"The Muggle newspapers are reporting disappearances—doesn't the Ministry of Magic care at all?"
Cohen flipped through the paper, scanning the article closely.
[**Coombefort Town Gazette, July 1, 1993 – Special Report**]
[**"Ghostly Shadow Attacks Townsfolk: Five Missing in Bizarre Circumstances!"**
—*By Reporter Edwin Hollingsworth*]
[**Since the day after Whitsunday (May 31), this 700-year-old wool market town has been shrouded in an unsettling gloom. According to the constable's office, five disappearances have occurred around Coombefort's central square, with the latest happening on the eve of Midsumr Night.**]
[**Mrs. Marjorie Mollick of 13 South Street told this paper she glimpsed "a form no creation of God should take" at midnight. The respected widow described seeing, through a gap in her curtains as St. Margaret's church bells struck eleven, "a shadow flowing like tar, twisting in unnatural ways." Though the town watch searched the area thoroughly, they found only a few tar-like sars on the cobblestones.**]
[**Amid growing rumors, Mayor Lewis Fitzroy addressed the public this morning outside the Tudor Town Hall (Wool rchants' Guild). "We're working with the Wiltshire police," the three-term Conservative said, wiping his silver pocket watch chain. "I urge everyone to lock their doors and windows during curfew hours—10 p.m. to 5 a.m. May God help us bring this evildoer to justice soon."**]
[**Strangely, when asked if supernatural forces might be involved, the mayor abruptly ended the interview. His press secretary later delivered a handwritten note stressing that "all speculation should be grounded in reason and evidence."**]
"Bet you anything Mayor Lewis has a pair of purple undies stashed at that widow's place," Cohen mused thoughtfully.
"Why purple undies?" the Earl asked, curiosity piqued, before realizing Cohen had derailed him. "Wait a sec—you're supposed to be hunting a monster!"
"Because his na's Lewis, duh," Cohen said, leaning back with a smirk. "And the witness is a widow. But that's beside the point—no monster's gonna attack purple underwear."
"This has literally nothing to do with purple underwear!" the Earl squawked. "Where does the paper even ntion that? Are you still looking for this monster or what?"
"Why are you more worked up about it than I am? Yeah, I'll look for it, but it's not so urgent we can't chat for a bit," Cohen said, flipping to the next page of the newspaper. Sadly, the report ended with the mayor dodging questions.
Most news stories padded a simple fact with a ton of fluff just to sell copies. One sentence could've sumd it up.
From what Edward had said, there shouldn't be any wizards around here except Grandma Martha. So even if so magical creature was snatching people, the mayor probably wouldn't recognize it.
"Here's the deal: the mayor's seen this monster but doesn't know what it is. He's keeping quiet to avoid a panic. Otherwise, he'd just pin it on so infamous serial killer and call it a day," Cohen reasoned. "The disappearances are around the central square—and there's that tar-like residue…"
"Gotta be sothing that breathes fire," the Earl chid in. "Fire-breathers drool that kind of stuff. What about that chira you ntioned last ti?"
"I seriously doubt it's a chira," Cohen said. "If it were so beast picking off random townsfolk, we'd see blood on the ground, not tar stains."
"What if it's smarter than a beast?" the Earl pressed, unconvinced. "Like that basilisk dad of yours…"
"Then it wouldn't risk grabbing people," Cohen countered. "If it's survived this long, it wouldn't bother eating humans for food. Human at's not even that good—way less than beef or lamb."
"Makes sense, I guess…" the Earl said, tilting his head.
Suddenly, Cohen's gaze locked onto the Earl, making his feathers bristle. That look usually ant…
"Go check out the central square," Cohen said. "Scope it out thoroughly and report back."
"What if *I* go missing?!" the Earl protested. "And I still think it's a chira—they eat everything! The lion head eats at, the goat head eats grass, and the snake tail eats birds!"
"You'll be fine. It can't fly, at least," Cohen reassured him. "Just dodge the lion's fire breath."
"And what about you?! You're the one who wants to find it! Why don't *you* go?" the Earl grumbled. "I'm just a bird! Every species should stick to its own job!"
"Because I've got to track down that 'nonexistent basent,'" Cohen said. "And if we're going by 'every species does its own thing,' then as a dentor, shouldn't I…"
"Fine, you win," the Earl muttered, flapping his wings reluctantly and soaring out the window.
He wasn't scared of a chira—however dangerous or tricky it might be, escaping as a bird was a piece of cake.
After the Earl left to scout for clues, Cohen kicked off his exploration of the "basent" at Norton's old family ho.
First stop: the study. It was packed with magic books and tools for making specins. Ever since Charlson's death, it seed Martha had kept the place spotless. The neatly arranged books on the shelves didn't have a speck of dust.
Sure, Charlson might've been a simp, but he'd clearly won Martha's heart…
"A diary?"
Cohen's sharp eyes spotted a thick gray book on the shelf and pulled it down. It looked like sothing bought from a Muggle street—wizards usually used bound parchnt, not this cheap, yellowing industrial paper.
But seriously… who keeps a diary these days?
Cohen plopped the diary onto the study desk and flipped it open to the first page.
It started in 1981.
That was the year Cohen was born—and the year Charlson lost it. This could very well hold records of that basent monster Charlson had rambled about.
From January to September 1981, everything seed normal. Just Charlson's mundane scribbles: nagging Edward about his divorce again, getting scolded by Martha, rumors swirling after the Dark Lord's fall—typical old-man stuff.
He'd always been dead-set against Edward marrying Rose.
Guess the Burke family's reputation was just that bad.
But by late September, Cohen noticed a shift in the diary's tone.
On September 30, Charlson first ntioned strange noises in the house.
[**I heard roars from all kinds of animals—under the bed, inside the walls. But Martha says it's just my old age and my ears playing tricks on .**]
(End of Chapter)
Reviews
All reviews (0)