Twenty-eight - Chohawno

They say the button man had a name once, back when he was alive and well. The name is dull and meaningless, Jonathon Henries, chartered accountant, single, silent, sad and alone. Days of paperwork and nights of television, his only passion was the button collection he kept, looking after it with a tireless devotion. Thus was his consternation to discover that the rarest button of all, the crown-curve blue-regalia, would be forever out of his reach. He dreamed of that button, longed for it night and day, a rare hand-crafted design known only to have been made once during the eighteenth century, the only surviving example held by the National Museum. They say that he would have given anything to own it, that indeed he did give anything, gave that which was most precious, to obtain that which was, after all, just a button. A deal was struck, a life was took. But all that was long ago. Now he is just a puppet, dancing on a string, the button man, poor cursed Chohawno.