The Ghost Hunter
Matthew Ryan Fischer
The sky was clear and the moonlight lit the fields. Nadia could make
out the mill in the distance. There was a coach on the far side. She couldn’t
see the coachman.
Slowly she approached across the field of wheat, when suddenly the
coachman ran from the mill. Nadia ducked down to avoid being seen. She waited
as he untied his horses and rode off. She waited to make sure no one else was
around. The night was silent. A hushed calm fell over the realm. Eventually,
after much time had passed, Nadia rose and approached the old mill.
Inside, she found broken spectacles. Were they the coachman’s, she
wondered. Or had someone else been there before? She wondered what the coachman
had been doing there and why he had left in such a rush.
Nadia began to feel faint. Her vision blurred as it often did in
moments such as these. She had been called to this place, but wasn’t sure why.
The dreams were never clear. She could feel something sinister, but didn’t know
what. A warning of some kind, but unhelpful, full of more mysteries than
answers.
The floor was burnt and scraps of paper remained in the ashes. Someone
had been using the mill for their own purposes. The coachman? Or some other
companion?
A black feather fell from the rafters above.
Nadia looked up.
The crows watched, seemingly with a keen interest. The crows
remembered, she thought. A dark bird that portended dark deeds. Nadia felt a
sudden chill and the night seemed to grow a little darker.
No comments:
Post a Comment