Closing her eyes, as if to shut out the din, she let out a heavy sigh and turned away from me in apparent frustration.
“Not a ghost town, Mr. Dunston’, she continued, glancing back at me from over her shoulder, her tone impatient.
‘true it is, the souls of the murdered rest uneasy but “the sleepers” made it their home long before my kith and kin settled there.”
“You mean to say I’m living next to an old town cemetery then; is that it ?”
“I, there’s that too, some be laid to rest there but most left to rot in their beds or burn up in the fire.”
“but it’s not the dead you need fear, sir.” she said, the tone of her voice betraying some horrible dread.
“What’s this then about a fire and the dead left to rot ?”
“Are you saying a fire took the town and its people?”
“Make no mistake, sir, it was murder to hide a black and sinful deed.”
“I don’t understand,” I replied apologetically .
“You be number nine that lived in that house.” She continued.
“Some found dead, some good as dead; took ‘em away screamin’ to the asylum they did.”
I was trying desperately to make sense of her raving when suddenly she rushed toward me shouting,
“GO NOW, Mister Dunston!, GO!”
Terrified by her unprovoked attack, fearing she would push me over the cliff, I turned to escape but found my way blocked by a huge beast of a dog that was apparently at her bidding. Pushing me brusquely toward him she ordered, “Follow him; he’ll show ya the quickest way down!,’
‘then get in yer machine and go back from where ya came or they’ll have ya before the first snow.”
I obeyed without question, hoping her familiar would not think me his dinner. It proved to be a treacherously steep descent and difficult going for one accustomed to pavement. Though his stride kept him well ahead of me, the dog, to his credit would stop and wait in order to close the gap between us, making sure I was still behind him. Little more than an hour passed and I was within sight of the sleepers as she had referred to it;  its ominous, dark silhouette rising up from the horizon.

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