Night of the Spirits      

by sloanranger

Part 4

The dog was lying in the corner of the front room of the cabin, bundled in an old blanket. Angus went to get him. Close up, the blanket looked like - why it was, the very same yellow blanket Cray'd had on his last bed.

"Missus Crayton, that's your bed blanket. Ain't new, but it's mighty fine to be burying a dog in. You want I should bring it back?"

"It was what Jeb asked fer Angus, for the dog be wrapped in his blanket. You know he loved that hound."

Angus said nothing, just grunted and picked up the dog. The animal was heavy for an old hound dog and the Scot tried to shift his weight so's he could carry him easier.

"Just put him as close to the grave as you can get. If the earth's still loose," Missus Crayton said, "I reckon you could put him right on top of Jeb. Jest so he ain't dug up later. Jeb'd hate that, his dog dug up or got to by the wild things."

"Yes'm, Missus Crayton," he said, and started out.

"You ain't after being a superstitious man Angus, it bein' All Hallow's eve'?"

"What's that, Missus Cray'?" The Scot was already pretty far into his cups.

"I say, it's the night before the saint's day - night of the spirits."

Angus almost dropped his load then - he was a superstitious man. But his inebriation cushioned him from the depth of his dread and he shook it off and left.

(To be continued).