© 2013 Josh Voodoo-Ducks

Is she a Mormon?

Jeffery stood at the edge of the water, watching a distant boat shrink towards the dusk horizon.  His fingers twitched of their own accord, as if counting, while his arms hung slack at his sides.  The heavy tweed coat offered some protection against the cold, but already he could feel his hands growing numb, his toes aching inside his thin canvas shoes.

Soon, this would all be gone: the little village with its chalets and manicured gardens, the exclusive little restaurants with their 3 hour waits for tourists and immediate seating for locals, the wharf bar, the horses, the incessantly squawking seabirds, all of it.

In a few hours, the sun fully buried beneath the earth along with the preserved heart of his enemy, the dram of ground boar’s tusk, and the yarn-bound parchment with the incantation inked in blood.  Xiousitsutraht, the devourer will awaken, rise from the depths, and lay waste to all the works of man and beast.

Jeffery took his first tentative steps into the water.  He wished he were an orangutan.

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