Rugby: Rugby lived a ripe old age and rarely left Rose's side. Those who got close enough to see the creature never ceased to marvel at its appearance. Some claimed they'd never seen a cat with feathers before. When Rugby finally passed in 1722, Rose buried her in the crawl space beneath the new church on 8th street, with a necklace around her neck, the one her childhood friend, Johanna, had carved "I Love Rugby" on and given to Rose, along with the cat, just before pretending to save the town of St. Alban's.
Rose Stout: Some say Rose never existed, others claim she never died. The "never died" folk say she's aged a bit over the last 300 years, but honestly, who hasn't? On certain nights along the Atlantic coast, especially during the month of July, when the wind shifts slightly to the east and sea storms begin moving ashore, and a chill hits the air for a split second before all hell breaks loose, and the wind makes the most God-awful shrieking and howling noise, well…
It might not be the wind.