Ogden Bonespur, ghost, frowned as he looked at his pocket watch.

“Don’t worry, sherriff,” a mermaid said as she looked up from her book. “Kraken will be here,” a second mermaid added. “He always arrives,” a third finished, “on his own time.”

The ghost smiled a little and nodded. “Y’all need anything while I am here?’

“Do you want to join us for a swim?” the second mermaid offered with an inviting grin. The ghost politely declined, knowing the danger despite already being dead.

All along Witching Hour Glass the ghost floated, his spectral boots hovering just above the beach’s blue-violet sand and red-violet water.

It was high noon and yet the sunlight had a decidedly muted quality, barely above dawn or dusk in illumination. As such, it was safe and comfortable for undead of all kinds at all hours.

The sheriff tipped his hat to a vampire couple who waved in return. He asked about the kraken but they did not know his whereabouts either, commenting they hadn’t seen him when they floated in early this morning.

Witching Hour Glass is a medium-sized beach town popular with monsters. Aside from the aforementioned light qualities, the weather hardly changes throughout the year, making it an ideal place to vacation during too-cold winters or roasting hot summers.

“Rethink that strategy,” Ogden quietly commanded a would-be thief eyeing a window. So quiet, the ghost had taken the rogue completely off guard.

“Just keepin’ you on your toes, sheriff!” May, goblin, replied quickly with a toothy grin.

The ghost made a non-committal noise into his mustache. “Have y’all seen the kraken lately?”

May shook her head no. At this, the sheriff tipped his hat and moved on.

Witching Hour is a brash, boisterous town full of multi-colored lights, the sounds of buzzers announcing winners and carnival barkers playfully teasing losers. Consolation prizes are regularly offered — always with the temptation to play again and wager for something larger.

Sheriff Bonespur ran the town for the most part as the mayor was largely tasked with cultural affairs: bringing in tourists, defending against heroic empires  looking to expand, keeping the supply lines of games and snacks flowing.

Tall and quiet, Ogden is tough but fair and is respected by even the sneakiest of thieves. He kept chaos down, making Witching Hour Glass an ideal resort town to visit, spend a few coins on the boardwalk, and lay on the beach to soak up rays of twilight. Simple but pleasurable luxuries.

Ogden kept the chaos down, that is, until the mayor returned.

It is hard to arm wrestle a kraken into calmness and order.

Screaming with laughter, a large swath of beachgoers started to run, those with air-breathing lungs to the beach, those with gills towards the twilight sea, and all to greet the incoming living maelstrom.

“Lowercase K!” they shouted as a building-sized kraken emerged from the waters.

With a gurgling howl, the mayor greeted citizens and visitors alike, gathering them up in his massive tentacles for hugs, hoisting them dozens of feet in the air and playfully waving them about.

Sheriff Bonespur’s frown at the chaotic display was accentuated by his handlebar mustache. “Anarchy,” he muttered as he floated down to the beach to greet his boss.

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