"We got four directions to help you get around; uptown, downtown, riverside and lake. Once you learn the system, you won't make no mistake. Now South Carrollton and South Claiborne, they meet to form a cross, so if you're thinking north and south, its gonna get you lost..."

~From "Mystery," A Bullfrog at Cafe Du Monde by Brod Bagert

Mystery Street

The great city across the wide, shallow silver lake from the Land of Three Rivers is known for the arcane nature of its streets. They are old, their cobbled lengths twist and wind and intersect at odd angles. Some streets dead end in one section of the city and resume their trek on the opposite side of this crescent-shaped depression between river and lake. They are named for ancient gods and goddesses, colonial governors, explorers, saints, and the desires and aspirations of men.

The eccentricity of its streets is not the only barricade to finding your way there. The natives of that place do not use the points of a compass but orient themselves by the direction in relation to lake, river, uptown or downtown. It is very easy for a stranger to get lost.

This was not a concern of the woman in the blue coat. Rosaline was not a stranger and thought she knew all the coils and bends of the city’s boulevards and alleys but this was no ordinary day. The sky was dark grey and seemed low enough to touch. When the snow began to fly, she went out for a walk. She had never seen snow for it had been a generation since snow dusted the slate roofs and cobbled streets of the Drowned City of the Crescent Moon.

Despite this fact, Rosaline saw few others braving the soft white blanket falling from the sky. Aversion to cold temperatures had most denizens of the city viewing this rarity from behind their windows. Many of the shops Rosaline walked by were closed, as if the entire city was holding its breath until the unusual precipitation passed.

It kept on through the afternoon, coating palm trees and burying flowers that had bloomed out of season in the warm days before the snow. Rosaline paused by the old market to get some hot coffee and see the gold statue of the girl saint on horseback crowned with white crystals of ice and snow.

Rosaline finished her coffee, pulled her coat tight against her body, and walked away from the center of town, down a broad avenue of evergreen oaks which loomed blackly under the grey sky, catching the snowflakes. Lost in her thoughts, she did not realize how far she had walked until she looked up to find herself by the venerable racetrack. The street sign said “Mystery.”

She shook her head and attempted to return to the avenue that would lead her back down to the heart of the city and the river but one narrow alley led to another. The pastel colors of the wood and stucco cottages were washed out and drab on this dark winter day and Rosaline saw no lights in any window. It was utterly quiet.

The day got darker and still the snow came down. Rosaline began to panic. She saw a shadowy shape ahead of her down yet another alley. Desperate for help, she called out. Several youths emerged from the snow.

Before Rosaline realized they were too pale, their limbs too attenuated, one of the group stepped forward and said, “The cold always makes me hungry.”

His catlike eyes gleamed in the darkening day and he bared sharp teeth in a smile that had nothing to do with humor. Rosaline stumbled back and tried to run but it was too late. The alley dead-ended at a garden fence where wrought-iron bees flew among wrought-iron flowers. They dragged her down and Rosaline felt the sharp teeth lock on her throat, then she felt nothing at all.

If you walked down that alley an hour later, you might not have noticed a few spots of red on the thin drapery of snow. The next day, the sun came out and all traces of snow were gone by lunchtime.