There is no Halloween Candy in my near future. My blood sugar is 284. Hardly the stuff to tolerate little Hersheys or Reese cups.

I come bearing gifts and groveling for my earlier perceived crankiness. Behold –

A snippet from a future life of Sir Guy. Okay, it’s a snippet of his next life – one we don’t see, just his heirs and the problems caused politically. Henry VII has stepped to the throne, after defeating (murdering) Richard III on Bosworth Field. Sir Guy died on that field, by Richard’s side… but not before he pulled a stunt or two to ensure his family wasn’t evicted or taxed to death.

And his ghost seems to have plenty to say as well…

Deep in the crypt of Ripley’s, where vines and mold thrived, where bodies slowly decayed, dust swirled around the ancient stone floor, trailings of invisible footsteps becoming visible to those who lived in the dark. An eerie glow lit the dank corridor, as a tall being in long clothes walked the path. As she approached a solitary niche, black wings unfurled, the tips tracing in the ground. Spiraling, ever-changing eyes looked down at the faded, tattered remnants of a once bright family banner, the breeze from her passing ruffling the decrepit material.

Rise! Rise! Your children cry out for you.

Long, skeletal legs emerged from the side of the sarcophagus, the rest of the body following. Remnants of leather, sinew, and hanks of long, black hair clung to the bones. As his legs hung over the edge, He propped his elbows on his knees and rested his skull in his hands. Already? I just died!

The angel stopped in her tracks. Henry attempts to count and acquire what you have accrued over all these centuries and leans towards appointing a guardian over your heir and your family.


A Winchester, at that.

The fuck, you say!

Several long dead nuns leaned out from their own resting places, fury in their faces, and long fingers over their mouths.

Language! Shhh! Remember where you lay!

The angel wasn’t quite finished pestering her charge. And Winchester has his eyes on your widow.

The skeleton shot to his feet, eyes first, followed by clothing, skin, hair filling in. He pulled up to his terrible height. NO! Not Jehenne!

Then hurry. Douma was wasting no time. You do not have much time before you breathe the air again. She took in his puzzled look. Sunrise. Jehenne’s labor has begun.

He grasped his side, ensuring his sword was still attached to it. He is mine to deal with.

Winchester, yes. It is his time, and I decided you would enjoy his taking more than I.

The knight’s grin was evil. And the king?

Him? You may frighten, but you may not take his life.

The dark knight scowled and stormed down the corridor, his sword swinging and banging against his leg. Fek my eyes!

Almost every nun laid to rest in the crypt stuck their heads out of their coffins. SHHHHHH! My son! Your language!

Oh, shut it and sod off!

Douma was smiling as she watched the knight rise in the air and disappear, still cursing as he rose through the floor and into the gardens.