Page 17 of Shadow Scorching

I brought up the copy of the note on my tablet.

To whom it may concern, including the Seattle police:

I am leaving this note so that you won’t have any questions as to what has happened to my family and me. I have always been a tidy man, and I don’t appreciate riddles. I don’t want anyone else to be blamed for my deeds, and so let this be the official record in this case.

I, Jack Farquar, confess to the authorities, and to my Maker, that I killed my wife, two sons, and daughter, and I plan to kill myself after I’ve written this. I cannot face the disgrace and the loss that I’ve brought upon my family. And I cannot ask them to face it either. My wife has never known anything but luxury, nor my children. And they never will.

As head of the household, I make this choice for us. I’m a weak man, and I can’t begin to figure a way out of this. My family are paupers, and my wife’s family would help us, but never let me forget my shortcomings.

Do not blame anyone else, this is my last act, in order that we flee this life while still in comfort and peace.

Jack R.S. Farquar

I stared at the letter. The spidery handwriting was eloquent, overly embellished, and spoke to me of a man who would never be able to face problems harder than what to choose for dinner, or what color of suit to wear.

“There was a wave of suicides during that time, right?” I asked.

“You would think, given the reports,” Carson said. “But, no. There were a few cases of suicide, but the concept that stockbrokers were throwing themselves out of windows is a myth. But for Farquar, well…that he couldn’t conceive of life without money speaks to his character. They could have soldtheir house and moved in with relatives. His sister-in-law was interviewed by the police and she said that he married her sister for money. The couple got along. He knew that her family would always help, but never let him forget that he failed to provide.”

“So, we have five deaths in that house. Or rather, four murders and a suicide. Anything else?” I had learned, over the years, don’t just stop at the obvious.

Carson consulted his notes. “Yes. Before the house was built, there was a small store—a mom and pop grocery store. It burned down, killing the owner. His wife was out of town, visiting her family, and he fell asleep in the apartment over the store. He was smoking a cigar, and didn’t put it out before he dropped off. The cigar fell onto a carpet, and caught fire. He was trapped in the bedroom and when he made it to the window, it was nailed shut. He couldn’t escape.”

“So, another death in that space—by fire,” I said, wincing. Events were certainly setting themselves up for a haunting. “Anything else?”

Carson tapped away on the laptop. “Yeah…this one goes a long ways back. Before Seattle was Seattle, there were a number of indigenous tribes that lived in the area. In addition, there were also several shifter packs. One of the wolf shifter packs was feared by all the others in the area.”

“Why?” Dante asked.

“Because they were predators. They preyed on everyone else in the area. While the Blood Moon pack was small, each member was absolutely terrifying. They prided themselves on their number of kills, and when the alpha grew weak, there would be a tournament between the strongest members and the winner would publicly execute the former leader and take the mantle.” Carson shuddered. “I would not want to run into a group of them.”

“Do they still exist today?” I asked.

“Yes, but they stay hidden, for the most part and nobody really knows what they’re up to. However, back then, they held elaborate rituals, summoning Xetanbu, the?—”

“The wolf shifter god of chaos,” Dante said. “Very few wolves even know of him, anymore, but he used to be a popular god. Coyotes coopted him.”

“What was Xetanbu like?” I asked.

“He was terrifying. He demanded blood sacrifice, and so the shifter pack would raid the tribes and other shifter packs and haul their victims back to what they called the Bleeding Rock—a large granite slab on which they tortured and killed their victims.” Carson gave me a long look. “Guess where the Bleeding Rock was located?”

I groaned. “On Michael’s land?”

“Correct. Once the Blood Moon Pack retreated to the mountains, as the tribes grew stronger and were able to resist them, the tribal leaders of the area cast the Bleeding Stone into Puget Sound and then cordoned off the area. Nobody lived there until the settlers began coming into the area.” Carson shrugged. “Whatever the case, that plot of land has seen a lot of damage over the years.

I thought over what he had said. “So, the Bleeding Rock. Do we know if there was a creature attached to the rock? Was Xetanbu attached to it? Or do you think the manifestations might be due to the build up of psychic chaos?”

“That, I don’t know,” he said. “It could be one, the other, or something entirely different.”

Orik rapped his knuckles on the table. “If we’re facing a god, this isn’t going to be easy.”

“Understatement of the year,” Carson said with a laugh. “Sophia, do you think you could pinpoint what we’re facing?”

“I can try,” she said. “I do know that hearing about these events set off my alarm bells. No wonder they’re having issues.”

“Did anybody research the previous owners? Did they have to deal with hauntings as well?” It seemed odd that they would only appear now.

“I did,” Sophia said. “So, the house was built in 1927. After the incident with Farquar, a family by the name of Klempner owned it. I couldn’t find much about them—they bought it in 1930, but they sold it four years later when the father passed away. He developed pneumonia and died, but I can’t find any other mention of them. The wife sold it in 1934, and Commander Pierce bought it. He had been in World War 1, and was a bachelor. He owned the house for seven years, when he was called back into action and sent overseas. We had just gotten involved in World War II. The house set empty—he had a housecleaner come in every two weeks to freshen the house and keep it from building up dust.”

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