It was so humid Ondine’s cotton sundress was soaked in sweat even though she was sitting still. “Yes, though a cool breeze would be nice.”

The old woman handed Ondine her wooden folding fan. It was painted black, with iridescent abalone shell inlaid in the handle and along the slats. It was a relief to sit and listen. That was just as well, since the old lady did not seem the sort who would take kindly to interruptions or questions. “This belonged to my sister, and to my mother before her. It’s just like us women, it’s far tougher than it looks, so don’t be shy, give it a good flutter. Yes, that’s right. Isn’t it a joyous thing when the air has some movement? Now, young Ondine, let me tell you I don’t know exactly where my sister went, although I’ve always had my ideas. It’s time I finally spoke to this. We come from a family of preachers and they say the gift of oration runs in our blood. But I never wanted to be no preacher. That comes from my daddy’s side. Other things run in our blood from my mother’s side, or at least, so they say. But if I’m called to I will tell our story. I’m near the end of my time now. The signs have come.”

The old lady kept looking at her, so Ondine nodded as though she understood. But she didn’t. She looked out from the verandah — at the front of the house, near the small pond with the dried-up fountain, there was a flower garden covered in brown and red seaweed with a few small white roses poking through.

“There’s been many over the years who’ve vanished or come to unfortunate ends. Our mother was the first to vanish, leaving me and Rose and our brother, Hiram, alone with our father. Little Hiram was only three years old. I myself was only five, so it’s hard to recall exactly what happened to our mother. But Rose was seven years old and she remembered, even though she would not speak of it to us, not even when we were a bit older and started asking her about where our mother had got to.

“Our daddy called himself a preacher but he was nothing more than the tyrant of the Flying Squirrel Road. I did not grieve him when he died.

“The next to disappear was my sister, Rose, when she was just a teenager, nine years after our mother. And then there were the terrible deaths. First, a boy named Elmore, only fourteen years old. And many years later, when I was a grown woman with my own baby, Elmore’s mother was murdered. Elmore’s mother had become my stepmother after her husband was found dead on the beach. Her death was especially hard on me, although my father didn’t seem moved by her demise any more than he was by our mother’s disappearance. Both Elmore and my stepmother left this earth in gruesome fashion. Finally, my daddy came to his long-suffering end, followed not long after by my little brother, Hiram. And there was my little girl who died. And then my own malicious husband.”