Water dripped and echoed in the distance. Bob sat up slowly, not knowing where he was. The last thing he remembered was the slight hum of a harp. Bob thought his memory was extremely vivid, because the music continuously grew louder. Until he realized he was not only remembering the sound, but he was hearing it. He stood and staggered to the music. He awoke in the dark, but as he walked forward it grew lighter. He was in a bowl like glen. Above him were thin vines grown tightly across the glen, and above that was a thick fog. Water was dripping from the leaves of a tall oak. The sound of harps was still permeating through the dark air.
Stairs led from the bottom of the glen up the rocky cliff to the surface. Still confused about the harps, Bob ascended these stairs half way to get a better vantage point of the glen. As Bob ascended he became very wet from the fog. Bob noticed his hair began to drip. He turned his back to the cold cliff and looked out over the glen. As Bob was examining the glen he noticed out of the corner of his, a drip landing on a thin vine at the exact moment he heard a high harp note. Bob contemplated this happening for about a minute. He descended a few steps and plucked a vine with his finger. The vine let out a shrill noise and broke. The vines can only be played by water.
Three days passed. Bob had climbed out of the glen and had located the owner of the glen. He asked the owner to meet him at Hunter’s Pub to discuss a price for a “dull” piece of land. The owner said he wanted to look over the land himself, but Bob fiercely protested, “No! It really is a dull and bleak. Most men wouldn’t pay half the price I’m ready to offer you.” The old man frowned. But he also agreed.
Bob left the pub that night with the land deed. He immediately made his way to the glen. When Bob arrived at the glen, he saw a hole. It was rectangular in shape, with a piece of slate stood up at one end. Bob walked to the slate and saw something etched into it. He read aloud to himself, “Bob the cold, hearted. Be to the grave, the man who lied for me.-The Glen of Harps.” As soon as the last word left his lips, Bob heard the vines tense up around him tense up. He turned just as the thickest vine snapped. Bob felt a sting in the left side of his chest. He looked down; and a thorn from the vine was lodged in his cold, black heart. Bob slowly toppled into his grave along with his falsely achieved deed.
