Four riders and a carriage were outside my gates.

It was not a wagon or a stagecoach but a proper carriage. It was black, with a driver sitting at the front, managing the horses. It reeked of money, and that meant trouble. Every time someone with money came to my dungeon, things never ended that well, and there were always consequences.

The four men on horses surrounded the carriage, protecting it. They rode up to it and dismounted. They watched the area like hawks, looking for any signs of danger, and the carriage stopped almost before the gates. The driver got down and went over to the door. He opened it and lowered a set of steps from the site doorway. He stepped away, awaiting the occupant or occupants to leave it.

At first, no one came out, and I looked at the men surrounding the carriage. All were dressed well and openly carried firearms. The riders were the danger, but who was in the carriage?

October was a wet month. The days were damp and cold, and heavy, dark clouds covered the skies. Leaves were falling, and many were scattered across the area. As they walked around, squelching was heard as they walked through the soft, muddy ground.

They did not seem too concerned that no one had emerged from the carriage yet, as if they had been through this many times before. On the other hand, I was getting a bit frustrated with the delay. I had learned patience over the years, but this was just getting ridiculous.

After about ten minutes, a couple emerged. Both were dressed in fine, expensive clothing appropriate for this weather and time of year. The man was of average height and had a thin moustache across the top of his lip. His light brown hair was heavily styled. I was no judge, but I believed he was what women would call rakishly handsome. The woman was slightly shorter than he was and bundled up far more. She had auburn coloured hair and was very attractive, with large blue eyes and bright red lips. She was grasping a bouquet of bright red roses. She lifted the hem of her dress to avoid getting mud on it.

"Come now, Miss Elizabeth. We must go forth for me to seek the sights for my muse to bring forth a great work." The man spoke as he helped the woman down from the carriage.

"I understand your need for inspiration, dear Harold. I only ask, why here, of all places?" She asked in return. She was unhappy, and I suspected it was a combination of the weather, the national location, and the fact that they were standing outside a graveyard.

"Ah, my beloved Elizabeth. I seek inspiration along the lines of my great teacher, the poet, Poe. I must seek, as he did, a view of death. When I heard of this place, I knew I could not deny myself." He turned and looked through the gates; his face was alight with wonder and happiness. It was like looking at a child on Christmas morning as they saw the mountain of presents to be opened. Both spoke with higher-class eastern accents. However, I noted a slight off-note in Elizabeth's.

"I understand your need for inspiration, dear Harold, but is this far too macabre even for you?"

He turned and looked at her not with anger or disappointment, but with eagerness. "Most wondrous, Elizabeth, this is perfect. Come, let us walk and take in the sights of this place."

He offered his arm to the woman, and she took it. The pair walked through the gates into the courtyard. The four men from the horses followed them, but the carriage driver remained behind. Harold stopped in the courtyard and took in the sights of the graveyard before him, and his excitement grew as every second passed.

"The stories I have heard do not do this place justice—such a monument to death, even many of the great places in the east are put to shame. I have only seen its likes in the ancient cities of Europe. What a great fortune to have found this place."

He looked around, trying to take in every detail, until his eyes fell on the plinth. He walked over and read the inscription, and for the first time, a slight frown came over his features. He had read and reread the description, and I saw his mouth working as he muttered the inscription. He reached out and ran his hand across the words. He wore an excellent and expensive-looking pair of leather gloves, which stopped him from touching the stone directly.

"What is it, dear Harold?" Elizabeth asked.

"Oh, nothing, my dearest Elizabeth, just a local fancy, it seems." He spoke with the same jovial tone, but she could not see his face as he stood slightly in front of her with his back to her. He then turned and was once again the same as she was before. "Let us go on."

[Alert! Intruders are not recognised as Challengers.]

They took the southern path.

My Hunters were stirring, preparing to track the intruders.

Looking at Harold and watching his reactions triggered a warning in me. Something was off here, and this concerned me.

"We have six intruders with a seventh outside the gates. They are heading along the southern path. There's something off here. Stalk them but do not engage in less I give the order or you're discovered."

As they were recognised as intruders, I was given much leeway to decide how to deal with them. Usually, I would just let the Hunters do their thing, but there was something here that I wanted to understand before I took action. Also, I was trying to avoid drawing more attention to myself.

I did not wait to see the hunter's reactions as I was more interested in following Harold and trying to figure out his game. As they walked, Harold continued to lay platitudes upon Elizabeth, creating poetry from the sights he found around him.

The fact that he had referenced Edgar Allan Poe as his inspiration gave me great joy, as I had always enjoyed his works. Listening to Harold as he walked, I realised that you did not have a shred of the talent that Poe did.

Elizabeth did not seem enthused to be there, but returned the compliments and smiled whenever needed. She was playing the part of a doting female admirer to an aspiring poet, but like Harold, there was something just slightly off about her.

The four men who were clearly guards followed behind at a respectable distance, far enough not to interfere in the conversation but close enough to help if something happened. They were constantly looking around, alert for any threats, and I was sure now that they were professionals. Their hands were never far away from their weapons.

Over the next hour, they continued leisurely through the graveyard as Harold attempted to create the epic poem he sought. He was getting to the point where I wished he would actually shut up, or I would be sending my Hunters no matter the risk.

Speaking of my Hunters, they were now shadowing the group well out of sight. I knew they were out there because I had caught slight glimpses of them as I was higher up than ground level. Occasionally, I reached out and informed the hunter to stay back, as they were risking being spotted by the guards.

I decided to let them reach the church, as Harold seemed quite eager to do so.

It was another twenty minutes before they arrived, a torturous twenty minutes of bad poetry. They walked around the outside of the church to the north doors, and here, Harold stopped. Two of the guards moved forward and entered the church. They walked around the central room and looked inside the side annexe doors until they were satisfied that the church was empty. It's clear that decrepit conditions easily added to that appearance.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

I did, however, see the look between the two men as they noted all the damage from bullets that littered the walls, altar and statue. They walked outside, where they addressed Harrold.

"The church is clear, Mr Morgan. But we think you should be aware that there were signs of a gun battle happening some time ago."

"Oh really. How peculiar. Are we in any danger?"

"No, Sir. Whatever happened was now long past the age of the damage. The building is empty."

"Excellent. Wait out here, gentlemen; we will not be long." He walked into the church, still arm in arm with Elizabeth. At the mention of a gun battle, she had become far more focused on her surroundings. Her eyes had an edge of intelligence that I could not dismiss.

The four men took positions outside the door, protecting it from anyone entering. As far as they knew, no one else was in the graveyard, but they were not taking any chances. My Hunters were nearby, but crossing the distance to reach them to kill them with their braids would open them up to gunfire that I suspected from these men would be fatal to them.

Harold and Elizabeth enter the church alone. He made sure to close the doors behind them as they passed the threshold. They walked down the central aisle together towards the altar, and Harold's excitement only increased as he looked around. He was now almost vibrating with it.

Elizabeth was less than impressed.

They walked the length of the room and stood before the altar. The winged Angel of Death statue looked down over them unless you paid attention to its head's angle and realised it was looking at the altar.

"Harold, I find this place most disturbing. This is no place of God that I have ever seen."

"Dearest Elizabeth, you are so right. This place is a monument to what Poe expressed through his great works." Harold stood with his arms wide, looking up at the statue with reverence and wonder on his face.

"Please let us be away from this most on settling of places and once more return to town." Elizabeth was starting to become unnerved by this place.

"Soon, my dearest." He then turned to her and took the bouquet of roses from her hand. He walked over to one of the pews closest to the altar, laying them gently down. He turned and walked back to his companion.

"What are you doing, Harold?" Elizabeth asked, confused as I was about his actions.

"Why, my dearest and wondrous Elizabeth, I am about to create my greatest work yet." He said, stepping in close to her.

As he did so, he threw a knife from within his long coat and, before she could react, drove it into her breast, into her heart. Before she could collapse in shock from the injury, he caught her and lifted her. As she died coughing up blood, he laid her down on the altar. He stood there watching it as she passed, A look of confusion and shock on her face. When she finally died, he closed her eyes and produced a handkerchief from another package, wiping the blood from her mouth. He pulled a knife from the chest and put it back within his coat. Walking back to the pew, he picked up the roses and placed them on her chest, moving her arms into position to hold them. They and her heavy coat hide the wound that killed her.

"There, my beautiful one, my greatest work has been done." He looked proudly at his work, and I was greatly confused. He was crying as he looked at the scene he had created.

With this, he turned and walked back towards the doors, passing through them and stepping back into the dying day. He closed the doors gently behind him and nodded to his guards, who had turned to face him.

He started going back along the path he had come, and the guards fell around him, never mentioning the missing companion. They moved with purpose, now seeking to leave the graveyard before the rain, threatened by the clouds, was released.

"Let them go."

I reached out and instructed my Hunters. They were confused but noticed the lack of a female companion and wondered what was happening.

"Come to the church when they've gone far enough away."

I summoned my avatar and stood before the altar and the grizzly work of art upon it. My four Hunters arrived a short time later. It was quite a strange scene. The Hunters and I looked at the dead body upon the altar and wondered what the hell was going on.

"Well, this is different." Roberson was the first to speak.

"It's a waste what it is." McGregor was not impressed.

"Reckon I don't know what to call it?" Rigger spoke. "What are your thoughts, Keeper?"

"The young man who brought her here and took her life claimed it was his great artistic creation."

I got several grunts from my Hunters on that.

"What are we going to do then?" Roberson asked.

I did not answer at first because I had no idea. We could just leave her here, of course. As she was dead, the Hunters would have no interest in her apart from Rigger. No, that might not be right. Roberson might have an interest. Thinking about the last few years, I made a choice.

"Rigger, take her."

He did not need to be told twice. He quickly moved up and scooped the body from the altar, making his way from the church back to his lair. He ignored all the side eyes the other Hunters were giving him as his dark trait was disturbing even to them.

I dismissed my avatar and went to the gates. I found Harold Morgan leaving with his escort. He mounted his carriage, and they soon were away. This ended one of the strangest visits I had ever had.

"I hope never to have that happen again."

Well, that was October for me.

The weather was now marching towards winter, and in the distance, the snow was coming fast down the mountains. Every day, the line had moved a little further down, and I knew it would not be long before the snows came.

I wish I could say that was pretty much the end of the year for me, but it seems that 1890 had a few more things in store. In November, small groups of men moved through the trees, always at a distance from the walls. The lack of foliage allowed me to get a view of them. It was clear from how they were moving that they did not realise I could see them from my vantage point at the top of the spatial bubble.

From how they dressed, I recognised them as the Way of Athamos members. I wasn't sure what they were doing, but I think they were mapping the outside of the dungeon. I sent out Rigger at night to see what he could find. He was the best at nighttime activities now and was far happier to do anything for me then.

It was close to dawn when he returned and reported to me in a church.

"What did you find?"

"Ya will right. They been puttin' strange marks on trees and amulets on branches. Got one here." He pulled one out of his pocket and placed it on the pew where indicated. His speech abilities were worsening, and I wasn't sure why, but I decided to watch it.

"How many were there?"

"Based about every ten meters. Right around the walls."

I looked at what he had brought back. It was about two inches wide, round, and made of brass. It was covered in weird lettering and symbols I had never seen before. I had no idea what this function was, but I knew I was not going to be happy with it.

"Head out tomorrow and destroy all the markings on the trees. Gather the amulets up and throw them into the ravine. Make sure that you are armed. If anyone tried to stop you, you know what to do."

He nodded to my instructions, and I knew he would carry them out. Strangely, he seemed to be hanging around.

"Was anything else?"

"Ya. I wonder, thank you for my new Cecilia." He took his hat off when speaking to me, giving me a full view of his head and face. I wish he had left on.

"Out of all the Hunters, you are the most logical to get her."

"Still. I gotta thank you. Never in my life have I been allowed to live the way I want." I was afraid he would break out in tears and try to hug me because of the way he was talking.

"Remember the contract. It is my duty to ensure that your needs are met as long as you obey my instructions. You have never once challenged or stood against me, so I ensure all your needs are met."

No matter how much I wish to God I did not have to.

He nodded his head again, putting his hat back on, and shuffled away. That was odd, as it was not the first time he had thanked me for letting him live here. I waited until he was gone and turned my attention back to the amulet.

"Trouble is coming again."

The world outside continued on, and Rigger obeyed my instructions.

From my vantage point, I tracked the members of the Way. From their body language, I could see they were unhappy that their carefully constructed ring around my dungeon had been destroyed. I noticed that they were moving further out now, and I would have to send out another expedition to see what they were up to.

November ended, and the threat of snow was in the air.

One of the last papers I received before the weather changed again, and I was cut off, had one new story that interested me. A veteran of the US Seventh Cavalry that served under Custer travelled up into Canada, where Sitting Bull was meeting with the Lakota Sioux tribe that had been driven out of the US. This former soldier pulled out a gun from his coat and shot down the native leader. He, in turn, was gunned down by members of the tribe with whom he was meeting.

This caused a massive diplomatic row between Canada and the United States. Unfortunately, I could not determine the result this year as the snows came, and I was cut off.

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