"When I saw them approaching the house, I knew they were more than lost travelers or timid, second-hand curiosity seekers. They had a certain look their eye. A look showing ignorance of those who had entered this house beforehand and died without a sympathetic witness. Or better yet, stupidity, knowing all the stories, the lies, but believing they were better. The kind of company I like.
"The pale lady I’d seen before. And as much as I wanted to see her die when I first saw her now I wanted it even more. She pried the boards off the gate herself. Once inside the gates, she consulted with one of them. Not out of deference or submission, but something else. Pity? Strange. He was a foreigner, too by his arms. He wore a laced breastplate from Zipang like the one my father left for me. This, the Zipangnese warrior, nodded in the direction of the house.
And so the pale lady walks up to the front door and opens it, without a half-step, without a cocked ear. Not like a burglar, but like someone who thinks she has a right to something. Or like a child hoping to scare away the ghosts before he enters a room.
"Sorry pale lady! The look on her face when the statues leapt off their pedestals will stay with me for centuries. Like it, the way the wrenched his arm landing a solid blow with his sword on hard stone. And again, the look on his face. But the pale lady’s sword for such things, and soon my statue lay shattered on the floor.
"They proceeded from the foyer to the dining room where they dispatched some of my poor, malnourished servants. And then through the kitchen and straight to the cellar. What were they looking for? And why so easily defeated by a locked door? This gave me some amusement, but then the real fun began—my hounds had picked up their scent . . . "
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