November 1, 1891


He knocked on the door and demanded entry.

There’d been a hard frost on Halloween, and so I’d decided on a second cup of coffee before making the rounds of the farm. I’d no sooner poured the cup than there was a knock at the door, and a knock at six in the morning is never a good thing.

When I answered the door, I found a tall, thin man standing on my porch. He was well, if ill-dressed for the weather, and when he looked down at me, he raised an eyebrow in obvious disgust.

I sipped my coffee and waited to see what the hell he wanted.

“You must allow me in to speak with you,” he stated. He spoke an old and elegant form of French.

Bemused, I stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. He did so with short, mincing steps, and his nose wrinkled at the smell of my home. I closed the door and led him into the parlor, where he sat down in my favorite chair.

My good humor drained away.

Without waiting for me to sit, the stranger spoke again.

“We are aware of your misdeeds in Gods’ Hollow.”

“Hm. Is there anyone other than you?” I asked.

“There are many of us across Europe, though not as many as once was. We are kin, in our own fashion.”

I sipped my coffee. “Can’t see as how I’d be related to anything such as yourself.”

He heard the disdain in my voice and sneered.

“I have been sent to inform you to leave Gods’ Hollow be. You are not to trespass in it again.”

“Not likely to happen,” I replied after a moment. “Cross is my town. I’ve no like of the Hollow or most creatures that come from it.”

“Be that as it may,” the man continued, “you are hereby ordered to leave Gods’ Hollow be. We are quite willing to be sterner with our next rebuke.”

“That so?”

He nodded.

I finished my coffee. “You’re going to leave now. You’re not going to come back. I’ll go in the Hollow when I want and leave just the same.”

The man stood and looked down with disgust.

“We will have you destroyed.”

Without another word, he turned and left my home, taking the joy of the day with him.

Sighing, I returned to the kitchen and started another pot of coffee.

I’d need it. Once the chores were done, I’d need to clean the Colts.

#fear #horrorstories #supernatural

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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