Mayor Leopold Hare sunk to his haunches, ran slender fingers over the gouges in the concrete. ‘And this happened last night? Where were your Watchmen, Captain Hopkins?’
Hopkins heard the accusation in Hare’s chilly tone but ignored it. ‘On a call. Domestic over on Lafeyette and Third.’
Hare creaked to his feet, turning hollow eyes along the road, to the broken stone slab of the Grandjean Mausoleum. ‘What is that smell?’
He’d noticed it when he arrived – like spent matches and fireworks … Like Hell. ‘Sulphur,’ he said.
Bone dry leaves spiralled in the wind, drifting around Hare’s feet.
The Mayor nodded. ‘I thought so too.’ He tapped a bony finger against his lip. ‘A daemon then? Stealing our citizens? To what end?’
Hopkins could only shiver, only think of the other bodies ripped from their Endless Sleep over the previous days.
Something evil had come to Necropolis.
Now, who could resist a creepy tale when faced with the Lafayette Cemetery, New Orleans? The sight of those amazing graves – resembling so many small stone houses – had my mind wandering to a City of the Dead where something very bad is happening. A bit off the wall, but Halloween is fast approaching.
The Mayor’s surname was robbed from the ‘Resurrectionist’ William Hare – see here to acquaint yourself with his grisly story.
And the Captain’s name was spirited away from Matthew Hopkins, the 17th Century Witch Finder General. See here to learn more.