My name is Harold. My last name isn't all that important. I reck'n that most will have forgotten it by now. I belong in a town called Claysdale. Small town as most go. 'Specially in this day and age. No longer those mom and pop shops, family owned and all. No, now there are those big cities and all those businesses that squash us little guys. Well that aint be what I am writing all this down for. You see, this small town Claysdale, had more goin' ons than most would realize. T'werent in the papers or nothing. Just local sorts.
Claysdale is in Colorado. Not by a main road and most times we are snowed in when a blizzard comes. These folks had to rely on some home remedies from time to time, which suited us just fine. Of course we had our own mischief and hardships but we were happy. Well, that was before. Now, it aint that fine or even happy here. Instead, its like a black cloud has come over the town. Not so much praying as before and some queer ones a'comin in, talkin' about educatin' us ignorant folks. We may not be as learned as others but we get along just fine. Also know when what they are spewing aint from God but from the Devil himself.
There also be folks here that are having to hide their Gifts. The city folks comin' in seem right eager to find them out and that ken only mean trouble. Martha, her Gift is being real happy, seems right now dour. She looks as gray as a ghost having to hold all that in. Susan has told her boys to keep quiet about what they what they see. â€œToo riskyâ€