Atop a hill on the edge of a small town there sits a lonely house with a sour aura. There you will find a man with stitches running around his neck, a chip on his shoulder, and a gun at his hip. If you have dallied in the dark, played with demons, o...
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In the back of his mind he remembered an old piece of advice: Never go to sleep with a concussion. Ichabod tried his best to stay awake, he tried counting stars and in retrospect that was a bad idea. He passed out several times and woke with a start. Groaning, he reached into the satchel at his side and removed the journal stashed in there. The intent was to keep his mind occupied, but his eyes just kept skipping across the page and, before long he simply closed the book. Letting out another frustrated grunt, he closed his eyes and massaged the bruise rapidly forming on the side of his head. When he opened his eyes again, Felicia, the fading shade, was standing before him, studying his face.
"What are you reading?" she asked.
Ichabod stared at her for a moment, confused.
"How did you get here?" he wondered.
"I hid in the trunk," she shrugged, "And, if you don't mind my asking, why did your friend hit you?"
He narrowed his eyes, something was wrong here, a soul in her current state shouldn't have been able to make it this far off of hallowed ground, and the way she was talking, was more like someone trying to effect the personality of a child. This was a game, something, or someone was playing with him, but, he was so weary, so tired of fighting. He put the journal away and folded his hands.
"Why are you here?" he asked.
"I was worried," she reached out, softly pressing a thumb against the sore and bloody spot where the horn had severed itself from his brow, "You have a...sour aura."
"Thanks," he glared back at her.
"Oh!" she jerked away, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...I'll go now."
"Wait," he sighed, "You want to know why my friend hit me?"
"Yes..." she simpered a few feet away, chewing on her thumb in a vain attempt to look both frightened and innocent.
"Sit down," he patted a spot on the grass, "It's a long story, but, I don't think that either of us have much else to do."
She inched towards him, slowly, like a dog, too skittish and afraid to allow someone to pat it on the head, but, eventually, Felicia sat down in front of him, hands on her knees and looking him in the eye. Ichabod drew in a deep breath and began.
"It all started about five years ago," he explained, "I had been called out to the Delgatto estate."
"The who?" Felicia tilted her head.
"One of the wealthiest landowners for five states, their current family head, Horus Delgatto, had his fingers in everything from politics to commemorative key-chains at one point or another."
"Oh," she nodded her head, seeming to be impressed.
"Anyway," Ichabod continued on, "The family was well established, building on a generational fund that went back over a hundred years, apparently they didn't trust phones, so I had to show up for the details, but I wasn't expecting much, an overzealous family reading too much into a busted hubcap or a cracked mirror, I'd told Toulon to leave before I entered, figured I'd just, show up, scratch a few markings into the walls, hand them off a couple of charms, and overcharge the living Hell out of them for it, but things, just weren't what they seemed."
