The Curse of Sayre Island

III. The Fall of The Swaying Swan: The Fall of Kia Wolf

Speak to me

during the stroke of

midnight, it is when

The Big Bell Tower

is at its loudest, only

then our secrets can be

announced safe.

—Kianel Siavel Wolf (from

the private writings of

Kia Wolf).

The Fall of The Swaying Swan: The Fall of Kia Wolf

16th of August, 1913

Sunday, Near Midnight

IT WAS SOMEHOW THE SAME MORNING the people of Sayre had always awoken to. Always the same vast firmament, always the same heavens. It was the same sky and t'was the same vibrant air. The sun was at its peak, it was at least fifty-one degrees Celsius and if not for the cold, fresh breeze the people would not have survived the roaring heat. Even when rain had to pour, the folksmen and women had always been drenched in sweat.

 People of age, people of color, people of names, people of status have been prancing around The Central area of their beloved Sayre since earlier morning. Time was an illusion and had the people not blinked for a second—they would have witnessed time passing them by like the clouds who decorated the immaculate, massive, peaceful heavens slowly passing the merry land. The sun was sinking beneath the horizon, the moon had risen, and the blow of the wind was much colder than it was before. The people of Sayre were getting ready to end their day and to rest for the night.

Some other lights were still on. Some were already dead. The torches and streetlamps that had been emitting an orange-yellow glow, along with the lightning bugs that were flying freely across the almost-midnight blue, somehow brightened up the mysteriously strange and murky place under the dim night for people who are still working until the grave or for people who are too afraid of the monsters that might lurk in the dark. The warm light trailed the sideways, giving comfort to the lone men who wandered the streets until late night in search for a cent.

Every household door that is home to children were locked as if God shut them tight—couldn't be opened and dismembered by just mundane hands. Guardians whispered stories that made the children shiver, of someone whose name shall not be uttered will come knocking on their door if still awake. The youngsters never waited for a glimpse of Old Woyzie's shadow nor fairies that might visit them at bedtime.

"Razi, rum'ein  eller, Vert! Reller buhiva ke'de et klauien!" (Alright, tomorrow again, Vert. I bet my wife is looking for me at this moment!).

A man with a herculean physique and long beard bid goodbye to his comrade, leaving a small eatery, walking towards the intersection of The Central and the South. The restaurant was still crowded by night shift workers and drunk men.

Drunk and full, their eyes did not seem to dart against the meal that were being served on their table nor the beers that were being handed to them by sexy waitresses whose breast plump and thighs that were intentionally shown. All of them were busy fiddling their thumbs in between the pages of the latest newspaper by Tête-Á-Tête. Distributed since early morn, the people of Sayre took the news, whether bad or good, assiduously—as if their life depended on it.

"Who Buried The Black Snake In Crimson Creek?: Alpha Academy's Student Found Dead!"

"The People Grieves for The Fallen: Helena Waspier's Funeral Held at Church"