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This is my newest, Original Model. A specter from Haven's past, Prudence Stillwater, washes ashore after 500 years of being sealed in a metal box at the bottom of the ocean, and Vince, Dwight and Dave find that not only is she a Crocker, she's THE Crocker-the first to ever be Troubled in the family's lineage. Prudence tells them their Trouble used to be able to cure Troubles-WITHOUT having to kill a member of the family! But Prudence isn't interested in fixing Haven's Troubles-she wants revenge on Mara. And the fact that she's now permanently Audrey Parker makes very little difference to her...

Bill Crombie was walking the narrow spit of beach that ran parallel to his shack.

The Nor'easter that had blown through Haven had been a fierce one; the beach was littered with debris and seaweed, the ocean tossing back remnants of old boats, trash, and other assorted detritus.

He peered into the distance, and noticed an object half-buried in a clump of seaweed, some fifty yards away.

Bill drew closer, and as he neared the object, he realized that it was a large metal chest of some kind.

It looked incredibly old; there were layers of barnacles attached here and there, and the metal was scored with deep scratches, as though it had been chained down.

Bill's heart quickened. He, like many Havenites, had heard the stories of pirates burying their treasure around this area, and he hurried over to the box, and put his hands on it.

The box appeared to have no opening, as though it were solid, and on trying to move it, Bill found that it was impossible to do so, as though it weighed close to a ton.

"Hey, Mackie!" he hollered in the direction of the fishing shack. "Get down here and see this!"

A gray-haired man poked his head out of the back door.

"Whatcha got?" he called down to the beach.

"It's some kinda treasure chest!" Bill called. "Bring the truck down, it's too heavy ta drag!"

The man disappeared back inside the house, and came out of the front door, before jumping into his truck.

Further up the shore, Vince and Dave Teagues were also out on the beach, surveying the damage wrought by the Nor'easter for the daily edition of The Haven Herald.

"Storm did a number on the place, that's for certain," Vince remarked as they walked along the beach.

"Good thing Marion's out of town, or people'd be blaming her for it," Dave replied. He squinted, seeing the commotion further along the beach, watching as Mack Rebben's truck backed along the sand toward Bill, who was directing him, before calling out to stop.

"Well, looks like Bill and Mack's found something to salvage," Vince said.

"Let's go see," Dave answered, curious as to what the two men were examining.

"It's old, innit?" Mack was saying to Bill as the Teagues approached.

"What'd you find, fellas?" Dave called.

"It's ours, whatever it is," Bill said pointedly. He thumped the box for emphasis, and the metal emitted a strange high-pitched cry, that was almost like the distant wail of a woman, and all four men shivered involuntarily, silent as the sound faded away.

"Eerie," Dave remarked.

A faint memory stirred in Vince's mind, something about a metal box, but he couldn't recall it. He shrugged it off, and watched as Mack and Bill struggled to get the chain hooked into the large ring on the end.

"What do you think it is? Blackbeard's Treasure?" Mack puffed, finally succeeding in getting the chain fastened on. He climbed back into his truck, and after a few moments, the old Dodge roared to life.

"Blackbeard never sailed these waters, far as I know," Vince said. "But there's always been stories about pirates treasure buried around Haven."

"I remember we used to go digging for treasure every summer along Nanagasset Bay," Dave grinned. "Only thing we ever found was clams and some old bottles."

"Awright, start 'er up, Mack," Bill called, ignoring Dave's reminisces.

Mack threw the truck in drive and the chain pulled taut, the metal box steadily refusing to move.

"Give it the gas!" Bill yelled at him.

"I am givin' it the gas!" Mack hollered, his foot practically flat on the floorboard of the truck. Whatever this thing was, it must weigh tons-it had to be full of pirate loot!

He and Bill were so preoccupied by the thought of Spanish doubloons dancing in their heads, they didn't notice the chain links were being straightened out.

"Bill, look out!" Dave shouted at him, seeing the chain nearing its snapping point. The links were separating, and he and Vince darted out of the way as it snapped, the tension too much for it. The chain whistled as it came right at Bill, who threw his arm up to shield himself.

The chain slashed through his heavy coat, ripping deep into his arm. Bill cried out, falling against the box, his arm gushing red.

Vince and Dave hurried toward him. Vince could see bone through the coat, and he helped Bill tuck his arm against him.

"Call an ambulance," Vince gasped, as Dave ran toward the house to get a first-aid kit.

Mack climbed out of the truck, stunned.

"What the hell is that thing?" he goggled. "That chain woulda pulled a 80-foot fishing boat with no problem!"

"We'll worry about what it is after we get Bill to the hospital," Vince said.

"What-about-the box?" Bill said through gritted teeth.

"I'll call Dwight to watch it. Nobody's going to take it, I promise," Vince assured him. He cast a look at the box again, his brow furrowed. Bill's blood had been all over that box-now it was gone. It hadn't run off onto the sand either, he noted. There was only one place it could have gone-into the box. He knew Bill was Troubled-which meant that box had reacted to his blood somehow. He would definitely have to dig into the archives when he returned home.

After the ambulance had carried Bill and Mack off to the hospital, Dwight had arrived by now, and he and Dave gathered around the box. It had changed since Vince and Dave had first seen it. Before, it had been smooth, with no visible openings. Now, there appeared to be a narrow seam that ran the length of the top.

"So you said this was different when you first saw it?" Dwight questioned.

"Yes-you couldn't see any way to open it," Vince replied. "But when Bill's blood hit it, this appeared."

"That usually means a Trouble," Dwight noted.

"Yes it does," Dave said. "But a Troubled box?"

"I don't think it's the box itself that's Troubled," Vince said. That memory he'd had earlier had become a little clearer now. "I think it's what's in the box-or rather, who is in the box that's Troubled."

"You think this is a coffin?" Dwight said. He poked and prodded at the box to try to find a lever or button to open it, but found no success.

"Who do you think is in there, Vince?" Dave asked.

"If this is what I'm thinking it is," Vince said slowly, surveying the box. "Then this is the casket of Prudence Stillwater."

"Prudence Stillwater?" Dwight said skeptically. "That's just a story, right?"

"And how many Troubles in Haven were 'just stories?" Vince asked him, and Dwight nodded.

"Haven's only known witch," Dave said. "This is a story-the body of Prudence Stillwater washing up on the beach after 500 years."

Vince had a sudden hunch, and he turned to Dwight.

"Lend me your knife a moment," he said.

Dwight handed him the blade, and Vince nicked his thumb, wincing slightly.

"Vince, what are you doing?" Dwight protested. "You don't know what's in there!"

"If my hunch is right, we'll find out in a minute," Vince told him, and ran his bloodied thumb along the seam in the top of the box.

The blood seeped into the seam, and after a few moments, it became more pronounced and Dwight noted a small indentation located at the top of the seam and he pressed it.

There was a grinding, creaking sound of metal long since unmoved and then the seam widened, splitting into two panels which slid open down along the sides of the box.

At first, it appeared to be a mass of moldering rags; and Vince cautiously stretched out a hand, moving them aside.

The three could see the face of a woman through the rotting muslin that covered it.

Vince and Dave finished uncovering her, revealing a slender, dark-haired woman who looked to have been in her thirties.

"I can't believe she's this well-preserved," Dave gasped. "Look, her clothes are still intact."

"Casket must have been air and water tight," Dwight noted. "There's little to no decomposition on her. But now that's she's been exposed to air again, it's going to set in pretty quick if we don't get her to the morgue and out of this sun."

"Mm," Vince mumbled agreement. "She's from the Early Colonial period, from the look of her garments, so she fits the timeline to be Prudence Stillwater," he remarked, studying her face. She'd been quite beautiful, from what he could see beneath her anguished expression, and he took in her ragged nails, her eyes closed tightly, the lines of pain in her face.

"Dear God, they put her in here alive," he said compassionately. "She tried to claw her way out."

"She was probably just Troubled, not a witch," Dwight put in.

"Either way, she deserves a proper burial," Dave nodded.

Vince carefully laid the ancient gauze back over the woman in the box before straightening up.

"What do you want to do with her? I imagine the Haven Historical Society would like to have a look at her too," Dwight said. "Gloria's on that board-she'll have a field day with the body of an actual Colonial."

Vince looked back toward the woman. He couldn't swear to it, but it looked as though the gauze over her face was moving, as though she were-breathing?

He bent back over to her, uncovering her face, and gingerly touched her skin. It was icy-cold and clammy to the touch.

"What's the matter?" Dave asked.

"Nothing-just wind playing tricks, I suppose," Vince muttered. "Take her to the morgue, Dwight. But no autopsy. Just have Gloria hold onto her while we try to find out who she really is."

"You said she's probably Prudence Stillwater!" Dave said.

"I said maybe she was. We'll look in the archives and see what we can find out about this-thing," he gestured at the box.

Dwight bent down to gently lift the woman from the box-and she moved. Her mouth opened, and she drew a strangled breath.

"Sweet Mary!" Dave exclaimed, falling back.

Dwight gasped, dropping her back into the box, his mouth gaping open.

The woman moaned, stirring.

"She's alive," Vince breathed. He found himself, and moved the gauze from her face once more.

The woman cried out, covering her face with her arms, wailing.

"The light's hurting her eyes," he said, and quickly wound some of the gauze around her eyes, gently helping her to sit up.

"Can you stand?" he asked her.

The woman tried, but her legs were too weak, and she sank back down.

Dwight and Vince gently lifted her out of the box, and sat her down on the sand next to it.

Dwight's mind was reeling. Here was a woman who was more folklore than fact in Haven's history, its only known victim of the witch trials that had taken place back then, and she was alive.

The woman moved her mouth, trying to speak.

"Who-are-you, sir?" she croaked, barely audible.

"My name is Vincent Teagues," Vince told her. "This is my brother, David. And our Chief of Police, Dwight Hendrickson," he went on.

"Where-am-I?"

"You're in Haven, Maine," Dave said, and her face tightened with apprehension.

"Have you come to arrest me again, Constable?" she asked.

"No, no," Dwight assured her hastily. "We're here to help. What's your name?" he asked, even though all three men were fairly certain of what her answer would be.

"My name is Prudence Stillwater," the woman answered in her faint voice. "What is the date, good sir?"

"It's October fifteenth," Vince said softly. "October 15, 2015."

"Five hundred years," she got out faintly. "I was in there for nearly five hundred years."

Dwight and Vince helped her to her feet, guiding her towards his truck.

"Take her to our fishing shack, it's just up the way," Vince directed. "We'll finish up here, and then we'll be along shortly. See that she's made comfortable."

Dwight nodded agreement, and helped her into the truck. He hoped her clothes would hold together-every movement she made, he could hear small tears in the aged fabric as it gave way.

"What is this?" Prudence questioned, feeling the leather seats, the glass in the windows. "What sort of prison is this?"

"It's not a prison, it's a truck," Dwight told her.

"Truck," she repeated, unfamiliar with the word.

"It's a vehicle-a horseless carriage," he replied, remembering his history lessons.

"How very peculiar," Prudence murmured. She startled slightly when Dwight turned the ignition, the truck rumbling to life beneath them as they drove off.

"It has a very smooth gait, your horseless carriage," Prudence noted. She was becoming more accustomed to the light now, and she slowly uncovered her eyes, turning them on Dwight, and she smiled slightly.

Dwight was surprised-her eyes were a silvery blue-the same color as Crocker's eyes when Troubled blood touched him! Where his faded away after a few moments, hers seemed to be her actual eye color.

"Is something the matter?" Prudence asked.

"No-you have very unusual eyes," Dwight got out. "Miss-Mrs.-"

"It's Mistress Stillwater," Prudence replied, her smile fading. "Although I suspect I may be widowed by this time," she trailed off, the reality of her situation settling on her, and tears filled her eyes, spilling over down her pale cheeks.

"My babies are dust in their graves," she whispered. "All those I loved are long gone."

Dwight gently touched her hand. They didn't cover how to be sympathetic to people who'd come back to life after 500 years in the academy, and this was an all-time first for Haven-unless you counted Audrey. But he knew what it was like to lose a child.

"I lost my little girl a few years ago," he said gently. "I know how you must feel."

Prudence nodded, bringing herself under control after a few moments. "Thank you for your kind words, Constable," she said, swallowing hard.

"Are you Troubled, Mrs. Stillwater?" Dwight asked suddenly.

Prudence laughed faintly. "I was just pulled from an iron casket after 500 years of being submerged in the ocean and you ask if I am Troubled."

"That's your Trouble-you can't die," Dwight said as they pulled to a stop in front of Dave and Vince's fishing shack.

"I cannot die," Prudence repeated. "Oh, believe me, sir, the good citizenry of Haven did their utmost to make me do so," she continued, her voice gaining an edge. "But all their efforts failed."

"Well, you won't be punished for being Troubled anymore," Dwight promised. "Things have changed in Haven since then. I myself am Troubled."

"Things have indeed changed in Haven if the Troubled are allowed to become Chief Constable," Prudence noted.

Vince and Dave arrived a few minutes later, and after Vince showed her how to work the hot and cold faucets for the bathtub and Dave procured some old clothes, they busied themselves with making tea and some canned soup.

"Did you find out anything from her?" Vince asked as he poured the tea into the teapot.

"Just that she's Troubled. She says she can't die, that's her Trouble," Dwight told him.

"If she lived 500 years ago, then that means she was there when the Troubles began," Vince murmured. "Mara might have Troubled her personally, for all we know."

"So maybe letting her meet Audrey might not be a good idea just now," Dwight muttered.

"I agree. We shall keep Madam Stillwater a secret between ourselves for now," Vince finished as the bathroom door clicked, and Prudence emerged, clad in the clothing Dave had gotten for her.

She looked remarkably better-her skin had gone from its clammy gray to an olive complexion, her long dark hair tumbling down her back, still damp from the bath. She seemed to have regained her strength, holding herself upright, her legs sturdy beneath her.

Prudence looked down at herself, rubbing her hands on her pants legs. She had a trim figure, nicely endowed in all right places, and Dwight felt a little bit of an attraction to her.

"Breeches," she said. "It is the first I have ever worn them. It's rather pleasant."

"Many of the women of today wear them," Vince smiled. "Will you take tea, Mrs. Stillwater?"

"If you have it, that would be lovely," Prudence answered gratefully. She sank gracefully onto a chair, and Vince poured the tea into a china cup and saucer, which Prudence picked up, holding them delicately in her hands. "And you may call me Prudence, Master Teagues."

"Vincent," Vince smiled in return. "And just Dave and Dwight also."

Prudence nodded, and sipped her tea gingerly.

"I know you have been through a terrible ordeal," Vince began gently. "But if you would, will you tell us how you came to be in that situation?"

Prudence gently set her cup and saucer down on the table, the china not even clinking. She folded and unfolded her long delicate fingers a few times, thinking over what to say or not say, and she sighed deeply, looking up at them.

"I lived in Haven with my husband Daniel and my two children, Elizabeth and Samuel," she began. "My husband worked with my father as an apprentice silversmith."

She thought a moment. "Daniel tried to be many things-a farmer, a fisherman, a clerk, a silversmith. He had a good heart-but not much knack for anything," she went on. "He came from a wealthy family; however, his father did not approve of our marriage and disinherited him. He felt our family had too-tarnished-a reputation."

"What was your maiden name?" Vince asked.

"My maiden name was Crocker," Prudence replied.

"Figures," Dwight muttered.

Prudence turned her silvery eyes on him. "Why would you say that, Constable? Do Crockers still live on in Haven?"

"We've got one, and he's enough," Dwight said. "His name's Duke Crocker-I guess he'd probably be your great-great-great-great-grandson or nephew or something."

"Duke," Prudence chuckled. "Rather an odd choice of name considering that Crockers were practically thrown out of England because of my grandfather's dalliances with the Duke of Glastonbury's wife."

"Why am I not surprised at that?" Dave muttered, and Dwight grinned in spite of himself.

"But please, continue-Prudence," Vince said.