in days.

No Bulgarian Tzigane turns away the suffering. They were warmly greeted by the older men who bid them take comfort among the tribe. Though they would have no wagon in which to sleep, the tribesmen pitched a tent to protect them from the cold mountain night air.

The strangers ate their fill and watched as Georgi and the men played their music.  Before retiring, one of the strangers, Anastas, approached Georgi.

"Kind sir, I ask a great favor of you," Anastas said.

Georgi looked into the man's dark eyes intently.

"What favor would you have of me?" Georgi asked.

"We must move on at dawn. We are hunted by the cruel savage Akhun. We have in our possession a relic we saved when his horde destroyed our camp. We are all that remain of our tribe. Would you hide the relic for us?" Anastas asked.

"What is this relic and why does Akhun hunt you for it?"

"It is the cross of Saint John of Rila," Anastas said.

"How do you come by this relic?"

"Akhun and his men burned the church of his namesake in Skrino. They want the cross because they believe it has unusual powers. If you protect the cross for us, when we return from our exile, you have my word I will repay you in kind," Anastas said.

"You have nothing. How can you repay if you have nothing?"

"I am the last in my tribe to possess a special power. With a single touch of my hand, I can turn your gadulka into a magical instrument that will play whatever thoughts are in your head," Anastas said.

Georgi thought this was merely Anastas imagination. He had never heard of such a power in any Gypsy before.

"I will show you what I tell you is true. Bring your gadulka here," Anastas said.

Georgi held more tightly to his violin.

"Now play."

When he ran the bow across the strings, it was as if the gadulka was truly magic. It played a strange melody that seemed to change as Georgi's thoughts changed.

"You see? Your gadulka plays your thoughts."

Georgi shook his head in denial.

"You were thinking you did not believe me. But, the melody played what you were thinking, did it not?"

It was true Georgi was thinking Anastas statement was untrue and the melody seemed to be wild and uncontrolled.

"What is it you wish me to do with the cross of Saint John of Rila?"

"I wish only that you keep it safe. If Akhun finds us and kills us, you must keep it safe until these savages return to their homeland," Anastas said.

The older musicians glanced at Anastas and then at Georgi. They shrugged their shoulders. Georgi was unsure of what he should do.

"I must consult with my Father, sir," Georgi said.

"I understand," Anastas replied.

Anastas knew that Athoh as the tribe's leader would understand the dire need to protect the cross of Saint John of Rila.

"Father, I must trouble you for advice," Georgi said.

"Son, Anastas speaks the truth. I know of the miracle of that cross. I've heard it many times as our people traveled the countryside. It is the unusual gift that protects Gypsies. Do as he asks," Athoh said.

Georgi was confused. How did his father know what Anastas had asked of him?

Georgi returned to the campfire and agreed he would do as Anastas asked.

"Blessings on you and your tribe, my son. You will not regret your act of kindness," Anastas said.

Georgi decided that the safest place for the cross of Saint John of Rila was inside his gadulka. The minute he placed it there, it was as if he could play the most difficult musical pieces without effort. It felt as if the bow and strings produced a thousand other sounds.

On warm summer nights, Georgi enchanted the members of his tribe with his playing. When the hard, cold winters arrived, his lilting sound of his gadulka could be heard from within his wagon. His mother often moved about the wagon as she worked to the tempo of his music. His sister bid him play a melody so she could practice the Bulgarian folk dances performed in lines like the Paydushko horo or the Rachenitsa, for a single dancer.

It amused Georgi that due to the small interior of the wagon, his sister, Albena, managed not to bump into chairs or the table.

"Albena, do take care not to injure yourself," Ana Zhivkov said.

"Yes, Mama. I shall," Albena answered.

Georgi saw the rise in his mother's brow and understood that he should play music from his gadulka that was not meant for dancing. He responded with a knowing smile.

Shortly after Anastas and his family moved on, Athoh realized their tribe was in danger for aiding the strangers. He called a meeting of the tribal council. There were seven men in the council and all agreed that the tribe must move on. For a time, they settled in forested areas that were secluded. They kept moving from place to place as word of Akhun's hordes drew nearer. Now, not only were Akhun's hordes hunting Anastas. They were also hunting all Bulgarian Gypsies. Such was their mistrust of Gypsy tribes.

Akhun's hordes had grown in numbers. Whispers said they numbered in the thousands. Athoh believed this was an exaggeration. Until that is, his tribe passed through a small village Akhun's tribe had burned to the ground. What bodies remained were charred beyond recognition.

"Papa, are we in danger of the hordes?" Albena asked.

"Yes, daughter. It is why must keep moving. There is one place the hordes will not choose to go: Strandzha. It is a tangle of mountains with forest and a thick blanket of trees. We will find a place there to settle before winter. But for now, help your Mama ready our food supply," Athoh said.

Georgi and the men in the tribe spent their time hunting and storing meat to keep their people alive through a brutish mountain winter.

The tribal leaders realized that to avoid Akhun's hordes they were climbing higher and higher into the mountains. Finally, as the first winter snows came, they could go no further. They settled into what was a relatively secluded, wooded area. There was a stream nearby, which was always essential to ensure a plentiful supply of drinking water.

The wagons created a circle within a small brake of trees. The men had to clear several trees so all of the wagons would fit neatly in the circle. In the center would be the central fire that women used to cook meals and bake their breads. With the statuesque tall pines overhead, the tribe was protected from strong winds. But, not the heavy blankets of snow that blew from the tree tops. That usually meant men pushing the snow into huge snow banks to protect the wagons.

It is difficult to imagine how cold winters in the mountains can get when there is no means of heat in Gypsy wagons. Only the heat from the central fire keep them from freezing. This and constantly keeping busy with as many chores as possible.

The men had to be constantly on guard for wolves in season at the peak of mountain winters.

Georgi and the younger Gypsy men were always restless as all young men usually are. So, Georgi and several of his friends decided to scout around the outer rim of their wagon enclave.

They discovered several things they felt the elders should know. One of these was a deep cave not far from their camp ground.

"My son, be careful. That cave could be a tunnel that Akhun's soldiers use to hide before an attack," Athos said.

"Papa, we went into the cave. It is hollowed out and tall enough inside to fit a man the size of our Bogdan," Georgi said.

Bogdan was the tribe's official "giant." He stood well over six feet and four inches tall. A young man of not yet twenty-five, for all his fearful height, his demeanor was like that of a gentle puppy dog. His shaft of chestnut brown hair and pale blue eyes set him off from the others in the tribe who tended to have dark hair and dark eyes.

Whenever Georgi felt the need for solitude, he went into the cave and played his violin. He began to believe the gadulka's tone had grown richer as a result of its precious cargo, the cross of St. John of Rila, he kept inside it.

One day as the dull winter sun tried desperately to warm the camp, Georgi felt the utter endlessness of mountain winters. He made for the cave with his gadulka in hand.

Athos sensed his son's restlessness, even as he too felt it. He watched his son walk off into the woods. He knew where he was going.

Georgi tucked himself inside the cave, sat upon a rock and began to play. He stopped briefly. He thought he heard a strange sound. When he turned in the direction of the sound, there was a she wolf. Georgi was frightened. The she wolf didn't bare her teeth. Instead, she did something that shocked Georgi.

You play beautifully. 

Georgi hadn't heard a single sound from the she wolf's mouth. How could this be?

You are reading my thoughts young man.

Georgi knew the wolf was right.

"But, how can I do that?" he asked.

My breed unlike yours has no need of words when we speak to each other. We use sound only as a means of alarm when we are in danger.

Georgi stood there speechless.

You see? You are thinking this is a fantasy and I am not real. Is that not so?

"Yes."

Then, I will teach you our way. First, learn to respect silence. It is only in silence that your mind can grow stronger...strong enough to turn your thoughts into words heard only by those with this gift. You have already met such people, have you not?

Georgi had to admit that he often suspected his own father of having such a gift. He recalled when Anastas came to them and sought refuge. Georgi had to get is father's approval. Somehow, his father already knew. Georgi thought is was just coincidence. But now? Maybe it wasn't.

Your father has the gift. As his only son, you have inherited that gift. You choose not to use it?

"But how? I know only words that fall from my lips."

Close your mouth and force your mind to silence. As silent as your gadulka is right now. Can you do that? You will arrive at another level of your mind. That is your "channel" to your gift. I leave you for now. You should know that you will now be protected from harm from my breed and from Uris, the bear who also has the gift. He is in his winter sleep for now. Do not disturb him. He will make himself known when the snows are melted and the sun warms the earth once more.

Georgi left the cave as soon as the she wolf was gone. He was too afraid to move. When he returned to his father's wagon, his father saw the expression on his face. He knew he'd had an encounter of enlightenment.

Father, why did you not tell me about your gift? Georgi asked his father telepathically.

Because, my son, you would not have believed it. One in every generation of our tribe has the blessing of this gift. It is only when we have the experience of our own enlightment that we accept those things that others cannot see or know. 

Yes, father. I met the she wolf in the cave. She told me about this gift. 

Georgi, that she wolf is named Todorka. Her name means, "Divine Gift." Mark her teachings well. 

Are there others in our tribe who have this gift? 

Yes, my son. The old woman healer, Snezhana. She has powers of the gift that allow her to heal others of maladies and ailments of the body. It was Saint John of Rila who was believed to also have this gift. He healed the mind and soul. That is why you must protect his cross with your life. Our people believe that to lose that cross or allow it to be defiled by Ahkun's marauders is to lose forever the gift.

Do Mama and Albena know? 

Yes. Of course. They do not have the gift. They protect it as we all must. Now, let us keep ourselves busy. 

There was a knock on the door of the Zhivkov wagon. It was Stoyan, one of the elders.

"Athos, Georgi, prepare yourselves. Akhun's hordes are down the mountain. There is a rumor they burned the village of Zheravna. The people there have fled to Brashlyan. That is not far from our camp," Stoyan said.

Another knock on the wagon door opened to two more of the elders, Viktor and Stanimir.

"We must call a meeting of the elders and...our sons. We must ensure that we have warning well in time to avoid Akhun," Viktor said.

The last of the elders, Petar, joined the group.

"We are all here. Let us go to the fire for warmth so that our plans take the energy from fire to make us safe," Athos said.

Stoyan, Athos, Viktor, Stanimir and Petar left Ana and Albena frightened.

"Mama, will we be safe here in the woods?" Albena asked.

"Our men will decide that, daughter," Ana said.

"Mama, I am afraid."

"Albena, we are a strong people. We have always survived. You must have faith in your tribe and our elders."

When the meeting of the elders and their sons ended, it was decided that their sons would alert the tribe as soon as Akhun's men were near. A regular watch team of twelve in two shifts was comprised of two guards each stationed at the incline of the mountain pass and several distances from the camp site. That ensured the women and children of maximum safety.

Everyone in camp was on edge knowing that at any minute they could be attacked. Albena saw people hurrying about at a faster pace, looking constantly over their shoulders.

The men decided to meet in secrecy rather than around the central camp's fire. 

Though the men knew of the dangers that lay ahead, the knew not to show fear. 

Petar broke the silence among the tribal men, a silence as thick as dense, dark cloud hanging overhead. 

"When I was a boy, we came across a huge, bear who had made a comfortable home in the woods. .Oh yes. He had a family too just as we all have. But his mate and his two cubs were seen out of their home inside the cave when the wild plum trees were in bloom."

The men grew impatient with Petar. Always before he gave advice it was prefaced with a tale of his childhood. 

Petar began again. 

"We were out hunting when we heard the thunder of horses in the distance. We knew we must run for safety and warn our people or our women and children would be in grave danger. 

When the horde of horsemen were almost in sight, the bear came out from the cave. We were about to run back to our people when the bear spoke to us with his thoughts. He told us his name was "Urso" and that he was given the gift some of our special people have. 

By this time, the horsemen were so near we could see their faces. Urso stood with his great furry arms strecthed out wide, his long curving claws like long knives. . 

As soon as the horsemen saw him, their horses reared back in fright. Urso let out a fierce growl that seemed to echo the entire forest and beyond. 

Some of the horses ran off with their riders left running in terror as Urso follow rapidly after. We were never again bothered so long as we had AUrso to protect us."

"But Petar, How can we summon Urso now?," Georgi masked. 

"Take your violin in hand and play the "Mioritaza," the folk tale about the shepard and his ewes. Urso is enchanted by its melody and knows to come to our rescue," Petar responded. 

As the sound of Akhun's soldiers advanced closer and closer, Geogi began to play the Mioritza. At first, it drew the she wolf and her olf pack. 

"We are here to give aid o your people. The sound your violin makes calls us together," she said in silent thought the others could from her mind. 

Then, the sound of shrubbery branches and a heavy footfall grew louder as Urso appeared. 

Petar anodded in assent when Urso asked if his help was once again needed. 

Akhun's horsemen appeared in the forest clearing, advancing toward the men...until they caught sight of Urso and the wolf pack. 

The wolves bared heiur teeth and snarled as they drew closer to Akhun's soldiers. Urso waited to see what the soldiers weould do. One of the soldiers drew his sword and swung it at the she wolf but she was too fast for him and leaped up and the soldier fell to the ground. 

The she wolf sprung at the fallen soldier as he tried to tear himself from her grip. But she bit him on his fore arm leaving the mark of the wolf on his bleeding limb. She allowed the fallen soldier to free himself unbarmed and terrified as one of his fellow soldiers grabbed onto him to lift him onto the saddle. 

Urso moved out from behind the wolf pack and raised his claws menacingly as his deep horrifying growl echoed through the woods. The the soldiers began to turn and run from the charging bear, fearing his echoing, raging growl would call out more bears to attack. 

Petar entreated Gerogi to play again. The seh wolf, er wolf pack  and Urso stood still as if entranced by the sweet melody. 

Then they headed off each in the direction of the caves. 

"My violin really is magic," Georgi said silently in his thoughts. 

 

A Tale of Two "Kitties"

 Being abandoned whether human or animal is likely ther most heartbreaking feeling. So it was with two black kitties, Jinx and Lil Mitz. 

Jinx was abandoned when he was just four years old. Lil Mitz was only htree months olf when he was dumped out of a car into the woods. 

At first, Jinx was somewhat iinsecure when his first owner decided she was too ill to care for him. So off he went to the local town rescue shelter. Jinx's new homne wsas a wire cage at the shelter. He was heartbroken that he was no longer wanted. He spent most of his time hearing the sounds of dogs barking and younger kittens crying for their mothers. He was unable to sleep peacefully as kitties love to do. 

Occasionally, he was allowed outdoors in the rescue centers's play area. But, because there were at least a dozen other felines to contend with Jinx thought it best to keep his distance and find a quiet corner. 

One sunday afternoon , a family came to see him. Jinx hoped they'd take him home with them. 

when he saw the kitty carrier, he realized he was to have a new home and ried to make a good impression, putting on his friendliest best nature. Purring even. 

But, happiness was once again to elude Jinx. There were two children who were never taught manner with kitties who frequently pullied him across the floor by his tail. Or, they would yank at his collar until he felt aqs if he was choking. 

Jinx didn't want to lose his new home but he knew much more of the children's abuse and he would have to defend himself. 

He became jittery each time he heard childrens' loud screechy voices or footsteps. 

One day while he was sound asleep on a pile of soiled laundry in nthe laundry room, one of the boys grabbed him by his throat, 

Being half asleep, Jinx bared his fangs and hissed to svare the boy. That seemed to only make the boy angry and meaner. He kicked Jinx hard in his stomach. As he reached his hand to smakc at jinx, Jinx bit his hand hard to protect himself. So the family had the Vet remove his claws. He was in such pain that he thought he'd die. 

That mean boy continued to abuse Jinx even though he was in such pain. To protect himself he nbit the boy's fingers hard so the boy would leave him alone. 

Out came the kitty carrier and off Jinx went back to the rescue center. Now Jinx hoped he would never again have a new home after this last cruel home. The boy and his family claimed Jinx bit the boy because he was "vicious" and should not be around children. 

For about six months, Jinx became accustomed to the center's routine. Meals twice a day, a clean cage and a chance to have the  outdoor play area all to himself whenever the other cats were adopted. 

Then one day, a tall, lanky man came to look for a kitty. Jinx tried to hide himself at the back of his cage. But he saw the man was sort of young but not as young as that mean boy. Still he was afraid of what this man might do to him. He gave a little hiss hoping that would dissuade the man. 

But, he saaw the kitty carrier and wondred where the man was taking him. The man seemed kind of nice and not mean at all. Jinx hoped this time he had finally found a nice home. 

At first Jinx saw a lady and another man inside the home. He was afraid to trust them but the man who adopted him turned out to be really nice. He brushed Jinx's coat and fed him whenever Jinx was hungry. 

There were no other animals in sight and Jinx loved taking his cat naps on the quilt on the man's bed where the sun always shone on it. The lady bought him kitty treats. But his new master seemed not to want Jinx to have too many treats because he was afraid Jinx might get sick. 

After a few years went by Jinx realized he was now part of a real family. So he made sure his master got off to work on time every morning  by rubbing his nose against his master's. 

The lady in the house made sure he always had clean, fresh water to drink and even played with Jinx with the new toys his master bought him. 

All in all, Jinx finally felt safe and secure. He grew in size each year until he was 22 pounds. and nearly two feet long nose to tail. The Lady called him "Jinxie" or "Panther cat." 

They fussed over his sleek, shiny black coat and he even began to learn human words. The lady taught him new ones every day until he had a vocabulary of about 11 human words and began to meow in double and triple syllables. 

Yes life was really, really ood for Jinx.

Not so for Lil Mitz. At least, not at first. He was dumped off in a wooded area behind some homes when he was just 3 months old. He, along with 4 other cats, one his mother, had to fend for themselves. The weather was still chilly in April and Lil Mitz was not yet trained to hunt. 

A nice lady put cans of kitty food outside the fence at the back of her yard but Lil Mitza never got much of it with the other 4 cats always squeezing him out of range of the kitty food. 

Then, the lady caught sight of him trying to get some of the food. She seemed like a nice lady and Lil Mitz was so hungry and hope she might have more kitty food for him. 

He was dismayed when she went back into her house. But then, she returned with another can of cat food. Lil Mitz saw his opportunity while the others were busy eating. The lady placed the opened can on the patio and in a soft voice encouraged Lil Mitz to come and eat. 

At first he was afraid to leave the others  but the pains in his small tummy reminded him how hungry he was. 

He trotted up to the patio. The lady stroked his back and he knew she meant him no harm. He looked up at her and she picked him up in her arms and patted his head. 

"You're just a baby kitty," she said softly. Lil Mitz gave a small meow trying to answer her. 

"You're too little to be out there all alone with the other cats. They can take care of themselves. You can't. Would you like a saucer of milk?" 

Lil Mitz didn't know what "milk" was; but, he didn't mind if she wanted to treat him to something new. She brought out a saucer with something white in it and placed it on the ground at his front paws. 

It smelled heavenly and Lil Mitz couldn't resist trying it. He lapped up the milk like it was candy. 

The next day, he left the other cats and walked up to the lady's door. He meowed hoping she had more of that sweet white stuff. She saw him at the door and told him to wait and she would bring him a saucer of milk and some kitty food. 

He started for the patio thinking she would out the saucer and food there. Instead she put it right outside her back door. 

"Look Lil Mitz! I've made a bed for you to take your naps." 

The lady had placed a soft blanket on a chair right outside her door. To show Lil Mitz what it was for, she lifted him into the soft, cuddly blanket. Being full of milk and kitty food he fell asleep even though it was not dark outside. She stroked his fur and patted his little head. 

Lil Mitz knew he no longer wanted to follow the bigger cats. He hoped the lady would allow him to stay. She did. So every day he had a saucer of milk, fresh water and kitty food. He never felt hungry again. 

He wondered why he was never allowed inside her house when the first chill winds of autumn came. He didn't know a big, black cat named Jinx already lived there for several years. 

Lil Mitz made a  new friend of the man inside the house. He was big and had a deep voice;  but he, like the lady, was kind and gentle. The man called him, "Buddy" and he spent lots of time petting Lil Mitz and stroking his head. 

One day, the lady brought a small house she outfitted with a soft pillow and a blanket. She placed Lil Mitz inside. Lil Mitz loved that it was cozy and dark. He had a  nice place to hide from the other animals out there in the wooded field. 

But he was still puzzled why he couldn't just live inside. He didn't know Jinx lived there and had no claws. Lil Mitz had unusually large claws because he needed them for protection when he was living with the other cats. Often the 2 male cats would fight over something and Lil Mitz would run as fast as he could and hide. He hated the sound of the 2 males hissing and growling and sapitting and clawing at each other. 

Lil Mitz would stay in his new house when it rained. But before winter came, the man who always called him, "Buddy," bought a special heater to keep his "pal Buddy warm." 

When the weather grew cold Lil Mitz took his naps in his house with the warm air blowing on his face and body. 

Being an outdoor kitty allowed Lil Mitz to explore the neighborhood and learn who he should stay away from and who he could be friends with. 

In summer, the lady would sit outside in her chair and he would take naps at her feet. He also liked to help her when she was gardening. 

She laughed and laughed when he would roll over and over. He like to hear her laugh. It sounded like water in a stream he once saw back in the wooded field. 

He even had fun parading along the fence whenever  the big dog next door was barking at him. Lil Mitz knew that he was teasing because the dog was on the other side of the fence. But, he had fun at the dog's expense. 

Life for Lil Mitz was pretty comfy and often he discovered that the other man who lived inside would turn the  motor off in his car every day at the same time and go inside. The hood of his car was a nice, place to warm Lil Mitz's small body when the weather was chilly.

Or,he could sit on  a plush cushion the lady put under a large shrub for him when it was too sunny. He loved feeling as if he was invisible. 

Of course, all he had to hear was his lady calling out, "Lil Mitz! Lunch!" and he would run as fast as his little legs could carry him. He always came running ewhenever she called. it was the first human voice he ever heard. 

Life for Lil Mitz was pretty good, all things considered. 

 

The Abandoned House on Henley Road

In its day it must have been a beautiful tribute to architecture. Henley Road was a semi wooded cul de sac on the edge of a rural town called  Lyndsey, after its first colonial settlers. 

At some point in time, the occupants must have also been fairly self sufficient. The now overgrown patch of garden that swirled around the house would easily have provided sustenance along with an small bower of fruit trees. A gazebo in need of painting stood silently as if waiting to be occupied on a warm summer day.

Abandonement is a state of emptiness that eats away at the mind first and then in the long term, the soul. 

The house on Henley Road was in an official sense abandoned. Or was it? 

Its gingerbread exterior belied the grandiose interior still appointed in the Victorian style of earlier days. 

Oddly, nothing seemed worn or emitted a moldy odor even though the house had been shuttered for decades. 

The double oak front doors seemed sealed shut forever as if intentionally to keep others out. 

Over the marble fireplace in the living room was a large photo of a beautiful woman with long chestnut hair that fell over her bosom. 

She wore a white gown with a scarlet velvet bodice and flowing lace from the Empire waist to the ankles. The gown hid her delicate ruby slippers. In her hair was a single diamond star. 

It wasn't possible to miss the far away look in her dark eyes or the lack of a hint of a smile on her painted lips. 

A highly polished piano forte and  carved harp rested in an alcove soundlessly. 

The staircase led to a second floor where there were four large bedrooms and an enormous bathroom at the end of the hall. 

All looked as if they were never used. 

Oh, but they were, as was evidenced by the all too pristine neatness within each room.

There was an unmistakable sadness about the house on Henley Road. 

Suddenly, the harp sounded ever so delicately in an angelic string of notes.

Just a draft? Even though the windows were all sealed shut? 

A rattling sound came from the kitchen. It was not a ghost, but Melanie Dorren, the woman in the portrait downstairs. 

Her husband, Daniel Dorren, a wealthy financier, was believed to have run off with one of his many paramours, leaving Melanie only their home and the furnishings. 

Most believed she long ago left the house and returned to her New England roots in Manchester. 

Melanie, like most wives of wealthy men, knew about her husband's numerous affairs, but kept silent rather than cause him scandal and ruination of his reputation. 

He'd left several times before; but, once his affairs bored him, he returned to the comfort of the house on Henley Road. 

No apologies to long suffering Melanie. Not even a tiny excuse for his absence. 

It couldn't be said he married Melanie because of her beauty. She had a cameo-like profile, but apppeared more a sedate lady of her times. 

Oh yes. She was heartbroken when Daniel had the first romantic affair with a girl a few years younger than she. 

She experienced all the usual feelings of anger, betrayal and disgust. She just assumed Daniel would regret his poor judgment and realize sooner than later people would talk and he was jeopardizing his reputation. 

But as Daniel's business grew, so too did his desire for personal satisfaction. It seemed to Melanie Daniel actually felt these affairs were an entitlement for all of the drudgery of labor.

As he began to age and the first signs of grey appeared at his temples, Melanie thought he would finally end his wild forays with women. 

Whenever she dared broach the subject, Daniel immediately reminded her of all the comfort his hard work had kept her in. 

"If you are expecting me to apologize to you for my personal decisions, my dear, you will be waiting na very long time. Why don't you find yourself a man who shares your interests?" he offered. 

"When I accepted your proposal of marriage and you took possession of my inheritance, which as you know helped your business, you never mentioned that you wanted a part-time wife." 

"You forget that I long ago repaid that debt several times over when I saw to it you wanted for nothing."

So that was it. A bizarre kind of indebtedness that somehow was paid by Daniel's "generosity." 

More and more frequently, Daniel was away for longer and longer periods of time. So long in fact that even the servants no longer asked if he would be home for dinner. 

It was true Melanie was quite introverted. She was the only child of Samson D. Lyndsey for whom the town was named and Margarethe Warborg. 

Samson or "Sam" as he was usually called was a teddy bear of a man. His wife was the typical "proper woman" for whom respectability was determined by how in frequently she bore a child. 

Melanie wasn't exactly wanted by her father or her mother. In fact, her parents referred to her as "the accident" and thus was raised by Mrs. McNorman, her nanny, 

Mrs. McNorman was stern and demanding. Melanie learned that obedience even when unreasonalbe was preferable to being totally invisible. 

As soon as Melanie was old enough, off she went to a boarding school for girls where all manner of mischief usually had her as the center of jokes. 

Though she felt deeply hurt, she stuffed it all down deep inside and play acted the "good sport." 

Margarethe was always absent from home and was involved in her civic duties to distraction. 

That was how she met Edna Dorren, a matriach of society and well placed in the roster of wealthy wives. 

Edna had two children, Daniel and Edwina, two years younger than Daniel. 

Daniel was a handsome, though somewhat swarthy young college graduate of Boston University. Melanie was sent to France to complete her education and hopefully, according to Margarethe lose her shyness and gawkyness, 

Melanie accommodated neither and in fact to her mother's dismay, had not lost her "baby fat."

The enticement that remained to get Melanie married off was a sizable dowry subtly mentioned during polite conversation with Edna Dorren. 

It was a kind of "trade" deal where a wealthy albeit not very attractive daughter could be exchanged for a husband. 

The gleam in Daniel's eye was not for Melanie but her inheritance. His father, Matthew, reminded him that such a windfall would do very nicely to get Daniel's dreams of business ownership under way.

"A wife's looks matter little when a man's future financial security is at stake," Matthew warned his son.    

Daniel took his father's warning seriously. 

What matters most to a man isn't a wife. It's financial security. 

So, one by one, Daniel became a prolific womanizer while Melanie had but to become a non-entity. 

Her husband only needed her at his side for business events where respectability was called for. 

Otherwise, Daniel was willing to pay large sums for the kind of women who filled his every fantasy. 

Not so very unlike his philandering father, Matthew. However, at some point Matthew managed to be taken into an alliance with the Boston Irish mobster, Ian McDevlin. 

When McDevlin went to prison for his illegal "business," Matthew was secretly hoping it would erase their former alliance. 

Daniel secretly admired McDevlin's "business" deals and vowed that he wouldn't be so stupid as to get caught. 

Many Dorren Corporation subsidiaries were questionable. But, he knew passing palms with huge sums of money would pay for silence and even more so, loyalty. 

He indulged his "pleasures" as often as he pleased and with any woman gullible enough and money focused enough to fall for his honey-in-his-mouth charm. 

Melanie neither knew nor cared what he was up to. In every way, she lived in comfort and all she had to do was be blind and deaf to Daniel's machinations and affairs. 

His only complaint was that Melanie was childless owing to a childhood bout with scarlet fever that has become a minor plague. 

The truth was that the only lie she ever told in her life was that she was childless.

In fact, she was just "cautious" and owing to Daniel's disgust of unattractive women, she was glad when she reached the age when child bearing was no longer possible. 

By age 50, Melanie managed to attract only the postman and milkman who in reality felt sorry for such a reclusive woman. They were likely all the kindness of her lifetime. 

Daniel, on the other hand, had become boastful of his conquests. Until one of his envious business competitors discovered Daniel's lascivious fascination for sexually deviant women. 

Archibald Fornier knew the only way to be rid of his worst competitor was disclosure of Daniel Dorren's proclivities for harlots he had to pay for. 

Unfortunately for Daniel, laws in his state were quite strict regarding men who paid those kinds of women. 

So it was that in disclosing Daniel's assignations, it wasn't long before a barrage of bad fortune struck. 

First, one of the women he frequented blackmailed Daniel with a threat to describe graphically Daniel's appetite for perversion. 

Unaware that Fronier had planted rumors about him, he paid Marnette Aspen a hefty sum to keep her silence. 

Erring on the side of caution, Daniel reasoned that he ought to place all of his assets in his wife's name in the event of a lawsuit. 

But that bit of providence would make Melanie Dorren not only independently rich but also powerful. 

Still Daniel wasn't a gambling man though he might have other vices. 

Of course, he decided it was best not to tell Melanie about her newfound windfall. He could still make all the major business decisions and she needn't be involved. 

That was until, law enforcement got wind of not just his sexual vices but also several of his business decisions. 

At first, he claimed to investigators, that he knew nothing about these things and tha t all business decisions were made by his wife, Melanie, who owned the Dorren business and all its subsidiaries. 

Thomas K. Walter was chief detective on the Dorren investigation. He made a point of meeting Melanie Dorren when he knew Daniel wouldn't be present. 

"Mrs. Melanie Dorren? I'm chief detective Thomas Walter."

"Yes?" Melanie answered.

"Has something happened to my husband?" 

"Yes."

"Oh my heavens! Is he...?"

"Oh no. Nothing like that." 

Thomas Walters had been in law enforcement since his days as a cop on Morgan Street beat. He was somewhat taken aback that this woman seemed less than sad about the possibility of a spouse's in jury or death. He also didn't expect to see the wife of such a proiminent business man like Daniel Dorren looking like a wash rag. 

She wore a cotton flowered house dress, her hair was carelessly tied at the back with wisps of grey hair straggling over her face and neck. This woman owned a huge conglomerate? 

Something didn't add up and he knew why.

"Actually, Mrs. Dorren I'm investigating the business you own."

"Oh but I don't own any business, my husband does."

"Not according to papers filed and signed by you claiming ownership."

"Mr. Walter, I tell you I do not own any part of Daniel's business. In fact, he is so frequently away on business trips that I barely know what the business is." 

Thomas pulled a 3 page document out of his brief case. 

"Is this not your signature?" 

"No sir. It is not. Look I'll prove it. Every day I write my day's thoughts in my journal."

Melanie was shocked; but, yet not so shocked that she knew Daniel had gotten himself in trouble. 

"Is my husband in some kind of trouble?" 

"Don't you read the papers?" 

"Daniel canceled the paper a month ago. I only found that out when I called the paper to inquire why it wasn't delivered. All the person I spoke said was that it was canceled by Daniel Dorren."

"What about your TV? Don't you watch the nightly news?"

"We have never had a TV. Daniel said wealthy people never do." 

Daniel Dorren had effectively turned his wife into a recluse. 

He didn't bother to ask why she never ventured out of their house. He knew it would be more of "Daniel said..." and it was clear Dorren turned over his assets to a wife he never informed, hoping  she would end up in jail, not him. 

Daniel was a master of secrecy until one of his paramours decided to make their meetings more worthwhile. 

Daniel was 68 years old when Judge Desmond made an example of him. 

Melanie was hounded by the press to the extent, she hid herself away in her home and made it appear she abandoned it. 

Even the servants left because of constant press turmoil. 

It wasn't long before the news moved on to other issues and crimes. 

Melanie was glad. She lived in relative comfort thanks to Daniel placing all his assets in her name. 

Still, she wanted no part of a world that had abandoned her. 

Her parents, her nanny, her schoolmates and husband. All had abandoned her. 

Now, for all time she would remain in an abandoned house. 

The Ghost of Malcolm Oldham

Disappearances always are deeply embedded with mystery. So it was true when Malcolm Oldham disappeared in 1895. Malcolm lived on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean on Block Island off Rhode Island's coast. 

To most visitors to Block Island, the paddle shaped island offers much interest for summer activities. But, as with any land mass barely 10 square miles, it is easy for year round residents to enjoy the respite from armies of tourists. 

 Historically, it was named for Adrean Bloc, a Dutch settler. Before European settlers arrived, Block Island was inhabited by the Niantic people. In order to settle Block Island, history tells that the Niantics killed Colonial traders to stave off invasions of settlers. 

Perhaps that's where Malcolm's tale begins. Malcolm was also a trader. Albeit of a less than orthodox sort. His particular infamy was inspired by the shipwreck in 1831 of the "Warrior" a two masted schooner. 

It was not unusual for locals to head down to the beach and scavenge for whatever wreckage they found useful or of value. One of the valuables found on the beach caught Malcolm's eye, a large tiger eye ring about 5 carats. 

His father, Jedidiah, dabbled in antiques in a tiny shoppe on Tourist Row, the avenue where tourists converged to buy seafaring knick knacks and old whaling scrimshaw and other bric-a-brac as souvenoirs.

Then, strangely, the ring was sold. Naturally, when a tourist walked into the shoppe Malcolm inherited from his father and the tourist asked if he was interested in buying an unsual ring, Malcolm demurred believing it was one more piece of scrimshaw. 

Until he saw the huge tiger eye gem. He was sure it was the ring he'd found on the beach. 

"Does this ring belong to you?" Malcolm asked.

"Yes. And I assure you, it isn't stolen. It has quite a history. Would you like to hear it?" 

 "Certainly. Historical jewelry is always of value to a buyer," Malcolm responded. 

 "My grandfather was a seaman on a two masted schooner in his younger days. He survived a nasty Atlantic storm and a shipwreck. Earlier in his travels, he found the ring in New Orleans and was told it was good fortune for sailors. He always believed it was the ring that made it possible for him to survive that shipwreck."

"Then why would he want to sell it?" 

"He believed the good fortune only applied to the sea and that his troubles, losses and woes now are due to his possession of this ring."

 "I do not hold to superstitions and the stone in this ring is quite large. Any woman would love to own such a gem," Malcolm replied. 

 The stranger sold the ring at such a desirable price that Malcolm was dubious about its earlier history. He needn't have been. The stranger disappearred as if he never existed, even as Malcolm tried in vain to locate him. 

 Still, Malcolm had no wish to be accused of buying stolen goods. He decided to find out the true origin of the ring. He scoured every possible shop and jewelry emporium in New Orleans. No one seemed to know anything about the ring. That made Malcolm suspicious that the gemstone was a fake. So he had it appraised by Jonathan Lempert, a well known jewelry appraiser in New York City. When Lempert saw the ring, he gasped!

 "Where did you find this ring?" he asked.

"I didn't find it as you say. I bought it from a tourist who walked into my shoppe on Block Island," Malcolm said.

 "Do you know his name?" "No. I never ask tourists names because there are thousands who visit the island every year."

 "When did this stranger sell it to you?" "Several months ago, in July." 

 "This ring belonged to a very, rich and very prominent woman. Her husband gave it to her for their 2nd anniversary. A few months later he died during that outbreak of influenza." She never wore the ring again and believed it was cursed."

 "That's strange. The man who sold it to me never said he was selling it because it was cursed," Malcolm said.

 "It wasn't just because her husband died she believed it was cursed. She was with child and miscarried. She herself died quite tragically after she donated the ring to a charity. It was believed that the horse startled and flung her into a large oak tree as she was heading back to their mansion."

"Where was the ring after she donated it to that charity?" Malcolm asked. 

 "The charity was through a church. St. Boniface, located in New Orleans. No one knew what happened to the ring after the fire."

"Fire?"

 "Yes. The charity store and church were completely destroyed by fire. But, the ring was gone as if it never existed...until you walked into my office."

 "Is this ring stolen?" Malcolm asked.

 "Since no one knew what happened to this ring after the fire, it could have been sold to raise funds for the charity. But you say the stranger's father claimed he found it after a shipwreck?"

 "Yes. There was a shipwreck for certain. That much I know." 

 "You might want to see if you can find the passenger list for that shipwreck. It might be a clue to the name of the stranger and the passenger who had the ring while aboard ship." 

 As Lempert suggested, Malcolm went back to a Block Island Historical Society to see if there was a record of a shipwreck. Malcolm had to estimate the date of the shipwreck was early 1800s. He made for the clerk's desk.

"Can I help you sir?" she asked. 

 Malcolm noted the clerk's unusual name from the nameplate on her desk, "Araminty Nelesco."

"Yes, I'm looking for history on a shipwreck. I believe it was early 1800s. I believe it might have been around 1831. The Warrior, a two masted schooner is the vessel information I'm looking for."

 "You've come to the right place, Mr....?"

 "Malcolm Oldham, I'm a trader and I've come across a very interesting item I need to know more about." 

"And what item is that, if I may be so bold?"

 "A tiger eye ring supposedly a remnant of the shipwreck. The seller brought it to me and I had it appraised. It's 5 carats and apparently an antique of some kind."

 "May I see it?" "Oh no. Sorry. But it is locked in my safe at my shoppe." 

 "Well, any information on such an item may be over on that shelf at the rear of the building." 

 Malcolm noted the abrupt change in the clerk's tone. He headed for the section of ships' logs and found the log that referenced "The Warrior" shipwreck. There was a short list of passengers, far less than he expected. There was also a drawing of the vessel and a sketch of the lighthouse at Sandy Point where the shipwreck occurred. 

He scanned the passenger list. He found it odd that the crew of the vessel was listed with the names of passengers. One name stood out above the rest, "Matthew Oldham."

 "Strange, my father never mentioned any family member named Matthew," he muttered to himself. 

 Next to each name was the word "dead." 

That tourist stranger claimed there was a survivor who found the ring. Was the list of passengers incorrect? 

Malcolm started for the door. Araminty Nelesco called to him.

"Sir, did you find what you were looking for?"

 "All of the passengers on that list...all are dead?"

 "Yes sir. You can visit the cemetery across town and you'll see there are 35 passengers and the crew are all buried there."

 "How many of the 35 were crew?" Malcolm asked.

 "I believe 10 crew members also perished with the 25 passengers."

 "Well thank you for your assistance," Malcolm said. 

Next, he located the old cemetery. There was a large sign in ironwork with the name "Isle of Angels Cemetery" at the large black gate with a fence around the perimeter of the area. The gate wasn't locked. 

Still Malcolm felt like a thief in the night entering and surreptitiously looked around to see if anyone was watching. He felt silly when the thought occurred to him that the only ones who could be watching were those buried inside the gate. 

Cemeteries always did make me feel eerie, he thought. 

He set about searching and counting the number of graves of those who perished aboard the "Warrior." He mused that the name of the cemetery should have been "Shipwreck Warriors" since the only graves were those who went down with the vessel. 

He mentally counted the number of graves all marked with the words Warrior Passenger. 

To his surprise, there were 2 children among those who perished. When he reached the last row of graves, he saw no headstone for someone named "Matthew Oldham." 

There was nothing in the log at the historical society to indicate if Matthew Oldham was an adult or a  child. None of the passengers ages were contained in that log. Malcolm assumed that was because the agent who booked the passengers aboard never recorded their ages given they were all Block Islanders.

Malcolm realized he had to know if Matthew Oldham was a member of his family. His mother, Sarah Hixon Oldham died when Malcolm was a child, His father said she died giving birth, a fact Malcolm never questioned since he had no siblings and men in his father's day never discussed details of "women's troubles." 

Now Malcolm realized how lttle he knew about his parents. He remembered the family Bible his mother had always kept on the mantle above the fireplace in their living space above the shoppe. 

After his father died, Malcolm took comfort leavng the living space as it had always been. Malcolm made only one change and that was to move his parents' bed and other effects into his bedroom so he could occupy his parents' room which was larger and less cramped. 

The parlor was toward the front of the building and kitchen toward the back. The privy was located outside orginally but Malcolm had remodeled the third bedroom into an indoor privy, complete with a sink and shower and tub. 

 All else he didn't need or want he sold at auction or stored in the crawl space in the attic. 

 Malcolm's curiosity got the better of him. First, he searched for the Family Bible. He knew having no siblngs meant there would not be much family history there. He thought perhaps the vicar at St. Boniface Chapel might have some other information. 

St. Boniface Chapel was not so much a vicaraege as an extension of the St. Boniface graveyard. Malcolm found it curious that he had lived so long on Block Island and knew so little about its history beyond what he'd learned in school. 

There was only one school on the island when he was a child and it was an old white clapboard building built by sailors for sailors children back in the late 1700s.

Malcolm's education was largely sporadic since it was difficult to retain teachers who would live year round on an island that could be storm tossed and deadly cold in winter.

His father insisted he attend church services but the minute his father was busy in the antique shoppe during the height of tourist season or when his father went on trips hunting more antiques young Malsolm beat a hasty retreat.

 Malcolm walked up the flagstone steps to the church. It looked abandoned. He opened the white doors with the black trim and called out, "Is anyone here?"

The inside of the church was as he remembered it. A small lectern near the center altar, seating under a row of stained glass windows for the choir and pews for church patrons. He called out again. 

This time a male voice answered. "Is someone calling?"

 "Yes sir, it's I, Malcom Oldham." 

"Oldham?" Now there's a family name I haven't heard in a very long time. How can I help you, Matthew Oldham?" 

The voice belonged to a man of the cloth who was quite old and walked with a slight limp. 

Malcolm struggled to recall the face but drew a blank. He surmised he should have been able to remember a small man of the cloth with a limp. 

"You remember the Oldham family name?" Malcolm asked.

 "Why yes. I should. My sister married an Oldham many years ago, Sarah Hixon."

 "Sarah Hixon? That was my mother's name. But that would make you my uncle?" 

 "Yes it would make me your Uncle Charles Hixon. Your mother died in childbirth. Your father Jedidiah and I never spoke again after her death. That's why you never met me. I was in seminary school when you were born and sent off to a vicarage in Pennsylvania. St. George Vicarage located in Havertown. When the vicar here on block Island died, do you recall Vicar Lymon Eaton?"

 "Yes. I do But I wasn't a regular attendant at services. I only remember he scolded me for my lack of attendance and disobedience to my father."

"I'm surrised your father had any religious interest."

 "Why is that?"

 "Because you see, he and my sister eloped against her parents' wishes" 

This was infomation Malcolm never heard before. So his father and mother eloped. He wondered what else he didn't know about his parents.

 "Did they have to marry/" Malcolm asked coyly questioning his legitimacy.

 "Yes. But, it was actually your father who insisted on marrriage. My sister was not so enthusiastic about marriage though she had many eligible suitors who would have her hand in marriage." 

 "My mother was a femme fatale?" 

 "Not as much as that. Your mother was not what most males would call a ravishing beauty."\\   "Then why...""

 "Our father Elizar Hixon was a very important man in government. He practically ruled the shipping, tourist and land development." 

 "So he had a lot of money?"

 "Well, I wouldn't say a lot. But more than most who live on an island." 

 "So my man, what brings you to the vicarage today?" 

 "I'm looking for some information about a shipwreck, The Warrior." 

Suddenly the vicar's face changed to a more dour expression.

 "Did you check at the library?" Charles hixon asked.

 "Yes. but I didn't find what I was looking for."

 "And what precisely was that?" "A man named Matthew Oldham. My father never mentioned him." 

 "I'm confused. Why do you want to know about Matthew Oldham?" 

Malcolm reiterated the story about the tourist, the tiger eye ring and the supposed curse it had brought so many who had it in their possession. 

 "You know where that ring is?" 

 "Yes, it's in my safe over at my shoppe." 

 "You must get rid of it. It will bring you no good fortune. Throw it in the sea if you must. Just get rid of it." 

Malcolm Oldham had no intentions of throwing such a valuable bauble into the sea. He was not a superstitious man and had no fear of curses. 

 "Did you know Matthew Oldham?" Malcolm asked.

 "Yes. He was Jedidiah's twin brother believed to have been aboard The Warrior when it sank."

 "What?????" "My father's twin?

 "Yes. But he is dead. It was that ring that brought him and the Warrior down."

 "How can that be?" Mlacolm asked.

 "Matthew Oldham and your father both had been sailors. Your father became ill with influenza and remained ashore where he set up that antique business. When he met your mother and was smitten by her, he knew she came from a well off family. His brother Matthew remained at sea amassing quite a small fortune by making trades of valuable items he'd "gotten "access to" on his many trips. One year Matthew came home from sea and saw my sister Sarah. The two fell instantly in love. But Jedidiah had already proposed marriage to her. In those days a woman who accepted a marriage proposal was bound to it or become a public disgrace. Matthew offered Jedidiah that tiger eye ring if he would release Sarah from her promise. Matthew knew the ring was quite valuable. Jedidiah took the ring and sold it almost instantly but refused to release Sarah from her promise. 

To make sure Matthew couldn't ever have Sarah, Jedidiah whisked her off and they eloped. My father was horrified but it was too late. Sarah was now the wife of a penniless antique dealer instead of the twin brother she loved so dearly. 

Matthew Oldham cursed that ring and anyone who had it in their possession. When Sarah died as you were born, Jedidiah was sure it was the ring that caused her death.

"But you say he sold the ring."

 "Yes he did. But when it caused so many deaths, buyers would return it terrified of its power. Now you say a tourist walked into your shoppe and wanted you to buy it?"

 "Yes" "What did this man look like?"

"It was hard to see his face. He wore a trench coat buckled at the front with an ivory buckle and a grey Fedora hat he kept pulled down over his eyes. He reminded me of an old photograph I saw in my mother's old photograph album."

"That man was Matthew Oldham. That's why he wanted you to have that ring. It was the only way he and my sister Sarah could marry. Matthew Oldham must have survived that shipwreck." 

"But how can it be Matthew Oldham"

 "It's why you found no gravestone out there in the graveyard. His death was always an assumption; but, there was no one who could certify it."

 "So my father forced my mother into marriage by making her in a family way?"

 "No."

 "No???? Then what are you saying?"

 "It was always suspected that the shipwreck wasn't just a result of a storm at sea but sabotage. There are ghosts you inherited that would be best not revealed, Malcolm Oldham." 

 "I have a right to know who these ghosts are."

 "Are you sure you want to know?"

 "Yes."

 "Here on the island the old story of the shipwreck was that Jedidiah feared Sarah's child wasn't his but Matthew's. So when the shipwreck occurred it was naturally blamed on the storm. Not on a vengeance to stop two people who loved each other from marriage. That tiger eye ring was more than just a release of your mother's freedom, it was to keep Matthew from knowing he had a son."

 "Me? I am that son? Then why try to sell me that ring?"

 "He wasn't selling you that ring. As you said, he seemed desperate for you to buy and offered it at a very low price." "I always wondered why my father and I were always so distant to each other. I thought perhaps he blamed me for my mother's death." 

 "The real curse of that ring was on your father. Now that it has surfaced again, Jedidiah can no longer keep its secret." 

 "I thought I recognized it when the tourist brought it into the shoppe. But I'd found it so long ago I wasn't sure it was the same ring."

 "You didn't just "find" it. You were meant to find it." "It was Matthew Oldham's only way of reminding your father of what he wanted to forget."

 "Then who was that tourist?" 

 "Perhaps just a wandering ghost who needed to finish unfinished business."

Malcolm Realized he had only two choices: Dispose of the tiger eye ring as the Vicar suggested or disclose a wrong that jad been kept hidden for over a half century. 

As he left the vicarage, he felt a sense  nof foreboding. He would return to his shop and see if someone would buy the ring. 

On the afternoon of his return, a storm was brewing. He hurried to buy a few things he thought he would need if the storm worsened. 

It did. In fact, the wind howled like an evil demon hungry for destruction. Malcolm battened down the hatches and secured the shop. He knew the power would go out because it always did when a storm of this magnitude visited the Island. 

He made certain he had a full supply of candles, dry firewood for the small fireplace in the anteroom behind the shop and enough canned goods and fresh water. 

He settled down after a warm meal of salt cod and biscuits and a cup of hot cider. The sound of the howling wind created a hypnotic effect. 

He removed the small velvet box with the ring inside it and tucked it in his sweater pocket. he patted it as if he wanted to make sure it was safe. 

The next morning, Malcom's shoppe was gone. The raging sea had carried it and Malcolm out into the grasping waves. It disappeared aq sif it never exited. 

Some say they see Malcolm's ghost searching for something on the beach.