Do you like stories with mystery and suspense? Strange and “wyrd” ones? Well, if you do, keep reading and enjoy Eggcentricsagas. If you are just joining Eggcentricsagas, you might want to start from the beginning: A La Mano: Part 1-The Treasure
The door was locked. I knocked and waited for a few moments. No one came. I tried to peer in but the shade was drawn and blocked my view of the soothsayer’s place of magic. I knocked again, harder and longer. She had told me to come today and yet she was not here. Where was she? I needed my answer. I decided that I would walk around to the alley and enter through the back entrance.
As I rounded the corner, I spotted Pepe and Madame Mariposa sitting on a wooden crate outside the back door. Madame was smoking a cigarette. When they saw me, they both jumped up and Pepe charged at me barking furiously. Madame did nothing to control his behavior so I reached into my pocket and grabbed the scrap of sausage. As Pepe came near, I threw it and hit him squarely in the nose. The piece bounced off but it managed to stop him. He licked his snoot and, determining my missile to be a treat, he started to track it. I was forgotten.
I walked towards her and she held up her hand to stop me. “I have a message from your red-headed spirit. You cannot keep what you do not own.” Pointing at me with the hand that held her cigarette, she commanded, “Take the leaf back to wherever you found it. Do it now and don’t return here until the deed is done.” Glaring at me, she took another drag, then threw her cigarette down, ground it out with her foot and whistled for Pepe. The two of them disappeared inside and she slammed the door.
I was flabbergasted that she knew about my possession of the leaf but even more so that she had used the same words that the ghost had uttered in my dream. Straightaway, I decided that I must return the brooch and, hopefully, the red-haired phantom to the graveyard.
I entered the cemetery with purpose, I must rediscover the headstone of Araña. Making my way back to where I thought I’d been, I scanned the area looking for the single iris. It was not to be found, only rows and rows of grassy plots. Where was it? How could it have just disappeared? Groaning, I dug under the meat rag and fingered the brooch in my pocket. Then, reading each grave marker, I walked up and down the rows. Looking and looking. Finally, I stopped and bit my lip. Maybe I didn’t have to find Araña’s burial site. Perhaps I could just leave it on any grave…
A voice penetrated my preoccupation. “What are you doing here?” I looked up to see Mrs. Tilsby and Mr. Fu walking towards me. She carried his leash in one hand and flowers in the other. “I’m here to visit with Mr. Tilsby. Who are you here to see?”
“My… my aunt,” I stammered. “But I can’t seem to remember where her plot is located.”
Mrs. Tilsby’s eyes narrowed. “Your aunt? I’ve never heard you mention her before.”
I shrugged and smiled at her.
She looked me up and down. “You left in a hurry this morning. You missed breakfast.”
I patted my belly. “Upset stomach and I had an errand.”
She handed me Mr. Fu’s leash. “Come with me to pay respects to Mr. Tilsby. Then we’ll go home and I’ll fix you up with my Vitamol Wafers and a dose of Old Forester’s Liquor Herbs in some tea.” I followed her to Mr. Tilsby’s grave, all the while grimacing and thinking of her awful tasting remedies. I couldn’t decide which was worst; her cooking or her cures to her cooking.
My landlady handed me Mr. Fu’s leash and went to place her flowers on her husband’s plot. My mind racing, I knew I had to rid myself of the brooch immediately. While her back was turned, I maneuvered to the nearby tombstone and dropped the golden leaf behind it.
I listened as she spoke to him and gossiped about people she knew and current events. Finally, she said goodbye and promised to visit again soon. She turned to me. “Well, let’s get home and get you some medicine.” Mrs. Tilsby held out her hand for Mr. Fu’s leash which I delivered.
She pulled on it. “C’mon baby boy. Let’s go.” Mr. Fu was busy rooting around in the grass and ignored her. Tugging on the leash a little harder, she said more insistently, “Let’s go home, Mr. Fu.” Hearing his name, Mr. Fu responded and looked up. He took steps towards her but then stopped, lifted his leg and urinated on the adjacent headstone. “Mr. Fu,” Mrs. Tilsby said in a disapproving manner and shook her head in mild disgust.
I was buoyant as we walked home, unburdened by the removal of the jewel and its accompanying ghostly owner. It felt good that I was leaving them behind. Little did I know that my troubles were far from over.
Next: Part 8- Seeking a Cure
