by Grayman

Bridgeport had become a bit too 'hot' for me, so I was escaping to Glenham to let things cool off. A heavy snow drove me to seek cover at an inn near the River Stokes ferry. I dropped into a chair near the fire and ordered a small beer and meat pie from the innkeeper. For the next hour or so, I listened to the conversations around me. Mostly inane topics like the best way to remove tree stumps from a field, or what the current odds were for the Widow Shalemont taking the local Watch captain for a husband. One story peaked my interest, however-that of Jacob Nearfeather, the town doctor, who had vanished a week earlier. He had been complaining about a spirit running amok in his house, breaking things, and was offering a hefty purse for whoever could purge the spirit. A few had tried, but all had turned up dead after being in the house a while. Then Nearfeather disappeared.