August’s wasp stunt did not scare off the police. I’m not sure why he thought it would. But the investigator who knocked on my door today to thank me and see if I was ok, said today will be their last day in the house. There’s nothing more they can find. He couldn’t tell me anything, of course. Only that he didn’t suspect anyone else in the neighborhood should worry. That’s the comfortable conclusion to come to, and I can’t fault him for it, but I wished I could tell him…
For now though, I think August is done haunting. I drew the Six of Pentacles today and it sent him careening into the dark and twisted halls of his past.
“The Six suggests prosperity and growth.” He was silent, floating in the corner like a tweed balloon.
“August?” As I watched he slowly descended, his feet silently hit the floor.
“I’ve just remembered something about my time in Deadwater.” He tapped his chin and ran a hand through his seaweed green hair.
“Ok?”
“I have treasure there.”
“Treasure? Are you sure you aren’t getting confused?” I turned back to my desk. Without a sound cold fingers slipped around my throat, a gentle garrote of icy ectoplasm.
“Writer,” he hissed in my ear, tightening his grip on me. “We are going to Deadwater. Now.”
“Tomorrow. What good will a treasure do you anyway?” I’ve ceased fearing him. There’s no point to it. If he’s going to kill me, he’s going to kill me. And I doubt I’ll see it coming when he does.
“Fine. Tomorrow. You'll need a shovel.”
And he was gone. I was left to ponder this fool’s errand.