Minerva was irate as she waved my uncle Carl’s latest paperback in my face. I wasn’t worried that it would become a missile, but I was worried about what she had to say. She opened the book and aggressively pointed at a page.

“I don’t care if he bases his stories on us,” she complained, “I just don’t like that he takes the liberties that he does. Seriously, ‘Her ample, rosy bosom swelled as the werewolf lunged towards her. Tania swung her legs around the beast’s neck and crushed its fragile throat with her curvaceous thighs. The creature’s last sense was of the flowery fragrance of her…’”

“Yes, I know. It is a bit much, but it is just fiction. No one knows that Tania Wulfsmasher is based on you.” I tried to hold in a slight grin; I had read the book the day before and almost laughed out loud picturing Minerva wrestling a werewolf to the ground. My uncle had been a newspaper reporter in all of the major markets, but his ludicrous stories about the supernatural weren’t fit to print in the normal newspaper. The rest of the family had considered him a nut, and I agreed with them until I learned otherwise. He later turned his factual accounts into a line of pulp novels that sold fairly well; now he was writing novels that were about Minerva and I. Actually, they were centered on Minerva.

“I know they’re just stories, but I know who Tania is supposed to be, and it doesn’t make me feel happy to read about my anatomy; I feel so objectified. To tell the truth, Tobias is a bit upset as well.”

Minnie was sincerely distraught. She had been mildly offended by past novels, but this one was particularly inflammatory. I guessed that her husband’s unhappiness had less to do with Tania Wulfsmasher’s voluptuous body and more to do with the escalating relationship she had with her partner, Nathan Kingston.

“If it is bothering you that much, I’ll go to my uncle and see what I can do. I don’t think he’ll be moved by any argument I give him though; these books are his livelihood.”

“And I don’t want to take that away from him,” she said, her blue eyes watery as though she were ready to cry, “but if you could get him to hold back a bit more. Not even a lot. This is just so uncomfortable, you know?”

I set off for the retirement village by bicycle that afternoon with a copy of Wulfsmasher and Kingston in hand. The retirement village was sedate and clean, although a light scent of old people hung in the air. Did every grandma in the place wear White Shoulders? Did they even still make White Shoulders, or had the little old ladies resorted to making it in the bath tubs? I made my way to the patio where my uncle spent his afternoons whispering his stories into his tape recorder. He sat at the round table in the shade of a huge umbrella, wearing the beat-up raffia porkpie hat that he loved so much. I could hear his rich voice as he recited, “Never did Katya Wirsbiski consider that the homeless man she passed would follow her; also, it never occurred to her that an unloaded gun might scare away some criminals.”

“But neither did it occur to her that something sinister dwelled inside of that man, waiting, begging, for blood to spill. Right?” I smiled as I waved at my uncle who returned my smile with an extended hand.

“August, my boy, it is nice to see you. Why’d you come?” He jumped straight to the matter at hand, skipping pleasantries almost entirely. This was going to be a tough sell.

“I came because I read the new book.”

“Oh, liked it that much, huh? First time you came by so soon after a release. What didn’t you like?” I couldn’t believe that he so swiftly deduced the reason for my visit, but he had. His reporter’s instincts were just as sharp as ever. I let it all spill out on the table; there was no sense in keeping anything hidden from my uncle. He’d learn it sooner or later, regardless of how hard I tried.

“I’m sorry Auggie, but this is what the people want. It sells well, and I’m sure the extra money helps you and Minnie out.”

“It does, and I’m grateful, but Minnie’s husband isn’t very happy about this. I mean, I know sex sells, but some of this is ridiculous. ’She arched her back as he pushed his thick member into her softness…’ Would you want to read about someone doing this to your wife? Minnie and I are just friends, and this makes it seem like we’re more.”

“Does the book make it seem that way, or do you want it to be that way?” asked uncle Carl, and the question drove into my heart. Did I actually want something more than friendship? I hadn’t ever really thought about it. A scream interrupted my pondering; an old man was bellowing as he tumbled from his apartment window ten stories about. A wailing exploded from the others on the patio as he collided with the ground. I winced and looked away, but my uncle looked up at the window.

“It’s that witch.” he muttered. Collecting his tape recorder, he rushed to the door of the apartment building. The sirens of a police car and an ambulance muddled together in a cacophony moments after the fall. I walked over to get a look at the body, flashing my paranormal investigator’s badge at the coroner. I saw no marks of interest, though when I looked at the pool of blood the body left behind, I was speechless; the blood pooled in the shape of King Bodon’s Star. There was definitely some kind of witchcraft going on. I looked around for my uncle, but he was out of sight. I rushed indoors, thinking he had gone up to the jumper’s room. Sure enough, I found him there looking for clues, weaving absent mindedly around the policemen in the room.

“Uncle Carl!” I cried out, ’What happened?” he didn’t answer me. “Carl! Carl!” I yelled to get his attention. One of the investigators yelled at me to be quiet while another yelled to ’get that old man out of here and shut up that kid.’ When they ushered my uncle into the hall, he glared at me.

“I think I was onto something. There were some kind of herbs on the floor, but you showed up and they kicked me out.”

“How’d you even get in?” I asked.

“You’d be surprised what you can get away with when people think you are an Alzheimer’s patient…

Here’s the conclusion to Minerva and August, Supernatural Investigators: The Little People Village.

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“I am the queen here.” she declared in a proud voice. The leaves of her dress rustled as she walked past Minerva and August. She smelled of dry leaves and  the cool autumn night. Her dark eyes met with August’s as she sat on the throne. Hewn from stone and bearing carved images of thousands of faeries intertwined with each other, the throne looked impossibly uncomfortable, but the queen seemed perfectly easeful. She traced the body of one of the faeries with her fingernail, bringing the carved being to life and letting it dance in her hand. Minerva watched; August was transfixed by the queen and her power. The tiny villagers began to dance around the throne, chanting.

“August.” whispered Minerva. The spell cast by the beautiful queen preoccupied August’s mind. His hand had gone for a scroll, but he made no move to unroll the parchment. Minerva weighed her options. She knew her powers were limited; she had placed the limits on them herself. She wouldn’t use the scroll; she couldn’t bring herself to cast a spell ever again. She felt herself slipping into the past, her mind wandering back to one night, seven years ago. Minerva forced herself back into the present; the queen was looking at her quizzically.

“What did you do, dear?” asked the queen in a motherly tone. Minerva had to decide what to do quickly, before she gave the queen a chance to learn anything she could use against her. The queen blew softy on the faerie in her hand and it turned to rose-scented dust. Minerva pulled at August’s arm and rushed at the startled queen. She crashed into the queen with all her weight and sent her hard into the throne’s back. August fell to the ground, dazed but free of the spell. He tried to stand, but his head was swimming. Pawing at the scroll, he tried to remember what he was doing here and why. Five tiny people rushed at him with pitch forks; each sting brought a wave of pain and rememberance. He brushed the people aside and unravelled the ten foot long scroll. The parchment bore an intricate painting of a labyrinth. Agust struggled to remember the words he needed to recite, his concentration breaking when he chanced to see Minerva trapped in a series of roots that flowed from the queen’s hands.

“The thousand eyes of Uggthac are on you,” he yelled, “the master of the maze calls you.” August repeated the words, louder and louder. He could feel the power swelling slowly from the scroll. He saw one of Minerva’s hands grab for a rock; in a moment, the rock crashed hard on the queen’s skull. The queen fell to the ground, pulling the root entangled Minerva with her. August continued his invocation, drowing out the little peoples’ attempt to counter his spell. The roots relaxed as the queen began to fade from reality. The tiny people screamed in anguish as he winked out of existence completely.

“What did you do?” they demanded, brandishing their tiny farming implements. August pulled a small parchment out of his coat and placed a drop of ink on it, smearing it into a magical symbol of rememberance. Minerva stood up, brushing herself off and combing the leaves from her hair.

“Remember who you are.” he said as the symbol began to glow. A scent of rosemary filled the air as a wave of energy pulsed from the symbol. Slowly, the little people remembered that once, they were not so little. Sadness filled their faces as they remembered lives long abandoned and forgotten. “She got into your minds and made you her subjects.” said August. The silent shame of the little people brought him his answer. Minerva rested her hand on August’s shoulder. He looked up to see sadness in her expressive blue eyes.

“You didn’t need to do that.” she said softly as they left the melancholy village.

“I did. They had a right to know.”

“But you can’t undo the spell she put on them, can you?”

“No, the magic is too old and powerful. I’d fall into a horrible debt calling on such strength.” August felt disappointed with himself. He looked at the scroll with the labyrinth and saw a tiny speck moving through its drawn corridors. “One hundred years isn’t enough for her.” he said finally. Minerva lost herself in thought. She knew why August did what he did; he had lost one friend to a monster in the past and wouldn’t let it happen again. However, she knew it didn’t have to end the way it did. If only I used the spell instead. I could have trapped her and freed August from her spell. I could have stopped him…

They sat in the station wagon and gloom blossomed. Neither of them spoke through the ride back to Woonsocket. When August shifted the car into park and turned the engine off, he sunk into his seat.

“I got carried away. This was supposed to be just an investigation, not a removal. It was supposed to be a fun escape and nothing else. “I go get myself entranced, then I start slinging curses and spells.”

“Don’t worry. I would have done the same thing if it came down to it.” said Minerva, “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“I guess you’re right. I just feel so bad.”

“You were right; the people had a right to know. Maybe there was a kinder way to tell them. The queen was aggressive and you did what you know how to do. I’m the one that’s wrong. I should have cast that spell.” Minerva sighed and sunk into her seat. August studied the pensive expression on her’s face. He just didn’t know how to respond.

“You want some ice cream?” popped out of his mouth.

“Sure.” responded Minerva. August sat up and started the car again. He drove down the street to a small ice cream stand. Somehow, as they sat there eating their ice cream cones, everythng started to seem all right again.

“What should we do tomorrow?” asked August.

“Hopefully, we get a call. The electric bill’s going to be coming in.” said Minerva, punctuating her sentence with a bite of the crunchy ice cream cone.   

This is a story based on a real place in Connecticut. I thought I was going to have time to finish it all in one post, but unfortunately I need to get up early in the morning. I hope to post the rest before the end of the weekend.

————————————————————————————-

August stared at his laptop in disbelief. He closed the lid and swiveled his chair so he could face Minerva, who was sitting on the floor, surrounded by dusty books.

“Can you believe it? No e-mails. Not one.” August whined drearily. He had been in demand as an investigator of all things supernatural since 1999. Back then, he was an unsuspecting art student, but since then he abandoned his studies of the human form for the study of occult tomes. His specialty was binding and exorcising; Minerva was much more sensative to psychic vibrations than he was. She also was much more patient.

“I’m sure even Superman has his off days. Dr. Doom can’t trouble Gotham everyday.” Minerva smiled widely as aggravation spread across August’s face. He loved comic books almost as much as he loved hunting for ghosts; Minerva knew just how to provoke him.

“Superman doesn’t live in Gotham. Dr. Doom is not even in the same universe.” said August, exaspirated. “All I want is a case. Something to sink my teeth into. I can’t just sit here.”

“Then why don’t you dust the bookshelves. Some of these volumes of Tobin’s Spirit Guide are caked with dust.” Minerva ran a finger along the cover of volume two-hundred and twelve and showed August her dust laden finger.

“I don’t want to do something mundane. I want some action. I need to get out there and find something.” Minerva was tiring of August’s rantings and wished that he would find himself a girlfriend, or something; anything to get his mind off of work for a few hours. She pulled a copy of The Most Haunted Places in New England, a thin soft covered book of about two hundred pages, and tossed it at August’s feet.

“How about a field trip? Some hiking, fresh air, and all that.” August picked up the miniscule volume and leafed through it inattentively.

“Where are you thinking?” he asked.

“Connecticut. The Little People Village. Page one-seventeen. It’s a bit of a ride, but it might be worth it. Some weird stuff happened there. A guy built these tiny houses for the voices he heard in his head, and then he built a throne. After his death, a cult used the site for ritual murders. Place hasn’t been on the radar since 2000, when the current owners of the land destroyed the throne.” Minerva closed the copy of Marduk and Other Divinities Amongst Us and put it back on the shelf. She picked up the other books she had littered the office floor with and put them back on the shelf as well. August read the entry about the Little People Village and felt intrigued enough to undertake the hour and a half drive to get there.

Leaving their tiny office, which sat above a weiner shop on Woonsocket’s Main Street, the pair looked like an odd couple. Minerva was wearing a soft pink peacoat and her long, blonde hair was waving like a spider web in the wind. August was dressed in his usual work attire; a black kilt made out of thick cotton and a black duster. His dark hair was recently cropped into a curly mass atop his head. They walked down the street past several brick buildings with glass store fronts. Some were normal businesses; shops selling antiques, some small restaurants, and a karate studio. However, others were simply facades for less mundane enterprises…

They piled into August’s station wagon, in the back of which was a tangle of wires, books, camera equipment, scrolls, and a massive altar top from one of the city’s abandoned churches. As he started the car, Minerva’s cell phone exploded into the chorus of ABBA’s Dancing Queen. While Minerva talked unceasingly to her sister, August guided the automobile towards the highway. They headed Westward on thickly forested highways.

“Connecticut lasts forever.” said August when Minerva finally finished with her call. “It’s like Connecticut is a wormhole or something. You get so far, then suddenly you’re right where you started, or at least at a place that looks just like where you started.”

“It isn’t that bad. At least it’s nice and green. I bet it’s pretty in the fall around here.” Minerva contentedly watched the scenery pass by while August concentrated on the road ahead. Silence slowly filled the car. Neither was uncomfortable; they had been working together for nearly ten years now. They rode on in silence, listening only to the hum of the car’s engine because the radio died years before.

“Do you think we could have been something?” asked August, breaking the quiet. Minerva was surprised by the question. August, thinking he needed to clarify the question, said “I mean, do you think we could have been an item? If things were different?” Minerva took a moment to digest the question.

“Why?” she asked, evading the question.

“I just found myself thinking about it. What if? You know, those questions bug me. ’What if I never came to Woonsocket and saw the shuggoths?’ ‘What if I hadn’t met Ana? or Sarah?’ Sometimes, when I’m just sitting there, I think of these things. I don’t mean anything by it. I know you’re in a relationship and all, but I was just thinking how weird this would be if we were, you know, a couple.”

“Do you really think it would be weirder? We’ve seen some strange stuff over the years, and couple or not, I don’t think it would be weirder.” responded Minerva.

“Well, I just don’t know if I’d want to let you risk yourself going out like this if you were more than just a friend.” said August. His mind wandered back to the day that Sarah had saved him, throwing herself at that thing. 

“I don’t know if I should be offended by that.” remarked Minerva, trying to be playful. Seeing the grim expression on August’s face, she changed the conversation. “So, this village. Are you excited to see it?”

The smile returned to August’s face as he nodded his head. “Yes.” At the end of the long ride, August was himself again. They parked the car in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart. August took a sheaf of parchment from the rear of the station wagon, as well as his digital camera and a small, wooden writing set. They made their way on foot through the quaint town; locals looked at them suspiciously, half-knowing why they had come to visit. In the late afternoon, they arrived at the path that, according to The Most Haunted Places in New England, would wind into the woods and lead to the Little People Village. The path was hard to follow, but after fifteen minutes of wandering, Minerva spotted a tiny house. August took out his camera and took a picture of the knee high cottage.

“Windows. Tiny windows!” marvelled Minerva as she bent down to look at the exquisitely detailed house. It was carved from stone; intricate patterns of shingles covered the roof and when she looked in a window, she saw that Persian rugs were skillfully hewn on the floors. “How did he do this?” she asked out loud. August heard her, but could offer no answer. His eyes were drawn deeper into the forest, where a stone throne sat on a small hill, surrounded by a dozen detailed domiciles.

“I thought you said that was destroyed.” said August as he took steps away from the distant object. “Minnie, Do you think we should leave?”

Minerva took her attention from the tiny house and let her focus drift. Her vision slowly blurred and she felt herself expanding into a thin sheet of consciousness that canvassed the area. August quieted his thoughts and heard a squeaky voice.

“Greetings, friend.” said the voice. August stumbled forward, startled. Minerva’s focus fell to a tiny man, about the size of her thumb. Other tiny men and women started to swarm out from the houses. August held up his camera and snapped several pictures. He started to think about wards that he could use to keep the little people away, but none came to mind.

“Hello,” responded Minerva in a friendly tone.

“We don’t get many visitors here.” said the tiny man, “except for the Queen.”

“Queen?” asked August.

“Yes. She comes at night and takes her place upon the throne. She is our Queen and Goddess.” explained the man, “She is our Great Mother.” The other little people began to chant ‘Great Mother’.

“Who is this Queen of yours?” asked Minerva, hoping for a less general answer. 

“She called us here and had this town built for us.”

“And that is her throne.” said August, pointing at the hill.

“Yes,” replied the tiny man.

“Yes.” said a voice from behind August and Minerva. They turned to see a tall woman with green, bark splotched skin and root like hair. She wore a dress crafted from leaves and a crown of antlers…