Duncan Blood’s Journal: 1859

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The advertisement rang false.

“Mature woman seeks the companionship of a young, unattached female.”

Such advertisements might be found in Boston and New York City, but to find one in the Cross Sentinel made little sense.

Additional information regarding where to apply was included, and this, too, seemed odd. According to the advertisement, the mature woman had taken up residence on Gordon Road.

There are only a handful of homes on Gordon Road, and they are all too close to Gods’ Hollow to make it desirable for any but the strongest of Cross natives. Whomever this mature woman was, she was not someone I knew.

With this in mind, I decided it was best to pay her a visit.

I had no sooner left my home and was traveling across country towards Gordon Road than I ran into Caleb Moor. He was distressed and distraught. His eldest daughter, Elsbeth, had left the night before after a fight with her mother. Caleb had suspected Elsbeth to have gone to a cousin who resided with the Coffins.

But the Coffins had seen neither hide nor hair of the girl, and Caleb had been on his way to meet me to see if I had heard anything.

I had not, but I told him I would let him know when I did.

Leaving Caleb to continue his search, I hurried to Gordon Road.

I found the house, which had been abandoned for several years. There were a horse and buggy on one side, and there was a mature woman climbing into it, a look of joy and satisfaction on her face.

It wasn’t there for long.

Ms. Charlotte Alcott of Concord had a taste for the blood of young girls. A taste she had sated with Elsbeth Moor’s death.

I brought Ms. Alcott back into the house, and in the kitchen, I found Elsbeth’s pale and naked corpse.

Under my less than gentle hand, Ms. Alcott dressed Elsbeth and carried her to the buggy. Once this was done, I forced Ms. Alcott to strip down, and then I bound her legs at the ankles and tied a length of rope to the buggy.

I put the horse at a good trot and brought Elsbeth home.

I’m afraid there wasn’t much left of Ms. Alcott when we arrived.

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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