Dunston Monster: Tabitha

a flash series part 2 of 8 by David G Shrock

See Dunston Monster Contents for series information or start at Part 1.

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Fog drenched the air moistening evergreen trunks, leafless bushes, and flowers. Sebastian marveled at the late autumn flowers blooming on the mountainside above Dunston. They seemed to relish the cold moist air. Everything was wet: his hat, his coat, his trousers. Wetness even crawled his skin beneath his clothing. The forest licked him constantly.

After the shotgun welcoming, Sebastian had only asked a few questions, enough to get him started. Thomas had assured him that Myrtle Ridge was the most likely location to find the Dunston Monster. Nobody hunted here. None of the Dunston residents ever came here. According to Thomas, the ridge was cursed and the best place to start searching for their missing Tabitha.

“Two dead and one missing,” said Sebastian, going over his mental notes. An apparent miscount stopped him in his tracks. The sheriff was also missing. The city of Jefferson was the county seat. He supposed Thomas had only included Dunston residents, and other matters likely occupied Sheriff Haas. Sebastian kept the missing count at one and prayed the dead count remained the same.

photo by Staci

The game trail veered up over slick rocks into a tangle of branches clawing at Sebastian. Roots reached out snagging his boots.

Peering up the incline, he spotted something blue on the dirt wall. He dug his boot into the dirt, reached up, and grasped a root. Pulling himself up, he scaled higher. He reached, snatched the blue cloth tearing it from the roots. Splotches of dirt covered the wet rag that was once a long skirt.

The thought of the missing woman shot strength into him, and he scrambled up the hillside. He grasped at roots and rocks nearly running on all fours. Lungs burned, and he coughed a cloud of vapor.

At the top, Sebastian found a pale rocky ledge overlooking the clouds. Sunlight felt wonderful on his face. He stood peering down at the mountainside disappearing into the sea of fog, Myrtle Ridge an island. Dunston was somewhere down there buried within the fog. Beyond, another mountain broke the clouds.

A trail led from the ledge climbing higher. Clouds clawed at the side of Myrtle Ridge consuming trees. Sebastian shivered and pulled his coat closed. The monster appeared at night, Thomas had made clear with slow words. And with the fog, according to the boy. The ridge was quiet as a grave.

Marching into the woods he followed the worn trail up a gentle slope into the fog. His boots crunched needles and knocked on rocks. Nestled against a cluster of trees, covered in moss, a wood cabin sat at the end of the path. Before the open doorway, a young woman wearing a dark fur coat stood watching him.

“I see they sent a giant,” said the woman, scowling.

Sebastian stood silent. Surprise took his words. He was not expecting a quiet welcome on a cursed ridge, perhaps a grumpy man wielding a weapon, but not a young woman.

The woman folded her arms. “Are you dumb, giant?”

“Rhemus.” He coughed. “My name is Sebastian Rhemus.”

“Kettle’s on.” She disappeared inside leaving the door open.

It almost felt like a trap. Opening his coat, Sebastian uncovered the revolver—his father’s gun—resting in the holster at his hip. He removed his hat and ducked inside. He stood, head bumping ceiling, and hunched over. A single bed in disarray stood on the right, a square table consumed the left side of the cabin, and behind it a small stove burned wood. Rot ate at the log walls, webs clung to the corners, and the table leaned against the wall on two broken legs. The lamp on the table released a pungent oil, clouds of decay clung to the glass, the flame cast a sickly green.

The young woman removed a copper kettle from the stove and poured steaming water into two gleaming white cups. A flowery scent pushed aside the rot. Pressing down on the nearest chair, Sebastian tested its strength. The seat groaned but felt firm. The woman sat on the other chair.

“Thank you,” said Sebastian. Slowly, he sat down. The chair complained, creaking. He held out the blue skirt. “Tabitha?”

Nodding, she took the skirt and tossed it over her shoulder onto the bed next to a pile of clothes including undergarments. Watching the table, she sipped her tea.

“Thomas,” said Sebastian. He held the teacup warming his hands. “He tells me there’s a monster.”

Frowning, Tabitha set her cup down. Her eyes caught the light, glimmering a fractal-scape of various browns from golden to near black. “If you’re looking for monsters, I suggest you look in Dunston.”

“How do you mean?”

“The monster Thomas speaks of is not a monster at all.”

“I figured as much.”

Tabitha frowned. “You’re new at this, aren’t you?”

“Pardon?”

“Are all giants this stupid?”

Feeling like he missed something, Sebastian peered around the cabin, abandoned until recent activity. Her wet clothes discarded on the bed, Tabitha wore an old fur coat belonging to the previous occupant. The open door gave him a view of the fog drenched woods. No monsters.

“You’ll not find my brother’s killer here,” said Tabitha.

Sebastian saw her loss on her long face understanding her disposition at last, and he felt her sorrow. His mother’s funeral still gripped his thoughts. He felt his own face sag.

Tabitha sipped her tea while she stared at the table. Or through the table, her briliant brown eyes appeared unfocused. “Outside,” she said. “Father Young has been expecting you.”

Sebastian stared at Tabitha, uncertain if he heard the words correctly. He recalled the night Father Young had disappeared, the revelation of those strange gold eyes.

Lurching from the chair Sebastian stood, head banged a cross beam, and he stooped out the doorway throwing his hat on his head. He searched the tree consuming fog.

A shadow in the mist, the form took shape. First the balding head appeared and then the torso wrapped in black. Father Young peered through his round dark spectacles. A sneer cut his face.

Sebastian stood, gawking at the man in disbelief.

“Greetings, Sebastian,” said Father Young. “Shouldn’t you be at university?”

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Continue to Part 3.

Dunston Monster: Shotgun Welcome

a flash series part 1 of 8 by David G Shrock

See Dunston Monster Contents page for series information.

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Late evening air held its breath. An ammunition round popped into shotgun barrel freezing blood. Menacing eyes glared down the length of the barrel. Oozing around legs, fog licked the gunman.

Sebastian followed the instruction, he raised his hands in the air. His heart beat faster. This was not the first time he faced someone threatening his life, a hazard of being so big, but experience didn’t make it easier. His gaze swept the road. Lights glowed within the fog: a nearby lantern swung gently in an unseen hand, a candle illuminated a window, and deep within the murk a wriggling glow of a fire sparked. He could make out the dark shape of a second man, a boy maybe, a few feet behind the gunman. The others he heard, a murmur among boots shifting in the muddy road.

Another barking order, and Sebastian found himself taking a step closer, boot squishing mud. Even with his long coat closed tight, he shivered. His revolver pressed against his hip, beneath the coat, beyond reach.

“Look at the size of him,” said the boy. Sloshing mud, he scrambled back, fog consuming him.

Sebastian grinned, a reflex pulling at muscles. Whenever he found fear in the faces of others, a warm smile put everyone at ease. He reminded himself that the people of Dunston feared a menace. They needed reassurance. His smile burned fog from his face. His heart raced on.

“Why ya here?” The gunman’s voice sounded old, worn. His aim drooped to the giant’s legs.

“The church,” said Sebastian. The truth was his shield, and he prayed it held strong. “Father Gustav sent me.”

“Walk all the way here?”

“Took a train to Brook Grove. I walked from there.” Sebastian searched the fog. Only the gunman stood out. Dark shapes grew out of the murk, buildings huddled on both sides of the road. “They didn’t have a horse big enough to carry me.”

“Reckon not for a giant.”

“Please,” said Sebastian. This was his second assignment for Gustav. The Warton Haunt had turned out to be a case of simple superstition. Already this one set his nerves on fire. “I’m here to help.”

Shadows shifted within the fog, the light from the hidden fire at the far end of the road dimmed and brightened again. The scent of roast pork hung in the air.

“It comes with the fog,” said the boy. He sloshed closer emerging from the mist. “A monster.”

“Hush boy!” The gunman spat. Teeth gritting, he raised the shotgun higher aiming for the huge torso. “I reckon this giant is with our monster.”

Father Gustav had mentioned very little, a murder, an unholy terror. Sebastian remained still trying his best to maintain a pleasant expression. His heart thumped. “The sheriff,” he said. “Father Gustav mentioned the sheriff expects my arrival.”

Mud sloshed, shadows moved within the fog, the residents of Dunston crept closer. Murmurs, the fog swallowed their hushed voices. The gunman’s finger crept over the trigger, and his hand shook. The boy glanced at the gunman, eyes growing big.

“Missing,” said the gunman, whispering. His hands trembled. “No sheriff here.”

Sebastian knew nothing more dangerous than a frightened man with a gun. The fog was no help. He wondered how his father, Rhemus the Giant, had dealt with situations like this. A smile and a reassuring voice he imagined. Giants were only good for three things: hefting big loads, reaching high places, and threatening others. Sebastian felt comfortable with the first two. The third he avoided.

“Allow me to prove myself,” said Sebastian, uncertain where the words came from. Channeling his father’s spirit, he supposed. “I will find your monster.”

“Tabitha,” said a woman, a shape within the fog.

The gunman gritted his teeth. “Hush Verna!”

“Thomas!” Verna pushed through the mist and stood behind the gunman. “Give the giant a chance.”

Sebastian nodded feeling his heart thumping into his throat. He saw kindness within the woman’s eyes, and focused on her as a connection. “My name is Sebastian Rhemus. Pleasure meeting you, Verna.”

“Look at him him, Thomas,” said Verna, smiling. “He has the face of an angel.”

Eyes narrow, Thomas studied Sebastian. “Like the devil, I reckon.” His voice was quiet. His hands recovered steadying the shotgun.

Heart thundering, Sebastian focused his mind on a calm summer day, imagining the warmth on his face. He smiled at Verna, and seeing her return the smile he found his heart slowing.

“Thomas.” Verna scowled at the gunman.

“We have two dead and one missing,” said Thomas. He lowered the shotgun. “Cry my pardon if I seem anxious.”

Sebastian lowered his hands, and his heartbeat fell.

“Very well, giant. Find our monster.” Thomas licked his lips. Eyes narrowing, he glared at Sebastian with suspicion. “Return our Tabitha.”

Folding hands together, Sebastian nodded into a bow. “I will.”

“Only then will we welcome you to Dunston.”

Sebastian wanted to stay, reassure them, investigate, but part of him liked the idea of getting away, clear of the shotgun’s reach and beyond the creeping fog. Besides, the missing woman needed him. He thought best to keep the questions brief, focus on finding their Tabitha before it was too late.

Thomas nodded over his shoulder. “Start with Myrtle Ridge. Where the monster dwells.”

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Continue reading Part 2: Tabitha

Dunston Monster Contents

Dunston Monster is an 8-part weekly series of #fridayflash stories (posted on Friday) starting January 1st, 2010. This series covers the history of a minor character from my Draco Torre novels. Follow the young Sebastian

Rhemus, the son of a giant taking up the family profession on a journey among monsters under the watchful eyes of Father Young.

Each part is a flash story moving the main story. Within the story, links reference previous Sebastian Rhemus stories, optional background reading. Your comments are welcome on each individual part or on the whole.

Previous Sebastian Rhemus stories

Dunston Monster

  1. Shotgun Welcome
  2. Tabitha
  3. Riddle on the Ridge
  4. Crossroads
  5. Sinners
  6. Monster Savior
  7. Killer [violence]*
  8. Demon Hunter [blood]*

Contents links updated each Friday as new part posted.

*Warnings for the very sensitive.

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Thanks for reading “Dunston Monster.” Comments or questions? Please, let me know what you think. I appreciate your opinion.

“Duston Montster” appears in Shadow Memories available on Smashwords and Amazon.

If you enjoyed this story, you may also enjoy my novel, Raven Memory, a modern science-fantasy in the same world.

Sebastian is part of Draco Torre’s world. See more of him in future short stories and in my second novel.

-David G Shrock

“Dunston Monster” including artwork copyright © 2010 David G Shrock

Warton Haunt

a flash story by David G Shrock

The crank turned, ratchet clanking into place releasing an explosion of metal crashing throughout the cavern. Grinding over a massive wheel, chain rattled down the stone pit disappearing into darkness. The machine seemed better suited for an ancient torture device than a well. And whatever the chain held was heavy, far too heavy for a bucket of water.

Lifting the lantern, Sebastian held the light over the hole. The flame cast a shadow swirling against rectangular stone walls. Time had ripped at the mortar loosening stones, some sunken and others missing. Sebastian imagined at the bottom another wheel, wrecked by corrosion, held onto the chain. And no water. He suspected an old mine lay at the bottom.

Skewered through a big gear, the crank held opposing handles. The device required two average sized men turning the crank lifting whatever riches the ground once held. It was certainly not a well as Donner had called it.

Setting the lantern down, Sebastian gripped the handle with both hands. He stood hunched over, hat grazing the ceiling. His massive arms turned the crank, ratchet clanking, rumbling into his shoulders. A shape lumbered to the top, pungent odor wafting over the stone. Coal.

Sebastian glanced at the dark material piled inside a large metal bin hanging from the chain, and sat down. He wanted to please Donner and the kind citizens of Warton, but he felt as if he tip-toed at the edge of his knowledge. One misstep and he might plummet into rumor and superstition. And he did not want to let Father Gustav down. This was his first assignment, but he knew nothing of ghosts.

Was this how his father had spent his life? Chasing ghosts? He doubted it. Every job came with baggage. Somehow he had to find a way to put the people of Warton at ease.

Opening his satchel, Sebastian pulled out the book Father Gustav had given him without much explanation. Leafing through the pages touched by fine handwriting, he found sections on superstition and local folklore. Witchcraft seemed to be the most prevalent topic. And vampires. Finding nothing about ghosts, he flipped back to the page outlining general superstitions. Near the bottom of the page, he found a brief mention about lost souls.

The author advised reminding commoners that a lingering soul was complete rubbish. All spirits went to heaven or hell. And apparently those believing in silly superstitions were all destined for hell.

Putting the book away, Sebastian returned to the bucket of coal. Almost anything might explain strange sounds: a wind shooting up the shaft or scavenging critters. He needed proof. He tugged on the chain. It felt too strong to rattle for anything less than a storm. He listened. Peering around, he searched for tracks or droppings. Only his boot prints marked the sandy ground. He smashed his hand into the coal, digging.

His fingers touched something cold, narrow with a gritty texture. He snatched the object spilling coal onto the ground. Holding the slender thing before the light, he gazed at a brown bone covered in black specks and fibrous leather forming the unmistakable shape of a human hand.

The dead never made noise.

Without an explanation for the strange sounds, Sebastian hung his head in defeat and climbed the wood steps. Each groan, every creak beneath his great weight, echoed his failure. Reaching the top, he climbed into the storage shed, and headed for the open door. Ducking through the opening, he greeted the warm sunshine with a welcoming grin.

People clamored around the shed, their hopeful eyes peering up at the giant. Standing in front, Donner frowned at the bone in the big hand.

“Not a well,” said Sebastian. “An old coal mine is buried beneath.”

Glancing at each other, people nodded realizing this made more sense. A voice in the back shouted asking about the ghost. Nods turned to shakes, and all eyes peered up again.

Sebastian felt his grin fade. The air grew cold. He thought about warning against silly superstitions like the book advised, but without proof he had nothing to offer. He had no explanation, nothing at all, but an old arm from a forgotten miner.

“Here,” said Donner. The wrinkled face smoothed into a smile. Snatching the dead arm away, he faced the crowd and held the bone up like a trophy. “Here is the source of our troubles. Our haunt!”

The people of Warton gasped.

“We must put the remains at rest.” Lowering the bone, Donner held it to his chest and bowed his head. “Only then will the lost soul move on to the heavens.”

Looking around, Sebastian saw all the pleading eyes peering up at him, waiting for his approval. Even Donner looked up and waited. Although his book advised against it, and with nothing better to offer, he nodded.

The Warton residents seemed happy breaking into conversation. Donner smiled his approval. And Sebastian returned the smile feeling better if only by a little. With luck, moving the old crank might have killed the spooky sounds.

Let them have their ghost tale, Sebastian thought. Heaven had room for the superstitious.

Spotting a pair of men handling a broken wheel, the back of the wagon wobbling on its perch, he smiled at the job for a giant and marched across the road. “Allow me to hold that wagon.”

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To find all #FridayFlash stories about this character see tag: Sebastian Rhemus

A Grave Giant

a flash story by David G Shrock

Arranged in rows by color, gold up front and red by the picket fence, chrysanthemums lined the left side of the stone path. The rows of perfect bundles curved with the path around a big oak. Shivering in the breeze, green and yellow leaves sent wiggling shadows over the path and flowers. Brown leaves tumbled catching in the chrysanthemums.

Sebastian Rhemus stood on the path staring at a leaf caught within white bulbs, serenity dancing within green defiled by decay.  Another crisp leaf blew over the gold row and into the white. Somehow it appeared as though the dead leaves swarmed onto the white chrysanthemums ignoring the others.

Footsteps tapped stone. The cadence told Sebastian the feet belonged to his sister, Mary, the eldest child of the Rhemus family. He listened to the clicks, a shuffle, another click of her toe over the other foot, the way she always stood whenever she had something important to say.

Another brown leaf fluttered around the flowers and landed in the same white chrysanthemum bundle. The dead had a way of clinging onto the living.

Mary exhaled loudly.

Squatting, Sebastian reached out and plucked the dead leaves. Closing his hand, he felt the crisp edges breaking into smaller pieces. His opening palm released pieces fluttering onto dirt.

“Mum loved her mums,” said Mary. Hugging herself, she twisted at her hips sending her black dress swishing about her feet.

Looking over, Sebastian found his sister staring at the flowers. Even squatting, he still stood taller if only by a hair. At her height the world appeared different. Others hid their emotions by gazing down so that he only saw the tops of their heads often obstructed by hats. From down low he watched the long stare peering beyond the flowers into another world.

There was no need for an announcement, Sebastian read it on her face. Mary planned on taking their little brother to stay with their uncle. A smart idea while his studies kept him away.

Hearing the clomping of boots and jingle of spurs, Sebastian stood turning around. He found a face sagging with leathery folds and held out a hand. “Marshal Williams.”

The marshal’s hand felt frail in Sebastian’s massive grip.

Glancing towards the end of the path where the guests picked at a table full of snacks, the marshal nodded. “I thought the funeral was last month.”

Sebastian folded his arms and bowed his head. “Our mother.”

“Grief took her,” said Mary.

“My pardon.” Removing his hat, Marshal Williams placed it over his chest. “I didn’t know.”

Mary excused herself and rejoined the others. The marshal started to speak, but coughed into his fist instead. The wind gusted sending the oak limbs waving into a song, several yellow leaves flew over the chrysanthemums and through the fence.

The marshal coughed. The wind settled to a breeze.

“You found the rest,” said Sebastian referring to his father’s remains.

His mother had spent all her time thinking about her loss, more than her share it seemed. Everyone knew, his mother most of all, Rhemus the Giant had a dangerous job protecting the wilds between towns. His mother had always appeared strong, but it seemed she had hid her pain within a tough shell. Maybe she had placed her strength in the hands of her giant husband.

“Vermin did nasty damage,” Marshal Williams said, “but no mistaking that big skull of his.”

Now Sebastian was the giant. His siblings depended on him.

The marshal slapped Sebastian on the back. “Come,” he said. “This day is for your mother. Other business will wait.”

Walking through the open gate, Sebastian watched all eyes pulling away from the snacks turning his way. They looked up to him. He was the size of a giant, but he felt small, helpless. Even giants fell. They all depended on him.

Holding head high, Sebastian marched over to the far end of the table to a large ceramic pot. Taking a white chrysanthemum, he walked to the pair of graves where the casket held by ropes floated over the pit. On the left, his father rested beneath the pile of dirt. Mary took a flower and joined him. The others brought flowers forming a circle.

The priest gave a short eulogy. Tears flowed, but not on the giant’s face. Four men turned cranks lowering the casket.

Sebastian tossed the first chrysanthemum, and the others dropped theirs, white chrysanthemums swirling into the darkness.

Grabbing a shovel, Sebastian filled the pit while the others watched. Strength was the trait of a giant, and he shoveled dirt in great heaps, his face remaining somber. He knew that Mary wept on his behalf, and gained strength from this. Grave filled, he speared the shovel into the ground and stood tall.

The others crept back to the table of snacks. Only Mary remained at his side.

Sebastian gazed at the two graves, at his parents resting beneath the fading sky. He felt better knowing they were together. “They both loved her mums.”

Young Secret

a flash story by David G Shrock

Grunting, Sebastian Rhemus hefted the lectern. Even in his big grasp, the oak structure swung like an anvil and clomped onto the floor with a sound of authority.

“Is it centered?”

Sebastian peered over the lectern at the old man standing in the aisle between the pews. Using the man as a reference, Sebastian checked the alignment. “Yes, Father Young.”

Walking the aisle, Father Young waved his cane tapping pews. In his other hand, he held a lantern, the flame inside swirling. Tapping a pew, he stopped. Swinging the lantern around, he faced the wood bench and tapped.

Noticing the pew out of position, Sebastian stepped around the lectern and off the dais, boots thudding on the floor. Everyone expected a giant to help with lifting and reaching. While his father was away he was the biggest man in town.

“Margaret will throw a fit, you know,” said Father Young. He tapped the errant pew. “Everything has to be perfect for her wedding.”

Lifting the pew, Sebastian moved it into position, leg scraping the floor.

“Careful, boy.” Father Young raised the lantern.

Looking at the old man, Sebastian watched the reflection of the flame swirling within the black painted spectacles. He imagined colorless orbs hiding behind the dark lenses. Did the dead eyes see anything at all? Taking the lantern, he lowered the light watching the shadows creep up over the chasms making up the worn old face.

“I have one more task for you.” The old man smiled, the lengthening shadows twisting his face sinister.

Sebastian smiled even if unseen by the blind man. He recalled his father mentioning that a good priest was highly empathic. And Father Young was a good priest; nobody could mask their feelings from him.

Lifting his cane, Father Young pointed at the back corner of the nave. “There on the table,” he said. Lowering the cane, he tapped the floor as he walked. “Found it by the door this morning.”

Setting the lantern on the table, Sebastian looked the box over. Yellow parchment, folded on the sides, hugged the box. Across the top faded print spelled his name.

Looking at Father Young, Sebastian found a straight face. Why did someone deliver the package to the church? Everyone knew the Rhemus house stood at the edge of town.

“Well.” Father Young tapped his cane on the floor. “Don’t hold us in suspense.”

Slipping knife from belt, Sebastian set the blade to the parchment. Glancing over, he watched the lantern light blazing on the dark spectacles. The priest hid his own emotions well, and the dark glasses made reading his face impossible.

“My father isn’t coming back,” said Sebastian. Pressing the blade, he cut into the parchment. The world was a dangerous place, and sometimes travelers never returned.

Always dreading this day, Sebastian slowly ripped the parchment. He had expected a wood box with fancy carvings bearing his father’s possessions. A flimsy package covered in parchment seemed a sacrilege. And delivered home, not left on the church doorstep. Tossing the parchment aside, he removed the lid.

A revolver rested in a cradle of straw.

“Your father was a hunter.”

Sebastian felt the dead eyes burning into him. A chill spilled down his back, and sweat poured from his head.

Father Young clenched his teeth. “A killer.”

Reaching into the box, Sebastian touched the hardwood handle, the cold steel barrel.

Tumbling out of the old weathered hand, bullets jingled onto the table bouncing against the package. “He murdered more than a dozen of my kind.”

Sebastian watched the face harden. The old man lifted the spectacles. Instead of white orbs, Sebastian found golden jewels bursting with dark currents radiating from the center. He stood frozen, staring at the strange eyes.

“Only one question,” said Father Young. “Are you a child of God or your father’s son?”

Glancing over at the bullets, the gun, Sebastian shook his head. What did his father hunt? Men with strange eyes? Looking back at the priest, he studied the gold orbs. They appeared menacing.

Father Young stood strong, gripping the cane like a weapon.

Listening to his own beating heart, Sebastian stared, uncertain about any of this. He saw inside the strong creature, the frail Father Young, the old man that always looked after the town, the same man planning to conduct a wedding in a few hours. How could anyone take a life based on a rumor or a strange pair of eyes? He doubted his father ever did.

Realizing he had made his decision, he took in a deep breath calming his heart. Looking around, he noticed he stood alone. On the table, beside the bullets, an envelope waited.

Opening it, Sebastian found a letter of recommendation from Father Young for admission to university. A prize, it seemed.

At Margaret’s wedding, another priest presided in Father Young’s absence. Everybody had questions, and a few had their own ideas about where Father Young had gone. Sebastian simply shrugged whenever someone asked him. He knew the town had seen the last of Father Young.

The Rhemus house was short two giants. University called.