> ## Content Index > Fetch the complete content index at: https://the-shagal.ghost.io/llms.txt > Use this file to discover other available public pages before exploring further. # What Happened in Old Stone? - URL: https://the-shagal.ghost.io/what-happened-in-old-stone-part-i/ - Published: 2026-10-14T00:00:00.000Z - Updated: 2026-10-14T05:12:38.000Z - Description: Part I - Author: Marc Faulk - Tags: Stories ![](https://storage.ghost.io/c/21/b7/21b7d236-2d58-4df4-be7a-3f48ee417ff3/content/images/2026/10/IMG_5079.png) ## An ancient town A new reason to fear The first man left his house without his boots. His wife heard him on the stairs and called after him to shut the door properly. There was a draught, and the kitchen fire had gone out. He said something she did not catch. Then the latch lifted. By morning, his boots were still beside the hearth. His wife found the rest of him in the yard. Or enough of him. A hand lay beneath the washing line, palm upward, his wedding ring pressed into the mud. Beyond it, the earth had been turned over in a long, uneven patch. The vegetable beds were untouched. The gate remained bolted. Neighbours came when she screamed. One brought a blanket. It was much too large. --- The second death happened four nights later. A woman who lived alone on Tanner’s Row stepped outside sometime after midnight. She had taken the trouble to put on her good coat. They identified her by its buttons. The third was a watchman. He left his own supper cooling on the table, walked into his garden, and never reached the fence. Again, there was disturbed earth. Again, no one had heard a struggle. Old Stone began closing early. Shopkeepers barred their shutters before dusk. Parents moved children into their beds. Those who owned dogs brought them indoors; those who did not began asking whether they might borrow one. The Mayor ordered the watch to patrol in pairs. Then he wrote to the Shagal. --- Atlas stopped beneath the arch at the edge of town. The Shagal let him stand. Ahead, Old Stone climbed the hillside in narrow terraces, its houses crowded shoulder to shoulder. Damp darkened the mortar. Here and there, older walls showed through newer buildings—great fitted stones that dwarfed the little windows cut between them. A woman gathering washing saw the rider and went inside, leaving a sheet trailing in the dirt. The Shagal watched her door close. Then he urged Atlas forward. The Mayor received him in a room that smelled of lamp oil and yesterday’s fire. A tray of bread and cheese had been set out. Neither man touched it. “Three deaths,” the Mayor said. “In your letter.” “Yes.” “How many now?” The Mayor looked down at the tray. “Four.” “When?” “Last night. A gardener.” “Where is the body?” There was a pause. “What we recovered is at the mortuary.” The Shagal removed his gloves. “And the yard?” “Untouched. I gave strict instructions.” “Good. Take me there.” The Mayor remained behind his desk. “There is something I chose not to put in the letter.” The Shagal waited. “I fear magic is being used.” “Why?” “Doors opened from within. Bolts drawn back. No broken windows, no signs of anyone forcing entry.” The Mayor lowered his voice, although they were alone. “These people went outside willingly.” “That troubles me too.” “Magic is forbidden.” The Shagal pulled his gloves on again. “Then we should discover whether it’s magic before you begin looking for someone to punish.” --- The gardener’s house stood at the end of a narrow lane. His wife sat in the kitchen with a neighbour beside her. Both rose when the Mayor entered. The Shagal inclined his head. “Please. Stay seated.” He passed through to the yard. Someone had covered the remains with sacking. Beneath one edge, flies worked at a dark patch on the stone. The Shagal crouched beside it. The Mayor stayed near the door. “We thought wolves at first.” “Inside a bolted yard?” “A large cat, then. Something that could climb.” The Shagal lifted the sacking. Whatever he saw beneath it held his attention for some time. At last, he lowered it carefully. “Was any of this moved?” “No.” He studied the fence, then the walls on either side. A clay pot balanced on a low ledge. Moss grew thick along the coping stones. He found no obvious scrape, no broken timber, no place where something large had hauled itself over. Beside the water butt lay the disturbed earth. The Mayor approached as the Shagal knelt. “That was here when they found him.” A strip of turf had buckled. Beneath it, pale roots hung from clots of darker soil. The Shagal worked a finger under one piece and lifted it. “Did he keep pigs?” “No.” “Had he been digging here?” “His wife says not.” “Then I’ll ask her what it looked like yesterday.” “You think something came out of the ground?” The Shagal looked along the narrow space between the houses. “I think you were right to leave it alone.” --- The gardener’s wife had not touched the cup in front of her. The Shagal took the chair opposite. “What was his name?” “Edren.” “Tell me about last night.” She looked at the Mayor. “Whatever you remember,” the Shagal said. “We went to bed. He complained about his knee. Said rain was coming.” Her fingers tightened around the cup. “I woke when he sat up.” “Was there a noise?” “Not that I heard.” “What did he do?” “Listened.” “For how long?” “I don’t know. I was half asleep.” “Then?” “He got out of bed.” “Did you speak to him?” “I asked where he was going.” “And what did he say?” She stared into her tea. “He said he couldn’t leave her standing outside.” The neighbour shifted beside her. The Shagal waited. “I thought he was dreaming. He used to talk in his sleep when he was tired.” “Had he ever walked outside before?” “No.” “Did you hear anyone calling?” “No.” “Did he say who was there?” The woman nodded. The Mayor leaned forward, but the Shagal kept his eyes on her. “His mother.” No one spoke. Then, very gently, the Shagal asked, “Where does she live?” The woman looked up. “We buried her before this house was built.” ---