He should have stayed in the Hollow.
It’s been almost two years since the members of Miskatonic discovered their mistake regarding the freshwater squid they pulled from Blood Lake.
I’ve heard nary a peep from the school, and I’ve been quite happy about that.
Unfortunately, it seems that the institution has been nursing its wounds and plotting some sort of revenge. No, not against the denizens of the lake.
And it seems that those in charge of the school have sought to solicit help from the Hollow in my removal.
One of my ravens intercepted a messenger, a carrier pigeon of all things, and brought the information home to me. I’ve the small scroll on the desk in front of me.
“Your offer of payment is acceptable to my mistress,” an unknown hand has written. “She would like nothing more than to see this version of her son dead.”
Always pleasant to know that my mother is still alive in one form or another, although I confess I’m somewhat disappointed in the staff at the school. While I didn’t believe any of them had much in the department of common sense, I thought they were at least smart enough not to make deals with the likes of my mother.
Well, that’s neither here nor there, I suppose.
According to the rest of the scroll, someone from the school is to meet their hired assassin at the stonewall.
I combed my hair, trimmed my beard, and put on my funeral suit. I resisted the urge to strap on my Colts, and instead, I tucked my Bowie knife into the small of my back. It was uncomfortable as hell, but it was necessary.
By the time I reached the wall, I’d worked up a fine sweat, and I was feeling a trifle piqued when I caught sight of the man. He was sitting against a log, eating his lunch. He paused long enough to ask if I was from the university, and I said I was.
He nodded, took another bite of his sandwich, and was still chewing when I drew my knife and drove it through his chest.
It took but a minute’s hard work to sever the head, and I carried it with me into town. I left it in the center of the school’s entrance, surprise on the dead man’s face.
I hope their expressions mirror his own.