The Curse of Wicked Willie a serial by Cynthia Piramalli

Just because a murderer is caught, convicted and executed doesn't mean that her crimes will end there! Revenge is a terrible thing.

The Curse of Wicked Willie - Wilhemina Morecroft paced the floor of her cell, a simple partitioned six by eight space of the old hospital building at San Quentin. There wasn't much call for female quarters in 1947 - in fact, Wilhemina was the only woman imprisoned at the California penitentiary. But the closest women's prison didn't have a maximum security Death Row, so the Wardens here had fitted her out a cell, complete with bars, and there was no mistaking where she was. Her own little Death Row.

The Execution Chamber - The witnesses milled about the white, sterile viewing room like they were at a macabre cocktail party, though barely a soul touched the refreshments offered in the adjoining lobby. Too sick with nerves to eat, they mainly took advantage of the strong, institutional coffee that brewed in a monster of an urn.

It's time - Wilhemina Morecroft sat stiff and quiet in the 'waiting room' - a bare room down the deserted corridor from the execution chamber. On another chair sat the chaplain, long silent since Wilhemina begged him to stop his chanting. He did not even lay a reassuring hand on her, she would not allow it. So different to the caged woman in her old cell, she now made not a sound, her deadened eyes staring straight ahead, hands clasped together, shoulders back.

God have mercy on your soul - As she came into view of the waiting gallery, she kept her steely glare on the chair before her. She did not fight or struggle with the Wardens, but walked tall. When they reached the chair, she sat rigid as her feet, hands and body were strapped down by the death chair's leather bonds.'

a story that would haunt him - It had been one month to the day that Wilhemina Morecroft had been executed. It was a day just like any other.

Joseph Wells and Hank Howell both died last night. - Two months to the day of Wicked Willie's execution, and Ian Jeffreys had had yet another strange night. The phone woke him at two in the morning again and, even though he'd taken the phone off the hook from then until seven, he didn't sleep a wink.

Somebody call an ambulance! - Ian would never know if he was getting strange phone calls in the middle of the night anymore. For the past month the phone had been off the hook from ten at night until seven in the morning, and so far his plan had worked. No silent calls from beyond, no disturbed nights, no forbearers of death.

Judge Davis - Ian Jeffreys entered the double glass doors of the hospital into the foyer, sat down in one of the well worn chairs and waited. He looked at the magazines on the table in front of him, but was in no mood to read. Instead, he wished that this experience would be over with.

GOVERNOR STANTON DIES IN CAR CRASH - Not three weeks had passed on Judge Davis' death before the headline on the front page of Ian's paper - Ian's story of course - read: GOVERNOR STANTON DIES IN CAR CRASH

Patiently waiting - For the third night in a row, Ian sat by the phone and waited. One eye on the clock and one hand on the receiver. Patiently waiting.