CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

The words flowed from Cassius's pen like blood from a freshly opened vein.

The Hanged Man's Lament.

In the dusty halls of the old crypt, where screams once echoed and madness reigned, a new horror now stalks the shadows. They say he appears on moonless nights, when the wind howls like a chorus of tortured souls. A figure in black, face hidden behind a mask of white, save for the crimson streaks that weep from empty eye sockets.

They call him the Hanged Man, but he had a name once. A life. Until she took it all away.

No one knows quite how he ended up in the Crypt. Some say he was a thief, caught red-handed and strung up as a warning. Others whisper he was a spurned lover, driven mad by heartbreak. But all agree on one thing - the Hanged Man is no mere ghost.

They say if you look into his eyes – those blood-red pits gouged into the pale flesh of his mask – you'll see your own death staring back. A flash of the rope, the kick of the stool, the slow fade to black. The Hanged Man knows your deepest fear, and he'll make you live it over and over until your heart bursts.

Cassius paused and surveyed his handiwork. Not bad for an evening's scribbling. The bones of the story were there, waiting to be fleshed out with the gory details that would make it sing. He'd polish it later, add the little touches that'd make it feel authentic. Like it'd been passed down through generations of whispers.

His gaze drifted to the window where night pressed against the glass, and memories of earlier today flooded his head. The hanging hadn't been planned, true. But sometimes the best art came from improvisation. Cassius prided himself on his ability to adapt, to find beauty in chaos. When he'd spotted that ladder, that coil of rope. Well, inspiration struck like lightning. And who was he to deny the muse when she deigned to visit?

Sure, it'd been messy. Hauling a grown man's dead weight up onto that ladder, looping the noose just so. But the end result was pure poetry.

Cassius turned back to his desk and began tidying away his notes. He wondered if the coroners would rule it a suicide, even with the stab marks in the man's torso. The authorities always took the easy route when it came to hangings, especially in a backwater town like this. It was almost disappointing how easy it was to fool them. But then, that was half the fun, wasn't it? Crafting a scene so perfect, so believable , that even the professionals bought the lie.

Then a sharp knock at the door cut through his reverie.

Cassius froze, glanced at the clock on his desk. Eight fifty-seven PM. Much too late for visitors. The sign on the door clearly said the place was shut today.

Another knock. More insistent this time.

Cassius rose slowly and moved towards the door with the caution of a man used to watching his back. He'd made sure to keep a low profile in the past few years. Paid his taxes on time, kept the shop in flawless condition, smiled and waved at the neighbors.

But old habits died hard.

He cracked the door open an inch and peered out into the gloom.

A woman stood on his porch, wringing her hands like she was trying to squeeze water from stone. Even in the dim porch light, Cassius recognized her. Amanda Krafton from his creative writing class. Mousy little thing, always scribbling away in that battered notebook of hers. Terrible prose, but she had potential. If only she'd stop writing about her cats.

And to call her a friend was preposterous, so what in God's name was she doing here?

‘Amanda?' Cassius opened the door wider. ‘What are you doing here?'

She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. Mascara ran down her cheeks in inky rivulets. ‘I'm sorry, I know it's late. I just… didn't know where else to go.'

Cassius's brow furrowed in what he hoped was a convincing facsimile of concern. ‘What happened? Are you alright?'

A fresh sob threatened to bubble up as Amanda poured the words out. ‘No. Everything's all wrong. I caught Gary messaging someone else, says he's in love with her. We got into a fight, and…' she pointed to a bruise below her eye.

‘I see.' The old ‘husband's a dirty cheater,' routine. Cassius suppressed a sigh. How depressingly mundane.

‘Twenty-two years of marriage and the bastard trades me in for a newer model, then hits me.'

Cassius watched her shoulders heave, strangely detached from her display of emotion. He wondered if he should offer her a tissue. That's what people did, wasn't it? In situations like these?

Shannon babbled on, oblivious to his wandering thoughts. ‘I couldn't stay with him. He demanded I stay, that she meant nothing, but I had to get out. Somewhere.' She sucked in a shuddering breath. ‘I was driving around, saw your light on. I hoped... maybe I could...'

Cassius scanned the street, half-expecting there to be a camera crew filming this bizarre interaction. Maybe the cops were onto him and this was all part of an elaborate scheme to elicit a confession.

But the street was empty, as it always was this time of night.

‘You don't have any family? Friends?'

‘No. Not around here, anyway. God, I'm such an idiot. I'll go. I'm sorry to bother you.'

Then an idea sparked in the back of Cassius's mind; a sudden flash, like a match struck in the dark. The haunts were closed tonight, true. But perhaps there were other adventures to be had. After all, his best work had come from seizing an unexpected opportunity.

Amanda turned to leave. Cassius's hand shot out and caught her wrist. Amanda looked back at him, startled.

‘Wait,' he said. ‘Don't go. You shouldn't be alone right now.'

Relief flooded Amanda's face. ‘Really? You don't mind?'

Cassius smiled. ‘Of course not. What are friends for?'

‘Oh God. I'd be so grateful. I just need a little time to get my head together, maybe crash until I can find somewhere to stay for the long haul.'

‘You know, I was about to go for a drive somewhere, just to pick something up. Would you like to join?'

Amanda looked up and down the street. ‘Where were you headed?'

‘Nowhere important. I find that driving helps take my mind off things, so maybe it will help you. We should probably report your husband to the police, too.'

‘Okay, then we can go indoors? I'm just a little worried about Gary finding me.'

‘Yes, of course, just let me grab my things.' Cassius retrieved his car keys from the hook by the door, then snagged a small duffel bag propped in the corner. He stepped out and shut the door behind him. ‘Shall we?'

‘Sure. Lead the way, and thank you for this. I don't really have anyone else to call on.'

The night air was crisp. A perfect night for spinning yarns and sowing nightmares. The haunted houses might be closed, but that didn't mean the show had to stop. After all, the best stories were the ones that caught you off guard.