Short Stories 2009

The Necrologist's Daughter

by Mark Wolf

Nancy stumbled upon the dead man after walking around a blind corner on the way to Hawthorne. She stepped back, turned to go, then felt her gift's tell-tale tingle. Ah drat! Another one.

He gasped, letting forth the stench of rot, then moaned. “What happened?” he wheezed.

“I'm guessing bandits.”

“Bandits. Yes, now I remember. I refused to give up my purse. One drew a bow.” He looked down to where the arrow still protruded, centered right over his heart. “What kind of healer are you? I still feel poorly.”

“I'm not a healer. I have a gift. To me it's a curse!”

Mother said her curse came from her father. He was a wizard. She'd wanted to track him down and ask him about it, then kill him. This corpse was fresher than most, about her age and handsome. That would change. Her gift brought them back to life. It did not preserve them.

He was pulling at the arrow lodged in his chest, without success.

“Here let me help you with that,” she said putting her hands over his.

“This should hurt like the dickens but I can't even feel it. I must be in shock.” he said.

“No. It doesn't hurt because you're dead.” It was always better to get that out of the way immediately rather than try to break it gently, she'd found.

He dropped his hands back to the ground and sat back, a stunned expression on his face. “Dead?”

“Yes, my sympathies to you and your family, but that's where things stand.”

“But, I feel so alive. How can I be dead?”

“The bandit knew exactly where to shoot the arrow, therefore you are dead,” she said, pulling the arrow from his chest and pushing it's deadly tip up close to his face.

“I mean, if I'm dead, how is it I'm talking to you?”

“My gift or curse, is to reanimate dead people and creatures as I pass them. I don't visit cemeteries for that reason, and my happening upon you was an accident. If I'd known you were here, I would have taken a different route.”

“But wait, this is great. I get another chance at life. I had a lot going on. I wasn't ready to die.”

Nancy pulled him up short. “You're dead! There is no other chance at life here. You will continue to putrefy till you fall apart, then you will finally rest.”

An expression of horror crossed his face, then one of anger. “You brought me back to life to live as one dead?”

“All I do is walk near something dead and it returns to life. I don't mean for it to happen. Now you have a decision to make. You can have someone tell your loved ones you were found dead here so they can retrieve your body or just disappear.”

The corpse sat, apparently thinking. It was easier to think of them as “the corpse”. The ones she'd gotten to know as friends were the hardest to watch pass on, slowly falling apart.

He came to a decision. “Well, your curse is my gift. You can't help what you do, and it was my decision to hang onto my purse, perhaps they'd have let me live had I done so.”

This is different. They usually blame me for their predicament. This one isaccepting his lot with something of nobility.

“I must thank you for the chance to tie up some loose ends. He stood and bowed to her. I'm merchant Jeneer.”

"Merchant Jeneer?" What was the son of the richest merchant in her province doing traveling without a bodyguard?

“I'm sure you're wondering why there aren't more bodies around next to me?”

“Yes. I'm wondering why your bodyguard didn't protect you.”

“They abandoned me, the dogs. I'm sure someone arranged it.”

“That's horrible!”

“Yes, it is. I wouldn't do such myself, but I can think of one that would. Merchant Denosa.”

Merchant Denosa. Another familiar name. One associated with cruelties and depravities well known throughout the province. If he'd orchestrated Jeneer's demise, she had no intention of getting further involved. She wanted to bite her tongue as she found herself asking him his next moves. “What will you do now?”

“I think I will take your advice. My family, my mother and father in particular, need to know that I died. Then, I will make Denosa pay!”

In spite of her decision, she felt responsible for Jeneer. She went to his families villa and informed them of his death. They rode together by carriage back to his corpse. She stood to one side and watched his parents throw themselves onto his body and wail. She turned to go to allow them to grieve in privacy.

A strong female voice pulled her up. “Hold girl!”

She turned around, both parents now regarded her in curiosity.

“I can see why Jeneer would choose her over Denosa's daughter any day. She is quite beautiful.” said the mother.

“Yes, she is,” replied the father.

“Wait. Jeneer and I had nothing. I just happened upon him,” she tried to protest.

“Nonsense girl. A mother can tell who her own offspring would be attracted to.”

A smile appeared then disappeared from Jeneer's face.

“Just because you aren't noble, doesn't mean we won't see you taken care of. The fact you're trying to deny your relationship means he saw good things in you.”

“But, I really just..."

“Hush child. You will ride back with us. I will not take no for an answer!” said the mother.

* * *

When they returned, the carriage pulled up to the villa followed by the cart bearing Jeneer's body. Jeneer's mother insisted Nancy call her by name rather than Lady Hildra. She called servants to bring her son's body into the parlor and set it on the table for washing and clothing.

This really is getting awkward! She and Lady Hildra stood before Jeneer's naked and bloody body with washrags in hand.

Lady Hildra started washing him, then stopped briefly when Nancy didn't join in. Nancy swabbed awkwardly at first, then grew more proficient. Lady Hildra stopped at his waist then handed over her rag. “I'll let you finish, dear. I'll make sure your quarters are ready and supper is prepared."

She walked through and closed the parlor door. Nancy stood there as Jeneer opened his eyes.

“Go ahead and finish,” he grinned.

Damn him! A dead man shouldn't have such a charming smile. She threw the washrag at him as he chuckled, then sat down in one of the parlor chairs.

“Oh Gods! What have I gotten myself into?”

“You've done great, Nancy! My parents don't suspect a thing.”

“Yeah, but they think you and I were lovers!”

“And what's wrong with that? You are a beautiful girl, and I'm not unhandsome. Let them have this. It does my heart good for them to think I was happy.”

“Yes, but it isn't true. You and I would never have met.”

“Who says? I do find you attractive.”

Nancy blushed again. She felt confusion and something else. Could it be, attraction? Impossible! Jeneer was a dead man! She was saved from dwelling on that thought by a knock on the door. Jeneer laid back and closed his eyes.

Two maids stepped inside, and curtsied, they bore Jeneer's grave clothes. Both were very homely.

“Mistress, Lady Hildra bids you come sup as soon as you're finished,” the larger spoke.

Nancy couldn't let this opportunity pass. “I'm afraid I can't continue to wash him as I wished. We were just too close. I stopped at his waist. Would you good maids finish the wash and clothe him please?”

Jeneer frowned then quickly settled his face back into a placid expression.

Nancy knew it was going to be hard not to start laughing on her way to the dining hall.

* * *

The sumptuous feast went largely untouched. Nancy watched the red-eyed and bereaved Lady Hildra and Lord Lancaster take token bites of the courses and send them away. It was difficult for her to do the same, but she was supposedly a grieving lover. They finally settled on a light soup that was delicious to Nancy.

Between slurps and sobs Lady Hildra finally spoke. “My dear, we can't live with our guilt, if we don't tell you that we're the one's that sent your love to his death.”

Nancy looked in horror at Jeneer's parents. “You had him killed?”

“No, child. At least, not in the way it sounds. We forced Jeneer into a betrothal he was against,” Lady Hildra said.

“A betrothal?”

“Yes. We've ever been in enmity with House Nagor, Lord Denosa's House. We hoped to make a match between our House's with our children, before open war broke out between us,” said Lord Lancaster.

“I've heard that Lord Denosa's contracted the services of a Necrologist. We wouldn't stand a chance if he can field an undead army,” said Lord Lancaster shaking his head.

“But Jeneer said nothing of this,” said Nancy.

“Child, he was opposed to the match, and said that when he marries, he wanted it to be for love. We didn't know he already had you in mind,” said Lady Hildra.

“Please call me Nancy. I'm feeling very grown-up suddenly.” Did he already have someone else? Why does that matter to me?

“Of course, dear. I mean Nancy.”

“But, why are you blaming yourselves? I still don't understand.”

Jeneer was on his way to Lord Denosa's with the betrothal ring when he was killed,” said Lady Hildra.

Nancy sat back hard in her chair. So that's why he hung onto his purse.

Her stunned expression continued to feed the lie, for Lady Hildra continued. “Nancy, can you ever forgive us for what we've done?”

She thought for a minute. Things had gone from bad to worse. They must think I hate them. “No, I don't blame you. I don't understand all the politics that go on between Houses, but I think you were trying to do the best for your son.” She reached over and put her hands on Lady Hildras and Lord Lancasters.

Lord Lancaster spoke. “Forcing the betrothal onto Denosa made him refuse it. This should have pushed us into war, but on our own terms, with the other Houses as allies. With Jeneer's death, he can deny any culpability. Damn the man! I know he did this!”

An idea came to Nancy. “Did Jeneer have a favorite pet that died?”

“Yes, a wolfhound. Been dead for four months. He had it for nearly ten years.”

“Where is it buried?”

* * *

The dessicated wolfhound capered around Lord Lancaster's legs as servants fanned Lady Hildra and placed a cool wet cloth to her forehead to revive her.

“So you have the Necrologist's gift?”

Nancy nodded, not trusting herself to speak, knowing what was coming, but not looking forward to it.

“And you can restore my son to me?”

She shook her head this time. “Not as he was. He is dead. He would only be with us until he rotted and his bones and joints came undone. Would you wish this on yourselves and your son?” Nancy said pointing to the wolfhound.

Lord Lancaster looked at the dog, then to his hand where tufts of fur and hide had stuck to it when he'd petted it without thinking. “For my part, no. But when my lady comes around I think that she will be saying yes.”

* * *

Lady Hildra would not be dissuaded, being of the mind that any time spent with loved ones was to be cherished. They all stood next to the parlor table. Jeneer's cheeks had already sunken.

Wolfie, the dog, had his front legs up onto the table and was trying to lick Jeneer with the remnants of his tongue. Pieces were falling off onto Jeneers fine clothing.

“Jeneer. It's Nancy, your true love. Wolfie is here, so your parents know I'm a Necrologist. I didn't want to bring this on you, but your parents,...that is your parents and I have need of you. So, I command you to awaken!”

Nancy hoped she hadn't overplayed her part and that Jeneer wouldn't prove to be stubborn and feign remaining dead.

He opened his eyes, playing along.

Lady Hildra gasped and staggered back falling faint into the maids arms. They'd been prepared this time.

“Where am I? What happened?” He seemed to be enjoying this.

“I'm sorry dear. I promised if you should pass before I that I wouldn't bring you back. You died in the wood. It was bandits. Lord Denosa's bandits!”

“Oh Gods! That monster! I knew we shouldn't have tried a betrothal. I never thought he'd stoop this low.”

Lord Lancaster put his hand on his son's shoulder and with tears in his eyes spoke. “Son, Nancy is right. I wouldn't put you through this, but your mother and I, as well as your love, need you for a while before we can let you rest. I need you to lead our army.”

Nancy looked at Lord Lancaster. It was true. He looked as though he'd been a hearty campaigner in his time. But his time had long passed.

“Of course, father. It will be sweet revenge to end that miserable worm's existence.”

“Son, it won't be as easy as that. They have a Necrologist.”

“But then, so do we, don't we father,” said Jeneer smiling up at Nancy.

* * *

“No, I won't do it!” Nancy tried again.

“Nancy, I've heard you tell me that you feel horrible prolonging the dead's sufferings by reanimating them, but I'm liv...that is dead proof that even this kind of life is a gift to cherish. Just think, after the battle, they can go back to loved ones and finish up anything left unresolved.”

“Yes, but my gift raises bad dead people too. I can only hold them to my own will for a short time. The numbers you're talking of will be a mob army or turn on you themselves.”

“That's a chance we'll have to take. As for the bad ones, we will sort those out and finish them off as we go along.”

Nancy felt conflicted. Why was this even her battle at all? Since her mom had passed on and left her the tiny cottage, she'd found herself continually in the role of rescuer. She felt that this was her battle too, and she had to finally admit, no one had ever stirred her heart like Jeneer was doing. This was such an impossible love affair.

* * *

The day of the battle dawned clear and cold.

Observers from all the Great Houses stood on the two hills above where the battle was to take place, their own armies nearby and held in reserve. They were to referee and their own armies were to take part if they thought either party was dishonorable.

Nancy sat in armor upon a horse of Jeneer's choosing. He had proven to be most solicitous of her, insisting she have the best and most gentle mare of his choosing. The worth of her armor alone, would buy her small cottage.

It seemed a hopeless battle from the start. The Necrologist had summoned the Last Battle of Denoranath in it's entirety, forcing friend and foe alike to form up and array themselves before the meager forces she'd been able to raise.

A small parlay party rode forward from Lord Denosa's ranks. Lord Denosa, his daughter, and the Necrologist. Lord Denosa and his daughter were two of a kind. They held themselves in a haughty manner and the coldly beautiful daughter looked at her as though she were no more than an insect before turning her sultry smile on Jeneer. She felt herself growing angry and jealous as the bitch spoke.

“Jeneer, dahling. Have you been sick? You don't look so well.”

“No, I feel like death warmed over. But nothing that a little love from a good woman won't cure.” He looked at Nancy as he spoke.

Nancy couldn't tell if he was being sincere or if just using her as just a part of the drama as the bitch spoke again.

“Ahh, so that's the way of it? I suppose she's the one that raised you?”

Now the third member of the party interrupted. He'd been staring at Nancy in a way that made her feel uncomfortable, but she wasn't sure why.

“Are you Desmasilla's daughter, girl?”

“That I am. And who are you to ask?” She feared she already knew the answer in her heart as his features somehow seemed familiar.

“I would be your father.”

All in the party stopped, shocked as they regarded father and daughter. There was enough similarity in eye color, nose, and cheekbone structure to make the family resemblance unmistakable. She didn't have time to ask him where he had been all those years before he continued.

“This boy of yours. Do you love him?”

This was happening entirely too fast. Do I love Jeneer? What the hell is going on?

All turned to look at her for her answer. I feel something different about Jeneer, that's true, but even if it is love, what hope could there be? She lied. “No father, if that's who you really are. I don't love this dead thing. They only hired me to raise an army for them. I can see there's no hope here, so I'm done with this.” Jeneer looked like a whipped puppy when she turned.

“I'm going to ask you one more time, girl. I knew your mother well enough that she could not lie to me either. Do you love this man?” He sat his horse with his hands clenched tight on the reins and with an expression of grim determination on his face that brooked no vacillation on her part.

Tears inexplicably came to her face and something that had frozen within her since her mothers death burst forth. She felt her nose run and she cried out. “Yes, father, curse me with your gift and curse me with your torture! I love the fool, now damn all of you to hell!”

“Now that sounds like your mother!” her father chuckled. “If I had any lingering doubt, you just got rid of that for me. I heard your name is Nancy. I don't know if your mother ever told you mine, but it's Tomas.

"I did give you your curse, but that was as involuntary on my part, as yours has been for your beau and others. I'm sorry you never knew me in this life. For what I can do for you in my death, maybe some day you can come to forgive me.”

Nancy watched in horror as he drew his dagger and plunged it into his heart, then toppled from his horse. She swung her leg over her horse and jumped to the ground and rushed to him.

He motioned for her to lean close so he could whisper without the others hearing. “Nancy, this is the real gift a Necrologist can give, but you can only give it once. Your life, in turn for one other's. Your love is now returned to you. All I ask from you, is that you don't raise me. You've already won the battle here, now go quickly before I die!”

“Father, daddy no!” she wept and wailed and held onto him as a wind rose.

Wailing and moaning came from Lord Denosa's ranks. They were all crumbling into dust. Her father was passing and his life was what sustained them. She would honor his request.

“Quickly, Jeneer. I need to get away from here!”

Jeneer's pallor was already better. He didn't hesitate a second before he charged his horse to her and grabbed for her arm and lifted her up to sit before her, embracing her. He moved her away from her father and turned his glance to the hillsides before raising his voice. “My Lords, I thought myself to do justice upon Lord Denosa, for he paid off my body guard and had me ambushed and killed. But now I leave his fate into your hands, for I must away with my own.”

One of the Lords spoke from the hillside. “It is as we had suspected. Worry not for Lord Denosa. We have agreed to see the fate he visited upon you done on him!”

Jeneer nodded his thanks then waved to his parents who both smiled. Then he hied his horse. Nancy's last glimpse of her father was an upraised hand falling to the ground.

* * *

Five years later Nancy finally finished her interrupted trip to Hawthorne. She and Jenner walked along the road holding hands while little Tomas, their toddler son, ran ahead of them toward something on the road. It looked like a squirrel that a horse or carriage might have crushed.

When Tomas stooped to look at it closer, it suddenly jumped up and scampered up a tree..............

The Hanging Tree in Sacred Grove

by Angel

"That tree yonder has been the used as the hangman's tool for the past fifty years son." Sheriff Johns shifted his weight from his left foot to his right, wincing a bit louder than he intended. "Branches solid as rock, able to stand the weight of any man, long as the ropes good." He gave a laugh- more of a snort really-and paused to spit a wad of tobacco away from the monstrous growth.

"I didn't take you for a superstitious man sir." Lloyd Stansell spoke plainly. "To take such good care of a tree that sits in the middle of town. Obviously the fine folk here in Sacred Grove have been mighty concerned not to harm a leaf on it...yet," he looked at a broken branch that had never been trimmed, "Yet no effort has been made to trim that damaged branch."

Sheriff Johns let his smile fade as he wiped a bit of tobacco juice from his moustache. "That's true. It's the only branch on the tree that has ever been broken. No storm, high winds, or stray bullet has ever damaged even a bit of bark from that tree since."

"I'm concerned, you understand, about the rumors." Lloyd looked away from the massive tree, peering at the cracked wood on the abandoned church that sat less than a hundred feet away. The tree's afternoon shadow burned into the peeling whitewash of the old building, and no grass grew beneath it's immense umbrella of foliage..

"Ahh, the rumors," Sheriff Johns said the word like it was almost magical. "Them ain't rumors son. Pure facts, simple as that."

Lloyd waited a moment, then realized that the Sheriff was not going to elaborate without encouragement, so he pointed towards the saloon, "How's about I buy you a drink? A nice cold beer ought to be refreshing on such a warm day." When he noticed the Sheriff hesitate, he quickly added, "You do drink beer, don't you Sheriff?"

"Officially I'm still on duty," the snort presented once more, a bit louder this time, "But I'm always on duty, so I don't see the harm in having a drink...long as you're buying."

Four beers later, Sheriff John's relaxed just a bit. leaned back in his chair and gave Lloyd a keen look. "Why did you come here son? To write about the tree?"

Lloyd stiffened, but never quit smiling. "How did you know?" He pulled out a pen and pad and laid them on the table. "But since you do, you mind if I take a few notes?"

"Suit yourself," the Sheriff downed another beer, his eyes still clear as a cloudless summer day. "What exactly did you want to know? How many men we hanged? What they were accused of? Where the bodies are buried?"

"Actually sir...I was more interested in the time the branch broke," Lloyd spoke quietly, careful not to let anyone overhear him.

"Don't be shy now boy," the Sheriff waved his arms around the half-empty saloon. "The whole town remembers that day like it was yesterday."

Lloyd looked around, saw the bartender wink at them then sigh as half the patrons suddenly left. He counted only five people in the saloon now- Sheriff Johns, the bartender, a tired looking barmaid, a man sitting alone in the corner with his back to them, and himself. The room was so quiet that you could hear the wood on the floor and bar age.

"Stranger came into town late one evening,'bout thirty years ago. I was a young deputy then, eager and naive." Sheriff Johns looked up towards the ceiling, like he was watching the event replay there, "But like you I was a skeptic."

Lloyd wrote rapidly as the Sheriff spoke, careful not to miss a word.

"Big storm followed him into town, worst storm we had since I can remember. Rained for six days straight and practically shut the whole town down. Wagons got stuck in the mud twice on Main Street, so all deliveries were delayed. Even the bank closed up, since they had no customers that wanted to brave the rain and wind."

Lloyd stopped writing and looked up at the old man, briefly wondered how old he really was, then began to write again, faster this time. He dared not interrupt to ask questions, they could wait until later.

"On the seventh day the sun come out, but the streets were muddy and even the horses had trouble walking through the thick muck. Not much crime in a small town like this, and gun fights don't happen nearly as often as you boys in the big cities like to think, but folks had been stuck in their houses for six whole days, and the air was ripe with trouble.

"As a deputy, back then, I didn't really have a lot to do. Town like this is quiet most days, and I mainly shot my gun for target practice out by the edge of town. Sure we had some trouble now and again, but the judge back then didn't cotton to no shenanigans and one crime was as bad as another to him..."

Lloyd looked up from his writing pad, "You mean all criminals were given the same punishment?" he interrupted, in spite of his desire to listen calmly and quietly.

"That's exactly what I'm saying. Kill someone- you hang. Steal something- you hang. Judge Stone saw no difference. Break the Lord's commandments- Pay the ultimate price." Sheriff John's shook his head slowly. " 'No repeat offenders in my court!' " He quoted the judge. "Course, kinda hard to break the law once you meet your maker." The snort once again came forth, this time echoing in the near empty bar.

"Sounds like a man who interpreted the law in a unique way." Lloyd muttered under his breath.

"Kept the town safe for a long, long time. If you appeared before Judge Stone, you pretty much knew that your days were numbered."

Lloyd waved at the bartender for two more drinks, then dared to ask a question before the Sheriff continued with his story. "Is the judge still alive...is he still here in Sacred Grove?"

"I'm getting to that," Sheriff Johns looked down from the ceiling. "You want the whole story or not?"

As the bartender placed two more full mugs of beer in front of the men, Lloyd nodded silently.

"Well, it had been raining for nearly a full week, so when the sun finally came out folks were feeling kinda frisky. Don't rain much 'round here, and much as folks need the rain they need to be able to get out too. We never had a rain like the one that come back then. River nearly flooded a few farms and quite a bit of livestock was lost in the bad weather.

"Only a few woman folk came into town, since they knew that the road would be nothing more than a muddy river, and one of them women was the Judge's wife, Thelma." Sheriff Johns lowered his voice then, almost to a whisper. "One of the meanest, short-tempered women I ever met.

"Back then the trade store and the barber shop was on either side of this here saloon, and with the bank and the near about everything else across the street there wasn't much choice but to cross the muddy road to get from the bank to the trade post, which Thelma did. Only she slipped and fell face first in the mud"

Lloyd started to smile, but when he saw the look on the Sheriff's face he frowned instead.

"The stranger was just coming out of the saloon and saw her fall. Being a gentleman he ran over and tried to help Thelma up, but he made the mistake of laughing when he saw her mud covered face."

"Well, I can imagine it might be a bit comical..." Lloyd sounded confused, "if it had been anyone else... Guess the Judge didn't have much of a sense of humor either."

"Never seen the man smile once. But Thelma was worse. That woman could make someone want to climb a tree and swat a hornets nest rather than spend more than a few minutes with her. Heck, I once hid under the jailhouse for three hours just to avoid her and one of them home-cooked meals that she brought there once a week. There was times I used to think that the men we was about to hang would chose the noose over having to eat one more of her dinners. Explains why the judge was so darn thin." Snort. "Sorry. Lots of memories from back then. Some good...some not so."

"Don't tell me the Judge had the man hanged for laughing at his wife?" Lloyd had quit writing. He had not expected this when he came to investigate the story of the hanging tree.

"No. He charged him with public drunkenness and lewd behavior since he had just come out of the saloon. Sentenced him to hang in the morning."

Lloyd took a drink from his beer and pondered how difficult it must have been to have lived in a town where you could be hung for any crime, real or imagined, that a power hungry judge could dream of. "Did he?" he finally managed to ask when the Sheriff didn't continue telling the story,

"Thirty years ago that church next to the tree was full every Sunday morning. Standing room only for every service, and you could hear the choir singing from both ends of town. No one ever got hung on Sunday. That was God's day and not even the Judge dared condemn a man's soul to eternal damnation on that sacred day."

Outside, the sun was beginning to set. The bartender slowly moved to light some kerosene lanterns, but the saloon kept it's eerie dark feeling in spite of the added light. Lloyd felt the temperature drop with the sun's decline, and shuddered.

"It had quit raining on Saturday morning. That's when Thelma fell and the stranger ...well, you already heard that part." The Sheriff motioned to the bartender once more and two more beers were delivered. "Judge Stone held court late that afternoon."

A long silence followed, then Lloyd downed his beer. "Did the judge order the man to be hanged on Sunday?"

The Sheriff nodded and said nothing for a while, just sat sipping his beer and watching the sun set. "I went and got the preacher Saturday night for the prisoner, so he could make confession or get his last rites. The stranger just sat in his cell and looked over at the tree, like he knew something none of us did."

An owl hooted then,like it was warning Lloyd that the story would only get worse from this point on. He waited for the Sheriff to continue, and held his pen tighter than he ever had before.

"Preacher tried to talk to Judge Stone, but it did no good. Thelma swore the man made improper advances during her unfortunate fall, that he had groped her before laughing. I ain't never seen a man so determined to hurry a hanging before, nope, Judge Stone was not going to change his mind."

"Was it true? Did the man, well, did he make improper advances on Thelma Stone?" Lloyd thought of the few times that he had drank too much and how it impaired his own judgement- especially when it came to women.

"No witnesses's...so it was Thelma's word against a total stranger. The bartender back then swore that the man had only had one beer, that he wasn't drunk. But Judge Stone was a teetotaler, so even a sip made you a drunk in his eyes. I imagine Thelma made his life pretty miserable, and if he didn't convict the man quickly then he might have to listen to his wife tell her tale of being laughed at while a drunken letch...well...I wouldn't have wanted to be in his shoes."

In the far corner, the only other patron in the place stood slowly, his back still to the Sheriff and Lloyd. The barmaid moved over to clear the table, but the man only stretched, then sat back down, whispering something to her in a hoarse voice.

"Sunday morning the whole town attended service, then set up picnics around the yard of the church, trying to get a good view of the upcoming event. Not much in the way of entertainment in these parts, and a hanging was the next best thing to a traveling gypsy circus, and lots cheaper."

Lloyd put down the pen and rubbed his hands together. "I know that you're used to this sort of thing sir, but I've been living in the Crawford all my life... stories get passed around from town to town from folks passing through. You know how it is. I heard about the hanging tree and never really believed..."

"We get those same stories son, and after a time you learn what to trust and what might be fish tales. But I was there thirty years ago. Saw it with my own eyes. Heard it with my own ears." He pulled out a cigar, then lit it with a wooden match, puffed on it a couple of times then continued. "There was no last meal for the prisoner, the judge refused to let him eat or drink anything that morning. And in spite of the how wet the ground still was, most of the town was gathered to witness the execution.

"It was my job to ready the rope for the hanging. I had gotten pretty good at tying a hangman's noose, since I had done it at least twenty times since I first became a deputy. But that day it felt wrong. Not just because it was Sunday. Not just because I had just listened to entire Church singing songs about love and forgiveness. And not just because I had watched the prisoner sit in his cell so quiet that I had to look up a dozen times during the night to make sure he was still there...

"I knew that he had not done what Thelma Stone had accused him of. Son, I don't believe there is enough liquor in this whole county that could get a man drunk enough to make a pass at Thelma. Even with mud on her face that woman couldn't cover the black heart that lived within her soul, or the hatred that burned in her eyes. No man could make a mistake like that, not even a stranger."

"So why didn't you talk to the judge? Tell him that there might have been a mistake?" Lloyd still did not write any more down. He sat listening to the sound of crickets and the occasional howl of a wild dog and wondered if the lone hotel in town had comfortable beds and a decent breakfast.

"Tried that once. Nearly lost my job, and jobs are scarcer than hens teeth in a small place like this. This town and this job is all I ever knew. My family has been here for over one hundred years. Where would I have gone?" Suddenly the Sheriff looked old and sad. Alone. "Heck, I gotta admit I even worried for a while that the judge might accuse me of something and I might end up on the wrong end of a rope on that tree."

"Last call fellas. Gotta close up soon. It's slow and the missus wants to get home at a decent hour." The bartender called out.

"There's supposed to be a full moon tonight," Sheriff Johns stood up, cigar in hand. "How about we finish this story back over by the tree? I'll even let you sleep in the same cell he stayed in that night, if you want to get a real feel for the story? If you're up to it?"

Lloyd shuddered again. "I had hoped to get a room here in town, but I think that spending the night in the jail might give me some more insight to how some of those men felt just before they died. Give my story a flair of authenticity."

"We got new mattresses now. Soft blankets too. If you don't mind sleeping in a jail cell." Snort. "But I'll leave the cell unlocked and a lantern for the outhouse."

Lloyd paid the bar tab and walked with the Sheriff back over to the tree, surprised that he could see the broken branch so clearly in the moonlight. "How long since you last used the tree...to hang someone?"

"Judge Stone retired three years ago. We haven't had a hanging since."

"What happened that Sunday, thirty years ago? Did Thelma ever tell the truth?" Lloyd stopped at the edge of the wooden sidewalk, staring at the tree in the moonlight. "How could she live with herself? How could she...?"

The Sheriff took a long puff on his cigar, savoring the moment before answering. "When it was time to take the prisoner out to the tree, I asked him if he had any last wishes and he said yes. He asked me to pray with him. We both knelt down on that cold cell floor and prayed. Then I walked him to the tree and asked him to forgive me for what I was about to do, all while I was putting the noose around his neck.

"It had been sunny that morning. The second sunny day in more than a week, but soon as I put the noose around his neck a black cloud come up from the east and a shadow fell over the tree and the church, and it looked like night was coming in the middle of the day. Folks gathered up their belongings and moved to hide in the church, crowding around the windows so they wouldn't miss the show. But sadly the preacher wouldn't speak up for the man...no one would. Not even me."

The sound of footsteps came up behind them, creaking on the worn wooden sidewalk. The man in dark clothing and a black hat had left the saloon just after the two of them, and was slowly walking towards them.

"We used an old mule back then. A skittish animal that could hold any load, man or material, and would start running at the sound of any noise, or a slap on the rear. So I fixed the noose around this innocent man's neck and prepared to smack the mule when a flash of lightening come down from that huge black cloud."

Lloyd stared at the tree, imagining what it must have been like that afternoon, the whole town waiting to see a man die. To watch as the rope tightened around the poor man's neck as he kicked and danced, his feet inches from the ground and knowing that his life was slowly being stolen from him- that is if the rope didn't snap his neck first. Once more he shuddered. "So the mule took off and the man..."

"No," Sheriff Johns pointed to the broken branch. "That's not what happened at all. That old mule just stood there, like it was stuck to the ground. Thunder roared in the skies above us and it still didn't move." He laughed, well, snorted, again, and gave the cigar another puff. "Thelma was there, standing next to the Judge, just about where we are now. When that old mule wouldn't move, she ran over and gave it's bottom a huge smack."

Lloyd looked over at the tree, then back at the Sheriff. "So that's when the mule bolted and the tree branch broke?"

"Nope." Tossing his cigar onto the dusty dirt road, the Sheriff turned toward the tree. "Nope, that's not what happened at all, although that's one version of the story that has been going around for years. No sir, what really happened was that instead of running when Thelma smacked the mules behind, that old mule gave Thelma a viscous kick. Sent her sprawling under the tree and the whole church busted out laughing. Thelma stood up cussing and turning ten shades of purple when another bolt of lightening come down and hit the tree. Broke the branch right off then."

"The branch that the rope was hanging on?" Lloyd had to ask.

"Nope. The rope was always put on the lowest limb facing the street," he pointed towards a section of branches nearest us, which was a good ten feet from the ground. "Tradition. Folks around here are strong on tradition, isn't that right Jed?"

The dark stranger from the bar stood next to the Sheriff now, his face hidden under the wide brim of his hat. He nodded, but said nothing.

"No sir, when the lightening hit the branch it broke right off and landed smack on top of Thelma's head. Killed her dead."

"That's the way I remember it," Jed said, his voice a gravelly whisper.

"So the execution still went on? The man was still hung for something that he didn't do?" Lloyd stood open mouthed?

"Not exactly. Judge Stone said God had exacted his own judgement that day and demanded that the prisoner be set free."

"Oh. He let the man go?" Lloyd nodded, suddenly thinking that he understood what happened.

"Not exactly." This time it was Jed who spoke. "The darn mule got spooked when someone sneezed and took off running." He rubbed his neck as he strained to speak. "You tie a mean knot Sheriff."

"Oh quit your fussing Jed. I made sure that the rope was too long. It's not my fault that you slipped in the mud."

Lloyd stood red faced as the two men broke into laughter. Had he just been had? The butt of joke? Embarrassed he looked at his feet. Still, he had to ask this one final question. "Why did you stay? If the town was willing to hang you...why did you stay?"

"You want to tell him,or shall I?" Sheriff Johns stopped laughing and looked over at the tree.

"My recollection isn't as keen as yours, Sheriff." Jed pushed his hat back, and in the moonlight Lloyd could see a trace of a scar around his neck...could it be from the noose, even after all these years?

"Well, it seems that Judge Stone felt that God had sent him a message that day, one that he just couldn't deny. Justice comes in many ways, and once Thelma was dead- killed by a branch from the very tree that was destined to take the life of a falsely accused man...well, he had an epiphany."

"But why did you come to town in the first place?" Lloyd asked looking at Jed.

"The town needed an undertaker. That was my trade. Along with cutting hair and pulling teeth." Jed looked solemn as he rubbed his neck. "I was supposed to meet with the local barber when I come into town, but with all the rain everything closed up. So I was just stuck sitting around waiting for things to dry up a bit."

"No one knew?" Lloyd was confused.

"Not until after everything was over and done." Sheriff Johns sighed.

The wind started to blow, a few dried leaves blew across the dusty road. For a moment Lloyd thought he saw a shadow moving under the tree, but when he turned to look nothing was there.

"You gonna write your story son?" Jed asked.

"I don't know." Lloyd looked over at the abandoned church, curious, but uncertain as to what to ask. What happened to the church?"

"That's a whole 'nother tale...even stranger than the tree." The Sheriff slapped Lloyd on the back and snorted. "You still wanna spend the night in the jail?"

"I think I'll just try the hotel. Even though Judge Stone is retired, I don't feel like trying my luck." Lloyd shook hands with the two men and pointed towards the shabby hotel in town. "If I do write the story, I'll let you know. Might even send you a copy of the paper."

"That'd be nice. Good luck to you son." Both men called out to him.

As Lloyd hurried across the street, a black cat darted in front of him coming from the direction of the tree. It stopped and hissed at him, it's eyes the color of hot coals and he almost fell. He stumbled towards the hotel and looked back in the direction of the tree, expecting to see the Sheriff and Jed still standing there, but both men were gone. In fact, no lights were on in any of the buildings on Main Street, not even in the hotel.

Lloyd knocked on the door and it opened with a strained creak, exposing the empty lobby of a simple place. Dust covered the floor and spider webs filled the room. It must have been empty for years. He stood there for a few minutes, not believing his eyes, then turned to look back at the massive hanging tree.

One by one the stars winked out as a group of clouds filled the sky, and Lloyd glanced up. The thick clouds were gathered over the tree, and nothing was left but the weak light of the quarter moon. Were his eyes deceiving him, or did he see the shadow of an old mule with man sitting on its bent back, a noose for a collar and the rope hanging loosely from the lowest limb? A flash of lightening bolted down from the sky and struck the tree- splitting it in two, and Lloyd watched as one half landed on the old church and the other on the sidewalk he had been standing on minutes earlier.

The lightening must have frightened the old horse he had rode into town on and left in the livery stable, because it came running down the street. Without even realizing it, Lloyd ran out to the street and grabbed it's reins as it passed by him, managing to pull himself up into the saddle like a seasoned cowpoke. He rode out of town and never looked back...or else he would have seen the old cemetery that was exposed when the tree fell on the old church. And he would have seen the tombstones with the names of not only Thelma Stone, but her husband Judge Stone, and the helpful and beer guzzling Sheriff Johns.