It was down the corridor that the two crows perched themselves. The moonlight broke through the stained glass windows of the mansion. The crows swiveled their heads back and forth, cawing off more and more. Thunder cracked and lightning flashed as the rain fell hard. The mansion moved in the wind and the air was heavy outside. The crows were now restless and flew off the balcony towards the open window. They cawed, making their leave noticeable. The mansion was empty and quiet. It had grown old and torn, falling apart day by day. It over looked a dirt path that lead to a four way stop. The north path took to town, where most of the townspeople lived. West travelled out, towards the next town about 160 miles away. Most don’t venture towards the east pathway. Its broken trail has scared travelers and wonderers for years. So it lay, unused, still being broken down by the weather. Rain was rare, but hard when it came. Wind was crisp and the sun would scorch the ground, cracking open the eastern pathway.

And of course the mansion was on the southern path. Well maintained, obvious of frequent movement. Rumor around the town says that the path to the mansion is for those who wish to end their lives. That the mansion was not safe for anyone, but of course, just a rumor. The Ramsey’s were supposedly the previous owners, but its been a long lost thought as to who really owns the mansion. It has gone through multiple owners but all for very short periods of time. The longest it had ever been in residence was about 5 years. There had been 16 suicides in the last year at the mansion, and with the town population being a steady 300, the less souls that walked made things worse. A wide variety of people would go to off themselves. It didn’t matter who they were, those who felt the end was near would leave south, to the mansion. On this particular stormy night, Kilo Vern had yielded at the four way stop. The mud had created holes and the partially created road was breaking away.

Coming from the west, Kilo had travelled very far and he and his horse were tired. As the rain pelted them, he looked for shelter. To his left, the north and the town and to his right, the mansion. Up on the hill, he saw a dim light, a guide for his trek up the hill. A deep sigh was released and he looked back to the north. He knew of an Inn within the town and it wouldn’t be full considering the situation. He remounted his horse and headed left towards the Inn. Peaking back to look at the light, still lit on top of the hill, waiting for his journey to its mysterious halls.


***

The Inn was located in the middle of the town, perfectly placed for those who needed the right supplies. A hardware and gun shop across the street, a market next to the shop and a small bank on the other side of it. A bar sat next to the Inn and on the other side a restaurant. The sheriffs office and a few farms sat on the edge of town area, welcoming guests and on the other side of town a barn sat. Its color was fading but it stood strong. It was the icon of the town, looking down upon its people. Behind the area, a hill and behind this hill were the shacks and small houses of the people. most in well enough shape that they could survive mild conditions.

Kilo had reached the edge of the town. The rain had slowed a bit. The sheriff was not outside of his building, so Kilo kept going towards the Inn. Usually a wave or hat flip to the town’s sheriff was the thing to do to let them know of a friendly outsider presence. Kilo headed for the Inn, putting his horse in the stable behind the bar and hurrying over to the door of the Inn.

“Howdy there” the desk clerk’s voice sounded, “Name’s Herbert Bennington the owner of this here Inn. What can I do for you sir?”

His voice was gruff but welcoming.

“Mr. Bennington, I’d like a room if that is not too much of a problem.” Kilo reached for his pouch of money.

“Why of course not lad. We have many open rooms if you are looking for a certain one.”

“Oh no, just a simple room would be swell.”

A smile poured onto Herbert’s face. He began to grab his keys to open up the cupboard that had all the keys to the rooms. “Now, your room will be 17. It will be on the second floor son. That will be twelve dollars a night and you can choose either to pay now or later.

“I think I will pay later sir. I’m not sure how long I will be here. Thank you kindly.”

“No problem laddie. Anything you need come down and ask. But, before you go, I need your name.”

Kilo Gulped “Of course. Mitchell Thatcher”

Herbert looked down at his entry booklet and wrote down the name then gave Kilo the key.

Without thanks, Kilo walked up the stairs to his room. Seventeen was towards the end of the hallway. The green and blue carpet clashed against the orange lights and red walls. The lightbulbs were spaced out evenly, except for a few holes that didn’t have one. The room was no different than the hallway. Cracks and many holes in the floor, paint peeling along the walls and termite damage. Although the wreck was apparent it didn’t matter to Kilo. The bed, dresser and nightstand along with the oil lamp was all he needed. He grabbed his notebook and pencil out of his leather satchel then dropped it to the side. He sat the notebook and pencil to his side on the bed and took off his boots and top shirt. The rain needed time to dry so he laid it on the nightstand next to the oil lamp. He laid on his bed and open his notebook.

15 of July, 1855
I feel as if I am withering away. My body aches from work and slaving over the field. I have set off on this travel to find myself. I do not know of what I will find, but I hope for the best. My path will change many times and I will end up places I will not recognize. I have found myself at a small town on the outskirts of Willowsworth. A man from there told me of a mansion to travel to if I felt all hope was lost. I did not believe it so I had to see it for myself. I saw it today and it struck me with fear. I fear as if I will not have the strength to go up to its iron gates and walk to its doors. It stood a top the hill, shadowing the pathway with its lit room, an eye looking upon me. I do not fear what is to come later. I fear what I will find. I fear what it is that strikes some down from going, but calls to others. This may possibly be my final entry.

He signed his initials after this one, carving them smoothly into the paper. He felt a small weight lift off of his shoulders after writing it. Something he had never felt before. He placed the notebook in the the leather bag and pulled out his matches and cigar. He lit it and laid his head back on the flattened pillow. Looking up at the ceiling, with one arm rested behind his head, legs crossed and cigar in the other hand, sublimity had taken over. There was a certain high he felt that he never felt before a soft, slow moving warmth that he had picked up. Not from the cigar but from the quiet. From the balance that he felt with the quiet of the room. Of course this was all too much for him. He shook off the thought and took another puff of his cigar. He closed his eyes for a few moments, but those moments felt like forever. Whisking him away into a storm of movement, colors, lights, liquids, spots, wildlife. He opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. Nothing was different, nothing had changed. After one last inhale of his cigar, Kilo put it out and placed it back in the bag for later. Turning off the oil lamp, and taking off his socks. He pulled the covers over himself and quickly fell asleep.

It was late in the morning when Kilo was awoken by a banging on his door. “Mitchell Thatcher!” The voice was a low-high tone woman’s voice.

“Mitchell Thatcher! I know you are in there! Please, let me see you.” Kilo could hear the pants and crying noises on the other side. He reached the door and opened to find a woman leaping into his arms.

“Oh! Mitchell! I am so happy you came back for me!” She pulled away and took a look at a different man. “Wait a minute-”

Kilo grabbed the woman and slammed the door.
“Please madam, I can explain-”

“You are not Mitchell Thatcher!” The woman screamed at Kilo

“Would you be quiet and let me explain!” Kilo yelled at her, pleading her to shut her mouth.
The woman stopped. “Who are you?” She asked him.

“Yes, I am not Mitchell Thatcher.” He lowered his voice “My name is Kilo Vern.”

“What in god’s name are you doing pretending to be Mitchell Thatcher?”

Before he could answer, her eyes widened.

“You’re the Western Bluff Bandit. You’re the one who killed The Baker and Ramsey boys. Oh sweet jesus, I’m going to die.”

Before Kilo could reply, the door was kicked. Herbert stood, rifle in hand, anger in his eyes.



“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put a bullet in your face boy.” He cocked the weapon and held it up to Kilo’s head.

“Mr. Bennington please, listen to me. I’m not the Western Bluff Bandit.”

“The Hell are you talking about?!” The gun stayed pointed at Kilo.
“I’m not the killer. I was framed. This is all a big mistake, please, if you could put the gun down I could explain over a drink, my treat.” Kilo took a slow step towards The Inn owner. Herbert huffed and dropped his weapon.

“I’m trusting you boy. But you as so much look at a gun, i’ll pull this faster than you can say room 17”



***
“Mitchell Thatcher started out as a low time bandit, robbing towns, getting woman drunk and having his way with them, killing those in his way but he was never caught. He wanted to make sure that people knew who he was though. In towns he pillaged, he stole one boy away to join his group. He started small, but then grew to love what he did. He would have his second in command steal one boy as well.”

Kilo took a drink. Herbert was less angered now that he had alcohol in his system and the gun still pointed at Kilo.
“As you can imagine, town after town, his group began to grow to many to big, so he had a contest. Whenever he picked up the boys from the town, he would have them fight it out, to see who was the better man. Now, news of his whereabouts and his doings were traveling fast, so he laid low for a while, until he came to my town. My father was the sheriff and he knew of Mitchell Thatcher. My father tried to fight him off but Mitchell Thatcher killed my dad and took me. I was the only one to be taken from my town.”

A pause as the words were processed. The noise of the bar was loud enough to create distractions for the other in it. Kilo took another drink, as did Herbert.

“So why haven’t we heard about this?” The woman who was still present asked me. “How do I know Mitchell Thatcher, but not of his doing?”

“Good question. Your nearest town is almost 200 miles away, and by the time Mitchell had gone away it wasn’t worth the trip to tell of his crimes. Oddly enough, after all that he had done he came here. He came from the east I believe, and stayed in this very Inn.”

“How do you know all this?” Herbert asked.

“I was with him until I was sold as a worker in Kynesville, the town about 100 miles from Willowsworth. I worked until I fled the farm and figured out what I could in Willowsworth. And thats how I ended up here.”

“So, Why are you here?” The woman asked.
“I did kill the the Ramsey boy and the two baker boys, but I had too. as I grew it crushed my spirit and I felt so guilty that I had to return to understand what they came from.”


“Why did he use your name?” Another question popped.

“To cover up his doing. He knew he may get caught eventually, but not without a fight. So when he came here he was not known as the Western Bluffs Bandit, but as Mitchell Thatcher.”

“Hmmmm, and how do I know I can trust you now, after confessing to those killings?” Herbert got stern and crossed his arms over his chest. Kilo looked down at the number of drinks the Inn owner had taken in. Five empty and one half empty glass were on the table.

“Because I plan on going to the mansion tonight to say my last goodbyes to whatever friends I have left out there and end it all”

The bar got quiet now and everyone looked over at Kilo. A grim murmur had sprung from the surrounding people as they went back to their business. A few kept looking, as if to say something, but no words were spoken to Kilo.

“Well, If thats how its going to be then I bid you farewell.” The Inn owner stood up.

“Wait, here is this” Kilo handed a 20 to Herbert. “For the room and for the trouble.”

He looked at the 20, grabbed it out of Kilo’s hand and stormed off outside and to the left towards the Inn.

The woman stood up and placed a hand on Kilo’s shoulder. “God guide you.” She walked out slowly, her head sunk down into the palm of her hand

“Wait, I didn’t catch your name.” Kilo got up and walked towards her, towards the door.

“April.” She whispered, tears began flowing as she looked up into Kilo’s eyes, “April Thatcher.”

***

It had been a long beginning of the day and now it was about that time. Kilo was well rested and grabbed his things. The notebook and his shirt sat on the nightstand. Kilo hesitated and looked out the window. The rain was starting now, a perfect background for the events that would happen tonight. Looking at the lighting, the white lines it created against the dark sky. Kilo felt it again, the sublimity. The way he felt before, the awesome sense of place that he wished he could take with him the rest of the night.

He headed down to the stairs to the doors of the outside. The cold rain pattered along the side of the Inn. Kilo’s boots splashed in the water that already created holes in the ground. He walked behind to get his horse. After tipping the stable boy, he and the horse trotted out to the edge of town. Kilo stopped and turned to look back, remembering his first encounter in the town. His fear intensified and his eyes widened.Terror engulfed him and he turned back to the path leading out of the town. A few tears fell as he continued south. After about a few miles outside of the town he reached the four way stop. Looking to his left, the east was cloudy and the lightning destroyed the sky. He looked forward and up the hill leading to the mansion. He took a deep breath, and continued toward the edge where the slope met the ground. A ten minute hike had no opened his path to the entrance of the mansion. Kilo jumped off the horse and walked to the door. His horse belted out a cry and galloped back down the hill.

Kilo walked into the entrance of the mansion. It was beautiful, and was not built for people like Kilo Vern. The walls were lined with paintings and magnificent architecture. He walked out of the hallway that lead to a large opening, doors on his left and right. Two spiral staircases leading up and a large set of stair leading to a second floor. A door was under the larger staircase and the entire room was blanketed in rich red and bronze colors. Kilo stood in the entrance, gazing at the building as if it were a wonder of the world. It shook a bit, as the wind rocked it back and forth slightly. Kilo made his way up the larger staircase leading to the second floor. It was dusty and the air was heavier just going up another level. Kilo looked both left and right. Doors at both ends of the corridor. Open windows as the light came through and on the ground, growing brighter with each lighting strike. He look left and trudged down the hall. It wasn’t a long hall, medium sized, but to Kilo it felt like a lifetime. A mixture of fear, guilt and despair flooded his thoughts. He was unable to think straight and with each step the emotions grew heavier and heavier. As he continued he heard a noise. A croaking noise, like that of a bird. He turned to see two crows perched on the window sill. The cawed a few times then flew out the window into the night and into the darkness.

He reached the room on the left and by this time his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He reached for the handle and turned it downward and sung open the door. No light but the lightning strikes displayed the room cleanly. An unlit candle, a desk with a chair and a large amount of cobwebs. Darkness again as the lighting died away and the only noise was the crashing of the rain on the mansion. Another strike which revealed the rope and noose. Kilo gulped, his life now flashing in front of him. It glared back at him, a raging animal in his mind. Everything was now coming down on him, the memories, the lives, the connection he had made. He grabbed the chair and stepped up to the rope. Kilo put the rope around his neck and tugged the end tight.

“You’re a fool Kilo Vern” a voice came from behind.

“What?!” Kilo turned but slid off the chair, his legs unable to catch onto anything else. Struggling for breath, he began to fade, but not before his glimpse of the person who was behind him. As he took in his last breath, Kilo Vern closed his eyes one last time and Mitchell Thatcher stood in the opening of the door looking at the man turned animal.