George shook his head, reminding himself of just why he had come and then called out, �Anybody home?� He tried a little louder and still got nothing which might have been a good thing but probably wasn�t, if you looked at it from a different point of view. �Any--�

�Shaddup, willya?�

George sucked in a breath. Sounded like Ian. A very drunk Ian, which sure beat the idea of a dead Ian that George had been expecting. In a more cheery frame of mind, George stepped inside, and started to request a volume reduction. Ian was already in the processes of searching for the CD controller and after a grunt and muffled curse, the player shut off.

George felt better for almost ten seconds before he spotted the Glock 9mm sitting on a TV tray beside an empty fifth of Old Granddad. Truth to tell, neither of them bothered him all that much, especially when you considered the short, blue-skinned goblin-like figure then finishing what looked like half cup of Old Grandad. It � or he � belched, scratched his nose and then said,

�Whacha matter which you, Baby�

�Tom Paxton.� This from Ian.

� Talking Vietnam Pot-Luck Blues , right you are...� The creature beamed at Ian. He looked back at George and added, �Cripes. Finally get one worth talking to and the cops show up.�

George regarded both of them for a moment, crossed to the TV tray quickly and grabbed the Glock, pulled the magazine and made damn sure the gun was unloaded. He pocketed it and dropped the mag back on the TV tray.

�You�d better have something else to drink, Ian, or I�m going to wallop the crap out of both of you. Scared me out of a half-year�s growth.�

�You quit growing decades ago, George,� Ian pointed out as he went to the kitchen and retrieved another bottle of bourbon. This one was Jim Beam.

George took the drink, downed it and then sat at the kitchen table. �Okay, what the hell is going on here? You�re supposed to be dead.�

�Sorry to disappoint...�

�I got him off.�

George looked at the creature. �What the hell are you, anyway?�

�Banshee.�

George regarded him for a moment and then looked to Ian. �Ian, you remember when you moved in? I told you about this house and the people all dying in it and the disappearing wooden crosses? You do recall that, yes?�

Ian nodded, dourly. �Oh, yeah. Well, it disappeared today and I figured it was time to have a show-down.�

�That�s why the Glock, I suppose.�

�Yep. But I wasn�t really counting on that as much as the fact that Uluyarrrauia--� Ian appeared to be stuck for a second and then slapped himself in the face once before continuing. �--here was going to have to show up if I was really going to kick off.�

�Who � could you say that again?�

�Bugger off, buddy. He didn�t say it right anyway. It�s Welsh. Call me Al.�

Ian nodded. �Cross-training between weirds. Happens all the time. Ain�t enough around anymore so some have to branch out. Ethnically enhanced out-sourcing or something.�

�So what�s the deal with the cross, then?�

�Curse. Old family curse.�

�You bought the place. You�re not family.�

�I dunno,� Al said, �Curses like that, ones that manage to outlive their original targets, get to branch out. Get more of a real deal that way.�

George thought about having another drink and then opted for a glass of water. �What�s next on the CD?� Al asked, sitting back again.

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