It was in all the papers. Joseph Chizek, alleged murderer of his wife Maryna, was found ‘not guilty’ in the courts of law. There were two trials. In the first, despite there being some forensic evidence which made it clear that Chizek could’ve been the one who beat Maryna to death, it wasn't conclusive enough to make him the only suspect. He claimed he'd gone fishing, which was confirmed because he had been seen leaving early that morning by several neighbors who were themselves leaving for work. The police were, however, convinced that he'd taken the dinghy back under overcast skies to the small docking area behind their house on the lake, killed his wife, and returned to his boat as he'd come. The prints found on the golf club were, of course, his; he owned the golf club, and the rest of the set, didn’t he? And the five hairs found on the body? Wasn’t she wearing one of his plaid flannel shirts? Women do that from time to time... Wasn't that where those hairs had come from?

Yet Joseph Chizek, according to police files, also had a vicious temper. He'd beaten his wife and she’d made out a complaint more than once. Then he’d charmed her into making up each time, and the charges were always dropped. But there was a hundred-thousand dollar insurance policy he'd taken out on her...

Her grandfather, old Tavytch, who’d raised Maryna since childhood (her parents having perished in an auto accident), protested loudly…even to the news people, when, for lack of conclusive evidence, the jury was by law obligated to render a verdict of ‘not guilty,’ although some jury members were convinced he was guilty; they knew a hung jury would have caused a new trial...

This happened anyway, much to Maryna’s grandfather's delight. The wizened little man was in court every day of both trials, his snowy head and dour countenance focused unwaveringly upon the proceedings. Yet, with no new evidence, the jury had no alternative but to find Joseph Chizek not guilty... The look on the old man's face was one of inheld rage, while a self-satisfied smugness appeared on the countenance of Joe Chizek. In impenetrable silence, the oldster’s dark eyes followed Chizek's departure from court.

When Tavytch had received his dead granddaughter's personal belongings, he’d found a secret diary she’d kept. In it, she’d written of the many times Joe had threatened to kill her. Tavytch released the diary to the press, whose constant harassment of Joe Chizek finally made him lose his temper.

Before fleeing the reporters in his car, his face livid with anger, he taunted them, “Yes! Yes, I killed her...and there's nothing anyone can do about it!  Double jeopardy: no one can judge me twice for the same crime!” Then, giving them an obscene gesture of defiance, he sped away to his Water Street house, where he hid while continuing to carry a gun on his person, almost never emerging therefrom.

The helpless authorities couldn't even revoke Chizek’s gun permit; his lawyer saw to that. But he didn't get the insurance money, thanks to his confession, which the news cameras had recorded ‘live.’

Afterwards, many publicly and privately observed that justice had been thwarted in Maryna’s case.

But one old man, unable to get justice, would have revenge... Yes, it was wrong for him to do so, since it suggested that justice doesn’t prevail (though it does for those who are patient). Even then, there were efforts in progress to bring charges for perjury under oath—his previous denials—insurance fraud and a civil rights case. For Tavytch, however, this wasn’t enough.

In the light of a single lamp in the sitting room of the old house, Joe Chizek sat in an easy chair contemplating the new charges against him—charges he hadn’t expected. Even his expensive lawyer was angry with him. If the state made those charges stick (and it looked like they would), he'd spend even more years in jail than he would have for murder!

He could run away! Yes, he’d run…but where...where? How about Brazil? Brazil had no extradition treaties with the U.S.! Excited by the prospect of escape, new hope dawned within Joseph Chizek's fevered mind.

He was just considering how to put this idea into action when the French doors which led into the back garden from that room blew open inward. Brandishing his gun, Joe Chizek leapt up... A gust of chill, charnel wind swept the room—

“Wh...who’s there?” cried Joe Chizek. Trembling, he called, “Come out! Come out, or I’ll shoot!”

Was it the wind in the treetops, or was something—a throng of somethings—murmuring amongst the night shadows beyond the open doors?

“We’re an old people, Mr. Chizek,” said Tavytch, entering the parlor from the unusually thick shadows which darkened the doorway. “We are an eldritch people with ancient ways. We tried to adapt to modern ways, but this country's legal system has fallen into ruin. What I now do isn’t right. I should let the law deal with you...but the hunger for revenge has, in truth, poisoned me. It has grown stronger than my will to control it. You will now receive your punishment.”

And, still gazing upon Joe Chizek (whose hand trembled when he tried to aim his weapon at the old man, as though a palsy stymied his reflexes), old Tavytch gestured to summon those who’d carry out the verdict—those who had come with him from the old country, and had accompanied him this night. In response to the old man’s gesture, their whispering murmurs increased; from waiting shadows, they surged restlessly forward...

Chizek’s neighbors heard the gunshots and dialed the police. So many gunshots, they said, and terrible screams. The police came quickly, but not soon enough to be of any help to Joseph Chizek...and, although they found what was left of his partially devoured remains, no clues remained. The crime was never solved...