Tortus Bay

3.05: Possession and Dispossession

The Tortus Bay Examiner

Issue Two

Readers, we hear you loud and clear. Everyone in Tortus Bay wants to know what happened last week, and you deserve to be told the truth. But to understand the explanation, you first have to hear the history.

There is magic in this village. Not happenstance, or coincidence, or strange phenomena that don't deserve to be investigated. Magic. And it is not new. It was born of a woman named Emmaline Cass—whose skeletal remains, as some of you will be aware, terrorized our streets. She was one of the original founders, and it is due to her sacrifice that Tortus Bay still stands today. When the land turned sour and neighboring settlements began to fail, Emmaline stayed behind with those doomed to die. Instead of accepting her lot, however, she chose to meet her own fate by walking out into the sea...

***

Swirling, sworling, endless water. Long thin hair, caught up as in a drain. The frosting on a cinnamon bun. Then her face, bone. Bone white flesh, and thin lips forming a perfect immobile circle. Her tongue whipped and wagged within. Flecks of saliva painted her cheeks. "You owe me. Will you do what needs to be done?"

Henry shot up out of bed, drenched in sweat, momentarily disoriented. The dream had been so real. Salt water still stung his nose. "These aren't dreams."

"Wazzat?" Niles snorted, rolling over heavily. It was a few minutes before dawn; weak yellow light streamed through the window.

"Go back to sleep."

"Nah, I'm up. Why is the bed wet?"

"Sweat. Sorry. Nightmare."

He pulled him into an embrace. "Again?"

"Every night. I don't... listen, it's crazy, but I don't think they're just dreams."

"You think Emmaline is communicating with you," Niles said, and laughed at the expression on his face. "Come on, it's not that hard to figure out. She talked to you before you put her back in the grave, and now she's figured out how to get into your dreams."

"You're taking this much better than I am."

He kissed his forehead. "I've lived here my whole life. Can't say I've seen anything more strange, but I got a lot of practice on a wide variety of things just slightly lower on the scale."

"You don't think I'm losing my mind?"

"No, I don't. How do you feel about pancakes?"

Henry returned the kiss. "I'm pro-pancake."

"Mmmm. Banana or chocolate chip?"

"Both."

***

Glosspool Lane was as radiant that morning as ever it was, but Henry brought to it his own personal dark cloud. His useless arm had recently begun to itch or sting in places. Teresa called it good news, but he preferred the thing lifeless. No matter how he scratched, nor how much ointment he applied, the sensations would not leave him alone.

So it was that he rolled up to the Brihte estate heavily distracted with his own pinching and scratching, and took a moment to notice the unusual level of activity on the premises. The wrought-iron gates hung open. A series of trucks were parked on the driveway, and from them many men hauled objects to and fro. Tables, shelves, and candelabras.

Henry skirted around the work with a minimum of questioning eyes, slipped through the front door, and found Lucy and Beth Brihte sitting on a couch in the far corner of their foyer, sharing a glass of deep red wine. "Henry!" Lucy called, "if you're intent was to rummage, I'm afraid you've been caught."