They were the first to volunteer in every disaster which struck the town, and there were many. The children of the Red Cross were indefatigable. They bandaged wounds, served food, and comforted the injured and the sick. I was always proud to work alongside of them.
Shortly before the Great War, there was a horrific flood in Cross, and the children were there, helping as they always did. I was in some of the rougher areas, pulling both the living and the dead from the waters. The flood had originated from the Cross marina, pushing up and over the low houses, past the higher ones, and finally drowning everything it came into contact with.
Near noon of the first day, I went to see if there was any soup left, and it was then that I discovered the Red Cross was missing. Not just out and about, but actually missing. All their gear was gone save for a large box.
Eight children missing.
I spent the next three days searching for them and finding nothing.
Nothing until a year later, when the disturbingly fresh, but unaged corpse of Thomas Ray was found hanging from a lamp post on Main Street. A year after that, we discovered the second.
For eight years, this happened, and never did I catch the creature responsible. I cannot even fathom what type of beast could. The only clue I ever had was the impression made by a bootheel, one with the letter ‘C’ spelled out in tacks on the sole.
I haven’t seen that track since the last body was found, but I still look, and I hope like hell that I find the killer.
I’ve got eight years of hell waiting.
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