BELLA STOOD ON TOP of a small hill. It was her safe place. The place where she could watch the spirits dance and they couldn’t reach her. It was a place she’d created as a child, in desperation, so they couldn’t touch her with their cold, clutching fingers. She’d always felt safe there and had achieved a certain level of confidence that she could exist in that place with the spirits in a sort of uneasy detente. But lately...since coming to El Diablo for the Halloween season...her safe place had felt permeable...shaky.
Something was out there and it wanted to get to her. Whatever it was it was oily with evil, and filled with irrational anger. Decades worth of anger drove this spirit. And she couldn’t find it. It had danced just outside her abilities for days, dipping in occasionally to tea
