“What’s so funny?” Willowmina asked.
“Every forest is forever full of ghosts … Every forest and every city and every desert,” the Baron chuckled.
Then he saw how crestfallen Willowmina was, and whether it was out of pity, or as a prank, he offered a ray of hope to her.
“I tell you what, though, little tree. These specters that have been parading as of late, and creating all this witch-hyena-raccoon whatnot, have all been floating in on this stream, which is where I meet up with them every midnight.”
He pointed a bony finger to the craggy creek that ran along the forest to their left, where a modest ripple of dirty water gurgled softly.
“If you follow this stream back to where it starts, maybe you can discover why these poor souls are being sent down this way, and try to stop it, hmmm?”
Willomina brightened at this possibility. “Thank you,” she said hastily, and reached down to pull Slub Glub out of the mud.
Baron Samedi produced another glass from beneath his hat, and pulling a flask from his pocket, he poured himself another drink. “My pleasure, sweet flower. But what’s the hurry? Why don’t you both stay and have a drink with me.”
Slub Glub, emerging from his hiding place with a face covered in black dirt, thought this was a fine invitation and reached for the glass with his tentacle, but Willowmina pulled him away by the nose toward the creek bed.
“Thank you very much, sir, but we really must be going, we want to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible.”
The Baron seemed to find this highly amusing, and laughed again. “Oh, I wish you luck with that, getting to the bottom of it. Maybe you’ll even find the top!”
And with that he wandered back into the darkness, in the direction of the poor souls he shepherds, chuckling to himself and puffing on his cigar.
To be continued.
Table of Contents: “Slub Glub in the Weird World of the Weeping Willows”
Get the graphic novel from Eraserhead Press.
Illustration & text copyright (c) Andrew Goldfarb