The morning will test you, like a woman, and if you pass her test, the sun will rise. Gregson parked by the graveyard gate. The wind was blowing and the trees were speaking, like they had 50-year-old-gossip to share.

Tony got out. “I don’t know that this is such a good idea.”

“What? Digging up bodies?” Gregson asked.

“What else? It’s unnatural.”

“Don’t worry… when you’re dead, you’re dead,” Gregson said. “Grab a shovel.”

They walked between the crack in the wall, between the trees that grabbed them.

“That wasn’t a branch.”

“Then what was it?” Gregson asked.

Hoo Hoo

“This place gives me the creeps.”

“Listen, I believe in dreams, and if my dream is real, that coffin will be empty. Start digging.”

The ground was soft and the grave wasn’t deep and when they hit wood, Gregson reached for the latch.


“What’s that? A note?”

“There’s nothing written on it but a picture. A faucet?”

“Oh, that’s waterworks. Don’t you play monopoly?”

“I try to avoid board games,” Gregson said. “They make me bored, although I do like to play chess.”

“What could it mean?” Tony asked.

“The city water supply. Sarah left us a clue. We’ve got to book-it before sunup.”

Chessfield Water Supply was a castle that harbored the city stream.

“We’ll storm it,” Gregson said.

“But how?”

“Through the water tunnels.” Gregson opened his trunk and pulled out two tanks. “Do you scuba?”

When they entered the stream and swam up through the bowels of the castle, it gave them the feeling that they had entered the body of the city. Soon they surfaced into a pool with a synthetic waterfall. And in a few seconds, they heard angry cackling. What little hair Gregson had on his head stood on end.

“He looked at me funny and I reported him. Toxic masculinity—that’s what it was. This will teach the men of Chessfield a lesson.” Two women with pink hair and enormous upper body strength tipped a blue barrel of Blue into the city water supply.

“What did we mix together this time?”

“Estrogen, progesterone, and synthetic hormones. This is our antidote to toxic masculinity. We’ve got to purify the men of Chessfield.”

Gregson was horrified. They were fatter than he was and covered in tattoos.

“Feminists,” he whispered.

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