Author's note: As I said, the story is my father's, though I've embellished it a bit, and rearranged some facts so it would fit better into the narrative. I've written it out here as it would be told around a campfire by a professional story teller.
Roads Less Traveled
by Casix Thistlebane
Story 1: The Marble Steps
Part two
"So," Joanna climbed out of the back seat, facing a set of tennis courts. "What you're trying to tell me is that vampires are real, so are other assorted evil things, and that I'm part of some sort of . . . sorority of girls who can fight them?"
"Pretty much." Xander locked the car door.
"And this 'Helsing Institute' is really some sort of, what, training facility?"
"Well," Dawn bounced up the hill toward the courts. "Yeah, but its also a real school. We're just still working on getting real teachers to teach all the non-slayer-y subjects."
"Helsing Institute." Joanna frowned. "You mean like, Van Helsing? The Dracula guy?"
"Yeah." Xander shrugged apologetically. "We had a long debate over names, and somehow the geekier side won. Hence the pun. But the Watchers' Diaries show that there wasn't really any Van Helsing to help defeat Dracula, that was Bram Stoker's own improvement."
"So there really is a Dracula."
"He turned Xander into his bug-eating slave. And he still owed our friend Spike a bunch of money. Well, he did, anyway, before Spike . . . ."
"Dawn, for the last time," Xander had loosened his tie and collar, but now that he was back out in the open air, he wished he hadn't. It was very cold. "Spike wasn't our friend. And I would really appreciate it if you didn't always have to bring up the bug thing."
"You guys are some kind of con artists, aren't you. And now you're trying to convince MY grandparents to let me wander off with you." Joanna drew herself up to her full, five foot height, her hands clenching. "I warn you, I'm stronger than I look, and if you try anything funny–"
"That's the point, Joanna." Xander pulled a knife out of his pocket. He REALLY hadn't wanted to do this. His knife throwing wasn't that good. "You're stronger than you look. A LOT stronger." He flung the knife at her head.
Joanna spun-kicked it out of the air, sending it careening into the tennis courts, and a moment later had Xander pinned to the snow. "I knew it. I knew you'd try something! I–"
"Kicked a speeding knife right out of the air and took down a guy twice your size without breaking a sweat." Xander put his hands up, in the snow beside his head. He could feel ice coating his back. "You think every seventeen year old can do that?"
"I take self defense classes."
"And they taught you that?" Xander gestured vaguely toward Joanna's fist, which was curled around a stick she was pressing against his chest. From the look on her face, she had no idea she had picked it up.
"Noooo," Joanna sat back a little, frowning at the six inch, blunt weapon. "I just . . . grabbed the first weapon I could . . . ."
"I notice that the knife didn't seem to count. Wanna know why you automatically went for something made of wood?"
"Who are you?!"
"I'm Xander Harris. I'm a carpenter, a recruiter for the Helsing Institute for Slayers, and I'm someone who can tell you why, in May, you suddenly had a burst of power."
Joanna stood and backed away from him. She shot nervous glances at Dawn, who made no move to approach. "And you're another one of the, what, vampire slayers?"
"Nope." Dawn grinned. "We thought for a little while I might be, but I'm just research girl, mostly. I used to be some sort of mystical ball of key energy, but that was a few years ago. My sister's a slayer though. Actually, she used to be THE Slayer, but now she teaches advanced techniques at the school."
"I don't understand."
"Look," Xander shoved himself awkwardly to his feet. "It's weird, I know. It's hard to believe, I know that too. When I first found out about vampires and slayers, I thought it was one big joke, or just a girl's delusion. But you learn real fast when you're suddenly confronted with the forces of darkness trying to eat you."
"Just remember this:" Dawn walked slowly up to the girl, her hands held out to either side, empty. "You've been chosen by the powers that be to help normal people live normal lives, and to help keep darkness from destroying the world. But you're lucky. You don't have to do it alone. We've got a full school of slayers and watchers to help you along the way. We can take you out tonight, to see first hand what kind of oogities really are out there, but for right now," Dawn glanced around. "Didn't you have a history project to do?"
"Yeah." Joanna seemed to deflate. "Probably going to fail it now, I'm getting so caught up in this supernatural forces business."
"And since that's our fault," Xander ineffectually tried to brush some of the snow off his pants. "We'd better help you out. What's the project on?"
"We're supposed to pick a local legend, look into the history of it, and explain how it came to grow out of the community and a historical mind set."
Xander looked around at the tiny, 50's era prefabricated houses that lined the street across from them. "So, what legend are we going with here?"
"This is Cabin John," Joanna smiled faintly. "My mother's parents used to live here. It was built after World War II to give housing to war veterans. A lot of the vets still live around here, but Mom's parents moved out when she was a teenager. She used to tell me a story when I was little, and some of the story is still in the woods around here." Joanna grimaced. "I was going to interview some families, see if they know the story, and what they think of it. But now, it seems kind of–"
"Trivial?" Dawn smiled.
"No, scary." Joanna shot another look into the woods, then glanced at Xander who was starting to shiver. "Let's go. You need to change, and I know a good place where we can sit and talk."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
"It goes like this." Joanna sat with Xander and Dawn in a booth of the Tastee Diner in downtown Bethesda. She picked at her french fries. "Back when my grandparents moved into Cabin John, there was already an old woman living there, in the woods. The government had tried to get her to move away, or into one of their own houses, but she wouldn't budge. She said she'd lived in her home since the depression, that her husband had built it himself for her and their pet, and that she couldn't leave. So the government just built up the community around her, and as people do, the families started to tell stories about the old hermit woman and her mysterious behavior. They called the little shack she lived in 'the Marble Steps', because the stairs that led to the front door were filled with glass marbles. Her husband hadn't been able to afford much by way of real concrete, so he had to use the marbles for filler material."
Xander smiled. Joanna was starting to warm up, get into the flow of her story. He noticed that as she did, the silver that swam through the air around her seemed to pick up an extra sparkle. This girl was a storyteller in the manner of the ancients, and she loved her work.
"Every morning and afternoon, the old woman would come out of her house with a sack and a large walking stick," she held up a french fry, "and used the staff to knock" she tapped the fry on the side of her plate, and loosely, in the air "on all the bushes and trees that surrounded her home, scaring out all the rabbits and birds and squirrels and things, which she'd gather up into her sack. Then she'd take the rabbits, and the birds, and the squirrels and things back into her house. It was the only time she came out, and no one could figure out what she did with them. Most thought she cooked them for food, but she was a little, crooked figure and surely couldn't have eaten the large number of animals she caught every day. She had no family, and she had no visitors, but every morning and every afternoon, when the sun was halfway up or down the sky, she'd gather up the forest and bring it into her home.
"Now, Cabin John was becoming quite a little community, with war vets bringing their wives and their families in, and pitching in to build tennis courts and playgrounds for the children to use. Everyone knew everyone else, and it was a rare night that you didn't get to at least see, if not speak to, all of your neighbors. And the favorite topic was always the old woman and her sack. Wild stories spread, as people claimed she was a witch, or a maniac; that she had her husband tied down to the bed and would force feed him the animals, or use them in her satanic practices. Speculations flew, but no one ever went over to the old woman's house, so no one knew what she could possibly have in there.
"Popular theory soon grew that she had jewels in there, an enormous wealth from her husband, who was by theory either a thief and a bandit, or a war vet like the men of the town, who had brought home thousands of dollars in art and jewelry from Germany. The woman had to be living on something, after all, she had to have money, and no one ever saw her work. The stories of her fortune grew more extravagant and more unlikely every day, until one night, under a new moon and a cloudless sky, three robbers hatched a plan to break into the old woman's place, and find those riches.
"They didn't have anything to fear, they thought, since she was such an elderly woman, and surely didn't have much by way of a security system. They hadn't even heard any dogs or guard animals in the area. So they snuck through the woods to the Marble Steps, and crouched in the shadows on the leeside of the hill.
"Two of them were to break in, it was decided, as the neighborhood had an excellent watch system set up by the old soldiers, and someone would need to stay outside and keep watch. The youngest of the robbers, a man by the name of Carl, was picked to remain in the woods. If he saw someone coming, he would make an owl's call to let them know, and they would sneak down to the creek at the bottom of the hill, so that no dogs would be able to track them. The two others crept up to the front door, and slipped inside. The door wasn't even locked!"
Joanna paused, and took a long sip of her ice water. Her burger was still entirely untouched, as were Xander's and Dawn's. None of them wanted to move and break the flow of the story.
"The next day, Carl was found wandering down the streets of Cabin John, his clothing wet and ripped, making the owl's call over and over again, mournfully. He walked right up to the police station and turned himself in, asking only that they find out what had happened to his friends. They had never come back out of the Marble Steps, and Carl had stayed until the sun was halfway up the sky, and the old woman came out to knock" again the french fry waved "on the trees and the bushes, and gather up the rabbits and birds and squirrels and things. She saw Carl crouching there, in the leeside of the hill, and when their eyes met," Joanna paused, and caught Xander's eye. "She SMILED."
Xander flinched back unconsciously. Joanna was smiling at him, and it was an evil look. A moment later she looked back down at her french fries.
"Of course the police investigated, but when they called round to the old woman's house, it was a most peculiar thing. She had no recollection of a break in, and gladly gave the policemen a tour, which didn't take long. The house was tiny, only one room with a cot in the corner and a table in the center. There wasn't even any evidence of the countless animals she'd brought in over the years, just the walking stick and the sack, next to the bed. Carl was released into the care of a local asylum, and everyone assumed that he was nuts. The other two were never seen or heard from again.
"Time passed, and the veterans grew older and their families grew larger, and their children went off to college and some went off to war. It was the late sixties, and Vietnam was making the big news, and slowly, talk of the old woman, her house in the woods, and the robbers died down into legend. Two young boys, friends of my mother, or so she tells me, heard the story from their scout master one evening around a campfire on the C&O canal. The next week at school, the old woman was all they could talk about. The stories came out again, and Cabin John was once again full of talk of the Marble Steps.
"Well, these two being boy scouts, they felt it was their duty to go and investigate this anti-American old woman in the woods. They watched her from afar as every day she came out of her house with a sack and a long walking stick, and knocked on the trees and on the bushes and scared out all the rabbits and birds and squirrels and things and gathered them up in her sack. They counted 250 different animals being brought in over three days, and knew that they had to find out where those animals went. So one afternoon, as the sun slid halfway down the sky and the old woman gathered her animals and returned to her house, they crept silently behind her, and up to the only window.
"What they saw inside was just as the police had seen, at first. There was the cot in the corner, and there the table in the center of the room. They watched her walk to the table, eager to see an old woman gut and skin and maybe sacrifice the animals on its wooden, scarred surface. But the old woman slid the table aside with an ease that belied its weight, and took her staff and drew" She ran her french fry staff through the ketchup on her plate "a small square, two feet by two feet, along the concrete floor.
"The square, when she was done, dropped away to reveal a hole, darker than that moonless robber night, and they watched as she dumped the animals from the sack into the hole. Her back was to the window, and she never saw the wide mouthed boys as the hole closed back up over the animals, and the old woman slid the table back into place.
"No one believed the boys' tale, of course, it was just youthful hyperbole, a new, and somewhat placid addition to a favorite boy scout story. A few more years passed, and the boys grew and moved away from home, and my mother's family moved on as well, and no one heard much from the old woman again, until the early seventies.
"By this time, it was said, the woman had to be in her nineties if not older, and the state began to worry for the obviously senile citizen in the woods. They sent officials in to gather her up and move her to Sibley hospital, where my mother worked as an orderly. But when they went to the house, the old woman refused to budge. 'I can't leave,' she told them. 'I have to feed my pet.' Well, they searched the house, what little there was to search, and found no trace of any pet of any kind, and soon decided that it was simply an elderly delusion. They assured her the pet would be cared for, and finally she agreed to go with them.
"Every night in the hospital, when my mother would bring the woman her dinner and her medication, the old woman would thrash and fight and insist that she be allowed to go home. 'I have to feed my pet!' she'd say, and my mother would nod, and assure her that her pet was well cared for, and doing well, and missed her terribly, and the woman would calm down, take her medications, and soon fell asleep.
"This went on for nearly a year, as my mother met my father and began plans to marry him. She'd bring the woman her food, the woman would say 'I have to feed my pet!', and Mom would assure her that everything was fine. Then, on the one year anniversary of the woman being brought in, she lay dying in her hospital bed, and my mother, who'd developed quite a fondness for the kook who loved her imaginary companion, sat by her bedside through the afternoon, reading her books and singing her songs. As the sun passed the horizon, the woman opened her eyes, caught my mother's arm, and pulled her in close. There was fear in the woman's eyes, and an utmost urgency in her voice as she whispered in my mother's ear: 'Don't let it get out!'
"That night, a terrible storm swept through the DC area, taking out power lines and flooding low lying neighborhoods. Several trees were pulled down, and the high winds across the hillside ripped the old shack from its foundation, hurling it down into the raging creek below. Lightning shot from the sky, striking the concrete floor and splitting it violently down the middle."
Joanna bit the end off her french fry and swallowed, her eyes sparkling.
"And 'it' got out."
end part two
Roads Less Traveled
by Casix Thistlebane
Story 1: The Marble Steps
Part two
"So," Joanna climbed out of the back seat, facing a set of tennis courts. "What you're trying to tell me is that vampires are real, so are other assorted evil things, and that I'm part of some sort of . . . sorority of girls who can fight them?"
"Pretty much." Xander locked the car door.
"And this 'Helsing Institute' is really some sort of, what, training facility?"
"Well," Dawn bounced up the hill toward the courts. "Yeah, but its also a real school. We're just still working on getting real teachers to teach all the non-slayer-y subjects."
"Helsing Institute." Joanna frowned. "You mean like, Van Helsing? The Dracula guy?"
"Yeah." Xander shrugged apologetically. "We had a long debate over names, and somehow the geekier side won. Hence the pun. But the Watchers' Diaries show that there wasn't really any Van Helsing to help defeat Dracula, that was Bram Stoker's own improvement."
"So there really is a Dracula."
"He turned Xander into his bug-eating slave. And he still owed our friend Spike a bunch of money. Well, he did, anyway, before Spike . . . ."
"Dawn, for the last time," Xander had loosened his tie and collar, but now that he was back out in the open air, he wished he hadn't. It was very cold. "Spike wasn't our friend. And I would really appreciate it if you didn't always have to bring up the bug thing."
"You guys are some kind of con artists, aren't you. And now you're trying to convince MY grandparents to let me wander off with you." Joanna drew herself up to her full, five foot height, her hands clenching. "I warn you, I'm stronger than I look, and if you try anything funny–"
"That's the point, Joanna." Xander pulled a knife out of his pocket. He REALLY hadn't wanted to do this. His knife throwing wasn't that good. "You're stronger than you look. A LOT stronger." He flung the knife at her head.
Joanna spun-kicked it out of the air, sending it careening into the tennis courts, and a moment later had Xander pinned to the snow. "I knew it. I knew you'd try something! I–"
"Kicked a speeding knife right out of the air and took down a guy twice your size without breaking a sweat." Xander put his hands up, in the snow beside his head. He could feel ice coating his back. "You think every seventeen year old can do that?"
"I take self defense classes."
"And they taught you that?" Xander gestured vaguely toward Joanna's fist, which was curled around a stick she was pressing against his chest. From the look on her face, she had no idea she had picked it up.
"Noooo," Joanna sat back a little, frowning at the six inch, blunt weapon. "I just . . . grabbed the first weapon I could . . . ."
"I notice that the knife didn't seem to count. Wanna know why you automatically went for something made of wood?"
"Who are you?!"
"I'm Xander Harris. I'm a carpenter, a recruiter for the Helsing Institute for Slayers, and I'm someone who can tell you why, in May, you suddenly had a burst of power."
Joanna stood and backed away from him. She shot nervous glances at Dawn, who made no move to approach. "And you're another one of the, what, vampire slayers?"
"Nope." Dawn grinned. "We thought for a little while I might be, but I'm just research girl, mostly. I used to be some sort of mystical ball of key energy, but that was a few years ago. My sister's a slayer though. Actually, she used to be THE Slayer, but now she teaches advanced techniques at the school."
"I don't understand."
"Look," Xander shoved himself awkwardly to his feet. "It's weird, I know. It's hard to believe, I know that too. When I first found out about vampires and slayers, I thought it was one big joke, or just a girl's delusion. But you learn real fast when you're suddenly confronted with the forces of darkness trying to eat you."
"Just remember this:" Dawn walked slowly up to the girl, her hands held out to either side, empty. "You've been chosen by the powers that be to help normal people live normal lives, and to help keep darkness from destroying the world. But you're lucky. You don't have to do it alone. We've got a full school of slayers and watchers to help you along the way. We can take you out tonight, to see first hand what kind of oogities really are out there, but for right now," Dawn glanced around. "Didn't you have a history project to do?"
"Yeah." Joanna seemed to deflate. "Probably going to fail it now, I'm getting so caught up in this supernatural forces business."
"And since that's our fault," Xander ineffectually tried to brush some of the snow off his pants. "We'd better help you out. What's the project on?"
"We're supposed to pick a local legend, look into the history of it, and explain how it came to grow out of the community and a historical mind set."
Xander looked around at the tiny, 50's era prefabricated houses that lined the street across from them. "So, what legend are we going with here?"
"This is Cabin John," Joanna smiled faintly. "My mother's parents used to live here. It was built after World War II to give housing to war veterans. A lot of the vets still live around here, but Mom's parents moved out when she was a teenager. She used to tell me a story when I was little, and some of the story is still in the woods around here." Joanna grimaced. "I was going to interview some families, see if they know the story, and what they think of it. But now, it seems kind of–"
"Trivial?" Dawn smiled.
"No, scary." Joanna shot another look into the woods, then glanced at Xander who was starting to shiver. "Let's go. You need to change, and I know a good place where we can sit and talk."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
"It goes like this." Joanna sat with Xander and Dawn in a booth of the Tastee Diner in downtown Bethesda. She picked at her french fries. "Back when my grandparents moved into Cabin John, there was already an old woman living there, in the woods. The government had tried to get her to move away, or into one of their own houses, but she wouldn't budge. She said she'd lived in her home since the depression, that her husband had built it himself for her and their pet, and that she couldn't leave. So the government just built up the community around her, and as people do, the families started to tell stories about the old hermit woman and her mysterious behavior. They called the little shack she lived in 'the Marble Steps', because the stairs that led to the front door were filled with glass marbles. Her husband hadn't been able to afford much by way of real concrete, so he had to use the marbles for filler material."
Xander smiled. Joanna was starting to warm up, get into the flow of her story. He noticed that as she did, the silver that swam through the air around her seemed to pick up an extra sparkle. This girl was a storyteller in the manner of the ancients, and she loved her work.
"Every morning and afternoon, the old woman would come out of her house with a sack and a large walking stick," she held up a french fry, "and used the staff to knock" she tapped the fry on the side of her plate, and loosely, in the air "on all the bushes and trees that surrounded her home, scaring out all the rabbits and birds and squirrels and things, which she'd gather up into her sack. Then she'd take the rabbits, and the birds, and the squirrels and things back into her house. It was the only time she came out, and no one could figure out what she did with them. Most thought she cooked them for food, but she was a little, crooked figure and surely couldn't have eaten the large number of animals she caught every day. She had no family, and she had no visitors, but every morning and every afternoon, when the sun was halfway up or down the sky, she'd gather up the forest and bring it into her home.
"Now, Cabin John was becoming quite a little community, with war vets bringing their wives and their families in, and pitching in to build tennis courts and playgrounds for the children to use. Everyone knew everyone else, and it was a rare night that you didn't get to at least see, if not speak to, all of your neighbors. And the favorite topic was always the old woman and her sack. Wild stories spread, as people claimed she was a witch, or a maniac; that she had her husband tied down to the bed and would force feed him the animals, or use them in her satanic practices. Speculations flew, but no one ever went over to the old woman's house, so no one knew what she could possibly have in there.
"Popular theory soon grew that she had jewels in there, an enormous wealth from her husband, who was by theory either a thief and a bandit, or a war vet like the men of the town, who had brought home thousands of dollars in art and jewelry from Germany. The woman had to be living on something, after all, she had to have money, and no one ever saw her work. The stories of her fortune grew more extravagant and more unlikely every day, until one night, under a new moon and a cloudless sky, three robbers hatched a plan to break into the old woman's place, and find those riches.
"They didn't have anything to fear, they thought, since she was such an elderly woman, and surely didn't have much by way of a security system. They hadn't even heard any dogs or guard animals in the area. So they snuck through the woods to the Marble Steps, and crouched in the shadows on the leeside of the hill.
"Two of them were to break in, it was decided, as the neighborhood had an excellent watch system set up by the old soldiers, and someone would need to stay outside and keep watch. The youngest of the robbers, a man by the name of Carl, was picked to remain in the woods. If he saw someone coming, he would make an owl's call to let them know, and they would sneak down to the creek at the bottom of the hill, so that no dogs would be able to track them. The two others crept up to the front door, and slipped inside. The door wasn't even locked!"
Joanna paused, and took a long sip of her ice water. Her burger was still entirely untouched, as were Xander's and Dawn's. None of them wanted to move and break the flow of the story.
"The next day, Carl was found wandering down the streets of Cabin John, his clothing wet and ripped, making the owl's call over and over again, mournfully. He walked right up to the police station and turned himself in, asking only that they find out what had happened to his friends. They had never come back out of the Marble Steps, and Carl had stayed until the sun was halfway up the sky, and the old woman came out to knock" again the french fry waved "on the trees and the bushes, and gather up the rabbits and birds and squirrels and things. She saw Carl crouching there, in the leeside of the hill, and when their eyes met," Joanna paused, and caught Xander's eye. "She SMILED."
Xander flinched back unconsciously. Joanna was smiling at him, and it was an evil look. A moment later she looked back down at her french fries.
"Of course the police investigated, but when they called round to the old woman's house, it was a most peculiar thing. She had no recollection of a break in, and gladly gave the policemen a tour, which didn't take long. The house was tiny, only one room with a cot in the corner and a table in the center. There wasn't even any evidence of the countless animals she'd brought in over the years, just the walking stick and the sack, next to the bed. Carl was released into the care of a local asylum, and everyone assumed that he was nuts. The other two were never seen or heard from again.
"Time passed, and the veterans grew older and their families grew larger, and their children went off to college and some went off to war. It was the late sixties, and Vietnam was making the big news, and slowly, talk of the old woman, her house in the woods, and the robbers died down into legend. Two young boys, friends of my mother, or so she tells me, heard the story from their scout master one evening around a campfire on the C&O canal. The next week at school, the old woman was all they could talk about. The stories came out again, and Cabin John was once again full of talk of the Marble Steps.
"Well, these two being boy scouts, they felt it was their duty to go and investigate this anti-American old woman in the woods. They watched her from afar as every day she came out of her house with a sack and a long walking stick, and knocked on the trees and on the bushes and scared out all the rabbits and birds and squirrels and things and gathered them up in her sack. They counted 250 different animals being brought in over three days, and knew that they had to find out where those animals went. So one afternoon, as the sun slid halfway down the sky and the old woman gathered her animals and returned to her house, they crept silently behind her, and up to the only window.
"What they saw inside was just as the police had seen, at first. There was the cot in the corner, and there the table in the center of the room. They watched her walk to the table, eager to see an old woman gut and skin and maybe sacrifice the animals on its wooden, scarred surface. But the old woman slid the table aside with an ease that belied its weight, and took her staff and drew" She ran her french fry staff through the ketchup on her plate "a small square, two feet by two feet, along the concrete floor.
"The square, when she was done, dropped away to reveal a hole, darker than that moonless robber night, and they watched as she dumped the animals from the sack into the hole. Her back was to the window, and she never saw the wide mouthed boys as the hole closed back up over the animals, and the old woman slid the table back into place.
"No one believed the boys' tale, of course, it was just youthful hyperbole, a new, and somewhat placid addition to a favorite boy scout story. A few more years passed, and the boys grew and moved away from home, and my mother's family moved on as well, and no one heard much from the old woman again, until the early seventies.
"By this time, it was said, the woman had to be in her nineties if not older, and the state began to worry for the obviously senile citizen in the woods. They sent officials in to gather her up and move her to Sibley hospital, where my mother worked as an orderly. But when they went to the house, the old woman refused to budge. 'I can't leave,' she told them. 'I have to feed my pet.' Well, they searched the house, what little there was to search, and found no trace of any pet of any kind, and soon decided that it was simply an elderly delusion. They assured her the pet would be cared for, and finally she agreed to go with them.
"Every night in the hospital, when my mother would bring the woman her dinner and her medication, the old woman would thrash and fight and insist that she be allowed to go home. 'I have to feed my pet!' she'd say, and my mother would nod, and assure her that her pet was well cared for, and doing well, and missed her terribly, and the woman would calm down, take her medications, and soon fell asleep.
"This went on for nearly a year, as my mother met my father and began plans to marry him. She'd bring the woman her food, the woman would say 'I have to feed my pet!', and Mom would assure her that everything was fine. Then, on the one year anniversary of the woman being brought in, she lay dying in her hospital bed, and my mother, who'd developed quite a fondness for the kook who loved her imaginary companion, sat by her bedside through the afternoon, reading her books and singing her songs. As the sun passed the horizon, the woman opened her eyes, caught my mother's arm, and pulled her in close. There was fear in the woman's eyes, and an utmost urgency in her voice as she whispered in my mother's ear: 'Don't let it get out!'
"That night, a terrible storm swept through the DC area, taking out power lines and flooding low lying neighborhoods. Several trees were pulled down, and the high winds across the hillside ripped the old shack from its foundation, hurling it down into the raging creek below. Lightning shot from the sky, striking the concrete floor and splitting it violently down the middle."
Joanna bit the end off her french fry and swallowed, her eyes sparkling.
"And 'it' got out."
end part two