Furfur's Violinist (Story) (Patreon)

I've been hard at work on novel stuff this month, but I still need to write a new story for Patreon this month. First though, I'd like to offer you one of my older pieces that was published back in 2014 in Trick or Treat 2, published by Rabbit Valley:

October 30th, 1901

"They say he can summon the dead," said the stranger. A lynx, he had leaned forward to speak softly to me.

I had grown increasingly uncomfortable about this situation, and his growing interest in me did not reassure me. I had reservations about coming back to Wiscasset tonight, but I had hoped that a good drink would settle my nerves. My new found drinking buddy canceled out the mood-lifting effect of the alcohol. I at least had managed to keep my ears up and my tail still so as not to show my growing unease.

"That, my good sir, is nonsense."

The stranger gave me a skeptical look. We were in a dimly lit local tavern. The soot from the lanterns and the fireplace threw long, wavering shadows across the room. The ceiling was low, but the room was large. The locals had scrutinized me when I had first come in, but now they were ignoring me. I felt relieved at least that no one seemed to recognize me.

"I have heard tale of a traveling violinist who could summon the dead with his music. If he performs during the day, he is safe, but at night strange, unnatural things happen."

I definitely needed to look at moving on after tonight.

"That, my friend, is a fascinating story," I said finishing off my drink and putting down the tankard. "I must remember that one."

The stranger leered at me. "They say he's a black wolf, just like you."

"I assure you, I possess no such ability."

"I reckon you would say that if you were him." The accent he had wasn't from coastal Maine or New England at all. The lynx probably came from the mid-Atlantic or southern states. If he had come up here looking for me, he would not take no for an answer.

"Do you now?”

He nodded. "I do," he said, sitting back, smiling at me.

"Where are you from, friend?" I asked, trying to change the topic so I could think of a way to escape.

"Oh, down south aways. Down near the Richmond area originally. My father fought in the war against them 'damn Yankees,' as he would say, but I don't harbor any grudges myself about it."

"I would hope not, being so far north."

"Yup."

There was silence between us, the type of silence that always had a way of unnerving me. I stood up.

"Well, I must be off for the night," I said. "It was nice meeting you." My best option seemed to be the most obvious option: leave.

The stranger nodded. "Same to you." He turned back to the table, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I ducked out toward the main door. I had thought he would give me trouble, but apparently he had only been making conversation and had not been searching for me.

Outside, I breathed in the late autumn air and the tang of pine. A hint of winter was in the air, but the town was too busy preparing for Halloween tomorrow to notice. Festive decorations dotted the houses, and jack-o’-lanterns sat on the front steps. I strode down the street toward the water and the boarding house where I was staying. In the morning I would see if I could find a ship heading down the coast that I could buy passage on. This had been a close call.

I turned off the main street onto Water Street. This road was quieter, and it ran parallel to the shore. The river here was tidal, and it flowed past the town on its way into the estuary. I walked down the street, and I could feel my tail start to uncurl, the sense of danger passed.

A sound came from one of the alleyways between the houses, and as I turned, the lynx sprung out at me, grabbing me, and pulled me into the alleyway. A rag smothered my nose, a strong sweet smell coming from it. I struggled against my attacker, fighting to breathe, but he kept the rag against my nose. I started to feel lightheaded and became dizzy, discovering too late that the bastard had used chloroform on me.

As I dropped to the ground, I realized I should have considered that the curious lynx could leave through the back door of the pub. I felt him dragging me further into the alley and then nothing.

May 7th, 1878

It had started when I was young. I don't remember the exact beginnings, but I knew Father had noticed before anyone else. By the time I was seven, he could no longer pass off what I said or the things I saw as the mere fantasies of youth. He had been afraid to speak to me about it at first, but I learned as I grew older what troubled me. It still didn't make sense to me until I overheard my father and uncle speaking one night.

It was late, and I had curled up in my bed, but I could faintly hear them talking. When the discussion became heated, their raised voices caught my attention, and I got up to listen from behind my door. They were in the kitchen, talking.

"He has talents, Samuel, unnatural talents,” my uncle said pleading.

Father chuckled. "He is just a precocious boy."

"It is more than that. He has gifts he should not have. His hearing is too keen. I know he hears things from the past and the future."

"The boy will be fine. You worry too much."

My uncle grunted. I could tell he did not agree. "He has the second sight. He is young, but I worry how he will take to it as he grows up."

Father sighed. "I had hoped it would get better and not worse."

"He is not fully born into our world, but a part of him lies in the realm beyond."

Of course, my uncle was talking about how I was born on Halloween after midnight. Mother had loved me just the same, but Father had seen the signs before she did. After she passed away from a fever, he had grown protective of me.

"He is a sweet boy, George. There is no darkness in his soul."

"Aye, but the shadows are still there upon him." Someone got up, probably to fetch something to drink. "He must learn to channel them away from himself, and he will be all right. If he doesn't, this will haunt him."

Father huffed. "In time, he will learn."

I didn't know what this conversation meant then, but I came to learn. I saw things, and the things I saw terrified me.

October 30th, 1901

I awoke feeling groggy, my hands pulled out to my sides. My first thought was that I had sprawled out while sleeping, and I tried to pull my arms back to me. I couldn't though, finding they were bound by rope. When I tried to move my feet, I realized they too were bound.

Of course, I panicked then. I tried to break free of my bindings, but I had been tied snugly down. All I could do was thrash against them. While trying to free myself, I noticed the chalk marks. I lifted my head, and my blood froze. They—whoever they were, I had yet to remember—had bound me to a pentacle!

My mind raced through the possibilities, but none of them were good. The one that stuck most had my captors using me as a blood sacrifice. 

Of course as my mind tried to process this, the question of who had gone through such efforts finally came back to me, and I remembered drinking at the tavern with the stranger. I cursed myself for not seeing the signs earlier. I should have been more careful and not let alcohol cloud my usually guarded nature. My ears picked up sounds behind me. I was not alone in this room. I could hear the shuffling of heavy fabric.

"He is awake," came a voice in a whisper. It was the lynx who had attacked me.

There was a response. "Yes. We can begin the ceremony. You did well, Cornelius.”

"Thank you, master."

A figure walked up to the circle and looked down upon me. He pulled back his hood to reveal the face of a badger.

"What is it you want?" I asked.

"You are the one they called ‘Czerny’, yes?"

"No." I hoped he would take my lie at face value.

The badger pulled out a ceremonial dagger from his robes. He carefully touched it to his palm and made a small incision. He then held out his palm and spoke in the old language. I mentally sighed. These weren't people passingly interested in the dark arts. They knew what they were doing.

A single drop of blood fell within the circle, and there was a cackle of energy around me. The badger smiled showing his fangs. He had probed my magical essence, and from what he saw, there could be no doubt who I was.

"You are the one they call ‘Czerny’," he said pleased. "The cursed musician."

"What is it you want? To speak to the departed?"

The badger shook his head. "Not just to speak to the dead but to command them."

"No mortal can command the dead."

"Your power is not the workings of a mere mortal," said the badger. "Either you will do my bidding, or I will find a way to take it from you."

That was not a comforting thought. The badger walked around me speaking in the old language. I had not learned it well, but I could tell he was casting a binding spell on me. If this worked, it would give him power over me. He walked around me three times and paused at my feet again to chant and lifted his arms up. He called out to the ether asking the forces beyond to give me to him.

At first I thought the spell was unsuccessful, but then I felt a hot wind cross my body. The badger laughed and called to it. The lynx who had been standing further back walked up next to the badger.

There was dark energy here, and the badger said a name in the old language. The smell of brimstone drifted through the room, and there was a flash. The badger lowered his hands and bowed while speaking. An echo sounded in the room, and the presence shifted. I strained to turn my head, and I could make out a set of antlers in the shadows behind my head.

"Oh Great One, I ask for the power you have given your servant that he refuses to wield."

"You seek a power I will not give you," said the voice in a hiss.

"I could do your bidding," the badger said, lowering his voice. The confidence he had shown just moments ago faltered, since his request had been flatly denied. That was not at all the answer he was expecting.

The figure started to walk around me, towering above me. He was cloaked by shadows and smoke, visible but not discernable except for the antlers. It struck me that they had summoned the demon outside of the circle of magic since they wanted to offer me to him. Outside of the circle, he could do what he wanted. From what I understood, this was rarely a good idea. If you let a demon loose, you had to have some form of collateral to keep him in check.

"You will," said the demon. He reached out toward the badger, "but not in this world. Kneel before Count Furfur, your new master, and accept the fate you have earned!"

The badger realized his mistake, and he stepped away from the demon, panic in his eyes. He bumped up against the lynx who also stepped back and turned to flee.

"I am not ready..." said the badger, scrambling backward.

"Your soul will be mine," hissed the demon. The air around him crackled. The badger glanced at me with a terrified look and fled, leaving me alone with Count Furfur.

The demon did not pursue them though. Instead he laughed a deep, unsettling laugh and turned to look at me.

"Weaklings..." he said. He stepped toward me.

I gulped. As long as I was inside the pentagram’s circle, I should be protected from him. The demon walked up, and without pausing, stepped into the circle.

"Good evening, shadow walker..."

April 3rd, 1881

The visions had been getting worse. I had tried to control them, but sometimes they were so scary, I felt I was in mortal peril. I would see things that did not exist at the most inopportune of times. Visions of distant lands or dark places haunted my sleep. Father had taken me to every priest in southern Maine, but none could heal me. He had grown desperate, and had decided to take drastic action.

The old weasel sprinkled holy water while chanting around a pentagram he had drawn on the barn floor. I lay in the middle of the circle, waiting. Father watched me from the shadows of the barn. The weasel stepped back to the head of the pentagram.

"Remember, you must be strong. Once I open the portal, we can send these powers back to where they came from. Are you ready, my son?"

I nervously nodded. I wanted nothing more than to stop seeing these visions, stop feeling the despair they contained. My childhood had begun to fade away, and at the age of ten, I had become a twitchy, sullen, withdrawn wolf. I jumped at every sound, and I heard things in the night others did not. I never knew for sure what was real or a vision.

The weasel turned back to my father to see if he was ready. Father nodded once, and the weasel turned to me. Father had searched long and hard to find someone who could work with me, and the weasel had been his best bet. He was a former priest who had been expelled from the clergy for delving into the arcane. He was still a religious man, and he'd taken to the case with a seriousness no one else had.

The weasel raised his hands and intoned in a language I did not know, the old tongue. He shouted to the heavens and waited.

At first nothing happened, and then I felt the growing sense of light around me. Father and the weasel told me afterward they had seen nothing, but they said they had felt the power. At first the light grew around me, a white, healing light, but then it changed. A darkness started to creep into the light and surround the pentacle.

"No..." said a deep, raspy voice. "They cannot have him."

I turned my head to see who was speaking. The white light had started to stain red.

"Who is there?" I called out.

There was silence, and then the voice spoke. "You have visions, young one, that you no longer wish to have." The tone was less raspy, but it had a bit of a hiss to it.

"Yes," I said.

"I can take that gift from you, but you must accept a different one."

"A different gift?"

"Yes, a better gift. It will allow you to heal."

I did not consider my sight a gift, but I wanted to be rid of it. "What is this other gift?"

"It is a small token, my brother. Something you can use when you wish, not something that will just happen to you. It will let you heal."

The light around me had grown dark, and yet it still radiated out toward me. No matter what he offered, if I could summon it, I could gain some control over it.

"Yes," I said.

"Excellent," the voice said. The voice spoke in the old tongue, and he then said to me, "You will serve me, and only me, until I see fit to release you."

I had a vision then. I saw lands scorched by brimstone with armies of demons marching across them. In front of these armies, I saw a great stag with a majestic rack of sharp antlers and demon wings. He stood proud at the head of legions upon legions of spirits, and when he turned, I could feel his eyes boring into me.

The vision broke suddenly, and the dark red of the light lifted and the white slowly faded. I was shaking. The old priest lowered his hands. Father sprung up to rush to my side, but the priest stopped him and waited until he was sure the spell was broken. Only then did he let father run to me and hold me.

I told them everything I had seen, and the priest shook his head. The weasel said the vision I had was of Furfur, one of the great demons of Hell. Father was furious, but the priest said there was nothing he could have done to prevent this. The question of the bargain was also something he could not answer.

One good thing about the ceremony: after that night I no longer had visions like I used to. I was able to sleep at night. Later I came to learn how Furfur had tricked me.

The peace it brought was great, but it did have its own costs.

October 30th, 1901

The smell of brimstone was overpowering. Outside of the circle, he had been nondescript, but inside the circle I could see his true form, a stag standing over seven feet tall with a rack of antlers that curved up from his head. Sharp points glinted at the end of each of the antlers, and behind him were leathery wings. He was taller than a normal person, and he stood proudly.

"Please... I beg of you..."

"Enough," said the stag. "I do not care for beggars."

I shut my muzzle.

"You are a shadow walker."

I nodded. The demon stag stood over me, his wings held away from his body.

"You have questions, my brother, questions that only I can answer."

I did not know what questions he expected me to have of him. "Questions?" I said as bravely as I could.

He snorted. "Yes." He looked annoyed.

"We are … brothers?"

"Ah, you can think. I had hoped you would be able to and that this was not a wasted effort," he said icily. "You were born when the borders between this world and the other world are at their thinnest."

I nodded.

"A shard of your soul still remains in the beyond. This is where your 'powers' come from. This shard is also why I can call you brother, for you are not fully of this world."

"Okay," I said with unease. I did not want to be Furfur’s brother.

"You have known for a long time you are broken, not right. I will heal you," growled the demon. "I will let you have peace in this life, but ... you must perform a task for me first."

He wanted something of me. "You tricked me and changed my powers before. Why do this if you wanted to gain my soul?"

He shook his head, the antlers flashing. "Death is easy. What I need from you is much more trying."

A demon who needed me? That had all the signs of something iniquitous. He had, though, given me more peace than I had before, if at a cost.

"What is it you want from me?" I asked for the third time that night.

"This world is full of many who have passed, but who are not ready to pass beyond. If you guide them and show them the door, I will give you the peace you have longed for."

"How will I do that?"

He laughed, and the sound chilled me. "You already know how; you just need to go to where they wait. Tomorrow the barrier will be at its weakest. The place you will perform this feat for me is known as the Ancient Cemetery.”

The Ancient Cemetery! Why did it have to be the Ancient Cemetery? Any cemetery but that one. "She is there."

"Oh yes," he said, "and more."

He reached down and ripped the bindings off one of my arms. His fur brushed against mine, and it felt ice cold to the touch.

"Why would you honor this promise?" I asked him.

"There are others there who have waited a long time. It is time they come and face their judgment."

I gulped, and he reached down to free my other arm. My whole arm felt like it had gone cold.

"If you do not do this, I will claim your soul when you die," Furfur hissed, pleased with himself.

My heart pounded in my ears.

"It is time that you earn your freedom, little wolf."

July 17th, 1899

The music flowed out of me as I played. The violin sang notes rich and deep that touched the soul. Father had started teaching me when I was young, and I had taken well to the instrument. Playing had been an escape from the visions for me. That was of course until Furfur had taken those horrors away from me.

I finished up the song and pulled the instrument away from myself. The crowd applauded and dropped some money into my violin case. The sun was bright out and high. It was a safe time to play.

An otter walked up to me and smiled. "We don't get many travelers like yourself up here in Wiscasset. Would you be interested in playing at the corner pub tonight after most of the lads finish up for the day?"

I shook my head. "No thanks, but I might be interested in a good nip."

"I can pay you a dollar-fifty for the trouble."

That was good money, and I hated to turn the man down.

"I'm afraid not."

The otter shook his head and walked off. I picked up my case and fished out the money. Mostly there were a few pennies, nickels, and a two-cent piece. I smiled. I always considered it good luck when I got a two-cent piece, since they were no longer made. I turned the coin over in my paw. The copper stood out against my black fur. Nobody wanted these old, obsolete coins anymore, but they were still legal tender. These old coins reminded me of myself, since I often felt I did not fit into the modern world, just like them.

At the edge of the crowd stood a female wolf who had been watching me. She didn't wear a heavy city dress but something much more practical. As she walked over to me, I caught the bounce of her tail and the direct stare of her gaze. Her eyes spoke of one focused and self-assure.

"Good afternoon, ma’am," I said to her with a quick bow of my head.

"You play well." Her voice was sweet but efficient.

"Why, thank you."

"What brings you up coast?"

"I travel from place to place playing where I can be of use. It has been a few years since I have come this way. I hail from the Portland area."

"Ah, I go down there on business quite frequently."

"You have a business?" It was still rare to find a woman in business, even though it was becoming more common.

"I inherited my father’s business when he passed. I have done well for myself at it."

I smiled. "That is good to hear."

"I was curious; are you a proponent of the temperance movement, since you don't want to play at the pub?" she had tilted her head a little when she asked the question and it gave her a very disarming look.

"I am afraid not. I just don't want to."

She smiled. "Ah good. I just had a shipment of bourbon come in, and I was hoping I wasn't going to have trouble selling it under the Bangor Plan. After brushing the right paws, of course. Pay the fines and no one fusses about me importing liquor and everyone can have a good nip."

I chuckled. "You are quite the busy lady, I see."

She smiled playfully. The question about if I was in the temperance movement was just a play on her part to get a chance to talk to me. "One can never be too sure."

"So tell me, what else do you sell?"

"Anything I can. I trade timber and cloth down in Boston and bring up raw material for the inland mills. Anything I can get and have hauled down the coast and back is fair game."

I nodded. "Very resourceful of you. Forgive me; I have not formally introduced myself. My name is Czerny."

"Sierra Poole." She offered her hand out and I kissed it. She smelt of rich herbs and lilac.

"May I walk you home?"

"Ah, you are a sly devil, but yes. I would like that." She took my offered arm, and I knew right then there was something special about her. My tail wagged the entire time I took her home.

October 31st, 1901

In the distance, I could hear children. Jack-o’-lanterns had gleamed on the steps of houses as I walked back to my room. It was a good night for celebrating the season.

The breeze picked up and ruffled my fur. I had taken an early dinner and then walked the streets of the village trying to settle my emotions. If I did this, I could finally be free of this curse, and I wanted so badly to be free of it. Father had told me as he lay dying that I would have to be brave to face this alone.

I steeled myself. I would do it, but she would be there; I knew it. How would I face Sierra seeing her dead?

I shook my head. Sierra wouldn't be the only one there.

August 1st, 1899

"The occult interests people. Society has been to the ends of the earth and established it's dominion over all. Now they look to establish it over the beyond," Sierra said.

"Do you believe I am marked?" I asked the other wolf. I knew I was, but I wanted to know what she thought.

She thought for a moment. "No more than anyone else."

"You are too kind," I said as I reached out to take her paws, "but I am a cursed wolf."

"Don't say that," she said, gently rubbing her paws over mine. "You are sweet and welcoming."

I smiled. I had only known her for two weeks, but I felt like I had known her much longer. Her gray fur had dark streaks that gave her a striking appearance. Her full tail would wag attractively whenever she laughed, a sound so warm it could melt ice.

"Again, you are too kind, Sierra."

She laughed, and it was beautiful. "My father used to say that..."

"He must have been a nice man," I offered.

"He was, but he was also one to take risks. He died when his ship was dashed upon the rocks near Owl’s Head Light in a storm. He managed to save most of his crew by getting them in a boat, but the ship broke apart too fast on him."

In my travels, I had met many sailors. They all had stories about someone they knew who had died at sea. The steam ships were safer, but there were still risks every time one went out to sea.

"I am sorry for your loss."

She leaned forward and gave me a gentle peck. "Thank you. How much longer will you be in town?"

Being a traveling musician, I could set my own schedule, but Wiscasset did not offer a great many chances to make money. I would do better if I headed back to Portland.

"I am flexible, but unfortunately there are not many good opportunities around here."

"I have to head to Boston in three days on business,” she said. “It is only a two day journey each way, but I wanted to know if you will be here when I return."

"You are looking to buy more cloth?" I asked her.

"Sell some actually. We have some goods that came down from Waterville by rail yesterday, and I was hoping to find a buyer."

While she was an exception to the male-dominated business world, they said she was a shrewd merchant. Any man allowing himself to be distracted by her looks was liable to find himself on the losing side of a deal with her.

"The ship will stop in Portland won't it?"

She nodded.

"I could journey with you to Portland and wait there. I have some contacts in the area that would help me earn some money while you’re away on business. We can meet on the return journey."

"A lady does not split a cabin with a man she has only recently met," she said with a playful seriousness.

"Of course not," I said. "But on deck we can at least talk, yes?"

"Of course, Czerny, of course."

We had a great trip down, and I did well in Portland. She never did make it back to Portland though. While coming back, the ship was caught in a fog bank, ran aground south of Portland, and started taking on water. Sierra was a lot like her father. They say she turned down getting in a life boat to help others off the ship. This was very noble of her, but before the next boat was launched, the boilers on the ship exploded.

When they fished her body out of the water the next day, they brought her back to Wiscasset and buried her in the ground next to her father in the Ancient Cemetery.

October 31st, 1901

In the cover of night, I reached my destination. The air was brisk as the leaves had fallen, and the wind coming off the water blew straight through the barren trees. I pulled my coat a little tighter to myself. I had debated all day, and it had taken me a while to get up enough nerve to do this. 

The village had been dressed for the occasion tonight, and the children had been out earlier. Young ladies had been bobbing for apples, and there had been kids out in costume. Most were asleep in their beds when I went back out. The night had been still, the celebrations over as I walked through the village.

The Ancient Cemetery is on the edge of town, and it is the oldest cemetery in Wiscasset. Some of the graves date from the 1740s, and it overlooks the water. Thankfully, no one was around when I arrived.

I stepped off the dirt road and through the gate. The long grass was cool against my paws as I walked into the cemetery carrying the violin case. I could feel the presences around me.

I found a tree in the graveyard and leaned against it, waiting. I did not have to wait long before I heard the bells of the big church on the nearby hill. Twelve chimes echoed through the night, and then there was nothing but the gentle sound of the wind coming off of the water

I shifted my weight. It was now officially my birthday and time to begin the ceremony. I put down the violin case and pulled out my violin and its bow. In the dark, I could see the shapes of the tombstones but not make out the names clearly. How many were buried here with Sierra? I did not know, but there were more than just a few graves in the cemetery.

I put the violin up to my chin and pulled the bow across the strings. The music was sweet to my ears, and I closed my eyes to savor the notes. I started playing a requiem I had learned a few years ago.

At first nothing happened, but the sound of my music echoed through the cemetery. Then I caught something out of the corner of my eye. Faint wisps of mist were starting to emanate out of one of the tombstones.

Father had started teaching me the violin when the visions had begun, but it had taken me a while after my first encounter with Furfur to realize what he had done to me. It happened one night at the first pub Father had ever had me play with him at. A ghost had walked into the pub and started dancing. Naturally everyone had fled, and we weren't sure if that was the bargain until we played at night a few nights later. We brought out a ghost that chased us down the country lane away from a different inn. Since then, I had stuck to playing when the sun was up in the sky. Occasionally spirits would show up, but they were never dangerous.

I kept playing, and the mist started to spill across the ground. Soon it had started coming out of multiple graves. It swirled low to the ground and pooled in the hollows. The mournful notes of the requiem drifted across the mist, muffled by the air.

I’m not sure when the first ghost came, but she drifted into my view buoyed by the mist. Her expression was serene, and the ghost bowed to me. Soon more emerged from their graves. They paired off, and started to dance together, back and forth, following the pattern of a waltz I did not know.

The result was unsettling, and as I looked around, I realized ghostly dancers covered the whole field. I was fully surrounded by the ghosts of the dead. My music faltered, and with a sudden pause, many of the dancers stopped to look directly at me.

I felt the chill of death upon me, and I had to force my shaking hands to steady as I picked back up the music. Once I got my hands under control, the ghosts went back to their revelry.

There was one, though, who continued to look upon me. I caught this apparition in the distance, and slowly it glided over to me and resolved itself to be a male wolf wearing a captain’s uniform.

The ghost paused a short distance from me and moved his mouth as if to speak, but I heard only whispers. I shook my head slowly, and he became agitated and spoke again. This time I heard distant sounds that seemed to form the words "thank you".

"You’re welcome," I said to the ghost, not breaking off from the requiem. I sourly wished it would just leave me be and go back to join its compatriots. There were so many apparitions before me; it was difficult to focus on any specific one anymore. They seemed to form and pull apart before my eyes.

The ghost in front of me did not leave, though, and instead came closer and reached out, pointing toward me. I shrank back toward the tree, and he floated there with one arm outreached. Slowly he lowered it and turned to his right. She must have come while I was interacting with the other ghost, but Sierra was there before me.

She had a wistful expression on her muzzle, her beautiful eyes filled with sadness. She wore in death a dress I remembered her having in life. Her beautiful tail hanging still behind her, no longer filled with the life I remembered it having.

"Sierra,” I said breathless. She meet me eyes and looked away from me. It also occurred to me then who the other ghost was. This was Sierra's father.

“Is she your daughter?” I asked the male wolf, pointing as best I could while still playing. The ghost nodded and drifted over to his daughter, who embraced him.

I was coming to the end of the requiem, and this brought up a problem I hadn't thought about. Now that I had summoned so many, what should I do? If there was a portal here to the other side, where was it, and how would I guide so many to the other side? I turned and surveyed the area around me. The dead hovered everywhere, and fully surrounded me and the tree. The houses that were nearby had faded away in the mist.

As I came to the last few notes of the requiem, my heart was fluttering. The ghostly cohort stopped dancing and turned its attention back to me. Sierra and her father gave me long sad expressions. I gulped, and then it came to me.

Furfur had said that a shard of me was trapped in the other world. If there was no portal, what if I was the gate? I shuddered, suddenly very cold, as I finally understood his plan. He needed me not only to wake the dead but to be their conduit to the other side!

"No..." I cried out, horrified. The multitude of ghosts started to close in on me. "Oh Lord, please, don't do this to me," I yelled at the assembled legion. My cries, though, fell on deaf ears, and as a wave, they surged forward, passing by Sierra and her father. My body became ice cold when the first ghost touched me, and I shivered. Another ghost struck me, passing through my body. I went into shock then, and I fell back against the tree. I lay there, feeling them passing through me, my life essence slipping away, and soon I thought no more.