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So you want this old codger to tell you about Pritchy Kwik and the goin's-ons out at Toad Loop, do you? 'Though forty years is a mighty long time, I remember it clear as a bell. Mind you, there's none can give a more accurate account 'cos I eye-witnessed the better part of the whole shebang. There were those that differed with me on a couple of the finer points of events, but I was there and ain't spinnin' no fool's yarn. I got proof positive of my words if you still harbor any doubts after, and I'll show you. Let me give you some background, then we can get to the meat of the matter.
When Mazrah Mulltree first showed up here in Madlan County, I was sixteen years old. You wouldn't have recognized me; I was a strappin' lad livin' down on my daddy's farm. It's hard to believe now, but back then, the girls were crazy for me.
Mazrah seemed an okay feller at first. He right away bought up a good-sized piece of land which for years had laid idle. Word was he plunked down full payment in ingots of solid gold, though I didn't see it myself.
I asked him once why he'd left back East. He said he'd had a fallin' out with a relative, Captain Marsh, who more or less ran his hometown of Innsmouth. Mazrah up and left when he and this Marsh feller didn't see eye-to-eye.
The property he bought was mostly good pasture land, not wantin' for water. One part was wooded-over, though, down where the Mad River curved all the way around. The river wasn't much more than a trickle at that point, yet by looping around, it made an island we called Toad Loop. Nobody knew it then, but the Loop was the reason Mazrah chose that particular piece of land in the first place.
Well, sir, there was a lot of clearin' needed doin' before plantin' season, so Mazrah hired himself a bunch of us locals to help out with the clearin', cuttin', and stump-guttin'. We built him a one-story catslide house, two-story barn, hog pen, and chicken coop, so he'd be in shape for Spring. Hiram Kline, Martin's daddy, dug the hole for the outhouse.
'Though the house wasn't far from it at all, ol' Mazrah never allowed us near the Loop itself. It wasn't like the waters was any danger or nothin', 'cos like I said, the river'd dwindled to a creek by then.
So everything went along just fine for a couple years, though folks felt Mazrah kept to himself too much. He up and courted Asaph Kwik's youngest girl, Pritchy, who was considered a good catch by most. She wasn't the prettiest girl around, though her curly white-blond hair was much admired. Mazrah was a good lookin', though stern-faced, man and Pritchy fell for him right off. Next thing we heard was they was gettin' married. Even though Mazrah didn't attend church meetin's, old Asaph favored the wedding. If you ask me, he hoped some of them gold ingots were still tucked away somewheres. It wasn't long, though, before Asaph learned he wasn't so welcome at his son-in-law's, though it gnawed his gut somethin' awful.
The couple kept to themselves exclusive 'cept for Mazrah's monthly supply trips to town. On rare occasion, Pritchy'd call on her folks, but Asaph said she looked kind of peaked and down in the mouth, like she'd lost her spark, rather than like a blushin' bride. He had to admit, however, that never once did a bad word pass her lips either about Mazrah or his treatment of her. 'Ventually though, Asaph and Mazrah got in a big blow up and Mazrah forbid Pritchy's folks to visit. Pritchy was stuck in the middle and when she chose to stand by her man's wishes, Asaph up and disowned her, sorry to say.
The first sign of other trouble came about three years after the weddin'. Folks reported weird glowin's up in the night sky directly above Toad Loop, glowin's brighter than a harvest moon. And at April's end, Quent Swiggart swore he seen a big circle of brightness, round as a dinner plate, floatin' over the island about level with the tops of the trees. Now, mind you, this was decades before anybody claimed to see flying saucers.
Most didn't take it all that much to heart. It was only logic that Mazrah would clean up the Loop sooner or later, and the lights was thought to be stump-burnin' fires reflected on the night fog or clouds. Still, there were some who whispered about the dangers of tinkerin' with the Circle.
The Circle wasn't nothin' but six rough pillars of limestone, each a foot thick and nearly tall and wide as a man. Though the better part of the island was flatter than a pancake, it raised up right in the middle to a hump 'round which the stones roosted like fenceposts. None ever knew their purpose or who put them there in the first place. The Injuns claimed the Circle was built for some kind of unearthly critter that come down from the sky on occasion. Toadaggwa, they called it, sayin' it put the stones to questionable uses at certain times of the year. Truth is, they were scared shitless of the place without really knowing why. They gave the Loop the widest possible berth, swearin' the stones were the works of demons here long before any of the tribes. None of the whites confessed to belief in such savage superstitions, yet we all steered clear of the Loop just like the redskins did.
The crap first hit the fan when some school boys claimed they heard weird singin' and chantin' comin' from the Loop. Their curiosity got the better of them 'til they went and got themselves an eyeful -- of Mazrah and Pritchy blatherin' a raft of gobbledygook while cavortin' naked as jay birds betwixt the Circle stones. Word of such carryin's-ons spread and set tongues a-waggin'. It soured most folks on Mazrah, so's they steered clear of him when he came to town after, though he paid 'em no never mind. The younguns was warned to stop cuttin' didoes anywhere near the Mazrah's land.
Things quieted down after a time, mostly 'cos there was little to be done otherwise. Hell's fire, nobody was gettin' hurt by such carryin'-on, and Madlan County done away with witch laws decades ago.
It was that durn Simmons kid, Steve was his name, that kept things buzzin' by rattlin' on about how the Circle was all fixed up with the fallen stones raised and tilted ones straightened. He carried on about holes the size of a man's fist havin' been bored through the stones about a foot from the top for ropes to be tied off and strung to the Circle's middle. Such things worried them that listened.
It all might've just all blown over if it weren't for that Simmons kid, who was a smart aleck bully of a redhead as I remember him. He went and dared three of his cronies to hike out to the Loop with him, promisin' 'em a gander at Pritchy in her altogether. Least that's what he spouted later, though if you ask me, he was hopin' to catch sight of Pritchy and her man doin' things a lot more vulgar than naked dancin'. Whatever the call, however, them boys sure as hell got more than they bargained for when they accepted that dare!
They waited 'til after dark on Halloween as most likely for festivities. Once they waded the creek and were on the island proper, they swore it was rainin' real hard, which struck the Sheriff as mighty peculiar when he heard it later, 'cos he recalled it being clear as a bell that whole night.
The way they told it, the four of them hove up through the mud to hide behind a crop of cat tails about ten yards from the stones. They kept just back from the light of the bonfires Mazrah had lit at the foot of each stone in spite of the rain. What little they could make out didn't make much sense to the gawkers, but it sure as hell stopped them dead in their tracks.
Pritchy was nowhere in sight, though Mazrah stood out clear in the drizzle, standin' clingin' onto a rope for dear life. The oglers couldn't determine right off just what he was strainin' to keep ahold of, just that it was bound up in the ropes running from holes in the stones. Their ears told them that whatever he'd snagged was madder than a hornet; though it screeched and bellered loud enough to make a body deaf, they couldn't get a gander at it 'til Mazrah finally stepped aside, allowin' the light to shine on his catch direct.
Well, them boys was like to die of fright upon seein' what Mazrah'd snared! One fainted right off. The others claimed they saw a giant toad, ten foot long and taller than a man, sloshin' in the mud, tryin' to free itself of the ropes. That's hard to swallow, but they swore to the truth of it on the Bible. They said it had a mane of long black hair trailin' down its back and didn't croak like a toad, but let fly with screams and roars the likes of which nothin' could compare.
Up in the sky above all the commotion, they claimed a big, glowin' hole was floatin'. They said it looked like an upside down twister or a cyclone with a light inside its spinnin' innards, only there wasn't no wind like accompanies a regular twister.
All of a sudden the great toad reared up on its hindquarters, like to jump, but the ropes held it fast to earth. It cut loose with a stream of what Steve swore were words in some nasty-soundin' foreign language. Whatever it was, it had an effect.
Frogs by the hundreds poured down from the whirlin' hole, peltin' Mazrah like a plague straight from the Bible. They slammed into him or plopped down on the ground only to bust wide open like gut balloons! I'll hazard it was a hell of a mess!
Old Mazrah, well, he slipped in the muck 'til he lost footin' and fell flat on his back. He lost hold of the rope in fallin', givin' the toad an opening. That rope must have been the key, 'cos the toad snapped the other ropes once Mazrah lost his grip.
The toad turned and reared up right quick on Mazrah, pinnin' him down in the mud. They said a look of pure evil joy came over its bloated face, it's eyes shinin' all red, cuttin' through the rain and dark like fire brands.
The damn thing bent down and wrapped its big ol' black tongue around Mazrah, then sucked him up like a bug! Half his body dangled out the side of its mouth for a bit, thrashin' and floppin' up and down like a raggedy doll in agony, while the toad just squatted there, lookin' for all the world like it was fast asleep. Then, with one quick jerk of its head, it snapped up the rest of Mazrah and gobbled him whole! Must have been awful sickenin'!
Well, them boys took off at a clip, 'cept for Steve, who was so scared he couldn't budge. The way he told it later, the toad let out another stream of them weird word-noises to bring the lip of the cyclone down low enough for it to jump inside. The hole raised up, closed in on itself, and disappeared, just like it hadn't never been there at all.
With that, Simmons found his legs and skedaddled at such a pace that he nearly trampled his buddies in passing them up. He made a bee line straight for home.
Now, keep in mind that I can't vouch for any of that part 'cos I wasn't there in person. 'Though it defies belief, wait 'til you hear the rest before making your mind up final.
Anyways, Steve's daddy was waitin' up for him, and as you can imagine, he was madder than a stick! But when the kid came in soaked to the skin and scared half to death, the old man backed off. He listened to the boy's tale, then marched right over to the Sheriff's. The Sheriff wasn't all the way convinced it wasn't a case of high jinks, but he fetched old Doc Jefferys nonetheless, and together they high-tailed it out in the Doc's cutter to take a look.
They run into heavy mud as soon as they crossed to the island and saw the ground 'round the Circle was rife with frog guts, broke rope, and the ashes of several fires. There wasn't much in the way of tracks left in the drying mud, but they could make out where somethin' had been dragged from the Circle up towards the Mulltree farm. The trail led 'em right up and into the house.
Turned out it was Pritchy's pitiful path they was followin', where she'd crawled and dragged herself through the mud. She was in real bad shape, but Doc fixed her up. Problem was she couldn't seem to talk -- she was in shock as Doc put it -- so she couldn't say what happened. Mazrah was nowhere to be seen, which added more credence to Steve's story. The Sheriff eventually went home, leavin' Doc there for the night in case Mazrah didn't show. He never did.
The Sheriff had talks with the other boys and their families after that, and asked them to keep to themselves 'til he got Pritchy's side of the story, but that didn't last long.
Doc took supplies out to Pritchy on a regular basis after and even got one of the neighbors, Oly -- that's short for Olivia -- Johnson, to look in on her daily. But despite all, Pritchy's mind didn't heal up in tune with her body. Whatever'd happened must've been more than she could bear, causing her mind to just close up shop permanent. When she finally started talking, she didn't make much more sense than a child, and she never did get any memory back.
A month or so later, Doc realized Pritchy was in a motherly way, which didn't bode well what her no longer havin' a man around. I think old Doc felt sort of fatherly toward poor Pritchy; he kept a careful watch over her for the rest of her pregnancy like one'd only do for a daughter of his own. He paid Oly to help care for Pritchy the whole time while providin' food supplies himself. Pritchy'd set her mind on havin' herself a little girl, so Doc bought her a pretty little doll that was all dressed up fancy like a princess for when the baby arrived.
When Pritchy's time finally come, Oly fetched Doc herself, but as she told later, she refused to stay and help with the birthin'. She claimed Pritchy'd been heavin' up seaweed and foam, which scared Oly silly. So Doc sent her home, knowin' she wouldn't be any help while in such a state.
Nobody ever saw Doc alive again after that. It appears sometime near dawn, he slipped an envelope under the door of the Sheriff's office, then went home direct and shot himself dead. He put a 12-gauge to his head and, well, that's all she wrote! Ain't that a fine howdy-do?
Unbeknownst to Doc, the Sheriff was out of town, though, and the deputy didn't feel he should read the letter since it was marked "personal" for the Sheriff. So he just cleaned up the mess over at Doc's and waited for the Sheriff to get back.
A week later, I come into town and heard a bit of what had happened. I'd known Pritchy all through grammar school, though we was never close, so I couldn't allow for her being all alone out there with a brand new youngun. I loaded some food goods in my wagon and headed out to see how she was copin'.
I s'pose you could say the situation hit home with me. When I was just five, my own mother died givin' birth to my sister Marcella. When we lost Marcella too, a few days later, it hit me so hard that I wasn't right for months. 'Though there was nothin' could've been done, I felt I should've done more to save little Marcella at least, like I'd let her down. So when I heard about Pritchy and her new baby, it struck a close chord.
I knew somethin' was wrong as soon as I passed the barn and saw livestock strewn out on the ground like they'd been slaughtered, the dead bones picked clean as a whistle. The Simmonses were my neighbors, and Angus had told me some of what his son said about a monster toad. I got to admit to sweatin' a mite more than usual recalling that story while standing there in the yard lookin' at them bones.
When nobody answered my knock, it was plain somethin' was wrong. The door was part way open, so I let myself in, callin' out so Pritchy'd know who it was. The baby was whimpering somewhere in the back part of the house, which took some of the edge off my nerves, at least at first.
The minute I pushed the door wide, the most sickenin' smell I've ever known hit me right in the face. It was enough to gag a maggot! I right quick stuffed a hanky over my nose, hoping I could keep my lunch. I swear it was gawdawful!
The curtains were all drawn tight in the sittin' room, so I found myself stumblin' through in only half-light. The furniture was all smashed and tossed ever'which ways, which gave another real sickenin' pull to the pit of my gut.
I came upon what was left of Pritchy in the bedroom. Lord, what a hellish sight! It was obvious she'd been dead for days, with half of her layin' draped off the side of the bed. The way her arms and legs was splayed-out all a-kilter, it looked like she'd exploded from the inside out. Before I could cover her up with one of the bloody sheets -- and I ain't proud of this -- the sight and the smell got me so bad that I barely made it outside before gettin' sicker than a dog. It must have been fifteen minutes before I could drag myself back in there, and only then 'cos I heard the baby squallin' somewhere towards the back of the house.
I still felt mighty queasy, but I just had to find that child. So I went 'round to the back of the house, feelin' a mite too unsteady to go inside again.
When I opened the back door, somethin' about my own size shot out of nowhere and busted ass 'round the corner of the house towards the barn. It must have been hiding in the spring room off the kitchen. Damn thing was so quick I hardly got a decent look at it, but I did note it was trailing a blue blanket from somethin' it was totin'. I tried to fool myself into believin' it'd been a young bear or great big ol' dog, but I knew it was somethin' a lot worse. And I knew too that it had the baby 'cos the cryin' sounds was now comin' from out by the barn.
I'm ashamed to admit I took my time chasin' after it. I wasn't about to stroll right into whatever might be lurkin' 'round that bend, so I strode clear of the house to get a good look before goin' any further.
There wasn't nothin' waiting there, so I figured it must've gone on into the barn to hide. I wasn't too all-fired inclined to traipse in after it, but I kept hearin' cryin', this time from the barn. I knew I'd have to bite the bullet sooner or later, and I feared later'd be too late.
All I could figure was that the Simmons boy's toad must've come back. Seein' somethin' like that could well cause a body to suicide, though Doc had never been the type to leave a helpless mother and child alone. I guessed the toad had ate the livestock in the yard, then went for what was in the house. After tearin' poor Pritchy up, it must have been full, or maybe it had other plans for the little one. Regardless, I was bound and determined nothin' bad was goin' to happen to that child.
The barn stood quiet as a stone inside. I should note the stink didn't trail from the house into the barn. And all I could hear was the squeakin' of the plank boards as I stepped, and believe you me, I was scared plumb shitless.
Being that time of year, the barn was chock full of hay, and that meant scores of hidin' places. The best places to hide were in the loft, where it'd be dark and hot as hell what with all that fresh-cut and packed hay generatin' a shitload of heat up there.
So I hove up my courage and climbed the wood ladder I'd nailed to a support beam while workin' on the barn just three years before. The sun was settin' and, what with failing light and hay dust, it wasn't an easy search. By the time I got to the back of the loft, all I had to go by was a few pencil lines of light comin' in between the boards of the walls. Lucky for me, I managed to find a workin' lantern, otherwise I might have fallen through the trap door down twenty feet or more from the loft to the cattle stalls below; probably would've broke my damn neck in the process.
Mazrah'd known enough to allow tunnels through the bailed hay for ventilation, so I ended up pokin' my head down a bunch of dark holes while listening for any kind of noise anywhere around me. Considerin' the bails were stacked twenty high, there were lots of tunnels. When my ears caught some whimperin' noises, I crawled through a dark square of tunnel right to the heart of the hay pile to look for its source. Breathin' wasn't any too easy in there and, on top of that, I had to keep movin' for fear of catching the hay afire with my lantern.
After crawling straight towards the back of the barn for a while. I came to an empty space that by all rights shouldn't have been there. I held the lantern up high and saw a scene I could hardly accept!
I can see it in my head just as clear as glass even now. Lord Almighty, I never seen the likes of such a thing! It must have been ten, twelve feet from top to bottom and at least fifteen feet deep and long. It brought to mind a mud dauber's nest, hanging there from the back wall of the barn like that.
The more I looked at that conglomeration of mud and hay, the more it 'minded me of a mud dauber nest; a wasp nest hangs free, but this thing didn't. From where I was standin', I counted three rows of cells, six to a row, tunnelin' up and inside at an angle. The entrance hole to each cell looked big enough for a man to crawl through, but I wasn't about to find out! Like I said, I ain't never seen nothin' to compare.
I parked my lamp on the end of a pitchfork I'd found propped up against the wall and shoved it up into the holes one at a time, figurin' I'd find out what was inside without puttin' myself at risk. All 'cept the last held chicken that looked dead, though they was still breathing. Next to 'em lay a group of what appeared to be frog eggs like one'd see in a pond; the difference bein', these were bigger than basket balls. They were all wrapped in some sort of gut sacks, and things was movin' around inside 'em. In the final cell I recognized Old Champ, a good ol' neighbor dog, layin' there in place of a chicken. It was terrible troublin' to me.
I soon realized I hadn't been far off comparin' the nest to a mud dauber's. You see, daubers look just like regular wasps, but they sting bugs instead of people, even when they're pissed off. The sting knocks the bugs senseless so the daubers can stuff 'em in the cells of their nest with new-laid eggs. The par'lyzed bugs get eaten by the newborn daubers, and I had an idea that was to be the fate of the chickens and Old Champ alike. It gave me a nightmare vision to think of such vicious critters scatterin' all over creation!
I looked real hard for a place where the nest builder might be hidin', and before too long I located two big holes in the hay, one on either side, about ten feet from the nest. The bails'd been broke apart around each hole, then patted down to hide the openings. I've seen toads doin' that very thing in order to have two or three escape routes from their burrows. I piled a couple hay bails over each of those holes to block them up, then crawled back out to the main floor of the loft. Then I plugged the hole I'd come out of and climbed back downstairs again.
Sure enough, the bails on the main floor had been stacked up from floor to ceiling in order to hide a tunnel of mud stretchin' down the wall from above. I guessed the critter's lair must be secreted in the hay 'neath the nest somewheres.
After scoutin' around outside a bit, I found where a hole come out under the barn. With the inside escape routes blocked up, the only way out had to be down the side of the barn and out that hole.
I figured I'd scare the bastard out by tossin' rocks up against the barn wall. I might have come up with a better plan in time, but the sun was settin' and pretty soon I'd have only the light of my lantern betwixt me and that hole. I threw a bunch of rocks and waited with fork in hand to see what commenced.
When I heard the baby cryin' like the dickens, I breathed easier, knowin' the little feller or gal hadn't been stung as yet. Some loud thumps followed, along with a sound like somethin' scurryin' full chisel down the inner wall of the barn. The baby's squalls changed to more of a whimpering, and it struck me all of a sudden that there could be more than one of them monsters lurkin' in there. But it was a bit late for worrying about that.
After a time, somethin' poked its head up the hole and crawled out real slow, clutchin' a blanketed bundle to its breast. When it sniffed at the lantern, I got my first good look at it.
It appeared to be a great bloated toad, but the size of a grown man and nowhere near so big as the Simmons boy reported. Its kisser was plug ugly and put me in mind of a bat. The skin was all warty like a toad, and I was surprised to see the bumps made some kind of weird design on its back. For a bonus, it had a light coat of curly, white-blond fur streamin' from its head down over the design. Rearin' up on all-fours, it stumbled towards me on its hind legs like a drunken sailor! Its waddle blowed up ever' now and then like a bullfrog's, but I couldn't make out if it made any sound 'cos the baby seemed to gurgle and coo whenever the wattle deflated.
My skin was crawlin', but none of the rest of me could've moved. When the toad was about seven, eight feet from me, I raised my fork up ready to strike, but Toadaggwa, or whatever it was, was too fast for me.
A pitch black snake of a tongue shot out its mouth and, before I knew it, the fork was snatched from my grip and I was knocked face down in the dirt. The toad slammed down on top of me. I rolled over quick to grab it by the neck, but the loose leathery waddle under its chin wouldn't allow for no real choke hold. We wrestled and thrashed back and forth for quite a spell, with me staring nto its half-closed scarlet eyes most of the time.
I must've been bleedin' like a stuck pig from gettin' bit all over a whole raft of times -- it had a mean set of teeth for a toad! It held me down fast with its stubby foretoes, and I felt its ice cold breath on my face when it finally stung me with the tip of its tongue. I was later told it had a sack of poison growing on each side of it where shoulders should have been. When the feeling started drainin' from my body, I was convinced I was a goner for sure.
Then the whole world exploded in deafening thunder! I thought I'd come to Final Judgment! But the thing I'd been strugglin' with fell off me and somehow I overcome the poison in me enough to run at top speed to grab the baby. Ever' part of me was screaming from pain, but I snatched the bundle up and kept going as best I could go in my feeble condition.
I ran like a madman 'til the world turned black and caved in on me. Despite it all, though, I somehow made sure my little charge was safe. When the Sheriff caught up with me, he said I was singin' a lullaby to what I cradled in my arms. As it turned out, what I'd read as thunder was actually the blast of the Sheriff's shotgun as he blowed that monster back to Hell!
For a time after, I wasn't right in the head at all, and I'm willin' to admit to it. I was half dead from shock and toad poison, yet they still had to knock out before they could take the baby away from me.
I spent close to six months in the hospital, then I was brought here. I owe my life to the Sheriff, I don't deny, but he's long dead now and, damn his soul, it's his lying that's kept me locked up here ever since.
Even the Sheriff had trouble acceptin' the contents of Doc's note, least ways at first. He'd just got back to town and read the note when he heard I was on my way out to see about Pritchy. In the note, Doc declared Toadaggwa was the real sire of Pritchy's child, Mazrah havin' planned it that way without her knowing. It was the awfulness of the coupling, Doc claimed, that blanked out her mind.
The note contended Pritchy'd been beyond help when Doc left as the half-human baby'd not been born so much as it'd eaten its way out of her. Doc didn't have it in him to kill the child even then, so he charged the Sheriff to do it for him. Doc wrote that it was more than he was capable of handlin', so he decided to end it all.
Hopin' to head off any panic among the locals, the official tale the Sheriff gave out afterward was that Pritchy had caught some terrible, fatal disease from Mazrah, and Doc had kept it secret from ever'body including Oly, even after Mazrah died of it. Pritchy died from the disease after a stillbirth, then when the Doc realized he was infected too, he shot himself. It was a hundred percent bullshit, but it was easier to swallow than the truth, so folks accepted it without question.
The only other person who knew the truth was the Sheriff's deputy 'cos he helped burn the house, the barn, and all their contents "to prevent the spread of infection." You can't tell me the neighbors didn't suspect somethin' more though, since a week later they hammered the Circle's stones to powder and dammed the river up so it didn't loop around no more.
I never did figure what possessed the Sheriff to get me labelled insane so's I'd be kept in this nut house for the rest of my life. Nor can I see these head shrinkers believin' monsters could beget offspring with a human woman. Even if such were possible, how could they give credence to any tale of a baby that growed to six feet in under a week? It don't make no sense unless they're the ones who's crazy!
I sure as hell ain't idiot enough to get myself all but ruined for no doll, but that's what the Sheriff claimed I did! Hell, that thing butchered my looks so bad my face is only fit to scare snakes now! Would I allow that to happen over a doll? A man'd have to be insane to do such a thing!
I can see from your face there's need for that proof I promised, solid proof that can't be ignored. I got it, or rather her, right here. Now, can you look at this pretty little baby here and still tell me Pritchy birthed some half-breed monster. I've been takin' care of her since that very day, and there ain't nobody can convince me she ain't a real live, flesh and blood baby!
Ain't she just an angel all dressed up in her pretty little princess outfit? And she's never once been a bit of bother or noise in all these years. Bless her tiny soul, little Marcella here's been the best sister a boy like me could ever hope for!
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Created: January 31, 1998; Updated: August 9, 2004