"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 in their eyes. A look showing ignorance of those who had entered this house beforehand and died without a sympathetic witness. No, even better, the look of those who hear all the tales, all the warnings, and come anyway. My favorite kind of company.
"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. He was a foreigner, too by his arms. He wore a laced breastplate from Zipang like the one my father left for me. This one, the Zipangese warrior, he 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 her stomping feet will 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. The Zipangese man's shock when of pain when he landed a solid blow on more solid stone. But the pale lady’s sword carried ancient enchantments, and soon one of my stone guardians lay shattered across the marble floor.
The uninvited guests passed from the foyer to the dining hall, where they cut down my poor, half-starved servants. Then through the kitchen and down to the cellar they went. What did they seek? And why were they so easily defeated by a simple locked door? That gave me some amusement.
But the true sport began when my hounds caught their scent.
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