"The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones." William Shakespeare

As the Westend clock creeps towards the midnight hour, Mab slips out of the shadows from one of the many streets that lead into the Marketplace. With a twirl and a flourish, she merrily dances to a tune only she can hear. Wending her way past empty benches, across the smooth cobblestones towards the burbling fountain she comes to a slow stop, dipping her fingers into the chill of the waters. A smile graces the smooth perfection of her face as she cant's her head to listen.

The black cat slithers out from underneath a nearby bench, strolling as cats are want without a care towards the only distraction around; Mab. It pauses then sits, yellow eyes focusing on the small woman with seeming curiosity. It lifts a paw and licks at it as if it hasn't a care in the world.

Mab turns her gaze from her hand in the fountain to look at the black cat. She gives it her most radiant of smiles. There is about that smile the warmth of summer, a comforting nuance meant to entice and ensnare. Her head tilts to one side and she meets the yellow eyes with golden flecked silvers. "And you must be whom I've come to see." Her voice is soft, reassuring and inviting, lest she might frighten the small thing away.

The cat tilts its head as if listening. Its whiskers twitch forward then still. It issues a soft meow as it drops its paw to the ground, its expression as intent as any feline can manage.

Mab nods slowly, her gaze dipping back to the water in the fountain. "Yes, yes, of course. I will give you what you've asked for. But..." The golden flecked silver eyes snap back to the tiny furred creature. "...only after you have delivered on your end of the bargain! You will aid me in my needs, and I shall see yours are met as well."

The black cat does the oddest thing; it bobs its head as if it understands her. A twitch of its tail and it takes to its feet preparing to dart off.

"No, wait", Mab commands as she stands upright, the fountain and the girlish act left behind as the truth of her appears. "Go to Mister Howe. You can find him in that building on the morrow." A finger points at the DCH building just down the street from where they are. "He needs a soul retrieved from Purgatory. I shall see you amply rewarded for the deed." Mab brushes the wet fingers to the silken skirts of her gown without a care to the damage it will cause. "Do this for me, and report back, before you give him what he wants."

Why she wants this she does not say. Instead she does a merry twirl and dip, the pretense of girlish delight firmly back in place, then with a smile to the cat she flickers in and out, fuzzy like an old black and white movie and is gone.

The cat watches the spectacle and when all is done, it yawns. It has little time for the games of giants; it merely does as its master bids. With a flick of its tail it turns and saunters away with dreams of tasty mice in mind.

To be continued...

"For a ghoul is a ghoul, and at best an unpleasant companion for man." " H.P. Lovecraft. "The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath"

Athena likes to lie on my lap. Her black fur is smooth and sleek, luxurious to touch. There is no pleasure in the touching for me since I died. But I still find petting her soothing. An old habit. They die harder than the body does I've learned.

I've found the soul that Howe has asked me to. She is in Purgatory as he suggested. I deduce she won't want to come with me of her own accord. I shall have to dig up a reason why she would want to come back, so to speak. I have gathered what information I could on her. Seems there was a man. A simple enough cause, it has been the downfall of so many before her and surely after as well.

I haven't any vessel for her to take harbor in and Mab has commanded I bring the soul to her first. Not sure if they are aware of how this process works. Without a container she will have the freedom to return from whence I bring her. I would think this a problem if I were invested, which I'm not. I shall leave it upon them to sum it up.

I suspect there will be some kind of double dealings going on. No, of that I am most certain.

Friends, alliances, they mean nothing to so many.

Athena, my familiar, does not care for either Mab or Howe. She thinks they smell off. In cat speak I believe that means she doesn't trust them. Neither do I, but a means to an end is just that. If I get what I have asked for, then the task is worthy of bothering with. I will not give over the soul until the first of my demands are met. Then I shall be open to negotiating for the rest.

A cautionary tale of Monsters and Men is the story I tell. What I want or rather wanted when I was alive was something as close to normalcy as a soul can get. What I got instead was a tale woven by the hand of a master like Lovecraft. Can I call myself a ruined shell with no beating heart' My soul was torn from me the day she died and what was left was empty. But once life left my limbs am I not simply a monster to be feared and loathed"

I would loath the creature I have become were I given such allowance.

I could laugh at myself over these gothic lamentations.

I am what I made of myself. I can lay no blame elsewhere. Can anyone claim otherwise" Perhaps this Lisa creature might' I won't know until the soul stands before me. Will she dance for me" Does she have a song, a strain of music left' Or has she become a monster like me"

She played with the likes of Howe and Mab. It does leave the questions.

I will go tonight, when the moon is full and ripe. I shall cast the spells of my trade in the graveyard nearby and step into the portal where my kind is not wanted. Is my kind ever truly wanted, I wonder" Other than for the obvious task of summoning the dead what other uses are there for one such as me?

The dead do not feel. The dead do not care for whom they fight. The dead are empty shells that hold only what I pour into them. Their souls have long departed and what intelligence they once held turns to muck in such a short time after their bodies demise. There is nothing of the person they once were left.

But my gifts are greater than that. I have been given the music to soothe the spirits, the ability to charm their lost souls with my preternatural songs. A gift from the dead to the dead, I was told when I stared down Death's face. Death was amused with me then, handing me these gifts for a price, so that I could pretend a normal life again.

What cost'

I didn't stop to think about it. My grief was too deep, my need too pressing. I never asked the price. I didn't care. Now, Death laughs at me. It knows what I did not. It holds what I lost and It will never let it go. I am a puppet, a mimic, an empty shell, ruined by my own ambitions.

We are only what we make ourselves, I must remind.

Safe in their Alabaster Chambers " Emily Dickinson

Safe in their alabaster chambers, Untouched by morning and untouched by noon, Sleep the meek members of the resurrection, Rafter of satin, and roof of stone.

Light laughs the breeze in her castle of sunshine Babbles the bee in a stolid ear; Pipe the sweet birds in ignorant cadence, Ah, what sagacity perished here! Grand go the years in the crescent above them; Worlds scoop their arcs, and firmaments row, Diadems drop and Doges surrender, Soundless as dots on a disk of snow.

Lisa sits on the veranda with a hand-knitted shawl wrapped around her shoulders while she conjures up images of Alain. She thinks of him often, all the time actually. She even chose this place because it reminded her of Sainte-Ouen, and the home they had been making there. Today the breeze from off the sea is warm, holding a touch of summer in its light caress. Her last memory when she was alive was of the cold, but she doesn't like to dwell upon that. Here in this lovely place it is and always will be on the brink of Summer.

In the near-distance the shoreline is dotted with quaint fishing boats. Their crews coming in as dusk settles over the picturesque village below. She loves how dusk lingers here in her own version of home. Lisa spies the figure making its way towards the house but this doesn't cause alarm. She assumes it is nothing more than another figment summoned up by her mind and needs, another ghost of Alain.

The house is an exact replica of the one she and Alain called home. She had been amazed when she'd first seen it. Today however that awe has worn away to a comfortable ease. She wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Here, in this place she is closest to all she cherished when she last drew breath.

Ghosts of the past are the only visitors she receives here in her private place. Intangible like gossamer they are shimmers of a past she can't forget or perhaps it's more that she refuses to. Images of Alain, like him standing on the veranda in his Pea coat staring out over the harbor. Or watching him as he strode down the hill towards town, such a strong and handsome figure he cut! The pair of them tangled together before the fire, enveloped in each other, their love as tangible between them as the heat from his skin.

Her time in Rhy"Din had been nothing short of a nightmare really. Except for Alain. He had swept into her life and rescued her from the foul and vile Mister Howe. He had given her the gift of freedom and then bequeathed her with his love, even asked her to be his wife! She can't remember when she had ever been so happy, wrapped in the safety of his arms, surrounded by his love.

A dip of her head as sadness creeps upon her. Crystalline blue eyes stare down at the wooden slabs under her feet. The wood has been worn by the weather, dulled by rain and wind to an unnatural smoothness; even the tiniest details in this world are intact. She struggles to chase the memories of that day away. The day it had all come to such a brutal and senseless end.

Even now all she can recall is the quality of light' how it struck her with such awe at the beauty of it. She had been in Rhy"Din to buy her wedding dress. She had been so happy and full of the future that day. Then she was lying on the ground, thinking about the quality of light. Snowflakes like frozen tears drifting through the brittle air as the blood stained the white, white snow beneath her. She never even saw his face, the man who killed her.

Memories she would rather forget. Memories that find little ways to sneak in and steal away the happiness this place holds for her. She shakes it off, her eyes lift to find the approaching figure on the pathway that leads up to the house. It is her time to summon up Alain. The time of day that he would return from the day's business and they would kiss and hold one another close. Of course, here, the ghost of her reaps those rewards while she sits and watches. Nothing here is real" not really. Its all magic and mirrors as Jeff would have said.

Her smile freezes in place as realizes the figure is no figment, no ghost from her memories. The unknown man stops a several feet from the veranda steps and offers a friendly smile. A stranger" Someone she's never seen in her life. How did they find their way here" Is this it then" Has her time to go from here come" What if she doesn't want to leave" Has any ever refused" Confusion, fear and yes, anger flicker over delicate features before she remembers her manners and stands. She doesn't offer a hand to him, nor move down to greet him. She doesn't beckon him to join her on the veranda either. Nor does the idea of suggesting tea come to mind. Yes, she can make tea, she can drink it too, but here in this place such things are also phantoms; simply not real.

A polite nod is offered to the stranger. "I'm sorry, but' what are you doing here?" Perhaps she's been here too long that her social skills are rusty' More like it's the fear eating away at her.

"Lisa" Lisa Jefferies?" The man asks with a hopeful air to his tone.

Lisa can't keep the frown from forming. She gives the man a short nod. "Are you here to?" She can't seem to force the words out. Instead she takes a deep breath and looks out over the heartbreakingly familiar vista. "I don't want to leave this place."

"Not even for your love?" the stranger begins but Lisa never lets him finish.

"Alain?" Without a thought she drops her shawl from her slender shoulders and rushes down the steps toward the stranger. "What of Alain?"

His smile warms as he reaches out to pat her shoulder comfortingly. "He needs you Lisa. He's lost without you. He wants me to bring you home to him!"

"That's not possible! I'm dead!" Lisa starts to pull away from the stranger, suddenly hopeless and angry.

His smile widens and suddenly, inside her head she hears the oddest thing. Rachmaninov's Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini variation 18 and it seems to fill her up, pull at her. It is as if the music itself wills her to go with the stranger. As if the music has become her strength, the soft strikes on the keys, the heart-stirring melody her resolve. All she can think of is how Alain needs her and she must go!

This may be her last chance to see him' ever! The realization overwhelms her, pushing at her hard to capitulate. And on that note, Lisa turns and smiles brightly at the stranger, ready to go wherever he leads.

"I trust you know the way' I did not think there is one?"

"Ahh, do not worry, Lisa. I know the way. For me there always is a way.?

(To Be Continued...)

In time we hate that which we often fear. - William Shakespeare

The black cat slinks out of the shadows, moving towards the gleaming white dome of the Temple of Mab. Around its slender neck hangs a velvet bag with a note secured to it. It wanders past elves working on this or that, they pay it no mind. Soon it reaches the large closed doors that lead inside. Here it sits and commences cleaning its paws, patiently waiting.

After a few moments the doors swing open and a tall, blonde-haired elf steps out. Silver eyes fix on the small creature and then the Elven lord nods for it to pass through. The cat pays the lord no mind but when the doors are open it takes to its feet and dashes inside. The Elven lord smirks, turns and follows suit. The large doors swing closed behind him.

Once past the doors, the cat pauses in mid stride but only momentarily. Finding the "inside" is actually outside had taken the critter by surprise. It quickly recovers for cats are capable like that. It wends gingerly through what appears to be a quaint Elven village. Here the elves are quieter than they had been outside. They seem weighted down by something, preoccupied or perhaps it is the sad song the cat can hear inside its head" Information it passes to its Master with merely a thought.

The cat cannot find the singer however and continues towards the dais, where it senses the woman it has come to see will be waiting. It comes to a stop at the foot of the marble stairs, golden eyes lifting to find the woman lounging upon a golden throne. The cat isn't impressed; the effort the woman has put forth is wasted on the tiny beast. It sits down and turns its attentions once again to its dainty paws. They've gotten quite dirty walking over the dry, packed earth.

Mab stares at the beast, sunlit eyes flashing with anger at such insolence. Her temper of late has been extraordinarily raw and she can't keep it from showing.

"And pray tell, where is your Master, could he not deliver the soul himself"! Is he so crass to send his familiar to do the job?" Mab demands of the cat in a tone that would have melted lesser souls.

The cat is simply a cat, it cannot speak nor can it be intimidated by such airs. It does hear her and passes the words on to its Master before yawning and stretching its slinky body out. It was a long walk to the Temple District and a dirty one to boot. It flops down on one side and again turns its attention upon its paws. Cats are meticulous about their cleanliness. The darting tongue is quick and deft, making short work of the chore. Golden eyes narrow marginally while black cat ears flick back an eighth of an inch. It then deigns to turn its golden-eyed stare on the raving mad woman before it.

Mab is infuriated, she wants to pick the beast up and tear it to shreds. It's the least it and its master deserves. But the velvet bag is far more important. She moves over to the beast, leans down intent on snatching the bag from its throat. (If she hurts the cat, she will consider it a boon!)

The cat pulls away from Mab's outstretched hand jumping to all four feet as it hisses threateningly. It edges away from the mad woman whiskers flicking forward as black fur rises along the cat's back, suddenly intent on keeping a decent space between them. It is then that the cats shadow breaks free and an ethereal mist begins to form into the shape of a man.

"Lay no hand upon her or she will run away with the soul you requested." The shadow says coldly to the fuming Mab.

"You dare to play these tricks here in my realm"!" Mab snaps at the Shadow Man. Her fury flares summoning up a sudden brisk wind. Lightening lances through the night sky over head and thunder rolls close, so close it shakes the foundation of the pedestal she stands upon. "I could destroy you and that damnable creature here and now!"

"Would you be so kind?" The shadow responds as coldly as before.

"Dare you taunt me"!" She rages. Sunlit eyes begin to smolder with white flames, sparking like lightening as she raises her hand towards the pair of them.

"Strike me down, and the soul will return from whence it came. Or did you not know this, witch?" The Shadow replies with that same cold tone, only this time it is tainted with boredom. "Even you don't have the power to smite me down. If only I could be granted such peace! But enough of these frivolous and useless games; you owe me, Mab and I am here to collect on the first part of our agreement."

"Not until I have the soul!" She retorts with hand still raised as if to strike nonetheless.

The Shadow shrugs and begins to dissipate. It is then that Mab realizes the cat is no where to be seen. Where had the beast gotten off to' No time to smell the creature out, the shadow will be gone in sheer seconds.

"Alright, as you will it. For now?" Her voice trails off threateningly, but hand doesn't lower yet neither does it strike. Instead she gestures to servants cowering a fair distance away. "Bring it!" She commands. They are only too aware of their Mistress" shortness of temper and they scramble to do as she demands to avoid feeling her wrath.

The Shadow has the gall to chuckle. "You made a wise choice Mab."

"We'll see." She answers coldly as the heated rage dies from her eyes and the sky above calms as suddenly as it had erupted. "I have the replacement soul here." She tosses a small red stone to the ground before the Shadow Man with a smile that could wilt a thousand trees. "Let's see you claim it."

To Mab's chagrin, the stone vanishes and the Shadow chuckles again. "You think me" what? Unable to perform such simple tricks" Silly, silly witch."

Mab scowls angrily at the shadow, desperately trying to find the cat with other senses and unable to. Her anger spikes but she retains some hold over it this time. He still has what she wants. "And where is the soul promised me?"

"Safe" for now. Give me what I came for, and I shall give you the soul. It's a simple theory really. You come through on your promise, I follow suit and fulfill mine." The Shadow speaks to her as if she were a child lacking in intelligence.

"I will hunt you down and kill you when I am done with you!"

"That's no way to encourage me to follow through on what you've asked of me."

"Show me the respect due, worm!"

(To be continued...)

"I could not help feeling that they were evil things — mountains of madness whose farther slopes looked out over some accursed ultimate abyss." " H.P. Lovecraft

Meeting with the mad witch Mab has left me depleted, emptier than ever before. Or so I tell myself in dulcet whispers of deceitful lies. Truth for me must be tainted by such deceptions otherwise like a woven strand I would come undone by the immorality I perpetuate. My power is energy untapped, never ending, always pounding; the twisted pulse of a horror unseen from the darkest of depths. To lay eyes upon such things would drive a man to madness. It does not weaken nor relent. It is as much a part of me now as the dead flesh I carry as my cocoon.

I dare not allow myself lamentations over Lisa's and her pristine soul. I must allow it to wilt and whither held captive by the Mad Witch in a stone too small, too tiny to grant her the escape she'd cherished in Purgatory. She is but a tragic pawn in this twisted game we play, a tiny insignificant speck of goodness surrounded by the corrupt and depraved. This is what goodness ensues.

And yet "what have I done" echoes like monks chanting inside my decaying skull. What humanity is this" Small fragments of cells that forgot to die tiny twisted particles of rotted matter" It cannot be anything less or more. I have no beating heart nor does blood run through these dead veins, and certainly no soul for moral compass. I am what I made of myself. Alas, what little meaning those words hold to the monks a chanting inside me!

I did not forsake the girl. I left a key for her to escape. This does not salve the savage rampage of my tattered consciences. When that key may be triggered remains a mystery, a tale yet to be told. The fear Athena and I witnessed in those serving the Mad Witch, gives hope. Any one of them may trigger the key and it could happen at any time. Fear, hope, escape, freedom, all emotions that the human condition is driven instinctually by and any one of them may well incite the invitation spelled upon my note. Once read aloud the words will grant freedom to Lisa and her precious soul. I should amend" the spell will free any ensnared within the Mad Witch's lair.

Which brings my thoughts to another subject' The greater mystery lies in the story unknown. Who was the singer of the sad, sad song" Such power does the singer have, incredibly similar to mine, yet unheard by the Mad Witch' How could that be? Somehow the singer slipped past the magics and wards. Somehow the singer found a way inside the Mad Witch's lair. That poignant song incites hope, it sings to the souls enchanted slowing breaking the chains of their unwittingly imprisonment. And nary is the wiser the Mad Witch Mab.

Athena begs for my attention, she's done well today. She curls upon my desiccated lap and purrs for her devotion due. It is time I put aside thoughts of the Mad Witch and the intrigues she's has wrought down upon her own head. It is time to return to the world I have designed. On the morrow I shall seek out Howe and deliver the token the Mad Witch has deigned to be gifted him.

From the touch of the trinket, I know what?s inside is a greater monster than I for it is empty of all humanity. Upon this I dare not dwell, for I have my own burdens to shoulder. I do not need add to them nor do I care to claim responsibility for what the thing may be driven to do. There are some mysteries best left unquestioned.