Frank Delaney —

“Sir…no rush, but we are closing in—”

“Yeah, Yeah, I heard you the first two times,” I snapped back. Jeez, can everyone get off me back? Let me spend this time thinking.

“Also, sir, about the drinking, I have already mentioned that it’s not allowed. I will have to report you to the authorities for—”

“I am the authorities!”

Flashing my badge left the librarian startled and speechless. She’ll probably still call it in, but I don’t care. People like her always have a stick up their arse, worrying about the wrong things while the real problems go unnoticed.

Today, I spent the latter half of my day at the Birch Bend Library. Nestled in midtown, it occupies a historic building that proudly retains much of its original charm. While the exterior has seen minimal changes over the centuries, the interior has been carefully updated, transitioning from one of the city’s earliest government buildings into the established library it is today.

This place isn’t just a library—it’s a treasure trove of the city’s past. Its shelves hold meticulously preserved books from the era of its inception, along with archives documenting the city’s history. There are blueprints of the first train and tram tunnels, original city plans, photographs of long-gone buildings, and records of prominent figures who shaped Hallow Grove City’s history. There are even genealogies tracing family lines back to times few remember. It’s all here, waiting for someone to care enough to look.

Lots and lots of facts, but not a damn thing about anything worth a damn.

“Hey, you, come here for a second?”

The librarian has clearly reached her limit with me, but honestly, I couldn’t care less. No one’s opinion really matters to me, especially not hers. I know Woody struggles with the loss of his wife, and I get it—I’ve been through that, too. My wife’s perspective was always the most important to me. Life has a way of kicking you when you’re already down.

“You got any books on the Trials back in Salem?”

“…” The librarian gave me one hell of a dagger-like glare. Whatever. “Just some personal accounts, diary entries. Nothing official but stories written down by those in charge at the time.”

“Okay… Well, can I see them?”

“They are delicate and are not for public eyes to see as we keep them stored for important records.”

“Must I show you my badge again?”

The look of slight disdain on her face was oddly enticing—sue me. As I’ve said, I’m past the point of caring about others’ opinions. My focus now is on more pressing matters, like finding answers. Based on what I witnessed last night, it’s hard to dismiss the idea that witches exist. 

I was led to a storage closet as large as the main lobby, filled with all sorts of meticulously kept items. Each archival drawer contained numerous fading documents that needed to be preserved as best as possible. And I get it—after all, knowledge is power.

“Here are the few things we have…”

“I see. Is this all?”

“Yes.”

The tone of her response was confident, but it carried a hint of contempt. After years of questioning people, I found I could read them as quickly as I could read a book.

“Don’t lie to me, is there anything else?”

“It would be more advantageous for the both of us if you could be more direct in what you are seeking exactly.”

“Anything and everything on Witches, Witchcraft, taboos, dark magic. I don’t know, but when I see it, I will.”

“…W-witchcraft?! Are you serious?”

“Have you ever had a dream so vivid you thought it was something more? That you were seeing something that you shouldn’t only to ask yourself if it was a dream at all.” 

“If not a dream, then what else could it be? Are you so superstitious that you seek some meaning behind something meaningless?”

“What I saw proves it wasn’t meaningless.”

Her stark gaze met my own. The crease from her nose to her lips was deep for a long time, from a subtle twitch to her lips. “Fine. If it’s accounts from the church, we have a few documents and personal records. I will bring them over. As for any photos, this, of course, predates such, but there are a few sketches and illustrations. You may have TEN MINUTES, as the library closes soon.”

“Then keep me company. I ain’t leaving until I find something.”

“Hmph! Some of us actually have plans tonight. So, NO! You will have that time and that time alone. You hear me?”

“*YAWN,* fine. I do have my drink. It’s the best company around. Never leaves unless I—oops. Must be drunk.”

“You despicable…” She couldn’t even afford to finish her sentence before taking a seat with a heavy scowl. I say many things, but like I said, I don’t care what anyone thinks, and getting answers was the most important thing to me.

Woody was still at the hospital. I wondered why he was hanging out there even after so many hours. The man hates the place more than I hate being sober. Finding him and showing him what I found would undoubtedly prove that I wasn’t losing it.

Unfortunately, he was out cold in a chair, slumped over, with two young men arguing nearby. I didn’t want to intrude, given that I recognized one of their faces from the other night. He was definitely the guy who took orders from the crazy eye-catcher Winslet Winters. I don’t know who the fellow in shades is, though.

“She wants to see you.”

“Right now?”

“Yes! She is fucking head over heels for you. Best be quick. You don’t want the old lady to find out.”

“She wouldn’t care. She barely thinks about my well-being, much less my personal affairs.”

“You don’t have to lie to me. She may be cruel, but you’re still her blood. If she finds out you’re fond of an outsider—”

“Please, I can handle my grandmother. And if anyone finds out… Doesn’t matter. Ronnie still owes me, and the Madam will look out for her—”

“Hey, do me a favor, stop addressing Mister Winter’s so casually.”

“I get it you respect him, but—”

“Now, now, gentlemen, please.” Coming between the two individuals was an unbelievably gorgeous doctor from head to toe. Of course, a beauty like her would make two young men in the heat of arguing cease their bickering. I mean, I would, too. “My patient is resting. If you want to continue this, please take it outside.”

They both clicked their tongues before heading off in their directions—one into the room, with another coming my way.

“Fat bastard, you’re here?”

“Oi, excuse me?!” His rude words took me by surprise. “It’s happy weight, thank you. You drink as much as I do, and I see how you do. I used to have washboard abs. They ain’t nothing but something to look at. This is for cuddling. The ladies love it.”

“Mhmm,” the young man groaned, taking a post by the door. “You and he are friends, right?”

He pointed to Woody with his chin before eyeing me up and down as if to ensure I was the one he thought I was. 

“Yeah, best mates. You mind pissing off? I got important police business to talk to him about.”

“You can piss off. I ain’t leaving this door.”

“Fine, whatever.” No use in arguing with him.” Yo Woody, wake up!”

With a stern kick to Woody’s chair, he jolted upright. Gazing around with drool along his unshaven jaw.

“Frankie, you’re here?! I wasn’t out long, just taking a nap.”

“I don’t care, mate. We need to talk.”

The Lieutenant eased upward, taking a moment to stretch. His bones make quite a bit of noise from his aching posture. He started to clap his lips as if parched.

“Here,” I said, offering my flask.

“You know I am trying to cut down on that stuff.”

“Give me a break. I can smell it off you.”

“It’s been a long day,” Lieutenant Woods uttered as he finally found the right angle to sit. It offered the worst seating with no natural cushion; even I could see that.

“Yes, it has. Sorry about earlier.”

“No, it’s fine,” Woody replied. “I know that car meant a lot.”

“Aye, it did. Now, I have to take the subway everywhere. Bloody hate the thing. Anyways, I found something that might tickle your fancy.”

“You know, most people take the subway?”

“Oh, come off it.”

“Hah-hah. Well, alright. What did you find?”

Given that I could not leave with the originals, I made some copies. Oh, the screaming and yelling. “Not supposed to do that,” “These are one of a kind,” “At least let me.” Her voice, that damn librarian, still ringing in my ear.  You wouldn’t know just by looking at her, but she could be a bit scrappy, like a little chihuahua. Anyway, I handed over a few of my findings.

“Well, what do you see? Right there? Look very carefully.”

Woody eased back, taking a moment to retrieve a pair of glasses from his coat pocket. This was the first time I had ever seen such a sight. 

“My goodness. The secrets keep piling up.”

“Shut up,” The Lieutenant shot. “Hold on. Wait a minute. Are those the very same symbols from Luca’s neck?”

“Aye. The same on Piper’s as well. Your kid said as much. Funny enough, the sketches predate both of them. Recorded in a journal from an old man. A pastor documenting his encounter with a Witch.”

“A Witch? Oh, for the love—not you, too. You sound like Sirius’s grandmother. It’s one thing to be superstitious, but come on, Frankie. They are extinct. There hasn’t been a Witch sighing in centuries. Stories are stories for a reason.”

“Woody, look at the paper. Those symbols are a result of Witchcraft. Hexes!”

“Hexes don’t necessarily mean Witches.”

“The world is a vast place; its corners are filled with all sorts of monsters that lurk in the darkness. We do not know what truly exists aside from what we have seen, so I understand you for not believing, but if you saw what I saw last night—”

“You saw witch?” Woods asked, interrupting my train of thought.

“N-no. I don’t know what exactly I saw last night. However, various accounts have documented it as a creature that exists in possession of a witch. It cannot exist without such presence. So there must be one. If that and the hexes—”

“Frankie, listen to yourself.”

“You don’t think I know I sound crazy. Stories aren’t JUST stories…”

When I was a boy, I remember hearing tales of Witches. My old man spoke of them, and his old man was just the same. Tales told of such entities who signed a deal with something that shall not be named. Not that it can’t be, but because it’s said to be pronounced in a language we cannot speak. 

Some ghost story to make kids wet the bed, and I sure did. Having a nightmare of one that rocked me to my very soul. Since then, it has left me scarred, and I have been taking caution in reading and researching such entities. 

It’s said that there were thirteen of them at one point, and a covenant was created in their name to establish that they each knew of each other so as not to tamper with their whims or lack thereof.

Their acts spawned fear into the hearts of many throughout the world at the time of their existence, as they were condemned and thought of as the original dark evils that plagued our nightmares. Of course, given that they say they went extinct, it was nothing more than folklore for most. Such monsters were supposed to be handled by simple means. They could not be real; even vampires put up quite a fight.

I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is, but it’s real to me. What I saw in my dream all those years ago that haunted me was the same thing that was present in the crash—the same thing some old man describes in a journal documenting his own experience with a Witch whom I have never heard of nor met.

“Woody, look. There are too many things pointing me in this direction. This is no hunch. This is concrete proof.

“I don’t know... Witches?”

He was skeptical. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it sure wouldn’t be the last.

“If you believe me or not, I don’t care. I didn’t want to be involved in any of this from the start, but I read some things in preparation just in case. If those old bastards with pitchforks and torches can do it, then why can’t we? That’s how I look at it. Plus, you want to stop all of this, right? Look.”

I retrieved a purple-hued business card from my pocket. The back featured a fanciful illustration, while the front featured the words “Smitten Kitten.”

“What is this?” Woody asked.

“You mind giving me a light?”

“Here, in the Hospital, Frankie?”

“Just hand it over,” I said. It took a bit of convincing to get him to humor me. Lighting the card to burn slightly revealed a series of symbols started to appear.

“The quickest way to deal with a Witch is to burn them. Drowning them takes too long, but it does the trick too. Funny, ain’t it? Sounds just like vampires, eh?”

Woody’s skeptical, wary look seemed to be more convinced. Now, I was talking in a language familiar to him.

“Call the boys. Every last one of them. This place might very well be the heart of it all.”

“We will need a warrant,” Woods muttered, fixing his ruffled hair and coat. “It will take time, but once approved, we can go in and search the place from top to bottom.”

“You need time,” interjected a voice.

“Gianni,” Woods said warily. “Look, I know how the Winters family operates. But we can’t have that. Just act like you didn’t hear a word because if Winslet catches wind of this without us doing our jobs properly, it could make things difficult. If this is the place, we must consider kids’ safety. They could be there.”

“Fine, but if you need extra hands, you know the Boss would oblige. She wants this fucker killed herself for doing in Luca.”

“Right…”

“Woody,” I interrupted. There was a high possibility we would be running into the same thing I saw last night. Sure, we have the backup of cops, but what’s that compared to a thing that eats men like a kebab on a skewer? We were about to walk into the den. More people equals more distraction. I didn’t want to be at the end of that thing’s gaze. “You said we need a warrant before heading in, right? Why not send in your girl to buy time? Toss them up real good before we arrive. What’s her number?”

“Are you out of your mind, Frankie?!”

“What? She is looking for a little girl, too, right? How is this any different from just suggesting a lead? Don’t be a wimp. Come on, give me your phone. I’ll call her myself.”

After several long wrestling moments with the big oaf, I learned two things. One, I need to get back in the gym. Woody was stronger than he cared to admit despite not going as frequently as most would assume. Second, the bastard still goes easy on me even after a well-fought struggle, whether he knows it or not. 

“Hey, Woody, you sure this is the right number, mate?”

“Yes, of course. Why?”

“Umm, I gave it a few more tries, only for the same result. They say that is the first sign of insanity. “Well, it’s not going through. Have you got another number for her?”

“What? But she always answers. If not, she would at least send a text right away saying otherwise.”

“No, mate, you’re not understanding. The line is dead.”

There was no dial tone, and after each failed attempt, the same message echoed repeatedly: it was no longer in service.