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“Ghost Unlaid Forbear Thee” by Tiberius Rings & Fruitz (part 2 of 2)

Halloween has come to New York City!  In the year 1900 two boys, Simon King of London and Peter Gray of New York City, hear about a reward for any information on the infamous Spring Heeled Jack, once thought to be a demon from London, he has been seen haunting New York and scaring its citizens.  

Will these two street urchins be able to uncover the mystery of who this person is, or will they bite off far more than they can chew?

Tonight’s story is the second and final part of “Ghost Unlaid Forbear Thee” by TiberiusRings and Fruitz, With Special guest character Peter Gray, from The Adventures of Peter Gray by Domus Vocis / Nate Hopp.

Last time, Simon and Peter heard about the mysterious Spring Heeled Jack, and thought they knew who he was.  They decided to track him down for proof, only to find their suspect ready to confront them.

Read for you by Rob MacWolf — werewolf hitchhiker.

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https://thevoice.dog/episode/ghost-unlaid-forbear-thee-by-tiberius-rings-fruitz-part-2-of-2

Transcript
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You’re listening to The Voice of Dog,

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and Tonight’s story

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is the second and final part of

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“Ghost Unlaid Forbear Thee”

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by TiberiusRings

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and Fruitz, With Special guest character Peter Gray,

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from The Adventures of Peter Gray

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by Domus Vocis /

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Nate Hopp. Read by Rob Macwolf,

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Werewolf Hitchhiker. Very little is necessary for the ritual we call ‘Trick or Treat.’

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A disguised identity.

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A confrontation with a stranger.

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An implied threat of mischief and an offering given to prevent it. Whether you have witnessed such a ritual’s enactment, or whether it is mere chance resemblance, remains yours to decide upon

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conclusion of tonight’s tale.

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Last time, Simon and Peter

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heard about the mysterious Spring Heeled Jack,

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and thought they knew who he was.

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They decided to track him down for proof,

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only to find their suspect

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ready to confront them.

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Please enjoy “Ghost Unlaid Forbear Thee”

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by TiberiusRings and Fruitz , Part 2 of 2 I was up on my feet and turning to run,

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along with Peter,

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but Fiz grabbed us by our suspenders and shirts to hold us back. When he turned us around we saw he had put the churro completely in his mouth so he could use both hands.

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“Stay” was all he said.

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We damn well stayed. “Why follow?” he asked, plucking the churro out of his muzzle. I gulped and looked at Peter.

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I was about to open my mouth when Fiz cut me off.

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“Been following for hours. I know.”

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“Well, you see, sir,” I gulped,

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looking out of the corner of my eye at Peter.

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We were standing ramrod straight,

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nervous, shaking, but I had to fake it.

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I took a deep breath and exhaled and pretended to be far more calm than I had any right to be.

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“We know you’re a master knife thrower.”

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Fiz tilted his head to the side.

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“We…we wanted to learn how!”

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I nudged Peter with my foot.

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He nodded rapidly and grinned.

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“Yeah! Could you teach us, sir? We’re

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really good students!”

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“Dangerous,” Fiz said when he finished the churro and

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dusted his hands off his pants.

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He looked between us.

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“No throw at people. No throw at animals. No throw at anything but what Fiz tells you.”

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“Of course!” I said with a smile. A nervous one.

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“Good!” the black fox said and then stretched his arms up.

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“Dinner, you both come.

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But first we get brother. Come!”

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And like that we were either in the company of a very nice man

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or someone who would kill us before the sun rose. —--------

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“You were doing what?!”

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A white fox with purple eyes glared at the black fox with gold eyes.

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We had walked down to the patent office where Fiz’s twin brother worked.

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The whole way we had been anxious about it

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—what if this was where he planned to kill us?

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What if this was where he hid the bodies?

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Instead we were in the back office

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on a darkening Halloween night.

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There were desks

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everywhere, and so much paper.

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Books and ledgers and drawings of things I couldn’t explain if I tried.

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I had never been inside an office before

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and when the white fox, whose name was Ruttiger,

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or Rut for short,

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saw us he glared at his twin.

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“What are you doing, picking up street urchins?”

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“They follow me,” Fiz said with a smile and a wag of his tail. “Hard

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to do. Also want to learn to throw knife.

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knife.” “Fiz…” Rut rubbed the bridge of his muzzle.

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“You can’t go around teaching young kids how to throw sharp knives at things. It’s dangerous.

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dangerous.” “We promised to not throw them

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at anyone,” Peter said with a grin.

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He had helped himself to some of the sweets that he found in a bowl on a desk.

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A bit of chocolate was stuck on his fur near his upper lip.

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Rut looked at Peter,

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then me, and finally back to Peter.

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“Don’t touch anything in here.

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Just…sit down while I finish up my work.

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Are they coming with us to dinner,

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Fiz?” “Uh-huh!” Fiz nodded excitedly.

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“Rut cooking so good!” “Uuuugh,” the white fox groaned and dramatically let his head fall to the desk.

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He looked up when he saw both Peter and myself sitting in office chairs.

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These were the kind that could spin!

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So that was what we were doing.

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I could see my friend the twins pass by as the chair went ’round and ’round and ’round.

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I was stopped suddenly by Rut, who reached out and grabbed the back of the chair

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I was on. He looked me over.

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“Are you also looking for a mini version of yourself?

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He looks so much like you, Fiz.”

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Rut then spun me around again, not too fast, but it was a clear sign he had lost the conversation.

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“Handsome,” Fiz said with a nod as he sat on the edge of a desk. It made

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my ears turn warmer

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and Peter giggled at the idea.

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“So what were you doing,

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my dear brother?” Rut asked.

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He picked up his pen and began to write something.

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“Gambling!” The pen snapped in half.

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“WHAT?!” The white fox was on his feet

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and in his brother’s face, nose against nose,

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one hand around the buttons of his shirt and keeping him nice and close.

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“How. Much. Did. You.

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Spend?” The words came out slowly, one by one,

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through his gritted teeth.

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“Uhm…” Fiz tapped his chin and then snapped his fingers.

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“Oh! Everything for the week!”

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Rut’s eyes looked as though they could pop out of the socket any minute.

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“WHAT?! WHY?!” “Good hand!”

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“It’s obviously not that good if you lost!”

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And so they started arguing.

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Peter and I slipped out of our chairs and walked down the corridor of the marble-floored office.

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It was odd—so much stuff in this building, but none of it seemed very useful.

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I mean, sure, I guess

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“patents” were important,

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but you couldn’t really wear it.

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Or cook with it. Maybe it could keep you warm if you burn all these stacks of paper, but I doubt that was what these “patents” were used for.

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Peter was thumbing through a book on a desk and shook his head.

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“This stuff is boring.

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I wish they would hurry up and stop arguing.”

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I peeked into a desk drawer and saw some pencils

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but nothing else.

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No food. “We could always go, you know.

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And go get some candy.

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candy.” Peter turned to me with an expression of mock shock.

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“What? You’re crazy!

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They’re making us

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DINNER, Simon, a big home

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-cooked meal! I can’t pass that up.

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You shouldn’t either.”

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“Yeah…” Of course, I was wary.

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People generally weren’t nice without wanting something in return.

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Or at least they had some kind of ulterior motive.

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I wanted to just slip away and get lost in the streets like usual

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but I didn’t want to go alone…not

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with Spring Heeled Jack outside.

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We were walking back over toward the twins when a knock came to the back door from which we had come in. Rut got up and smoothed down his vest before opening it up.

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Standing there was a tall, odd-looking cat.

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He had these funny little tufts on his ears

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and fur colored like wheat

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—I knew that this type of cat was called a

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“caracal,” although it was the first time I saw one in person.

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He was wearing a green suit

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and carrying a cane.

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“Ah, Mr. Perry,” the man said with a warm smile.

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“I wasn’t sure who was still here.

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I was closing up shop and saw the light on so I wanted to check.

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It seems that I got mail that’s addressed to your office by mistake.

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I wanted to drop by earlier

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but it’s been a very busy day today that I forgot until just now.”

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An envelope was in his gloved hand, which he

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extended toward Rut.

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Rut smiled and nodded, taking the envelope.

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“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Crossbell.

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I was just finishing some work and my brother and his…friends…are

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just waiting for me to finish up.”

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The cat turned and looked at us, smiling,

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and I felt an instant chill of worry.

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Those were not kind eyes.

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His gaze drifted back to Rut.

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“Burning the midnight oil.

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Your work ethic is a testament to your devotion to the job, Mr. Perry.

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I hope you have a splendid Halloween.”

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“Who this?” Fiz asked,

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poking his head from behind Rut.

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“He’s Mr. Mordecai Crossbell,”

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his brother answered.

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“He owns the newspaper called ‘Crossbell Chronicles’ and

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his office building is right next door,

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so sometimes our mail gets mixed up.”

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The caracal chuckled.

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“On the upside, it’s convenient when I have an invention to patent.

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All I need to do is walk a few steps

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and drop off my documents and—”

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“Sweet!” Fiz shouted, cutting him off.

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“I beg your pardon?”

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The cat turned and looked at Fiz, who was now stepping closer.

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He sniffed the air and wagged his tail.

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“Sweet! Sweets and Treats bakery!”

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The caracal frowned and let go of the door knob.

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Peter gasped and grabbed my arm.

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I looked up at him but he didn’t take his eyes off the cat.

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He stared intently and

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held my arm so tightly

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it hurt. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand…are

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you saying I smell like a bakery?”

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the man asked. “Sugar! Bread! Yup!”

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Fiz nodded excitedly.

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“Churros, best in city.”

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“I think you may be mistaken, my friend,”

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the caracal straightened up and fixed his tie.

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“I generally avoid sweets, as a rule.”

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“But smell like bakery down alley.

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Met friends there.”

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He motioned to us,

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and I understood that we were the “friends” he was referring to.

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“I have business to attend to.

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Mr. Perry, I hope you and your friends have a wonderful Halloween.

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It was a pleasure to meet you all.”

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The caracal stepped outside

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and Peter started dragging me toward the door.

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“Hey!” I groaned and tried to wrench my arm away.

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“I can walk, you know!”

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“It’s him,” Peter said quickly,

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his eyes wide as saucers.

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“He’s Jack!” “The foppish cat? Piss off. He’s harmless.”

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“He had that gold chain

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from his vest to his pocket.

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And Fiz says he smells like the bakery we were near.

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It’s him Simon, I know it is. I can

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prove it!” While the twins were going back to arguing about gambling,

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Peter and I slipped outside just in time to see the green suited caracal.

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He was walking toward the building with the sign “Crossbell Chronicles”

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located at the end of the alley.

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Peter cupped his hands over his muzzle and shouted:

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“SPRING HEELED JACK!”

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The cat froze. He turned.

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He glared. “That is a dangerous name,

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boy,” the caracal said and stepped closer to us.

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“You shouldn’t go about

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shouting it. Not at this hour or on a night like Halloween.”

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“It’s just a name!”

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Peter puffed out his chest.

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“And you’re him! You’re Jack!”

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The cat still stepped closer,

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ever so closer, lazily and calmly,

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and stopped when he was less than three feet between us.

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“And you are the two boys who were following me in that alley.

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I owe you one for kicking me in the face.”

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“If you do anything to hurt us we’ll—”

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“What?” he cut us off.

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He purred and lifted the head of his walking stick up,

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putting it under Peter’s chin and

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making him tilt his head up.

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“Tell the police? You don’t have any evidence.”

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Peter gulped and trembled.

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I wanted to run, but when your friends were in danger you didn’t run.

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Sometimes you took the lick with ’em.

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So I did a really stupid thing and

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grabbed the cane in one hand

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and glared. “We’ll make your life miserable, you demon!”

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I growled. “We can’t turn you in but we can make it so everyone thinks you’re Jack.

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We can make it so no one wants your paper!

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I know every newsie in town.” “M

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-me too!” Peter said with a quick nod.

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“No one will sell your papers no more!”

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“Then they won’t get

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paid.” “Neither will you!”

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Peter growled. “No one will buy your papers!”

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“Oh, I’m sure I could come up with something to get around that

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pesky problem. Street urchins are so…easy

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to misplace,”

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the caracal—Jack

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—grinned and brought his cane around,

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grabbing the silver head

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and pulling so a

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glinting sharp blade

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shined out from the shaft.

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Remarkably, Peter and I didn’t back up.

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We stood our ground and

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stared intently at the sight in front of us.

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This man wanted to kill us.

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Really kill us. Sure, I’d had a knife pulled on me before, been threatened a lot, but this was different…this

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man wasn’t mugging me…he

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was enjoying this.

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“No! You won’t!” I said with a gulp.

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“You kill us and our friends inside’ll wonder what happened,

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ask questions…” “I could kill them, too,”

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Jack countered. “Spring Heeled Jack isn’t

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known for killing,

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just scaring,” Peter said.

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“You start killing now…things

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change.” His gaze was locked with the man’s cold, calculating eyes.

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“You’re doing this to drum up sales of your papers, aren’t you?”

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The caracal stared at Peter

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and then laughed.

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He put the blade back into the scabbard of his cane and clinked the metal end onto the ground.

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He was still chuckling.

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“Clever boy. Though I am not above killing you or anyone. I am still considering it.”

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“Then let’s make a bargain!”

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I stepped forward again and exhaled a shuddered breath.

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“We…we keep your secret

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as long as we don’t find out you murdered anyone and you…you…pay

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us the fifty-dollar reward money

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for finding Spring Heeled Jack!”

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“Are you blackmailing me,

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boy?” Jack sounded none too happy.

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He clinked his cane with the metal tip hard on the ground.

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“Impudent!” “No! Smart!

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You keep your tricks and your secret, and we get

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the money we want.”

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“And what’s to stop you from turning me in?”

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“If you’re as deadly as they say,”

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Peter began, “you think you’ll just let us go while they hunt you down?

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No…you’ll kill us before they capture you or drive you out of the city.”

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Jack looked at us,

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contemplating. “At least you aren’t so dimwitted as to expect revenge should you be so

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devious as to turn me in against our bargain.” The man’s hand tapped the silver feline head on his cane as he thought about what to do.

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Finally he tucked it under his arm and reached into his suit pocket.

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He came out with a wad of money…more

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money than I had ever seen.

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He pulled out a crisp

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$100 bill.

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He held it out for Peter to take.

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Peter tried but the cat didn’t let it go

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—at least, not right away.

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“Remember, boys, your word is

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binding in this situation.

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Do not force my hand that I have to make two clever street urchins vanish because they could not be

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trusted. As a reporter

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I often leaned on your ilk to get information one would not always come across in

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usual means. So the extra money is to show how serious I am about this matter

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and how angry I will be should

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either of you break

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our bargain.” Peter yanked the money away

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and shoved it into his vest

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before the caracal could do anything.

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I was standing there, glaring, and trying to look bigger than I was.

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I must have looked ridiculous

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because Jack just smiled and tipped his hat toward us.

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“It was a pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen.

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Remember our agreement and remember my anger

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should you break it.”

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Jack then did something I know sounds insane but…it’s

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true! He crouched low

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and jumped…and jumped so high

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that he was able to land on the roof

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of the two-story building

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with ease. He then walked off and out of sight.

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I would learn, later, that caracals are incredible jumpers

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and that going that high wasn’t a struggle for him.

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But it explained a lot

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about the nickname…

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“Boys,” a voice from behind us sounded.

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The door opened to the patent office and the twins came out.

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“What was all that about?”

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“OH!” I grinned and put my hands behind my back. “Mr. Crossbell lost a ring. We returned it to him, and he gave us a righteous reward!”

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“Yup, yup!” Peter added after a moment of silence.

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He was still thinking about the amount of money, no doubt.

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So was I, but I didn’t want to have to explain too much about it to the two in front of us. “He’s

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not a nice man,” Rut added and hoisted his messenger bag over his shoulder.

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“He is all smiles and kind,

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but he is as deadly as a razor and twice as sharp. I advise that you don’t talk to him.

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Ever.” “We won’t,” my friend and I both said in unison

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and started to walk after the white-furred fox.

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His black-furred twin brother was lingering back with us

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and peered down, speaking quietly under his breath.

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“Deal with the devil,”

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he whispered. “Scarier than any ghost or goblin.”

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“Mr. Crossbell?” Fiz shook his head slowly.

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“Spring Heeled Jack.

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Whatever promised,

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never betray. Ever.”

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This was the second and final part of

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“Ghost Unlaid Forbear Thee”

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by TiberiusRings and Fruitz,

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read for you by Rob Macwolf,

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Werewolf Hitchhiker.

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As always, you can find more stories on the web

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at thevoice.dog,

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or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.

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Thank you for listening

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to The Voice of Dog.

About the Podcast

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The Voice of Dog
Furry stories to warm the ol' cockles, read by Rob MacWolf and guests. If you have a story that would suit the show, you can get in touch with @VoiceOfDog@meow.social on Mastodon, @voiceofdog.bsky.social on Blue Sky, or @Theodwulf on Telegram.

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