(excerpt from The Sanguine Soul Stone)
My name is Gilbert Ray Reide. Most people call me Gilbert Ray or Gray for short. I promise you that everything I’m about to tell you is 100% true. It’s almost identical to the story I recited to the police lieutenant about what happened the night of September 21, 1932.
On that night, I know the devil visited Seachester, New York. Nobody can convince me otherwise. This was during a time when Americans who once earned a good living could barely put food on the table. I didn’t have any kids, but it was still a struggle just to help my mother raise my brothers and sisters and keep my own belly full. I worked as a hod carrier for a few hours during the day. By night I served as a night guard at the Westerman Museum on the north side of town.
I was thankful to have a light lifting job at night after lugging around tons of bricks half the day. On this particular night, my partner was out sick. But that wasn’t a big deal because the museum had never had a burglary. It helped that the police substation was just two blocks away. It really was the easiest job in town.
I was doing my second round at about 10:45pm when somebody buzzed the front door. I slowly made my way there, knowing I wouldn’t open it for whoever it was. Looking through the fogged glass, I saw a cop standing outside the second set of double doors. I spoke into the can and asked him what he wanted. He must’ve been new because, at first, he didn’t know where my voice was coming from. It was just a simple can on a cable setup, fed through the walls. The voice came through clear as a bell, though.
He told me he believed somebody might’ve broken in through one of the side windows. I thanked him and told him I would check it out. He suggested that I let him in because somebody had seen at least three men messing with the window. I left him at the door while I went to check things out. He was pretty sore that I wouldn’t let him in. Rules are rules…