Witch's Nocturne, Moonsongs Episode 2

Witch's Nocturne, Moonsongs Episode 2: Pt. 2 - Killer of Monsters

Weary-eyed and troubled, the next morning I worked on the relic of a computer that had consumed so much of my time of late. A parting gift from my grandfather, the machine was given with the promise of helping unravel the mysterious journal. More importantly, the computer gave me a good distraction from the rest of the craziness infecting my life of late.

The contraption was three times the size of any modern CPU and eight times as heavy. To call the thing outdated would’ve been like calling a dinosaur mature. I’d usually just write off the frustration as a peril of being a geek for hire in a very rural area. Folks around here didn’t have much money, nor did they have access to the big shopping venues. Consequently, they tended to view a computer purchase as a lifetime investment. Their lifetime, not the computer’s.

The thing hadn’t booted at all initially. Figuring I’d jostled something loose in transit, I opened the case up and checked connections. Using enough soldering to hold the Eiffel Tower together, I tried again. This time, the bastard booted but only to some weird command prompt screen. I’d been stuck there ever since. Each day I’d spend an hour or two staring at the flashing cursor and typing in every command I knew existed, even trying a few I made up. Each day, I walked away a little more frustrated.

This morning had been more of the same. I’d hit the enter button for what felt like the one-thousandth time, my insides curdling as the familiar words flashed once again.

<cannot run program>

I pulled back my foot, ready to kick the damned thing into submission, when my phone chirped.

“You’ve been granted a reprieve,” I muttered, giving the terminal an angry last look before reaching for my mobile.

I’d gotten a text from Marshal saying he wanted to call in the Lubbock debt I owed him. I’d promised to go with him for riding along with me to visit my grandfather. That’d been before the old man had tried to eat us. Marshal would probably expect me to buy him dinner now, too.

I stared at the phone, trying to figure out if the twinge at the back of my skull was from the unusual bit of serendipity at work, or from my creepy radar pinging.

No way he could’ve known I’d been planning a trip myself.

I quickly agreed, explaining my need to meet with a client. I also decided Marshal didn’t need to know about the extra two hundred bucks sitting in my bank account.

The phone twittered again, leaving me with a grin as I read his message.

Smartass.

I responded. “No, you shouldn’t expect to be mauled by a giant wolf-man. No, I will not be shopping for clothes. And no, you shouldn’t expect rent. I’ll cover gas.”

I hadn’t seen much of Marshal lately, leaving me feeling like a jigsaw puzzle missing the final piece—just not quite whole. He’d been moonlighting on the weekends at the county hospital in addition to his hospice work. I knew he wanted to earn extra spending money for Christmas, but I couldn’t help but worry something wasn’t right between us.

Who could blame him? I’d shot my grandfather pointblank in front of him. Something I felt I had to do, but something I knew didn’t align with Marshal’s moral compass, him being a nurse and all. I wished we could’ve talked it out, but really didn’t know how to start that conversation. So I hadn’t.

Grandma had always said Marshal and I were closer than baby opossums in the pouch, which I took to mean we were tight. We’d hit it off from the moment I’d moved from Houston to Center Pointe.

I’d never fit into the rural community scene, partly because of my looks, but mostly because of my attitude. I refused to give a shit about what people thought about me, and that didn’t fly in a place where passing judgment was the national pastime. If you didn’t care, you couldn’t play, and everyone played. Marshal had similar issues with joining in the game. But unlike me, it wasn’t because he refused to participate, he just wasn’t allowed.