***
Loud rock music blasted through the small bedroom. The monster finished picking a bone from her teeth before she picked up.
“Hello?” she asked, mimicking Penny’s voice.
“Why did you call me?” a drunken voice asked from the other end of the phone.
“No reason. Accident call,” the monster said. “When will you be home?”
“I’m leaving now,” the voice promised. “But don’t stay up. It’s a half hour drive.”
“All right. See you later, Mom.”
The monster hung up and put the phone back on the bed. She put her feet on to the bed and crossed her arms behind her back. Look like she had thirty minutes of time to kill.
Majanka Verstraete begged her Mom to teach her how to read while she was still in kindergarten. By the time she finished fifth grade, she had read through the entire children’s section of her hometown library.
She wrote her first story when she was seven years old, and hasn’t stopped writing since. With an imagination that never sleeps, and hundreds of possible book characters screaming for her attention, writing is more than a passion for her.
She writes about all things supernatural for children of all ages. She’s tried to write contemporary novels before, but something paranormal always manages to crawl in.
Majanka is currently studying for her Master of Laws degree, and hopes one day to be able to combine her passions for law and writing. When she’s not writing, reading or studying, she likes watching “The Vampire Diaries” and “Game of Thrones,” spending time with her friends, or playing “World of Warcraft.”
Her debut picture book, “Valentina and the Haunted Mansion” released in May 2013, and was published by Evolved Publishing. She is now working on her second picture book, “Valentina and the Whackadoodle Witch”, which will be published in December 2013.
She has a lower grade chapter book, “The Doll Maker” coming out in September 2013. This is the first book in the Weirdville series, a series of scary books for kids. The second and third book will be released in December 2013, along with an audio book for “The Doll Maker”.
Her debut young adult novel, “Fractured”, the first book in the Mirrorland series, will release in September 2013 by InkSpell Publishing. You can now pre-order your copy.
Website: https://majankaverstraete.com
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/4813098.Majanka_Verstraete
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Majanka-Verstraete/398570476832115
Twitter: @iheartreads
Preorder your copy of Fractured here: https://www.inkspellpublishing.com/1/post/2013/07/fractured-is-available-for-preorder.html
The Jailer
By: Cindy Bartolotta
©2013 by Cindy Bartolotta
Santo Gaetanno, a small village nestled in the hills of Sicily, had been in existence since the early tenth century. As the outside world grew and technology advanced, it all seemed to bypass Santo Gaetanno.
Like most of the other local towns, Santo Gaetanno had a jail. What made theirs unique was the village’s central location. For centuries, all executions for the district, though there weren’t many, were performed on the gallows in the prison basement.
In the mid-1800’s Pasquale Barrone was the jailer in Santo Gaetanno, a position he inherited from his father, who inherited it from his father. In fact, all the jailers in Santo Gaetanno had been men from the Barrone family.
The jailer though, was not the executioner. Since all executions were performed at midnight, the executioner’s identity was never known.
The jailer’s duties were quite simple. If there were no prisoners, he had nothing to do. If there were prisoners, he was required to check on them hourly, see they were fed twice a day, and be within the building should the prisoner have a visitor.
If an execution was ordered, the jailer had been known to fill in for the local priest to comfort the prisoner in his last moments. But with the execution itself, the jailer had no part. When Pasquale retired, his oldest son, Giuseppe, inherited the position. Unlike most of the previous jailers, Giuseppe was not married, so didn’t mind living in the free apartment above the jail. The apartment, a perk of the job, was spacious by village standards, but was seldom used as wives found living above the jail quite unacceptable.
Giuseppe took his job seriously, including keeping all the secrets at the jail. Some were handed down from his father and his father’s father, some were from cases, and some were confessions. The biggest secret dealt with the executions.
Once Giuseppe settled in as jailer, Pasquale planned to take the rest of his family and move north to a farm near the coast so his wife, Angelina, could be closer to her ailing father. While Angelina packed, Pasquale spent the week in Santo Gaetanno at the jail with his son.
There were no prisoners to deal with, so it was a nice visit.
During Pasquale’s last day there, the men sat on the balcony enjoying their last dinner together. Giuseppe poured two glasses of homemade red wine while his father cut two thick slices of crusty bread. Giuseppe set a plate with cheese, figs and sausage on the table next to a clay jar of cured, locally grown olives. After saying grace, the men started to eat.
Conversation eventually got to the village executions.
Pasquale spoke first. “Does the man still come at night?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Have you ever--?”
Giuseppe interrupted, finishing the question. “Have I ever seen him?” Giuseppe shook his head. “No, Papa. You always told me never to look at the man who comes after an execution.”
Pasquale nodded. “Good.”
“Is Mamma happy to be moving?”
“Yes, but she will miss her Giuseppe.” He reached across the rustic wooden table tussling his son’s dark, curly hair.
“Aw, Papa.”
“Yes,” the old man continued. “I will miss my Giuseppe, too.”
“I can always visit you.”
“You remember you have responsibilities here.” He shook his finger at his son.
“Yes, Papa.”
The two ate in silence for a few minutes. “I did look once,” Pasquale said quietly after some time had passed.
Giuseppe’s eyes got big. “Pardon, Papa? Did you say you looked once?”
The old man nodded.
“But Papa, you told me never to look.”
He shrugged. “I know. But I had to look. Just once, you understand.”
“And nothing happened?”
“Nothing happened, but I will tell you, I was scared.”
Giuseppe looked at his father, surprised that something had scared the big man. Then he looked down and spoke softly, ashamed.
“Papa--? I too have looked out the window. I only did it once—just a fast peek, but never again. I was…I was scared too.”
“Tell me what you saw.”
“Someone in a hooded robe.”
Pasquale nodded and started to laugh. “I guess we are really so much alike.”
“What did you see when you looked, Papa?”
“The same thing. Just someone in a hooded robe.”
“Who is it, Papa?”
“It is supposed to be death coming for the executed prisoners. You are not supposed to look at him because if he sees you before he sees the prisoner, he will take your soul instead. Never look at him again.”
“I won’t, Papa.”
“Good. We shall never speak of it again. Let this be our secret. Now tell me Giuseppe, what’s this I hear about you and Maria Vecchio?”
Several years later, Giuseppe received word that his father had taken ill. His parents still lived on the farm in the north. He approached the town’s mayor about taking a two-month leave of absence to visit his family. The mayor readily agreed, and told Giuseppe he would contact one of the other villages to have their jailer cover for him while he was away.
“If it is okay, Signori Andolini, let
me contact my friend, Angelo. He’s the jailer over in Progianno. Perhaps he can fill in for me.”
The mayor agreed.
Giuseppe left that afternoon to visit his friend, arriving there just in time for the evening meal. Angelo invited him to dine with them.
After eating, the men sat outside in the cool evening breeze.
“So tell me, my good friend. What brings you to my house tonight?”
“I am in need of a favor.”
Angelo poured two glasses of wine. “Tell me what you need.”
Giuseppe explained about his father’s illness and how he needed someone to fill in for him.”
“Sure that won’t be a problem. If someone is arrested in the village, they will just have to transport him to the Santo Gaetanno jail.”
“Grazzi, Angelo, my old friend. But I have one more thing you need to know. You must swear you will never repeat what I am about to tell you.”
Angelo’s eyes narrowed. “What is it Giuseppe?”
“You must swear.”
“I swear.”
In hushed whispers, Giuseppe told Angelo about the robed figure who knocks at the door every time a prisoner is executed.”
Angelo started to laugh—first a chuckle, then so hard he almost choked. “Giuseppe…are you… are you trying to make me laugh to death?”
Giuseppe looked at Angelo as if he were crazy. “What are you saying?”
Wiping the tears from his eyes, Angelo answered. “That’s an old wives tale, Giuseppe. Surely you don’t believe it.”
“I do, Angelo. And for your safety, if there are any executions while I am away, I want you to promise me you will not look upon the robed man.”
Angelo just looked at his friend.
“You swore you would never repeat what I told you; now promise me you will not look.”
To placate Giuseppe, Angelo promised and swore again never to repeat that conversation and he swore he would not look if someone knocked at the door after an execution.
Thus, it was arranged that Giuseppe would leave the next morning and Angelo would arrive in Santo Gaetanno if and when he was needed.
During the time Angelo was the temporary jailer, he spent little time in Santo Gaetanno. There were no executions and Angelo had the only prisoner serve his time in Progianno’s jail.
Several weeks before Giuseppe was due to return, Vincenzo Rocco, a resident of Santo Gaetanno, accused his neighbor of stealing grapes from his vineyard and was seen beating him to death. Witnesses came forward, but when the authorities went to the man’s house, Vincenzo was not there. They searched and searched and eventually found the man holed up in an underground fruit cellar nearby. He was arrested and taken to the jail. Angelo was summoned.
Word of the arrest reached Giuseppe in the north. Though Pasquale recovered from his illness, he was still weak. Giuseppe told his father about Vincenzo.
“Ah—a hot head, that one. I am sure he is guilty.”
“I must get back, Papa. With witnesses, Vincenzo surely will be executed.”
“Angelo is there.”
“I know, Papa. But I feel something will go wrong.”
Pasquale nodded. “Then hurry.”
Giuseppe embraced his father and left. It was a two day journey back to Santo Gaetanno.
Vincenzo’s trial took less than a day. Despite his constant outbursts proclaiming his innocence, there was no disputing the witnesses and the evidence. He was found guilty and sentenced to hang that very night. Angelo, meanwhile, was looking forward to proving Giuseppe’s warning was nothing more than an old wives tale.
At eleven thirty, the mayor, the local priest, two guards and the executioner entered the jail. The priest stayed with the prisoner to hear any last words of confessions while the executioner and the guards went into the cellar to prepare the gallows. The mayor stayed to talk to Angelo.
A few minutes to twelve, the guards were ready. Vincenzo, a shadow of his former boisterous self, was securely shackled and escorted below between the guards. The priest followed the group to the cellar.
At the door, the mayor turned to Angelo. “You don’t have to, but you are welcome to witness the execution.”
“That’s okay, sir. I will wait up here.”
The mayor nodded and closed the door behind him.
Pressing his ear against the door, Angelo struggled to make out the mayor’s words through the thick wood. He opened the door a couple of inches.
“Vincenzo Rocco, you have been found guilty of the crime of murder and sentenced to death. Do you have anything to say?
He spit on the ground. “No! I killed him and I’m glad I did. He stole my grapes. I suspected for some time he had been doing so and I finally caught him. I’m glad he’s dead!”
“May God, have mercy on your soul, my son.” The priest intoned.
Angelo could hear the shackle chains hitting against the wooden steps leading to the gallows’s platform. Vincenzo’s screaming became muffled, and then turned to a whimper.
After a minute, the mayor said, “It is time.”
There was a sound of a wooden door swinging and the thud of the body dropping.
Caught up in the moment, Angelo jumped when someone knocked at the outside door. He opened it and looked into the skeletal face of death.
“Dios mio!” the priest exclaimed from below. “Lord protect us!”
When Giuseppe arrived the next day, gossip was rampant. He headed directly to the jail to confront Angelo. It was obvious something happened--something very, very bad.
The mayor intercepted him before he went inside.
“Giuseppe. He is dead. Your friend Angelo is dead.”
“How? What happened?”
The mayor shook his head. “We don’t know. Vincenzo Rocco was being executed. In his last minutes, he confessed to the crime. At midnight the lever was pulled. He hung there, kicking and screaming, and then he went still. We heard a thud upstairs and suddenly the rope snapped.”
“What do you mean snapped?”
“Came apart like it was cut in two.”
“But how could that happened? It is a strong rope.”
The mayor nodded. “I know, but it did. And then we saw it.”
“Saw what?”
“When the rope broke, Vincenzo fell to the ground. He was still shackled; the hood was still over his head and the noose around his neck. He laid there for a minute, not moving. We thought he was dead. Then he started to scream, ‘I cheated death! I cheated death’.”
“And--?”
“Father Salvatore helped him to him feet and took the hood from his head. Then we all saw it.”
“Saw what Signori Andolini?”
“The black cloud. It appeared from nowhere; from everywhere. It felt like the snow in the winter. But it stopped in front of Vincenzo and the cloud took the shape of a person. Its back was to all of us, but Vincenzo screamed and screamed. The cloud disappeared.”
“And?”
“He’s been locked away, Giuseppe. Vincenzo has become like a crazy man who had lost his mind.”
“But what happened to Angelo?”
The mayor sighed. “He is dead,” I told you. He shook his head. “That is another sad mystery. Angelo’s hair had turned completely white; his face frozen in fear. It was only minutes after the first scream that we found him, but his body was completely stiff.” The mayor squinted at Giuseppe. “Who knows what it means?”
“I think it means that the one who should have died did not, but has lost his mind, so would be better off dead. And poor Angelo, who died in his place, suffered a fast painful death.”
The men looked at each other.
Giuseppe whispered quietly to the mayor. “I think it best no one knows the true events of what transpired here last night. Don’t you agree?”
The mayor only nodded.
Together they walked inside the jail.
Coming soon: a new mystery Novella, Beyond the Borde
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BIO:
Cindy Bartolotta hails from the winding Monongahela Valley, south of Pittsburgh. She has two short stories published in the Tribune Review’s Focus Magazine, several entries in Metamorphosis,a literary journal 2006-2007, published by the Pleasant Hill’s Public Library, and won several minor prizes in the 24-Hour writing contest. She creates a monthly word search puzzle for the Senior Times and is currently working on her second novel. Her first novel, Beyond the Border, is due out this fall.
Visit her blog, Traveler With an Idle Mind, at https://synlab.blogspot.com
Blurb for Beyond the Border:
School teacher Lizzie Grant learns a school-wide Halloween party is held for the students, a decision made after a young student disappeared on Halloween.
Curiosity peaked, Lizzie researched the disappearance and discovers the child is one of five people missing over a fifty-year span.
In the woods behind her house, Lizzie sprains her ankle and seeks help at a near-by reenactment village. Only after participating in the Festival itself, does Lizzie learn the truth about the village. She’s even more shocked to discover she, too, is now considered a missing person.
What is Lizzie’s tie to Marsh’s Landing? Can she solve the mystery?
Cindy Bartolotta
1014 West Main Street
Monongahela, PA 15063
[email protected] The Darkened Hour
By Heather Kirchhoff
© 2013 Heather Kirchhoff