Fallen Stones Read Free Page A

which made him cast aside his life of crime and which brought him home. As if ordained by fate, many years earlier during one of his “business trips” to Pennsylvania, Berks County to be specific, something happened that spurred him not only to suddenly become interested in his heritage but also to eventually have it become an obsession for him. While staying in the area around the city of Reading, he read a story in the local newspaper about the tragic death of a couple in a car accident. A drunk driver had plowed into the couple's vehicle head-on as they were driving home from a movie.
    To Washburn's surprise, the names of the couple, which seemed to scream out at him from the first paragraph of the story, were those of his estranged brother Nathan and his wife, Mary. Washburn had not spoken with either of them in many years and despite their lack of closeness, he felt a deep sadness, knowing he could very well be alone in the world, since he had never married and had no children of his own.
    Perhaps he was simply overcome with a bit of melancholy that might have accompanied growing older without either a wife or children, he didn't know, but the feeling was quite disheartening. That particular event had sparked what would grow through the years to become an obsession with learning about his ancestors. The death of his brother and wife was likely also the catalyst for him to leave his life of crime, eventually retire and then hire a private investigator to search for any possible living relatives many years later.
    As a recent unforeseen result of that investigation, he had learned a little over a year earlier about the existence of the farmette and its availability for purchase. It was when he discovered the property had originally been his ancestors' family homestead, he immediately decided to buy it; on the spot, sight unseen. This was not how Emerson Washburn normally conducted his business, but the idea seemed so right that he did so without forethought. It had been over ten years since he had first read about the death of his brother.
    Washburn had purchased the property from a holding company, which had bought it many years earlier.  The farmhouse and out buildings had been abandoned and unused for over thirty years and had been allowed to fall into disrepair. The buildings were uninhabitable shells, which appeared to have been vandalized over the years. The original Livingston farm had been much larger, hundreds of acres but through the years, parcels of land had been sold off, reducing it to a forty-acre farmette. Prior to the holding company taking possession the property had hands many times with residents never staying more than a few months and Washburn now understood the reason why. No wonder the former residents had fled leaving the structures to fall to ruin.
    Washburn suddenly felt a slight prickling sensation at the back of his neck and knew from previous experience what was about to happen. He reached down over the side of the huge tub and allowed the document he was holding to fall to the floor with a slap, echoing loudly in the silent empty chamber. The cover of the document read “Last Will and Testament of Emerson Charles Washburn”.
    As he slowly returned to a sitting position in the tub he noticed a familiar change occurring to the wall-sized mirror located directly in front of him; a change he had seen many times before, but one which nonetheless always brought a disturbing sensation, which radiated to the very core of his soul. The mirrored glass seemed to slowly shimmer at first, and then begin to ripple like it was liquid in composition and as if someone had dropped a pebble into it. Then the ripples began to work outward in ever growing concentric circles. Washburn smelled a recognizable foul and dank odor like that of rotting vegetation and decomposing long-dead animals. During his lifetime, Washburn's illegal business dealings had required he dispose of more than his share