8:30 A.M. Sunday

Arriving at Ward Memorial Park; Henry walked towards the hill and up to the grave, apprehensive to see the stone engraving.

It had been just a few days since he; Andrew; Cat and Connell had been here. He wasn't even sure of what brought him to come back – at least so soon.

As he stared blankly at the sight, he couldn't help but keep thinking about that night; so, drawn of details of Connell flaring in the water; but waking in hurried fashion just moments after the thing had pulled him under, Henry wasn't convinced that it was 'just a dream' as Andrew had promised it to be.

Connell had been fine as he had fell asleep with his head propped against Henry's thigh on the same fake leathery couch. But the boy's behavior couldn't be justified from earlier that afternoon – playing with the bugs and chanting such odd 'lyrics' was hard to let go of.

The bugs!

He suddenly remembered why he wanted to venture back to this place, alone.

He placed his index and middle finger to his lips; kissing them and pressing those limbs onto the gravestone as he pushed up off his knees. With a sigh, he meandered over towards the area that he thought was where he had found the little boy playing at. He was off by one headstone to the right.

He bent down to the area of dirt still slightly disturbed. The sprinkling rain from earlier had not reached this higher point of the yard. Dusting a bit of earth aside, it looked as though he had polished a bit of stone or a metal material. Muddled as to why this would even be here, he continued to push away more and more soil, until the dirt gave way to the entirety of the object – which wasn't a rock or stone at all.

Henry picked up the item to inspect it. It was metal, not entirely assured to what kind though – a thin piece of tin maybe. Blowing off as much grime that would fall off, he noticed that there were symbols; markings; something written onto the piece. With all the encryption's etched, it was a name that stuck out in the most horrible fashion – his last name.

With seeing the name, his focus swiftly peered at the gravestone – exceptionally disturbed with its own name plastered upon it.

Henry's same last name – Talmadge.

Voices could be heard scrimmaging throughout the yard, peering behind him to see the roots of the noises, another ceremony was taking place just on the other side of the row of squared off fall rendered box woods.

He swooped the object into his inner jacket pocket and made his way away from the area. Absolutely confounded as to what his name had in common with that of the erected stone; or as to why Connell had been playing there at all?

10:30 A.M.

Looking at the time on his phone, with several phone calls being missed, realizing he had been searching files; newspapers; anything really that had whatsoever to do with that yard; his name; or metals with inscriptions bred into them, for a solid two hours.

With only one particular response repeating itself with every outcome: the item condensed itself as being only something called a or in modern times referred to as a cursed tablet, usually depicted on thin sheets of lead.
Lead that can not be destroyed but only contorted towards other forms and kept within a stronger protective object.

Henry had no idea what object could be up to the task of keeping this at bay.

Baffled as to what can caused by such creations, Henry took the item within his hands to examine a bit more in depth without the speculation of prying eyes.

The scribbles of letters looked eerily similar; as if he had seen the specific shapes of letters before. He rapidly gathered himself along with all the materials.

Taking the books that he had been also looking thoroughly through, up to the counter to check out without suspicion playing upon the librarian (which to his surprise, never bothered with the book titles at all) who took an oddly long pause to speak as she moseyed up to meet his gaze. Her eyes dwindling down to slits, never looking away as she zapped the barcodes printed on the sides of the two books.

She sat both books up on the counter, as he grabbed at them. Her hands blurrily slapping onto his, making a slammed pounding sound between the books, his hand and hers. "...blood flowing a fiery monsoon..." lowly creaked out her barely parted lips.

Henry snapped his hand away. "Keep the friggin' books.' He said.

"Sir... I can help you!" the librarian suddenly yelled.

By the time he heard the shout from behind him, Henry had already bolted out the front glass doors, never wanting to look back, for certain he would see cringe worthy nightmares for possible years to come.

He needed to get this thing away from him; even further away from his family. He had become severely pissed that this possible relative was manipulating Connell.

Do what you will with me... but damn if you have the nerve to go after an innocent kid!

11:00 A.M.

"Where are you... Im worried about you..." his sincerity poured through the phone line.

"Honey, I'll be there as soon as possible..." Henry gulping in a quick breath. ".... I just need to take care of something first." He added quickly.

"Lemme help you." Andrew exclaimed in the softest tone possible.

"I have to do myself Drew, otherwise, nothing will get solved."

Henry was ready to cave and ask for the help he was being handed to, but his heart fell heavy with the guilt to pursue the desire.

"This has to be me... you can't save me every time I become rattled or undone."

"That's what a husband does... in sickness and in health." Andrew pleaded.

"I know honey... and that's precisely why I need do this." Henry retorted.

"Whatever happens, I love you to the moon and back..." Henry crackled on the last syllable.

"And back again." Andrew responded. To the best of his knowledge, he understood all the reasoning behind Henry's actions.

12:30 P.M.

"Yes, your mother had me take this to a sight in the yard while she looked on in pointing me in the right direction." Sunny had advised when he asked about my mom's last days.

A nurse in her late twenties, Sunny came to take care of my mom roughly a month prior to her death. Since my mother could be drastically crotchety, and scary when pushed; he was sure Sunny didn't want to push for any problems to occur since she was so new to the facility.
He couldn't blame Sunny though, the woman was impossible to please; let alone, have a life other than what she had envisioned for you before you could even walk up right.

"Did she say anything else about the person buried there?" he asked with the up-most hope that he could conjure.

A sudden flicker of the light bulbs above the bathroom banister could be seen by the corner of Henry's left eye. He had the feeling that he was getting closer to whatever had been chasing after him since his mother was no longer alive.

Sunny was lost in thought to notice, and shortly began to shake her head with a nonverbal no, when she strangely and quickly shot up and to the small bedroom closet across the small one bed room.

When turning to return to him, Henry could have sworn her smooth youthful features had warped to an aged, recognizable face with a small mole he would know anywhere; this happened for an inadequate second or two before relapsing to the young lady. Perhaps he was still in some denial for this to be true; then again, he felt a bit of comfort in sensing his mother could be still hovering around him.

Of course, stranger things have been going on lately; why not? He thought as a thin scrapbook was handed to him; with a few pictures to be seen of unknown people along with an obituary dated back to late fifties.

He looked back up to meet Sunny's face but was greeted with only her absence.

He figured she must have rounds to do; there was no mystery to be found behind that reasoning; though he had wished his theory about his mother had been a tad accurate.

Was this what he had been searching for; could this have any purpose?

The handwriting was, in no doubt, hers. The way the t's curved peculiarly in the pages of this scrapbook, he should've seen that miles before coming in here at all; though, Sunny did help with giving some answers too.

Henry gave his thanks to staff behind the front counter (not seeing Sunny anywhere) as he left behind all her belongings (aside from the few items he was handed) as well as any memento's to carry. He had plenty of memories to carry in place of any material he could ever have.

He plopped into the driver's seat; his door hanging agape; unsettled with the lingering acquisitions pounding at his conscious:

What did that erected stone in the yard have to do with him or his family?

Why was it after him?

Had his mother intentionally placed a curse to get back at him for leaving her behind to be with Andrew?

Had Talmadge become a curse of its own triggering?