A FERRY WOMAN’S STORY…..SoulSister

Didn’t always live in Duwamish. My home was far, far away from these shores, across many seas, and each crossing with it’s own story to tell. Haven’t really thought about those days in a long, long while. It was on an island, bit like the Isle of Ancestors you see here before you, about the same size an’ all. It was one of three tiny islands that still lie to the west off the coast of Ireland. Life was damn hard then. No farming land to talk of, wouldn’t grow nothing much but stones. Bloody stones – ya can’t eat stones. Only one thing ya could do with them stones – build walls; miles and miles of bloody walls, and for what? To protect a patch of land that couldn’t bear any life, except maybe a few blades of grass, enough just to keep a sheep or two going. Then them sheep were sheared, and the wool too coarse for a baby’s arse, was spun and knitted into sweaters that were so weather-proof they could stand alone in a storm with not a body in them! But they sure were good enough to wear out in the open boats fishing, and fishing was all ya could live on in those isles. The sea claimed many of our men folk. They’d push out in the morn in their curraghs, little more than hollowed out tree trunks, and then the wind and the rain would start up their squallin’, screaming louder and louder, until at last ya’d think they were about to waken the dead. Sure maybe that’s what they were about after all.now Maybe they were calling up the dead to claim the new victims, cos the sea was a hungy and mean master. The stronger those storms grew, the more the fear began to eat ya up. It always began by attacking your belly, and then your lungs started to close up until ya couldn’t take a full breath no more. But it was when the fear hit your entrails that ya just knew ya had just shifted from watching the weather with your eyes and mind, to feeling it with your body and in your heart, which felt heavier than as if all the stones on the island had been piled up and emptied on top of your chest. And that’s where my wisdom comes from, if ya wanna call me wise. It sure didn’t come from books, cos I have no learnin’, never having sat long enough inside a schoolhouse. There was one on the main island but the teacher was mean minded and didn’t know nothing’ really; nothing he could teach me anyways. No respect for the sea or those who farmed her. Better to get the switch then, than suffer the agonies of those hard benches in freezing cold rooms. Nah, the sea and the stones told better stories that that there teacher. Heard the sea got him in the end.

Well soon as I hit fourteen I was gone. Dressed up like a sailor and hit the seas. Better to be on them than hangin’ ‘round with all the other women folk waiting and waiting til the men got home. Wasn’t long ‘til the stories about Pirate Queen began to get about, and now them sure were interesting stories. Funny thing about life — if there’s something that ya really, really want, and ya think and think about it ‘til your brain nearly explodes, well guess ya’ll get it in the end. I sure got what I wanted.

The day we caught the Pirate Queen was the day my life changed for the better. Boy, was she something’ else! Never saw a more powerful woman in my life. Well, they tied her up and threw her in the hold. Later, after dark, I climbed into that there hold and cut her ropes, and together we jumped ship and swam to shore. Heard the commotion in the background as we hit dry land when the alarm was raised. But it didn’t matter. She was free again, and so was I for the first time in my life. And boy, did it feel good! Well she took me with her on her next sea voyage and all the ones after. She taught me all she knew. Guess she appreciated me saving her life. Yeah, she was my soul mother alright.

The last voyage we took was one too many. Maybe we should have heeded the signs. Anyways we didn’t. And that was the end of it all. That blasted gun shot got her. As she lay dying in my arms, I cradled her and sang her an old Irish lullaby. And after she closed her eyes for the last time, well guess I closed mine too, cos that damned soldier got me too.

The next time I woke up I was drifting in a ship into Duwamish Bay. And it’s that very same ship that carries all those women over to the Isle of Ancestors. Some say it’s only women who inhabit this island, and only women who can step foot on it, but I say that maybe there’s room for a man or two, if he shows he understands a different way of knowing, and welcome to him. The women who traverse these waters are a brave bunch of souls. Here their souls will touch our souls, and we will touch theirs. Sometimes they will see us, and sometimes they will only sense us passing by. Either way it don’t matter much, cos they will never be the same by the time it comes for them to leave this land.

No Calling – papa

Of the Isle of Ancestors

“choose to live

as if in finality you will be allowed

to ask but one question.

All of life’s experience should prepare

that you ask the right one.”

the scrolls of Eskiyalı

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Perhaps this desire of my sisters to speak directly to an ancestor is a female thing,

either by DNA or culture, or other call;but I find no question that I would ask –certainly nothing of mine they might desire –yet I must muse as you’all place value here …

Along the way, or of the way belong, I come –

to meet with but one ancestor – one answer;

to gift but one query – one answer;

in an eternal braid by which

I might remember who I am.

What then might I give

that can balance that which I need?

What can there be of what

for he or she long drawn to more,

or in simplicity beyond caring

except that I attend

to their return?

What arrogance!

I will not play out this dance

of pretended exchange of worth,

when nothing I could gift of now

can have value to what is then,

else there is no meaning

to being whence

again!

Yet I am called …

and will attend the hearth and shadow,

and give freely of answers

to questions endless, scarcely one –

to meet an ancient trust

with no expectation

of token or gift

evermore.

Perchance

that is my gift –also a question …

and of this I have done …

and will share what I have learned …

if you will be patient.

Ferry Women Series

The Ferry Women of Duwamish are a fascinating bunch.They are the women who row the boats across to the Isle of Ancestors where the dead enjoy eternal life. The Ferry Women are each ancestral women, women who have knowledge and wisdom that every heroine needs.

Maybe someone will take up the challenge and create portraitures for them.

Choose a Ferry Woman and give her oxygen so that she can live amongst us.

Cosmic Egg – Evolution

Evolutionary Egg,

Cosmic Mother,

Moves so fast,

Yet stays,

Protective and Protected,

Protecting.

Fear, dissolving

Cosmic Egg,

moves fast,

evolving, making, creating.

(copyright Imogen Crest 2006.)

Rondel for Margarita – Gail Kavanagh

I wrote this rondel many years ago for my daughter Margarita – she is now grown up with children of her own, but this still reminds me of the beautiful day she rode the merry-go-round.

On the merry-go-round, on a summer’s day,
As the rest of the fairground goes gliding by,
We coast together, now low, now high,
But how quickly the moment slips away.

She laughs at the music, so elfin and fey,
She laughs for joy at the sapphire sky,
On the carousel, on a summer’s day,
As the rest of the fairground goes gliding by.

How sweet her delight in simple play,
But someday, without me, she’ll take to the sky,
Brave little fledgling, ready to fly.
We must hold these moments while we may,
On the carousel, on a summer’s day,
While the rest of the fairground goes gliding by.

Alder Elder – Isle of Ancestors

 

Always the ferry women are silent,

and that is as it is meant to be,

on these journeys over, and across,

to the Isle of Ancestors.

Always a mystery, never

knowing who might appear,

and so, there was the usual surprise.

An Alder tree appeared to me,

one that has always caused a puzzle.

The Alder pollenates and sheds

freely, its bounty of cones and seeds.

Possibly this meeting will resound.

Change views, and reassess.

This Alder is my Elder, a distant

ancestor of no name. There is

no fear associated with this meeting,

only a vague sense of human guilt

and wrong sight. Possibly this tree

ancestor echoes a real one, one gifted

with the abundance of nature, whose

beat was curtailed, unfairly.

My cloak securely around me,

while making an offering of an image,

to post in its honour, was finally done,

laid at the earthy root

of this great tree, and ancestor.

Accepting the abundance of such a one,

and understanding it for the first time,

the fuzziness of mind shifting with

the gliding pollens of earliest spring. They

are no more nuisance.

The misunderstanding

is the thing that might be gotten rid of…

 

(copyright Imogen Crest 2006.)

Stop to ride the Carousel

Stop to visit the Marina and ride the carousel of life.

Round and round and round we go.

On the Isle of Ancestors– Lori

Why didn’t anyone warn me? Well, truth be told, if I had read between the lines of all the comments and posts I should have had an inkling on what this Heroine’s Journey is really all about. I haven’t even made it to the blessed island yet and I’m ready to turn around.

To start, I printed the guided image exercise and read it. I should have trusted that quiet little voice in the back of my mind charging me to “run, run away!” So I did what I always do when I get uncomfortable—I either get glib and flip or I get heady and intellectual. I read the exercise and immediately began formulating silly exchanges between myself and the Ferry Women or between myself and one of Anita Marie’s quirky characters. When that didn’t seem to work, I then got the idea to systematically consider each dead relative until I found one that would fit some archetypal literary theory I learned in graduate school and write some dry essay on “allies” or “gatekeepers.”

That didn’t prove too easy either. I didn’t want to write on any of my more recently deceased relatives for fear that I might write something about the dead relative that might get back to some living relative and they would get in a snit about it. Furthermore, I didn’t want to write about the ones that had died before I was born because, well, I just didn’t know them.

Then I came to the conclusion that I was thinking too much about the process when I should actually be experiencing it. Again, the little voice sounded: “too close, too deep, run, run, run”. Instead, I dutifully began the exercise just as it is written.

To my shock and mystification, the person who appeared in my mind’s eye was an aunt, by marriage, who had died when I was a teenager. I have not thought about her for years. There is a reason for that: she simply wasn’t that important of a person in my life—even though she lived on the same street, on the same block, from the time I was born until she died. She wasn’t a bad person. She was actually quite sweet and nice from what I observed. However, the thing that stands out the most about her is that I have absolutely no recollection of ever having a conversation with her. I have no memory of any exchange, a loving word, a praise or an affirmation. (However, to be fair, I have no memory of her being unkind to me either.) She simply didn’t talk to me.

Why should she come to mind? I continued with the exercise. In my imagination, she had no question for me and my question to her was simply: “Why you?” to which she had no answer. She had no gift for me and I had none for her. We simply stared at each other until I said: “Well, time for me to go.”

I was doing this meditation whilst lying on my bed and I continued to lay there for quite a while pondering the meaning of her presence in my imagination. Then it became crystal clear to me: her behavior towards me was not much different from any of the other members of my family with the exception of my parents. My aunts and uncles and grandparents really didn’t give me much thought. They fed me, gave me gifts at Christmas and birthday gifts and yelled at me when I was too noisy or in the way. But did any of them ever ask me what my day was like or what I learned in school and what hobbies interested me? No.

I’m disappointed but not necessarily angry at any of these people. This is just the way they were. I suppose it was that Northern European predisposition to avoid anything that smacked of emotionalism or indulgence. (At times I wished I were Irish or Italian or Greek or any ethnic group that knows how to have a good time). And in my imagination, this aunt, this vague memory of a dark haired woman, came to represent these members of the family.

But, let me retract what I just said: she did come bearing a gift—the reminder that their legacy to me was the honing of an emotional self-reliance, the realization that I have been enabled to stand on my own two feet and find the strength to deal with life on my own.

Now, does that statement sound as pathetic to you as it does for me? Yeah, I thought so.

The AMAZING BENANDANTI

ANITA MARIE MOSCOSO

THIS STORY WRITTEN FOR THE SOUL FOOD CAFE

2005

I hope you will all indulge me a little here.

I wanted to share this story with you, even though it’s over a year old and rough around the edges ( and middle, but what the hey this was the first BIG STORY I’d ever written) I thought it would be cool for you to see when Duwamish Bay really came together. I also wanted you to meet the Amazing Benandanti…she turned out to be such a strong character and was instrumental in bringing Duwamish Bay to life.

So it’s her story that I’m putting into my first book.

Also, at the end of this story you get to meet the Malloy Sisters…they were with some of you on the Calabar Felonway and when they’re not on the High Seas they’re Ferry Women in Duwamish Bay.

Just a little warning about the Malloy Sisters…as my Nieces like to say, ” They’re bad Tia’, really bad.”

Enjoy

AMM

The Molloy Sisters by Heather Blakey 2006 

The Amazing Benandanti performs at the Chamber of Horrors Sideshow at a Marina in a town called Duwamish Bay.

The Sideshow has been in the same building for over 50 years and its star attraction has performed there since the first day the doors opened.

Over the years other performers have aged and died, moved on or disappeared.

All except for the Amazing Benandanti.

It was SUPPOSED to be sideshow secret along the Marina; the original Amazing Benandanti had a look- a-like daughter who in time took over the act. Of course, she’s billed as an Immortal who learned her magic secrets from the Egyptians or Druids, or sometimes she was supposed to have been a student who studied Magic under Merlin himself.

The Amazing Benandanti is a Death Defying Escape Artist…tie her in chains, put her in a tank of water and watch as she escapes from a watery grave; she also performs a routine she calls ” Chasing the Rabbit” which involves an Electric Chair once used in the most infamous now abandoned Prison in the state of Washington: Maplewood.

The Chair is her favorite part of her entire act because as she will tell you, there’s no such thing as going over the top when you’re suppose to be getting electrocuted. It appeals to her sense of theatrics, which are after all in the true spirit of the Sideshow.

Her eyes roll, her body convulses, blood trickles from her eyes and ears, wisps of smoke make their way from her slightly parted lips and then her blood red eyes change back to dark brown, she turns her wrists, the straps snap off and she stands and then takes a deep bow.

Among her other acts are the Escape from the Gallows and the Revenge of the Condemned.

Some nights as a treat for her self as much as for her audience The Amazing Benandanti summons ghosts, demons and other strange creatures that are part animal, part human. They are vaporous images but solid enough to touch.

That part of the act is always somewhat unpredictable and because of that The Amazing Benandanti doesn’t like to perform it very often because one night a creature that was part horse and part crocodile nearly took her head off.

She will tell the crowd, as she prepares to open the doorway to not talk to the apparitions. They will ask you a question and if you answer…she won’t be able to guarantee what happens next nor will she be able to guarantee your safety.

Sometimes because it’s a simple pleasure and she enjoys it The Amazing Benandanti sits out front and performs little slight of hand tricks for people walking along the Boardwalk before her first show of the evening. She gives lessons and patiently explains how to make coins disappear and reappear again. There are magic scarves and dancing rope tricks that she can teach you to perform. She keeps all of these props in a well-worn, heavily snickered travel trunk.

Reach in, pull out a prop and the Amazing Benandanti will teach you magic too.

The Amazing Benandanti, like all good Sideshow performers does have her secrets. One is she’s never in over 50 years surrendered her billing to anyone. Her ego would never allow that. There has only ever been one Amazing Benandanti, which is more then enough as anyone who knows her will be glad to tell you.

The second is The Amazing Benandanti isn’t really a Magician.

Kincross Benandanti is a Werewolf, but like a lot of us she has her talents too. And one of those talents involves seeing into the next world.

That’s how she came to see the riders camped on the railroad tracks. Not by, but on the tracks themselves. They were phantoms of course but that didn’t mean they couldn’t cause damage. The grass and shrubs along the tracks were starting to die and the air started to smell a bit stale and old.

Not that anyone noticed, these tracks ran below street level and were not exactly the type of place you paid attention too even when you did look down. The tracks were littered with trash and pigeons and crows roost wherever they can land. It wasn’t pleasant to look at and the smell coming up to the sidewalk above was foul.

For nearly a week Kincross had been watching the three of them as they appeared at each sunset. Earlier in the evening they were almost transparent and as people above walked by they reached to the back of their necks or pulled their jackets a little closer to their bodies. Some of the people even stopped suddenly and turned around, like they expected to see someone following them.

By the time the moon raised the Riders were as real and solid looking as nightmare creatures made flesh can get.

One evening, as she stood on the bridge that looked down onto the tracks she watched the three riders come to life with more speed then they had on previous days and she wondered, what exactly were they?

She was puzzled and wondered how to satisfy her curiosity about these things. In the end she took her years of predatory experience, considered several options she learned in thousands of years of war experience, reached down, picked up a bottle and threw it at the head of the tallest figure.

It made contact with a thud that made Kincross wince and she said with genuine feeling “that has got to hurt”

Then the tall one looked up at her, directly into her eyes and hissed, it opened its mouth wide and thick yellow green mucus oozed out from the corners of its thin-scarred lips.

It was drooling.

That’s when she ran.

Kincross was so distracted by what she had seen that earlier that evening she managed to make herself look like an amateur at her 10:00 show.

When her executioner pulled the lever on the trap door of the gallows and the very real hangman’s noose tightened and yanked up just behind her ear, the language she used as she was snapped back up was not good. “

Hey,” she said to loudly ” you’re suppose to nod before you do that so I can make myself ready…”

Her friend Clara the Alligator woman said, from under her executioner’s hood, “Mouth Danti!”

“Well, I’m sorry Clara “she croaked the rope is pulling my shirt up for Pete’s sake and something is tearing in my neck.”

“It’s supposed to be breaking your neck stupid!” Clara said starting to loose her temper “for Pete’s sake shut your mouth and start choking!”

So before the act fell apart The Amazing Benandanti kicked, choked and struggled for air…she was giving a very good impersonation of not only a dieing woman, but a woman in agony, much to the delight of her audience.

She went rigid, and then limp and the rope creaked and sounded as loud as gunshots as she swayed back and forth from the end of the noose.

Then as if she were in slow motion on film, the dead woman twitched, kicked and seemed to slither up back up through the trap door. It looked like an invisible hand was pulling her; rope and all back up towards the scaffold’s arm. Then while she seemed to be hanging in midair facing the audience her eyes snapped open.

And flamed red, red as coals in a fire.

“Ladies and Gentleman ” cried Jesse the Cyclops from the side of the stage ” the death defying Amazing Benandanti!”

Kincross lowered back onto the scaffold and worked the rope away from her neck and took her bow and when the curtains snapped shut on the stage Jesse gave her thumbs up.

“Good work ladies, I really liked the part when you vomited those entire four letter words when you’re suppose to be dieing at the end of the rope Danti. Are you going to make that a permanent part of your death scene?’ “

“Hey it’s that touch of reality that makes the act”

“Sure, sure.” Jesse the real life Cyclops said, “Like this place has anything to do with reality.

That’s the way it was at the Chamber of Horrors, which was part of a permanent Sideshow act down the street from the Guzman Curio Shoppe.

Reality was only a theory here on the Marina.

Jesse really was a Cyclops, all 7 feet and one eye in the center of his forehead of him. He was a friend of Kincross’ from the very, very old days. He had been living in Olympic Peninsula in Washington State for several years when Kincross found him…and offered him work.

He wasn’t sure exactly who set up the Sideshow, but it was a good place to be if you wanted to hide in the open. This was a relief from hiding in the shadows. Ask anyone who’s tried it. It’s enough to make you crazy.

So mixed among the fakes was Jesse, Wintra and Summer the Conjoined twins who’s real talent was seeing into the past, but for the Sideshow they performed Victorian parlor music on violins and other stringed instruments, and Clara the Alligator Woman. There was nothing supernatural about Clara’s skin condition, but at east she had a job and could walk around in the open.

Among the medical curiosities displayed in glass cases, the human oddities and artwork a woman with scaly skin was hardly noticeable. This is why she worked so many acts. She in her 45 years went from living in a mental institution to being a stage performer. Clara had always wanted to be an actress and as far as she was concerned, her mission had been well accomplished.

Now we come to The Amazing Benandanti.

Kincross was a faker of sorts; nothing she did was magic…exactly.

In fact she couldn’t tell you if she was human or monster; she couldn’t tell you how old she is. She came from the Mountains, but she’s not sure which ones. None that are standing now, that she’s sure of.

Then in one evening in less then 10 minutes her life changed…at last.

Kincross was watching the Sunset yet again and the sight of it going through the same old routine almost cost her sanity when she was captured and forced into a place where all she could do was sleep and dream.

It was a relief really.

After she was rescued from the Catacombs by the Franciscan Monks who discovered her sleeping beneath their Abbey where she had been imprisoned by a rogue witch and her vampire companion she promised herself more then a new life. She promised herself to become something else altogether.

That’s why she ran away and joined the circus, that’s why she almost ignored the Riders at the Railroad Tracks.

But old habits die-hard and that’s why she threw the bottle…

Only these Riders, as she was about to learn were about to create some changes of their own.

When the Moon was full three days later on Halloween Kincross was going to find that out exactly what it was they were about to change.

The last week of October is a very big thing on the Marina.

The Guzman’s Curio Shoppe displays its newest finds at Halloween, it’s a tradition.

Their stock, things like shrunken heads, exotic plants and mummified remains of all sorts are spiffed up and their cases draped in orange and black crepe paper streamers. Akela, Ignancia’ s Guzman’s sister, could not only be counted on to bring back treasures and curiosities like the Mummy of the Egyptian Priestess that made the entire Marina famous, she could tell the best stories and could entertain people for hours in the Soda Fountain in the front of the Curio Shoppe.

That included the performers from the Chamber of Horrors.

Wintra and Summer, Zymo the Missing link, and sometimes Jesse would sit among the tourists and locals and listen to Akela tell stories about a city made up of immortals who’s souls died leaving their corpses to wander their city in a dream state for all eternity, a town called Leaning Birches where Death itself lives, an Insane Asylum haunted by a demon doctor and her husband, who as Akela tells the story was still haunt the Sixth floor of the abandoned Hospital that still stands in the town of Resolution just outside of Lawton. Akela also tells stories about Headhunters and witch doctors, curses and hexes.

Akela’ s stories are much more then simple scary stories and they are always more fact then fiction and she leaves no doubt about that as she spins one tale after another.

She also tells stories about Werewolves when she’s sure Kincross isn’t around because she can’t get halfway through them before she hears a gravelly sounding voice go into hysterical fits of laughter and say, ” Kade, you are SO funny! Come one, tell us a good one. You’re holding out on us, you know you are. “

A few doors down the restaurants; souvenir shops and art galleries display pumpkins, offer free candy and some host costume parties. The Arima’s Amusement park, famous for its hand carved exotic carousel horses, mermaids and other fantasy animals are polished, the normal carousel music is replaced by recordings of funeral music and the electric lights are replaced by lanterns giving the friendly animals of the carousel a darker look.

Their eyes seem to follow you as you walk by and their wooden muscles seem to ripple under the half cast light.

The vendors selling treats along the Marina replace their usual fare with candy corn, orange cotton candy, as well black cat, bat and pumpkin shaped cookies and confections like black and orange popcorn balls. The soda pop is replaced by Devil’s Blood, Nightmare Ambrosia and of course, Witch’s Brew. There is an endless supply of caramel apples coated in not only in caramel but marshmallow, exotic chocolates and then all of this is rolled in nuts or candies in the shapes bats and ghosts.

But something was happening in those few days up to Halloween; there was an unfriendly bite to the night air, the fog that rolled up from the Duwamish Bay wasn’t a fine mist, it was heavy and smothering and seemed to extinguish anything unfortunate enough to end up in its grasp.

On these evenings as you walk down the boardwalk or along the brick and cobblestone sidewalks and streets your footsteps seemed to echo too loud and for too long. No matter how fast you walked it seemed to take forever to get from one short block to the next.

One night, after the Sideshow had closed for the evening Clara and Kincross decided to walk down the boardwalk to the Curio Shoppe to visit with their friend Ignancia. Her sister Akela was in town and both women were anxious to hear some of Akela’ s new stories…before she took to relaxing with her wine and thin cigars that had been soaked in rum and began to change the stories to more fiction then fact.

This left the listeners with a pale imitation of what really happened.

Akela’ s stories were best told by candlelight and tea and before her mask of bravado hid whatever she may have been really feeling at the time her adventures were happening.

Halfway down the street it was Clara who asked Kincross, “Did you hear that?”

Of course Kincross had heard it.

Heavy footsteps in almost perfect timing with their own. “

No. “She lied.

Clara stopped and demanded, “You did too hear that!”

Kincross grabbed Clara’s hand and started walking “of course I did and there’s more than one back there…so keep walking and shut up. I’m trying to think.”

“What abo…” Clara felt something press against her chest and shove and she was pushed over a rail and into the black night waters of the Duwamish Bay

When Clara broke the surface of the icy waters she could hear the a terrible storm.

The winds howled, there was thunder and lightning and mixed in with that were the sounds of voices lost in the middle of the storm. Then she saw a terrible figure standing on the rail above her, it held out its arms and it howled against the night sky. Then it turned its misshapen head towards her and pushed away from the rail and then it was coming down towards her.

The force of the figure hitting the water pushed her back and then under the water. A heavy clawed hand grabbed her by the back of her jacket and lifted her dead weight straight out of the water and swung around like a rag doll.

After it had turned her around she was peering down into a pair of blood red eyes and jagged teeth so white they gleamed blue. The face was a shadowed by a heavy brow bone, and in the fog shrouded night down here in the water it was hard to tell if it was a human face or an animal’s face but you knew it didn’t belong in this world.

“Danti!” Clara cried in relief “you’re alright!”

When they got to the Curio Shoppe Akela handed Clara a towel and a flask of something. When she put it to her lips to take a drink the alcohol seemed to disappear as it hit the space between her mouth and the flask’s opening.

The fumes wafted up and burned Clara’s eyes.

“What is this?” Clara asked raising the flask a second time but careful not to have her eyes open this time as she drank…or inhaled. “

Who knows, but it’ll get you drunk fast. “

“Amen to that “Clara said and tossed the flask to Kincross.

Ignancia plucked the flask from Kincross’ fingers and threw it back to her sister, “We need them sober, and we need to know what it was they saw.”

“Grave Robbers” Kincross said yanking the flask back and taking a long hard swig ” three of them…nasty brutes too. I tried to finish one off. He must’ve just eaten. ” She took another long swallow and snapped ” this isn’t working.”

Ignancia went to her cabinet and pushed at the latticework along the top. After she pushed in and pulled a drawer came of the center of the scrollwork. Without looking in she reached in and pulled out a small blue bottle and that smelled faintly of curry powder. “Here, sniff it.”

Kincross shrugged and did as she was told.

Then she ran out the door and the sounds of her getting sick into the Bay were brutal. When she came back in she said through clenched teeth and narrowed watering eyes “gee thanks.”

“You have to kill those germs; you don’t know what those things have been getting into.” Ignancia told her.

“I do, I could smell it and taste it I’m afraid. And we have a problem, a big one.”

Akela laughed. “It looks like Ghouls have infested our Cemetery and are probably robbing them for food. And it can’t be good news for you or Jess because technically you count as the…. not of this world too, so you’re on the menu and anybody else who has…how can I say it; were born of exotic heritage…like the Twins and I don’t know, what could be a bigger problem then that? “

“It’s what they ate for their last meal.”

“Which was “Akela said through a line cloud of blue cigar smoke.

“Vampire”

So the night before Halloween Kincross, Akela, and Clara went out to Leaning Birch Cemetery to meet newest residents of Lawton Ridge.

Leaning Birch Cemetery is a well-known place on the entire West Coast; it’s famous because of its size and somewhat notorious history. Leaning Birch had started out as a graveyard for suicides, the executed and the poor. Babies who only lived for a few hours or days are here as well as the deformed and defectives.

This is where the forgotten were laid to rest.

It’s a maze of graves, marble and stone mausoleums and crypts dug directly into the hillside.

The Cemetery was built in the forest and in time it had become a city and more then once hikers and the curious had gone up there and been lost for days. Some where never found.

These three women were very familiar with this place and getting lost here wasn’t something that concerned them.

“Why do we have to come out here at night, ” Clara was whispering to herself, ” why not during the day when there are people around and you can see where you’re going if you have to run.”

“Because last shows at our last show is at 10:00… You know that.” Kincross looked over at Akela and rolled her eyes heavenwards. Sometimes it was all too apparent to Kincross that Clara had been in an institution. At times when Clara started talking out of her head like this it was all to painfully clear that being locked up in that asylum had damaged her, poor thing.

They came to the first section of the Cemetery just as the Moon came up.

Akela waived the Lantern from one grave to the next, “what do you think?” she asked Kincross.

“This Graveyard is dead. “She grabbed the lantern from Akela. She walked briskly past new headstones, old weather worn headstones, past mausoleums then up the brick path to the Oak Tree Columbarium. And you could tell from the tilt of her head she was trying to catch sounds and was finding nothing.

“What do you mean its dead? “Clara asked, “It’s a graveyard.”

Kincross was over the top of the hill and Akela was running to catch up with her ” Akela, what did she mean?” Clara had a horrible feeling in her middle and her head was starting to pound because Danti was scared and that was something in twenty years Clara had never seen her friend affected by.

Fear.

The graves near the Columbarium, where the cremains were housed was the oldest part of the Cemetery. Here in the center of the Cemetery were the oldest graves, the most ornate mausoleums and statues of angles, children, lambs, benches and hooded figures. All of them hand crafted and after all this time they had not cracked, or been worn away by the elements.

A barrier surrounded this part of the cemetery; you could feel it when you came here.

This place was the heart of the cemetery.

“There’s nothing here…” Kincross had dropped the lantern and it rolled down the brick path towards Akela. “There’s nothing here

Akela saw Kincross stop under a giant twisted tree. Only one side of it seemed to have grown and the other looked stunted. From a distance it looked as if it were reaching over to the ground beneath it.

Kincross called out, “come here, but not to close. You have to see this. “

Clara and Akela came up to the tree where Kincross was and on the ground was a dying Vampire. Its face was a twisted mass of cuts; its head was split open from the bridge of its nose to the back of its skull.

Kincross knew that unlike her self this creature could feel pain and she also knew that something intended for the Vampire to suffer.

“Here to finish me off Benandanti?” it asked through its ruined mouth “execution right? Will you break my neck and trap my putrid soul in my eyes forever? Or will you leave me here to suffer until the…”

“The expression is, until the cows come home.” Kincross shook her head “we didn’t know you were here. We had no idea. “

“It would have stayed that way Benandanti, you may not believe that, but it’s true. You can only stand Death for so long, understand?

“Kincross nodded, “I do.”

Akela shone the light into the vampires face. Under normal circumstances the Vampire is no oil painting. By nature their faces are ruddy and red and a little bloated. They’re eyes are milky white and their hair dull and dry. It’s their teeth that look good, they have sets of them, and like sharks and they’re so sharp they can go through bone.

Those teeth shine so white they glow.

The Vampires don’t spread their sickness or curse like you hear in the stories. They’re regular people who die and for some reason that no one knows…they come back as this.

When they do the Benandanti come.

Akela was surprised to learn, after seeing more then one fight that these creatures knew each other by name. They understood each other’s language…knew each other’s histories. There was a balance between them and if Akela had to live to be 500 she intended to understand it one day.

“Who did this, who destroyed this place? “

The Vampire squinted it’s ruined eyes and said,” It’s dead you know.”

“Yes, yes, tell me who did this.”

“You saw the Ghouls, right?”

“Yes, by the tracks.”

“That’s where the gate is, that’s why you saw them there. But they’re not Ghouls anymore. They’re not robbing the graves for food, like before. They’re not hunting the living dead for sport or trophies even. They’ve been changed, something has happened to them. “

“What?”

“They’re turning human.”

Kincross motioned Akela and Clara back and leaned forward.” I can help you; maybe I can fix this…what’s happened. I studied in the House of the Dead. I know what to do.”

The Vampire shook its head.” Just do what you do Benandanti, just…no execution.”

Kincross nodded. “I’ll…put you to rest, when we’re done.”

Kincross drew her fist back and slammed it between the vampire’s eyes. Because its face was so damaged already the skull almost split in two and from the center of the forehead where the soul lives a mist leak out, it crept from the corner of its eyes and felt its way to the ground and was gone.

“Shovel” Kincross said without looking up “get me a shovel.

The sun was just starting to rise when they got home to the Marina. Clara put her hand on Kincross’s arm and Akela thumped her a few times on the back. “You did alright Kincross”

“What do you suppose he meant, the Ghouls are turning human?” Kincross demanded.

“I don’t know but I bet it ain’t for love. And the cemetery, are you sure it’s dead? “

“All those ghosts, the things that live there…they’ve gone. Where could they go Akela? Do you know what happens to spirits that wander forever? They go nuts. No offense Clara. “

“None taken”

“Something scared the dead from their graves and drove them out of the only place on Earth they’re safe. They’re risking their sanity. They are willing to risk oblivion because of what? Ghouls who are turning human? What the hell happens when a ghoul becomes human? “

Akela was the one who noticed the trees that lined the hill above the Marina. The smile she always seemed to have on her face and the light from her deep brown eyes dimmed.

Every green thing up on the hill was dead or dieing. There wasn’t a bird in the sky, and the air smelled stale and old even though there was a constant breeze coming off the Bay. It was like walking into a long closed room in an abandoned house.

The Sun was shining bright; it was going to be a beautiful autumn morning.

Only to the three women standing on the Pier, it felt like the darkest hours after Midnight.

THE CONTINUING ADVENTURES OF THE AMAZING BENANDANTI

Kincross and Clara The Alligator Woman were out on the Pier last Saturday before their 7:00pm show at the Chamber of Horrors performing slight of hand tricks.

Kincross was dressed in a simple black dress and over her shoulders she wore her black cape with the purple lining and on top of her head at a slight angle was her top hat and she was also wearing her favorite rainbow colored sunglasses.

Clara was wearing her favorite yellow dress and her Alligator markings seemed to shimmer and glow light green under the light gauze fabric.

“Did you hear about the Malloy Sisters?” Clara whispered, “Do you know what they’re doing now?”

Kincross shrugged, “Eating their young?”

“I’m serious…”

“Well, so am I “Kincross said.

Kincross’ hand gracefully swept up into the air and from her fingertips a dove appeared and perched on two of her fingers.” Those Malloy’s are one seriously ill family.” Kincross held her hand open, palm up and the dove was gone.

She twirled her hand in a circle, opened it and the dove was back.

“If you can’t get this thing to stop pecking my hand I’m turning this thing into a chicken nugget.” Kincross whispered so that the little girl watching them couldn’t hear.

When the girl walked away Clara said quickly “they’ve been taking people up to the Bridge Islands.” Then she ducked her head and winced.

Kincross snapped her head forward and the novelty glasses slid down her nose. “They are NOT.”

Clara nodded and with a snap of her wrist covered the dove with a red scarf and then Kincross threw it up into the air and the dove was gone. “I think we should tell Sarah.”

Kincross pocketed the scarf and hissed ‘ouch’ between her teeth. “Sheriff was very clear to us; we have to take care of our own.” It looked as if she were flicking dust from her left shoulder but when Clara saw that small gesture Kincross almost looked ashamed.

Almost.

“But.”

“No buts about it Clara, if Sarah has to bring the law we could all wind up in psycho wards or in jars somewhere in a medical lab. You want that? “

Clara shook her head, ” Danti, the people the Sisters are taking aren’t, you know from here. They’re…they’re people Danti. “

“I’ll go talk to them.”

“Danti…”

Kincross crossed her heart and held her hand up, “talk, just talk I promise on my Mother’s grave…”

“Very Funny,”

“Okay, I promise all I’ll do is talk. You can come and keep me honest”

The Alligator Woman shook her head, “I won’t go near those creatures, but I’ll tell you where you’ll find them…”

The Malloy Sisters were exactly where Clara said they would be. They were having Tea like respectable ladies at the Glass Gardens Tea House on Weller Street. They were sitting very dignified and refined towards the back of the room by a salt-water fish tank filled with Seahorses.

When Kincross saw them she grimaced. The Malloy Sisters didn’t smell like the Sea, they smelled like the grave.

“Ah” said one with red hair, “the Amazing Benandanti, Magician Extraordinaire and Werewolf Less Ordinary. Tell us, dog to master do you ever have the urge to chase cars or buses? “She asked daintily.

“No, but I do still have, on occasion, the urge to roast Sea Witches over an open pit and feed their lying carcasses to the gulls.” Kincross replied in the same mocking tone.

“We don’t lie, Benandanti. It’s just like the sign at the Pier says we simply provide a service, Sunset Boat Rides to the Islands. We own boats now, we sail them; that’s what we do for a living…”

“For a living. Now that’s funny.” Kincross chuckled.

“We’ve…become modern.” the bald headed sister with tattoos ringing her head said through clenched teeth. “We don’t practice the old ways anymore.”

” Well, see to it that you don’t become unmodern otherwise I’ll have no choice but to bury you so deep the maggots will never find your bones.”

“Don’t threaten us Benandanti, it’s not good for your health to threaten us. “Said the Red Headed Sister.

Kincross leaned across the table and opened her hand. In her outstretched palm was a book of matches with a dragon on the cover. “Don’t mess with me ladies, I’ve cooked your kind faster then you can say, what’s that smell…I’m warning you whether you like it or not. I don’t like the idea YOU are going up to the Islands and I don’t like the idea YOU aren’t taking money for your ahem, good deeds. And I have every intention of finding out why you’ve become such civic minded ladies…all of the sudden. “

“Just reuniting loved ones and doing good works…” the Tattooed Sister laughed.

“Yes Benandanti, more then anyone you should believe in redemption. You know it’s possible; you strive for it every minute of your pathetic wasted life.” The youngest sister with long white hair said just above a whisper.

Kincross sat back and spread a napkin across her lap; she poured herself some tea and then raised the cup to her lips and drank. Then she helped herself to an almond cookie and popped it into her mouth.

“You know, I don’t like you being anywhere near the Bridges and I don’t trust you being so close to the dearly departed. So if I find out you’re going onto those Islands yourselves, if I hear about ” accidents ” involving tourists being lost at Sea if I see one Shade…just one down here in Duwamish with your names on their lips I will find you ladies and after mere second in my hands I will have you wishing you’d never made it out of Croatan. Got it? “

“We’re never going back there,” hissed the Youngest Malloy Sister “nothing can make us go back there.”

“Oh ladies, I will personally take you back to Croatan myself…you know I can.”

“They’re just sunset trips to the Bridges Benandanti; we sail at Dusk and bring you back by Moonlight. That’s all we do” the Red Headed Sister said slowly and she stared hard into Kincross’ face as each word sunk in.

Kincross chose another cookie tossed it back into her mouth and then raised the teacup to her lips again and bit a chunk from the side of the small cup. Steaming hot tea ran down her arm and pooled at her elbow onto the tabletop.

She chewed and ground the heavy glass with her mouth open and the Malloy Sisters saw her teeth, her long sharp teeth pulverizing the cookie and glass to dust and then she spat it all out on the floor at the Sea Witches feet.

“You’re liars ladies, that’s what you do. I guess it can’t be helped it’s in your nature. As for me? I’ll grind your bones to make my bread…hell I want to because that’s what is in my nature. That can’t be helped either. Remember that next time you go on a Moonlight Cruise up to the Bridges and you start feeling nostalgia for the old days. Keep it clean ladies…I’m warning you. “

The Sisters flat dark eyes stayed flat and expressionless, which was good because that was the Malloy Sisters version of keeping their mouths shut.

They were listening to every single word.

Kincross wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin and when she looked up her blood red eyes were glowing in the semi-darkness of the tea room.” Ladies, I wish you smooth sailing. “

The Malloy Sisters watched Kincross leave the Tea Room; they also ignored the nasty gesture she made at them through the windows as she walked by.

One sister reached out and pulled her hands back across the heavy oak table as she stood up. When she lifted her hands there were deep gashes in the wood.

Then together they left the Tea Room and seemed to drift like shadows in the gathering fog to the Pier.

© anita moscoso