I came across the body of Thomas Sweet at 11:30 in the evening. He was dressed only in his nightshirt and spread-eagled in the middle of the road a short distance from his home. Thomas’ body was cold to the touch, and the snow falling was piling upon him. It took me a few moments to find the cause of his death, which was a deep knife wound in his left side. Due to the lack of blood, I suspected the blow was fatal and dealt there in the road.
A glance at his house showed the lights on and the front door open to the elements, and it sent a chill through my heart as I feared at what may have happened to Elizabeth, his wife.
I was armed with one of my double-barreled shotguns, and I primed both hammers as I went towards the house. It had been a difficult autumn, with strange and curious creatures drifting out of Gods’ Hollow, so I had taken to roaming at night on the off chance that there might be more unwelcomed visitors.
When I entered the home, I called out for Elizabeth, and the sense of relief I felt when I heard her response cannot be overstated. That relief vanished when I entered the sitting room and found her by the fire. A long butcher’s knife was on the table beside her sewing machine. As was Thomas’ Colt Dragoon pistol. From what I could see on the table, Elizabeth had loaded the weapon.
She smiled at me and whispered, “I killed him.”
I nodded and lowered my shotgun.
“I was going to shoot myself after, Duncan. But I cannot.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He wouldn’t stop talking,” she told me, staring down at the knife. “Not for a moment. At least, I don’t think he did. Is he still talking now?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I went to her, picked up the pistol, placed the barrel against her temple, and blew her brains out.
It was a cold walk home.
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