Subj: Grammar Story -- 34
Date: 8/19/00 2:00:43 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Beverly LaCroix

The Ghost of Quentin Collins held the stake poised over his cousin's heart, ready to end the curse that had been placed on the Collins family two centuries ago. This body that he was possessing was not his, did not belong in this time, but belonged to an ancestor long dead. The resemblance to Devlin, one he had watched try to take David from him, to this ancestor was uncanny. He had to give the body back to its owner soon, or the body would die, and his time was not yet. Devlin had to be removed, he knew that, but not Barnabas. He didn't like Barnabas, he had watched him helplessly torment the young woman who looked like Josette. He had raged impotently, helplessly, locked behind the wall in the West Wing, as he heard the whispers of the vampire plot against Jamison, or the one they called David now. There was nothing he could do to stop him until now! Raising the hammer, he looked into the cruel evil eyes of Barnabas Collins, and whispered, "meet your maker, Cousin," and the cruel laughter of Quentin Collins rang throughout the catacombs of the Old House.