I Inherited A Farmhouse, The Cellar Holds A Sinister Legacy | Part 2
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I pulled up next to Bridget's pickup truck and parked outside Farley's Roadhouse Saloon. I wouldn't have called it a roadhouse or a saloon. It was four shipping containers that had been renovated and combined into a classy little speakeasy type of bar and lounge. When a misguided business went under, Farley Morrison bought the place and turned it into his roadside saloon. The inside was a mishmash of different decors.

Everything from the roadhouse saloon style to that previous speakeasy aesthetic to whatever stuff Farley could scrounge from dumpsters and the landfill. I could swear that a couple of the booths still smelled like a landfill. "Grab that table in the corner and I'll get the drinks," Bridget said. She headed to the bar before I could tell her what I wanted. With the book in my hands, I went to the designated table and took a seat. I surveyed the place and recognized several faces.

I couldn't remember their names, but I knew them from library events and just seeing them around town. Despite having some roots in the area and working as a public employee, I wasn't exactly welcomed with open arms in nearby Valley. Ever since the day I arrived, folks had been friendly yet distant, very distant.

Bridget set down two pints of dark beer on the table, then sat down. "Put the book away," she said and nodded at Perkins' complete compendium of demonology. Without argument or inquiry, I slid the book off the table and set it next to me on the booth seat. "There are two types of folk that live in Nearby Valley," Bridget said after taking a sip from her beer. "The first type are the ones that have been here since before the place was ever named Nearby Valley."

"'I'm talking about bloodlines as old as the mountains to the east. Families that are of this land in ways you can't imagine.' "'Did I see one of them tonight?' I asked. Bridget stared at me over the rim of her pint glass as she took a long drink. Then she lowered the glass, and her bright smile returned for the first time that evening. "'Good guess,' she said. "'But you are only partly right. What you saw is what happens to the first type when they have been called to serve.'

When called, people in these parts go through a change. That was a person down in the cellar? I asked. Not anymore, no. She said. But it doesn't mean they don't deserve our respect. They have a tough job to do, if they make it to the change that is. What's that mean? I asked, and finally sipped from my glass. Service isn't for the weak, Bridget said. You give up your humanity and live in a sort of perpetual sleep under the earth for, well...

"'Forever, I guess. "'You're saying that people here in nearby valley "'turn into those things, "'then crawl under the dirt and live that way forever?' "'I took another sip, then shook my head. "'Okay, sure, fine. "'They don't just crawl under the dirt,' Bridget said. "'They only crawl under the dirt in your great-aunt's cellar, "'or, I guess, your cellar now. "'I'm sorry.' "'What?' I responded. "'That cellar is the key to keeping all of humanity safe.'

Bridget said. Which is why you'll be hiring me to get that farmhouse back into fighting shape. She took another sip of her beer and closed her eyes. That smile faded as she shook her head. What's below is getting stronger, and the servants need help, Bridget said, when she finally opened her eyes and fixed them on me. How do we help? I asked, then laughed at how casual those words sounded coming out of my mouth. Bridget's smile returned.

We need more servants, she said. The scrape of chairs was loud enough to be heard over the jukebox in the corner. Bridget straightened up and looked over her shoulder. Shit, she said when she turned back to me. I must still be spooked a little. I didn't see them sitting over there, I asked, leaning around Bridget for a better look. The caskills, Bridget said. Are they coming over here?

"Yeah," I said, and in seconds, four very large men, ranging in age from late twenties to mid-thirties, walked up to our table. They were dressed in flannel shirts, jeans, and work boots. Each had bushy beards and baseball caps on, a fairly normal look for nearby Valley. I'd seen a couple of them around town, not in the library though. They didn't look like library folk. It was easy to see the resemblance between them.

Large eyes, pointed noses, big ears. But there was something else that seemed to connect them, and I couldn't put my finger on it. It wasn't a resemblance in their looks, but more like a resemblance in their vibe. They gave off a sadness, a dangerous sadness. Hanover, the first man to reach the table said, you hanging out with nerdy librarians now? Looks like it, Mac, Rigid replied without looking up at the man. The others joined Mac Caskill and stood behind him.

all of their eyes on me while Mac focused on Bridget. "What you doing out this late with the storm blowing?" Mac asked. "Having a pint or two, Mac," Bridget replied. "That a problem?" "Oh, you know the problem," Mac said, then he turned his attention on me. "Outsiders." I looked from Bridget to Mac to the other Caskills behind Mac and back to Bridget. "Me?" I asked. "You," Mac said.

"He's not an outsider, Mac," Bridget said. "His blood flows in this valley as much as yours does." "But he ain't from here, is what I'm saying," Mac insisted. "He didn't grow up here. He hasn't learned what it takes to be a part of nearby valley." Bridget swiveled in her seat, then stood up and got right in Mac's face. "And you do?" she asked. "Because from what I'm hearing, the Cask Hills are the loudest of the bunch calling for change."

"Because we are done being servants," Mac said, not backing down from Bridget. "And can you blame us?" Mac looked directly at me. "Especially now that we have this sad sack overseeing things." "I don't know what that means," I said. "Oversee what?"

"You haven't told him?" Mac barked out a harsh laugh. I could feel the sad vibe in the roadhouse saloon thicken. "I was getting to that, but some idiot interrupted me." Bridget said then placed a hand on Mac's chest. "Go home, Mac. Let the adults handle the hard work." To my utter surprise, Mac took a swing at Bridget. My second surprise was Bridget ducking under the swing and punching Mac right in the balls. The big guy crumpled like all his bones had turned to sand.

Bridget turned her attention to the other Caskills. They lurched at her, but a loud clang from the bar froze the action in its tracks. "No fighting!" the bartender shouted. He held an aluminum bat in his hands. "Take it outside and down the street. I don't need your shit tonight, Caskills. Same with you, Hanover." "Sorry, Bill," Bridget said. "Tell Farley it won't happen again." The Caskills helped their brother or cousin or whatever Mac was to them up off the floor.

He looked sickly and his eyes swam in his head. Bridget must have really nailed him hard. We watched the Cascades leave, then Bridget downed her pint and grabbed us two more beers even though I hadn't finished my first. "Bill will let us finish talking," Bridget said, "but we need to make it quick. He called Farley to let him know about the trouble and Farley wants us gone. Bill's doing me a favor." "What type is Farley?" I asked. "Like us," Bridget said. "He stays above the dirt.

"If the ones that go below the dirt are servants, then are we like their masters?" I asked. "God no!" Bridget replied with a shake of her head and a bitter laugh. "We're the custodians." "Custodians?" I echoed. "We keep things running and clean up the messes," she said. "Speaking of, we're gonna have to make a mess of that farmhouse." "Strip it to the studs' mess?" I asked.

Despite all the insanity I'd witnessed, my brain immediately switched gears and wanted to think Bridget was just as much of a scammer as the rest of the contractors. No, not that drastic, Bridget said, but we will need to run new conduit and also add a good foot or two of fresh dirt to that cellar floor. I'm thinking maybe a surveillance system so you don't have to mind the cellar 24-7. Mind the cellar? What does that mean? I asked.

"That Matt guy called me the overseer. Is that what you're talking about?" "Unfortunately, yes," Bridget said. "Just like your great aunt, your job is to make sure the servants do their jobs and keep what's below from coming up." "What is below? What is this all about?" I asked. I finished my first beer and drained half of the second one before Bridget answered me. She said quietly, "Hell?" I asked. "Hell," she said.

"That farmhouse is built over a portal that leads directly to hell. Without the servants guarding the portal, or us custodians keeping things running up top, we'd be knee deep in demons here in nearby valley." "Oh," I said, staring at her for a solid minute. "You aren't joking, are you? Did anything that has happened tonight feel like a joke to you, Clem?" She asked, then nodded. "Finish the rest of your beer. We're leaving." I finished the rest of my beer, then grabbed the book as Bridget stood up.

"Where are we going?" I asked. "My place," she said. "What for?" I asked. "What do you think, Clem?" She answered and her smile returned. "Oh, I uh, well, yeah, sure, okay." I stammered. "You really know how to make a woman feel special, Clem," Bridget said. We left and went to her place.

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Custom window coverings in the world. Blinds.com is the GOAT. Shop Blinds.com right now and get up to 45% off select styles. Rules and restrictions may apply. Someone had a night I see. Bobby said with a smirk when I walked into the library the next morning. Did you even go home last night? Briefly. I said as I set my backpack behind the counter and took a couple of deep breaths.

"Okay, so I'm gonna let the fact you didn't take out the trash last night go because I want the gossip," she said as her smirk grew. "So, who's the lucky lady? Oh wait, my bad, I'm assuming it was a lady. It was a lady and I don't kiss and tell," I said. "Two large coffees," Bridget said as she burst through the library doors with a to-go cup in each hand. "I figured you need more after last night."

Bobby looked from Bridget to me, me to Bridget, then burst out laughing. One of the elderly patrons shushed her immediately. "Don't shush me!" Bobby snapped. "I work here. Hey, Bobby." Bridget said as she set the two coffees down on the counter. "How's your mom? She now has gout," Bobby says. "Because apparently that's still a thing. I thought only old misers from 1800s London got gout."

"Sorry to hear that," Bridget replied, and tapped one of the coffees then pointed at Bobby. "This one's for you. Thanks, Bridge," Bobby said. She picked up the coffee, took a sip, smiled, then continued looking back and forth between Bridget and myself. "What?" I asked. "Get your mind out of the gutter. We're all adults here." "What?" Bobby replied. "I'm not thinking about that. Jesus, no. I don't want those images in my head. Then what's with the look?" I asked.

you finally tell him bobby asked bridget yep bridget said with a nod i filled him in on everything last night that's why i'm here thank god bobby said after connie mckee came in last night and nearly spilled it all i thought i'd be the one doing the explaining nope bridget said you just get to do the fun part wait how do you know miss mckee came in last night i asked bobby

"Small town, Clem," she replied. "And it's my job to keep tabs on potential servants." "You're a custodian?" I asked, surprised. "Bobby's in charge of the custodians," Bridget said, just like her mom used to be. "Hold on, Bobby's in charge of the custodians?" I asked. "I thought I was, you know, being the overseer and all." "God no," Bobby said then frowned at Bridget. "I thought you told him everything."

"Everything except exactly what he is," Bridget said. "I figured, with Clem being a librarian, the books themselves would do a better job of explaining it. So, you chickened out?" Bobby stated. "I didn't want to completely break his brain," Bridget said. "Clem had already seen a lot, and the bullshit with the Caskills didn't help things." "Caskills? I hadn't heard that," Bobby whistled. "Who'd you run into?"

Mac and his brothers, Bridget said. At Farley's, I see, Bobby said. The frown left and was replaced by the smirk. Stopped in for a couple of pregame pints? You know me, Bobby, Bridget said as she struggled to keep her smile from beaming too much. I'm not sure what I'm more freaked out about, I said. What I saw in that cellar, what Bridget told me, or you two bonding over my embarrassment. Suck it up, buttercup, Bobby said and patted me on the arm.

"Come on, you got library stuff to learn. I have a doctorate in library sciences," I said. "I did my learning. She's going to show you the reference room," Bridget said. "We don't have a reference room," I said. "We have two stacks and that's it." "Oh, he's so cute when he's confused," Bobby said. "No wonder you couldn't resist, Bridge. This whole conversation is getting very uncomfortable," I said. "It's about to get a lot more uncomfortable," Bobby said, and her smirk was gone.

Follow me, Clem. Time for you to get a real education and finally do the job you were brought here to do. Bridget slapped Perkins' complete compendium of demonology against my chest. Bring that, she said, then walked away from the counter and into the stacks. What is going on? I asked as Bobby walked off after Bridget. You'll see, she said. Come on. I did. I did see. And now that I know what I know, I'd rather I hadn't.

I stood at a door that I knew for a fact hadn't been there before. "You have to turn the handle if you want to go in," Bobby said. "That's how doors work. Thanks," I said, and opened the door. Inside was a room about the size of a large reading room. There was a long, mahogany table in the center of the room and a single bookshelf on the wall at the far end. On that shelf were exactly eleven books with the space in the middle for a twelfth book.

I looked at the book in my hands and knew that it would fit that slot perfectly. "What is this?" I asked. "The reference room," Bobbie replied. She pointed at the bookshelf. "There are twelve books that live in this room. We need all twelve to keep our town safe. To keep everyone safe," Bridget said. "Go have a look." I did. The books were as old or even older than the one I held in my hands.

They were bound in leather, bound in cloth, bound in something like rough animal hide, which is much different than leather, trust me. If there were names on the spines, they were impossible to read, except for two. "The Book of Dirt?" I asked. "You'll need to read that one," Bobby said and reached past me to pluck the book from the shelf. "You can put the Perkins on the shelf. It did what it needed to do," Bridget said. "For now."

Bobby handed me the Book of Dirt as soon as I shelved the Perkins book. Then she pulled down the other book that had a legible name. "Overseer?" I asked when Bobby placed the book on top of the Book of Dirt. They were both way heavier than books should be. "That one you need to memorize," Bridget said. "Have a seat and start reading." I looked about the room. "Now? In here?" I asked. "Yes, now," Bridget replied. "And yes, in here."

"But I have work to do," I said. "The library is closing early," Bobby said. "It's not even noon," I protested. "People will understand," Bridget said. "On it," Bobby said and left the room. After a couple of seconds, I heard the rattle of the front doors as Bobby locked them. I sat down and opened the book of dirt first. Most of it was incomprehensible. There was a lot about tending the soil, which was understandable considering the book's title.

But there was a lot about keeping the "plantings" fed and healthy. It didn't go into detail on what the plantings were exactly, but after the night I had, I could make a guess. The Book of Dirt wasn't a thick book, and the pages were filled mostly with detailed illustrations, so I was able to read through it in no time. Or that's what I thought. "Dinner," Bridget said with a greasy paper bag in her hands. "Dinner?" I asked, surprised.

I checked my phone. I'd been reading the book for five hours. "What the hell?" I clamped a hand over my mouth. "It's okay," she said. "If you say that word anywhere in this town, this room is the safest." "Good," I said and swallowed hard. "That makes me feel much better." "There are reasons this room is hidden," Bridget said. "One reason is for its own protection."

The other is, people can get lost in these books. She set the greasy paper bag down on the table in front of me. Hildy's double cheeseburger with double bacon and extra pickles. Hold the onions. How did you know that's what I order? I asked. I told her, moron. Bobby said as she came into the reference room with two more greasy paper bags. What did you think? That she'd been spying on you? Would I be crazy to think that considering? I said and waved a hand at the room.

Not at all, Bridget said as she sat down and pulled her food out of one of the bags. Because I have been spying on you. I paused mid-bite. I'm sorry, what? I asked. I have been spying on you, Bridget said. A good chunk of the town has, Clem. Ever since you got here, we had to know if you could take your great aunt's place as overseer. If you couldn't cut it, then we were going to need to scramble fast. So we had to be sure. Oh, I said and set my burger down.

I wasn't so hungry anymore. "Eat," Bridget said. It sounded more like a command than a suggestion. "I will," I said and reached out to grab the Overseer book. Bridget slapped her hand on the book and held it in place. "Eat first," she said. "You'll need your strength for this one." She wasn't kidding. When I was done eating, Bridget slid the book to me. Her eyes were locked on me as I opened the book and read the first page.

Shit, I whispered. I looked up at Bridget, shaken. Is this for real? Yes, Bridget replied. I continued to read. Bobby came in and cleared out the dinner trash, then set a six pack on the table. She cracked open a beer and said, ready to throw up yet? What? I asked, tearing my eyes away from the impossible words. Why would I throw up? Bridget and Bobby shared a look. Then Bobby shrugged and took a 20 out of her pocket. She handed it to Bridget.

"Told ya," Bridget said, pocketing the 20. We all drank beer as I continued to read. The things I read in that book, everything started to make sense and things took on a new light. "This is a lot to put on a person," I said to Bridget. "Yup," she agreed. "That's why we try to keep it in your family. Your bloodline hasn't let us down yet." "Shit," Bobby yelled from out in the stacks. Before Bridget and I could get up, Bobby rushed into the reference room.

Connie McKee just called. She said, her eyes wide with panic. She got to the farmhouse and saw the Caskill's trucks in the driveway. Then she saw them going back and forth from their trucks to the house. They were carrying tools. What sort of tools? Bridget asked. Shovels, pickaxes, post hole diggers. Bobby said. She even thought two of them were carrying a jackhammer. Those assholes. Bridget said as she got up. I knew they were going to pull some shit. What shit? What's happening? I asked.

The Caskills have been the largest servant family in nearby Valley, Bridget said. You heard Mac last night. They don't want to be anymore. So now they're going to try to do something very stupid. That's not how it works, I said, and patted the cover of the overseer. No, it's not, Bridget said and smiled at me. Then she smiled at Bobby. I'm surprised to say it, but he may be ready. If you say so, Bobby said. Ready for what? I asked.

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When Bridget slowed her pickup truck at the end of the driveway, Connie McKee got out of her Volkswagen Beetle that she'd been sitting in across the street. There were enough trees in the way to block her from being seen from the house. Still, she'd been right out in the open, so I had to wonder whether or not the Caskills knew they'd been discovered. You've been warned multiple times, Connie. Bridget snapped, rolling down her window when Connie approached the truck. No visiting!

It was his birthday last week, Connie said. I just wanted to sing him a song. Whose birthday? I asked. My son's, Connie said. He was planted three years ago, Bridget said. You met him the other night. Oh, okay, I said. Bobby leaned in from the back seat. Have you heard anything? Any noises? Not yet, Connie said. They took a long time carrying all of them tools in.

"We may not be too late," Bridget said. "Conny, go home. No more visits, all right? Clem is taking over, so you'll have to answer to him the next time you try. You're the new overseer," Connie stated then nodded. "Okay. Sorry. But thanks for calling and giving us a heads up," Bobby said. "Of course," Connie said. "We each have a piece in keeping the hole safe." "That we do," Bridget said. "Goodnight, Connie."

"Night," Connie said to Bridget and Bobby. Then she looked me square in the face. "Goodnight, overseer." "Um, goodnight," I replied. When she left, we got out of the pickup truck, crossed the road, and walked slowly down the driveway. The sun had set a while ago and a damp chill had settled over nearby valley. The house was dark when we got close enough to see it well. I couldn't hear anything, but then again, the cellar was fairly well insulated.

Here, Bridget said, and handed me something she pulled out from inside of her jacket. This is yours. I took the object and studied it. I didn't need to ask what it was for. I'd read about it in the book. I placed the object inside my own coat. Thanks, I said. Hearing the doubt in my voice, Bridget stopped walking and grabbed my arm. You good, Clem? She asked. If we get in there and you freeze... I won't, I said. But if you do...

She left the sentence hanging there. "I won't," I insisted. "I read the book. I know what I'm here for." "Good man," Bobby said and slapped me on the shoulder as she moved past us to the porch steps. In her other hand was a revolver. I don't know guns, so I couldn't say what it was except that it was big. "What the fuck is that for?" I asked. "Keeping your ass safe while you do your thing," Bobby said. "Trust me, the Casgills will be packing too."

"Packing? When did you become a character in a crime novel?" I asked. "Wrong genre, Clem," Bobby said as she grabbed the knob to the front door. "This is pure horror." Then she opened the door and went inside. Bridget and I followed right behind. There were muddy boot prints all down the entryway. That ticked me off. The place may have needed a ton of work, but it was mine. It was my family's. The disrespect hit a nerve.

"I hear something," I said and moved past Bridget and Bobby. I went straight into the kitchen and stood there at the open cellar door. Down below were voices talking and tools being used. Bridget and Bobby came up behind me and we listened. "If they bite you," someone said, "don't cry for help. You're already dead. I'm gonna smash your fucking teeth in before any of the freaks can bite me." Someone responded, "Some of them freaks are your kin." A voice snapped.

that had to be Mac Caskill. I could tell by the asshole in his voice. "We put them all down with respect, just in case one of them is a cousin or uncle," Mac said. "I'll respect them for this," someone said, and there was a loud whack followed by nervous laughter. "Don't fuck with me, Danny," Mac said. Anything else that was said was instantly lost to the noise of a jackhammer starting up.

Bobby tapped me on the shoulder, then slid past me and descended the stairs. She had the revolver down at her side, pressed close to her right thigh so no one could see it easily. Bridget placed her hand on the small of my back, and I put my foot on the top step. Once again, the first step is always the hardest. I followed Bobby into the cellar. When we got to the bottom of the stairs, we were lucky to find the five caskills with their backs to us.

I could have shouted and set off fireworks, and they wouldn't have been able to hear me over the jackhammer. "Stop them!" Bridget said to me, her mouth pressed right against my ear. "You have to do this!" Before I could move, a screech erupted from the dirt, loud enough to not only be heard over the jackhammer, but loud enough that I needed to put my hands over my ears. "Got one!" Pekaskill shouted as the jackhammer was shut off. "Help me drag it out!"

The Caskills pounced like cats on a gopher, and in seconds they had pulled a servant up out of the cellar floor. The creature was humanoid. It had those huge, black eyes and was covered in thick, slick, scaled skin. The webbed hands slapped at the Caskills as they dragged the servant into the middle of the cellar. It screeched and writhed, but it wasn't strong enough to fight off the five large men. "What the fuck?" the Caskills said when we were finally spotted. "Matt?"

Mac, who had been busy pinning the servant's shoulders to the ground, looked over his shoulder at us. "This ain't none of your business, Hanover," Mac said with a snarl. "You may think you're in charge, but you ain't. So you can take your nerd boy and the lesbian back up those stairs and get the fuck going." "Lesbian?" Bobby said. "Just because I wouldn't go out with you doesn't mean I'm gay, Mac. It just means I have self-respect and decent taste."

"Let him go," Bridget said. "Him? How the fuck can you even tell?" Mac asked. He did let go of the servant's shoulders, but one of his brothers took his place. The servant's unblinking black eyes fixed on me as the creature was held down. Knowing what the thing had to endure in order to keep us all safe, I couldn't help but feel for it. I wondered at that moment if I would feel the same way about the caskills. Probably not in the beginning. Maybe later.

"What's that you got there?" Mac asked Bobby as he spotted the revolver. "Insurance," Bobby said. Mac slid the bottom of his coat to the side so he could show us the butt of his own revolver. "Well, ain't that a coincidence," he said with a laugh. "You even know how to use that thing, little girl? We've known each other since preschool, Mac," Bobby said as she lifted the revolver and pointed it at Mac's head. "What do you think?"

The tension in the cellar was intense, broken only by the short screeches and yelps the servants uttered every few seconds. "Let's calm down," I said, putting myself between Mac and Bobby. "No need for anyone to get shot." "Oh, how sweet," Mac said. "The library nerd is trying to play peacemaker." He took a step closer to me, and I held my hand out at Bobby so she didn't shoot.

Max's eyes flitted to Bobby then focused back on me. "This is why outsiders like you suck," Max said to me. "It takes a local to understand just how fucked up all this shit is."

"My family has been part of nearby Valor," I started to say. "My family has been part, my family has been part," Mac interrupted in a mocking voice. "Your family has been nothing but motherfuckers, treating the rest of us like we work for you or something. Well, we're tired of this shit. We're gonna destroy this cellar so no caskule is forced to be a servant ever again."

"If you do that, then you destroy us all," Bridget said. "Says you," Mac replied. "No, it's true," I said. "I read the books. Without the servants, without this cellar, the portal to hell will be wide open, and humanity will be fucked." "Oh, you read it in your books, did you, library nerd?" Mac asked, getting in close enough that our noses almost touched. "Fuck you, and fuck your books."

Let us just kill them, Mac, one of his kin said. Fucking try it, Bobby snarled. Her revolver turned to the group of caskills. But there's no need for anyone to get shot, right, library nerd? Mac asked me. Isn't that what you said? It is, I replied. I slowly slid the object out of my coat. Mac was so focused on intimidating me that he didn't even notice. There is no need at all for anyone to get shot,

I twisted my wrist and shoved the dagger into Mac's belly. Mac oofed and stumbled back, his hands clutching the dagger's handle. He looked down at his belly and the blood pouring out around the dagger. Then he looked up at me and all the macho bullshit was gone from his eyes. All I could see was a scared little boy. A scared little boy who had been told stories his whole life. Stories about his family and their fate. Stories about the cellar,

Stories about how one day, they'd all come to live in the cellar. Matt just hadn't realized that his day had come. Bobby leaped in front of me, but I held up a hand. "No," I said. "You know how it has to be done. Clem has to do it," Bridget said. Bobby backed off. The rest of the Caskell had no idea what to do. The brains of the group was quickly bleeding out from a huge, ceremonial dagger having been shoved through his guts.

Whatever brain cells the rest shared were frying out quickly. I moved in close and yanked the dagger free from Mac's belly. He fell to his knees as a waterfall of blood spilled out onto the cellar's dirt floor. He looked up at me with pleading eyes. I put the dagger through one of those eyes, then I pulled it out and slashed across Mac's throat just to be sure. His body slumped to the side, and his blood soaked into the dirt.

It wasn't until the servant moaned with hunger at the sight and smell of all that blood that the rest of the Caskills sprang into action. Well, sprang would be too generous a word. Stirred might be better. They let the servant go and stared down at Mac's body. Then they looked up at me. "Sorry," I said as I rushed them.

Now, this would be the point where I describe how I suddenly was able to move swiftly through the caskills, slicing and stabbing with the dagger until they were all bleeding out on the cellar floor. But being the overseer didn't mean I suddenly had ninja powers. Not even close. As the servant crawled to Matt's body to lap up the blood, still spurting from his neck, the caskill picked up shovels and pickaxes and crowbars and came at me.

I took a hit to the left shoulder from a shovel and was instantly on my knees. But I was able to slash with the dagger and drop the caskill that had hit me. I'm pretty sure I hit his femoral artery because he was almost dead by the time he fell to the floor. A crowbar almost took my head off, but I threw myself to the dirt just as it was swung at me. I didn't get out of the way of the second swing, and the back of my right calf exploded with pain.

I rolled onto my back and did what I could, which was blindly swing the dagger in all directions. A shovel hit my stomach. I cried out, but then felt the dagger connect with someone. A pickaxe split the dirt right next to my head. But again, I managed to slice someone else. Whoever had tried to nail me with the pickaxe should have stepped back instead of trying to pry it out of the dirt. A shadow fell across me and I looked up to see a post hole digger raised right above my face.

Then it came for me. I managed to roll to the side, but couldn't go far since the pickaxe was still there, close to my head. But it was enough to keep me from being decapitated. Although, I did lose a little hair and skin on the back of my scalp.

Hands pulled me up off the floor, and I almost jammed the dagger into Bobby's chest. "Oh shit, sorry!" I said. Bobby shrugged and pushed me to the side so Bridget could step forward. "That's enough!" Bridget said. Her words weren't loud, definitely not even close to a shout, but they held power, and the caskills froze where they stood, their eyes on her.

"You all know what you are here for," Bridget said. "It ain't fair!" One of the caskills yelled. "No, it's not," Bridget said. "But we all do our parts. Pieces of the whole," Bobby said. The caskills looked nervous and scared. I couldn't blame them. All over the cellar, the dirt was being disturbed as planted servants clawed their way up to the surface, drawn by the meals I had provided.

The remaining brothers moved into a tight clump as the servants tore their kin's corpses apart. The creatures lapped up the blood that had been spilled, then took the body parts they'd harvested and crawled back into their holes. "I don't want to be like them," McCaskill said. He was keeping weight off his left leg, and I could see the bottom half of his jeans was soaked in blood. He was probably the one who had tried to get me with the pickaxe. Yeah, he really should have gotten out of the way.

"It isn't up to you," Bridget said. "Just like it isn't up to Clem here. He didn't ask to be the Overseer, but that's the fate of his bloodline. Just like being servants is the fate of yours. Sorry," I said. Then I recited the first passage I read in the Overseer book. The Caskills fell to their knees, their hands clamped over their ears. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see Bobby and Bridget backing away toward the stairs, but I didn't need them. I knew what my job was.

I continued to recite the passages I had memorized as the Caskills writhed and hissed on the dirt floor. They tried to beg me to stop, but soon their mouths couldn't form the words anymore. When I finished with my recitations, the Caskills were no longer Caskills. Their transformations were complete. They were servants of the cellar. I sighed as I looked at the shovels and pickaxes that lay there on the cellar floor.

I wished I'd brought some gloves. The caskills had had some on, but they all tore when their hands changed. Gloves couldn't hold those talons, and the webbing between their fingers forced the shredded gloves to fall right off. I'd know to bring gloves next time. The Book of Dirt had said that the Overseer must dig the servants' first holes for them. This established the proper bond between the Overseer and the servants, so there wouldn't be any unfortunate accidents later when the servants grew hungry. And they would grow hungry.

and I, unfortunately, would be the one to feed them. With blisters oozing from my palms and fingers, I walked up the stairs and into the farmhouse kitchen where Bridget and Bobby were waiting for me. "'I have a first aid kit in my truck,' Bridget said. "'I'll get it,' Bobby said and quickly left the kitchen. Bridget smiled at me, but the smile didn't stay for very long. "'You all right, Clem?' she asked me. As I stood there in the kitchen, my clothes covered in dirt and blood."

About as good as can be expected, I said. Do you have a list? She studied me for a minute, then nodded. She pulled the list out of her back pocket and handed it to me. On the list were the names of neighbors and acquaintances. Townsfolk I knew from checking books out to them at the library. People I had passed pleasantries with at Hildy's Diner. After reading through the list, I tucked it into my own pocket, then held out my hand.

"You don't need the other list," Bridget said. "They'll be brought here when they are needed." "I want to see the names," I said, my hand still held out. After a few seconds, Bridget nodded and produced a second list. She hesitated, then finally gave it to me. "They aren't to know," she said. "Of course not," I said as I studied the list. More names I knew, more townsfolk I had spoken to at Hildy's or checked out books to at the library.

There were singles and entire families on the list. I folded it up but didn't put it in my pocket with the other list. "You lied to me," I said to Bridget. She stiffened and I gave her a smile. "Relax, I know you did it because I wouldn't have understood then." Bridget didn't reply. She just kept watching me. "When you took me to Farley's, you knew the Caskills would be there," I said. "You knew Mac would pick up on me being the next in line as overseer, and you knew it would piss him off."

"Matt's been pissed off for a long time," Bridget said. "I'm sure he has," I responded. "Knowing your fate is to be a servant can do that to you." I sighed and shook my head. "But that's not what you lied to me about," I said. Bridget frowned, her eyebrows raised. "No, what you lied to me about was that there are two types of people in Nearby Valley," I said. "There are way more than two types." She nodded but stayed silent.

"There are folks like the Caskills, destined to be servants," I continued. "There are folks like you and me, who are here to maintain the order of the portal and to administer to the servants." Her eyes were locked onto mine. "There are also folks that aren't supposed to be servants and aren't supposed to be administrators," I said. "Just regular folks that help keep nearby valley running like a normal town should. I didn't mention them because they are just that, Clem," Bridget said. "Normal,

"I'm not talking about them," I said. "No, the people you didn't tell me about "are that fourth type, not servants, "not administrators, not normal." I could see in her eyes that she finally understood. It broke my heart that fear crept into those beautiful eyes. "The fourth type of folks are destined to be food, "right, Bridget?" She nodded, and the fear in her eyes grew. Then she looked at the dagger I still held. I hadn't realized I had kept a hold of it while I was reading the lists.

I shrugged and tucked it back inside my coat, my bloody, dirty coat. "Oh shit," I said. "Sorry, that must have freaked you out." Bridget relaxed and her huge smile returned. "I thought you were going to..." She started to say then shook her head. "Nevermind, you thought what?" I asked. "Well, you were talking about the folks that are food and how you thought I lied to you and you still had the dagger and..." I stopped her words as I moved in close and gave her a quick kiss.

"Chill," I said. "You're administration just like me. We're good, okay?" "Okay," she said as her body shuddered. "Phew, you had me there. I know," I said. "Sorry, I had to have a little fun." "Well, I think several rounds of drinks at Farley sounds way more fun," she said. She glanced past me at the cellar door. "We good down there?" "We're good down there," I said. "Great," she said and started to leave the kitchen.

I grabbed her arm and winced at the pain from the blisters and spun her around. "But just so we're clear," I said, not unkindly, "don't ever lie to me again, okay?" Her smile slipped from her face as I walked past her and out of the house. "Oh, and Bridget?" I called back over my shoulder. "When you start work on the place, make sure you don't disturb the good bones, especially the ones in the cellar." "Cute, asshole," she called out, but I could hear the smile in her voice return.

I think you mean cute overseer, I said, and walked to the pickup truck where Bobby was waiting with the first aid kit. Come on, keeping Hal at bay makes me thirsty. Let's go get us those drinks at Farley's.