The Eve of all Hollows (Introduction)

The Eve of all Hollows
Written by Hektor Thillet


Beware, those who are hollow in the heart.
Fear neither the mist nor the weeping willows in the dead of the night,
Just be weary of he who walks on the darkest eve of harvest spell;
For it is in the deepest hollows where he hides and dwells.


It was the eve of all hollows when Lord Bafflepot first met with the mysterious stranger at a local Londoner tavern. Unlike the well accounted and almost deliberate series of sinister events which abound in this curious tale, the meet had been purely coincidental. Or so it seemed then...


Earlier that day, on the morning leading to Lord Bafflepot’s ominous encounter with said stranger, things had already taken a sinister turn; more so than one who is sensible would expect on the eve of all hollows’ day. As usual, the destitute son of a wealthy family of aristocrats, and failed attorney, had quietly gone about his business in his modest and dingy downtown office. It had been the coldest and darkest day of the October season. A winter chill had set in across an 1800 England; now a barren field frozen with snow. Lord Dollfus Bafflepot, a solitary and pensive young man of nearly twenty six years of age, had sat all day across from his second hand rose wood desk, and done nothing more than stare blankly into the window on front of him which overlooked a snow covered city street.


So terribly saddened had he found himself then, not a sound had he uttered. Outside the window from which he had sat across, the falling snowflakes had danced their hypnotic winter dance; murmured a million delights inside his head like crystal heathens that tempted a lost soul. But it had all been in vain, for even their ancient enchantments went unheard that morning in the silence of his profoundly afflicted soul. Only the drops of melted ice falling into his coffee cup from a leaking old wooden roof, and the old desk which then creaked at the touch, had disturbed the dead cold room around Lord Bafflepot. Of course the mountains of books, papers, the worn furniture, and personal belongings arranged in the most wretched of fashions had also sat in the room with him; but those hadn’t made a sound either.


He hadn’t as much as bothered to fetch wood for the fireplace. Not even mice and their fastidious rackets had dare come in to warm up from the bitter frost. It was simply too cold! But Lord Bafflepot didn’t mind that either. Failure was the only thing that pained him now. Fortune had not been on his side since graduating with honors from the most prestigious school of law in the country. Lord Bafflepot, had practically lost every single case he had been assigned to; not accounting the handful of cases he had not even been considered for as consequence of his less than stellar record. The well respected English lord had become the laughing stock among his colleagues, which now far from respect him. Most painful yet, he had dishonored his family, failing to live up to their expectations of sheer financial success; worthy of the Bafflepot’s prestigious and reputable family name.


The wind howled at it swoop down the chimney and up his spine, as if the devil himself had gone loose on this the very eve of the dead and were now by his side. “Come to me Dollfus…I know what you crave. I know your sorrows, I know your pain. Come to me and all will be well.” He had heard the wind say. So sorrowful he felt, that the ghostlike voice had not frightened him. Instead he thought it to be soothing and comforting like the words of a dear friend.