Chauncy Higgs fearfully crept through the dark house, rotting board creaking underneath his boots. Shaky breaths left his chest. Every shadow in every corner was an early grave. Every painting haphazardly hung on the walls depicted his last moments. Every sound through the halls of the home was doom approaching. He struggled to keep his composure, sticking to Tornado Joe’s side.

  Joe looked at the walls, putting together the tattered pieces of a picture. He could see a beautiful lady in each painting, in front of a noble home not unlike the one he found himself in. The woman stood with what appeared to be the hired help, two large men in white striped uniforms. The paintings exuded the nobility of Southern wealth. His blue eyes flicked around as he studied the old furniture, unused for many years. He could tell they were once fine articles, now ransacked and abandoned.

  “This must’ve been Persephone’s home…” He spoke low, bending over.

  Chauncy watched as Joe picked up a dusty military cap. It looked to him like a United States Army head cover, the kind he had seen members of the Bonus Army wearing in Richmond. Tucked within the cap, a stained photo depicted the woman from the paintings.

  “A lover?” Joe’s western-style riding hat suddenly felt a little more like the deerstalker hat of the famed fictional detective.

  His skin crawled as he heard a sobbing from somewhere in the floor above him. It echoed through the halls eerily. Chauncy shivered, balling his hands into fists. Joe turned his head to the staircase.

  “This is such a shit job… I knew it…” Chauncy moaned as he went up the steps behind Tornado Joe. “I ALWAYS get the shit jobs…”

  “Can’t you use that Suggestion on yourself?” Joe glared down at him, “We gotta keep her occupied so the witches can do their thing.

  “No! Suggestion doesn’t work that way, we can’t use it on ourselves!”

  “Hearts, man.” Joe shook his head, “You guys have the stupidest spells, I swear.”

  He looked down the hall, hearing hard steps on the boards. They sounded heavy, not like those of a woman. His eyes were drawn to the door at the very end of the hall. It creaked as it opened only slightly. The subtle invitation was cut short as it flung itself open with incredible force. The suddenness of it made Chauncy jump.

  A chorus of whispers swept up in a crescendo as Joe approached the door with confident steps. He passed the open doors of the many rooms in the hall, all of them depicting the decay of the decades. The figures of men stood in every corner, souls trapped in Persephone’s home. Looks of horror, anguish, and cruelty colored their milky white eyes. They were all covered in blood, their last moments frozen in time as they stood watch in the dim rooms of Persephone’s manor.

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  “Don’t look at them, Chauncy.” Joe kept his eyes forward. He put his blinders on, focused on the door at the end of the hall.

  When at last the two Guns stepped into the room at the end of the hall, they saw what Persephone wanted them to see. Not the last moments of her victims, but her own.

  An American flag, folded into a triangle, sat in a wooden box on the shelf above the large bed. Next to it, the photo of an soldier behind cracked glass. The bed was as it was decades ago, not decayed with time like everything else. The sheets were a mess, tangled and balled up in places. They had blood on them in places, some dried and some fresh. The torn remnants of a woman’s dress lay on the floor next to discarded striped uniform shirts and pants. Frayed ropes hung from the headboard, reddened with blood around the edges. It didn’t take deerstalker hat, a Calabash pipe, or Inverness cape to see what had happened here. Joe’s lips tightened as the echoes of the past rang through his ears. The muffled screams and defeated cries, the low grunting, the violent creaking of the headboard. He lowered his head, feeling the sadness of the crime which had taken place here deep in his gut.

  Persephone’s vengeful spirit silently rose from the mattress, her head hung. Dark hair draped down her bare body, covering the bed and crawling across the floor. Chauncy’s suggestion dropped from Tornado Joe as he stared at the ghost in horror. The door slammed behind them.

  Joe looked up at her, his eyes determined and unafraid. Chauncy looked to him, his mind racing to find Joe’s angle.

  “I’m sorry, Persephone, for what happened to you.” His voice was warm and unshaken. No Suggestion painted his mind, only calm focus. “You did not deserve any of this.”

  He removed his hat, his red hair tumbling below his ears, and placed it at his chest. Tornado Joe removed all malice from his mind, all defensiveness, and all fear. He took a knee and lowered his head to the Banshee, paying respect to the site of her horrible fate. Chauncy felt the urge to do the same, taking a knee and swiping off his hat.

  In that moment, the Banshee sensed the spirit of the Ganconer nearby, its insidious masculinity far exceeding the respectful male energy of the two Guns in her presence. Her prey did not seem so appealing anymore, and she screeched with rage as she shot up through the ceiling. Her hair rose in an endless sheet of black.

  Joe felt the floor collapse under him into murky water. The sensation of tumbling through the deep overcame him again, though no hands gripped his arms or legs. For a long time he sunk deep, watching the endless blue fade to black around him. Joe wondered if this was it, if she had indeed cut him down with that hateful shriek.

  He emerged from the bog water, dripping onto its murky surface. His hat floated nearby; he grabbed it mindlessly and placed it atop his wet hair. Joe felt like he needed multiple baths, many bars of soap, and brand new clothing entirely. He sat on his knees a moment, letting the algae cling to his jeans as he regained himself. He noticed the weight of the Gellerite on his hip again, his pistol in its holster.

  Joe looked around for Chauncy. The younger Higgs was on his feet now, looking back at him. The boy was clearly at his limit, but he still stood tall. Joe respected that, he hadn’t expected such tenacity from such a young Gun.

  The familiar cracks of Elroy’s magically augmented gunshots rang out through the fog. The fighting was not over, he had to get back into it. Joe picked himself up without swiping the mud from his pants. He was past the point of appearances. His heard turned towards the sounds of battle, he gathered what Resolve he had left and prepared to join in. Chauncy took a long breath and stepped up beside him.