From the Gods’ Hollow journal of Duncan Blood.
April 29, 1930.
I heard the sound of a piano playing and followed it along an uphill path which wound its way towards a building I could not quite see in the morning light.
When a cloud covered the sun and afforded me a clear view of the structure, I came to a stop and counted myself lucky.
The music did not cease, but it’s enticing qualities vanished. I knew who played the piano as surely as I knew what awaited me if I entered the courthouse.
Judge Roy Hoeffler was a killing judge, a man who took pleasure in garroting those he found guilty, regardless of the severity of his crime. In 1877, the courthouse had vanished, along with the Judge, and all Cross had counted their blessings.
Whatever entity had snatched the Judge and his court from the town had seen fit to keep him alive, no doubt to entertain them. Or, more precisely, to entertain my mother, whose foul touch I could sense on everything in Gods’ Hollow.
I fought the urge to set fire to the building, to sit and wait for the Judge to flee the flames and then gun him down as he raced outside.
A cold, rational voice doubted whether bullets could kill a man such as he.
With the strains of Beethoven filling the air, I eased away from the courthouse and sought my fortunes elsewhere.
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